Reluctantly Rogue Pt. 02 Ch. 06

(Note: This is a long, ongoing story. It is a story with sex. It's a sexy story. It is in many ways a story about sex. But, it is not strictly a sex story. Many chapters may even be SFW.

This chapter is mostly SFW.)

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CHAPTER SIX

Explicit Instructions

The words popped out of his mouth before Atyr could consider them. "You are Wetlyn? Pesky--" He stopped short.

"She lead you to expect something different?"

He looked down at his feet. "Uhh, no, Pesky didn't. Not exactly, I just..." The little sprite's reminder to be honest and to avoid flattery came back to him. "Well yes actually, she did. And in stories, witches are old and ugly."

"While I am youthful and beautiful." It was a statement, not a question. His eyes looked up at her face, then helplessly raked down her body and back. He nodded, reddening. Almost, it seemed that a hint of a smile flirted with the corners of her full lips.

Wetlyn inclined her head. "We may come to that topic. For now, know that I have been in this world for scores of winters. I am youthful but not young."

Atyr was still staring at his feet, cheeks hot. He spread his hands where they were held restrained, flinching slightly as the motion aggravated his bruised shoulder. "Right. I guess fae don't really age."

"I am not fae."

His head shot back up. Of the four 'fae' he'd now met, fully half of them had turned out not to be.

"Now I will ask my questions." She stared into his eyes, her look bland, unreadable. "You will provide brief, accurate answers. If I need further clarification from you, I will indicate it."

Were her eyes violet? Did people have violet eyes? Holding her gaze, he nodded apprehensively.

"Good. I will begin. Why did you break down my door?"

He started to protest. "I knocked first--"

"That is not an answer. Are you in the habit of breaking down the doors to peoples' homes should they not respond to your knocking?"

Well, put that way... He dropped his gaze, uncertain how to respond.

"I ask again, why did you break down my door?"

Eyes still on the floor, he tried again. "I was trying to escape the creatures outside. The trolls."

"Did they follow you to the tower?"

"Not to the tower, no, but I--"

"Why could you not wait outside?"

Atyr paused. "I... I don't know. I suppose I could have."

"You could."

He flexed his hands nervously within the metal cuffs.

"I... I can fix it. I am decently skilled with wood shaping. My father--"

"That would be appropriate recompense. I accept. Next question. Why were you on the spire?"

"I hoped to ask for your help."

"Why was Pesky with you?"

"She's my... I don't know what to call it. She saved me, and she gave me--." He hesitated. Don't try to hide things. That's what Pesky had said. He nodded to his arm, locked to the chair. "There's a mark there, a--"

"I am aware that you are fae-touched. She is your patron?'

"Patron? Um, yes, I suppose?"

The face in front of him reacted to that, a tiny flicker of those elegant brows. She lifted his sleeve and glanced at the mark, noting the dull, grey glow. "I will wait if you wish to complete your Level. I should prefer to have this conversation without the distraction of pain."

Atyr looked at her blankly. Honesty. Don't try to hide anything. "I uh, don't actually know what that means. I know what a Level is, I think, but I'm not sure what you mean by--"

"I am not surprised. I know your patron. I know her well." She nodded to herself. "The glow of your fae-mark indicates that you have accumulated sufficient Experience to advance your Level." She paused catching his eyes. "I must assume your Level is 0, given your ignorance on the subject."

He looked to the side, but nodded his assent, chewing on his lower lip.

"If you focus your attention on the Experience measure within your mark, you should intuit how to proceed." Violet eyes looked at him expectantly.

"Ah. Right." He looked down, then back up. "That's the grey circle, I assume?" He wanted to point, but, restrained as he was, he could not.

Wetlyn paused, then stood. "One cannot see into another's fae-mark. I do not know whether each mark is truly unique, or if there are only many variants, but in either case, it is difficult for me to direct you." She leaned forward, reaching out and guiding his chin with a long, delicate nail, so that they were face to face. "If you will permit it, I can look into your mark with you." As seemed to be her style, it was a statement that nevertheless demanded an answer.

He remembered Helliot's warning against allowing others to have knowledge of his symbol, but here, in the presence of this beautiful, powerful witch, already restrained in his seat, how much did he stand to lose? "Alright. I can use all the help I can get."

She nodded once, pulling away. Walking across the room, she opened a large, ornate wooden cabinet. Inside, Atyr caught a glimpse of row upon row of glass vials, of different shapes, sizes, and colors. She selected one and closed the cabinet, before returning to sit in front of him.

She held the tiny bottle aloft. It was empty. "This is a potion of True Sight," she explained. He frowned, looking at the clear glass in her hand. "With it, a person can see all that is around them. Including fae-marks. You consent?"

Atyr's eyes widened. True Sight? It let you see everything? Would it let an elderly healer see a devil? He stored the question for later.

Wetlyn was still looking at him. Again, she asked. "You consent?" He nodded.

She tipped the empty bottle into her mouth, swallowing as though it held something to drink within. He watched, enraptured as the delicate muscles of her throat worked. He shook himself, and found she was staring at him again. Reaching out with a graceful hand, she slid up the grimy sleeve of his shirt, revealing his mark.

"Interesting. Ranger and Rogue. Yes. This." She indicated the grey circle, gently glowing. "This is the measure of your Experience. Focus on it, with the intent to seize it with your mind."

He tried to do what she said. At first, nothing much happened, but then he found the understanding of the symbol floating up to him. He fumbled for a grasp on it. It felt like a question, like an offer. He accepted, and all at once the grey circle emptied and stopped glowing. A wild excitement grew in him, a feeling of growth, of surpassing, of possibility and success. Physically too, it was as though a wind was rushing over and around him, blowing pain and injury away.

Looking down at the symbol, he found the central class markings had updated; Rogue still sat at 0, but Ranger was now Level 1.

He moved his shoulder. It was as if nothing had happened to it. He tried breathing deep, and felt no pain from his ribs. His neck was no longer stiff, and the throb of his ankle had vanished.

"Huh. Alright." He looked at Wetlyn, wide-eyed. "I wasn't ready for that."

Steady eyes looked back into his, then dropped back to the mark. She pointed to the whorled pattern that held his Attributes. "Focus now here. You will feel a mote, loose within the measures. Seize it and place it where you will." She looked into his eyes once more. "The manner in which you acquire Experience will limit the choices you may make. Go ahead."

He nodded, breaking away from her gaze. He let himself drift back into the pattern, and immediately noticed that the grey circle of experience was already over a third full once more. Interesting. But there was the mote as well, like a small, lost bit of possibility, wanting a home but not knowing where that home was.

Charm 8, was his lowest Attribute, after Fate 7. He didn't understand Fate at all, and wasn't sure if he wanted more of whatever it was. Charm... He would be lying to himself if he said didn't like the idea of being a bit more charming, a bit more alluring. Is that how this worked? He would change, improve as a person just by choosing one of these measures? Tentatively, he urged the mote closer to Charm, but it slid away sideways. He tried again, with the same result.

"You will have to make do with what little social grace you currently possess."

He jumped. He hadn't realized she could see everything he was doing. His cheeks flushed bright red. "I um, I was just trying to see how it worked..."

Her stare was cold. "You did not Charm your way through to Level one, it would seem. Note the measures which shine more strongly."

He looked again, and realized that Strength 12, Vitality 10 and Dexterity 14 were all slightly brighter than the other five. That made sense, most of the experience he'd received involved either fighting or sneaking. Vitality was the lowest, and honestly it was starting to seem like being able to survive a solid thrashing might be important for his new fae-touched life. He nudged the mote towards Vitality, and it slid right over.

Again he felt that question, the offer of a choice. Yes. The mote vanished, and he watched as Vitality ticked up to 11. He didn't feel any different.

"Excuse me, Wetlyn? Can I ask a question?"

"In a moment. We have more. Look here. You have gained your first Ability. Read."

It wasn't reading, precisely, but he stared into the swirls and jagged lines of the symbol, and found the meaning there.

"Unarmoured Defense" - Everyday garments provide protection from injury, taking damage onto themselves which would otherwise harm the wearer.

Atyr's eyes were wide. "Does this mean my clothes, my regular, everyday clothing, will work like armour?"

"That is roughly what it appears to indicate, yes. How it will play out in actuality, you will need to test."

That sounded like something out of a childhood tale. Until now, he hadn't fully understood what Helliot had meant when he had told Atyr that the abilities he gained might seem improbable, or even impossible.

"May I ask the question now?"

Wetlyn stared at him, her face unreadable. She didn't speak. He guessed that counted as a yes.

"How does this fae healing work? The red circle glows sometimes; when I'm hurt I think? And I heal fast, really fast. But earlier, my ankle didn't heal. I uh... I guess I'm not sure what exactly my question is. I just don't understand it all."

She nodded, long, white hair swinging slightly. "It has a simple explanation. When injured, your body will immediately work to stop the worst of the trauma. Bleeding, bone fractures, and so forth. As you sleep, any remaining damage will reverse itself. Within reason.

"However, there is a limit to how much your body can cope with in a given day. Each injury drains your body's ability to heal by a proportional amount. This is indicated by the red circle you mentioned. As that circle empties, so does your healing. If that circle becomes empty, it indicates that your body is incapable of further healing without rest, and further wounds will act as you would expect them to on any other mortal. Even these wounds, however, will be reversed as you sleep. Again, within reason.

"Lastly, this is no protection against immediate death. A severed head is a severed head."

He nodded. That was perfectly clear, and simple to understand. He had expected something more arcane, more fae. "And, uh, that red liquid I drank, that healed me too. How exactly did that work?"

For the first time she almost looked surprised. "It was a rejuvenative mixture of some sort. A potion of healing I suspect." She glanced down at him. "How is it that you came by such a item without understanding its effects? They are not commonplace."

"It, uh... I found it on the body of one of the trolls."

For a second time, she seemed surprised, even if her face didn't show it. "You slew a troll?" Her eyes ran across his slim form, appraisingly. "That would be impressive." Atyr got the distinct idea she didn't believe him.

She continued. "Such potions work in a variety of ways, but most commonly, they restore the body's ability for quick-healing, allowing the process to proceed further."

Atyr considered her explanations. It entered his mind briefly, how much better things might have turned out if he had found Wetlyn before he encountered Helliot, and had gotten his explanations from her. That said, he was still restrained in a chair, so things weren't perfect.

"Next question." As she spoke, a tiny wisp of grey experience rose from her distractingly perfect chest, and buried itself swiftly in Atyr's own. Just from her explanation?

"For what reason did you seek my help?"

"Oh, uh I'm trying to help someone I know. I got them in trouble, I think, and now I need to get them out."

"Explain."

Atyr sighed inwardly, thinking for a moment. "I'm not sure I can make this brief."

"Try."

He gave the shortest, clearest explanation he could of his meeting with Helliot, the deals they had struck, and the implications for Bird and Kella. She seemed familiar with Bird and Helliot, and to know something of their history. Her flat, even expression was maintained throughout.

"I see. Either the old woman dies, or the girl becomes tied to the devil as you are to the Sprite." As she said the word 'sprite', Atyr fancied that the slightest bit of venom sneaked into her voice, a tiny break in her perfect composure. "Why do you oppose the girl's potential pact with Helliot?"

"He's a prince of the Inferno. It seems... risky."

Her stare remained emotionless. "What do you hope to gain by my aid?"

Atyr bit his lip and breathed in. This was it. "I was hoping, I thought maybe you would know a way to let Bird talk to Helliot? So she could reject the agreement and send him home?"

Violet eyes looked at him, unblinking. "I do not know a way."

"Um, I was wondering if you had more of those True Sight vials? Would something like that work?"

"It would not. As I understand it, speech is what is required."

Atyr nodded. She was right. "Maybe... is there something like that potion, but for hearing?"

Wetlyn paused. "I do not know."

She stood, pushing the chair back toward the desk. "I will accept your repair of my door as recompense for your intrusion into my home. There is still the matter of recompense for the assistance and information I have granted you while here."

Atyr tried to think of something to say. Was that it? Was the conversation over just like that? 'I don't know,' and then a move to other topics?

"Please, maybe there's something you can think of, some way to make it happen? I'm happy to be of service however would be useful, if I can, I..." He ran out of things to say.

"We can discuss further possibilities once your current indebtedness has been covered."

Atyr kept his eyes on the floor, heat rising in him. He willed himself calm, clenching his restrained fists in their bindings.

"You are angry that I am not helping you. I have not refused, yet. We will talk more. But first." She stood in front of him. "Your debt."

Still not meeting her gaze, he nodded slowly.

She reached down and lifted his chin. "How old do I seem to you."

The rapid shift in topic caught him off balance. "Uhh, a few summer's beyond me? Twenty five?" Her stare bored into him. "Erm, certainly less than thirty?"

She dropped his face. "Over five score winter's have passed since I gained my fae-mark." She touched her own arm.

"You may think it vain, that I choose this appearance. That of youth, of beauty."

He shook his head, hurriedly. It occurred to him that if Wetlyn herself was fae-touched, and was aware of the dynamic between Bird and Helliot, she presumably could have solved the devil's communication problems for him score of summer's ago, had she been so inclined. It spoke, perhaps, to the magnitude of Atyr's error that she had not.

She stepped closer, standing now against the chair, between his knees. He stared up at her. Purple and red silk draped and clung to the curves of her body.

"You may think it. And yet I choose it. What is my alternative? To grow old, to weaken, to become ill and infirm. To become ugly with age." She placed one knee upon his thigh, leaning over him in the chair. "I prefer beauty."

He felt himself hardening rapidly in his pants. He wanted to shift, to hide the growing bulge, but she held his leg in place, and his hands remained locked to the chair with steel cuffs.

Her eyes dropped briefly to the outline of his cock, straining against the laces. Then she stepped away, turning her back to him. The dress clung to her every bit as much from behind as from the front. Lust rose within the young man.

She tilted her hips, resting her weight on one leg, and looked back at him. His eyes snapped guiltily away from the round curves of her ass.

"It is not without cost. It requires work to maintain. It requires long toil with cauldron and mortar." She turned to face him once more. "It requires certain ingredients, which contain the properties of youth and the creation of new life."

Atyr stared at her without any idea what she was talking about. He nodded slowly anyway.

"Allow me to collect your seed. I will consider that acceptable recompense for the assistance I have provided."

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A little treat for the OMG-When-Does-He-Even-Level crowd. Enjoy!

Thanks for reading,

-Scrybells