Rampant Propaganda – 4 [❤️]

Business is booming in Hacksonville.

The publishing house is pushing out nearly a hundred different series of books, most of which come from Earth. Most needed some heavy editing and the creation of the entirely new ‘nomaj’ genre. There were even a few original books by Haven citizens, carefully curated to limit your perverted influence.

Dick’s Diner is seeing a lot of traffic, though it’s getting a reputation for serving rougher clientele. They used to be worse, but you’re reaching the end of the Orchid family’s period and they’ve finally realized how dangerous Haven can be. The new BIMBOS caught a lot of smugglers, increasing their ranks and getting you some sweet moolah.

As for your newspaper, you're surprised by how easy it is to manipulate public opinion. Print a few articles on food safety, and people avoid buying from your rival's sponsors. Spin a yarn about celebrities meeting with politicians, and you can make or break high-ranking business relationships. Warn about the steadily increasing danger of the demon incursion—

Someone slaps some pictures on the table in front of you. You put down the doughnut and meet your star photographer’s unflinching gaze.

“I handed the former mayor the results of my work. Rampant’s sweets are forgotten, for once she is taken aback by the ministrations of fate. ‘Surprised?’ I asked. ‘I thought nothing surprised you anymore.’”

At least Detective didn’t drop a few more comments about your weight. June and July’s medicine must be working decently.

As for her pictures, they are a surprise. It’s of a minotaur at Hacksonville’s gates. The rest of the pictures show more minotaurs, equints, humans, and harpies setting up camp just outside the city, an increasing guard presence with each image.

“Minotaurs?”

“’You’re well-read.’ She showed an atypical response to a foreign species on Prillia’s shores. Perhaps she intends to take these pictures and spin these strangers as troublemakers. A cruel but effective tactic to drum up newspaper sales. A pit of guilt builds in my stomach, but I always knew I’d get my hands dirty.”

The people in the images have clothes typical of sailors. There’s a few injured among them, carried along by pieces of torn sail canvas. They clearly don’t want to be there.

A shipwreck?

…A chance to get the first mortal minotaur dick in months?

Uuuuuuugh. You can’t. At this point, they stick out like sore thumbs. Any more disappearances outside of the criminal underground will arouse even more suspicion. Especially with miss nosy all up in your business.

And sure, you’d drum up a lot of sales if you painted them as evil pirates landing on Prillia’s shores. But then you’d feel icky.

You sigh. You open the door to your office and yell down into the throng of journalists tapping away.

“Alright everyone! New front page!” A chorus of groans and whining echoes from below. “I want to see Detective’s pictures in every newspaper stall in the city! Headline is: ‘Marooned Minotaurs!!’, yes with the two exclamation points! I’ll be writing it myself!”

You shut the door. Technically, the last bit was a lie. Cloth is a spectacular journalist, you’ll have him write it. You’ll be riding along Tropo and Latch to observe these new visitors. Try and figure out how you can use their presence as an advantage. Maybe tie it in to the demon incursion? You're playing with fire there, but Prillia doesn't seem aware of how many small villages just disappeared.

You'd rather not even hint about the demon presence, but it's clear that something is going down. It feels a lot like Prillia's gotten used to the equivalent of magnitude 2 and 3 earthquakes when they should be prepared for a magnitude 7, at least.

“Rampant Corruption pats me on the back and waddles over to her typewriter.” Waddles? “It's like she put my mind in a box and shook it around. What is this nefarious dwarf planning? ‘I suppose I should leave you to it,’ I said.”

“Expect a bonus.” You say as you prepare the typewriter. “You’ve done well.”

“As I leave the journalist’s office, I go over an important couple of clues…Rampant’s eyes and ears don’t seem to extend beyond the walls of the city. And from how slow she types, she must have a dedicated scribe.”

Crap. This elf is good. Okay, you need to practice typing faster in Rampant’s body.

And find something to distract Detective.

If one were to ask about Haven, inquire about what it provides to the people, the answer would be a simple one.

Pleasure.

You are October, and you’ve found pleasure in a lot of ways. Fucking women, of course. Fucking men, too. Debating your siblings, from the famed philosophers of Harkness and Kirk to arguing in a court of law. But you’ve also found pleasure in the simpler things.

Mostly walking around in the nude.

You proudly walked around Haven, swinging your equine cock around so that anyone could see. Quite often, a women would lose herself at the sight of you and crawl over to worship your dick.

Sadly, you can’t do that on the west side anymore. You’ve tried doing the same in the underground, but it’s not the same. And you’re not even the only naked guy down there!

Halloween isn’t around to spear herself on your dick, so you keep Labor company. He’s a great catcher, but not one for conversation. Not that Halloween was much for conversation either. But you could at least get a fun reaction out of her, one worth the bruises and broken bones.

And November? She’s been busy with a project of hers: Building an economic powerhouse out of her harem. Her house is almost always full of people in rich silks having sex, and honestly? You’re a bit jealous.

You’d love a harem, but the mortals that share your tastes are deep within your older sibling’s entourage. Or just as flighty as you.

It’s disconcerting to be a lot of mortals’ second choice. You’re not home often, preferring to walk around Haven and meet all the new people coming through, striking debates with strangers that often end with sex. Lacking a home life doesn’t make you a very effective head of a harem.

You’re talking circles around one of the new enforcers, her vacuous gaze struggling to understand what you’re talking about, when a weight settles on your shoulders. An imp delivery!

The imp hands you a pouch of gold, the earnings from a poetry book you wrote, ‘The Winds of Freedom’. Not just any imp, but Cloth himself, one of the oldest demons in Haven. He stares at you expectantly.

“Like, I don’t get it?” The bimbo bites her lip. “If I walk around without my uniform, how will anyone know that I’m doing my job?”

“How could you not be a member of the illustrious BIMBOS?” You grope her massive boobs and her eyes flutter. “With such bountiful bust, thick pink lips, and…your expression, you don’t need to be in uniform for people to respect you.”

“Oh!” She nods. “I, like, see!”

She stares at you with her big blue eyes, thick lips lightly parted and she inclines her head curiously. She doesn’t get it. She watches you vacantly, squirming and biting her lips you play with her overblown breasts.

“How about you show Cloth here how much of a hard worker you are by sucking his cock?” The bimbo’s eyes light up watching Cloth’s growing erection. “I’ll reward you with my dick afterwards.”

“’Kay!” She beams and opens her arms. “C’mon, Cl—GHURK!”

In an instant, Cloth wraps his arms around her head and shoves his rod down her throat. The bimbo's eyes flutter and she falls onto the table, moaning as Cloth facefucks her. The merchants on the table behind her watch on curiously, their pink glasses reinterpreting the bimbo's slutty squirming to preserve their ECS. What a waste. Since you’re on the west side, you’re wearing a toga, but you can still jack off under your clothes. As you’re stroking your cock, a telepathic message comes from the imp.

<Tricking bimbos into getting gangbanged, October?> Lady Quinn! She must be riding along Cloth. <You must be bored.>

The imp facefucks the bimbo harder, cum and drool spilling down her cleavage to stain her uniform. You smirk and lean back in the café chair as she struggles to keep her head up from the onslaught. Her too-short skirt does nothing to hide the cameltoe gushing behind her tight navy thong.

For the fun of it, you magically snap her thong across her bouncing butt, moving it aside so her gaping pussy stares back at the curious merchants. You manifest a shadow dildo and ease it into her, teasing her hungry pussy with the hope of squirting her femcum into the merchants' overpriced coffees.

“I am bored.” You rub your cock through the toga and sigh. “Lady Quinn, why did you have to make Ulex and his clothes popular? Half the fun is gone.”

<You’d be busier if you played with my younger children. Taught them, instead of argued with them.> How boring. <Good thing for you, there’s something I need an equint to do.>

Quinn sends a telepathic packet of information, and excitement rushes through you. A while ago, some people were marooned in Prillia. Quinn acted quickly and defined the narrative by putting out newspapers first, painting them not as invaders, but victims from a foreign land full of riches. An effort to make the people of Hacksonville more interested in setting up trade.

There were other publications that tried to paint the sailors as villains, but Quinn’s actions cemented an anchor’s bias in the populace. There’s still friction, but that’s why Quinn needs you.

She wants the Prillians to think there have been other shipwrecks, and that those survivors integrated into Prillia safely. Namely, by exposing you as an equint.

A clever plan. An equint could pass for a human easily enough, only very few having skin colors more exotic than a human’s typical range. Markings could be covered, and it isn’t too far to reason that equints have lived in Prillia secretly for a while.

That’s where you come in. Quinn will fabricate an identity and have you ‘out’ yourself as an equint. And potentially, a political figure. With the hints of a senator coming to Hacksonville, Quinn hopes you can befriend or get a read on prominent political figures. She knows many secrets, but the bigwigs have magical countermeasures that only good old schmoozing can get out of them.

<Give the girl the dicking she’s craving and go to Dick’s Diner. New Years will be waiting with your papers.>

Just in time for Cloth to shoot his load all over the bimbo. She gathers all the cum over her chest and face and slurps it up. She’s probably already forgotten about your deal, but that doesn’t change anything.

“Official BIMBOS pussy check!” You proclaim.

She salutes, turns around and flips her miniskirt up, her thighs slick with arousal.

"Keep saluting, and I'll cum inside you."

"Yay!~" She claps her hands and remembers she's supposed to be saluting. "Like, I love hot jizz inside me!~ Please give me plenty, mister!~"

After you fuck her over the table and leave her a drooling mess, you hurry to the western gate and jump through, ignoring the stupefied stare of the one merchant without pink glasses. You stand in the fresh air of the basement, your hands on your hips and chest puffed out…only for someone to hit you with a heap of clothes.

Ugh.

“There was a 3% chance you’d come with clothes on.” New Years grunts and pushes up her glasses. “Seeing your dick was no surprise. Get dressed.”

You put on the restrictive garments as New Years monologues.

“Listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once: Your name is Octavius, and you were marooned here about five years ago. You hid your nature as an equint and hopped between jobs. Plumber, electrician, construction, jobs without many personal relationships. You were among the victims of the kidnapping, and you’re struggling to rejoin society. Consider joining one of the help groups that formed from that incident. Then, you hear about a marooned crew…”

New Years info-dumps and passes all the things you need to become Octavius. IDs, a few ‘personal’ items, foundation to hide your stripes. From what you understand, Quinn, New Year, and New Year’s harem—she calls them her research team— got everything ready for you. You just have to get settled for a couple days and go public about your status as a marooned equint.

All to start building a political career encouraging trade. You’d prefer to outlaw clothes, but one thing at a time.

When New Year is done talking your ear off with useless statistics, she ushers you to your apartment and you begin to live Octavius’ life. And for a while, it proves interesting. You go to a few meetings for people recovering from the cyber vampire kidnapping. You work a few jobs as a handyman. And you meet a bevy of new people, some of whom are interesting enough that you don’t need to see them naked to like them.

You’d still prefer to.

Nevertheless, you keep an ear to what’s going on in Hacksonville. As Quinn predicted, there’s pushback against the strange, marooned folk. The authorities don’t quite know what to do, so some mages get together and build an earthen wall outside of the city and let the marooned sailors live there as they figure things out.

There are incidents: some people offer them help, others sabotage their efforts.

If you had to guess, the Purity Front had a hand in the anti-minotaur sentiment. It morphed into anti-stranger rhetoric when they realized the markings on the equints weren’t tattoos. Things weren’t tense yet, but it was building up to it.

Especially since a member of the elven council was coming to visit.

A few days before the senator was set to arrive, the propaganda slowed down. This wasn’t just because the senator was coming, though the mayor and much of the Hacksonville was preparing to welcome them. If you had to guess, it was because the Purity Front finally got their chance to go to Haven for the first time.

It’s an open secret among the Shipborn that Quinn corrupted their biggest backer into a subservient succubus slut. No doubt you’ll be getting plenty of new siblings soon.

Well, perhaps more former mortals and soulless husks.

Indeed, when you hang around Dick’s Diner, you count more people going in than coming back out. And of those that come out, at least half have the ECS broken. You wink at a beautiful elf as she stumbles out of the diner, and you can smell her arousal leaking through her pants. She scowls at you, but her DESIRE is howling to be used right then and there.

You’d gladly give her what she needs, but you’ve got something you need to do.

The senator is hosting a forum for citizen grievances, and you were instructed to be there in your best clothes. You’ve hypnotized many people into believing you’ve been in Hacksonville for the past five years, and you don’t doubt New Years has been working in the background to fortify your history. Soon, the well-liked handyman, Octavius, will step onto the political stage.

You are feeling a bit peckish, though.

You place a small bit of your demonic energy on her, so you can find her later.