Expedition

Captain Garth crushed another slither vine with the blunt end of his poleaxe. The forest had erupted in a fit of madness shortly after his group had set up camp. The usually docile vines were whipped into a frenzy against the dozen-large expedition. Borris, Sten and the other Cliffside guards did a reasonable enough job fending off the mass of attackers but if it were not for the swift and highly trained combat skills of Zigarete and the Tracker the camp would have been quickly engulfed by the swarm of tendrils. The Inquisitor moved graciously between the tentacles, crushing them with the flat side of her spear as she dodged their strikes. Likewise, the Tracker flowed around the ravenous vines, a mace in each hand, landing every hit.

Garth had heard stories of the Tracker, a former bandit and the deadliest faen in the Empire. Famous for heading the extermination of an entire Imperial garrison in the north. A deed which ironically, led to quite an attractive job offer in the Empire's military. Since then he had been spending his time hunting and exterminating hard to find sorcerers at the Emperor's behest. It was even rumoured that the Grand Inquisitor and him had a fling during a hunt a few years back. Garth didn't think the Tracker was much to look at. He was tall for a faen, but not particularly tall by human standards. He was also a lot more muscular than other faen he had seen. Perhaps because he actually got enough to eat. The Tracker kept his long black hair in a ponytail to avoid it getting in the way of his rhythmic dance of death.

The assault had stopped as quickly as it had begun. No casualties, just a few scrapes and bruises. This grunt work was beneath Garth.

"What in the gods' names just happened?" Garth said through heaving breaths. It had been a long time since Garth had been required to fight for his life, or at all.

"It is odd, I have never seen sliver vines act so aggressively and I have been down this path many times during my training." Zigarete continued to scan the canopy as the vines retreated.

"They stink of Sorcery." The Tracker added with a deep dull tone. Garth doubted that Sorcery had a distinct smell but he wasn't about to question a man who made a name for himself by killing Imperial soldiers.

"Well, it looks like whatever was happening is over for now." Garth pointed to a group of his men. "You four are on first watch tonight. We are each pulling double watch duties in case something like that happens again." A collective groan came from the men. "Oh shut your damned mouths." Garth shouted. Despite him feeling the exact same way, he needed to maintain discipline. This trouble had not been worth getting his dick wet no matter how good that ashborn slut's pussy was.

Garth charged Borris with starting the fire and cooking some of the supplies that the men had brought along with them. Besides several pack-crens, each member of the expedition had been riding forrins, two-legged flightless war-birds. It beat the hell out of walking. With any luck they would catch up to the escaped sorcerer in no time. Garth thought about what he and his men would do with the sorcerer's servant girl to alleviate their frustrations. She would have to work off all the trouble that she and her master caused them. It would take many days and nights.

Zigarete and the Tracker retired to their tent for the night. It was unusual that the two were sharing a tent given their previous history but it was common practice for those in the Inquisition to have separate lodgings to the rest of the military. The tent they set up was much more spacious than the cramped regulation sized tents the rest of them were given.

Garth knew the drill by now, the nobility and elites get the good stuff and they were left with whatever was left. He would have thought with all the Empire's riches they could at least afford a bit better equipment for this kind of thing. But travelling gear was probably low on the priority list since there weren't many threats left on the continent to travel to and conquer. Most rebellions these days were local uprisings and those were easily dealt with by the local guard. Nothing like that ever happened in Cliffside though, it was well controlled and heavily guarded, even more so now that the Emperor was visiting.

Garth hated being out of the city more than anything. He even prided himself on avoiding the last conquest that went through these parts. Apparently, the last sorcerer that had taken refuge in this forest was a right pain to cut down. A whole division of soldiers were killed, not Garth though, he was safe at home fucking smuggler's wives. Garth didn't cherish the idea of dying on some gods' forsaken forest floor surrounded by bugs and rotting leaves. A rich scent came from the fire, food was ready.

After dinner, Garth struggled to keep his eyes open during the calmness of the night. The crackling warmth of the fire was the only thing keeping his mind stimulated. Taking a double watch would be hard tonight. He considered getting one of his men to cover for him but that would annoy them and it wasn't worth having his men bitch about it for the rest of the journey. A cold breeze brushed against Garth's face, rousing him from his dulled state. It carried with it a soft voice.

Garth silently followed the source of the noise. It grew louder as he approached the Inquisitor's tent. The closer he got the more distinct the sound grew. It was a familiar sound to Garth. Soft grunts and moans. It seemed that the rumours of the Tracker's and Zigarete's history seem to be true.

"Oh fuck... Not so rough, someone might hear." The almost inaudible voice of Zigarete whispered. Someone was indeed hearing. A dim candle light flickered from within the tent. Garth made out a shadow of Zigarete, on all fours, her curves jiggling as another shadowy form pressed against her from behind.

'Lucky bastard.' Garth thought to himself jealously. Many of Garth's dreams had been filled with him ploughing the uptightness out of the Grand Inquisitor. Those fantasies mostly came after particularly grating interactions with her.

"Shut it, this was the deal." A male voice spoke from within the tent as the shadowy figure slapped Zigarete's ass. Stifled moans continued pouring out from the tent. 'Well at least someone is putting her in her place.' Garth sighed inwardly as he backed away from the tent. Being caught peeping would probably prove to be fatal.