A Short Blonde with Big Boobs and Loose Morals
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Flexible Morals Ch. 04 free porn video
Author’s Note: This chapter will introduce a new character who I need to address preemptively. I’ll try my best to do so without spoiling anything. Everything that I’m about to say will be quite confusing until the character is encountered.
This character is one that had always existed in its current form before my submitting of anything to this site. There is nothing significant about this character beyond that which is suggested in the story. Any connections that you will no doubt have immediately are purely as a result of me not planning ahead as well as I could have. I could have changed things around but that would have meant changing the character in a way that I didn’t like.
As I said, confusing. But it’ll all make sense soon enough.
===
Malik stared far down the street, past the point where it rose away from the rest of the town and wound uphill. A large manor stood there, he had seen it upon first setting foot in Fissure. Now he looked at it with a fresher, more knowledgeable set of eyes, narrowed down as if to filter out distractions.
The Vouiareli Nest had proven every bit as seedy and unpleasant as Malik had anticipated. A dank, brick-floored dungeon of a place, built originally as a cellar to some other business above it. He had made a point to be as brisk with his business there as possible. Fortunately the owner had been happy enough to oblige and had quickly pointed Malik back to the street and in the right direction.
The right direction happened to be the place that Malik had been observing for the past five minutes.
Nobles, rich folk. Malik hated dealing with them. Sure the pay was usually good but it didn’t always compensate for the client. Something about these types, maybe the way they saw themselves as above everyone else, made them a nuisance, sometimes worse. This happened to be one of those times.
The property had a good set of walls which the actual manor peaked above. Malik didn’t like the thought of going that far inside. How many personal guards did his potential employer own? What role did this person play in Fissure that they should need folk of ‘flexible morals’. Already Malik could feel a strong sense that this would turn out to be ugly. But work was work and, at the very least, he had to hear the assignment before turning it down. It was the polite thing to do.
===
As seemed to be the case nowadays, Phyre found herself waking up to the disappointment that she had woken up at all. Once again, the dreamland had only been that: a dream. Tragedy continued to smother this chapter of her life. The night had been fitful, proven by the headache and tangled sheets she awoke to. Although the dreams, perhaps nightmares, were fading fast, she knew exactly what they would have been about. The fire and foraging through the woods at her parents’ behest. Could that have been intentional, her errand? Had they sent her away that moment to keep her safe? Part of Phyre wished that they hadn’t, but that was just the morning talking. Her wounds were always freshest when the memories in sleep peeled back the scabs. But tonight hadn’t just been about the fire. There were new nightmares to be plagued by. She lay in bed thinking about what had happened last night. The murderers at Mr. Gilbride’s manor, it couldn’t have been a coincidence, surely. Yet Hatra’s retelling of what had happened after Phyre had left suggested that the Patab was innocent. The woman hadn’t been able to meet with Mr. Gilbride, but, through his butler, Fissure’s leader had promised to take immediate action. Had his words been hollow or did he really mean to follow through?
With some difficulty, Phyre pried herself from such thoughts and sat up. Even without the dreams she would have had a rough night. The mattress was certainly welcome after sleeping among leaves for several days, yet it still felt alien compared to the one she had lost. The blankets too, and the room, only served as a constant reminder. Drop wasn’t lost, though. She could see him stirring from his sleeping place under the covers by her side. At first, Phyre had been a little concerned for the frog’s safety lest she roll on him during the night. But he had reminded her that wishing frogs were exceptionally tough and that he would be fine.
‘You look a little ragged, my lady,’ he said after sliding his eyes open, closed and open again.
‘I didn’t sleep very well.’ Phyre went to pull her hood overhead then paused and decided against it as she recalled the praise that Drop had given yesterday morning.
‘Mmm, nor did I, I’m afraid. It’s lovely and warm here but a little too dry for my taste.’
‘We shouldn’t complain.’ Phyre stood up and looked at herself. Despite yesterday’s wash in the river, her robe was rather unsightly. There weren’t quite so many spots and dabs of filth as there had been before but the overall color was several shades closer to brown, not something that she wanted. Hatra had mentioned last night that she would see about procuring some new clothes for her guest. Had that happened yet? How late was it anyway? Phyre sent her voice through the house in search of an answer. The shadows she found by the living room windows suggested that the sun was halfway through its ascent in the sky, something that she could never properly witness for herself. Quite a sleep in, then. The night had been rough, after all. Hopefully Hatra wouldn’t mind their late-rising tenant.
‘So, what do you suppose is on today’s agenda?’ asked Drop.
‘I don’t know. I guess we should see if anything has happened with those men. And I want to pay another visit to the shop. What’s left of it, I mean,’ Phyre added.
The frog nodded to their schedule and Phyre scooped him up to be deposited in her sleeve.
‘As another thought,’ he said as he hopped down his cave of cloth. ‘Perhaps we could see about getting a better mode of transport for me. Not that I’ve anything against this sleeve. It’s just, when you drop your arms to your sides, things get a little uncomfortable.’
Hearing these words, Phyre quickly lifted her arm to a horizontal. How many times had she put the little amphibian in peril through such carelessness. ‘I didn’t even realize.’
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself, my lady, it’s not too much trouble. I can easily cling to the sides, you know.’
‘No, you’re right. We’ll figure out something new.’
With Drop stowed in relative safety, Phyre headed from her new bedroom and towards the kitchen. When she entered, she found it empty of life. There’d been no noises in the house as she had awoken. No doubt Niptri had gone to the mine. Hatra must have gone out as well. Phyre surveyed the room, wondering if it would be alright to help herself to breakfast without them present. The bread bin on the counter was open and she could see half a loaf inside. Some jams had been left next to it as well, unless that was where they always lived. Phyre carved off several slices, slathered them with a teep jam and sat to eat at the kitchen table. She placed Drop on the floor as he voiced his desire to ‘poke around the nooks’ in search of his own breakfast. She tried not to think too much about the implications there. Not while she was eating.
As Phyre neared finishing, a click came from the front door, followed by a creak as it swung open. She cast out her voice and saw Hatra entering, a large, wooden box cradled in her arms. She staggered her way into the kitchen and set it down on the floor before spying Phyre.
‘Ah, you’re up,’ said Hatra. She stretched tall, both hands on her lower back, and groaned as a soft crack replied. ‘I had a look around for some Vocal robes but I didn’t have much luck. The only thing I could find in the market that was any sort of similar was this cloak.’
Hatra rummaged through the box and pulled out a long, woolen cloak that had been dyed a murky green. Even at a glance, Phyre could see that the hood was much shorter than the Vocal length. It would ba
rely reach past her brow, let alone go all the way to her nose. She hadn’t expected the woman to have much success, there were hardly any Vocals in town. Her kind, it seemed, were rather scarce outside the Empire’s capital. Much of the clothes that she had owned throughout her life had been homemade. With a jolt of sadness, Phyre recalled the hours of cutting and sewing cloth with her mother, each outfit crafted with love and care. ‘That’s okay, I just want something clean.’
‘Well, I found plenty of that.’ Hatra let the cloak fall back into the box before giving her back another stretch. Then, as though the action had given her a new perspective, her face lit up. ‘Oh, how could I forget. As I was coming back, I went along Limonite street. You know, the one that Mr. Gilbride’s manor joins to. Anyway, I’ll just say that there’s quite a sight on the roadside that I think you would like to view.’
Phyre’s brow creased beneath her hood. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
Hatra stooped down to dig around in the box, fishing for whatever else she had purchased. ‘Oh I won’t say. You’ll just have to see for yourself. Now, I’ve got my baking to get to so I’ll need some space once you’re finished. Lots to do what with the Iron Moon only a couple of days away.’
The Iron Moon, Phyre had forgotten all about it. Fissure held an annual, springtime celebration on the full moon of Veer. The Iron Moon gave thanks for the prosperity that the mine had brought their town. She had been to quite a few of them. They were typically held in market street with plenty of food and dancing and excitement. Mr. Gilbride also held a more private celebration up at his manor but she had never been to any of those. Phyre nodded to making room for Hatra and endeavored to consume the last of her breakfast as quickly as she could. Once that was done, she stood and took the box, that now held only clothes, back to the guest room for inspection. Its contents, as she had feared, left a lot to be desired. Many of the garments looked to have been worn by someone else for quite a while. Some showed signs of multiple repairs, from stitches where there shouldn’t have been any, to whole patches of fabric that didn’t quite match. But Hatra was performing a charity so there could be no complaining. Swallowing whatever pride she had left, Phyre chose a pale-blue tunic and a pair of brown trousers, both of which looked at least a bit respectable. To her pleasure, there was a pocket stitched to the tunic’s breast that, although a little too small, seemed suited enough to house Drop for the time being. Once he had been relocated, she cast her robe to the bed and made a note to wash it properly later on. With her dressing out of the way, Phyre headed past a clatter in the kitchen and out the front door.
There came a tinge tinge of apprehension at first. It wasn’t often that she ventured outside unhooded. Fortunately, there was nobody present on the street that the Lanis’ home fronted onto so Phyre had a chance to steel herself towards the stares that she would no doubt be receiving soon enough. She tucked a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear, then ventured into the town, heading towards Limonite Street.
‘So, any ideas on what Hatra meant back there?’ asked Drop from his new spot in her pocket.
‘I think I know, but it doesn’t make sense.’
‘Hmm? What doesn’t?’ he chirped.
Phyre didn’t reply. Secretly, she was quite certain of what she was going to find on Limonite Street. After all, that was where the gallows were. Who knew why Hatra thought that her words would be sufficiently mysterious to keep that knowledge at bay. Just another of that woman’s peculiar quirks, most likely. Yet Phyre found herself hoping that the inevitable wouldn’t be true. Despite all that those men had done, she didn’t want them to be dead. Not just yet, at least. Not until she had had a chance to find out why they had done what they had.
Her pace quickened across the market street and she kept her focus on the path ahead. Trade normally ramped into full swing around midday and continued until late in the afternoon. Yet, even in the relatively-early morning, there were plenty of Fissurites out to stare at the young, Vocal girl as she hurried past unhooded. Why was she so interesting, Phyre had to wonder. There were other Vocals in town, stare at them instead.
The market street quickly joined with Limonite before breaking off and heading into the western woods that led out of town. Phyre cast her voice further here, as soon as there were few enough people around that she was comfortable in doing so. The whisperings of her vision eventually licked at the beginnings of a wooden frame. As Phyre strode closer, more of the gallows came into view. Then a figure hanging from a noose, then another. She stopped as soon as the third noose, and the end of the structure, could be seen clearly. The wrongness of what she was viewing forced out all disappointment that both Skytouched were, indeed, dead, for they were the only ones who were dead. The third noose was empty, there was no Solar to be seen.
‘Are we there? Why’ve we stopped?’ Drop strained against the fabric of his pocket as he forced himself up to peek over the lip.
‘He’s missing.’ Phyre pointed to the empty noose.
‘Who’s missing?’
‘The Solar.’
Drop made a thoughtful croak. ‘Well, perhaps they haven’t caught him yet.’
Phyre’s brow furrowed as she considered that explanation. ‘No, they caught the two Skytouched. They should have been the hardest to catch. They could have just flown away.’ That raised yet another question in her mind. Why hadn’t they done that? Mr. Gilbride must have been rather sneaky in his capturing.
‘If they could have flown away, how is that they’re even hanging here?’
It took Phyre a little while to answer as she figured out what he was asking: how can you hang something, that is capable of flying, until it’s dead?
‘They use weights for the Skytouched,’ she explained. ‘Big, iron balls that the guards tie to the prisoner’s legs. They make the ropes just long enough so that they can hang properly. The guards must have taken the weights back, that’s why they aren’t there anymore.’ Memories of witnessing one such hanging came flowing back into Phyre’s thoughts. It had been years ago, yet it remained vivid in its foulness. Her parents had never intended to let her see such a thing. The three of them had been wandering the street behind the market at the time. So too had her voice wandered, searching out all the most tedious of things that somehow seem so interesting to a child. It was then that her voice had stumbled upon the event. The Skytouched with a rope scarf and tears spilling down his cheeks. A grim set of onlookers, a thunk of a lever and a dull snap. Then, once the significance of all that she had seen finally struck home, a scream from her lips and confusion from her parents until they finally cast their voices wide enough to find the cause. The days following had been less than pleasant.
‘Just thinking of that puts me back in those striders’ mouths,’ said Drop, his voice drawing her back to the present. With a retching croak and a shudder, he continued. ‘It felt like they were trying to pull me apart by my legs. Look indeed, it’s practically the same. Those Skytouched have bruises around their ankles. From the ropes, right?’
Phyre cast her voice to see for herself. Sure enough, each ankle had a black and blue tint to it along with a series of lumps. She swept her focus over the rest of their bodies. Bruises and cuts on their faces too. Their capture must not have been very peaceful. She tried to look past the injuries to see what these people had looked like before. Her first chance, despite previous encounters, to study them at her leisure. The one on the right had a rather striking birthmark upon his cheek, long, relatively narrow and the same dark brown as his hair. The most pronounced feature about the left was that he had shaved very recently. Perhaps eve
n this morning or the night before. He looked as though his appearance had been of some importance to him. Despite the injuries, they looked like normal Kelads, yet she felt no sympathy for them.
‘Good,’ she muttered. ‘It’s good that they’re dead. They deserved this.’
‘What about the Solar?’ asked Drop.
‘He does too. I want to talk to him first, though. I want to ask why he did it, so we have to find him before the guards do.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’ Phyre stepped forwards. There was a board in front of the gallows. It always held a message about what crime the people hanging by their necks had performed to deserve such a fate. She walked closer until she was only a few feet from the paper. It was much easier to read this way. Of course, the words were written in the common form, not the voice-legible Litides. She nearly had to pour her voice at the individual letters just to see what they were. With the speed of a forming mountain, she managed to read what the note said.
15th Veer, 744
Bear witness, folk of Fissure.
Before you hang the Skytouched brothers Biris and Firis Soof of Wind on the Plains. Hung from the neck until dead, with the aid of iron weights, for the crimes of murder, burglary and arson. Brought to justice by the Fissure Nightwatch. May they suffer forever in the screaming void beyond life.
-Patab Gilbride
Up until now, Phyre had been clinging to the hope that somehow, despite the timing of their executions, the two Skytouched had indeed been in league with the Patab. Now it seemed a distant impossibility. ‘No,’ she mumbled as her voice hung on the name. ‘Why else would they be at his home?’
‘It must have been an honest coincidence, nothing more.’
Drop’s words were like an icing on her misery, more so for the fact that she could not fault them. If these men had ever had a tie with the Patab, it died with them.That left only one option. ‘We have to find the Solar,’ she said as much to herself as to the frog.
‘And once you’ve found him and spoken to him, what then?’
Phyre bent her head to face the pocket on her chest. Drop was peering out of it with a quizzical expression. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Well, notwithstanding the question as to why he would desire to speak with you, what will you do with him afterwards? It strikes me that he could be rather dangerous and I don’t want to see you getting yourself hurt or worse.’
Phyre continued staring, not entirely sure what the frog was asking. His words were clear, but there seemed a deeper meaning behind them. ‘Will I kill him, you mean?’
‘Yes, unless you think there’s a better ending.’
The concept tasted strange to her. Kill someone. She hadn’t done any killing in her life save for swatting a few bothersome insects now and then. Yet, at the same time, there was something appealing in the idea. Here was a man who had caused her so much suffering, it was only right that he should be appropriately punished. And why shouldn’t she be the one to do it, seeing as how she was the one to have been wronged. Just looking at the two Skytouched before her gave a faint spark of satisfaction. ‘I suppose so. Can you help me with that? Could that be my wish?’
Drop shook his head. ‘Remember? No wishing for something to die. That includes any sort of wish where I help you to make something die. Besides, you still have to find the Solar first.’
‘How do you think we should do that?’ asked Phyre. Drop seemed in a mood for spouting wisdom and she had every intention of drinking up as much as she could.
‘Well, the way I see it, if those two Skytouched were employed by the Patab, further to their own dealings, perhaps the Solar was too. Maybe some of Mr. Gilbrides other employees saw the Solar around from time to time.’
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