Flexible Morals Ch 03
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Flexible Morals Ch. 01 And Prologue free porn video
Author’s note: This probably won’t be relevant in the future but I’m taking a break from Arms of the Ocean for a while because I can’t get it to work properly in my head and I need it to brew some more. In the meantime, I give you this, a story that I wrote a while before I began submitting things to Literotica. It takes place in the same universe but the names of races, locations and a few other things have all been changed (Mostly as a way of separating erotic from non-erotic in the event that I ever need to). As always, I would love to read what you think.
Prologue
‘I have to ask, considering the expense that you must be going through, if you treat all travelers in your town with such hospitality as this.’
Winston Gilbride smiled, his eyes on his plate. The duck had been exquisite, he would have to make a note for it to feature on the menu more often. Especially seeing how the season was good for them. He looked up after a moment of pondering to reply. ‘You’ve caught me. No, I do not treat all in this way for not all that pass through here rouse my interest such as you have.’
Winston’s eyes shot between his guests then. A Mr. and Mrs Yarepsa, traveling healers who, he gathered, had learned their craft in Kachtikar and were now moving through the northern reaches of Keladesh in search of those in need. Provided that those were able to pay, of course. ‘No,’ he continued. ‘I only extended my invitation after I learned of your work in market street. We’ve a strong need for good healers here in Fissure so you are most welcome to stay, if you so desire.’
Mr. Yarepsa, Glin, his first name, shook his head. ‘We’ve never been wont to settle anywhere. Not when the open road constantly whispers of adventure, isn’t that right, Vaalice?’
The woman nodded. Her golden hair, tangled with braided ropes, bobbed enthusiastically. ‘I don’t know how you northerners can stand to stay still. The country here is so beautiful.’
‘Quite,’ Glin agreed with a smile. ‘Anyway, I imagine we will stay here until the end of the week or until there are no more patients to which we need tend. The summer may bring us around again. It’s a shame, of course. I can tell that you’ve a great appreciation of modern medicine. A mindset far too rare. Vaalice and I have countless stories of villages where we’ve been met with closed minds, yet as soon as someone has need they come running and begging for aid. Then there are those who think that we are some sort of traveling charity. That they should be under no obligation to pay for their mended bodies. Can you imagine?’
Winston allowed himself a polite chuckle. He raised a hand and beckoned for Raleek to bring more wine. Something fruity, he hoped, to keep these folk’s lips moving. The butler nodded to the command and vanished down the hall. His shadow danced across the walls in the light of candles and torches. Winston watched it for a moment before returning his focus to the guests. Glin was in the middle of some medical anecdote
‘Every Solar we’ve met seems to think himself a master of healing. As if all it takes is to make a little glow in your palms and suddenly death is banished forever. You should see some of the cases we’ve had. Half are from village amateurs having their way with the patient before we arrive. If I had a star for every bone I’ve had to re-break because the previous healer thought it was as simple as tying two pieces of rope together,’ Glin sighed sadly. ‘Make no mistake, we could buy an entire wing of Empress Dawn’s palace.’
‘And he’s not exaggerating either,’ Vaalice swept in. ‘It’s almost as if some healers really think that bones are meant to tie together. No, we’re not joking. There was that one back in Brighilde, what was his name? Arvis? His elbow was swollen and immobile because the previous healer truly had tied the two bones together.’ She knotted her arms around one another to demonstrate. ‘You may think us cold for joking but if we don’t joke we come to tears. It’s an epidemic, all these folk masquerading as practiced people of medicine. The Empress should do something about it.’
‘Not to mention what it’s doing to the reputation of those who’ve had real training in the field,’ said Glin as the conversation passed to him. ‘These seeds of mistrust are only going to end up costing people’s lives. They’ll start falling back on old ‘remedies’ that are all show and only do more harm than— Ah, goodness me. Here we are rambling away. I could go on for hours with stories about medicine but they would only end up boring you.’
Winston jolted against his chair, calling up all reserves of attention. He lifted a hand to protest. ‘Not at all. I find the profession fascinating. Why do you think I invited the two of you to dine here tonight? Besides, I was hoping to draw upon your obvious knowledge with a question.’
The couple beamed for a moment. ‘Go on,’ said Glin.
‘Well, several years ago there was a woman in town who fell terribly ill. It was some sort of disease of the blood, or so our healer at the time thought. She died in the end. All her treatments proved ineffective. I was wondering if you might be able to offer some insight as to her affliction?’
Glin leaned forwards and clasped his hands together upon the table. ‘Do you recall her symptoms? Why did this healer think it borne of blood?’
‘I cannot remember his reasoning precisely. Her symptoms though, she seemed to be withering away. Her skin and muscles grew frail as time went on and the veins started to look discolored. Much darker than they should be.’
Glin had his hands cupped around his chin as he stared away and nodded thoughtfully. His wife, too, seemed to be pondering the illness. After a time, she was the one to speak. ‘The discoloring came as she grew weaker?’
‘Yes.’ Winston could remember that part in intense detail. The crystal-clear roadwork of blood as it knitted its way across her body. He had been astounded at the time with how extensive the veins were. Long, thick tangles spreading on her arms, legs, chest like the roots of a tree or the tributaries of a river. He had had a brief, morbid interest in the chance to see just how complicated the network of blood really was.
‘I do not think that her blood had become discolored,’ said Glin, his face taut as the ideas came. ‘It was dark, mm? Perhaps, as her skin and muscle degraded, the veins simply became clearer to see. If she was withering like this, I would think it because she was not receiving enough to eat or perhaps her body was refusing what went in. The blood was nothing more than a distraction. What did your healer try?’
Winston didn’t answer at first as he found himself absorbed by the explanation. It was such a simple concept yet now it seemed so obvious. ‘Hmm? What did he try? Well, since he thought that her blood was poisoning her, he tried draining it out in small quantities at a time.’
Vaalice’s expression turned grim. ‘Bloodletting, you mean. That will only hasten a patient’s decline.’
‘But I thought— when did this change?’ Winston asked, glancing between the two healers.
‘Oh, it must have been eighteen years ago now.’
‘Nineteen,’ Glin corrected. ‘Discovered by Healer Estad, one of our masters. No, when you drain a creature, man or beast, of its blood, it only becomes weaker. Even if the blood was bad, she would have still needed it to live. And besides, what did your healer think to do afterwards? Clean the blood and put it back in? Fanciful dreaming, I’m afraid.’
‘So what would you have done?’ Winston asked.
‘Something may have been eating her from within. I would have had a Vocal use his voice to check for parasites, then, if any were found, give her a tonic to flush them out.’
‘The healer was a Vocal.’
‘Mm.’ Glin rubbed his brow and sighed. ‘Well, as I said, there are some Solars, and Vocals too it seems, who think themselves capable of limitless miracles simply because they know the sligh
test bit of healing magic. Perhaps I can’t blame them. It is how most get into the profession. I remember a time when I too would have tried to drain someone’s blood as a means of curing them. We are all students, despite what anyone may tell you.’
‘Who was this woman, by the way? And what became of the healer?’ Vaalice asked.
Raleek chose that moment to return, bottle clasped in one hand. He set it down upon the table and started to uncork it but Winston waved the man away. The thought of wine no longer appealed. He needed something far stronger. He returned his focus to his guests and flashed a soft smile to hide his pain. ‘The healer stopped his practice several years ago. As for the woman, she was my wife.’ He strained to renew his smile. ‘Her name was Edith.’
Chapter One
Her body ached with misery yet there were no tears for she had no eyes with which to cry. Her throat felt as though it would close at any second and her breathing came in stutters between each heaving sob. She had her knees pulled up against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. The world rocked against her, or perhaps she was the one doing the rocking. She could feel the ground on which she sat soiling her robe, the dirt seeping in and smearing itself all over the formerly clean white fabric. Such trivial concerns barely surfaced in her mind before being banished again.
As the pain died a little with the passage of time, Phyre breathed out a questioning note to see, through her voice, if her surroundings had changed at all. They hadn’t. She was still sitting by the river. Out on the water, several strider birds were prowling around, eyes locked to the currents in search of prey. The far shore held a dense tangle of reeds beyond which the forest continued. That part was strange. Why wasn’t her side of the river similarly shrouded in reeds? Something in the soil perhaps? She clung to that thought and any others that arrived. Anything to distract from the pain.
Phyre adjusted her hood, fixing its position so that the hem sat right on the edge of her nose and ran down either cheek. Then she lifted a sleeve to wipe her face of saliva and mucus. Even without eyes to shed tears from, crying made such a mess. She held back the urge to continue with it. There’d been quite enough crying today already. Time to move on. She raised the melody of her voice enough to keep tabs on what was going on. The day was warm and sunny and something in that annoyed her. She would rather the weather had had the good sense to provide a suitable backdrop for her misery. Instead, it was one of the prettiest days that she had ever seen. Spring was at its peak, the wonderful time when the temperature was exactly right. Perhaps, if life had treated her differently, she would have chosen to swim in the river today. No chance of that happening anymore.
Out in the water, a ruckus had picked up. One of the striders had caught something, a frog. Now the bird was struggling to get its catch into its mouth. Meanwhile, its comrades were crowding around in the hope that the lucky one dropped its meal. Phyre only half-watched. It would be over soon anyway. The frog would die. Let it.
She lifted a hand up and under her hood to touch the spot where, in another life, her eyes might have been. Instead, two bright red-orange patches of skin, forked three ways at the top and bottom, were there, the marks for which she was named. They also appeared on her hood, painted the same way and in the same spot. For a moment she wondered what it would have been like to have tears flowing from her occumarks. Such a strange thought, water running from one’s face rather than one’s mouth. And it was supposed to be salty, too, or so she had heard.
Again Phyre’s attention was drawn out to the river. The striders were still wrestling for the frog. It was putting up a remarkable fight, she had to admit. It almost looked as if it was trying to pry one of the bird’s beaks open and climb out. Then the two jaws clamped down and she could see one of its forelegs caught in between. She suddenly felt tremendously sorry for the creature. She stood, pointed to the part of the river where the striders were fighting, and uttered a single word. ‘Neen.’
The effect of her spell was near-instantaneous. A ripple shot out from the shore on which she was standing and zoomed towards the place she had pointed to. Once it arrived, the water there exploded with a splash, sending the striders flapping and screeching to get away. She couldn’t see if they dropped the frog in the process. The noise and water interrupted her voice, and thus, her vision. They must have, considering the great fuss they were making as they took wing and flew further up the river.
She watched for a few moments as the water calmed. Then she sank down, curled her legs in, and went back to thinking. The minutes passed as quickly as a flower opening its petals. She tried to think about what still needed to be done today. Tidy up the house as much as she could, find something to eat. There were plenty of fish in the river and fruit could be found in the woods easily enough. None of it appealed at the moment, nor did she think it would do so anytime soon. Had she the money, and the desire, she would have journeyed into town and sought out something there.
‘Hello, young miss,’ came a voice from her right.
Phyre jumped at the noise. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching. She searched the space that her voice was covering but couldn’t find anyone. ‘Hello?’ she tried.
‘It was awful nice of you to save me from those wretches back there. Mind, it could have been done in a bit more of a timely fashion. I was trying to call to you but you must not have heard me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything. My thanks, by the way.’
As the voice went on, Phyre kept searching. Fear of this invisible visitor was starting to creep into her veins. He didn’t sound unkind, but a voice could be very deceptive. At last she spotted something, a frog nestled upon a slimy-looking rock. ‘Hello?’ she asked it, turning her head to face the creature.
‘Yes, hello,’ it said. ‘Are you quite alright, miss? You seem a bit out of sorts.’
For a few moments, Phyre could only stare as she tried to sort out an explanation for what she was experiencing. This was a talking frog, it seemed. She must have fallen asleep, that was the only thing that made sense. Except, she hadn’t been tired before. She couldn’t remember being tired. It hadn’t been a particularly tiring day, save for all the crying.
‘Miss? Are you alright?’ the frog asked again. His mouth didn’t move when the words came out. His throat was throbbing, though, with a steady beat that she could only guess was his breathing.
‘Um, I’m alright,’ she managed at last.
‘Are you sure? It looked like you had drifted off for a moment there.’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Ah, well that’s good then. As I was saying, I’m most grateful for your rescuing me.’
‘You’re welcome, I guess.’
He wasn’t a small frog. About the size of her palm. His skin was a deep black except for a little patch of blue upon his back that looked like a drop of water. ‘Such a selfless act as yours deserves a reward.’
‘Oh, what sort of reward can a frog give?’ Then, as she tried to think up the answer to that question herself, Phyre thought of a more pressing one. ‘And why can you talk? Are you a prince?’
‘A prince? I shouldn’t think so… Why do you ask?’ the frog cocked his head to one side and peered curiously at her with his big, black eyes.
Phyre considered his question for a moment. ‘Some people tell stories about princes being trapped as frogs. You have to kiss them to turn them back.’
If possible, the frog appeared to frown at this. ‘I’ve never heard anything like that. You’re welcome to try kissing me if you like but I imagine it won’t change anything. But to answer your other questions, I talk for I am a wishing frog.’ With that, the frog hopped in p
lace and puffed out his throat with a single, grand croak.
‘A wishing frog?’ Phyre asked. She couldn’t remember ever hearing about such a creature. Not in any of the stories that her— that she had heard. There’d been plenty of other magical beasts that didn’t really exist, some nice and some nasty. Stories filled with unicorns, fairies and rocs or ghosts, zombies and bogeymen. No wishing frogs in any of them. Perhaps that was because, as she was now discovering, there was a chance that wishing frogs did really exist. ‘I’ve never heard of a wishing frog.’
‘We like to keep ourselves secret.’
‘Ourselves?’
‘Precisely, the Order of the Wishing Frogs. It’s a committee of wishing frogs from all over the land.’
‘I see.’ Though she didn’t quite. Phyre cast her voice over the frog, trying to discover whether she had overlooked anything special about him. There wasn’t anything. He didn’t seem different to any of the other frogs that she had ever encountered. ‘So why dajoo keep it a secret? Aren’t there a lot of people who would like to have a wish?’
‘I’m sure there are hundreds. But the only way to get a wishing frog’s wish is to save his life, like you did. If everyone knew about the wishing frogs, there’d probably be loads of people getting innocent frogs in danger just so they could save them again. It’d be catastrophic for the industry, not to mention the species.’
‘I see.’ This time, those words had substantially more truth in them.
‘So, on the subject of wishes, what would you like to wish for, miss…?’ he trailed off.
‘Phyre, my name’s Phyre.’
A croak rumbled from the frog. ‘Did you say Fire?’
‘Mhmm.’
‘Fire? Like the big, swirly, orangey stuff that burns everything to ashes?’
‘Sort of… Except it’s spelled with a P and an H… And a Y as well.’
‘So you won’t burn up the forest?’
‘No.’ She gave her head a vigorous shake.
The frog stared at her for several seconds, his throat pulsing frantically. ‘I suppose I can trust you, then. At least there’s plenty of water around here. Now where were we?’
‘My wish.’ She still wasn’t entirely convinced that any of this was real. Given the events of the past few days, it seemed strange that something as significant and fortunate as a wish should simply drop into her lap. How significant was it anyway?
‘Yes, that’s right. Your wish. You can wish for just about anything you want. But no wishing for something to die or something to come back to life. Those are the only rules.’ The frog finished his explanation with a firm croak.
Phyre thought about his words, then latched onto part of them. ‘Why can’t I wish for something to come back to life?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s rather a big wish. It’s a bit more than I can manage, you see.’
‘Oh…’ Her insides wrenched at that restriction.
‘You can wish for anything else, though.’
‘I know.’
The sounds of the river picked up as their conversation fell away. Occasionally the frog uttered a short, chirping croak, perhaps in reply to the call of another of his kind. Out in the water, the strider birds had returned to their hunt for fish. Each long-legged step was made with a focused and steady purpose.
‘So, do you know what to wish for?’ the frog asked after a minute had passed.
‘No,’ said Phyre. ‘I can’t think of anything.’
‘Mmm. Well, that’s okay. It is quite a big decision. You can give it some time if you want. As much time as you need.’
Another minute of thinking stretched by. The river was starting to turn orange as the sun descended upon it. Soon would come the evening chill and damp along with the buzzing, stinging insects that swarmed by water. Even with her hood up tight, some still found a way to hover by her ears and scream into them. Phyre shuddered at such a thought. Her stomach growled too, nothing to eat since the morning. She hadn’t felt like anything then, nor had she desired much the day before. Yet now, hunger was returning with a vengeance. The more she acknowledged it, the more it grew. It was this frog, she realized. His arrival had distracted her from the things that had distracted her from food. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
Haven
- 15.11.2020
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