After the stress of the previous couple of weeks, the farmer and the knight made their way to the Trim Vine Farm to wait out the three days until Thunni would reveal the path to the coveted statuette. They took the gate to Opserg, and before leaving the town, they checked in on Cammia’s shop. The chemist was there, as always, and she greeted them warmly. However, she kept returning to the back – no doubt to tend to her children. Since Lauren and Nadalia did not need any more potions (m

Giant The Queen of Solidarity sat on her throne, clad in her steel helm, her steel gauntlets, and her steel boots. She wore nothing else. In her hands, she gripped a longsword with a red hilt. Numerous cracks split the floor of her throne room. Her forehead rested on the pommel of the hilt. Her waist-length red hair spilled out of the back of her helm. The Queen was bone-thin from centuries of sitting on her throne, absorbed in thought. The door to her isolated throne room burst open.

 Lauren’s skin shivered as she passed into the Murk Realm. Thankfully, Dry Haven’s gate was not far from the police station. She travelled there with haste, and as police officers saluted her, Lauren went to Sânge’s office. However, the Chief of Police was not in her office. Deputy Heather sat in the seat instead, filling out paperwork. She made eye-contact with Lauren, but her hands kept moving with practiced autowriting. “I’m looking for Sânge,” Lauren said, holding ont

 The Overchurch did have a dungeon. It lay beneath the underground chambers of the Guard-Knights. Seldom was the dungeon used. The Guard-Knights were better executioners than jailers, and the Dissolvers were superb at their jobs. Most prisoners of Grecinma were held in the city guard’s jail, for they were just that – criminals of the city, not of the Protective Core. The inhabitors of the Overchurch got the most use out of the dungeon by harvesting from its corners and cracks a rare mos

 Lauren woke up in her bed. She stared out her window through the half-closed blinds, seeing that the sky remained dark. She saw an empty bottle of 180-proof grain alcohol on her nightstand, right next to removed nipple piercings and Alba’s pocket watch. The alcohol had not robbed her memory, but it had put her to sleep. The alcohol had been involved in a post-trip party of sorts with her friends, a celebration of outward exploration completed, a climax to the long and eventful drive. Als

 Lauren was face down, her rear upwards. Nadalia’s face was buried in her grand buttocks. The knight provided lingual pleasure to the farmer, spending a rare amount of time on Lauren’s anus. She moaned without opening her lips, as Nadalia’s tongue flicked back and forth. Her lower cheeks squeezed Nadalia’s upper cheeks along with the rest of her face and head. While in ecstasy, Lauren reached into their discarded belongings, into her bag, and she retrieved two pink potion vials. She

 The tongue passed over her. It was warm and heavy. It spread its viscous saliva across her skin – no bare inch. The tongue flexed and folded, undulating and wagging. Its textural dance made each contact of flesh against flesh unique. It was just longer than she was tall, just wider than she was; it was a perfect blanket just for her. The tongue pressed down against her face alike a lipless kiss. It bent and compacted. The bottom of the tongue squished against her breasts, alighting

 Along the road to Buffalo, they went on a longer route, driving by Niagara Falls, and the Siblings made a light suggestion that they visit the area for a couple hours. However, although some of their friends were impressed by the size and shape of the waterfall, the rest were not, and all agreed that they should continue on. Unperturbed by the result, the Siblings adhered to their companions’ wishes, and the group went on towards Buffalo. By late afternoon and early evening, the converti