Chapter 46

(Siartin)

Sunlight shines on the city of Siartin when Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon arrive at noon. The metropolis is on an island in the middle of raging rapids of River Kirileen greets the three travelers plus others from across Adoran. An intricate design depicting the Divine Eighteen at the stone gates, gods worshiped by the Church of Aivalit- Elven words 'Ief ereštaf ieńu oparć' and the words in the common tongue, 'You shall do your duty' directly beneath it. From the bridge, visitors can see a cathedral on a rocky elevation, and when they reach the gate, they can barely discern the bank in the opposite direction should they turn around. The froths from the rapids form a mini pile at the support structure, and the stentorian roar provides an obstacle for the exchange of dialogue. Due to a finite amount of space on the island, the city is more vertical than horizontal. The streets are as narrow as can possibly be without significant congestion to accommodate the population. Clothes with long sleeves are ordinary amongst the people who live in the city or travel to it often enough to know how nippy the temperature is. The locals deduce who is a new visitor by the person frequently rubbing his or her eyes due to the onion vapors, like Grifo, Tylon, and Heilim.

Feeling famished from their travels, Grifo and Tylon constantly ask Heilim to stop at a tavern for food, and he eventually caves. The nearest pub they settle on is The Hungry Fowl, and like most buildings, it is narrow and tall, with the party riding an elevator up to the fifth floor for their table. Each item on the menu, even some alcoholic beverages, has onion from raw to caramelized and from weak, sweet Metlani Onions to robust, pungent Somerin Onions. The Somerin region has the soil for bearing productive vegetables, resulting in being called the onion-producing capital of Adoran and one of the top three on the continent of Myrith. For their meal, they each have a cup of onion soup for an appetizer and beef liver with onions, whole roasted onion stuffed with breadcrumbs, mushrooms, and snails, and tiny onion spheres poached in butter with noodles and the same poaching fat as a sauce as the entrees. 

Heilim samples the most popular alcoholic onion beverage on the menu and immediately rejects it when the tenebrous liquid with particles in it touches his taste buds. They send signals to the brain that it tastes revolting. “Fucking disgusting.”

The server doesn’t seem too offended at the reaction from the Farlander, and he professionally cleans up the mess. “It’s an acquired taste. Perhaps some other beverage like wine or ale would suit your tastes.”

“Ale, please, and make it strong enough to clear the taste already in my mouth.”

“Right away, sir,” the server says and leaves after he cleans the filth from the table and the nearby vicinity. He almost collides with another customer, jumping slightly at the sudden disturbance, and the customer meanders over to where the group is.

The customer is an old man with wrinkled skin, moles on the face, grey eyes, and grey hair, and he wears a solid, dark purple jacket and pants. Around his neck is a necklace of a dragon, and on his coat, some medals decorate it. The expression he projects onto Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon is bitterness, mostly towards Heilim. “You have no taste whatsoever, Farlander.” The group spots gaps between his teeth as the man articulates, and his breath reeks of onion.

Heilim frantically waves across his nose to combat the assault on his nostrils. “And now I have no smell either.”

The elderly man does not cease his jeremiad on Heilim and naturally towards Tylon. It progresses to the point where employees and two customers haul him off the premises, and he alters his tirade towards them. His voice becomes fainter when the elevator door shuts, though it doesn’t entirely block his vocals, and it travels downward. In place of the irascible old man, Eirlann, the server, returns with the ale and the party’s meals by the escorts' voices. 

Witnessing the entire event unfold before him, Grifo is astonished by how Heilim maintains a cool head. “I was totally prepared for bloodshed a minute ago.”

Grunting as he chews his liver, Heilim responds after swallowing, “Had those people not shown up, in two seconds, there would’ve been.” Actually, I wouldn’t, given I knew where he came from.

Grifo stabs a tiny ball of onion with his fork, blows steam off it, and consumes it. “Still a major improvement from the Heilim several years. He would’ve erupted several seconds into the elderly gentleman’s harangue.”

“What was that man’s, I’m assuming Eirlann, problem with us being Cerths?” Tylon inquires after he sips his beverage and places the mug on the table.

“People tend to view us as lesser than them ever since King Feurant III took over Boudaica back in the Year 1100 of the Expansion Age,” Heilim answers.

“Cerths have no respect for outsiders either.” Tylon indicates himself. “Like me, for example.” 

Ignoring Tylon, Heilim continues, “Him, on the other hand, must’ve fought in the Fifth Ador-Phehan war judging from the medals he wears. From the rant, there’s a strong possibility he was in the Battle of Dhaknio Valley, also known as Terson’s Last Stand or Cinge’s Betrayal. If you ask him, he’ll say the last option most likely.” He notices he has Grifo’s and Tylon’s attention, so he resumes from a logical point, pausing every so often to eat his meal, “The Battle of Dhaknio Valley took place in the latter half of the Fifth Ador-Phehan War in the year 625 of this age from Jukush 11th-Jukush 23rd. It was one of the bloodiest battles of the war, and it became that at the sixteenth when a Certh commander, Cirge, led a division against Addryn Terson Sr. and killed him. His son naturally assumed the commander position and held out for a week against the Drow and their newfound Certh allies with only a remaining force of twelve hundred. They fought mostly in hand-to-hand combat with a few Certhin and Drow riflemen sniping from the hills.”

“How do you know Eirlann fought in the war and in that battle in particular?” Tylon asks with enthusiasm, eager to learn more since Heilim's a solitary individual. “Why did Cirge and a part of the Cerths decide to join the other side?”

“Our tribe members to this day desire independence from Adoran and regain our homeland. He and his troops accepted the offer by the Phehan forces that they would have their land back should they switch sides. As for me knowing Eirlann was in that action… he and I were there.”

During Heilim’s story, Grifo jots down as much as he can and stares at him when he hears a sudden pause and a clearing of the throat. “I hope you don’t mind, Heilim, but I’m fascinated by your story, and I’m recording this as potential material for a future book.”

“Go ahead,” Heilim replies with a signal. The Halfling is pleasantly surprised he doesn't berate him or worse. He resumes from where he left off. “I was there when the betrayal took place, and I deserted Cinge to warn Addryn Sr. I witnessed a bullet hit him in the head and scattered his brain everywhere, and even some landed on me right in front of his son." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Junior went berserk, and it took considerable effort to refocus his mind so he can lead." His voice carries a more depressive tone as the story triggers memories of that battle and other horrific events. "I observed many soldiers fall dead and the expression of contempt from my Certh brethren that I slew. I maintained the defenses on the southern perimeter after the enemy breached it. In the end, when we survived, Junior executed Cirge and gave me permission to terminate Cirge’s right-hand men. For our actions, we received medals no matter if we were dead or alive and some more so than others.”

“Since you and Eirlann were there, shouldn’t he have recognized you and not gotten infuriated?” Tylon asks.

“He and I were not close due to the chaotic battlefield, and the battle must’ve had a significant impact on him.”

“What were the consequences of Cirge’s treachery, and was that how you became Deserter and Kinslayer?”

“Most notable was the major setback towards regaining our independence and increased hostilities between the Adoranians and us. For those titles, some considered the battle a reason since I betrayed them because I felt it wasn’t the correct way of achieving our autonomy, but it laid the groundwork for something that I don’t want to reveal.”

Feeling satisfied with their meal, Grifo is unable to finish his plate, the group is back on the streets after paying for the food. Glancing up and down from his note to the street signs, Heilim navigates Siartin's congested arterials to his destination with Grifo and Tylon behind him. At one point, they find themselves in the slums. Disheveled people frequently gather around them with their hands out, asking for money. Some even offer items they believe hold some monetary value and try bargaining with him when it’s actually junk. A scrawny man in a loincloth walks past the party, and he acts like he belongs to an insane asylum with an unsettling smile and giggle. Several women are breastfeeding their infants in public.

In a public square that is supposed to give people breathing room, Heilim and the other party members come across a legion of citizens relishing the energy from a vehement orator. “Citizens of Siartin! For years you have suffered neglect under the eyes of the Noltain family and the ruling elite while they feast from your misfortunes. We all have suffered across the kingdom. We’re forced to believe that the upper class of society would make our lives easier and better by providing them fruits from our blood, sweat, and tears, and yet it’s the exact opposite. How does that make you feel?!”

The crowd erupts in anger, and it calms down; the oration continues. “Instead, they take more and more from us to the point of harm without fulfilling their end of the agreement. They leech off of us! They’re parasites! Take this city, for example. You all know that this is where the money is deep below the streets due to the location. “It’s for a rainy day,” they said. I guess they don’t count poverty and starvation because of the Darkened Seven as a rainy day. What do you say?!” The crowd answers with their enthusiastic paroxysm.

“Your brothers and sisters in Tumal and Wysan region fare no better. What’s worse is the media spread lies and propaganda by the elite about the heroic people, proclaiming they are terrorists to disrupt the movement. Even more still, they push the news of a false flag Phehan attack on Belburn, that we’re on the verge of war, and the revolutionaries are Phehan assets. They would rather sacrifice us to combat instead of putting pressure on the upper class to focus on our issues. There is good news, however. The media’s lies have zero effect on the people that live in those regions except to add more fuel to the fire. Brothers and sisters of Siartin and the Somerin region, be the next step towards real change and support the Brotherhood. Thank you, and bless the Eighteen.”

After the speech, the crowd erupts in cheers and applause while Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon meander through the horde, exiting the slums. Believing that they’re in the wrong location, Heilim does several glances between his note and the steps leading to the cathedral. This has to be the place, though; why would this person list this place as the meeting location? Spaced evenly on the stairs are statues of the Divine Eighteen with items associated with their domain as tributes left behind by people in the past. 

The cathedral is one massive building in the center connecting the eighteen smaller towers with a dome top. On the top of the entranceway, they encounter identical words in Elvish and the common tongue from the main gate. Once Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon are inside, they notice the dome in the center of the gargantuan building is purely glass from the sunlight illuminating every inch inside. Accompanying the glass dome, there are windows in stone arches, with the largest in the center to allow more light to shine on an iron statue of an eagle. Beyond it, there is a stained glass window depicting a picture of a woman resembling the goddess, Kyren, and a choir in the middle of their hymns in Celestial beneath it. High and low vocals from males and females of various races combine in absolute harmony to mesmerize the party. 

A woman with olive skin around the same age as Heilim, though it doesn’t do much to dampen her aesthetics, leads the choir before handing it off to another female pink-skinned Shaidun after she spots the party. “You must be Heilim,” she speaks to greet them. “And that must mean you are Tylon.”

I recognize her from somewhere, but where, Heilim thinks. He becomes suspicious and on alert at the mention of his and Tylon’s name without him properly introducing themselves. “How did you know we were coming, and how do we look?”

“I received a vision from the gods that told me you would be coming on this day,” she answered. She notes the elevated tension from Heilim and tries to dispel it. “This is a holy building. It would be sacrilegious to harbor nefarious thoughts and plans while on religious ground, and the gods will know, so there’s no need to be on alert. I’m Orlewa, the Eptom of this cathedral, by the way.”

“I surmise you’re the one behind the contract. If so, then why me and what’s so important about Tylon?”

“You have quite the record and accolades to back it up with Blade Master, your crowning achievement. Despite the wild nature of your past and the carnage that tends to follow you, I still believe you have the greatest chance for success. As for why I requested you to retrieve Tylon, that is sensitive information, and it requires privacy. Follow me to a different chamber that’s more secluded, and along the way, I’ll teach you some history. The Halfling can’t come with us.”

“No need to worry about me, Eptom. I carry secrets to my grave,” Grifo answers. He alters his voice to a trickster tone. “I may do nefarious deeds to some of the people in here while I wait if you know what I mean.”

The Eptom raises her hand at Grifo. “Art of Enchantment: Deaf Ears!”

“Huh?” Grifo has a look of confusion on his face before and after the casting of the spell. Unrelenting ringing in his ears, he increases his voice in increments to counteract it to no avail before he realizes his condition and panics, disrupting the choir. “Hello? What happened?! Why do I have constant ringing in my ears, and why can’t I hear anything?! ...Oh my god!!! I can’t hear anything!!! Help!!!” The Halfling starts running around.

Annoyed by the different response than she thought, Orlewa rubs between her eyes while she asks Heilim, “Can you please calm him down. When you do, point him to where we plan on migrating to and signal him to follow.”

“Why did you cast a spell on him instead of banishing him temporarily?” asked Heilim with an amused countenance.

“Like an illness, he’ll just keep coming back. I consider this a compromise…. You’re letting him continue, aren’t you?”

“I’m savoring it.”

“Savor it no more.”

“If you insist.” After grabbing hold of the screaming Halfling and dealing two bitch slaps across the face, Heilim conveys to Grifo to follow him, Orlewa, and Tylon through any gestures he believes might work. It took him several minutes, however. Their path leads them up the circular stairwell onto the second-floor balcony, and from there, Orlewa initiates her history tour by pointing to pictures of the gods.

“I would like to start with Akoth, the God of Time. He is depicted as a platinum dragon, and the draconic races regard him as the Father of Metallic Dragons, Ziirstasvokk, in their religion, Wyvirqrin. Perhaps the most important item/location of his creation is the Archive. It records every single event throughout Illyria from the past to the present, including our conversation. The caretakers determine where one age ends, and another begins. They are sworn absolute secrecy on revealing the future except for vague answers for the minuscule amount of select outsiders they allow to perceive. Supposedly the caretakers erase parts of the outsiders' minds to maintain the secrecy of the location.”

“Next up is Foros, the God of Fire and Smithing. He dwells in volcanoes, and he wears a helmet because of his hideous face from an accident. Adjacent to him is Vylew, the Goddess of the Sky. She’s responsible for the weather on land. Right next to her is the twins Gerath and Gwyneth, the Gods of War. Gerath is more oriented towards actual fighting, whereas his sister is the wisdom and strategy portion. Over here is Alar, the God of Farming and Fertility. Rumor has it that some followers believe that the fertility half extends towards their libido and having offspring.”

“If you are a member of a thieve’s guild or you prefer stealth in general, Hereth and Sharane are the deities for you, with them being the Goddesses of Night and Shadow, respectively. Remus is the God of Dreams. Some speculate that he can control people in their sleep whenever he's bored. Dylenia is the Goddess of Beauty and Marriage. A romantic couple that obtains a Sister of Dylenia to host their wedding will have the greatest benefits and last the longest compared to other methods. Next to her is Lymis, the Goddess of Lycanthropy. She has a twin sister that’s also a Goddess of Lycanthropy, but we ignore her due to the Bloodbath of Accaster Hill. Alongside Lymis is Solren, the God of Day.”

“Newyn is the god for those that quest for knowledge. Kurane is the Goddess of Water and Oceans. Sailors from all across Illyria revere her. Aneryu is the Goddess of Art, and it can be paintings, sculptures, music, literature. Luhai is the Goddess of Life. Mortix is an interesting case. He is the God of Death and the Afterlife and is the only god in both the Divine Eighteen and the Vile Ten. We understand that death is natural and respect it. On the other hand, he was responsible for the fate of the Thyriaks. Last but certainly not least is Kyren, the Goddess of Justice and Righteousness and the head deity of the Divine Eighteen.”

After explaining Kyren, Orlewa doubles back and opens a side door to the chamber. Once Grifo enters, she tightly secures the entrance and indicates the dusty chairs for the others to sit on. 

“You could’ve shortened the entire trip considerably by stopping here,” Heilim says with some attitude.

Orlewa shrugs off his irate attitude. “You two needed some culture.”

“So why do you want me?” Tylon asks to stop the bickering between Heilim and the Eptom.

“Because you’re the rightful heir to the throne of Adoran.”

“I am? That isn’t possible.”

“It is. You’re Dyral Noltain.” Orlewa initiates her explanation after seeing Tylon’s confused expression. “I’m positive you’re completely aware that the Cerths have a vendetta against the Adoranians due to them losing their lands by Feurant III. King Theandren sought peace with them, and the way he thought he could pursue was to have an heir of both ancestries assume the throne. When the heir would become of age, he would’ve stepped down and allowed him to assume the throne. He knew there would be opposition and was prepared to squash it by any means necessary. He asked a female Certh whom he knew extremely well and trusted to bear his child, and I oversaw your birth. However, somebody found out and kidnapped you, and the king, the Certh, I, and two others spent day and night in our search to locate you after he discovered the fake you. Unfortunately, King Theandren was assassinated six years ago by a member of the Sturn family. Still, we never stopped our mission, and once I received news about you,” Orlewa focuses her attention on Heilim, “I sent the contract to you.” She reverts back to Tylon. “After staring at you, your eyes are the same as when I held you in my arms after your birth.”

“How did the queen process the entire plan, and what about the other heirs?” Tylon inquires.

“Trolls killed her while she was on a visit with her family out in her home city of Midpeak. The only other rightful heir was Ordren, and he lost that right when you were born since all he cared about was how many women he fucked -gods forgive me of my sin- and he was irresponsible with money.”

“Why all the secrecy about me, though?”

“King Theandren knew that if word got out about the prince was an imposter, there would be severe repercussions. Civil war, foreign invaders, most notably Pheha, or both were real possibilities. Even the noble families would catch wind of it and attempt to add Adoran to their sphere of influence since it would be the first time since the dawn of the kingdom that it’s weak enough for one of them to obtain it. They made moves already, so they must’ve found out. The fewer people that know, the better.”

“I hate to break it to you, but the Cerths aren’t interested. I spent all my life with them, and they treated me like the lowest member of society.”

“They weren’t aware of the plan, and it may be a blessing you spent time with them because you gained knowledge and experience of their culture. They will enable you to make a better decision than you would without them.”

“So, I’ll spend time with you from now on?”

“No. King Theandren wanted you to explore the kingdom and connect with the people. That’s what you’ll do, and Heilim will be your bodyguard and combat tutor.”

“The money,” Heilim demands.

“Of course, you’ll receive your payment. Gods forbid that anybody would take part in a mission to save the kingdom for free." Orlewa hands Heilim a sack of money. He is surprised and satisfied at the weight. "Here’s four hundred thirty-three platinum, just as the contract states.”

Out of force of habit, Heilim counts the platinum one coin at a time until he arrives at the exact amount for the contract plus twenty extra. He decides to keep it secret. She still looks familiar, he thinks as he stares at her. “Anything else you want to discuss?”

“Other than keep the boy alive, no. You’re free to go. The spell of your Halfling companion should wear off when you reach the bottom of the stairs.” Her following words are towards Tylon, “You will keep your royal blood a secret. I don’t need to explain what would happen should you flaunt it around.”

“I have no intentions anyway.”

“Excellent. There will be a correct time and place for the grand reveal. Unless you want me to take you on another tour and learn about Alar having intercourse with a horse and creating Cyrauts, I suggest you vacate immediately.” Heilim and Tylon accept her terms and bolt from the chairs and exit the room with Grifo looking confused as Heilim drags him by the back of his shirt. Orlewa remains in the room, slightly disappointed she couldn’t do the tour. “Hmmph. Uncultured troglodytes.”

As soon as Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon step off the stairs at the bottom, the spell instantaneously fades away. Delighted by the return of his hearing, Grifo jumps for joy before offering a suggestion to the others. “What do you say about spending some of that coin at a brothel in celebration of Prince Tylon, Heilim?”

Both Heilim and Tylon are shocked that Grifo knows of Tylon’s heritage. “How do you know about his bloodline?” Heilim inquires.

“You want me at a brothel?!” Tylon asks with alarm.

“I can read lips. The Eptom wasn’t the first time I lost my hearing, so it became necessary to read the lip movements to understand the conversation or stop an incoming spell mid-cast. As for the bordello, don’t tell me you've never seen a naked female.” Tylon shakes his head, prompting Grifo to have a look of disgust. “It’s a man's mission in life to continue his bloodline, and that mission is more important for those in the upper echelons of society. Believe me when I say that nothing kills the mood faster than a male that can’t utilize his tool down there. I intend to teach you, and what better way to teach than the first-hand experience. Trust me, by the time I’m done, you’ll be one of the best in the sack that you’ll have zero issues in producing heirs.”

“Don’t you have a home where you need to go to so you can obtain inspiration for your next book?” Heilim asks irritably.

“I already have inspiration, and it’s this group. A war veteran running away from his past receives an assignment to protect a man who is actually a prince, finding himself in a grand conspiracy. Has a nice sound to it. I plan on remaining with you two for research, and nothing you can do will shake me off.”

“Fine,” Heilim begrudgingly says.

“What do you think, Heilim?” Tylon asks as he seeks guidance from him. “Should I go to a brothel to learn how to have sex?”

Heilim shrugs. “You must learn, but you have time before it becomes necessary. If you want to, then so be it. If not, that’s fine also. Nevertheless, I need to fuck a few whores, and we’ll arrange a separate room without companions for you if necessary.”

“Hey Heilim, how about a contest to see who lasts longer?” Grifo offers. “Loser pays ten gold to the victor.”

“You’re on.” With their handshake, they agree to the terms.

“I’d like to do it,” Tylon utters after he debates in his head.

“You want to participate in the contest also?” Grifo inquires with a raised voice of shock.

“Not that, but intercourse in general.”

“Are you sure?” Heilim inquires with genuine concern.

“I have to do it at some point since the kingdom depends on it, and I rather learn from the people that know what they’re doing instead of me, alone.”

“Then let’s find ourselves a brothel.”

As Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon ask around for recommendations and directions, they arrive at Alurithe’s Cherries in South Wiodik, a middle-class district. Like all the structures in the neighborhood, it is well-maintained, clean, and the red paint is a fresh coat. Inside, they spot females from humans to Vassyrans, and everything in between wearing clothing only covers the nipples on their breasts and barely hides their crotch. Beastwomen, Dragonkins, Ki’Tsuns, Nakjits, and Shaiduns provide patrons who crave more exotic races. Some of the offerings have jewelry and/or arm rings on them. A Half-Elf that wears the most clothing out of all the females stands behind the counter, so the men assume she is the owner.

“I’m Alurithe, the owner and manager of Alurithe’s Cherries, where we guarantee to make your night more memorable than the rest. How can we do it for you tonight?” The way she articulates the words is seductive, and as she speaks, she performs several gestures to increase Grifo’s, Heilim’s, and Tylon’s arousal. Only Tylon has the most visible expression since this is his first time in a whore house, and he is also a virgin.

Heilim speaks up first. “We’re wondering if you have a room that can hold three people available? And, of course, we need companions for the night also.”

“It is your lucky night. There’s one vacant room, and we certainly have companions for you. What do you prefer? We have beginner to extreme in terms of how rough you like it, and there are Humans, Elves, Half-Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Half-Orcs, Vassyrans, Shaiduns, Beastwomen, Dragonkins, Ki’Tsuns, Káyüts, and Nakjits to pick from.”

Heilim points at Tylon. “This is his first time, so beginner for him. Intermediate will be fine if she’s gentle. What do you want for the race, Tylon?”

“Humans and Half-Elves, but if there are no beginners or gentle intermediates, then any race will do,” Tylon answers nervously. He still can’t believe that he is about to lose his virginity.

Alurithe writes all of it down and stares at Heilim. “And for your tastes?”

“Intermediates to the borderline extreme. I’m fine with any race that fulfills that part though I prefer Humans, Elves, Vassyrans, Shaiduns, Beastwomen, and maybe Dragonkin. I like three companions if possible.”

Alurithe finally focuses on Grifo. “What are your desires?”

“Same as him,” Grifo answers and indicates to Heilim. “Intermediate to the borderline extreme with three companions also if possible. I am fine with any race, however.”

“That’ll be a grand total of twenty gold for one night,” Alurithe says. At his insistence, Heilim pays for the night and receives the key to the room. “It’s on the third floor down the left second door on the right. Take a few minutes to unwind and prepare while I gather your companions.”

The group’s room is a large suite with one massive bed that can effortlessly hold more than three people at once and two couches. The blankets, the fabric, and the pillows are red, and low light sets the room's tone. Pictures of nude women or mostly naked in suggestive poses and scents of incense aid in elevating the sex drive for the occupants inside.

Heilim, seizing the initiative first, strips to his bare skin, throwing his clothes in a pile, and Grifo follows him. Beholding the two's penises and balls, plus knowing what’s to come very shortly, has Tylon’s heart in overdrive. When he finally strips, the rest notice his erect penis; they lay on the bed, and all the soft, comfortable materials touch their nude bodies, almost knocking them unconscious.

“Looks like Tylon’s excited,” Grifo points out to Heilim’s attention.

“I’m nervous mostly, actually,” Tylon replies.

“You can back out now if you feel you aren’t ready,” Heilim responds.

“No, I won’t. You already paid for it, so I’m committed.”

“All I can say is it is not as terrible as you think, and you have Grifo and I close by guiding you.”

“Once you take the leap, the whole experience is magical,” Grifo comments. “I promise. Heilim and I will know when to kill the mood if you're uncomfortable at any point.”

A knock on the door alerts the group as seven robed females saunter in and one after another disrobe after the door shuts. Three are Human, one is Half-Elf, one is a Dwarf, one is a Vassyran, and the other is a Beastwoman with white, Ki’Tsun ears and tail. “From what we were told, one of you is a virgin,” says an olive-skinned woman. “Who is he?” Tylon answers by raising his hand. She gestures towards one of the caucasian Humans. “That one in the middle is for you.” The rest separate towards Grifo and Heilim with the Dwarf, the Half-Elf, and one Human with Grifo and the rest to Heilim.

Tylon shivers as the woman tending to him becomes the first person to touch his shaft, and it twitches. Her rubs and brief licks on the tip and length of his rod turn into sucking. His body twitches and moans as his cock senses her hot breath and saliva in her mouth while her tongue wraps around it as much as possible and alternates both sides to maximize coverage. More pleasure courses through his veins as his entire dick is now inside her mouth, and she fondles his balls by squeezing them gently.

“Uh, Heilim? Grifo? What is she doing now?” Tylon inquires with huffs as the whore presented her hindquarters and vagina while she performed fellatio and massaged his balls.

“She wants you to reciprocate it on her pussy,” Heilim huffs in reply. Over on his side, the Human and Vassyran both rub his penis with their breasts, sucking on while he licks the Beastwoman’s vagina, and she reciprocates also. “Like this,” he says as he resumes where he left off.

Following Heilim’s example, Tylon places his tongue on his whore’s slit, and the taste almost repels him. Her response to him, moaning and increasing her intensity on his cock, convinces him to persevere and acclimate to the taste. This is not terrible once you pass the initial shock of it.

“Now stick your tongue in her,” Grifo suggests. To show what he means, he tries to give Tylon the best view possible of him spreading the Dwarf’s pussy and inserting his tongue deep in her slit. “Don’t forget to wiggle your tongue around.” Meanwhile, the Human and Half-Elf rub their crotches on his phallus; parts of their vulvas manage to touch each other.

Heeding Grifo’s advice, Tylon first tries spreading his cocotte’s vagina with two fingers on his right hand to narrow results, so he applies both hands. The gap from the parted folds reveals the inside of the woman and all the juices from her arousal. As his tongue initially brushes against the vaginal walls, the flavor of her secretions fuels his desire for more, and he adds more pressure as he slowly moves his tongue around inside to savor it. Then he follows the other part of Grifo’s advice and vigorously wiggles his tongue, and he can tell that it affects her. One aspect of her genitalia scratches at the back of his head at what it is, and he decides to experiment by licking the clitoris twice. The result is a robust response of pleasure that the woman has to release his cock from her mouth to moan.

“Sounds to me that Tylon found the sensitive spot on her, Grifo,” Heilim comments. On his side, the Beastwoman and Vassyran are on top of each other. He is in the process of plowing both of them by sliding his cock between their pussies. The Human has the two females lick her vagina while she waits for her turn with him.

“It appears he has,” Grifo replies. “I was about to suggest to him to find it and touch it.” His position hasn’t altered except for the Dwarf now sucking on his shaft.

There’s more to this than she's hiding, Tylon thinks. Moving the hood above the woman’s clitoris reveals more of it, and his tongue covers more of it, sending shivers down her spine. A sudden burst of her fluids coats his tongue, and her howls of delight reverberate around the room. The Dwarf, the Beastwoman, and the Vassyran follow shortly after that. Grifo and Heilim send their burst of semen first, with Grifo showering the Dwarf, Half-Elf, and Human with his while the Beastwoman and Vassyran sandwich Heilim’s seed. As the last person to reach his orgasm, Tylon’s penis twitches uncontrollably and squirts his sperm into the woman’s mouth; she gulps all of it down. His body turns rigid in ecstasy and blacks out for a brief period during his orgasm.

“That was awesome,” Tylon huffs.

Grifo stares at him, knowing there’s more to come. “That was merely a warmup. The real fun begins now.”

For the main event, Grifo and Heilim take their Human to instruct Tylon on what to do. First, they start with the vanilla position, with Tylon’s prostitute laying flat on the bed with her legs stretched. Grasping his erect penis, Tylon guides it into her vagina and loses his virginity, moaning immediately. The warmth and tightness of her pussy provide more delectation to him. Ingrained instincts prompt him to propel his hips forward and backward, and the vaginal fluids act as lubricants to make it easier for his phallus to slide. Each time he thrusts into her, each of her moans and contraction on his shaft sends signals to him to continue faster and harder. His and her hands explore every part of their naked bodies. By Heilim’s advice with a brief demonstration, Tylon fondles the woman’s breasts and alternates his licks between each nipple. Each of the woman’s wails seems to go on for eternity as time slows down for Tylon as he reaches his state of orgasm, thrusting his cock balls deep into her to fill her womb with his semen.

“For a virgin, he is capable of rocking a woman’s world,” Grifo comments. He and Heilim also finish their deposits into their courtesans.

“Still takes him a while to regather his energy,” Heilim notes as he eyes the Vassyran for his next round.

“Shall we commence our contest and determine who’s the victor?”

“You’re on.”

While recharging, Tylon witnesses the competition between Grifo and Heilim while comforting the woman beside him. Their strength, mainly Heilim’s, since he vibrates the bed the most, and their knowledge of different positions for numerous partners or just one amaze him. They quickly progress through their two other harlots each before attempting multiple at once. When they reach their climax for the third time in their contest, he interrupts them by having a second round and wanting to recreate some of the positions from earlier.

The one Tylon tries involves the woman hunched over on her knees, and he pulls her arms back as he penetrates her slit; her dangling breasts jiggle from each impact. The leftovers from his last burst of semen still linger in her aid, the lubrication of her vaginal walls. Grifo and Heilim know that he is working wonders on her and believe he can handle another person or two from her blissful expression on her face. With their orders, the two other humans join in, and he pauses as their wet tongues touch his balls, looking down to realize the recent additions. With them licking his scrotum and one of them shoving two fingers into his anus, he once again enters into a state where time freezes as his body grows rigid and releases his second load of semen into his harlot’s vagina.

With Tylon satisfied for now, Grifo and Heilim resume their amicable fight. For Heilim, the Beastwoman sits on his penis while the Vassyran has her hindquarters on his face, the Human encapsulating his testicles. The Vassyran bends over so she can perform oral on his exposed rod before the Beastwoman slides down on it. As another way to increase his arousal, the Human inserts her middle finger into the orifice of his butt. The action proves to be the final break, and the three females have his sperm as their reward for their efforts.

Meanwhile, on Grifo’s side, the Half-Elf and Human are rubbing their vaginas on his cock, repeating the beginning. The twist is the Dwarf having his shaft penetrate her slit. Since he and the Dwarf are similar in height, he has more accessible access to fondle her breasts, and he manipulates them in every possible way. It doesn’t take him too much time to reach his orgasm after he hears Heilim have his and his semen spurts out of the Dwarf and splatters the nearby vicinity. 

For the fifth round into Grifo’s and Heilim’s contest, the females on the more extreme end of the scale bring out various equipment, but an outside disturbance interrupts them. Screams of terror, but mostly anger and fighting from the streets, alert Grifo, Heilim, Tylon, and the females to a riot. Guards are combating the horde of choleric civilians that the males recognize from the torrid speech during the day.

“Should we stay here?” Tylon asks.

“The cathedral is our safest bet,” Heilim answers. “Get dressed, quickly!”

Fully armed and dressed, Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon are now on the chaotic streets while the prostitutes flee for their own safety, and they try to convince them to remain, but they refuse. Bolting, they discover four fresh carcasses of poor people already on the paths. Dozens more spot them, and one shouts, “Get the Farlanders and their Halfling companion!”

“That doesn’t sound terrific,” Grifo responds.

Clearing a path and providing protection, Heilim butchers eight people on the verge of attacking them. Some lacerations result in intestines spilling onto the stony ground, and another sends a head sailing before rolling down the avenue. Another first time for Tylon, he dispatches his first humanoid by firing a crossbow bolt at a person trying to sneak in an attack on Heilim, and it hits her on the head through the ear to the other ear. Heilim earns his ninth kill by repeatedly ramming a man’s head at a stone building until his skull collapses as he spots him violating a random woman of a higher class.

About to receive injuries from four men, Grifo casts a spell on the most muscular male, “Art of Enchantment: Suggestion!” When he notices it has an effect, he says, “I saw those three men next to you gang-banged your sister. I suggest you teach them a lesson.” With the distraction now complete, he catches up to the others while the three other pursuers deal with an irritated brute.

As they finally reach the top of the stairs to the cathedral, the party members heave a sigh of relief that they’re safe. From there, they can observe the hectic scene unfold further from the riots. It requires a touch from Orlewa to break them out of their trance.

“Back for another history tour?” She inquires sarcastically.

“We figured this was the safest location to seek shelter,” Tylon answers. “Is it?”

“They know that this is a holy building, so it’s off their list. In case some barbarians decide otherwise, I can bring down the wrath of the divine on them and end it immediately.”

“Mind if we stay for the night?” Heilim politely asks, tired.

First, she turns her back towards them.“I suggest two nights at least, maybe a week, for everything to calm down.” Then she saunters back to the building. “I’ll arrange your sleeping quarters.”