Teller of Fate
Fifth Movement: The Power Under Glyph
Chapter Forty-Two
* * *
The trip to Dæv’s new quarters took Brad to parts of the Blue Griffin, he’d never seen before. Until now, he’d never had that much swag to flog.
Along a hall and down one flight of stairs brought them to one of the main theatres where a trio of musicians were playing a melancholy air to a room full of strange looking people. “I’ve never heard of a world with red-skinned natives, excepting some elves, that is. Where are they from?”
“They call it ‘Hades.’ They claim they’re all dead, they do, and that they were driven from their afterlife.”
“Dead refugees?”
“This Hades place, they claim it’s where their souls go after death.” Dæv shrugged.
“Weird. Decidedly weird. But what isn’t around here.”
“Their coin’s as good as any other, though—” here she paused—“it looks to be quite old; and all of small value. Copper mostly. They’ve each got bags of it, they have.”
They exited that room and entered a wide hall that led to the main entrance. There was quite a crowd here, mostly behind sturdy ropes.
They went past the gates themselves, manned by more trolls, these of the rocky variety.
They also ran into Gregarrt. His large, slightly pudgy form was behind a lectern making marks in a huge ledger.
Bradwold peeked over his shoulder and said, “Boo!”
Gregarrt didn’t even twitch. “How’ve you been, ya cheap bastard, ya?” He was grinning his golden grin.
“Depressingly poor, as always.”
Gregarrt turned, “You’re still a lousy liar, too.” He laughed.
“So, I see you’ve decided to stop tossing off in the beer cellar and put in a bit of honest work for a change. What’s the matter? That thing on your dick getting bigger again?”
“Only when I think of you.” Those within earshot laughed with the pair. Greg stuck out a hand the general size and texture of a well-done flank steak.
Brad shook it vigorously. “Why so busy today?”
“Three, count ‘em, three groups of pilgrims—‘tourists’ they call themselves—came through the Inclino gate not four hours gone. Glyph seems to be getting better known lately.”
“What’s a ‘tourist’?”
“Not a clue.”
“How’d the Garda react?” Dævara asked.
“They rejected about one in four of the last two groups. The first, which was the smallest, was turned away entire. Too many weapons, I hear,” Gregarrt replied.
“And they’ve all settled here?”
Gregarrt shrugged. “Most of them, looks like. Some few scattered around the neighbourhood, I think. The look of the line must be intimidating for some.”
“How are you for space?”
“We should be able to hold ‘em all, though it’ll be tight.”
Dæv was holding Brad’s right arm and caressing his hand in a delightful, yet most distracting way, as she turned to watch the crowd with interest.
“Well, I’d best be off.”
Greg arched an eyebrow at Dævara and smiled, “I think you should.” He touched forefinger to forehead and turned back to his custom, “Yes, sir, what are your needs this day…?”
Gregarrt’s voice faded as Dæv and Brad distanced themselves from the entrance.
The lovers began to ascend to the top levels.
Wide marble stairs curved up and to either direction off the main foyer. The first landing was open to one side showing an indoor amphitheatre. The rising rows of seats were about half full.
The spectacle below was a fight with swords between two well-muscled women. Besides body oil, they wore not a thing. They carried only a small buckler strapped to each forearm. Each had a couple of minor gashes already.
Brad watched for a bit, until Dæv pulled him away.
More stairs, more delights.
The third and fourth floors held mostly shops. Discreet affairs, they were offering everything from jewellery and clothing to instant transcendence.
The wares for sale looked to be top tier, which meant spending anything in most of them would mean he’d have to head back out dungeon hacking immediately thereafter.
They went past and on to another stair.
The top floor held rooms for the wealthier visitors and the better class of whore, though all the Griffin’s whores were classy by any standard.
They walked down a long hall. It was carpeted in wine coloured fur and all down the left side was the same magick glass the cupolas had, giving a clear look at two of the large faces of the Orloj. At the hall’s end was an elevator.
Brad had never been in one of these things and, like anyone born and raised on a low-tech world, he distrusted it. Dæv however, advanced with confidence, so Bradwold did too.
Arm in arm, the pair stepped into a round cage of open, silver gilded ironwork.
Dævara slid the outer then inner gates closed, latching each.
The pull of a lever caused the tiny mobile room to lurch up and, a bit more smoothly, carry on.
They were in rarefied territory now. The merchants of Glyph, the Archmages, and the more refined class of thief could afford these rooms, these whores, but not he.
Brad looked down at Dævara. If not for her, that was.
She saw his stare and returned it with one of her own. She worked that bit of magick she occasionally did, of placing thoughts in his head. There was no one in all the worlds she valued as much as he.
Finally, they came to a stop.
Dævara rattled the cage doors open.
The elevator had halted in the center of a round room.
They stepped out onto a floor of gold veined white marble. Evenly spaced in the curving wall were doors chased with silver. The wall itself was more magick glass, which made the doors look like they must open onto empty air.
“Come on,” Dæv said. There was urgency in her voice now. She took his hand in hers and pulled him toward one of the doors. The elf touched her palm to a gold plate set into it.
The latter silently swung outward.
Behind the door was a spiral staircase. She stepped onto it; Bradwold one step behind her. She placed her hand on the rail and the stairs began moving.
This was magick[1], so Brad was more relaxed. Standing a step below her, his head was almost level with hers. He leaned forward and encircled the elf with his arms. She grabbed one of his hands and began to rub it again.
She moaned softly to herself. With his free hand against her tummy, he felt rather than heard it.
Dævara had a way of stroking his hand that took him from flaccid to turgid and three heartbeats.
Three, four, five and a bit turns, and they encountered another door, this one again glass and silver filigree.
A single push by Dæv and she stepped on to a landing also of silver and glass. Brad had to take the last step himself.
At the movement of air caused by the closing door, curtains of white gauze just before them parted.
The room beyond was white, bright, and seemed open to the sky. It was the glass defining it, Brad realized.
One curved surface domed the space, so clear it was invisible, but for the lines of reflection, where the light of the spheres, finally dimming, hit it exactly right.
The large room had a sunken, circular couch enclosing an open fireplace. Even the flue was glass, though soot darkened it. Large throw pillows scattered about completed the furnishings.
Dævara didn’t stand on ceremony.
As soon as the door behind them snicked closed, she pulled him past the billowing draperies and down onto the plush cushions in the pit.
Sensing her mood, the adventurer became a bit frantic himself. He unbuckled his chest plate and pulled the whole of his upper armour off, pitching it onto the carpet behind.
The chainmail was next, aided by his lady love helping him pull it up over his head.
She was tearing at the laces of his breeches when a thought occurred to Brad, and he grabbed her wrists to stop her.
She turned a fierce gaze on him and actually growled.
“I haven’t bathed in weeks, love. I’ll be whiff. Maybe I should—”
Her grin was savage. She threw his hands off and continued.
He managed to unbuckle his boots and get them off before she pulled his pants down to his ankles. His small clothes were next.
As she tugged them down, his erection sprang free in all its modest glory.
It was quite a bit harrier than he usually kept it, and he could smell its stink from where he sat.
Dæv grabbed his cock and buried her face in the crevice between his scrotum and his left thigh.
Stands of her hair tickled Bradwold and he could feel her forehead and nose against his skin as she deeply inhaled the smell of him.
Her voice quivered as she breathed out.
Moving back a few inches, one fine-boned hand jerked his cock, the featherlight touch of her skin titillating.
His arousal reached a higher peak as he watched a spot on her skirts near her groin jerk rhythmically with the busy motion of her other hand.
In a surprisingly short time, Dævara cried out over and over.
She let go and curled up against the edge of the fire pit, twitching and moaning. Finally, she relaxed.
Taking her hand out from under her dress, she sucked and licked fingers that glistening with her fluids while giving him a smouldering look. The sounds her lips and tongue made as she did so drove Bradwold wild.
She seemed to remember herself. “Where’re my manners? There’s a fine, strapping lad afore me with an organ that needs tending to, it does.”
The elf stood, kicked off white slippers, and lifted her dress off over her head. Well, tried to. Dæv still had the heavy silver belt on.
With evident frustration, Dæv unbuckled the belt and tossed it over Brad’s head. It landed beside his discarded armour.
The dress went next, and she was gloriously naked but for jewellery. That and the silver flecks in her skin made her seem a living, breathing gem.
She knelt before him again and, taking his shaft and balls in two delicate hands, began kissing the head of his cock, making smacking sounds. The diminutive elf’s large eyes locked with his.
Brad’s breath became a bit unsteady at the sight as her wet lips sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.
He pulled the combs from her hair and grabbed two fistfuls of it.
Soon, she had his dick slicked with spittle and swallowed it down.
He pulled her face in and felt the head of his cock push through the resistance of her throat, until her nose touched his belly.
He pulled her almost all the way off by her hair and pushed her head again toward his groin.
Out and in again.
Again.
Again.
The elf whore went with his rhythm, then quickened it.
After two minutes of this ecstasy, Brad stopped her with a murmur.
She turned those sparkling scarlet eyes on him again; full pale blue lips distended around the head of his penis. Her tiny hands were busy: one gently pulling at his balls while the other began stoking the length of his erection.
She withdrew with a popping sound and, gripping the base of his shaft, smacked his dick against her cheeks and tongue a few times while she stared at him.
The blue tint to the hollows of her skin had always fascinated him. They spread and deepened in hue as she became aroused. In all his years, Brad had only ever seen that colouring on corpses.
A still image of her would make anyone who saw it think, despite open eyes, that they were looking at the dead.
There was no making that mistake here. Her skin was warm and alive, it glittered more as she became excited; silver sparks danced on her skin as she moved, as she breathed. And those shining eyes…
She stood suddenly and climbed into his lap, pulling his leather jerkin over his head as she did so. Finally, they were both naked.
Slowly, deliciously, she impaled herself on him, the warm, snug wetness of her sex thrilling his cock. They both sighed as her thighs rested against him and he took her full weight, pelvises snug together. For a moment, they just held each other like that. “Finally,” she sighed into his ear.
Her small breasts were tight against his chest and her belly against his. Her arms rested as much against the back of the couch as they did his neck. His left arm encircled her lower back.
His right hand kneaded her left buttock.
Her hair covered half his face with strands of silk, tickling him. Her breath was warm against his ear. “I surely missed you something fierce, I did,” Dævara whispered. “I love you.” She said each word distinctly, without accent.
She’d only ever said that once before.
Brad found it disconcerting. “I love you, Dævara.” And he did.
She hugged him tightly.
He was but a man. He had forty or fifty good years left, if he were spared.
She was over two hundred years old and would see many more times that span before she was called.
He was afraid that time would break her heart.
After a few more moments, she pulled away just enough to look at him. From this distance, she couldn’t look into both of his eyes at once. She kept snapping back and forth between them.
Once, she glanced over his shoulder. “You did alright on your last quest, it seems.”
“What? Oh, the loot!” He tried to see. She placed a hand on his cheek and cranked his head back around.
“You’ll hurt yourself, you will. It’s by the door and there’re many bags of it. We’ll count it later if you like. Meantime—” his member had been gradually softening during the conversation. It stiffened to a degree that was almost painful as she moved—or didn’t in this case.
Dævara made no visible movement besides closing her eyes and biting her lower lip. Brad’s cock felt like it was being licked all over, though.
The vaginas of elven women were lined with hydrostatic muscle. Its purpose was to prevent rape—it could clamp down like a steel vise—help sperm along, and drive males out of their minds as their cocks were pleasured by a tongue that engulfed it completely.
Dævara stopped, just as his breathing became irregular. He looked a question at her.
“Just primin’ yer pump, lover, that’s all.” She smiled and reached around behind her.
Brad felt her fingers against the shaft of his penis as two of them slipped into her pussy next to it. They withdrew for a moment. They returned again and again and once more. “Ready?” He thought he knew for what.
Dævara lifted herself up until his cock slipped out of her, paused a moment as he saw her arm continue to move back and forth a few times. When she was done, Dæv moved her body just a bit closer to his, grabbed his erection and, wiggling her pelvis a little to line things up, smoothly slid all the way down, burying Brad’s manhood in her tight little anus.
They both widened their eyes and went “Whoa!” at the same time which, of course, was funny as hell.
Laughter didn’t stop her from pumping her ass and grinding her cunt against his lower belly, though. Brad grabbed two fistfuls of exquisite ass, leaned in, and kissed her.
Some things are too good to last.
With the pistoning of her tight back passage, the wet warmth of her pussy, and the depth of her tongue kissing, Brad was beyond the threshold way too soon.
As he felt the wave crest, Dæv grabbed his hair and, without pausing, yanked his mouth away from hers. “Look at me! Don’t close your eyes,” she commanded in a husky, out of breath voice. She was close again, too.
The pleasure kept building. Each time Bradwold thought he’d reached the crescendo, he climbed a bit further.
Finally, the dam burst.
Brad roared, feeling his dick pumping against the resistance of her sphincter as blast after blast of cum cannoned from the end of his dick.
Keeping his eyes open was hard, but he did it for her.
She seemed to be having the same difficulty, but she kept her eyes on his through her own orgasm. The expression of ecstasy on her face was the most arousing thing Bradwold could ever remember seeing. Her cries were a divine choral.
Time went away. Through Dævara’s eyes Bradwold could feel her orgasm.
He didn’t remember the finish.
The diminution of pleasure; the cessation of motion; the softening of his penis as her tiny round muscles slowly pushed it out.
It had to have happened. Brad was just out of it when it did.
After a time, Brad opened his eyes, feeling a tingling all over. Dæv was lying against him, breathing deeply and slowly—she was asleep.
He reached up, moved some of her hair aside, and kissed her neck, her ear. “Hey, darlin’,” he whispered.
Dævara moved a bit, moaned, and lifted her head. She said nothing before kissing him tenderly.
The slightest movements awakened Bradwold’s bodily sense of touch and the whole warm damp area of joined flesh came alive to him. This ethereal creature in his lap, in his arms, was his.
Dæv finally broke the kiss. Then, “How ’bout a wash and bed, then?” Dæv closed her eyes and touched her forehead against his. “I could sleep for an age, I could.”
“Sounds like a fine idea.”
* * *
Glyph was the City Without a World, having been built in one of the most inhospitable environments in Greater Reality. Basic livability, much less creature comforts, required considerable engineering and magickal innovation to achieve.
One such was running water. The four rivers of the city were part of a sophisticated system that supplied fresh water under pressure. The showers in Dæv’s suite, a large one on the main floor and a smaller off her bedroom, were examples.
They were also luxury rare in Brad’s experience. He stepped into the bigger of the two, an entirely silver-glass enclosure, bigger than most entire bathrooms he’d seen. It sported sixteen high-pressure nozzles stacked four over four on two on opposite walls. Brad’s entire adventuring party could have hosed off in it without crowding.
Naturally, the lovers shared the nozzles on one side.
The water was just under the pain threshold in heat and pressure. It felt heavenly.
On a green glass pedestal in the corner sat a bowl of cut crystal. It contained a soft pale blue paste that smelled of jasmine and felt like it had small bits of sand in it.
It foamed as Bradwold scrubbed his hair and body. After rinsing off the fighter felt tingly, clean, and hungry.
He turned to Dævara, who was bent over performing some fascinating ablutions involving her crotch. He waited, his Old Fella tapping his belly, until elf finished.
Before she was done Dæv seemed to sense his gaze. She turned her head and noticed his penis. “You’re a randy one, aren’t ya?”
“You’re not?”
Grinning, “That I am.” The elf stepped closer, craned her head to meet his gaze, and gripped his penis.
Brad placed his hand over her tiny one, halting her stroking motions. “Before we get to that, there’re two things I’d like to know. Do you have any food? And do you have a razor I can borrow?”
“‘Yes’ to both. Let’s finish in here,” she gave the words her own special spin. “And we’ll dine upstairs in bed.” She didn’t let go.
“Sounds good. Where’s the razor?”
“Wait here.”
Dævara was back in seconds with a straight razor. She insisted on shaving him, so he sat on a tile bench built up from the floor, while she soaped his chin and cheeks and scrapped the hair off his face. Then she made him stand while she did for his balls and butt crack.
Brad reflected, as she carefully piloted the blade around his still erect member, that not since his father first taught him to shave had he ever trusted anyone with a blade near his face and he had never trusted anyone with a blade anywhere near his junk.
Yet he never hesitated when Dæv offered to shave him. He smiled. Love was a wonderful thing.
Rather than letting him go when she was finished so he could rinse off, she blew him.
It took longer than it would have had it been his first one of the day. The adventurer came in Dævara’s throat as she stroked him by swallowing repeatedly. The orgasm wasn’t as intense, but it certainly did feel good.
Dæv stood after she’d finished licking the last of his cum from his shaft and balls. He leaned in and kissed her well.
With her face wet from the shower and her hair somewhat dimmed and slicked to her skull, she still looked exquisitely beautiful. “Let’s get that food,” he said.
Towelled off and gleaming, they lay full length on a bed made of swans down covered in white silk sheets and fur blankets fine as cashmere.
The cupola was also a single bubble of glass. He could clearly see the other ones from where he lay.
They were all completely empty, not even furniture was visible. Then he remembered: magick glass. No residents would be able to see them, either.
The lovers sat cross-legged and had roast chicken and baked potatoes washed down with diluted Irish whiskey.
He asked her what ‘Irish’ was.
She told him of Ireland, a place on Oerth where many elves of her adopted lineage yet lived. She did not tell him of her human ancestors’ origins on that island. “This comes all the way form there?”
She laughed. “No, it’s made in Ælfen, one of the Elven places.”
“It’s good, wherever it comes from.”
The spheres were smallish just now, moving like shoals of fish. They were blood red, yellow, white, and green. “It seems a little bright for sleep.”
“Oh, I can darken the glass at need.”
“Good, I’m just about ready for a long nap.” He ducked into the smaller bathroom just behind a frosted screen to wash up, had elven vulva for dessert, and slept like the dead, cuddled with his love.
* * *
“Mornin,’ sleepy head,” Dævara purred.
Bradwold was already mostly awake, enjoying that delicious lassitude that was called ‘I don’t have to move if I don’t want to.’ Feeling the comforting weight of the elf on his chest and hips, he continued to feign sleep.
She tried tickling. It never worked, but Brad admired her tenacity. Then she went for the heavy ammo.
He felt her weight shift as she moved partly off him. Suddenly it was way too bright; he squinted.
“Ah-ha!”
“Damn! You don’t really expect me to open my eyes now do you, woman?”
“Yes.” There was suddenly an urgent pressure in the groinal area that threatened to become pain.
“You don’t play fair.” He cracked his eyes. They hurt. He squinted, while shielding his eyes with his hand.
Dævara saw this and let go his scrotum.
After a few seconds of tearing and blinking, Bradwold could finally see.
His dear lady love was sitting athwart his hips. Her arms were akimbo, pushing out her chest just enough to make her smallish breasts seem fuller, pale blue areolas more prominent. The silver dust in her skin made it sparkle in the light. The elf’s adorable shit eating grin was firmly in place; her hair was anything but.
“How do you fix that?” pointing at the haystack of auburn and gold.
“This, d’ya mean?” Dæv ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture which made her boobs pop out more, and arched her back.
Brad’s cock, smooshed under her crotch, enjoyed the sight, morning wood turning into something resembling steel. The sight of her trim blue carpet helped quite a bit, too.
“A bit o’ water, a comb, and a little elf magick, it’ll be right as rain—ooh!” A turgid phallus had made her seat a bit uncomfortable, it seemed. She looked at him and grinned. “D’ya mind, love?”
“No, not at all.” Brad was smiling, too.
She moved up on her knees just enough to crank his dick down and sat again, using it as a backrest.
“Uhmm…”
“Yes?” Angelic innocence in her face, but the devil was in her eyes.
Dæv didn’t fool him; he felt a damp patch just where her pussy rested on his lower abdomen.
He flexed his gut, making his cock tap her lower back over and over.
“What’s that?” She twisted around and said, “Oooh!” Giving him a look full of insincere remorse, “You wanted me to do something for you, did ya?”
He played along, trying to keep a straight face, “If you would be so kind.”
“But of course, kind sir.” Then explosive giggles.
Brad joined in as she hoisted herself up and on to him.
As she sank back down, sliding his dick up into her kitty, all the air rushed out of his lungs. She leaned forward and kissed him. Lying atop him, still kissing, she worked her hips, stroking him with her prehensile pussy muscles and rubbing her clit against him. It took her almost no time at all for her to cum.
She lay panting against him. Her breathing slowed. She was drifting off.
“A-hem!”
“Hmmm?” That innocent look was back.
“You were gonna…?”
She squeezed his shaft with her delicious sheath. “Oh, sweetie! I’m sorry. But I’m all sleepy.”
He gave her his, ‘no excuses’ look.
Brad felt the first rippling sensations along his cock as she worked the tongue-like muscle lining her vagina. He just laid back and enjoyed. His release didn’t take that long either. Morning wood or no, Bradwold was pumping his morning’s supply of semen into her in less than two minutes.
* * *
“Scrios Dé [2]! What’s the time?”
Dæv was off him and into the shower before he had time to process the question. They’d both drifted off again.
Brad got up more slowly and headed to the shower as well.
Dævara almost ran him over getting out and, still dripping, pounding heels clanged down the metal spiral stair to the main level.
Brad showered and headed downstairs himself. He didn’t see her anywhere. Shrugging, the fighter looked for his stuff. The clothing he’d worn was in desperate need of cleaning, but he had a decent change in his bag which was…where?
Brad was looking around when Dævara appeared from a narrow hallway he hadn’t noticed the night before.
Clothed in silver and sable, hair immaculately coiffed, she looked stunning. Elf magick, indeed.
“Why’re you still naked, man? I’ve a client due any minute!”
“You booked a client for today?”
She stopped, frown changing to one of remorse. “Yes, just the one. He’s a dear old thing who only sees me once a month. I couldn’t bear to disappoint him.”
“Oh.”
She saw his look. “I’m free else. I’ve cleared my schedule while you’re here, like always.” She smiled, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. “Now get dressed!” She smacked him on the ass to get him started. “Your stuff is there, it is,” pointing to a pile hidden behind the silk drapes in front of the door, his share of the loot from his latest quest. After rummaging for a bit, he found his backpack.
Bradwold dressed and squared his stuff away as well as he could. He was heading for the door when she stopped him, “You can leave your stuff through there, if you like,” pointing down the hall from which she had just come.
It turned out to be a walk-in closet with a dressing table in it. He stashed everything but a small bag of swag and came back out.
She was nowhere to be seen when he emerged into the main room. “Dæv, I’m off,” he called.
“Wait,” heard faintly from the direction of the cupola. She clattered down the steps. “Aren’t you forgetting something, of client of mine?”
Bradwold’s innocent look was better than hers, he knew. Finally, he gave her his ‘a-ha!’ face. “Oh, how stupid of me!” The adventurer reached into a pocket and pulled out the same small purse of gold coins he’d carried since the day they’d met. “Here you are, my lovely,” tossing it to her.
Dævara caught it and lobbed back in one motion. “Wouldn’t think of it, lover mine. It’s on the house, it is.” They shared a look that said what their lips rarely had. She broke it by blowing him another kiss. “Shall I find you downstairs when I’m done?”
Brad nodded. “Gotta get some provisions today, but I shouldn’t be that long. Bye, love.”
“Love ya, me Pretty Man.”
Brad met an elderly looking elf at the doorway. The latter was silver haired with wrinkles on his face, the latter making him very old, indeed. He was also silver-eyed, a feature Brad had seen often enough to equate it with elves in general. An ebony cane used for the look of the thing rather than for balance matched the black coat he wore. Brad nodded.
It was returned.
That moment of social awkwardness experienced by two strangers about some carnal business that they don’t intend to share, was shared.
Brad headed for the elevator.
It took him a moment to figure out how it worked.
[1] It wasn’t
[2] “Shit!”
— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, August 2026
© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved
