The World Wants Your Oyster – 3 [❤️]
Your original body is setting up tests for the volunteers. It’s bound to be fun, involving teasing and basic shapeshifting so that your infiltrators can blend into society without horns, tails, or tearing the pants off anyone who feels the slightest bit of DESIRE.
The harpy pimp known as Rumpelstiltskin is not having as much fun. The guards found you within an hour of using the portal. You were chilling on a couch, going over the books when a host of pirates burst in, waving their cutlasses around and demanding to secure the portal. You were surprised they didn’t stab you, only throw a net over you and drag you downstairs.
Once they realized nothing was pouring out, they were a lot less rambunctious. You were still under arrest. Thankfully, you managed to convince them to leave the brothel running and that one of your workers would be coming back through the portal.
Pimping never stops, not even for a potential inter-planar invasion.
It was a whole annoying thing. They tossed you, net and all, into a pitch black room, with some scary voices asking you questions. You were kinda snarky about it, so they moved onto using magic to force you to tell the truth.
The magic itself was interesting. Your lie detection abilities revolve around observing the trembling of the speaker’s soul. Their magic operated on the same principles, but was far more obtrusive. The magic tried to clamp onto your soul, but your soul was too dense to claw onto. They sure sounded confused when the magic fizzled out upon contact.
They left you in the chamber for a couple hours. Eventually, they’d return in the dark and try to scare you into giving the answer. Threats were ineffective. When they tried to whip or burn you, you dodged the attacks easily enough despite the darkness…They realized pretty quickly you could see them through soul sight.
Finally, someone else had taken charge. The presences around the room shuffled out and a light turned on. The angry interrogators were replaced by a stern secretary-type equint lady. She strode into the room and sat in a chair across from you. She crossed her toned, patterned legs and gave you a solid stare. And asked you directly and politely about the portal.
Which you were willing to do from the beginning.
“It connects to a dimension with demons willing to sell unique goods and offer passage to their other portals.”
“How can we be sure?” She raises a pierced eyebrow.
“I swear on my soul.” You push some magic into your words to make the vow.
That got her and her lackeys scrambling. They weren’t as demon-averse as Prillia; the equints of the eastern continent summoned from Niflheim regularly. The people on Nancy’s Tavern were more confused about a stable portal being built. Apparently, that’s rare. They sent someone to check, and he returned with Check. Together, they corroborated your story.
“Where do the other portals connect to?”
“There’s only one, for now. But considering how fast you found it…”
“We have countermeasures in place.” She waves her hand. “Can’t have some power-mad demonologist summoning waves of imps here. It could sink us. Which is why I need to ask you.” Her eyes flash behind her glasses and you shudder in arousal. “Where does it lead?”
“Hacksonville, Prillia.” You shrug.
She brings her clasped hands up to her plump lips.
“Prillia…the most anti-demon, anti-drug, impossibly difficult to smuggle goods into—That Prillia?”
“Yeah.”
“You better not be jerking my chain, because you might have made us both very rich.”
Missy (she introduced herself afterwards) was very right. You coaxed the truth spell to take your honesty and Missy got you in contact with the right people. It was scary how easy it was. She did the paperwork, set up some carpenters to come in with measuring equipment, extended the area of the portal to set up a lodge and storage, explained how to shield the portal from detections, and even talked to the right people to allow you to funnel the trade route from your brothel.
All for a modest percentage, of course. Forty percent is modest, right? Whatever, money is secondary.
Within three days, there was a good two dozen brave merchants willing to take the first steps into Haven, and then Prillia. The timing couldn’t be better, because on the Prillian side…
You watch through the former mayor’s eyes as the first group of Prillian criminals hype themselves up to enter something they expect to be like Niflheim. You grin from all three bodies and you prepare to watch the culture clash.
You are nervously looking into the swirling portal hidden beneath the former mayor’s publishing house. At your sides are your friends, the four of you having volunteered to help your boss maintain his power in Hacksonville. You are the human woman, Sym Foni.
Your dwarf bestie, Pearl, shuffles her massive pack more on her back. She gives you an encouraging smile, which you return. Until Shade, the goblin-elf, drives her knuckle into your side.
“We’re about to go in.” She’s jumping in place she’s so excited.
“Chill out.”
The three of you have to crane your necks upwards to meet Ron’s gaze. Despite his words, his four hooves are pacing restlessly.
“You’re one to talk. I don’t think we’re allowed weapons.” You point to his enchanted crossbow.
“Sym is right.” You all stand straighter as your boss speaks up. How long was he there? “We need to put our best foot forwards. A good trade relationship with the locals may be just what we need to keep our dream alive.”
“Yes, boss!” The four of you salute.
“That goes for all of you!” Steelpunk hollers to the thirty or so gang members waiting by the entrance. “No using weapons unless you’re absolutely sure. If anything, you should be selling those things!”
The rest of the caravan salutes. He’s about to go on one of his inspiring speeches when the light above the portal turns green. Steelpunk grimaces and shouts.
“Alright punks, go make us some gold!”
The crowd moves forwards slowly at first, until one of the people at the front touches the portal. He moves slowly though as the portal makes a strong sucking sound. When he’s all the way through, he gives the signal.
Safe!
When you make it inside, you’re surprised by how normal it looks. It almost looks like the waiting room to a dentist’s office, with a lot of chairs lining the walls, some doors, and a receptionist desk. Except the massive sign on the wall facing the portal, with a set of rules.
The first few are simple. No killing, no assaulting, no stealing, no lying about products you’re selling. The others are stranger: no reproducing the local money, no trespassing marked areas, and other smaller rules.
“Hello, welcome to Haven!” A burly minotaur waves to the group from the receptionist desk. “My name is August, and I’ll be your guide.”
For a minotaur, he’s a bit strange. The one’s you’ve met are tough, hard as nails, grunty types. He’s got red fur and an orange mohawk, which isn’t so weird. But the tight button up shirt clinging to his muscles are not what you’d expect from one of the great warriors of Minos. He looks more like an accountant than anything else.
He’s very friendly. He gives each of you a gift basket from one of the locals, a minotaur named Thanksgiving. He goes on to explain that Haven is a small realm, not even half the size of Hacksonville, but is surrounded by a fog that teleports people to the opposite side of the realm.
The Prillia portal is located on the west side. It’s the closest to the market and commercial district. He emphasizes the importance of keeping to the paths and avoiding entering the forest. He finishes off by showing some pink glasses that he encourages all of you to wear if you don’t want to go through the spell removal. You take a bite from one of the muffins in the gift basket and look around. Nobody is eager to ‘remove the spell’.
One or two people step forwards. Pearl, ever adventurous, shrugs and joins them. She gives you a thumbs up.
“Awesome!” August cracks his knuckles and extends his hands towards your nervous friend. “The Lady taught me how to do this, but it’ll technically be my first time doing a removal. Tell me if you feel strange.”
The hair on the back of your neck rises as the whites of his eyes turn pitch black. You can feel magic being worked, but its far too subtle for you to understand. August frowns for a second and Pearl cocks her head curiously.
“Say, what’s your name?”
“Pearl Polisher.” She responds.
“That does explain the resistance…” The minotaur snorts humorously.
“I’m getting a weird feeling.” Pearl gasps.
“That means it’s working.”
He lowers his hands and Pearl squirms uncomfortably. She takes a deep breath and looks at you. Her face turns redder than a tomato. He waves the next volunteer to come up and points the others to a box full of rose-tinted glasses.
“Oh no…” Pearl mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She meeps. “Just…differences.”
You wonder what she means by that.
“Howdy, howdy, howdy!”
You are Festa, and you are confused. You and your group of privateers/pirates/merchants are staring in befuddled shock at Missy, one of the strongest mages in Nancy’s Tavern, dressed in nothing more than a pair of assless leather chaps and a single vest that struggled to keep itself onto her bust.
Missy laughs at your expressions and spins around, her form shifting from the svelte grays and blacks to a toned, light blue body and braided blonde hair. And a pair of horns atop her head. Demon.
You shiver and give a good look around. No torturous implements, no freezing winds, no rivers of blood. Just a boring old waiting room with a list of rules. As one of the premier equint demonologists, you know enough to pierce through illusions and see the truth behind the veil.
The demon bows and throws on her cowboy hat. You can tell, impossibly, she has a soul. From her exposed crotch and shapeshifting abilities, you’re guessing that she’s a succubus. The first one seen in centuries.
Though considering the way to Haven was though a brothel, you should have expected this. Maybe this is where all the lust demons went. Did they get tired of the more violent demons and make their own plane?
“Hey y’all, welcome to Haven. I’ll be your guide, Friday. See the rules? I expect y’all to follow along. There’s some Prillians visiting too, on the West end and I’m hopin’ y’all will behave. They’ll be wearing some funky lookin’ glasses that’ll censor the more demonic parts of our realm, but y’all don’t need to be sheltered.”
Friday is approachable and brief. She leads you out of the portal building and starts pointing out the sights. East of the portal building is a massive wall of white fog. The succubus ignores it and shows off Haven proudly. Houses floating in the air by a palace, towers reaching higher than you’d ever seen, and even a crown shaped building that you know is a fighting ring.
What intrigues you is the lush forest to the north of the portal, from which a phallic mountain sprouts, and several rivers snake out of to join together and lead into the fog. South of the main street are acres of land, seeded by great mechanical machines—Tractors, like they have in Prillia. There are so many things to study!
“Now I trust y’all remember the rules. Avoid the forest, there’s some poisonous stuff in there…and a wolf that likes to rape people.”
You do a double take. Right, you almost forgot. Despite everything, you’re still in a demonic realm. It may seem idyllic, but there’s a good chance that it is very lust-addled…which might explain why Rumpletstiltskin’s brothel is doing so well. Succubus fluids are potent aphrodisiacs.
“Now before we pass through the fog to skip on over to the market, do y’all have any questions?” Friday flicks up her cowboy hat and points to one of the harpies in the crowd.
“Yeah, what’s the exchange rate for silver and gold here?”
Friday giggles.
“You’re operatin’ on some funny assumptions, partner.” She gets closer to him, eyes half-lidded…and in one smooth motion, pulls down his pants.
She caresses his manhood in front of all of you, digging her nose into his collarbone and taking a long whiff. The harpy shivers as she jacks him off. He’s like putty in her hands, groaning to near climax…until she stops. The harpy whines, thrusting his waist into nothing. He wakes from his trance and pulls his pants back up, blushing.
“That’s our fiat.” She whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. “Would you like to see Haven’s best?”
Needless to say, people are interested. You follow her through the fog and find yourselves next to a mirrored version of the building you were just in. Passing underneath the archways, down main street, a massive courtyard is being set up. Demons are pushing crates full of product from nearby warehouses to open stalls, Prillians are setting up shop, and local non-demon harpies are watching you and the Prillians with a mixture of amusement and pride.
There’s so few of them! You feel like this is a tiny town with how all of the locals seem to know each other. All those buildings you see behind the market…they’re empty. Your subordinates spread throughout the marketplace to examine the goods, but you keep your distance to observe.
Jerome, one of the privateers with a better nose, is invested in the product on display. From his expression, it must be good quality. He takes a whiff from various bottles, occasionally nodding when he comes across a good one. He asks the demon and human pair at the stall something and they smile proudly as they pull out a case of intricate glass vials. Jerome waves you over.
“Festa, this is Hawthorn and Shamrock. Shamrock is a salesman from Hacksonville, and Hawthorn is one of the younger incubi here.” Jerome points at the products on the stall. “I know enough about opiates and herbs to get a good idea of what they’re worth, but this stuff is more up your alley.”
You push your magical senses toward the bottles. Each of them pulsates with demonic essence, some more than others. Yet they are also…different in a way. You need to know more. Testing them yourself is risky, demonic products tend to have a certain…influence. Good thing you came with a whole troupe of guinea pigs.
“They are demonic products, if that’s what you’re asking.” You shrug. “I’m not sure what they do.”
“Ah, they’re aphrodisiacs.” Shamrock grins. “More potent than any you’ve seen. Each bottle is harvested from a different demon.”
He holds up three bottles of milky white fluid, each more potent than the last. Your eyes widen at the last bottle’s aura, a roiling mass of magical power. Few demons that powerful get summoned, and those that do often leave a trail of destruction in their wake. Again, the magnitude of the energy is a surprise, but also different. You were lucky enough to study a few lust aligned relics from millennia ago, and while they shared a ‘flavor’, they definitely lacked something these samples have.
“I doubt that.” Jerome says smugly.
“Give this one a whiff, then.” He arrogantly uncorks the bottle you point at and takes a deep inhale.
“You have a good eye. That’s Lady Quinn’s.” Hawthorn nods in approval.
Quinn. The most powerful demon on this plane. The effects should be potent. As if to prove your point, Jerome’s eyelids flutter and his pants grow tighter. He stumbles backwards, drunk on lust. Concentrating hard, you can perceive if the faintest demonic taint has infiltrated his soul. To your surprise, no corruption takes hold.
“Whew…” Jerome wipes his sweat away. “I think I’m interested.”
You slowly inch away as Jerome and Shamrock begin discussing how much his products are worth. Your test subject is already flustered, and it will likely get worse. Unless he has something on him to trade, he’ll probably want you to ‘spot’ him. Hawthorn already has his eyes on Jerome, and you’re in no mood to explore the effects of sleeping with an incubus. Although…
You shake the haze away from your mind. The aphrodisiacs are very potent.
Some small black thing flutters past your vision as you walk away from the marketplace and keep your eyes peeled on what else there is to see. The road continues onwards with a few smaller side streets splitting off. Not far from the floating palace are three connected buildings. A sign depicting a book is hanging from the side. A library?
You ignore the fornicating couples on the road and open the doors. You’re stunned into silence at the librarian. A pile of tentacles with a pair of bifocals reading a book. A shoggoth, a creature of pure madness, is casually manning the clerk desk.
You knock on the desk and it aims its glasses at you. Its smaller tendrils arch over the glasses like a raised eyebrow. You’re both fascinated and horrified. Such a being would normally be a maelstrom of demonic energies and hunger. The last time one had been summoned in the plains, it killed and raped its way through the countryside until the Harpy Empire trained a Plasma Artillery strike on it. Yet here one was, miming a simple librarian.
“Yes, hi…” You lick your lips. “I’m looking for books on the history of this realm and demons in general.”
The shoggoth twists its tentacles in an approximation of a shrug.
“What does that mean?”
“Shoggy is trying to say that we can’t give you those.” Someone says from behind you.
You nearly jump out of your skin. When you turn around, you’re met with a regal succubus in skimpy silks. Dark kohl lines her eyes, nearly as dark as the tightly braided hair reaching her shoulders. Her horns join like a circlet, twisting like a rearing snake on her forehead. Much of her brown skin is bare, enough for you to see the complex patterns on her skin.
If she were an equint like you, those elaborate patterns would make her an attractive member of your race. You recognize them for what they are: seduction mimicry. Succubi and incubi adapt the racial features people consider attractive and dial them up several degrees.
“They’re for citizens only, unless you pay a fee.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you.” You purse your lips.
“You can always trade knowledge.” She tilts her head condescendingly.
“Oh.” You blink in surprise. “That’s very reasonable. I don’t exactly have my books on me.”
“Your own knowledge will suffice. Follow.”
The succubus’ heels click on the stone floor as she leads you down a set of stairs into a basement. There’s a swell of tick-ticking as you follow her into a room full of imps and smoke. Three of them are operating a printing press and smoking, while a good dozen others are tapping on typewriters.
“Otis. Bring your typewriter.” The succubus snaps her fingers and one of the imps jumps down from his chair.
The three of you enter a secluded room and the succubus sits down. She introduces herself as November. She holds out her hand and condenses some demonic energy into a small, green piece. A token, the currency of Haven the locals use. An efficient means of trading lust energy through an economic system. For a succubus to offer what is essentially food for her, she asks only that you give her a page’s worth of information on demonology.
“You are their demonologist, aren’t you?” November doesn’t ask, she states.
“Yes.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. You wanted to keep it under wraps for a bit longer, but somehow, they figured you out. There’s nothing wrong with that, you just have to be a bit honest. “I am the demonologist in charge of the first expedition.”
“For every page of information Otis types, I will give you one token. To buy one of our books, you’ll need a hundred green tokens.”
You frown. It’s a good deal. But you can do better. This is information the Haven demons could use to contact Niflheim demons. As rivals, or allies? You doubt the latter, but its value is high nonetheless. You can stretch out the explanations with a lot of purple prose.
“Two tokens per page.” You offer.
The succubus just shakes her head. She’s more reasonable than the other demons. Maybe if you offered something else to balance it out? You pull out your purse and drop it on the table. Its full of assorted silver and gold coins. November’s yellow eyes widen slightly.
“My siblings have no use for ‘precious’ metals and stones.”
“Do you?”
An imperious smile hints her face.
“I’m fond of the colors…I may be the only demon in Haven who would pay for them.”
You make note of that. The merchants could come to her to exchange gold for tokens. November purrs as she looks at the gold.
“Fine.” She concentrates and drops a few dozen more green tokens on the table. “That would mean you have less than fifty pages.”
You spend the next few hours outlining a primer about demonology. It’s mostly about astral movements that dictate from which layer of Niflheim you can summon from, as well as how to expect demons to act. As the clock and the typewriter tick away, the pile of papers steadily grows on the table. As does the pile of tokens.
When night has fallen, you leave the library with a book on Haven’s history and demonic summoning rituals. And a few extra tokens.