Disclaimer: The world of the Forgotten Realms is not owned by me.
NSFW Warning: This particular chapter contains graphic sexual content.
Wet foliage slapping at her face, the young, half-elvan ranger dives through the underbrush near the western eaves of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. She is in her element, lithe and quick. She knows the terrain and how to maneuver in it. She does not get caught on stray branches, or tripped by fallen debris. Her woodland cloak whips behind her, shadowing her every move as if it has a mind of its own. Her tight leather armor hugs her closely, accentuating every dip and curve of her well formed fisique. Her name is Lystra Silverdragon and this is the start of her tale.
Leaping nimbly over a fallen log she landed in a crouch in a small hollow on the other side. Lifting her head, she pulled her hood back from her face revealing smooth olive skin and almond-shaped green eyes. Her eyes are a deep green with motes of emerald. They were alert now, heeding not the stray strands of rich black hair, so dark that in certain light it seems blue, that occasionally seek to obscure her vision. Her head cocked as she listens, and the fingers of her right hand pressed upon the moist soil before her, feeling for vibrations she’s been trained to detect.
Her left hand rested upon the finely crafted pommel of the longsword at her hip. It is a beautiful weapon, and one not normally seen upon the waist of a rover such as herself. If any were to see her wield it, however, there would be no question as to her right to own it.
A whooping cry echoed through the wood and the ranger heeds its call, bounding away, moving parallel to the direction from whence it came. The cries continue as she runs, drawing a fierce grin to her face. The hunt is on.
Before long the ranger came to a small clearing in the forest. The gnarled trunks of ancient oaks surrounded the glade, and a singular, large rock jutted from its center. The stone is marked by a single rune that she can see clearly on its face. She recognized it as a wardstone, a sentinel imbued with druidic magic. Normally such a ward would hum with power, yet this one was silent. Just another sign that the druids of this forest were secluding themselves further and further, withdrawing from lands they once claimed for their lord, Silvanus.
A rustle off to her right drew her attention from the stone. Drawing herself close to the nearest oak, she watched and waited. Before long a large boar broke the treeline and tore towards to sentinel stone, angling its flight slightly in the half-elf’s direction. With a whooping cry of her own, the ranger broke from cover and charged the beast. As this new threat revealed itself the boar squealed and cut back, running straight for the stone and the safety of the wood on the other side.
Out of the corner of her eye Lystra spied another figure leap from the forest’s edge where the boar had broken its cover moments before. The figure was that of an elf, and a half-naked one at that. She recognized him and was unsurprised that he wore only a pair of tan, hide breeches, his feet and well-muscled chest bare. His long, auburn hair streaming behind him as he ran, a tomahawk in each hand. He banged these weapons together as he ran, continuing his wild whooping. She smiled at the sight of him before refixing her eyes on their query.
Just as the boar reached the sentinel stone a second elf appeared beside it, rising from the tall grasses that surrounded its base, and planting himself directly in the boar’s path. This new arrival was identical to the first elf but in his hands he held a spear, one he lowered before leaping forward, stabbing towards his prey’s breast. The boar, unable to stop or deviate, impaled itself on the spear’s shaft, its impetus drawing the weapon into itself until it pierced its heart. It died instantly.
The ranger slowed her charge to a jog as she approached the elf and his slain query. Pulling his spear from the dead boar, the elf plunged it into the soft soil at the sentinel stone’s base and leaned on it as a farmer would a shovel, and regarded her with golden eyes, almond-shaped like hers but with a slightly more dramatic tip. After a brief moment of them silently watching one another a fierce grin erupted on his face and he loosed a bark of laughter that sounded very much like a yip of a wolf.
“I had hoped that we would find you here, Silverleaf,” he said gaily as his twin joined them, recalling the nickname they’d given her upon their first meeting. On their initial introduction the twins had been unsatisfied with her surname after seeing how she moved through the woods and had decided on giving her a more appropriate moniker.
“And I you,” she replied, matching his grin with one of her own. Embracing him, and then his brother, as friends of old, heedless of the blood that coated his hands.
Though any unknowledgeable of the twins would be hard pressed to tell them apart, Lystra no longer had any trouble. She knew the one with the tomahawks to be Lethir, his brother being Kothir. She had been meeting them here yearly since her coming to the Sword Coast and they had never yet failed to appear. They had told her some time before that they were from Tethyr to the south, orphaned by the near constant conflict between their wildelf kindred and the human settlers of that land. Rather than be consumed by hatred, however, they had opted for a life on the road, shedding their bonds with that land for greener pastures. They now led a hunter gatherer lifestyle and traveled far and wide, never staying long in one place.
“Would you share in our kill, Silverleaf?” Lethir asked, indicating the boar with a tomahawk.
“Of course, I would never miss an opportunity to hear of your travels,” was her immediate reply. “Let me fetch my things.”
Some time later, as the sun was setting, bathing the clearing in a fiery orange glow, Lystra returned leading her horse, a grey mare she had named Shadowflight. With her also she brought a pack consisting of all her worldly belongings, chief among them her bedroll, a spare set of clothes in case she needed to go into a town without seeming too wild and ragged, and her shortbow with a quiver of pheasant tail-fletched arrows.
The twins had set up a camp just inside the eaves of the wood at the far end of the clearing. Lethir was tending to a small cooking fire as Kothir cleaned their kill. They both looked up as Lystra approached.
“How’s your year been, Silverleaf?” Lethir inquired. “Still saving the peasantfolk of the Sword Coast from ever lurking evil in the night?”
It was a jab, but one spoken lightly. In their travels the twins came in contact with many rangers but they had never been able to fully understand why someone who lived life away from civilization would dedicate so much time to protecting it. They adhered to the law of the land, the fittest survived.
“You know how it goes,” Lystra replied idly, leaving Shadowflight to munch the grass of the glade while she joined them at their fire. “Where there’s townships, there’s trade, and where there’s trade, there’s someone or thing wanting to take those goods for themselves.”
“Your beginning to sound like Moorstrider,” Kothir cautioned her, poking in her direction with his cleaning knife.
He was referring to her mentor, the Master Ranger Jaryn Moorstrider. He had patrolled the wilderness of the Sword Coast for as long as most folk could remember, and was a firm believer in their code as rangers. Protect the weak and safeguard the helpless. He was more invested than Lystra in the politics of the realm, however. She, personally, detested most government bodies, and so stuck to lesser trails whenever possible. She was happiest on her own on the land, rather than wrapped up in the machinations of the mighty. Though the occasional company was always welcome.
She waved his comment off lazily.
“Let us speak no more of the banality of townsfolk,” she bid them. “Tell me of your travels for I am sure they hold much more excitement.
As ever, the twins required little encouragement and they quickly fell into a tale of their travels in the Shining Plains, far to the southeast of the Sword Coast. Lystra knew these lands to be troubled, held by city states constantly at odds with one another, but knew better than to inquire after the political balance of that land for the brothers cared not for any of it. Instead they regaled her with stories of running and hunting with the centaur tribes that often migrated through the area.
As they spoke, Kothir cut strips of bloody meat from his kill and the three of them lounged about the fire, impaling their meals on sticks or knives and cooking it over the crackling flames before devouring it, heedless of any juices that ran down their chins.
Lystra was enjoying herself greatly, it wasn’t often that she was in such fine company and she laughed aloud as Lethir recounted how Kothir had beheaded a troll that set upon them one eve and then pissed in its mouth as it tried to regenerate its body.
Sunset gave way to dusk, and dusk to night. Stars broke out and festooned the sky as the moon slowly broke her cover above the canopy. A chill crept into the air and Lystra crawled over to Lethir as Kothir told her of their run in with a group of bandits in Amn. She crawled into the elf’s lap and laid herself back against him. He welcomed her without complaint, lazily draping an arm about her waist, inviting her to snuggle closer.
Soon after Kothir finished his tale of their outsmarting of the bandit ringleader, he produced a half drunk jug of cider from among their meager belongings.
“This we took for you, Silverleaf,” he said, offering her the jug. “For we always look forward to our meeting.”
Lystra smiled and accepted the gift. Pulling the cork, she lifted it to her lips and drank deeply. The cider was rich and tart, and warmth quickly spread through her. It was strong, however, and she quickly passed it to Lethir lest she lose her wits. Not that she didn’t trust the twins but, in the wild, it was always prudent to keep your wits about you as much as possible.
The night wore on and they continued to laugh and drink together, passing the jug around, and speaking of no ill thing. From time to time Lethir’s fingers would slip about Lystra’s body, loosening straps that held her armor in place. She made no remark on his activities, and even aided him if a clasp proved resilient to his initial attempts. For her part, Lystra had been idly running her fingertips along the length of his thigh whenever she was engrossed in one of Kothir’s tales. It wasn’t until his roaming hands fell to the buckle of her belt that all else was forgotten and desire took hold.
His fingers, more nimble than any cutpurse, made short work of her belt’s buckle. Just as she felt it loosen about her waist, the button clasping her trousers was popped, and one of the elf’s slim hands slipped beneath the cloth.
She moaned as his fingertips teased her, pushing herself harder against him and reaching back to pull his mouth to hers. In an instant Kothir was upon them, slinking across their campsite until he crouched before them. Beginning his onslaught by loosening the ties of her boots.
Lystra and Lethir’s lips remained locked in a tight embrace, their tongues sparring, as his hand not occupied between her legs began pulling her leather armor from her, revealing the loose blouse she wore beneath. She leaned forward, allowing first her armor, and then her blouse, to be removed, before falling back against Lethir as Kothir, having deposed her of her boots, began sliding her trousers down her legs.
Once free of their confinement, her legs spread themselves willing, granting Lethir greater access for his invading digits, and eliciting a new wave of moans from the ranger.
Laying her clothing aside, Kothir bent low over her, his warm lips falling upon one of her knees before traveling up her thigh. His kisses periodically interspersed with light nibbling bites. As he neared her center, his brother removed his fingers, lifting the moistened digits to his mouth so that first he, then Lystra herself, could suckle them, tasting the husky mixture of her juices and his cider-sweetened saliva on them.
His arms wrapping about her thighs, Kothir buried his face in the bed of soft curls between, and began to feast. Lystra, for her part, dug her fingers into his hair, pushing herself harder against him, whilst pulling him closer to her. She fell back, expecting Lethir’s hard chest but meeting only the rough bark of the tree against which he had lain. Looking up, she saw that he had slipped out from behind her and now stood before her, his breeches shed, and his hardened cock standing proud before him like a huntsman’s spear. A willing sacrifice, she grasped his length and drew him swiftly into her mouth, the strong taste of sweat and precum bathing her tongue. One hand supporting her, she wrapped the other about him, sucking him deeper, whilst gripping his firm ass.
Before long she felt the rising force within her reach its summit and she came, grinding herself harder against Kothir’s tongue, she pulled Lethir’s cock from her mouth long enough to cry out in pleasure, her fingernails digging into his ass, as they did the ground beneath her.
Dizzy from her orgasm, she felt Lethir gently guide her to her knees. She was now facing Kothir, who lounged upon the grass beside their fire, his own stiff cock rising proud before him. He took a swig of cider and grinned at her, his lips slick with the cider as well as her cum. She paid him no mind, however, falling upon his rod like a martyr upon a sword.
As Lystra hungrily sucked his brother’s cock, Lethir positioned himself behind her. His fingers tracing the curve of her ass, he slowly slid himself into the welcoming embrace of her sex until he rested fully within her.
The clearing was soon filled with the combined chorus of their moans, gasps, and cries of ecstasy. Shadowflight, who had wandered to the standing stone at the clearing’s center, glanced back before, seeming to roll her eyes, returned to the succulent grasses of the glade.
Some time later the three of them lay upon the soft grass of their campsite, breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat, as well as other fluids, gazing through the leaves above them at the gorgeous, clear night sky. For some time they lay in silence before Kothir turned as if to speak. His brother urged him to silence, however, indicating the sleeping ranger. Looking at one another across her sleeping form, they came to a silent agreement. They would split the watch that night and allow her to sleep, she certainly seemed to need it.