A Drow's Dilemma Ep. 01: Flight

Author's Note:

A Drow's Dilemma began as a one-on-one roleplaying project and has been converted into a chapter-by-chapter format for weekly posting with the permission and assistance from my partner. It will contain a considerable amount of sexual themes such as femdom, lesbian, straight, 'reverse' rape, BDSM, group sex, romance, and other themes. This particular chapter merely showcases straight, consensual sex. The main goal of the story, however, is to tell an epic tale of adventures, gods and goddesses, fae, and nymphomaniacs. This episode and every episode to come will be available for free on Literotica for the foreseeable future.

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Episode One: Flight

On a planet of magic and monsters, in a northern land of large rolling hills and distant, perpetually white-capped mountains, ran a slender female elf as dark as the early morning shadows under the thick coniferous forest she sped through. Her people were not native to this part of the land, but this particular runner sprinted through the rain-soaked forest with the familiarity of someone who had spent many years there. There was determination on her features as she looked through the rare gap in the forest where a city, Port Afon, squatted by a river below where the land opened up to mostly flat farmland. It was far away still, and would probably cost her days of running before she could get anywhere near the bustling port town. But there she must run.

... except just getting there did not guarantee entrance into the city. She was a stranger in these lands, after all, and her people were not well-liked or well-trusted in any society. Normally, this wouldn't be too much of an issue. Normally, she would just disguise herself and slip in with the rest of the crowd. But the leader had recently been experiencing a near debilitating bout of paranoia. Everyone had to have permission to get into the gates these days. The dark elf did not have permission.

It was something she'd figure out when she got there. That was what she usually did.

She continued through the forest, keeping an eye on the sun and the city by the river whenever possible. But the sound of a crowd distracted her. There was a road nearby, she knew, but generally she avoided such places. Guard patrols were too likely encountered on the road. This crowd sounded altogether too boisterous for a guard patrol, though. Curiosity overcame the elf. She slowed to a creeping sneak and followed her ears to find the source of the noise.

And there it was. The perfect way in.

She slowed to a stop at the densely wooded edge of a temporary encampment of a caravan with mysterious purpose. People of all sizes, races, and genders walked the camp in strange and bright costumes, which would have made them stand out severely if it wasn't for the fact that the wagons somehow managed to be even more gaudy than the people who traveled with them. Almost all the people either sang, played instruments, or acted out strange plays. Some did all three at once (which was quite entertaining, if she was honest).

Then there were the occasional dour guards who hung in the background and were overshadowed by the lighthearted frolicking of all the others. That guard numbered about five people: a pale half-elf, some sort of hideous orc-blooded older man, two humans, and a surface dwarf. They looked severely lacking in the Elf category, and she knew just the person who could fill that role. A woman such as herself would not look strange among such peculiar people. She could easily be another such shadow standing to protect its caster. With all the diversity in the group, they would not mind a single dark elf joining their ranks, surely.

Now, normally, she would have been surprised that she wasn't killed on sight if she showed herself. This time was different. Not for a single moment did she suppose that they would not let her in. Part of this was her simple self-confidence she somehow retained over her lifetime of social failure. The other part was the observation that these people were the most incredibly friendly group she had ever encountered in her entire life. By the Abyss, even people in her realm who liked each other didn't act so jovial around each other. So she simply walked in that morning (after hours of observation) her arms up, her weapons safely sheathed. She introduced herself as Ashyr of Duskhaven and asked if they needed another guard. The almost painfully friendly leader of the caravan welcomed her gladly. Foolish surface dwellers and their trusting ways. To be fair, Ashyr had no intention of harming the caravan itself. She wouldn't admit it to herself, but these people seemed too innocent - to beautiful - to outright harm. She felt no guilt about the collateral damage that might be caused, however.

Because of course there would be collateral damage. She was drow. There was a reason that her kind didn't usually get accepted into surface society. To the dismay of all the dual-wielding chaotic good drow rangers out there, Ashyr was there to perpetuate the stereotype.

With one extra member of the party, the caravan continued on its merry way. The mood of the caravan changed as the day drew on, however. All who were wise looked to the sky and listened to the wind with worry. Artur, the caravan leader, reverently called the brewing storm a "Wagon Tipper." But they were in luck! There was a set of 'abandoned' ruins nearby that would shelter them from the storm. Ashyr, however, wondered who would protect them from whatever resided in those ruins. In her experience, such places were never empty. By that time, however, the wind was blowing so loud that no one could hear her concerns. Well. She didn't have to stick around and get wagons tipped and monsters gnawing on her, did she? They probably wouldn't even miss her for that one night.

So, not even a day into her employment with these people, Ashyr of Duskhaven slipped away from them.

Even as she slunk away from the caravan, the wind began to pick up and big drops of spring rain pattered and dripped through the coniferous trees that populated the forest. Clearly she wouldn't be able to go far before she had to find a place to settle. A raindrop landed perfectly at the back of her neck and ran under her light leather armor. Ashyr shuddered. Okay. She would find a place right away. With luck, she could even connect with the caravan again if it survived the storm and whatever must have been lurking in the ruins.

Fortunately, the area that she was in was rife with little rocky caverns and animal dens that would remain dry despite torrential rain. The drow found one such cave at the face of a rocky outcropping. The stone floor was cold, but it was dry and sheltered from the wind. It could hardly be called a cave, really, by drow standards. She couldn't stand upright in it, and it probably would only fit two people her size lying side-by-side.

Ashyr sighed. Two people. That would have been nice. It had been several weeks since she had coupled with another person. Her cousin, Selene, was always good for a quick roll in the bushes whenever they met up to exchange surface goods and underdark orders. Whenever she came up to meet her, Ashyr was so horny that she rarely even gave her cousin a choice. Of course, Ashyr was pretty much always horny. Even a day after Selene's 'visits' Ashyr was always ready to jump the first person she could seduce into a secluded corner of the world.

With fond thoughts of a good bang, the drow began to pull her bedding out from her adventurer's pack. In short order, a bed that was moderately more comfortable than the stone floor was set up. Armor and all, Ashyr slipped under the animal pelts and settled into the bed. ... and immediately found her hand under her trousers rubbing at her already aroused sex. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. The drow ranger shrugged. She had some time before she would be tired enough to sleep, and she couldn't spend that time doing something more productive; the rains and winds had already gotten severe enough that she wouldn't be able to do anything worthwhile. So she closed her eyes and settled into a more comfortable position: her knees spread and her fingers deep in her womanhood.

Another time, in very different lands than these, Ashyr was a much younger ranger and much deeper underground. She had a partner: Tsabdrin Duskhaven. He was her cousin born mere months after she was. He chose the same profession, had a similar personality, and was extremely attractive. He was the perfect partner, really, for the dangerous lands outside the drow's Underdark territory. During the waking hours, they hunted and killed dangerous beasts. During the times of rest, they rolled naked through soft cave moss until they collapsed in exhausted pleasure.

Ashyr's nostrils flared. She could almost smell the moss now. The cave she was in smelled of dust and wet, but it missed that spice-smell that permeated the nose and clouded the mind just enough to make one slightly giddy. Her middle finger rubbed back and forth against her clit that she had made wet from the moisture at her entrance. A particular encounter with him came to her mind and sent a wave of heat to her core.

A corpse of a large scaled beast lie cooling a couple meters away in one of their many secure hideouts the two rangers had dotted around the caverns. The scent of sweat and blood was present, but it was being dampened by that moss that blanketed parts of the floor and and the wall. Tsabdrin, his tunic off and his bandaged but otherwise bare and lithely muscled torso exposed, was tending to a large gash across Ashyr's arm. Both of them were grinning broadly; they had felled their biggest prey yet, and would surely bring fame and honor to both themselves and their households. The wounds that they had accrued were nothing compared to their elation. In fact, they were barely giving their injuries any heed. Though Tsabdrin was attempting to tie the last knots of Ashyr's arm bandage, Ashyr had her other hand on his thigh. That hand crept ever upward towards the already partly turgid member of his, hidden only by a thin layer of fabric.

"Stop that; I'm trying to concentrate!" Tsabdrin protested. His voice hinted at laughter despite his attempt at seriousness.

Ashyr didn't listen to him. He barely got her bandage secured before she lunged forward to tackle him to the bed of moss. They both winced in pain, laughed, and began practically devouring each other with kisses. Each of their hands went to the other person's trousers and with practiced, dexterous motions, they stripped each other completely. After that, it only took a few frenzied moments before Ashyr engulfed his now fully erect cock and began riding him with fervor. He let out a groan, low and deep. Then his hands went to her hips to brace himself as he thrust back up into her.

Ashyr's motions against her clit became frenetic when her mind focused on the memory of how his cock felt inside of her. But what really drove her crazy was the memory of how she rode him past all self-control, forcing him to cum as she, herself spasmed astride him. In the cold, hard shelter against the 'wagon-tipper' storm, Ashyr's eyes bulged open and the searing heat of orgasm coursed through her. A soft smile of warm memory twitched across her face. But then she inhaled, and there was no spice-scent of cave moss. Just cold and wet.

--

"And that, my friend, is how I came to flood the wizards' tower with old wine. It took six years to remove the smell from the laboratory. I am told that the Archmage, however, refused to let anyone remove the smell from his room. He enjoyed the smell too much, apparently." The small campfire, guttering in the powerful wind, was set a little ways away from the camp, sitting in what remained of one of the old houses that has once clustered around the tower base, covered from the pounding rain by a thick tarp. The speaker was a tall, vaguely elven young man dressed in neat, but worn old leathers and cleanly polished but dull chain mail, covered by an emblem-less dark olive surcoat. He was rather languidly lounged on one of the mossy stones, one hand resting by his spear. He continued his story. "I was still kicked out of the Order, of course, but not before I learned how to do this." Standing up straight with surprising rapidity, he swiped his listener's water-skin, threw it up in the air, hit it with a small burst of sparkling energy, then handed it back with an exaggerated bow.

The other guard, a heavyset middle-aged man with the porcine look of one with orcish parentage, looked at the skin somewhat suspiciously, then shrugged. "Come on Cal, this is the seventeenth version of how you left the wizards' order. This month. Last time you told me that the Archmage was a half-nymph girl with 'bright weed-green eyes' who threw you out after you rejected her advances. And now 'he' was an old man with a giant white beard."

'Cal' (short for Caleldir) affected a shocked expression. "Oh? Did I now? I completely forgot."

The guard rolled his eyes while he opened the water-skin. Holding the leather pouch to his nose, he sniffed appreciatively. "I will grant you that your little illusions never get old though. You really should think about Artur's offer to give you a show." He downed the liquid in one long gulp, then wiped away the thick purple liquid from his mouth appreciatively. "You are getting better at that one. Even though I know that it is a trick, it still tasted pretty real. No sense leaving it until the enchantment wears off."

"Ever the practical one, Gurzan." Caleldir sagely nodded. "But as for the act, I am no match for a skilled illusionist. My little tricks are fine for around the fire, not so much or the stage." He poked his head out of the ruined house, observing the storm. "I see the need for someone to keep night watch, but I do not like to think about the types of fellows that would attack in this weather." He ducked back away from the storm, retaking his seat, covering a yawn. "Only seven more hours until daybreak. You should get some sleep. I will take the next watch"

Gurzan nodded. "I will do that." He stretched out his bedroll. "Have you seen that shifty Dark Elf woman anywhere? She slunk off after we made camp."

"I have not. Ashyr likely went underground. Drow do that." Caleldir responded. "Not that I blame her. The weather up here is terrible." He thought for a moment. "She seems to be quite competent, do you think it a good idea to induct her into our night watches? It would give us more time to sleep."

"I do not. Why should we trust her?" Gurzan said shortly. "You know Artur does not know that we set up this system. He is not paranoid enough to think it necessary. It is because of suspicious people like her that we keep watch like this anyway. Best to keep this rotation between the five of us."

"I suppose that you are right." Caleldir said wistfully. "I will wake you for the second watch."

His watch came and went with nothing more dangerous than the storm raging outside. The other guards were likewise treated to only the excitement of a torrential spring downpour. When morning broke, it quickly became clear that the storm did not live up to its name "Wagon Tipper," but not for lack of trying. Canvas was ripped. Old brickwork fell and broke an axle. One of the horses spooked and ran off to gods know where. No overturned wagons, though. The ruins turned out to be invaluable for keeping everyone upright and mostly safe. Artur's worries were not realized.

... but Ashyr's worries turned out to be completely justified.

Caleldir woke to Gurzan shaking him. The air had the distinctive fresh, damp smell of early morning after a rain shower, illuminated by the predawn twilight creeping through the scattering clouds. "Cal!" Gurzan whispered. "I think I saw a Withered Harpy on the top of the tower. We should prepare for a possible attack."

Caleldir bolted upright. "I hate Withered Harpies." He muttered. "Alert the camp. I will investigate." Gurzan nodded, and turned towards the rest of the caravan. Caleldir picked up his spear, shouldered his worn longbow, and headed out.

It did not take long to verify Gurzan's words. After a few minutes poking around the stones with his spear, Caleldir found a large, ugly grey feather. He shuddered. Withered Harpies were bad news. Sadly more common than their pretty cousins, the Bright Harpies, the ugly bird-women had a sadistic streak a mile high, which was coincidentally the height they liked to drop their prey from to kill them, if they did not eat them alive instead. Caleldir picked up the feather. It was wet, but relatively new.

Hearing a whoosh, the young guard spun around, finding himself face to face with the ugliest withered old hag-like face he had ever seen, her looks not improved by her bony beak-like nose. The harpy cackled something in whatever passed for a language among her kind, and launched herself into the air. Caleldir wasted no time, his hand going for the horn at his belt. The high, clear sound of alarm pierced the silent morning. Satisfied that he had alerted the camp, Caleldir turned his attention back to the harpy. But he had taken too long. Spinning around, he could not see her anywhere. Too late, he looked up to see her diving down on him, claws outstretched. Before he could react, she had wrapped her withered talons over his elbows, her claws piercing painfully into his chest and back. She easily hoisted him up, flapping heavily for the sky. Panicked, Caleldir knew that he had to act before she got too high. She would either drop him, eat him alive, or worse. Harpies were a female only-race, after all, and they had to reproduce somehow. Frankly, he preferred to be dead. Desperately, her thrust his spear up into the bird woman. With a scream, she dropped him a few hundred feet towards a thicket of trees.

The ground raced towards him rather faster than he would have liked. A rush of air, a burst of pain, and everything went dark.

--

When Ashyr woke up the next morning she felt... disturbed. She opened her eyes to a world that drizzled slightly, but was otherwise a normal early spring day. The wind barely blew now. There was a rustling and some grunting, guttural speech coming from somewhere nearby. Ashyr emerged from her small cave and got the full view of exactly who she expected. Goblins. They were walking casually across a patch of heavy underbrush, going down into what must have been a passageway underground. She really should have let it be. She could have simply walked the other direction and ensured her arrival to the city. But the passage could conceivably lead all the way back to that ruined fortress. Secret passages were a must for all such structures. Something about the thought of those dirty beasts surprising the jovial and mostly harmless group of people didn't sit right with her. It wasn't something she could - or really wished to - explain.

Upon further inspection, It was just a couple of goblins anyway. Ashyr felt as if she could use a good slaughtering. She'd go soft otherwise. That would be the true tragedy. Not the caravan being ambushed. Yeah. That reasoning made sense. So she followed them. And then she killed them. Goblins were never a true match for the ferocity of the Drow. That was why, where they did exist in the Underdark, they existed as slaves. The goblins she stalked didn't even get through the rest of the tunnels.

On a whim, Ashyr continued onwards. The cave spat her out on the other side of one of the mouldering walls that surrounded the tower that was being used as the caravan's shelter. Harsh and terrifying cries of... a bird? A woman? Fucked if she knew. There were some overworld creatures that still baffled Ashyr, especially all the flying ones. They sounded like they were actively trying to kill whomever was on the other side of the wall. Probably the entirety of the caravan. Ashyr couldn't tell for sure, as the wall completely blocked her view. Well, there was one way to overcome that issue. She would climb.