Private Tales Naked and Alone..ish

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Jorg

Werewolf
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Ixchel Wilds

"Aaaahhh fuck." Jorg groaned loudly as he slowly woke up every muscle and bone in his body aching like he'd just suffered a beating by an Allirian street gang.

His eyes remained closed as he laid in the dirt, fingers tapping around for a few seconds as he tried to puzzle out where he was. After a few moments he allowed himself a quick gaze around, frowning deeply as he noticed he was surrounded by the roots of trees and crawling earthworms who thought him some sort of deity.

A sigh escaped him. "I thought we'd talked about this."

Jorg said as though someone were there with him, a frown pulling at his lips as he quickly scrambled to his feet. A breeze tugged at his naked body, his hair a matted mess caked in dirt.

"Oh come on." The man said with a loud sigh as he looked around himself. He had absolutely no fucking idea where the wolf had brought him. "We had a deal!"

He'd even provided the damned beast with a snack in the clearing he'd transformed him. A damned Velkin Boa! That snake had been near impossible to kill and should have sated even a fucking werewolf. That had been the bargain. The wolf would eat and in return it wouldn't carry him too far from where he'd first turned.

Now, not for the first time, Jorg found himself naked with absolutely no fucking clue where any of his things were or how to get there.

At least it was warm.
 
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Stranger.

The word was like a ripple through the city. One of the sentries who had been out in the early hours where night bled into morning had spotted the prone body on the very edges of their territory and had quickly returned home to tell the Warriors of the potential infringement on their land. The Kalrondō elves were not adverse to outsiders entering their lands but the Wilds were a dangerous place and one wrong move, one stranger they did not know, could result in a catastrophe. It was much easier to treat everyone with equal measures of distrust until proven otherwise.

It had only been coincidence that one of their most prominent Sisters had returned home for a visit. Daughter to the House Mother herself, Miriel was a spitting image of the woman who led the famed Warriors that protected their city and lands. And thus it was her who had woken in the night and rallied to the call to investigate. There was an air of excitement as she saddled Thorlion, something mending. She realised she had missed this. As much as she loved her forge and life in Alliria this would always be her true calling in life. Just not... yet.

They left Órënya soon after the Scout had returned. It was not long before she dismounted Thorlion and left her horse at the sidelines to walk forward to where the now awoken man was standing. She was not the only one either. Elves seemed to melt from the trees in their scraps of armour and leather, tattoos decorated every one of them in the same way they did Miriel's face except that her face beheld two strikes to everyone else's one.

All of them had their weapons drawn and fixed on this man.

"I don't believe we were privy to any such deal," her head canted to the side. Miriel was the only one who didn't have a drawn blade but the two handles that stuck above her shoulders suggested it would be unwise to let that make him feel his odds weighed any more favourably because of it. "Are you aware you are trespassing on Kalrondō lands?"
 
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Jorg froze as soon as he saw the first glint off the tip of an arrow. His fingers tightened, and almost unconsciously he reached for a sword that he already knew wasn't there.

In his head he was cursing himself, but more so the Wolf than anything else. If he hadn't been screaming at the top of his lungs he would have heard the Elves coming, hell he would have smelled them coming, but he'd been stupid.

Always stupid.

He had no weapons, no armor, no nothing. Even with all of his equipment he would have been lucky to kill one of the people pointing weapons at him. His lips turned to a grimace for a brief second, and then he let himself smile instead.

"Hello, Ladies!" Jorg called out to the elves, then addressed the only woman without a sword. "I come in peace."

He gave her his most winning smile. "As you can see, I have no weapons."

Jorg gestured to himself, wiggling a little bit to prove nothing would fall out.

"I've come as a representative of Mallian to discuss trade!" It was a bold faced lie. He hadn't been home in nearly five years, but...he was the son of the Duke, and thus technically had authority to do this.

He just really didn't want an arrow in the ass.
 
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Mallian.

It was not an unfamiliar name. There were not many cities and civilisations that survived in the Wilds, especially not one that had turned itself into a point of trade. Nobody removed their weapons however and they wouldn't until Miriel gave the signal to do so. As he threw his hands comically to the side and shook she caught the downturn of lips to her left that belonged to her Shield Sister and tried to suppress a laugh. Humans weren't every elf's cup of tea. She raised a hand and the archers finally lowered their bows and arrows though they didn't actually unknock them. The swords too, lowered, but did not get sheathed.

"Would that trade happen to involve us giving you clothes?" now the wry smile appeared. A hint of humour that was decidedly not elvish. It spoke of the fact she did not spend all of her time in isolation like the others of her kind. Her eyes ran up him from toe to head before she turned away. "Bind him, we'll take him back and see if he is telling the truth," she spoke in her own tongue so as not to give the man any warning. The two women who flanked her sheathed their weapons and then produced a length of rope.

He could definitely attempt to fight them should he wished, she just didn't fancy his chances.
 
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"If you want to ruin your own view, sure." Jorg quickly bantered back with a grin.

The elf woman seemed to smile, and he took that as a good sign. The others put their weapons...low, but not away. Lips thinned for a brief moment, but he decided to keep up the facade of being calm and collected.

He had to sell this lie.

"I just want to wo-WOAH." Jorg said as two of the elven women came up behind him and grabbed his arms. One of them accidentally grazed against the cheeks of his behind. "Buy me dinner fi-"

Before he was finished Jorg felt himself being shoved forward.

He decided not to resist.
 
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The women bound his hands in front of him and then tied a length of rope between the binds so that one of them could hold onto it like a leash. Miriel mounting onto her black winged horse seemed to be the sign for the rest of them to do the same. Horses of a myriad of different colours, shapes, sizes and breeds seemed to materialise from the undergrowth as the unit of women mounted up and spurred their horses on. They weren't gentle either. Keeping the rhythm to a trot Jorg would be hard pressed to keep up at less than a jog or face being tugged along behind the steeds.

The group chatted to one another in their musical tones, bantering things back and forth. More than a few looks were cast towards the man before more laughter erupted from them.

They led him through the thickets of the jungle and soon the trees grew less clumped together and spaced out until they reached the tallest of the big redwoods that grew in this area of the Wilds. Even with ones head tilted right back it would be hard to see the tops of the trees; nobody knew how far they grew in truth. Up was where one would need to look to see the city proper. The majority of it was built far off the ground out of reach of predators, bridges joined them all together in a labyrinth of walk ways.

More elves appeared now to watch the group in curiosity and who they had brought back with them. They made their way through the city to the very heart where the largest building nestled. It was the biggest building that had stayed on the ground with towering spires that glinted in the dappled rays of sun. Miri dismounted when they reached the steps outside and took the rope that belonged to Jorg.

"You will explain to the House Mother what your offer of trade is," the way she emphasised trade dripped with sarcasm before she tugged him up the steps.
 
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Interestingly enough, throughout the journey Jorg did not seem to struggle with keeping pace. In fact, he ran alongside the horses almost as though it were a casual thing.

He doubted anyone would have noticed, it could have simply been that he was in an incredible shape. The reality though was different. It was the wolf that allowed him to keep pace. The pact that he had made gave him the strength, and so he kept up with the Elves and their mounts.

Every time they looked back Jorg would smile, give a little dance of a step, and then continue on.

He knew what his situation was, knew that it did not look good. Just about the only chance he had of actually making it out of this alive was by being interesting. Curiosities tended to live longer, and he knew that better than most.

"Lovely." Jorg answered the elf with a smile, glancing down at himself. "Just one question before we go in."

He smiled. "How does she feel about Male Genitalia?"
 
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Another ghost of a smile touched her face at his words but she didn't spare him so much as a glance as she led him through the doors and down a series of grand looking corridors towards the centre. Finally they reached a pair of large red oak doors carved with a series of different runes and designs and rimmed in a beautiful blue metal very similar to that which Miriel wore. Two men were stood at the door and upon seeing Miriel approach they pushed the two inwards to permit her entrance.

The main hall was bathed in sunlight from the glass domed ceiling above their heads, the floor was a polished marble and at one end stood a half circle of chairs. For the moment there was only one woman sat there and she stood when she saw her daughter approach.

"This is the stranger?" despite the familiar similarities there was no warmth of kinship there in their greeting. It was professional. Miriel inclined her head and then took a blade from her belt and sliced through the bonds at the same moment the doors slammed shut behind them. "Please, sit," the older elf had a streak of silver in her hair she wore in a braid to make it stand out more against her dark hair. She motioned to a small table and chairs nearby. She sat down and Miri stood behind her, hands clasped behind her back.

"My Daughter tells me you are here to strike up a trade deal?" her eyes flicked down him then back to his eyes. "I would first like to know why you thought presenting yourself naked would achieve your desired results?"
 
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"Well, that really is more of a story than I think we have time to tell." Jorg said, mostly because he didn't want to get into the fact that he was a fucking werewolf.

Instead he began to use his silver tongue.

"I am Jorg Neketh the Third, Son of Duke Jorg Neketh the Second." He had always hated being named after his father, but in this case it might actually come in handy. "My father sent me as a representative to show his respect."

Again, it was a lie. "Though I'm afraid he misjudged my capabilities, and so did I."

He gestured to himself. "Hence the nudity, Madam."
 
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"I am Faylen, the House Mother here, welcome to Órënya," despite the age in her voice, Faylen didn't look much older than a 30 year old human despite being far into her second millennia. The older elf seemed to consider his words for a moment, her gaze flicking once more down his body before looking back to the man's eyes and holding them with the weight of her years. It was very clear in that moment she did not find the humour in his mortal jokes like her daughter did.

"I have plenty of time," the woman replied in a voice like ice so at odds with the heat of the Jungle they were surrounded by. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands into her lap. "And I am unconvinced as to how this will install confidence in your people if even the Dukes son cannot keep himself clothes to conduct businesses."
 
"Well, unlike your illustrious people...I assume...Mallian doesn't have much of a say in who is ruling them." He shrugged, at least that was what his father and all the nobles liked to tell themselves.

There had been a few times in the past where there had nearly been a peasant uprising, but it had always been stemmed by one thing or another. The last time his father had simply given the people a massive carnival.

Thing had run for three weeks. Jorg had a blast.

"Truth is madam, as you well know the Wilds are filled with all sorts of dangers." He was one of them in fact. "I happened upon a Waywatcher Spider last night."

The Waywatchers were gigantic beasts, their blood acidic. "As I was fighting it some of the blood got on me, and in a rush to not get killed I stripped the clothes off my back and well..."

He tried to look embarrassed. "The Spiders mate showed up and chased me off before I could recover my things."

A believable enough lie, if a ridiculous one.
 
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Faylen's deep violet eyes rested on the man for a while longer before she turned her face towards her daughter and murmured something. Miriel replied curtly in the same language, her hazel eyes never leaving Jorg. Like her mother she kept a blank face but there was a slight twitch in her cheek after her mother spoke again - a flash of annoyance - and then it was gone.

"A creature like that is not a joke and as my people found you so close to the border it would be safe to assume these things are near?" she raised an eyebrow. It would, of course, be the only reasonable explanation in regards to his ridiculous lie. The elf was trying to catch him out. "As such it is a threat to my kin. You will show my daughter where these creatures are and once you have killed them, we will discuss... trade agreements," there was almost the barest hint of a smile before she stood up to signal the end of the conversation.

"Miriel here will get you sorted with something more appropriate to wear for such a mission. Enjoy your stay, Jorg, son of Jorg."
 
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Fuck.

Now he was going to have to find some Waywatchers for this stupid Elf to kill. He wanted to scream in frustration, but instead he only let out a loud sigh of 'relief'. "I would be more than happy to."

He exclaimed with a smile.

At the very least he hadn't chosen something like a Hydra or Basilisk. Those damned things were near impossible to find when you wanted to. Waywatchers at least had a certain biome that they liked to dwell in. That should be easy enough to find.

"Thank you for your time." Jorg said as he bowed, his tallywacker slapping about. "See you soon."

He assured the woman, already plotting how he was gonna get away from the other elf.
 
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Miriel breathed out a frustrated sigh when her mother left the way the two had come in and rounded on Jorg with a look of unbridled rage.

"You absolute idiot, you couldn't have just told her the truth," she looked, for a moment, as if she might slap him round the back of the head. Somehow, however, she resisted, and stalked off for the doors herself. His lying had stuck her in the unfortunate position of going on a mission whilst on babysitting duty. She managed to stop herself before completely blowing through the doors and brought her anger under control before turning back to him.

"Come on then, Jorg son of Jorg," she repeated her mothers words bitterly.
 
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"What truth?" He asked her in mock surprise.

Jorg very much doubted that telling them all here that he was a Werewolf would have had a positive reaction. He'd traveled most of the world, and no matter what the species...people didn't really tend to like monsters.

Something about being killed and eaten that usually put them off. "Lead the way Mieriel daughter of..."

Whatever.

Falling into step behind the woman Jorg wondered where the hell he actually was.
 
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Miriel threw him another dark look then threw open one of the doors and waved him through with a small flourish. Once he was out she pushed past him and set off in a different direction to the way they had come in.

"So where did you see these Spiders?" she couldn't keep the contempt from her voice as they wound down this corridor and that. It didn't take them long to get to another door which she pulled open to reveal a room full of kit. It was clearly a storage room of some kind. There were rows of clothes; shirts, trousers, dresses, and a series of different pieces of armour at varying degrees of strength.

"Take what fits you, can you actually use a weapon?" her eyebrow raised and she cast a look over him sceptically. "Should I get you a big stick to poke the imaginary spiders with?"
 
Well this was nice. Jorg looked around for a few moments as though he was perusing, glancing at different things before he glanced back towards the Elf.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

"Please look away."
At this point he was probably pushing his luck with her. The woman already seemed like she was ready to run him through with a sword, but...he couldn't help it.

Without waiting for her to actually turn, Jorg began to select some of what he needed. Underwear, trousers, a shirt. Armor too of course, though it was a bit tight on his less than elfish frame. Eventually he came to the weapon rack.

There he plucked free a sword. "There's a ravine nearby where you found me."

About four miles. "They should be near there."

Ish.
 
Miriel didn't budge one inch, neither did she look particularly impressed with his words and her fingers drifted towards the knives at her belt. Her mother wouldn't spare any years for the loss of a human life - none of the other elves would. It might start a little problem with a neighbouring city if they ever traced their wayward son back to them but it would be a short lived thing.

"I see," she didn't. She knew it was a waste of what little time she had at home and she wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of travelling four miles for him to attempt to bolt and for her to have to kill him for trying to leave. "Maybe they've kept your clothes and we can get them back for you," her eyes drifted to the strain on the armour. "Perhaps you will be more comfy in those diplomatic clothes of yours," she threw him a bitter smile before turning on her heel and leading them back to the entrance. Thorlion was already waiting for her outside and she valuted onto his back without much of a hesitation.

"Come on, show me this ravine," she patted the horses back.
 
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"God I hope so." He said as he turned. "I mean, why would they take them? They wouldn't even fit in them."

Humor was really the only way he was going to have a chance at getting through this.

Jorg quickly followed after the Elf, his steps quick and lithe. The sword he was carrying was slung over his back, secured with a leather strap that he had managed to snag from one of the racks before stepping out.

When he saw the horse he let out a whistle. "Pretty."

With a quick sweep Jorg pulled himself up onto the horse, wrapping his arms around Miriels stomach and resting the urge to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"Cozy." The mercenary commented quietly.
 
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"Try not to fall off," Miriel replied tartly and then the horse took off at speed - it was probably a good thing that the people of this city stuck to the walkways above than the ground. It truly was a breakneck speed. Thorlion would have given some of the Empires best race horses a run for their money. Whenever there was a jump the stallions winds unfurled slightly to soften the land before returning to the same galloping speed. She only slowed them when they got to the small clearing where they had picked him up originally. The horse gave a hop and a skid to come down from such a speed then trotted side ways impatiently with a snort.

Her horse didn't tend to react like that unless there was the smell of a predator nearby.

"So which way?" she asked calmly as if Thorlion's impatient manner was just the natural side effect of a high strung stallion.
 
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"Almost sounds like you care." Jorg commented with a smile, then clung a bit more tightly so he wasn't thrown off.

The horse was amazingly fast, especially considering that they were in the middle of a jungle. Any other time Jorg would have marveled, but as they moved all he thought about was how he was going to get out of this damned mass.

Finding a pair of Waywatchers wouldn't be easy, and he needed to be prepared to run.

"That way." He pointed towards the East. The Ravine really was there, as was an underground river.

Waywatcher Spiders enjoyed the dark and cold, and they especially liked running water. That was why he had originally steered clear of the area.
 
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Miriel nodded and turned Thorlion and they were off again. The horse was sweating by the time they finally got to their destination and her suspicions were beginning to grow. With her lips pressed in to a thin line she slid off the horses back and grabbed his reins a second before he reared with the other man on his back.

"Thorlion," it was a warning saying of the horses name as the stallion snorted and rested his head, trembling, against her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to the man who if he hadn't of gotten off his back quick enough, was most definitely lying on his back right now. "Sorry, he doesn't do well with strangers," a complete lie. Thorlion had had babies on his back and protected them with his life. The only others he had reacted to in such a way was Valthar and Acteon. The first had been a Nordenfiir with a bear underneath his skin and the other a werewolf. She wondered which one he was.

"So how about to lead the way?" so she could keep her eyes firmly on him at all times.
 
"I wouldn't have it any other word, My Lady." Jorg said as he slipped off the horse and gave the beast a weary glance.

It was clear that the creature sensed something was off, but luckily for him it apparently could not speak. That was something to be grateful for at the very least. Adjusting himself in the tighter than usual armor, Jorg stepped oddly for a few minutes before he could right himself.

For a moment he surveyed the area, looking around for a moment before he spotted what he was looking for up in the ravine. "There."

He pointed towards a cavern.

"Waywatchers only come out of their lairs at night." Jorg explained. "They'll hide there until nightfall."
 
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Miriel led the horse a little bit away form Jorg and he soon settled down and busied himself with eating the lush grass that grew around the roots of a nearby tree. The elf hummed before stepping back over to the man and following the direction he pointed. Crawling into a cavern was not exactly top of her priority list even if she did want to get the mission over and done with sooner rather than later. It was either that and attack when they were perhaps sleeping, or it was wait until dark and they had the ravine to work in to kill the foul creatures.

"I guess it depends how quickly you want to go back to talking to my mother about these trade deals," her lips twitched some what at the corner, her eyes never leaving the cavern he had pointed out. Her keen eyes were already scanning the cliff face for an easy way for them to pick their way over to it should they decide to go in in the light of day.

"You've travelled quite a way after all," Órënya was a long way for any coastline where it lay almost smack in the middle of the Southern part of the Jungles. It would take her a good two days ride even on Thorlion to meet the sea.
 
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Jorg blinked innocently at the woman. Mother, huh?

Well at least he was technically speaking to an equal. Perhaps the two of them would become fast friends after she realized that their station was almost the same.

Doubtful, but a boy could hope. "Well I wouldn't want any harm to come to the Princess."

That probably wasn't the right title.

'I imagine if I got you killed your lovely mother would have me skinned alive and tossed to your horse." His gaze flicked towards the entrance of the cave. What was the chance it actually held a Waywatcher? Much less two.

Jorg couldn't do the math.
 
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