Ellori, the Ero Witch of Parthun

We're thrown into a murky cell, stone walls on every side with the only way out being the iron-bound door we entered from. Our staffs, equipment, and inactive familiars have been confiscated, taken elsewhere out of sight. On the other side of the door, six heavily armed demihumans of varying races guard the cell.

"They underestimate us. Why don't we simply blow our way out of here?" Mira suggests.

"Absolutely not!" I say, putting myself between her and the door. "We're here to negotiate an alliance, not start a war on a second front."

Belle picks up a loose pebble on the ground and sets it aflame. "All I saw were metal-forged weapons and armor. Even the dark elf woman didn't have a magic signature. Then it's true that we really have been siphoning magic from the rest of the world…"

It looked as though they were prepared for our arrival. The chamber we landed in wasn't in the same shape of disrepair as the witch's tower. They believed the teleportation circle would be used eventually, and were ready to respond in case of an attack.

To them, we are the invaders.

I bang incessantly on the door until someone opens the eye-level slit. A canine's snout stares back at me, snarling. A pair of amber eyes in an ocean of grey fur peers down.

"You like making noises so much, we'll come in there and make you scream louder!" the wolfman growls.

Mira squints and takes a step forward. I wave for her to stand down, so she leans against the back wall and scoffs.

For them to make such a threat to a witch must mean they aren't aware we can cast spells without our staff. The shackles on our wrists makes somatic spellcasting difficult, but we aren't crippled by it. I should be careful not to jeopardize my chances of brokering an alliance.

"It's important that we speak to your leaders. We came on a mission to warn you that all of Talmora is on the brink of a second Crimson Wars," I plead.

"The only danger we see here are three witches." He shuts the opening before I have a chance to respond.

Several hours go by with us waiting in the cell. No one is being sent to speak to us, nor are they offering any food. Fortunately, sharing in the yeti's hunt filled us plenty— me, more than the others. Hunger isn't an issue, but right now…

"I can't hold it in any longer…" Belle's legs are crossed over tight, holding in nature's call.

There's no drain in the ground for her to go. I doubt our jailors will let her out either. Her only choice is to let it out on the ground 

Hmmm. The wolfman did look quick to anger. We can't afford to waste any more time.

I grab Belle's leash and give her an order. "Act like a dog and pee at the door while you bark."

"Eh?! At a time like this…?" she whimpers and gets up to goto the door.

"No, no. Dogs do not walk," Mira remarks.

"Uhnn…" Belle drops to the ground and crawls to the door. She pulls her robes up, lifts a trembling leg, and lets out a stream of urine. The liquid begins to flow under and out the door. "Ruff… ruff!"

Mira strokes her head and rubs her chin. "You're a good little dog, aren't you? Be more convincing."

Despite the humiliating scene, Belle goes through with the entire act. Her pussy begins to drip from being so wet, and her tongue is out like a panting dog. She even leans into the petting Mira is giving her.

"Arroo! Arr— grr, ruff!" Belle's imitation of a barking dog causes some commotion on the other side.

The door swings open to the furious wolfman. "You think you can mock me and get away with it?"

He swipes at Belle, but Mira trips the wolfman to the ground. She unveils a knife hidden under her robes and presses it to our attacker's throat.

"Any closer and his blood will be mixing in with the piss at your feet," Mira warns.

The other demihumans hesitate to help.

I keep my eyes trained on their weapons. "We don't mean any trouble. Please tell whoever is in charge that we only wish to speak."

"Hard to believe when you have a blade pressed to my subject's neck."

A feline-eared woman appears in the doorway. Long, golden hair gives the impression of a mane on her shoulders, skin coated in thick fur of the same color. Yet her face is clearly that of a human.

She dons the same white dress as the dark elf we saw earlier. Their robes are as sparse as undergarments, thin fabric around her waist and chest leaves little to the imagination. It's as though the silk mesh is draped over her breasts, rather than bound around her body with elastic. A gust of wind could blow it right off.

Mira whistles. "If the guards were as bodacious as yourself, we wouldn't mind being disarmed."

One of the fair-skinned elves clicks his tongue and brandishes his sword at us. "How dare you speak that way to a High Priestess!"

"It's alright," she urges him to lower the weapon, and the others around them follow suit.

"You're a High Priestess? The one who governs Vessyra?" I ask.

She bows. "I am one of three. My name is Sheila Agoris, High Priestess of the Goddess of Love and Lust."

***

Sheila and the guards escort us to her personal chamber after much protests by the latter. To say she is quick to trust would be wrong, but she does come off as more open minded. A stark contrast to the icy reception the dark elf priestess gave us.

Not once since arriving here did we step outside. The room we teleported into, the dungeon we were incarcerated in, and now through the candle-lit hallway to Sheila's bedchamber has all been under a single roof. 

There are what I can only surmise are branches creeping along the walls. Not like one would see in ruins, but as though it were intended. We may very well be in the heart of Vessyra, but just how big is this castle?

Their architecture and masonry is not too different from that of Grathir or Parthun. Smooth cut stone is evidence to Vessyra having both skilled masons and the tools with which to craft. In turn, meaning there are blacksmiths and carpenters, leading me to believe there is a thriving social and trade system.

They are not primitive as we were led to believe.

Two guards in front of large ornate doors open Sheila's chamber for us to go inside. One of them whispers a derisive remark to the priestess about us, but she assuages their concerns. As the doors close behind us, the lack of footfalls disappearing down the hall suggests they remain outside in case something happens. We're no more trapped than we were in the cell.

Sheila's room is a grand bedchamber. Silk and satin sheets on an enormous bed. Curtains of the same make drapes down from windows as high as the ceiling. There is a balcony in which we can see just how vast Vessyra is.

Homes are woven alongside the trees. Their round, stone architecture is built in such a way to allow roots and branches to grow along the buildings. There are no straight roads, instead they wind around trees so as to not have them cut down. Vessyra is in perfect harmony with nature.

Lotherain is a pale imitation to this.

Yet in the sea of green, there are signs of decay spread across the landscape. Even the potted plants on Sheila's balcony are withering.

"Behind this veil of beauty, Vessyra is suffering from famine. Our harvests dwindle with each passing year. A handful of grain is worth more than a sword, and the soil beneath our feet is indistinguishable from sand." Sheila steps out onto the balcony and beckons for us to come closer.

Emaciated demihuman children frolic in the streets below. One of them waves to us, and Sheila waves back.

"We know why this is happening. It can be resolved by restoring magic to your lands." I tell her.

"And I suppose this comes with a price?" the priestess asks.

"We need your manpower," Mira says, as she and Belle are making themselves at home lounging on reclining seats on the balcony. "The Council of Kings has been honey trapped by a powerful witch. We stand at the edge of war and need your numbers to fight against them."

Sheila averts her gaze from us. "I knew one day we would need to breach the Frigid Vale to survive. What I didn't expect is that war would be the price for our survival."

"You… believe us? Your other priest didn't bother to hear us out." Belle asks.

"Gale, the dark elven priestess, does not trust your kind. Ceris sees reason, but she is cautious. We want nothing more than to save our people, but unless all three High Priestesses agree, we cannot motion Vessyra to join you." Sheila explains.

"Leaving empty-handed isn't an option. How do we convince the other two?"  The moment I ask, the doors burst open.

More armed guards than before pour into the room. Behind them, like the incarnation of light and day, a dark elf and light elf follows after. The dark elf we are already acquainted with, and the other elf must be the third priestess, Ceris. Unlike her dark, haughty counterpart, her expression is unreadable, almost demure.

"I'm disappointed in you, Sheila. To invite witches into the very room we make love in? You fraternize with enemies, and they would sooner seize our lands than help us." Gale chides the beastkin priestess.

It feels like we've intruded in a lover's quarrel. With all three priestesses present, this is my chance to appeal to all of them.

But how? I need something to prove to them—

My foot taps against one of the many potted plants.

"Forest nymphs!" I exclaim.

Everyone in the room gawks at me as if I said the silliest thing.

"Forest nymphs can bless the land with bountiful harvests, but they cannot be born in a place so barren of magic. I possess a dryad's boon. Watch!" I bend down to touch the withering plant. The magic inside me flows from my hands, breathing life and color back into it. Buds blossom into flowers at the mere touch.

This isn't new to Mira, but the others gasp, astonished that I can restore life so easily. The otherwise quiet and reserved Ceris is particularly impressed, she turns her awe-struck eyes to me.

"Is it true that you can replenish our lands?" she asks.

"We can," I assure her. "But if the Council of Kings and Edith has their way—"

"I've heard enough!" Gale yells over me.

From the start she has always been the least trusting of us.

"What will it take to get you to trust us?" I ask her.

Gale clutches the golden pendant hanging from her neck, a statue idol of their goddess. "Witches are the ones who put us in this situation in the first place. If you wish to be heard, then you must go through The Trial. Prove to Vessyra herself you are no mere invaders."

Sheila and Ceris are shaken by this.

"What is she talking about? What trial?" Belle asks.

Sheila clutches her own voluptuous body, emphasizing the breasts underneath her thin robes. "A trial to test your endurance and mental fortitude. It is a test reserved for the priestesses of the highest calibre, which tests their devotion to—"

"Please, get on with it!" Mira groans.

"S-Sorry! The trial involves laying with our most devout kin!"

Mira, Belle, and I stare at each other blinking. A single word escapes our breath at once, "What?"

Jamminrabbit