The World of Erasthay

The Rogue's Harem Book Two: Rogue's Wicked Harem

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Fairy's Art

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2018

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Story Codes:fantasy magic

Click here for Chapter 31

Note: Thanks to B0b and WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Kora Falk – The Forest of Lhes, Princedom of Kivoneth, The Strifelands of Zeutch

I led my horse through the woods while trudging beside Ealaín. Exhaustion leaden my limbs, but I kept forging ahead. I felt so rundown even after falling asleep early during yesterday's celebratory orgy. I must have slept for nearly a day, rising after dawn with the others. And I still felt like I needed more sleep.

I needed a real bed.

I needed a week of not traveling.

Az would be perfect for that. We could search for the clues on how to destroy the amulet weighing about my neck and recover from the last two weeks of hard travel and stress. I fought back a yawn, heartened by that as we kept heading southeast, marching through the forest to reach its southern edge and meet up with Princess Ava.

Ealaín marched with a stoic indifference that I envied. The horse the aoi si led was stolen by Aingeal and her trickery. The faerie flitted through the woods with such joy, reveling in the restoration of her wings. I kept catching glimpses of her as she darted through the canopies, a growing pile of sticks and twigs clutched to her breasts while her mirth sang out through the woods.

“What do you want, Radiant?” Ealaín asked.

I blinked at the abruptness of her question. “What?”

“What do you want?” she asked again. “With your life?”

I gave my muse a furrowed look, struggling to think through the leaden exhaustion pressing down on my thoughts. “Well, to kill Prince Meinard, and to get rid of this Las cursed amulet.” I felt the ruby between my breasts. I had grown used to it hanging there, but sometimes I remembered what was in it and my skin crawled. “And to get to a bed.”

A smile cracked Ealaín's thick lips. “A bed would be a wondrous thing. But that's not what you want.”

I blinked weary eyes. “A bed?”

“Killing Prince Meinard. That's what your brother wants.”

I glanced up to Sven leading his mount with Zanyia scampering at his heels and Nathalie striding beside him like she was out on a berry picking trip to the woods, her blonde pigtails swaying about her head as she giggled at something he said.

I furrowed my brow. I wanted to kill prince Meinard. He murdered my parents and my little sister. He set our house on fire to kill Sven, only my brother and I were not home and escaped the flames. The fire burned in my dreams, lighting up Prince Meinard's soldiers standing outside.

“If you were free, what would you do?” Ealaín asked.

Irritation flared through me, fed by my weariness. “Well, I'm not free. He killed my sister! My parents! And I have this dumb amulet, too.” I glared at her. “That's why you're here, right? To help me destroy this amulet? Why are you asking these questions?”

“I'm not here to help you destroy the amulet. I'm here to help you find yourself.”

I frowned at that. What did that mean?

“What do you truly wish you were doing? What is your true goal?”

“I...” The fingers of my left hand, not holding my horse's bridle, clenched. They itched. “I... I haven't truly painted in so long. Not with a real brush.” My tongue moistened my lips as I thought, the exhaustion spilling off mind, letting me think. “Illusions aren't the same. They're...” I searched for the right word. “They're too real. Does that makes sense?”

Ealaín nodded, her pure-white hair sliding about her ebony features. “They lack any style.”

“Yes!” I said, enthusiasm rising me. “There's no subjectivity. I can't paint my expression in them. Not when I have to mimic the real world. I don't get to pour any of my truths into them. Instead, I have to paint other's truths. Reality's boring truths. I miss it so much. It was nice dancing before the faerie, and I do get to create such wondrous art while making love to my brother and his women, but... but... I truly find joy in painting. It's been over a year since I held a brush, Ealaín.

“A year!”

“Yes, it's hard to pursue your passion when you're following your brother around on his adventure.”

“It won't be forever,” I said, my frustration dying down. “We're getting closer to being done.”

“Will it be over, though?” Her citrine eyes bored into me. “Won't there always be another adventure for Sven to throw himself into? Another dangerous task? Another perilous quest?”

I blinked and looked ahead at my brother. The exhaustion settled on my thoughts again as her words stirred through my brain. My brother did enjoy excitement. He always sought out danger in Az. He would perform stunts. Once, he climbed to the pinnacle of the Bardic Tower and stood atop it. He would sneak into maidens beds and claim their virginities without their fathers learning of his presence. He would fight duels. He would brawl in taverns. And...

He enjoyed playing the rogue—disrupting Prince Meinard's plans, regaling busty barmaids with his exploits, narrowly escaping capture—for the last year. But I always assumed when this was over, he'd marry Princess Ava and settle down as her consort. He'd rule her father's princedom with her, bringing peace to the Strifelands.

Could he endure that? Could my brother settle down?



I plopped down by the fire, spreading out all the materials I had collected during the day. I hadn't planned on making a new feyhound to replace Cú Mheá. I missed my construct, but that wasn't why I was building a new one. A concern itched in my mind when I woke up this morning, showing me the necessity of having a new feyhound.

I set to work weaving his body out of the wicker-like twigs, the spirits which abandoned through the world responding to me. They shaped the wood, polishing it up for me as I stroked it. Purple light flared around me as my wings twitched. I hummed to myself while Nathalie and Zanyia made a meal of the rabbits Sven had killed with throwing knives while they walked through the woods. (I flew). They planned on making a delicious stew. Kora dozed on the other side of the fire, her head resting on Sven's lap. He watched me across the flames as I worked, a naughty glint in his eyes.

The pervert had enjoyed watching feyhounds fuck his women back in Faerie.

I winked at him as I wove and threaded the twigs while the spirits imbued the body. Slowly, it would awaken into something almost like life. A construct animated by the spirits which inhabited everything in the world, the universal forces that bound together reality. Cernere's gifted her faerie children the ability to cheat at the world's game, to manipulate it in ways that violated the rules laid down in its very foundation.

Ealaín sat down beside me, her body naked and lush. She'd stripped out of her armor when we made camp. She took her ease, her bright-yellow eyes falling on what I was doing. Interest kindled in her depths.

“I'm imbuing strength into the limbs,” I told her, my fingers entwining the twigs together to make the feyhound's legs. “So he'll be able to fight.”

“Fight?” Ealaín asked.

“The next time the assassin attacks, when he recovers from his wounds, we'll have one more weapon to use against him,” I explained. “It occurred to me that we could use another advantage. I wish my first feyhound was with us, but...” I missed Cú Mheá. Pushing down the pang in my heart, I continued, “When his body is fully fashioned, all the enchantments laid in it will give it intelligence, cunning, strength, and lust—”

“Lust?” Ealaín asked.

I winked at her, my hand grabbing a large piece of hard oak. I guided the transformation spirits, shaping it into a hound-like phallus, my pussy clenching in eager delight. “There is something so wicked about being ravished by a feyhound.”

“That does sound like a... unique way to make art,” the aoi si said.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Sven said, stroking one of Kora's braids as she softly snored. I just heard it over the crackle of the fire.

“It is,” Zanyia yowled. “Right, slut?”

“Right,” Nathalie nodded, the girl beaming at me, such a naughty twinkle in her eye. Sven had corrupted her so fast. Only a few days ago, she'd been an innocent maid. And then the rogue wandered into her life.

I couldn't wait to see what adventures I would have with Sven. Prince Meinard would fall. We'd find a way to destroy the amulet. Then what would we do? What new experiences would Sven seek out? With my spirits, I could prolong his youth. Keep him young and strong. We would have so much fun together.

My wings fluttered in delight.

“The enchantment spirits are settling into the feyhound's body,” I said, weaving faster and faster, the twigs with just the right amount of suppleness, thanks to transformation spirits, to bend into place. “They will bring him to life when I'm done.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Yes,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “I think I'll call him Scáthnamhaid.”

“Scáthnamhaid...” Ealaín nodded her head. “It has a nice sound to it.”

“What does it mean?” Sven asked.

“Shadowbane, my husband,” I answered. My eyes flicked up to the trees. An owl's hoot drifted down from the darkness.

Sven nodded in approval.

I grabbed the thick, broad maple leaf, trimming away the two side parts leaving only the central green tuft. I inserted that into his mouth, the transformation spirits joining it to the body. Then I wove his tail, thick and short.

I stood him up, his body rigid. The smell of stew filled the air. Kora stirred, blinking sleepily across the fire as she took a bowl from Nathalie. I ignored my own hungry stomach and studied Scáthnamhaid. He had the look of a hunting dog, sleek and dangerous. I fashioned claws out of hard oak, made of the same strong material with which I fashioned his cock, currently hidden in a sheath in his body. I ran my hands across the smooth wicker torso, loving the feel of him.

Then I sent my will into him. The purple enchantment spirits flooded through the air. Bright orange evocation spirits joined them, swirling together into the feyhound's heart. I shuddered, the energy pouring out of me. The enhancement spirits, balls of green light, shot through me, gathering my own life essence, and transferring it to my feyhound, joining the chaotic dance in its chest.

The spirits worked their magic and—

Scáthnamhaid barked with happy joy.

His tail wagged stiffly behind him. His body creaked as he lifted his head towards me. I smiled as he lapped at me cheek with his leafy tongue. Then he flicked across my lips as he barked again with all the energetic enthusiasm of a puppy.

“Yes, you are going to be our surprise against that assassin,” I said while petting his body.

Ealaín reached out, smiling as she stroked his flank down to his tail. “What amazing art you have wrought, Aingeal.”

“I never thought of making a feyhound as art,” I said. I shook my head, a wave of lethargy rolling over me. I felt so rundown. Making a feyhound could be draining, but this? I suddenly just wanted to sleep.

Sven sat down on the other side of me, handing me a bowl. I took it, the smell of rabbit stew savory. He scratched Scáthnamhaid's head. The feyhound barked and turned his attention to my husband, licking his fingers.

“Hey, boy,” he said. “Eager to rip apart an assassin, huh?”

Scáthnamhaid barked loudly.

“I enhanced his eyes,” I said, glancing at the acorns Scáthnamhaid used to see with. “One of us won't be blind.”

Sven nodded, still scratching the dog, mirth in his blue eyes. “Good.”

I took a bite of my stew, fighting off my exhaustion. Why was I so tired? Kora was already stumbling towards the tent to sleep. I wanted to join her, but my stomach rumbled. I forced myself to eat the stew while Sven petted Scáthnamhaid. But it grew so hard to keep my eyes open. My entire body ached with exhaustion.

Finally, I crawled into the tent after Kora, cuddled up against her, and let tiredness pull me down into sleep. Right before my dreams claimed me, I realized I didn't even get to enjoy the best part of making a new feyhound: fucking him.

To be continued...

Click here for Chapter 33

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