All Novel Sweet
704
Later that evening a shadow passed over Valise’s tent. This went largely unnoticed by the owner, who was settled upon her hands and knees whilst Gregory passionately filled her pussy from behind. The shadow paused a moment to form the outline of Talina who was passing by on her way out into the encampment.
In all her years working beside Valise in the encampment, she’d never even considered that the blonde woman could have been anything but the personification of grace and serenity. It seemed as if Gregory was in the midst of proving her quite wrong on that account. He definitely brought out the animal in Valise, and the low and steady feminine groans and growls coming from within served to highlight just how far her friend had fallen. Then again, Talina was quite certain that beyond the occasional kind smile she’d never witnessed Valise actually enjoying herself since they’d first met.
Her hand retreated beneath the black cloak she was garbed in, and pushed aside the material of her undergarments to tease her fingers along the folds of her own sex. Gods, that man could fuck! Perhaps she could slip beneath the canopy and ask if they’d like some company? No. Alas. Torren was all hers now and she was all his. That kind of ownership came with certain responsibilities. When she returned, she would wake up her bulky blacksmith and take out her frustrations on him. After all, he had responsibilities too.
With a sly smile settled on her lips, she lifted her hand to lick across her slippery fingertips and stepped on past the lovers’ tent to make her way out into the encampment. Her hood was pulled up over her head, and she quietly disappeared into almost nothing.
Disappearing was almost second nature to her. It wasn’t that she could become invisible, but she was highly skilled in avoiding unwanted attention. Tonight she didn’t want any attention, and by now she knew the camp well enough to stay out of sight with ease.
A passing shadow in the night.
It didn’t take her long to find her destination, for over the course of the past few nights she had taken to keeping her eyes on The Berserkers’ alpha. His name was Rolk, and of a war pack comprised almost entirely of hulking brutes, she’d already seen that he was by far the hulkiest and the brutiest. He certainly wasn’t that difficult to find, and tended to march around the camp with the rest of his pack as if he owned the place. Orcs being what they were, it didn’t take much of that sort of attitude before The Berserkers were brawling with some poor bystander. Many of those who challenged Rolk for his attitude soon discovered that the alpha wasn’t exactly versed in the concepts of honour and fairness. The rest of his pack would often cheat to help him if any other soul offered him a challenge, and as a result Rolk had already amassed a small fortune in the spoils of those challenges.
Talina’s initial interest in him had been mostly for Gregory’s benefit. If her master was to pass the provings then he would need to overcome Rolk and The Berserkers. She’d started observing them in order to find out if they had any notable weaknesses. Unfortunately, there was a reason Rolk’s pack was the most prominent on the proving grounds. Chinks in their armour were few and far between. They tended to stomp over their enemies with a devastating and almost clinically efficient charge, and they’d gotten disturbingly good at it.
In studying the great brute, she’d accidentally stumbled across her new favourite pastime of ruining his day. Her attempts to uncover the plotters who had freed the mad boy and caused her master so much trouble had come up frustratingly short. So, after she’d spent time following her few leads to dead ends she often sought out Rolk to see how she might best unravel whatever he had planned.
True to form, she found him behind an array of tents with his pack in the process of kicking around another of the few merchants to be found amongst the orcs. As a vassal of Bolut, she recognised the merchant immediately. He was a middle aged orc named Perolf, who had never passed the provings due to his habit of remaining painfully thin and deeply uncoordinated. He had come to visit Bolut’s camp once or twice, and Lydia had even danced for him. Talina found it remarkable to watch him walk, for it seemed as if his limbs moved almost completely independently of each other. This generally resulted in him falling over and hitting his head on things quite a bit.
It seemed like his head was now bouncing off The Berserker’s fists quite a bit, so it was probably fortunate that it had endured some practice beforehand. She slipped into a comfortable spot where the shadows of two tents folded over each other and watched.
“Come, Perolf the Unproven!” Rolk yelled. “How can you even call yourself an orc? Better to take my challenge, and the beating that’ll follow.”
Perolf stumbled to send those long limbs of his clattering toward the dirt. He spat some of it from his mouth before looking back up at Rolk.
“I am not to be challenged, on the orders of the warchief himself.” Perolf growled in outrage. “I am unproven, as are you, Rolk. We cannot give challenge to anyone.”
“No? But we can take them up if we have a sliver of honour! Are you so weak that you hide behind your pathetic title. You are well past age when you should be proven, gold lover. I see it as fair for you to challenge me, and none of us are forbidden from playing. So, will you give me a challenge today? Or do my friends here need to play with you some more?”
Talina saw the look in Perolf’s eyes, and realised that the poor orc was very close to taking up that challenge. He might have been barely able to match the weight of Rolk’s club, but he was an orc. All orcs have a spirit of battle within them; even if it would be grossly unwise to accept it.
She moved out from her hiding spot with silent haste to get away from the challenge that would surely be forthcoming soon enough. There was something missing from the usual equation back there. Perolf might have had all the combat skill of a wooden spoon, but his brother Dregolf was another matter entirely. Not only had he passed the provings with flying colours, but Dregolf had actually served in the north in fighting against the scourge. In fact, he’d been up there and back again five times since his own proving, and she couldn’t name many who came back from that place more than once.
So where the bloody hell was he now? Dregolf always looked out for his little brother. They weren’t usually seen without each other for long. She scanned the surrounding tents and quickly came upon the explanation. Outside of one of the ale tents, there sat Dregolf with a particularly lovely young female orc settled in his lap who just happened to also be a member of The Berserkers. Ishka.
Suddenly it wasn’t so difficult to see why the veteran warrior was so distracted just at that moment.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.
She rolled her eyes and formed a plan of approach. It didn’t take her long to head over to the brewer and order two tankards of redroot mead. This happened to be a particularly viscous drink that was vaguely pinkish in colour whilst smelling of damp soil. It wasn’t exactly a recreational drink, and used more for its medicinal purposes in freeing up the bowels and supposedly increasing the density of one’s beard. Never the less, its oily consistency suited her purposes just fine.