Deviant Mage Part 9: Fortress Rock

Dovian Lanovin, the Deacountess of Lanovale and templar of Helthaltie Himself, burst through the door to Castle Lan's infirmary. Her shoulder clipped the door-frame. The effect was roughly the same as if the wood had been stuck by a sledgehammer. She barely even noticed.

She was dripping wet with rainwater, her hair was a frazzled ruin, and her outfit was torn, scorched and blood-spattered. Several sections of her arms, legs and torso were sloppily wrapped in bandages that were dirty and tinged faintly pink. She'd come up to the castle wearing a cloak to conceal her wounds, but she had discarded it upon entering the castle. She couldn't even remember where she'd dropped it. And she was holding onto the void with bleeding fingers, because if she let go too soon of the power it offered, then she would die.

The butler was in the infirmary already. He had been tending to an unconscious, bedridden man whose limbs were now all splinted and immobilized. (It looked well-enough, but an actual physician would have regarded it with horror.) Upon the crashing sound of Dovian's arrival, he turned to look her way. His eyes widened slightly, but he was otherwise unstartled at her arrival.

"Holy servant, tend to me" said the Deacountess of Lanovale in a monotone through gritted teeth.

"Yes, my Lady. I shall need to remove your clothing" reminded the butler, who was not just a butler.

"Do what you must."

Dovian's loose-fitting combat tunic and leggings were cut away. The man regarded her body, lean and fit but showing age and dotted with odd-looking scars, with no more than professional concern. Then he peeled the sloppy bandages away to reveal the horror beneath.

Large swathes of Dovian's skin were peppered with little red holes. Those holes were not bleeding. She refused to let herself bleed, and so she didn't. The mere idea that the pathetic weapons she had faced might spill her holy blood was absurd.

(The wet footprints she'd left coming here were tinted faintly pink, but Dovian pointedly refused to acknowledge that particular detail, and reality complied with her bloody-minded denial. Mostly.)

Last night, the master smith of Lanovale had suspected that Dovian might come for him. He had underestimated her. He'd somehow learned that she could dodge- and even catch- bullets, and he'd clearly thought himself very clever. His bodyguards had been armed with guns that fired shot.

The fool hadn't realized that Dovian's enhanced speed was only a small part of Hethaltie's holy blessing upon her.

Her faithful servant wrapped Dovian's wounded flesh in neat white bandages, all done carefully in sections that could be individually removed. Most of the shot had only gone about half an inch deep; the same blessings that made the world crumble under Dovian's touch also made her flesh stronger.

The butler nodded to her. Finally, Dovian could release her hold on oblivion.

Feeling came back to her. Everything was pain, but it was a familiar pain, easily ignored. The holes in her flesh finally began to bleed, but the blood was contained by the bandages.

Section by section, the butler removed the fresh dressing, sopped away the blood, and picked the shot from her flesh with tweezers held in steady hands, their steel slick with something brown. After he'd removed the shot from Dovian's flesh, he applied stinging brown salve and bandages of a more permanent nature. Dovian did breath exercises, and didn't so much as flinch as she endured this.

Once he was done, the butler carefully washed his bloodied hands, poured Dovian a large mug of some kind of sweet and salty 'healing tea'. Dovian was finally able to set herself down (painfully) into a well-cushioned chair. The butler assured her that a servant would arrive shortly with a great deal of red meat, and then he almost seemed to fade into the background as he started cleaning the various implements he'd used to treat her wounds.

As she sat there, aching, Sirgil let himself in.

Dovian's husband's pockets had envelopes and folded papers poking out of them. He had bags under his eyes, and his ridiculous hair was a mess. He looked at Dovian's bandage-wrapped form. "Didn't go so well, I take it?"

Dovian gave Sirgil a once-over glance for any weapons he might have concealed, and found nothing obvious, though that meant little. Her husband was always an opportunist, and she had no doubt he was here because he saw some advantage in confronting her in this weakened state. "What happened to my brother?" she asked coldly, pointedly ignoring his question.

"Right. So it seems that the one we do not speak of commands dark supernatural powers."

Dovian's first impulse was to shout 'that's impossible!' at him, but she bit back the cliché. Yet it ought to be impossible! "Say that she is a witch, husband. Let us not waste words" she said in a brittle tone after a long hesitation.

"Such an unspecific term..." Sirgil muttered in faint annoyance. "From what my people have gathered, it seems that she can transform herself into an unkillable monster made out of dung, and she did that to Osreval-" he gestured vaguely at the man in his full-body splint "-along with sixteen of his huntsmen. Apparently she required some kind of human sacrifice in order to do it, and I find that to be a discrepancy, as it appears she was deliberately trying to minimize fatalities. She could have broken your brother's neck, yet instead he lies here, crippled but alive."

"She is an insane, delusional, depraved thing. There's no sense in anything she does" growled Dovian. She did not want to have to think right now. Curse this man.

Sirgil just shrugged, his expression unreadable. "There were also five bodies found who were deliberately killed. With a blade. Three were cut down as they were pursued. So it appears that our insane, delusional 'witch' had at least one ally last night." He sighed. "And this morning, about half of House Laneskew's serfs revolted. They burnt down, at last tally, twenty-six percent of the family's holdings before they were stopped. I sincerely hope whatever it was that you were up to last night was worth missing that."

"Dear husband, if we do not ensure Hethaltie's domain is kept clean of unholy rot, then Lanovale might as well join the Lakelands in their corruption, and thus we shall burn with them." Dovian said, her voice cold as the grave.

Despite the certainty of Dovian's words, they didn't quite ring true. Because had she known that the unholy thing that had once been her daughter was a witch, then she would have considered that to be her top priority.

It shouldn't be possible for a Lanovin to become a witch! Their entire lineage had been blessed by Hethaltie Himself! But clearly, that didn't matter to someone who had sunken deep enough!!

She silently cursed her own younger self's weakness for not killing the girl who had been Lyran, as soon as she learned of the wretched thing's sick, depraved inclinations. Back then, Dovian had thought it a monstrous thing to kill her own child, an act unbecoming of a holy woman. She had sought to make the girl better instead, to discourage her aberrant behaviors. To cure her of the affliction of her soul!! And she had responded so well!!!

She has been fooling us all for years.

"My dear? What troubles you?" Sirgil asked carefully.

"Everything..." Dovian whispered, voice sapped of emotion, her eyelid uncontrollably twitching. There was a hint of spittle on her lower lip.

Sirgil kept his distance. "I do have some news that might cheer you up, my dear." His voice was light and soothing.

Dovian glared at him. She didn't need to be soothed.

He returned her angry gaze unflinchingly. "Our Umtieone took it upon himself to put down the revolt" he continued. "It seems he's found himself some men that will follow him, at least for now."

Dovian sighed, except there was a hissing, rattling quality to it. (Someone had once mocked Dovian for doing that. She'd publicly flogged the woman for her insolence.) "And I suppose he made a fiasco out of it?"

"The Lanomens' chief warrant officer and captain have both submitted extensive formal complaints for his conduct. But he did put down the revolt. He took six captives out of the mob of nineteen. Three escapees, still at large. The rest dead."

"Have the complaints added to his file, I suppose." Dovian had no trouble whatsoever imagining her son's buffoonery, but still, Umtieone had successfully brought her some people to make examples out of. That certainly was something. "Ensure that we have Executioner's Square booked."

"Already done, my dear." Sirgil looked faintly smug. He considered Dovian predictable. And there was absolutely no doubt that he was being so helpful in order to spur her towards actions that in some nebulous way benefited him.

Even after twenty-eight years of marriage, Dovian still wasn't quite sure whether she loved or hated this man.

He'd given her something to look forward to, at least.

"When?" she asked.

"The day after tomorrow. Time enough for you to heal, I should think."

"Time enough to let those scum imagine their fates..." Dovian said, and a smirk couldn't help but appear on her lips.

"Indeed. And you never disappoint, my dear."

***

Up on a rocky, mossy ledge that overlooked a possibly demon-infested swamp (Apega had told her that it was known as Fortress Rock. How original), Stench the shit-witch: a tallish twenty-year-old woman who was utterly encrusted in grime that was roughly equal parts mud and shit, stood proudly. Apega the dirty street rat lurked just behind her.

The two filthy, reeking, very dangerous girls faced a camp of what had once been the lowest, dirtiest serfs in all Lanovale, except by now they'd arguably fallen even further. They'd made their camp in a mined-out and shored-up alcove amid mossy crags in the looming cliff-side, which Stench assumed to have once been some kind of mine. It was the only shelter up here on the ledge, and it was a tad undersized for the twenty or so dirty, scruffy, miserable-looking people currently crammed into it, clustered around a small fire that burned from the bottom of a shallow pit. There was a steaming pot sitting over the coals.

The shit-witch was directing her stench, that of a woman who hadn't bathed once in her life and who regularly played with shit (as far as she was concerned, she smelled great) away from these people. She doubted they even noticed her gesture, much less appreciated it. The smell that wafted out of the confined space before her was arguably just as impressive as her own stink, and Stench breathed it deep. It was a fugg of twenty-something people's very unwashed body odor. Stress had a smell, they all reeked of it. Added to that funk was wood smoke, boiling beans, and the occasional waft of remarkably ripe flatulence. Stench breathed it all in, and appreciated its nuances.

The group's leader (the sight of the woman's torn nose occasionally made Apega involuntarily wince and become hyper-aware of her own septum ring) stood between Stench and the other ex-serfs. Her shovel was stuck into the ground next to her. The group's newly acquired spear looked to have been deliberately hidden behind one of the wooden braces, within reach of that tattooed guy. Stench had left dirty hand-prints all over it, so she could see a suggestion of it with shit-sense. Who knew what other weapons they had?

Stench had some weapons of her own. One of her shit-pouches was half-full of manure, though it was older than ideal. Unfortunately, all of the crap on her skin had dried out and was useless as armour by now. At least Apega was well-armed. (Actually, Apega was a little overburdened with all the various lethal implements fastened to her otherwise bare body by a belt under her cloak. They kept banging her shins.)

The last thing Stench wanted was another fight. She had come here because she wanted allies!

"Told ya, ya ain't welcome at our fire, Stench" sneered the torn-nosed woman. She uttered Stench's chosen name like an insult. That was just silly.

About half a second before she could retort, Stench heard a loud "PARP!", which echoed in the confined space.

Apega, still clad in nothing but boots, socks and a cloak, her scrawny form so encrusted in dry mud that it was currently quite difficult to tell that her skin was pink and her hair was blonde, snickered. Stench gave her the side-eye, but couldn't help but chuckle along with her. Her partner had such a refined sense of humour.

While Stench and Apega snickered, the torn-nosed woman appeared to be maintaining her look of disgruntled dignity through sheer force of will.

"I don't want your fire" Stench declared once she was able to keep a straight face. "There's some things I need to share with you lot."

"What, like all your diseases?"

Stench gave a brief, dark chuckle. She supposed she'd walked into that one. She would have respected the hit if it was accurate. "I'm not diseased, lady. Germs are my friends. And what I meant is there's some shit you all need to know!" Stench raised her voice, projecting it so that everyone could hear. "You might recall that I stole a bunch of the Laneskews' gold before I burnt down their house? Those pricks want to drag you back to Lanovale and punish you for daring to escape! I met a bunch of them coming here. Me and Apega kicked their asses, and these are the weapons they had!" She gestured vaguely at the heavily-armed street rat that lurked just behind her.

Then she remembered that Apega's weapon belt was under her cloak, which currently represented the girl's sole item of clothing.

For a moment, Apega stood there stunned as she realized what Stench had asked her to do. Stench tried to make a placating gesture without being obvious about it. Apega glared at her a moment, then rolled her eyes down. She lifted up her cloak to show off her shapely, grimy left thigh, which was mostly obscured by the various deadly implements hanging from her belt. Then she shook her hips to jangle the weapons slightly, in a gesture that she gave a sarcastic sort of sensuality. Then she covered everything back up, looking irritated. Only Stench was close enough to see that the girl's face was red under all the dirt.

"I want to help you." Stench called. "You all had it bad, I get that. I know I went and made everything worse! And that's why I want to make it up to you! I want you to remain free! I want to help you all get out of Lanovale safely come springtime! Not only that, but I want to pay you to tolerate my presence until then! Twenty full-gold!" She waited a few moments for all that to sink in. "Questions?"

Stench knew people who could use words to get others to dance on their strings. Back when she had been Lyran, she had once seen her father persuade a man who was actively in the process of trying to assassinate him, to not only put down the weapon but to name his employer and agree to work for the Lanovins instead. (He'd run off the next day and the name he'd given had wound up being fake, but still.) She doubted that she'd ever have such a way with words; this felt more like she was wielding a sweet offer like a bludgeon. It was good bludgeon, though, right?

Everyone crammed into the literal hole before her had gone quiet upon her announcement.

In the silence, another person farted. That prompted a muffled snicker from Apega. That seemed to break the tension enough that a bunch of people started whispering at each other. (One of the ex-serfs in the back started raising their hand to ask something, but the person next to them seized their hand before it could be raised, and Stench didn't see.)

"Smells nice in there" Stench commented dryly, amid the whispering.

"Still better'n your stink, witch" said the torn-nosed woman.

The stink-witch sighed. That hadn't even been clever. "Lady, why do you hate me so much? I'm trying to help you."

"Ya really need t'ask?" The torn-nosed woman looked up and down at Stench, a disgusted sneer on her lips that was only accentuated by her disfigurement. "Ya said it y'self, yer jus' here t'use us. Tryin' t'drag us into whatever mad scheme yer workin' at. An' good job, I guess. Givin' us no choice 'cept you." She spat on the ground.

"Lady, I didn't mean for any of this to happen!"

"An' I don't believe ya. Y'know why? Cuz yer a pervert slut who rolls in poo. Ain't a proper thought in that sick head'a yours!"

It was hilarious that she thought Stench would be offended by that. Still, it was a little annoying that she was trying.

"Because I'm so true to my nature, I can control about three tons of shit with my imagination, and that's actually pretty useful" Stench said coldly. "The Laneskews found that out yesterday."

"Mean's yer an unholy witch. Out to corrupt decent Lanofolk." She sniffed, and glanced at Apega. "Snared y'self a weak outsider bint already, looks like."

The shit-witch rolled her eyes up to the low stone ceiling, while carefully making sure that she was right between Apega and the torn-nosed woman. (Unnecessarily. Apega had been called way worse.) "Lady, when I piss people off on purpose, it's because I think it's funny" said Stench. "You don't look like you got a sense of humour."

The woman chuckled grimly. "I got a sense'a humour. Poop jokes ain't funny."

Stench shrugged nonchalantly while she considered a retort that was suitably scathing but which wouldn't escalate things. "That's-"

With a noise remarkably akin to a war horn, another person, right next to the cook-fire, farted a loud and rather wet-sounding fart. This caused the adjacent flames to flare up. Another guy, who'd been stirring the pot of beans, yelped in surprise as a bunch of the hair on his forearm got scorched off. Potently sulfurous beaniness and burning hair added themselves to the fugg wafting Stench's way, and there was a chorus of awkward laughter, Apega's slightly unhinged titter among it. The torn-nosed woman, meanwhile, gave a flat resigned look as she found herself as part of the punchline to a particularly tasteless joke.

Stench could see the despair hiding behind the woman's angry bravado. Maybe the woman didn't have any agenda for pissing Stench off. Maybe she was just trying to put on a brave face because she didn't know what else to do in this ridiculous situation.

Stench didn't join the laughter.

(Among other things, that had been weirdly perfect timing with that fart. It was creepy.)

"I suppose I'll spare you my company, since it offends you so much." Stench said, and started to leave. Over her shoulder, she added "I'll be nearby. Saw a good spot. Don't need a fire to stay warm, I have magic." She made a silly fluttering gesture with her hand as she walked off. Apega followed, though she glanced suspiciously back. Stench didn't spare a glance, but that was just because she had her shit-sense active to supernaturally cheat. Most of the ex-serfs were so dirty that she could see a ghost of their forms in her supernatural shit-sense, through the back of her own head.

There was an uproar of arguments as soon as the ex-serfs assumed Stench was out of earshot. Apega gave Stench a faintly aghast look as soon as they were out of sight.

"I forgot you were naked under there! I'm so sorry" Stench hissed.

Apega's thunderous look didn't soften at Stench's words. "It ain't that!" she insisted grumpily, then shook her head (which created a fairly impressive cloud of dust). "Just don't like bein' stuck between two threats." She glared down to the gloomy, mist-shrouded and potentially demon-inhabited swamp below them.

"They can't all be against me. Not after I've offered all that. Let 'em argue. We'll go back there in a bit and see if anyone's feeling any friendlier."

Apega nodded, but she didn't exactly look convinced of Stench's brilliance.

Apega's silent doubt was yet another uncomfortable reminder to Stench that her confidence was a facade, that her efforts at being assertive were basically theater, and if an actress she was then this role wasn't one that her particular brand of madness was suited to.

What if these people refused her aid, no matter how sweet her offer was and how terrible their other options were, just because they didn't like who she was? Then what?

Maybe she should stop assuming the worst every time she made a gamble! Besides, she wasn't about to stop being her, even though that did tend to make things difficult.

And that was exactly why she and Apega were currently heading towards the ex-serfs' latrine.

Stench had seen it when she'd activated shit-sense earlier, and it had drawn her ever since she'd noticed. Sitting obscured behind a cluster of rocks that protruded from the cliff like a bad skin condition was an old clay pot full of shit, unlidded and buzzing with flies. It smelled bad. Though good and bad were subjective in this case, and as far as Stench was concerned it smelled incredible.

As the filthy shit-witch approached the dirty old pot, her heart pounded in her chest. Most people wouldn't feel a deep sexual thrill at the sight and stink of a jar full of other people's crap. Stench enjoyed not being 'most people'.

Apega, as soon as she noticed the pot of shit, glanced at Stench's expression. "Oh."

"Yep."

Apega sighed wearily.

"What?"

"Is this really the time to be doin' that kinda shit?"

Stench shrugged. "If I only ever did filthy shit when it's a good idea, I'd never get to do it at all. Then where'd I be?"

"How am I the sane one here?"

"I won't get too carried away, I promise. And I do actually need fresh shit to do magic with if there's trouble" Stench assured her.

Apega gave Stench a skeptical look, then sighed again as she realized that there was no talking Stench out of this. "Have fun."

A grin on her lips, Stench squatted down next to the chamber pot. A stink of hours-old human waste practically erupted out of the pot. A lesser woman would have gagged from the stink. Stench breathed it in deep, and she felt her pussy moisten just from thinking about what she was about to do. She wouldn't get carried away. All this crap was to be her weapon first and foremost, so she couldn't waste it. If she smeared it all over herself, it would just dry and flake off within the hour.

That left a great deal she could do with it.

Business before pleasure. Stench started to fill up one of her empty shit-pouches with fresh human waste. Handful after handful of reeking lumpy sludge went into the old seed bag. Though she couldn't resist smearing her face with a mucky hand a few times as she worked, and she got some on her lips, which she impulsively licked. She let the taste fill her mouth. Gods, it was bad! She loved it! A trickle of brown drool oozed down her chin.

Once her shit-pouch was bulging, there was still over half the pot remaining. Stench had more bags, she could have just filled another one of them up. But instead, the filthy shit-slut hiked up her skirt and tucked the tatters into her belt. She undid the drawstring on her knickers, and she pulled the crusty waistband forward. (The brown, crusty, vaguely glossy cloth was made out of some kind of fabric that was holding up quite well to its abuse, unlike her dress.) And then, without a moment's further hesitation, she upended the entirety of the privy pot's remaining contents over her pussy.

The mass of crap landed with a splat onto Stench's general pelvic area, and oozed into all of her already much-sullied folds. It felt cool and wet, squishy and lumpy against her hot filthy cunt, and it reeked as only fresh shit could reek. It oozed its way back between her buttocks and over her asshole. It also started to ooze down the legs of her knickers, but Stench held it back with a little supernatural cheating, ensuring that it only went where she wanted it to go.

Stench settled herself down onto the mossy ground with a sigh of contentment, her back against a boulder. Shit squished under her ass, and she wiggled her bottom a little, relishing the slick, lumpy, oozing sensations.

All the poop in her knickers would remain moist from her sweat, piss and pussy juices. She'd tested this. It would steadily grow fouler as it aged between her legs and her germs feasted upon its bounty, but as far as her powers were concerned it would remain at peak freshness for about a day and a half.

And since it was all piled on top of her pussy anyway, why not shit-fuck herself with it?

She started to stroke herself through the crusty fabric of her knickers and the half-inch of shit. Other people's crap squished against her clit and between her labia with soft wet sticky sounds. Otherwise, though, Stench stayed quiet. Her ears were pricked for any noises she didn't recognize. A lifetime of being a sexual deviant stuck in Castle Lan had (hilariously) made her accustomed to getting off in secret, so this was no problem.

Apega stared down at Stench with a general air of exasperation, except that she couldn't stop watching.

Perhaps in an effort to demonstrate that she wasn't as much of a nymphomaniac as Stench, the dirty street rat pointedly didn't follow the shit-slut's example. She spent a minute taking all the stolen weapons off her belt and laying them down neatly on the moss. Then she sat on a rock, pulled her half-finished sling out, and started working at it some more.

It was only a few minutes before she gave up working at her sling. It was getting too dark to see what she was doing.

"Are you tryin' to tease me?" she grumbled, sounding more resigned than anything.

Stench, who now had a hand down her knickers and was casually fingering herself so as to deliberately push shit up her cunt, just smiled and shrugged. "Not really." She squeezed at the pussy-turd with her vaginal muscles, expelling it from her filthy hole. It made a faint squishy sound that was broken up by a surprisingly loud queef, which drew a noise of amusement from Apega. "You could join in" Stench offered helpfully.

It was getting too dark to make out Apega's expression in any detail, but Stench still thought she saw the girl's blush deepen. "I don't want other people's shit on me" Apega said after too long a hesitation.

"You don't have to worry about diseases or anything."

"Yeah, so long as I'm glued to your hip."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"You say that now..." Despite her show of reluctance, temptation was obvious on Apega's face, even in the gloom.

Stench made no further effort to tempt Apega. She was reasonably sure she didn't need to.

After a minute, Apega sighed. "Gods, this is why I'm gonna get dragged down to Hell..." she muttered, and she settled herself down next to Stench.

"I'll meet you there."

"Heh." Apega nestled against Stench with an eagerness that made Stench feel a rush of fondness within her chest. (And as soon as Apega got close enough, Stench activated the warmth-germs on Apega's body, almost reflexively.) The dirty pale girl reached into Stench's knickers, and down between her legs. For a moment, their fingers laced together amid the muck.

The dirty street rat stroked herself as she breathed Stench's intoxicating reek, and ran her fingers through Stench's shit-slick pubic hair, feeling all the little hard lumps of dry crap in the filthy jungle that was Stench's bush. She reached to Stench's vagina, and her fingertips sank into a wad of firm shit. She made a little noise of delight at the discovery, and started jilling herself even faster as she explored the shit-slut's deliciously defiled body.

Now emboldened, the dirty street rat scooped up a handful of crap from Stench's knickers, stared at it for a moment in the gloom, and then slathered the mess all over her own pussy. Diddling herself with a mucky hand, she buried her nose in Stench's hairy armpit and huffed her lover's most noxious fumes like she intended to get high off them.

Stench was a little taken aback at how eager Apega was, now that she'd finally let herself. It was cute, and really gratifying to see. But...

"Hey. Don't get too crazy. Remember what you said? You had a point."

Apega made an annoyed grunt, and her self-pleasure abruptly halted.

"You don't need to stop. Let yourself enjoy this" Stench said soothingly. "You don't have to go wild." She was distinctly aware of the irony of her being the one to chide Apega so.

"Yeah. But it's nice..." Apega muttered, embarrassed at having lost herself so readily to filthy hedonism.

"Yeah it is" Stench said a little wistfully. "But this is pretty great too." She gently lifted Apega's chin with her index finger. Apega grinned, and then kissed Stench on the lips.

The two lovers enjoyed one another's dirty, dirty bodies. They did so quietly, and their efforts amounted to what was essentially heavy petting, except there was shit involved. They shared kisses, but they were brief and infrequent. Roughly a third of the contents of Stench's knickers got painted onto her and Apega's dirty bodies, but that left plenty in reserve. The orgasms they had almost weren't the point. What did matter was how complete they felt together. Their guard might have been up, but it wasn't for each other. They were two filthy madwomen against the world.