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The Aethyr Machine

©2023 Bruno Hirschkoff

*

_The following is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences. If you are not an adult, this isn't for you. All characters, situations, settings, locations, names and concepts are the intellectual property of the Author. Do not repost, distribute, alter or copy any element of this work without the express written permission of the author. _

_All characters, settings, religions, histories and geopolitical structures are fictional and resemblance to real-world characters, settings, religions, histories and geopolitical structures is purely coincidental. _

*

Chapter 2

The Hairy Fig

Trygve

Trygve padded silently through the lamplit streets of Stillwater Cove towards the Artisans' Guild Canal, her soft-soled boots dampening the sound even of her claws on the cobblestones. It was two hours after dusk, and the last glow of the departing day had diminished over the western horizon, out over the vastness of the Mare Viridium. Overhead, Seilyr appeared as almost a dim, greenish-blue sun in itself; the verdant moon, which was a mirror of Asantrea itself, sparkled in its own daylight. Oceans, vast green forests and an ever-changing marble of cloud could clearly be seen scudding across its surface. It cast a light that was plenty enough to see by, and thus the lamps that lit the streets of Stillwater Cove were there to dispel the darker shadows and indicate doorways and hazards, more than anything else. Academics who studied the great forests that blanketed much of Doregal had discovered that the light from a near-full Seilyr was enough to cause the trees to grow even at night.

The Artisans' Guild Canal had been the beating heart of the little town for well over a century, allowing goods to be transported directly to the hilltop Artisan District by a complex system of cranes and cables, which lifted crates straight off the decks of the barges that brought them up from the docks.

But Trygve did not have regional history on her mind as she walked the cobbled tow-path, directly from her previous engagements with Dagmar, Niko Halassie and Waldrein Burr at the Stillwater Cove docks. Halassie's contact was to meet an Equid runner by the name of Cael early the following morning, to hand over a smuggled consignment of Voidstones. Trygve needed to get to them first.

The Hairy Fig was a well-known public house midway along the canal's length; a tavern, an inn and a bawdyhouse all in one, well known for catering to a wide variety of needs and tastes--so long as their coin was good and their purse-strings loose. It was built on one of the many bridges that spanned the canal; a rambling mound of buildings, annexes, extensions, towers, secret passageways, private and semi-private rooms and catwalks that catered to all the pleasures, delights and luxuries one could imagine. It was a product of the town's geography; sailors and merchants from all over Doregal, Valasea and even Ambriel brought their customs and their desires and left their inhibitions at home, and the Fig evolved from simple accommodation into so much more.

While some parts of Asantrea were more accommodating of sexual adventurism than others, the world broadly did not look disparagingly on pleasures of the flesh. The 'new' religion, Arahanism, was less liberal in its approach, but that was framed in scripture as a form of humility, rather than punitive abstinence. Nevertheless, inns and bawdyhouses the world over tended to have secretive back-entrances or tunnels catering to the practitioners of the Arahanic faith--it was well known, but rarely openly discussed.

The thought of some outwardly pious and pompous priest with a rod in his robes shambling along the darkened canal towpath when Seilyr was not in the sky overhead caused Trygve to grin to herself. She did so enjoy the hypocrisy of the Arahanic clergy. The way a priest would cry out to his prophet even as he had his soul sucked out through his member by the Lupa woman. They were memories to be cherished, and used as leverage when it suited her.

Trygve could hear the ruckus of the Hairy Fig echoing down the canal's tow-paths even before she could see it amongst the rooftops of Stillwater Cove's Old Quarter. Music, raised voices, laughter and all manner of other kinds of revelry. A shout, a splash and a cheer announced the unplanned exit of a patron via the upper balconies.

"Aye, 'ere! 'Ow much fer a romp, lass?" came a slurred, gravelly voice from behind the Lupa woman.

Trygve turned, allowing the hood of her inky black cloak to fall back, exposing her auburn hair and golden eyes. The speaker was a brawny, drunken Equid in a ragged tunic and breeches, and a sailor's waxcloth overcoat, who had evidently been loitering in an alleyway waiting for an opportunity. Trygve noted that he was somewhat dishevelled, as though he had recently been immersed in water and had not dried off thoroughly. Upon receiving her attention, he shucked down the front of his breeches to expose himself to her, and juggled his intimates in his hand. Trygve's eye flicked downward momentarily, and she sneered at him.

"Even if I were a whore for hire, you could not afford me," Trygve replied. "I only fuck my friends, or those over whom I require some... advantage."

The Equid gave a throaty whicker of amusement and stumbled forward towards her, almost losing his breeches in the process. "Aw come now, ye cannae know what yer missin!"

Trygve laughed coldly and skipped backward away from his groping reach. "Aye, well, I'm sure I can imagine it. And I'm sure someone at the Fig imagined it rather better, just recently. Did they throw you out mid-fuck? What a pity. But if you take another step I'll put you in the canal. Again."

The whicker turned to a growl, and the Equid snorted. "Words like that'll get ye in more trouble'n ye knows, lassie."

"Is that a threat? It is difficult to take you seriously when you're waving your cock at me. What are you going to do, beat me over the head and drag me into yonder alley to relieve your blue balls, perhaps slit my throat after to prevent me talking? Is that your seduction technique, when even the poxiest of alleygirls spurn your company?"

The steely edge in Trygve's voice seemed to cut through the Equid's liquor-fired lust--or perhaps it was the glint of the bolt in the wolfess' hand inside the folds of her cloak as she slid it into the stock of her crossbow. Either way, he gave one final snort and melted back into the shadows whence he had come, awkwardly yanking his breeches up to cover himself. Trygve hung the crossbow at her belt and padded onward towards the Hairy Fig. The splash she had heard previously turned out to be another Equid sailor of remarkably similar build and dress as the one she had just met. He was clambering up over the edge of the canal as Trygve passed, and she calmly kicked him back into the water without missing a stride.

As she walked, the thought suddenly occurred to her that both the Equid sailors had been wearing the armbands of the Doregallian merchants' guild--the same as that worn by Waldrein Burr, and Captain Halassie of La Leviatán.

Had either of them been Cael, her target?

Surely not. Surely Waldrein's runner wouldn't be so stupid as to get himself drunk enough to be kicked out of a bawdyhouse. Besides, both the Equid sailors were giant Scordomnan Featherhoofs, not the more finely-built Rhocarni Aethyrfiodh she was seeking. Still, Trygve risked a glance over her shoulder just to be sure; just in time to watch the second sailor being hauled out of the canal for the second time, by the first.

She did not approach the main entrance to the Hairy Fig. She assumed that Magpie would already be there, but she did not know whether or not the twin elk boys would have arrived. Instead, she walked on to the next canal bridge, crossed it, and returned on the eastern side of the canal, to the building that contained the stables, with accommodation rooms above. There was no direct entrance. But Trygve was good at finding an entrance where none existed.

She scaled the rough-hewn stones of the stable block and alighted two levels up, on the roof of the accommodation rooms. Finding a way in from there was easy; those rooms which were occupied at such an early time of night were _obviously _occupied, with the sounds of pleasure and rocking beds. Those which were vacant were silent and dark. Trygve made her way along the roof, pausing over each window in turn. Several were silent, but only one of the silent rooms had candlelight coming through the shutters.

That had to be her target. Cael should be in there.

Trygve paused on the roof above the silent room, listening closely. The couple--or was it a trio?--in the next room were approaching a crescendo. Once they were done, Trygve refocused. She heard a quiet snort from the room beneath her. An equine snort. She grinned at the thought that she might be about to barge in on Cael wanking alone in a bawdyhouse. That would be truly humiliating. She gave him a minute, but did not hear anything further. So she dropped over the edge of the roof, hanging onto the gutter in front of the window with one hand, and peered in between the slats of the shutters. A solitary figure--an Equid--was seated on the edge of the bed within, meticulously counting coins on the table beside it into neat stacks by candlelight. With the skill of many years' practice, Trygve unlatched the shutters, then the window with a slender strip of metal concealed inside the stock of her crossbow. It slid silently back into place with a click, and then the Lupa woman silently swung the window open. It was the work of seconds for her to be inside the room with Cael, her leather-soled boots making no sound on the carpeted floor. She shut the window, and advanced on the Equid. There was no sign of a chest full of Voidstones.

Trygve drew a crossbow bolt from the quiver on her hip and gripped it like a small dagger. She took a step forward, wrapped her arm around the Equid's torso and pressed the razor-sharp tip of the bolt to his neck.

"Shhh... quiet. Cael, isn't it?"

The Equid squealed and dropped his coin stack, and stammered an affirmation.

"I don't want to hurt you, you're a pretty thing. But you have something I need. Something, in the pursuit of which I have previously hurt people. The chest that Waldrein Burr sent you here with, that arrived on La Leviatán. Where is it?"

Cael took a breath and his ears flattened back. "N-not here," he gasped.

"Elaborate," Trygve said icily, pressing the bolt in a little harder, drawing a drop of blood.

"Gone!" Cael squeaked. "Please. It is true! These coins... my payment from... from..."

"From whom?"

"I c-cannot say, they'll kill me..."

"I'll kill you if you don't, colt. You can trust me on that. Niko Halassie has already died this night."

Trygve did not bother to mention that the Captain of _La Leviatán _had not died at her hand. Cael gulped and she could feel him trembling. He was a skinny stallion, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. Young enough to be impressionable, not experienced enough to know a bluff if he tripped over one. And he was clearly terrified of Trygve. She decided to change tack.

"Listen. You are not like them, are you? You are frightened of them. I can protect you from them, Cael, whoever they are. But you must tell me. The chest. It contains artefacts of terrible power that I and my companions have been following for years. We must find it. I am only threatening you because it is so important," Trygve continued.

Cael wavered. His ears flicked back and forth, although he had stopped trembling and seemed to be thinking more clearly.

"C-can I see you?" he managed after a moment's hesitation.

Slowly, cautiously, Trygve lowered the crossbow bolt from Cael's neck and released him. He turned toward her and met her golden eyes with his worried-looking ice-blue ones. Trygve noticed a bruise on Cael's muzzle, traces of dried blood on his lip, and the and the way his tunic was ripped. He'd been roughly handled, and recently. No wonder the colt was terrified. She kept the crossbow bolt in her hand, but drew back the hood of her cloak.

Cael gave a whinny of shock.

"Y-you're... you're Lupa?!"

"Last time I checked, yes," Trygve said drily. "Why, are you afraid I'll eat you, now? Believe me, colt, I am definitely a threat to you right now. I will cease to be so, once you tell me who came and took the chest from you. And when."

Cael looked her up and down, but Trygve was pleased to see that there was no vulgarity in his gaze. He sighed deeply.

"A few hours ago. It was still daytime. They hit me and said if I told anyone or tried to leave before tomorrow morning they'd kill me," Cael suddenly erupted.

"Who is _they, _Cael?" Trygve asked, eyeing the door to the room, suddenly aware that they had not been speaking quietly. She hoped whoever was out there--if anyone--was preoccupied with the many distractions the Hairy Fig offered.

"I didn't know them. A Cervid--a Sabarinian Roe, I think--and a minotaur. Big brute."

"Were they speaking Sabarinian?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak it?"

"Yes! And Scordomnan and Heladian, too. And I can read and write in Scordomnan, Heladian, Sabarinian and Rhocarni!"

"Speak quietly, Cael. You are a lot smarter than Waldrein implied to me."

"Waldrein is mean, but he isn't always unpleasant to me," the Equid sighed. "He uh... he likes me for my uh..."

Cael gestured to his body.

"Arahan's balls, he really is a pervert, isn't he? Centaurs, indeed."

Cael threw Trygve a shocked look. "How do you know about that? His tapestry?"

"I have contacts," Trygve replied testily. "Now, the Cervid and the minotaur. Did you hear any names? A destination, perhaps?"

The Equid suddenly looked proud of himself. "They didn't know I speak Sabarinian. They didn't say much. But the minotaur's name was Ebbo."

"That's all you heard?" Trygve persisted.

Cael nodded. "I'm sorry. I was frightened."

"I understand. Now gather up your coins. You've earned them, and more. I think you should go to the taproom and meet my companion Magpie, and enjoy yourself for the evening. You will be safe with him. I have...another commitment to keep."

*

Dieter & Kristian

After Magpie had left them in their fawnhood treehouse, Kristian remained with his twin. The elk brothers sat in relative silence in the gently swaying space their father had built for them nearly a decade hence, contemplating the offer that had landed at their hooves.

"Honestly, Dieter, the Fig isn't the sex dungeon it's made out to be. Sure, there are harem rooms and special-access areas, but in the inn's taproom and Great Hall it's just like a tavern that's somewhat spicier than usual."

Dieter was reclining against a cushion in the corner opposite his brother, his legs crossed at the fetlock. He chewed thoughtfully on the bread and cheese Kristian had brought with him, and accepted a pickled onion when his brother offered the jar.

"So you say, but I've seen the kind of clothing you wear when you go there--you don't expect me to dress in harem gauze and nipple clamps, do you?"

Kristian smirked. "Well, I think you'd look quite fetching in silk, gauze and strategically located gold. You're welcome to borrow..."

"No thank you."

"Prude."

"Tart."

Kristian laughed and lobbed a pickled onion at Dieter, who caught it in his mouth.

"Come on, it will be a good night," Kris persisted. "You've been toying with the idea of performing in public for years, this is the ideal opportunity. Most of the patrons will have their attention elsewhere, and I'm sure Magpie won't expect you to be on a stage. And there's no expectation of you to engage in the more sexual adventures that go on behind the scenes there."

"I know that! I'm just thinking of..."

"Of what, your reputation? You're my brother, Dieter, that ship has sailed."

"What do you even do there, anyway? You wax lyrical about the place all the time but you've never really told me what it is you get up to."

Kristian considered his reply for a few moments. "Would you believe me if I told you the answer is 'not much?'"

"That would depend on what you define as 'not much,' dear brother."

"Well, I enjoy getting into the costumes, and on occasion I find myself performing erotic dances and sort of lounging about in the harem rooms with other folks of a similar leaning to myself..."

"Other fruitcakes, you mean?"

Kristian laughed musically. "That's a great word, I might adopt that. Yes, more or less! It's generally very low intensity. Arousal and fantasy are common, but it's relatively rare for people to actually _fuck _in that place, you know? At least, not out in the open in the harem rooms. People who want to go further hire a room. It's mostly about the display, the exhibition and the anticipation. It's just a space where I feel really... free, you know? I can just explore feelings and attractions without the thought of being judged."

"Literally nobody would judge you in this town, Kris."

"I know that, but still."

"I think I see what you mean. So... personal question, since I have a _very _good knowledge of how much of an exhibitionist you can be--have you ever hired a room with someone there?"

Kristian's ears flicked backward and he shifted uncomfortably on the cushion he sat on for a moment. "Ahh... Of course, yes, once or twice."

Dieter's stare was intense, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You haven't, have you? It's alright, you can tell me anything."

"Don't tell anyone else," Kris mumbled. "I've never... you know, gone that far. I've played around with people, just hands and mouths, you know? But uh... never... all the way."

"You've never given nor received?" Dieter pressed, miming penetration with his hands.

Kris shook his head. "Come close a few times, maybe. And I've been around others who've been going all the way."

"Well now I feel a lot more comfortable about joining you at the Fig," Dieter chuckled. "I always thought you were ahh... far more experienced than that, but on that basis it seems like I've had more action than you have!"

Kristian blustered. "You have not! Fucking your mattress does not count!"

Dieter broke into laughter. "Nor does yours! I hear you at night, you know."

"But you've never brought anyone home, have you?" Kris persisted.

"Not that you're aware of," Dieter said. "You're not always there, especially in the autumn when you work the shipyard and canal barges and essentially live between the Fig and the docks. Nor is Dad, when he's travelling on Guild business."

"You don't have to wait until you've got the house to yourself, you know," Kris pointed out. "Just ask for privacy. Or not. I'd be more than happy to go to the Fig if you wanted to... you know..."

"Oh I know that. And I know you'd probably be hiding outside the window watching me instead of actually leaving me in peace, you voyeur! I'm patient. Unlike someone I know I don't need to drain my balls daily just to function normally."

"Don't pretend like that's always been the case," Kristian laughed. "Like I said... I _hear _you at night, and always have..."

Dieter grumbled and ate another pickled onion.

"You're going to be _fine _at the Fig, Dieter. Like I said, it's not _all _about sex. You'll be very welcome just as a musician, although... hmm."

"Although...?" Dieter prompted, frowning.

"Oh nothing. Maybe it's just performance anxiety."

*

The twins made their way from the treehouse back through Stillwater Cove to the house they had grown up in with their adoptive father Bruno. He was biologically their uncle, but had adopted them without a second thought shortly after their appearance. How exactly the Rhocarnian Medics Guild had known of Bruno's relation to the twin fawns or where to find him was something of a mystery, particularly since their biological father had not known of their existence until some months afterward. According to him, anyway.

The house was small and modest, but it was home; near to the coast, it was built on a low wooden platform raised over the sandy soil, like its neighbours on either side. As was the norm in the area, several homes shared a bathhouse, built of stone and fed by a constant stream of springwater piped from deep underground somewhere nearby--meaning that the water was always warm, without the need for a fire to be lit. The slight metallic tang the water carried told of its journey from deep within the bones of the world. In many parts of Asantrea, mineral water of that type was sacred.

The twins bathed together with the normalcy of having done so for their entire lives, and then brushed their hair and prepared to head to the Fig for the evening. Kristian packed the pieces of his smallpipes into a waxcloth bag to be slung over his shoulder, in addition to the chanter pipe, flute and whistle he carried in his thigh-holster. Then he slung a cape around his shoulders, fastened it with a brooch over his breast, and turned to his brother.

"Not taking your nipple clamps?" Dieter teased him.

"How do you know I'm not already wearing them?"

"Because you're not visibly aroused."

Kristian smirked. "Even I have a refractory period, you know."

"I _thought _you stayed in the bath after I left for a reason. I hope nobody was rude enough to interrupt you, and you cleaned up after yourself!"

Kris looked momentarily offended. "Do I ever not?"

Dieter pointed to the crumpled, wadded up cloth beneath Kristian's bunk.

"Would you rather I stood in the midst of the act and flung it out the window?" Kristian laughed.

"Do as you wish. I would rather you didn't use _my _cloths to deposit your seed into, though!"

"In my defence, I thought that was _my _cloth! It's an old undergarment anyway, hardly something to be considered the height of cleanliness. What do you do with your jelly anyway? I hear you occasionally but..."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Dieter laughed, cutting his brother off mid-sentence.

"Out the window?" Kris grinned.

"Are you ready to go?"

"I'm waiting for you, Dieter. Oh! Under your mattress?"

"Fine, fine, come on, let's go," Dieter rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Oh, I see - so do you... collect it in your hand and then lick it up? Or aim straight for your tongue? I recall you're quite a good shot with a crossbow, but aiming your c--"

"Kristian!"

Kris cackled and skipped backward out of range of the swipe Dieter aimed at him. Dieter collected his concertina, a purse of coins which he attached to the inside of his trouser waistband, and a small dagger. Kristian stopped him.

"Best if you don't carry a weapon to the Fig, Dieter," he said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Are not the majority of patrons armed...?"

"Surprisingly not. Weapons are surrendered at the door. Those who keep them often find themselves bathing in the canal."

"That is oddly reassuring."

The twins left shortly thereafter. The walk from their home east to the Artisans' Guild Canal was relatively short, and very familiar to the brothers. They turned north when they reached the canal and walked along its cobbled tow-path. Every hundred paces or so, a bridge crossed the canal, arched high to permit the passage of barges beneath. The tow-path was substantially lower than the streets either side of it, but the buildings that lined the canal had been built down to its level, and the tow-path was never deserted.

A short distance from the Fig, a half-naked Equid stood unsteadily on the bank of the canal, wringing out his sodden clothing into the waterway. A second lurked nearby, leaning against the entrance to an alleyway that contained one of the stairways connecting the tow path to the street beyond. He was drinking from a nearly empty bottle and muttering about wolves.

There were a number of entrances to the Fig. Directly from the tow-path, and beneath the bridge on which the place was built, were the most infamous entrances. They were never manned, and--Kristian knew--would only be opened from within by appointment. Kris steered his brother towards a narrow alley between two buildings, which turned out to be a ramp with shallow steps that led from the tow-path back up to street level--and to the main entrance of the Hairy Fig.

The guard who stood at the door of the Hairy Fig recognised Kristian as he and Dieter approached from the alleyway. From within, the lively rhythm of music could already be heard, as well as the voices and laughter of what seemed to be a large crowd of patrons. The muscular Urssa woman stepped out from her post inside the wooden portico covering the door and ushered the twins inside without hesitation. Dieter snorted softly when she slapped Kristian's buttocks as he passed. Then she focused more closely on Dieter.

"Ahh, you must be the twin brother we've all heard about? Welcome, welcome," she smirked, her voice low and smooth. Her eyes drank him in with an almost uncomfortable level of familiarity.

Kris turned and leaned into the Urssa woman, allowing her to place her enormous paw somewhere Dieter couldn't quite see--although from Kristian's reaction he could guess.

"He may be my twin, Temhilde, but he's a little more shy of certain kinds of attention than I am," Kris said. "Be gentle with him to begin with?"

The bear lady gave a booming laugh and clapped Dieter on the shoulder. "Worry not, little elk, that will not last the night here at the Hairy Fig! Twins are rare, you will find yourself the centre of plenty of attention within. Come, enter and be welcome."

"I... thank you, I think," Dieter mumbled, then hurried past Temhilde into the tavern.

The music was appreciably louder the moment they passed the threshold, and Kristian paused inside the doorway in a small reception room. He grasped Dieter's arm as he walked past his brother, and held up a pair of soft leather hoof-scuffs. Dieter gave his brother a skeptical look.

"Stops your hooves ruining the floor," he explained, "especially in the harem rooms, if you find yourself back there. Could I have a couple of farthings?"

Before Dieter could reply, Kris slipped two fingers beneath the waistband of his brother's trousers, found his coinpurse--the one that contained actual coins--and withdrew a couple of coppers to hand to a clerk.

Dieter glared at his brother. "_Not _a sex dungeon, you said?"

"Dungeon implies that you are restrained, or cannot leave of your own volition, Dieter," Kris said liltingly. "I mean... if that's your thing, there's a room for that. But the Fig as a whole isn't such."

"I am beginning to regret my decision."

"Hey, it wasn't me who invited you, it was Magpie! He seems to like you. I wonder if he's intending to take you back to the--"

"Kris!"

Kristian laughed. Once the twins both wore their hoof-scuffs, they proceeded into the largest public space of the Hairy Fig; the inn around which all of the establishment's other temptations had been built. The taproom was enormous. Vast oak beams, stained black with smoke and age, spanned the wide space without any internal columns. Dieter's eyes ran appreciably along the timbers. Their workmanship was exotic and elegant, of a style rarely seen elsewhere in Rhocarn. The result was so neat that the joinery was nigh invisible; far neater than the techniques used for most timber constructions in Doregal. Sputtering oil lamps hung from the beams around the taproom, and in the very middle was a large round table which groaned under the weight of the food it carried. Filling the space all around were long benches and tables, mostly occupied by groups of people drinking and eating.

Amongst the groups of patrons, who were as diverse as any group one might expect to find in a port city, the true denizens of the Fig moved--they were not directly employed by the Fig, but paid a retainer to the establishment to be allowed to offer their various services within its protective nexus. It was like a marketplace, Dieter thought; people selling foodstuffs, liquor, even clothing and trinkets moved about, eating and drinking with the patrons. But unlike an open-air traders' environment like the Market Square, the Fig welcomed folks who offered services of fur and flesh; the promise of pleasure, amongst the music, food and ale. It was a place where inhibitions were left in the portico along with one's weaponry, to be collected upon leaving. Dieter could see how such a place appealed to his brother. Amidst the crowd were dancers, musicians, even acrobats, many in varying states of undress, or provocatively garbed. The atmosphere of the place was incredibly enticing.

"Stillwater Cove is a small town," Dieter observed to Kristian, leaning in close to speak into his ear over the hubbub. "How often do you meet someone you know, in here?"

"Oh, all the time!" Kristian replied airily. "It's only awkward the first time. You know Sammael?"

"Your friend Sammael? The fallow buck? Don't you work together at the docks?"

"Yes! But we also run into each other here reasonably often. He and a few others put on an interactive show called _Rut _in one of the back rooms."

"Arahan's balls... and you've attended?"

"Once or twice," Kris lied. "It's deliciously hedonistic."

"As in, you all find a dank, windowless room somewhere out the back and hump the night away?" Dieter chuckled.

"Oh it's a little more sophisticated than that, and there are rules. But... yes, there's a fair degree of pleasurable friction involved. Think of it as the exhibitionist, structured sharing of sensations. You'd probably enjoy it, Dieter..."

"What?!"

"Well... hear me out! You like to... save it up, for some time, do you not? But during that time you still pleasure yourself. Just not... all the way."

Dieter felt his ears burning. Even having supposedly left his inhibitions at the door of the Fig when they entered, it was still confronting to hear his twin brother talk so openly about something so intimate without it being in jest.

"Rut is sort of the same," Kris continued. "It's all about the journey, not the destination. A lot of what happens in here is like that."

Dieter frowned in thought, but words failed him.

A very scantily clad Caprin woman appeared beside Kristian, seemingly melting out of the shadows and pressing her waist into the elk's arm. Her sizeable breasts were only nominally covered by a veil of Tyrecan gauze, which dripped with tiny glass beads. Something approximating trousers made from the same gauze clad her lower half. Dieter could not help but look. A strategic layering of the gauze barely concealed the detail of her womanhood, although the soft V of her crotch was clear, inexorably drawing Dieter's eye to the point where they would meet. She fluttered flirtatiously and gazed at Dieter with half-lidded eyes, pressing her chest outward as if inviting his scrutiny of her bejewelled nipples.

"You know, Kristian, I didn't quite believe Temhilde when she said you had a twin, but... ye gods, he's even hotter than you are!" the Caprin lilted.

Kris laughed. "He's alright, I suppose. Dieter, this is Rhell."

Rhell slunk out of Kristian's arm and draped herself instead around Dieter's shoulder. "Is he... you know... like you?" Rhell asked of Kristian.

"Not for me to say," Kris replied silkily. "Dieter?"

Dieter stammered.

"That's all the detail I needed," Rhell cackled, "if you're flustered enough by the glimpse of a tit to not be able to string a sentence, I can safely assume I appeal to your tastes at least a little. If you're interested, my three-antlered friend, I would be _very _happy to invite you upstairs at your leisure."

"Are you soliciting me?!" Dieter spluttered.

Rhell seemed slightly taken aback. "Of course! Isn't that why you're here?"

"In truth, Rhell," Kristian interjected, "we're here to meet some friends--a weird little dragon and a grumpy Lupa woman, have you seen them?"

Rhell released Dieter from her cloyingly perfumed embrace somewhat reluctantly. "Ahh, my apologies if I came on too strong, Dieter. Your brother and I are good friends, but his proclivities are such that I am of little... direct interest to him in a carnal way!"

"Not entirely true, Rhell!"

"You flatter me, darling. Anyway, the dragon? Hard to miss him, but he's hidden himself away. Down the back, he's an Aethyrsmith so you won't see him unless you're looking right at him. No sign of a grumpy Lupa with him, though. Come on, I'll take you."

Rhell led the way with a flick of her tail and a sway of her curvaceous hips, and Kristian propelled his brother ahead of him with a hand on Dieter's shoulder. Towards the back of the taproom was a spiral stairway leading both up and down.

"Beneath are the kitchens, the freight dock, and... other elements of the business." Kristian explained, when Dieter prompted him.

"Oh, the priests' entrance?"

Kris snorted. "No. The Arahanic clergy will never be seen in a taproom or an open access area. Their entrance is through one of the doors under the bridge, but it leads directly to specific areas upstairs. They bypass the public spaces entirely."

"Very subtle. But it's so widely known they come here, why all the secrecy?"

"Plausible deniability, I suppose, to their parishioners who disapprove. When most of your potential companions have secrets of their own, they overlook a lot of things."

"What's upstairs, then?" Dieter asked, glancing back towards the spiral stairs as they passed.

"Oh, now you're starting to be interested? Anything you could possibly desire," Kristian replied cryptically. "There's a communal bathhouse at ground level across the canal, which is... let's just say the water gets changed regularly. The harem rooms are in the tower above it. Up that staircase though, that's a sort of semi-private lounge space. Booths and curtains and so on. It gets spicy there, but there's a general rule that at least _some _clothing remains on, there. On the next level up, things get more private. There's a nude lounge where anything goes, and private rooms from there. Generally, in the Fig, the higher up you go, the spicier it gets."

"That would explain why it's so tall, I guess," Dieter laughed.

"Quite! Did you know that if all the buildings in Stillwater Cove were built on level ground, the only one taller than the Fig would be the cathedral?"

"Now there's some context!"

Even as they spoke, Dieter noticed several patrons making their way up the spiral stairs or through a curtained stone arch at the back of the taproom, which presumably led to the bathhouse; several were accompanied by minimally clad entertainers. Now he was looking for it, the signs of carnality were everywhere. With an effort, Dieter dragged his eye away from the posterior of a young Equid girl who was displaying no bodily humility of any kind as she leaned on the bar amidst a small group of patrons, and, after a similarly appreciative glance at Rhell, located Magpie. He was seated at one of the tables at the far end of the taproom, beside the bar. The twins made their way through the mass of people, led by Rhell. She sashayed and sidled and slid her way through the crowd almost like a fluid. Dieter was mesmerised.

Abruptly, a cheer erupted from across the taproom, and from amongst a group, an exotically-dressed patron clambered upon one of the tables with a lute, which he began to enthusiastically play. Hooves drummed on floorboards and a cacophony of voices rose to accompany him, and when his song was through, a small shower of coins flew towards him. Minutes later, someone else stood to play, and so it continued.

"Dieter, Kristian, I am glad you have come!" came Magpie's voice from between the twins.

Dieter jumped. He hadn't noticed the tiny dragon approach, although that seemed to be his skill. Rhell stood behind him with her arms folded, a little smirk on her muzzle. She was staring directly at Dieter. Magpie drew back the deep hood of his cloak and adjusted his spectacles to sit higher up his muzzle.

"I..." Dieter began.

"I see you have brought your instruments! Excellent. As you can see... music is always welcome in taverns, and none more so than here. I can sense your discomfort, Dieter. Don't be nervous. I mean you no harm."

"Where is Trygve?" Dieter asked of Magpie.

"Mm? Oh! She will be here in her own time, worry not," Magpie replied with a wave of his three-clawed hand. "First, eat, drink, be comfortable! Come, what will you have?"

As the dragon spoke, he gently propelled the twins towards the bar and drew the attention of a burly bar-hand who looked more like a bouncer.

"Aye? What'll it be?" he grunted.

"Three tankards," Magpie replied, "and whatever my young friends would like to eat. I am purchasing, Dieter, put your purse away! Rhell, are you joining us?"

Rhell laughed and draped herself around Dieter's shoulder again, then groped his backside roughly. "I shan't, but my thanks. If I get into the ale I might end up jumping Dieter and I have no wish to scare him away."

Kristian rolled his eyes and subtly pushed her against his brother. "Maybe you should, Rhell; he's so uptight! Maybe he just needs to f--"

_"Kristian!" _Dieter hissed.

Meanwhile, the burly bar-hand bellowed something in Sabarinian over his shoulder, and a younger Cervid around Dieter and Kristian's age approached with an armful of tankards. He paused momentarily, making eye contact with Kristian before hurriedly averting his gaze. Kristian raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not respond. Dieter knew instantly that they were more familiar than they were letting on.

"Friend of yours, Kris?"

"Oh aye, perhaps!"

The burly bar-hand filled each tankard in turn from an ale barrel behind the bar and set them before the twins and Magpie, who handed over a few coins in return.

"Are you eating?" Magpie asked. "Come come, do not be shy. Anything you would like."

Dieter purchased a mushroom pie from the basket, while Kristian selected a loaf of crusty bread baked with figs and olives inside it, as well as a chunk of hard cheese. Magpie purchased a bag of sugared nuts. With food and drink in hand, the three of them returned to the bench, depositing their various musical instruments on the table between them. Kristian slid in alongside Magpie, specifically so that Dieter and Rhell were forced to sit together.

"I suppose," Magpie said as they ate and drank, "you are wondering why I asked you to come here, and suspect there is more to my offer than potentially playing a few reels and generally having a good time?"

Kristian glanced at his brother, then across at the enigmatic little Aethyrsmith dragon. The strangeness of this situation struck him in that moment, and he felt a tiny chill scamper up his spine. Why _did _Magpie want them here? They were unknown to the dragon and his Lupa companion. Weren't they?

Magpie fixed him with a momentary stare that made Kristian's stomach flutter, as though he could hear his thoughts.

"Trygve and I are travelling musicians, you already know this," Magpie continued. "We call Yrigante our home, officially, although Trygve originally hails from Varskifell..."

_"Varskifell?" _Kristian interjected. "That's in Suriyiskali! Is it a real place? I have always heard it is merely a myth told in the evenings by parents to small children. A place of blood and darkness, you know?"

"Ask Trygve herself, when she arrives, if you wish," Magpie said, a shadow of a smile tweaking the corners of his lips. "It is a challenging place to get to, only accessible from the outside world in the warmer months and when the winds are favourable, though it is no further north than Draesloch on the island of Emerald, and that is a cool but temperate city. The legends of cannibals and vampyres probably stem from its isolation, or perhaps some ancient folklore about a harsh winter and an isolated rumour of... such offensive practices. But rest assured, I have travelled with Trygve for many years already and have never once seen her eat anyone, nor drink of them, except in consensual and pleasurable ways..."

Magpie's smile spread into a grin, and Dieter averted his eyes. He had not been prepared for the undertone of lust coming through in seemingly every conversation this evening. The elk's mind wandered. He could feel the warmth of Rhell's thigh against his, and wondered what she would feel like through her gauzy clothing, grinding up against him. Her hand clamping around his...

"Dieter?" Kristian nudged Dieter's leg with his leather-scuff-clad hoof.

"Wh..."

"We lost you there. Are you alright?" Kristian laughed.

"Aye, fine, fine... what were you saying, Magpie? My apologies."

Magpie grinned knowingly at the young elk and took a deep drink from his tankard. "Ahh, it is good ale they have here. Locally brewed with barley grown on fields blessed by the twin gods of fertility and desire, so I am told. Thus why it makes you... Yes, that."

Dieter's ears were burning. But Magpie had provided a convenient excuse for his ardour that went beyond being in the Hairy Fig surrounded by gauze and hedonism, and for that he was silently grateful. He was only just in the taproom, after all.

"Anyway, Dieter; Trygve and I usually have a couple of extra companions. Musicians all, you understand; a troupe of three, four or five is far more believable than a pair, not to mention safer and more versatile. We have been alone these past months, and have been seeking a new companion...or two... to travel with us for a while. Consider this a trial, if you like, although I already know you have the musical skill, and the concertina you play has a sound that's very complementary to my lute and Trygve's rebec and taglharp."

"So, you just charge around all over Rhocarn playing ballads in taverns and markets?" Kristian asked, leaning forward across the table in surprise.

"Well, there is perhaps a little more backstory to it than that, Kristian, but on the surface, yes!" Magpie chuckled. "The music generally pays for our food and lodgings, if nothing else. It is a good way to see the world, and there is ever so much more to this world than tends to meet the eye."

"Dieter, _please _tell me you're going to accept," Kris said, turning on his brother and grabbing his antler.

"How far would we travel?" Dieter asked.

"Well, let us start locally, and see how you feel, hm?"

"It sounds good, but... we have only just met you! I don't know, what about the workshop?"

"You're apprenticed to our _father, _you git! Do you really think for a second that if you tell him a magical dragon appeared and offered to take us on an adventure, he wouldn't give us his blessing?"

"I suppose you're--wait, _us?!" _

"Wherever you go, I go," Kris stated flatly, crossing his arms.

Magpie clapped his hands and laughed with glee. "I shall raise a tankard to that! Come, let us play a tune to celebrate..."

*

Dagmar

Dagmar stared at her reflection in the small, tarnished hand-mirror she kept amongst her belongings in the cabin of her ship, Sybelle. Inexplicably, the dragon felt nervous about meeting Trygve at the Hairy Fig. Dagmar had a fearsome reputation, particularly for one who was barely into her twenties. But then, her path had been determined from the start by men far more powerful than she was. And at twenty, she'd already had more upheaval than would typically afflict ten people in their entire lifetimes. And within herself, Dagmar felt less like a fearsome denizen of the seas than an ordinary farmer's daughter swept up in events far bigger than she could ever hope to comprehend.

She'd been born desperately poor, forced to beg and steal to feed herself and her family as soon as she was able to understand what she was doing. But even picking pockets in the marketplace had not been enough. She had seen her parents sold into slavery for being unable to pay their dues, and been captured while attempting to steal from the Merchants' Guild treasury. Bound for slavery herself, she'd escaped with the help of a kind sailor, merchant and vigilante named Aelfrad, who had purchased her and set her free. But with nowhere to go, she had once again fallen upon his mercy. He had agreed to take her in and raise her, and under his tutelage she had begun to see hope for her future. They had sailed the Mare Internum for a time, and Dagmar had learned all she knew of the ocean and the winds, of seamanship and navigation. And all she knew of the networks of slavers, pirates and other ne'er-do-wells who prowled the multitude of ports and harbours and islands scattered throughout the seas. Aelfrad taught her to read and write aboard his ship, Shoalcutter, and together they had undermined one of the most well-established smuggling rings in the region. It was dangerous work, and stepped on some very powerful hooves.

Those with power, Dagmar had learned, can be patient.

Several years later, Shoalcutter had been sailing from the harbour at Vigo. Dagmar had been at the helm, a scrap of a girl full of confidence. She'd piloted Shoalcutter _through the narrow strait at the Vigo harbor's mouth a dozen times before. But those dozen times, there had not been two lateen-rigged war galleys lying in wait, hiding behind the headlands. _Shoalcutter _was fast, but the winds that day were light and even under full sail, the slave-crewed galleys could outpace her in the shallow coastal waters. The sickening crunch of the galleys' bronze rams tearing into _Shoalcutter's hull, and the thunk of grappling hooks sinking into her deck were seared into the dragon's mind.

Aelfrad and his crew had trained Dagmar in some types of combat. Combat that allowed the tiny dragon to use her size and dexterity to her advantage. To hide, to strike from the shadows like ochre-skinned lightning and disappear like smoke in the night.

On that day, though, the only shadow was that cast upon her soul by what followed.

The fight had been short but brutal. _Shoalcutter _had been set aflame and sunk, and Aelfrad with her. Dagmar found herself once more at the mercy of slavers, and all had seemed lost. But within her, the flame of hope that had been nurtured by Aelfrad was stoked into a roaring furnace of vengeful anger. She would no longer show mercy or restraint, as she had done on occasion before.

So she waited. She offered no resistance to the slavers, who placed her in manacles and transported her to Marqash, the most notorious slave market in the known world. Then word had come from the Duke of Rhocarn, whose sheriff it had been who arrested her in the Merchants' Guild. She was to be summarily transported back to Fràwic to face her judgement.

Yet again, benefaction had come in the night. Mysterious figures cloaked in flowing robes and a darkness so complete that her eyes could not rest upon them had appeared out of nowhere, and Dagmar had been freed once again.

That was when Dagmar's world changed, and she finally understood who she was. Those figures had been dragons. Her people. Other than her immediate family she had never seen another in her life, and did not speak a word of their musical, lilting language. But they had taken her in and brought her to their traditional homeland of Tahamasset, on the fringe of the Great Desert. There, Dagmar had learned of her heritage, and began to understand why trouble seemed to follow her like a shadow.

That had all been before the dragon turned seventeen years of age.

Her story was never far from Dagmar's mind, and she had scars to prove it, physical and otherwise. Her life had been hard, and her body reflected it. She was lean and sinewy, with hands roughened by the physicality of her endeavours. She propped the mirror up by tucking its handle down the side of the narrow mattress atop her bunk and looked at her naked body for a long moment. Was she attractive? Dagmar did not know. She knew so few of her own people that she could not compare herself to anyone. Her short muzzle; her mostly smooth, furless skin; her long, muscular tail and three-clawed feet set her apart from nearly everyone else she had ever crossed paths with. She felt, as she always had, like she did not quite fit.

Dagmar knew she did not find men particularly appealing. More than a few had tried to have their way, but she found their advances to be ugly and their appendages even more so. In her bunk at night, she had often fantasised about the soft, sensual curve of another woman in her arms, and in time had gathered similarly minded people to crew her new ship, Sybelle. Finally, some things about her began to make sense.

Dagmar washed her face with a cloth soaked in a bowl of water, into which she had sprinkled soap flakes scented with citrus oil. She lifted an arm and sniffed beneath it. With a grimace she washed there too, and then the remainder of her body, focusing more than usual on the hairy parts--just in case. She rinsed out the cloth and hung it to dry on a hook in the wall, and dressed for an evening ashore in Stillwater Cove. Fine leggings the colour of parchment and made from a silk-woven linen blend made their way up the dragoness' ochre-striped thighs and thick, muscular tail. She'd been given those leggings in Tahamasset, and they were one of her most treasured possessions. They fit her like a second skin, stretched and moved with her, and seemed nigh indestructible. Leggings and trews from anywhere else in the world failed to accommodate the dragoness' tail, which was as thick as a third leg and meant that nearly everything she wore needed to be tailored to fit. Her Tahamassetian leggings had three sleeves, because they were made by dragons, for dragons.

She slipped a white linen chemise on over her head, but left her breasts unbound within it. The chemise was edged with gold and burgundy embroidery and had a deep, plunging neckline. She tied a wide sash of burgundy silk around her waist, within which her coinpurse and a dagger were concealed, and then slipped her dark leather jerkin on over the top. Then she changed her mind, and exchanged the jerkin for a soft leather waistcoat the colour of honey.

Finally, Dagmar pulled her boots on--another rarity among a largely ungulate part of the world--and peered at herself in her mirror once again. That would have to do, she decided. Her thick auburn hair was tied into a thick braid that hung forward over her shoulder. It accentuated her neck, she decided, particularly with how much cleavage she was also displaying. She grinned at her reflection, blew out her candles, and left the cabin.

_Sybelle _was a khebec, a style of vessel commonly found in use by merchants for whom speed was everything. Her lateen-rigged sails gave her the appearance of a vengeful butterfly from the front, and she also carried eight banks of oars below deck. Khebecs were not typically ships of war; their narrow hulls and low gunwales rendered them vulnerable to being capsized. But _Sybelle _had a secret below the waterline, that gave her stability in the roughest of seas. And appearing to be little more than a fast merchant vessel suited Dagmar's needs perfectly.

Only a skeleton crew remained aboard; the brooding and heavyset warriors Cuthburg and Alter Dene were playing dice on an upturned barrel by lamplight, while Phaerida, an impossibly pretty Caprin girl from Athon, swung languidly overhead in the rigging, watching the last lingering vestiges of the sunset out over the bay. Zalyr, Dagmar's first mate, was sitting astride a crate sharpening her sword. Dagmar approached her. The feline set aside her sword and stood, and stretched luxuriantly in the way only a cat truly can. Her tufted ears and speckled fur framed eyes of glittering emerald, which lingered on Dagmar's chest while a smirk tweaked the corners of her lips.

"You are visiting somewhere nice, I see?" she said in her heavy Nabu-Shari accent.

"Aye, meeting a wolf in a brothel to talk about how our interests align," Dagmar replied with characteristic bluntness, returning the feline's grin.

Zalyr hissed with laughter. "Invite this wolf back, we shall show her a truly good time below decks..."

"Will Phaerida not be jealous?"

"She will survive. Or she can join in."

"Call it instinct, but I doubt this particular wolf would immediately leap at the chance for group sex with a bunch of pirates."

"I see," Zalyr said, lifting one foot onto her crate and leaning her elbows onto her knee. "You wish her for yourself! This I understand. Have no fears, the ship shall be safe with us. Alter Dene shall squash any who are a threat, will you not, Alter?"

Alter Dene, a gargantuan Equid with a jagged scar across his muzzle and a vicious looking axe strapped seemingly permanently across his back, hardly looked up from his dice game with Cuthburg, who was a ram of similar proportions.

"How much time until your return?" Zalyr asked Dagmar.

"Oh that depends..."

"On how good the wolf is?"

Dagmar snorted, but did not rebut, and Zalyr laughed once again.

"Good. It has been too long, I think, since you found somebody new. You smell nice, and you look beautiful."

Dagmar felt her cheeks flush, and Zalyr stepped in smoothly to kiss her, tenderly and deeply, for a long moment. Alter Dene and Cuthburg paused their game and watched, and Phaerida bleated in protest. Zalyr made a rude gesture behind Dagmar's back at the Caprin.

"Thank you, Zalyr," Dagmar managed, a little breathlessly.

The cat gave her captain a cheeky grin. "Go. Allow yourself to experience pleasure and joy, and be sure to tell us about it when you return."

Dagmar left Zalyr in charge of _Sybelle _and went ashore. Alter Dene pulled up the gangplank after she'd left, and Dagmar set off through the streets of Stillwater Cove towards the Hairy Fig.

*

Dagmar did not know where within the Hairy Fig she might find Trygve, nor whether the Lupa woman would even be there yet. The Fig was a place with which Dagmar was only passingly familiar, but its reputation was well-known to most. She entered the taproom after a brief conversation with the Urssa woman on the door, who also checked her briefly for weapons, but missed the tiny blade concealed in the dragoness' sash.

The place was heaving with people. It was a lively night. In the back corner, two young Cervidae, elk both, and evidently very close brothers, played a raucous ballad about a shrine in the forest dedicated to the gods of love, chaos and pleasure. A tiny, shadowy figure lurked behind them, playing a lute, and Dagmar found that her eye could not quite rest upon him. A tiny chill pricked the skin on the back of her neck. That was a familiar magic, she'd seen that before. The dragons who'd rescued her from the slavers near Goza. Her nostrils flared, but her attention was suddenly drawn by a commotion nearby involving a spilled tankard and an amorous couple, and Dagmar slunk away from them towards the bar.

She purchased a jar of wine and took it and a cup to a far corner of the taproom, where she found a vacant seat and poured herself a glass. Trygve was nowhere to be seen. Was she perhaps expecting Dagmar to meet her in one of the back rooms? In the bathhouse? Or upstairs in the lounges? Dagmar berated herself for her anxiety. She was a warrior, a vigilante of the seas with a fearsome reputation, and here she was fluttering with indecision about meeting a woman she'd been flirting with?

She drained her goblet and refilled it.

If she had not seen Trygve in an hour, she would begin to ask around for her.

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