You set your jaw firmly and swipe the bag of gold, dropping it between your breasts. “You’ve got a deal,” you say.
“Excellent,” the stranger says, clearly pleased. “I expect you to begin immediately.”
“Of course. By the way, I never caught your name,” you press.
“That information isn’t necessary,” he grunts, slightly annoyed. “Focus on your task.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” you sigh, standing up. “Thanks for breakfast. I got work to do.” He nods in response and leaves the pub without another word.
A while later, after you’ve gathered your things and left the pub, you read over the bounty. The young woman was last seen trying to pass herself off as a barmaid in a nearby village, but had fled after being recognized and nearly devoured by a she-orc. Your lips tighten with concern. Orcs unnerve even you, and their presence in the land of Urdenna is steadily growing.
You put that thought aside, however, and focus on your task. You take a good long look at the girl’s likeness, and something about it strikes you as familiar. You furrow your brow thoughtfully as you try to recall where you may have seen her. Something about the name “Nessie” rings a bell too, like there’s a connection you should be making.
Your recollection fails you, however, so you shrug and tuck the bounty away. For now, you should head to the place she was last seen. It isn’t far, so you start out immediately.
The road is uneventful throughout the morning, and you don’t even meet any other travelers, however, after an hour or two, you hear a strange combination of noises coming from around the next bend. You frown, listening intently. You can here some sort of stringed instrument, like a lute, along with what sounds like muffled sobs. As you come around the bend warily, you see the source of the commotion.
There’s a woman lying on her stomach in the dirt, naked from th waist down with her hands and feet bound. A pair of panties, likely her own, has been crammed into her mouth. Sitting next to her, leaned against a tree, is an elf with a big, round, wiggling belly. Now that your nearer, you can hear the screams and pleas of his breakfast, a desperate male voice. The elf is fair skinned with green eyes and long silvery blond hair. He’s wearing a simple green tunic, unbuttoned to allow for the girth of his smooth, hairless tummy. He’s strumming on a lute, and presently begins to sing.
“There once was a pair of young newlyweds,
Who had yet to make it to their marriage bed,
When a hungry young bard found them walking all alone
And pounced on them to make them his own!
Now poor little hubby is writhing in my bowels,
Tormenting sweet wifey with his dying howls.
But darling damsel, worry not a bit,
You’ll join your lover as my shit!”
The poor young human breaks down in further sobs. She’s a beautiful woman with golden, curly hair and a slender, curved body. She’s wiggling and fighting hard against her restraints, but all she’s really managing to do is wiggle her little bootie. Her husband, however, is doing even less, fighting a battle with the elf’s tummy that he already lost long ago. By the sound of his sobs and the steadily shrinking size of the belly he’s dying in, he doesn’t have long, at all.
You eye the scene with distaste. Normally you aren’t bothered by seeing some weakling get ground into paste. In your eyes, if you’re weak enough get eaten, you deserve to be digested. Elves, however, are an entirely different matter.
You hate elves, more than almost anything. Unlike other predatory races, elves aren’t strong or physically capable. In fact, they’re weaker than humans. So when they eat people, they have to be sneaky. They cheat or trick their dinners, or worse, they use magic. Orcs, Lizardfolk, even Goblins, you can respect. They earn their meals. Elves eat people in the most dishonorable ways, when they aren’t being eaten themselves.
FRBBBBT.
The elven predator rips a fart you can hear from where you are. He chuckled and wrinkles his nose, breaking into mocking song once more.
“Hubby‘s more stink now than person,
And his fate from here only will worsen.
But before my gut slurps up his life,
I think I will ass-fuck his wife!”
This little rhyme earns wails from both husband and wife, as the cruel waif of a man gets up on his knees and straddles the sobbing woman from behind, unbuckling his trousers. You study his gut for a few seconds. The poor man inside is done for. He’ll be dead within minutes. However, you could save the wife from a grisly fate if you acted now.
