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Zan took the bottle, and gave her the bread in return. She bit into it, the bread soaking up the rest of the wine still in her mouth. As she chewed, she picked at the left over piece in her hand, not really paying him any attention as he drank. Her ears perked up as he spoke, and she peered up at him. "What's on my mind?" She asked him, and she tilted her head to the side slightly. She didn't really know what to say to that. What was on her mind? She thought to herself, trying to think of an answer. "I guess I don't really have anything on my mind at the moment. Other than this bread is really good." She said, and she took another bite. Was he trying to get to know her better? Learn her interests? That wasn't the best question to get answers then. She swallowed the piece of bread as he took another swig. "I guess what's really on my mind is, what's on yours? You seem nervous." 

He handed the bottle back to her, and she immediately took a large swig from the bottle, and groaned as it settled. She was already started to feel the effects of it all, having such a low tolerance for alcohol. Her heady felt dizzy, and her body was beginning to tingle. She took another gulp, and she gazed into his eyes as he began to speak. As he spoke, Myth's eyes widened as she began to understand what he was saying. A large, goofy grin spread across her face, and she nodded. "I like you a lot too! I'm glad we both feel the same way." She purred, and she set the bottle down, nearly knocking it over onto her fur. "I'd very much like to be yours!" She giggled, swaying slightly in his lap, still straddling him. She put a hand on his face, still grinning like an idiot. She stroked his cheek, running her fingers along his stubble, liking the sandpapery feeling against her fingers. She fell forward a bit, resting her head on his peck, finally getting to know what it felt like as a pillow. It was decent, not as fluffy as the one she had on her cot. 

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Nervous was an understatement. Zanzarog didn’t even have a chance to answer her question before he more or less admitted what had been troubling him. For once in his life, it actually ended up in his favor. It was as if an immense weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “You have no idea how happy that just made me,” Assuming his smile wasn’t a dead giveaway. Once she nuzzled herself into his chest an arm accompanied her back, his hand snaked up into her hair, where it would weave itself into the silver locks. Scratching and massaging her scalp lightly. There was nowhere he would rather be right now than in her presence. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, shall we finish our lunch?” In their case, lunch probably meant polishing off the rest or Ioreth’s wine and nibbling on bread.

Giving Mythandriel a moment to respond to his question, he would release the grip he had on her hair and reach for the bottle once more. Taking a drink or two before offering it to her with a smile. Her porcelain complexion was flushed, whether that was from the wine or just the heat of the moment was still up in the air, either was probable. Mythandriel was tiny in comparison to her male counterpart, he would have had to consume a majority of that bottle to feel the slightest buzz. Maybe that factor would play out in his favor in the end. Or he would have to carry her back to Ioreth and try to explain why she was intoxicated, which didn’t sound too appealing. Ioreth was intimidating.

@Witches Brew

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"Hmmmmm, happy, happy, happy." She hummed, still leaning into his chest, her fingers trailing the outline of his pecks. "Happy, happy, happy..." She whispered again, and she gazed up at Zan, her eyes starting to glaze over as he gently massaged her scalp, his hand tangled in her hair. She purred, having his hands in her hair while she felt this warm felt so nice. Then, he  brought up the prospect of lunch. She leaned up, all perky, like a puppy begging for scraps. She nodded, wanting the bread that was offered. "Yes, lunch please." She said. She had no interest in the fruit, she only wanted the red liquid in the bottle, and the bread that lived there. 

His hand released her hair, and she took the bottle of wine when it was offered. She tilted her head back, letting the liquid pool in her mouth, and it spilled out the sides, and onto her poncho, and her shirt. She whined, and swallowed the mouthful. She swayed slightly while looking down at her shirt, and frowned at it, holding out the fabric to inspect the stains. "I really liked this one toooo..." She wined, and she pulled off the poncho, tossing it aside, before seeing that the liquid also pooled onto the grey undershirt she wore. She stuck out her tongue the tiniest bit as she stared at the red blot on her shirt. It wasn't even that large of a stain. It would come out easily when she washed it, nobody would ever notice it were there unless they stared hard at it. But now, in her intoxicated state, the red dot was spreading. It was spreading all over the soft grey fabric of her shirt, and it needed to go. Just like with the poncho, she squirmed her way out of it, tossing it aside. 

She now sat shirtless, straddling the orc's waist, wearing nothing but her skirt, with her hair covering her chest. She felt better now, the red blot was no longer an issue, plus the breeze felt excellent on her bare chest. "Can I have some bread now?"  

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His suspicion was right on point. Mythandriel was intoxicated. He had no idea just how far gone she was, but that much would soon come to realization. “Yeah bread does sound pretty good.” It would also help soak up some of the wine, but he'd leave that part out. Reaching for the basket, he'd fish out what remained of the loaf and place it next to them atop the fur. Before he knew it, Myth had managed to spill some of the wine onto her poncho. “Oops,” Zan chuckled. Then off it came, he probably would have done the same in that situation, walking around with a giant red stain just wouldn't do. It had also managed to soak through her top layer and stain the shirt underneath.


“It's not that ba---,” Too little, too late. Before he could finish his sentence, she decided to take that layer off too, tossing it aside and leaving her bare chested. Zanzarog went slack jawed and couldn't help but stare. Not for long though, he didn't want to make it too noticeable. But his gaze did trail down quite a few times, catching a glimpse here and there, only to return to her face. She didn't seem too bothered by the fact that she was exposed, then again, she was also drunk. He could play this one of two ways, encourage the nudity, or be a gentleman and offer up his own shirt. As lovely to look at as they were, and twice as lovely to play with/taste for that matter… He couldn't stand for some random bystander to catch a glimpse.


So he leaned back and reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and off to match her. “Here love, put this on.” Whether she accepted the article of clothing was ultimately up to her, he wouldn't force her to put it on. Their size difference would make the shirt fit similar to her poncho, so at least that would be to her liking.

@Witches Brew

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If it wasn't suddenly so much chillier, she wouldn't even had noticed that she wasn't wearing a shirt. She just assumed she was wearing multiple layers upon layers. But, skin was a layer right? It seemed like nakedness was a matter of opinion, in most cases, it was the absence of clothing. Her bare skin tingled in the slight breeze, and the cool air was making her nipples hard. She watched Zan as he looked at her, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. She didn't speak, she just giggled at him, and tilted her head, her hair moving further and further from her chest. She gazed up at him, gauging what he'd do. Her head was fuzzy, her limbs heavy. Her world was spinning, and she wasn't sure why. This was all unfamiliar, she didn't know if she liked this feeling at all. 

She watched hazily as he took off his shirt, giving the article to her. She looked at it, and she grasped it in her hands. This action was not just out of generosity or kindness, there was some sort of possessiveness to it. He didn't want others to see, and she didn't mind this. She squirreled her way into the shirt he had given her, the large shirt drowned her small frame, but she didn't mind. It smelt like him, and now she could see his pecks in all their pillowy glory. 

"Tha-thank you." She said, her words slurring together as she grabbed a chunk of the bread. "You know what? I have some gold, wannaaaa go the the tavern and get some roast rabbbit? It'sss really good there." 

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Mythandriel's speech was slurred, thankfully not slurred enough to be incomprehensible, he simply nodded firmly when she thanked him. Then she spoke about going to a tavern for food. Not just food, warm food. Protein would also assist in sobering her up and probably take care of the massive hangover she'd have in the morning. “Sure, we can do that. Can you walk?” Good question. Zan didn't want her to stumble and fall, he would carry her if he had to. Would they even let them in the tavern? They might deny her service, at least refuse to serve her alcohol.


Without warning, he stood, an arm swept itself underneath her and forced her up onto his shoulder. “Do you want me to leave this stuff here, or do we have time to pack it back up?” When people were drunk, they were pretty adamant about what they wanted to do, in this case it was get more food. He'd give her a moment to respond before deciding how he wanted to move forward with the situation. Hopefully she didn't get sick, that would just make the situation a whole lot worse. But at least she was in good hands, quite literally.

@Witches Brew

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Mythandriel was going to answer, she honestly was, but Zan was quick. He stood, sweeping her up under his arm, and slinging her over his shoulder. "Hey!" Myth squeaked, and she kicked her legs out, pouting slightly. Her hair hung in her face, obscuring her vision. "I can walk!" Truth was, she probably couldn't walk, she had trouble sitting still, and her world was all spinny. She lay limply now on his broad shoulders, her arms hanging down his back. She huffed, aware that if she did try to walk, she'd be in the same predicament, just with added embarrassment. He asked if they should pack up the basket, and Myth nodded. "Yes, thatsss my favvvorite fur. I don't wan anybody to sssteal it." She said. 

As he bent over to procure all the items, an idea sparked in her brain. As he bent over, she saw them. Those firm buns of steel. The firm meaty flesh that was often used for sitting, and fondling. This idea could be scandalous, considering the religious nature of the town they lived in. Plus, it was midday, and the sun was still high in the sky. Nobody was around during their day drinking, finger biting, face eating shenanigans. So, in turn, nobody would be around to see this. 

Myth reached her arms out, her fingers close together. Then, with one swoop, her hands connected to those firm buns, making a slapping sound. She giggled, and did this again, and again, repeatedly slapping his ass. Once she got tired of the long shots, she simply rested her palms on his butt, and rapidly patting his cheeks. 

"It's like a druuuuuum..." She whispered to herself, grinning. 

Edited by Witches Brew

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Mythandriel’s tantrum was adorable, to say the least. It made him laugh. She probably could walk by herself; although it would have been a balancing act, and Zanzarog didn’t feel like chasing after her. At this point, even he was feeling the effect of the wine, just nowhere near Mythandriel’s level. Speaking of balancing act, he didn’t think this through very well, carrying her and gathering their belongings.

It took him a couple of minutes and an occasional curse word in Orc, but he got it accomplished. Mythandriel’s drum solo was initially ignored while he was cleaning up, he was determined to do so without having to put her down, and once again their basket was neatly packed to the brim and swaying from the nook of his free arm. But once he started walking, it became apparent to him that she had been playing his buttocks like a war-drum all along. “I have an idea,” He couldn’t really use both of his hands since the basket was swinging about, so he adjusted the one securing her. Moving it up and onto her own rump and tried to match her rhythm.

“I’m going to drop you off at home, get you tucked into bed and I'll get our rabbit to-go.” It was a win-win, right? Myth got to cuddle up in her bed and have food delivered to her? What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man. From there the possibilities were endless! Maybe Myth would let him join her and they could take a nap together to sleep off the wine. That sounded wonderful.

@Witches Brew

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Myth let out a surprised squeak as Zan played out his own percussion piece on her own rear, his large hand attempting to keep along with her own rhythm. She giggled, but ultimately gave up on playing with his platinum buns. He managed to gather everything, and she snaked her arm around his chest, and snatched her fur from him, and wrapped it around her shoulders, snuggling into it. 

When he suggested going home for naps and rabbit in bed, she couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds really niiice.” She said as she snuggled deeper into the fur, wrapping it tighter around herself as she lay slung over Zan’s shoulder. She was getting sleepy anyways, so laying down on her cot sounded nice, but one thing worried her. Dorian. 

Dorian has never met Zanzarog, and she was a territorial animal. If she saw Myth like this, slung over a strangers shoulders, she didn’t know how’d she’d react. 

As they walked along, the cabin was getting closer and closer. Dorian’s stark white pelt was visible as she grazed in the yard. As they came closer, her large white head rose, and her eyes bore into Zan’s. She spotted her Mistress on the shoulder of this stranger, and she stomped at the ground, her antlers poised in front of her. She bleated angrily, snorting all the while. 

“Oh noooo, Dorian, it’s ooookaaay.”

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“Perfect!” Well… That was easier than he thought. Mythandriel didn't disagree one bit! Zan was thankful for that, he had dealt with intoxicated Orc's on an almost nightly basis, her stubbornness was nowhere close to one of his tribes. Her reach for the fur caught him off guard, he wasn't expecting her to move so suddenly. Thankfully the basket wasn't too out of reach. Myth's warmth was comforting as well, beneficial, even. Despite the sun being out, it was a bit nippy out, more so due to the fact that he had no shirt on.


Upon approaching Myth's house, a creature of sorts made their presence known. Grazing momentarily before staring and exchanging glances with the Half Orc. Except his stare was a lot friendlier than its, which spelled trouble. Zanzarog knew its name, Myth had mentioned it when they first arrived at Thimmick's farm, it just wasn't coming to him. Then she said it. “Uh-oh.. uh.. hey girl, it's not what it looks like. Please don't charge, please don't charge..” That last part was mumbled under his breath as he tried to come up with a solution.


What do elk eat, what do elk eat..?! Flooded his mind as he stared back at the beast like a deer in headlights. Slowly he crouched down, careful not to make any sudden moves. Zan didn't want to threaten the creature any more than he had already. Lowering the basket to the ground, his hand rummaged around until he pulled free a handful of berries. He didn't bother to check what type they were, all he knew was they were soft and squishy to the touch. Blackberries perhaps? Extending his arm out toward the animal, he would open his hand and offer the berries to it. “Here ya go girl.. want some of these?” Yes, the giant scary Orc was trying to bribe an elk with food, it was either that or end up in the infirmary with gore wounds. He didn't trust those enough barbarians yet to treat his wounds, no matter how many of them he beat in arm wrestling. “I'm not here to harm you or your Mama. I promise.” Not today Satan.

@Witches Brew

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Myth would have helped him with Dorian, but she could barely lift her head. All the blood was rushing to her skull, making her head heavier, and harder to lift. Or at least, that was her excuse. She was worried, Dorian didn't take kindly to strangers, especially those man-handling her mother. Myth knew this, and yet she did not try to get Zan to drop her. It would just make it worse on the both of them. If he put her down now, she'd lose her footing and fall, and Dorian would definitely charge at the half-orc. So it was in his best interest that he gain her trust now, before he made a break for the house. 

He reached for berries, good call. Dorian was very food driven, and if she ate out of Zan's hand, that'd be a very good sign. If she bit off Zan's hand, then they were going to have problems. Myth watched her baby through layers of silver curtain, unable to sway the beast's opinion. Dorian was a stubborn, hard headed beast, but she was smart. She'd know if Zanzarog was a threat to her, or her mother. 

Dorian stomped at the ground again, raising her head to let out a loud, shrieking bellow. Another warning as he got closer. To show she was serious, she rose slightly off the ground, her front hooves at her chest, making her larger than she already was. When her front legs landed on the ground, she charged, antlers lowered, but stopped right in front of him, snorting, and kicking up dirt. She stared directly into Zan's eyes, challenging him, but she was unable to ignore the pile of berries in his hand. She noticed them, and she wanted to eat them, but her mother was barely moving. Dorian kept an eye on Zan as she crept around the back of him, going towards Myth's face. She nosed her hair, moving it out of the way, trying to see her face. 

Myth giggled as her elk shoved her wet nose in her face, and she cupped Dorian's face with her hands. "Silly silly girl, I'm okay. It's okay. He's good, he's not going to hurt us." She said, and she kissed the top of Dorian's white fuzzy forehead. The elk huffed, and nudged Mythandriel. The elk wasn't stupid, she knew something was off, but mother said it was alright. Dorian made her way back around front, where the berries were, and she sniffed his hand, the wet skin of her nose dragging against his palm as she opened her mouth, and used her tongue to scoop the berries into her mouth. All the aggression had gone away once the food was in her mouth, and her tail swished happily. She let out another bleat, this time giving Zan permission to pass, and enter the cabin they called home. 

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Just when he thought nothing could get worse, the Elk charged. Zan stood his ground, not that he had much of a choice. Myth straddling his shoulder made fleeing not an option, and even if he was able to, the likelihood of him outrunning Dorian was slim to none. With flight out of the question, the only other option was to fight, but, that probably wouldn't have gone over well with Mythandriel. Ever heard the expression, ‘Taking a bullet for someone’, yeah, Zan was about to take some antlers for the woman he cared for. She better have loved him, because this was going to suck.


Apparently the creature had second thoughts for it didn't carry through with the gore, it stopped just inches before striking Zan deadcenter and instead stared him down. Dorian was smarter than Zan gave her credit for, she was testing him, seeing if he'd give chase. Instead, the Half Orc just stared back, unblinking, an eyebrow slowly raised out of curiosity. Dorian circled him and brought her attention to Mythandriel, concerned for her wellbeing, the Elk was more loyal than most canines. Once Myth had ensured the creature that she was fine, it brought its attention back to him, accepting his offering, happily even. A sigh of relief escaped him and he slowly stood once more, leaving the basket open and an abundance of fruit for the Elk to ravage. He would have petted Dorian, but he didn't want to press his luck.


Approaching the front door, he slowly and quietly opened it, out of fear for what awaited him on the other side. As if there was going to be an angry mob waiting for him, equipped with torches and pitchforks. Don't ask, it happened more often than you'd think. Instead, he was greeted by silence for once. Gauging the entrance, he'd be sure not to bonk his mate on the frame or on anything else once inside and carefully lay her down atop her cot, covering her with the hide she clung to so dearly. “Any more requests besides rabbit?” He inquired, smiling down at the snuggled up Elf. Zan was already going to be out, so he figured he might as well oblige to any other tasks she required of him.

@Witches Brew

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Myth was very proud of Dorian in this moment, she’d have to reward her later. Ioreth said not to give Dorian sugar cubes or else she’d get fat and spoiled, but she figured it’d be alright in this case. As Zan laid her down onto her cot, and basically swaddled her in her fur, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. She could feel herself slipping away into nap territory, but she desperately wanted that roasted rabbit. She curled up onto her side, and smiled at the massive grey skinned male in front of her as he asked her if she wanted anything else. 

Sleep was coming, and it was heavy. It was dragging her down and threatening to drown her. Her eyelids struggled to stay open against the rough currents of drowsiness. “No,” she whispered, “just rabbit.” She pulled the fur up closer to her chin, cocooning herself inside the warm covers. “Thank you.” She said, and her knees met her chest. 

When he left she found it harder to fight against the current. There was no one there to engage her, to force her to stay awake. It was in this moment she began to feel sick. Her stomach churned and gargled, and her skin paled. She didn’t like this feeling. She knew what this meant. She pushed it down, nearly gagging, but was unable to keep it down much longer. She rushed out of her fortress of warmth and safety, and made it outside. She couldn’t get sick on the walkway, and she wouldn’t do it on Dorian’s nest, the only thing nearby was a patch of mint and lavender that she had planted nearby. Having no other choice, she vomited, holding her stomach as she used her free hand to hold her hair back. She stumbled backwards, feeling horrible for doing something so vile in something she loved. She shuffled back inside slowly, grabbing her fur, she slid onto the cold wooden floor, wrapping herself up into a ball, her cheek pressed against the cool wood. She pulled the fur over her head, so she looked as if she were just a lump on the ground, and there she stayed until she eventually fell asleep.   

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Zan would see to it that Mythandriel was comfortable before he departed, closing the door quietly behind him in order to not disturb her or the fruit devouring Dorian just outside. He would then walk down the trail leading to the front door and start heading further into town. With an occasional exchange of waves and nods with the townsfolk, before he knew it he had arrived at his destination, placed his order, paid, and simply waited for it to be ready. Once prepared, the meal was placed inside a wicker basket and he was out the door. Zan made it a point to stop and purchase an apple from one of the many stands on his way back through town for the Elk guard dog. Handing it off to Dorian once he had arrived.


Just as quietly as he left, he entered, trying his hardest not to wake Mythandriel unless absolutely necessary. Setting the basket down beside her cot, he would gently kiss what was visible of her head, which wasn't much. What hadn't been hidden underneath the multiple furs was masked by strands of silver, so who knew what actual portion of her head he kissed. Waking her up after seeing how peaceful she was just didn't seem right, instead he would take a seat wherever would permit his massive frame and doze off himself. Giving Myth one last smile before closing his eyes.


When she awoke, he would be there to share a meal with her before departing. Next time he'd be sure they had a bed big enough for the both of them to share, perhaps in his own home, dare I say their own home.

@Witches Brew

@Vansin

[Mythandriel and Zanzarog relationship established. Etch that shit into the Cothite tablets.]

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