Chapter 16 - Reunion

Reunion
 
Loran quickly stood up from his chair, his gloved fist clenched tightly. “You knew my uncle”? The young man was trying to remain calm, to recall Siena’s instructions to not draw attention to their quest but this was a breakthrough, he was mere feet away from answers. “Tell me, now”, it was a command rather than a request; talking to this woman had been an emotional twister. The bar was utterly quiet. It was a small place; the silence seemed louder.
 
“Yes, I knew him”, Astrid smiled at she spoke casually, “as a brave man, as a good friend, and much more”. She broke eye contact, now staring into the distance, reminiscing of her youth. The witch had grown a great deal in the past fifteen years; physically, spiritually, and magically. Young Astrid was not the naive girl she used to be, but in other aspects was largely the same, her caring nature generally taking the forefront, she did not wish to lead him on; just yet. “Please do sit love, you’re getting all excited over nothing”, she resumed her work around the bar, “and if you promise to relax I’ll tell you everything, no toying around”. The witch gave a smile as she awaited his response.
 
His inner gentleman saw reason in her request,  there was no need to address her in such a manner; she was peculiar for a slightly older woman, but had only shown him hospitality. “Forgive my manners”, he bowed his head briefly, “I just haven’t spoken to someone who had actually met him, knew him even more so, in a long time”. It was true, up until now all he had were fragments of stories that may have been true about things that may have happened a little over a decade ago. His nerves had been tested greatly throughout this ordeal. He seated himself, slightly ashamed that he had grown so impatient. The busty witch glanced up from cleaning their mugs, a small smile on her face; what a good boy. 
 
“I met Roland sixteen years ago as a poor girl working in a bar not so different from this one; the only noticeable change being that the owner here isn’t a complete pervert”, she grinned ever so slightly. What? Roland thought. “Anyhow, your Uncle and his companions needed someone who was magically inclined to put it delicately; enter I. All of us; Roland, Isolde, Sarah, and I, had hit it off quite fast.”. Wasn’t that the priestess the girls had mentioned?
 
“You’re a witch, really”? He had seen magic, hells below, most of what Siena did was magic to him; yet he’d never met a real witch. Perhaps she was more than what she appeared.
 
“Really. I was for the most part, but need not worry, I won’t go turning such a strapping lad as yourself into a slug or newt”, she chuckled. “We traveled a fair amount of time together, slayed troublesome beast, and were all in all good friends. Ro was the chivalrous type, perhaps he felt as though he were our guardian; him being the only man and all. More so, your uncle saw himself as my noble protector, and for a time I felt as though that were quite true”, her face grew soft as she spoke of him; their time together had truly had been magical. 
 
“But”... Loran knew that this story did not end well, a pit formed in his stomach.
 
“But, there are certain things that a man cannot protect a budding woman from”, she sighed, running a hand over her toned stomach. “In the end, he succumbed to a beast that could not be defeated, that none of us can defeat”. She was staring at Loran now, dissecting his next moves; her next words were spoken with directness. “He paid the price for his chivalry; a sad day for gallant knights everywhere”.
 
It made no sense, her words had become so cryptic, and partially alarming. “What do you mean”? He tried not to get up from his seat again but could feel the urge to coming on. 
 
“I loved your Uncle, and I still do, all this time later”. Astrid left the bar, and was now slowly approaching Loran’s table; her walk screamed sensuality, as if she were trying to bed him that very night. He hadn’t noticed until now, but she was wearing dark leather sandals; her delicate toes poking through the straps; the witch’s soft feet seemed like they were gliding above the floorboards as she walked. Loran gripped his table as she approached, confusion was quickly transforming into something else; he was growing warmer. “Perhaps in time I could come to love you as well”. She leaned close to him now, glimmering eyes focused on his lips; if she acted now she could've convinced him of anything.
 
“But, out of respect for him, that wonderful knight; I’ll give you one chance”. She placed her hands on his lap. “Leave”. Her fingers barely avoided his member. 
 
Loran swallowed, he had so much to say, but perhaps not the willpower to speak. “You’re such a brave young man, committed, like he was”. She rested her lips on his forehead, placing a kiss, “This town is no place for you, as much as I’d love for you to stay”. She was trying her best to subdue her other nature, it gnawed at the edges of her conscious, filling her with a warm and aching sensation. She backed away slowly. “I was like you once, chasing ghost. I tried to find out who I was, balancing obligation and pride; but the truth, the ghost you’re looking for, is only going to make things worse”. 
 
His suspicion rose, but he could not bring himself to hurl accusations; to the best of his ability he could tell that she was trying to help him. This place had secrets, something she wished to warn him of; it was all so odd. Loran matched her gaze, perplexed to why she’d tell him; especially if she was in on it. 
 
“Why”? He felt slightly betrayed; what would’ve happened hadn’t she warned him. 
 
“I’m sorry, but I won’t answer any questions until you decide; stay or leave”. She could feel her the sensation growing between her thighs, the longing to fulfill her duty. She wanted him to answer, and quickly, so she could save him while there was still time; should that be his choice…
 
“Well, I’ve come this far”, he sighed, “Fought all manner of men, beast, and monsters to get here; I can’t turn back now”. He had lost everything, his parents, his clan, his honor; all of it had to be for something. Some would wonder why; why go to such great lengths to learn of another’s fate, regardless of relation? Uncle Roland was all potentially all that remained, and if not living, one last story to be concluded. Even if he were to settle down in some village, decades from this moment, the young man wanted his progeny to know their lineage; the memory of his beloved family. Loran reached for his helmet, now holding it with one hand; “Where is he”?
 
Astrid sighed, her beloved would’ve been proud of the young man his nephew had become, and heart-broken that she was unable to dissuade him. “I’ll take you to his resting place”.
They walked a short distance from the bar, almost alone in the quiet streets; it was night time. Astrid was wearing her old hat, its black brim sagging from wear; she walked ever so lightly, but with purpose. Loran on the other hand was quite melancholy, as while he expected to find that his uncle had perished, perhaps he hadn’t fully accepted it before. 
 
“How did he die”? Loran broke the silence. 
 
Astrid frowned beneath her cowl, “In an effort to save this town, battling what he saw as its greatest threat”. She knew that this was only a half truth, as in reality, she was what had broken him; that day never escaped her. Her legs nearly quivered in excitement from its memory alone.
 
“Did he slay it”, the nephew inquired, perhaps his name could be honored by his deeds; he would've accomplished his mission.
 
“Look around, do you believe he did”? Her small deceptions did little to assist her internal affairs; Being mischievous seemed to only bolster her urges these days. Her heart pounded in excitement from the tension, even though she knew it was all so wrong, Sarah and Isolde had done a number on her. 
 
“So, we’re headed to the chapel, because he’s buried there”? Loran was confused, but this news brought him some comfort; Uncle Roland had truly died a champion, bringing honor to the Ostigar name. He himself could only hope to be honored so, as hero who saved hundreds; tears formed in his eyes. The young man and the witch walked side by side through the night.
 
They approached the church, its large ornate oaken double-doors standing proudly; they did well to hide the depraved acts within. Loran quickly remembered, having forgotten earlier, swept up in his previous conversation; “Where was Siena”?  She should’ve been back well over an hour ago, and that was being generous; perhaps she’d been inside, having found who she was looking for as well. Loran hoped for the best, he couldn’t lose her to this town too. He had not forgotten what Astrid told him earlier, that this place had demons; ones that he hoped she hadn’t encountered. He would visit his uncle, regroup with the elf, and solve the mystery of Colifal. Things were seemingly going well so far, but something was afoot. As they entered he could hear chanting from below, a gathering perchance. He placed his hand on the long sword’s scabbard; he’d be prepared. Moonlight filtered through the windows.
 
Astrid stopped behind him, waiting at the door, “Press onward, the catacombs are just below”. She was encouraging him from a distance, “It should be something you experience alone, visiting him; I’ll accompany you shortly”. She would indeed.
 
He appreciated her concern; while something may have been going on in the level below, he wasn’t going to be interrupted, not by anything. He made his way behind the marble altar, and after a brief stint of investigation found the hatch to the undercroft. It seemed hidden, yet easily accessible; as if waiting to be found. He descended deeper. 
 
He was not in a narrow passage, dimly lit by the fire of small lanterns. The floor and walls were made of chiseled stone; an effort that would’ve taken a great deal of time. Then it caught his eye, small traces of purple gunk, seemingly the same as that he’d seen earlier. Things were growing ever more obscure. With no mobility or space there was almost no way to draw his weapon, let alone effectively use it; if this were a trap he was dead. Loran winced, had his trust and anticipation led to this? He turned around, to leave; primarily to prepare better and return tomorrow. He climbed up the small ladder; Dammit, the trap door was jammed; the witch?
 
~
 
Astrid lie on the marble altar, having just shifted it over the trap door with arcane magic. Her undergarments removed, she slammed a large brass idol into her trimmed pussy; trying her best to stay quiet, as much as she wanted to scream in sweet relief. Even a composed woman such as herself needed a break; time to satiate her urges. She hoped that Loran would forgive her, especially when after he had joined them, it would all be so clear; he’d see. She imagined the strong young man on top of her, taking advantage of her voluptuous body. It only drove her to work faster. Even at 30 years of age she was voracious in her sexual appetite; it was generally women, but the appearance of the young 
 
~
 
Things were growing ever more worrisome, all there was left was to push forward. He squeezed through the passage; he could hear the sounds from earlier growing louder. The young knight was close now, approaching the entrance of a chamber; he slipped. His armor did little to break the fall, only adding to the impact, it must have been the slime; there was so much of it. What was it?! He brushed his fall off and shook his head to recover his vision. 
 
“Mother Astara”! 
 
They were everywhere… women… common maidens tightly secured to the walls, clothes having been discarded into a great pile. The breeding chamber was massive, perhaps even the size of the chapel above. He quivered where he stood, his brown eyes darting from face to face, each one appeared so happy -- overjoyed even. He had heard tales of foul beast assaulting human women and even men on the road, doing all manner of ungodly things to their bodies. It was a defilement of the natural order, yet these women wanted this. He recognized some of them, having noticed their faces as they moved through the marketplace. He glanced to his right, trying to keep from screaming; his legs felt like twigs, as if they’d snap if he took a step. The sisters, the young women who had given him a tour earlier, were resting in a corner rubbing their bloated stomachs. They were naked, thick globs of this, substance, pouring forth from their vaginas. He’d have averted his vision but they were simply everywhere. Then he saw it. Companion. Priestess. Perhaps friend. Siena. She was dangling from the ceiling, the only thing keeping her from the ground were various thick tendrils; they dived into her every orifice. A trio slime-cocks drilled into her, a darker substance flowing through their transparent outer layer. After she'd made her way down here, Sarah had made a proposition, join their family or kill them; it was a cruel choice for a mother to be forced into, and an even bigger gamble for the nympho. As much as her conscious demanded that she act on virtue the ex-priestess knew that she wanted to be with them, her daughter, her granddaughter. For as long as she could be.  Her eyes were rolled back in ecstasy, breast now recognizably larger than before. The elf maiden’s usually tightly bound hair had been undone, bouncing back and forth as she received a hearty mouth-fucking by a new tendril. The original set of slime shafts worked below; two of them sharing her bushy slit, the other repeatedly piercing her once tight asshole. She hadn't been pleased in decades, the wound-up grandma needed something to occupy her mind, to pick up some slack for her; this slippery cock carousel was just what she needed, or so her daughter had recommended. Siena's own bulging stomach was beginning to swell; it would be the first of many in the foreseeable future, a service to the master.

Move you fool!
 
The knight’s gloved hand twitched as he reached for his blade, but what would he do when he unsheathed it? Destroy the tendrils? Fall on his own blade?... Kill them? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of squishing, by something – someone, from behind. His constricted muscles had barely recovered from the shock; there was no way he’d be able to turn around in time, not that it mattered.
 
The hand reached out from the darkness, a powerful purple aura seeping from the fingertips; it lashed outward, binding his head. Loran fell to his knees, making a loud squishing noise against the wet floors. His entire body twitched in a stinging pain, he could move nothing now, no matter how hard he tried. He could feel something-- creeping into his mind. All that remained was the feminine hand and darkness, the edges of his conscious shrinking inward. 
 
To fail now. Shame upon his family name.
 
~
 
When he awoke all that remained was a world consuming darkness; had he been killed? He hoisted himself up, shakily regaining his footing, each movement echoed throughout the abyss. He screamed a panicked “Hello” into the hollow space! The young man’s voice resounded for what seemed like forever. He was about to have a panic attack, he must’ve died and this was limbo. He wanted to sink to his knees and hold himself, to weep mercilessly in this great ocean of darkness feeling as though he deserved no such comforting. A failed knight deserved to suffer through this; whatever that entailed. 
 
Footsteps approached from just up ahead; he would've reached for his sword but it was gone, fuck. They were loud and made an unsettling rattle, as if chains were lazily dragging behind each foot. The knight raised his fists, as he would not go silently to the gates of hell. To his knowledge he had failed in life but he would not be a coward in death.
 
From the void a familiar face appeared, as if it was tearing through the black walls before him. It was Uncle Roland, still donning the same armor that he’d left in so many years ago. Loran lowered his fists, confused but slightly relieved.
 
“It’s good to see you, the last Ostigar”, Ro smiled yet his eyes were filled with despair.