Alchimia Rex

Rick woke feeling fuzzy and warm, rested both inside and out. Dia and Monica had helped him relax in more ways than one, both maidens resting soundly. He was laying atop Monica, the naked maiden’s large body proving to be warmer and more comfortable than the furs. It was hard to miss the curves. Her frame might keep proportions modest, but everything about her was big. And that was just fine, her breasts were the most comfortable pillow he could've hoped for.

They still needed to adapt to their new roles and jobs, there was plenty of work ahead of them.

But right now? Right now he was trapped within the embrace of her furry arms.

Next to them, Dia rested with a leg laying on top of Rick's hip, the rest of her body sprawled in every direction. How she'd gotten into the position was anyone's guess. Rick just marvelled at how, out of the two, it was the Rapha that moved the most during her sleep.

Slowly he raised his head, stifling a yawn.

Both maidens stirred awake before he even got the chance to move.

Dia's head popped up, pink hair scrambled like a bird's nest in every direction. She smiled. “Good morning, handsome,” the maiden whispered, purple eyes shimmering as she leaned up to kiss his shoulder.

Rick had to do some minor contortionism within Monica's unrelenting grasp, reaching up to pull her into a proper kiss. “Are you feeling better? You looked even more tired than I was.”

“And now I'm not.” She declared as if she'd just put a stamp of approval on their current circumstances. “It’s nice seeing you smile. These past few days have been… tough.” The Rapha’s smile faltered for only a moment. “Tough. But necessary.”

“So…” He prompted.

“I… understand that some things you did for my sake, and others you did for everyone’s, and some for our goals.” Her expression softened. She kissed him again. “I can’t ask for more.”

She could, he knew she could; he knew she wanted to too.

But to tell her such would be cruel, because there were things he couldn't give her. He shifted his weight, wrapping her into his arms and pulling her close. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Monica poked his head with her free hand, reminding him of her silent presence.

“And you.” He chuckled.

Dia nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Monica first.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“She’s right,” the Rapha whispered. “She’s earned being the first, and I have patients to tend to.”

“Technically, I have stuff to do too.”

“I can spread the word to start preparations for the tribe's mobilization.” She slipped out of his arms, dooming him to Monica’s hug. “The process should take a week or two, and it doesn't need you hovering over the details."

“Thank you... and Dia.” He waited for a heartbeat, grasping her hand before she could escape. “I won’t be doing things on my own. I want you all with me.”

Her smile brightened the room. “I... we will be.” She paused, glancing at Monica, then at him. “And… I understand what you were trying to tell me. Sometimes bad things need to happen so that we can do more good. Just…”

“We try to minimize the bad.”

Another nod. The maiden brushed her pink hair behind her ear. “And I will help you.” She promised, scampering off to get dressed.

“Monica turn now.” The Sabretooth proclaimed, purring into his ear, pulling him closer into her naked embrace. “Rick know what Monica want.”

“Do I?” He reached out, grabbing hold of her face, pinching her cheeks, earning a mock glare in return. “Could it be some petting? You want me to touch you all over? Maybe with some oil?”

She purred approvingly. “Pets second. First, fun.”

Uh oh.

“Wouldn’t the pettings be fun, though?”

“Different fun.” She rolled over, pinning him to the furs. She grinned smugly, paws ensuring his arms were stuck on the bed. “Now Rick escape.”

He huffed. “Do I have to? You’re going to win.”

“Monica always win, but Rick learn. Important.”

She tried to sound serious, but there was something else mixed in her tone. He got the distinct impression this wasn't just some sort of class and she was just trying to put him into some kind of test. The feline's striped tail swayed behind her in a triumphant proclamation of superiority, her naked athletic body almost vibrated with eagerness. And it went a level deeper, he could feel her power in a way that mere physical superiority couldn't achieve.

Here was a maiden, the strongest maiden, someone who'd never lose. Here was someone with a body that was optimized for murder. With but a flick of her wrist she could rip his arm out. She was pure muscle, bone, sinew, and strength.

Yet he barely felt her weight.

Her claws were sharp enough they could cut through metal.

But her chunky fingers were only soft.

Fangs that could rip his throat off.

But kissed tenderly.

“No, bad.” She chided, pushing the soft pad of her palm against his nose. “No sexy eyes.”

Rick wasn't sure if the worst part was that she meant it, or that she increased the pressure. He could have tried to use his freed arm, but that was a fight he would not win, so instead he pulled his knees up against his chest. From there, all he needed to do was press his soles against her abdomen and push.

Monica didn’t stop him, keeping her feet on the ground and just letting him struggle in his attempts to raise her body off of him. She was stronger, but he could still lift her weight... albeit with some effort. His hopes were dashed away when her tail flicked against his knees, knocking his legs from under her. Like a tree that had been chopped down, she fell. The maiden stopped herself millimeters away from his face.

She licked his nose.

“Again.”

“With a friend like you, who needs a gym membership?”

He grunted, raising his legs and pushing.

“New word. Gym? Membership?”

Rick grit his teeth. “Gym is a special place, one where you go train your body. Membership is… complicated.” A deep huff as he tried to tense his legs so her tail couldn’t just wipe them out. “It’s a special permission to go to a place, or use a thing.”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “Monica have Rick membership?”

With a loud snort, his legs were knocked out of the way, and the maiden fell again. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“Rick has Monica membership.” She licked his nose. “Again.”

He obliged with a groan, failed, and tried again. At the third try he learned the trick of curling his toes slightly to get just a little more grip. Bit by bit he lifted her off, and right as she flicked her tail, he let go with only one of his legs. She would've toppled, but the feline was faster than that. The show-off stopped herself at a paper-thin distance from his nose, giving it another lick. Rick just grimaced and swatted her away, but apparently it'd been what she'd wanted.

Monica lifted him up and switched positions.

She eyed him, slowly licking her lips.

Then stopped and let out a loud and sad sigh. The feline glanced at him. "Promises important?"

"I... yes?"

"Then Rick massage." She let him go, standing up and reaching into the rafters.

Rick wondered what else she'd hidden up there out of sight.

"What's this about?" he asked with a quirked brow.

"Can't tell." She wiggled her tail at him. "Massage."

She found what she was looking for, a wooden jar that she'd clearly tucked away. The maiden handed him the item and laid naked face down on the furs, her tail flicking in invitation as he lathered his hands with the warm oil. The liquid didn't smell of anything. He suspected Monica had picked it precisely because her sharp senses might have found it uncomfortable otherwise. He turned his attention to the feline woman, her bare back and firm ass only protected by her ever vigilant striped tail.

Her back was tanned and full of scars. It was like a roadmap, one that told the story of her life. Fight after fight, some were ugly, dark, jagged. Others were thin, pale, and precise. Rick couldn't be sure which were the really dangerous one, only that Monica had taken each one and survived. His hands carefully traversed every bump and ridge, slowly meandering his way down to the curves of-

“No sexy eyes!” Her striped tail swatted him squarely on the nose. The maiden smirked at his grimace.

“You complain too much.” He muttered, rubbing at his bruised pride.

She shot him a look that had ‘Really? I’m the one that complains too much?’ written all over.

“Yes, you do.”

“Rub rub rub.” She demanded, wriggling her hips at him, nearly knocking him off the bed from the casual bump.

Rolling his eyes, he poured more oil and continued his work. Her skin was soft, irregular from the scars, but silky smooth. And underneath it were her muscles, wiry rippling muscle that vibrated with her purring voice. They weren’t the muscles of a human. It was a layer of silk over steel. There was no give to her body, no matter how much he pressed into it. Monica needed to consciously relax for there to be any give.

Working the tension out of those metal slabs was an endeavor in of itself. Rick had to use his knuckles and put his weight into every gesture. There were ridges and valleys where the muscles met and overlapped, a map only truly visible to the touch. Yet with a body made of steel, he knew her weaknesses. Rick slowly moved his focus down her spine and towards her tail.

But he would avoid the extra limb and its base entirely. Every time he’d get close, he would start all over again, at the curve of her neck and shoulders before slowly moving down and down and down.

With every repetition, the solid walls melted. Each iteration left her a bit more relaxed, looser. Her tail's flicks languished and slowed.

“Monica hear many new words,” she muttered, sighing contentedly and sinking her face into her furry arms. “War. It mean big fight?”

“Yup. A huge fight, or more like one fight after the other.” He nodded along. “A war is… imagine two tribes fighting, but having many fights because they are too big to fight all at the same time.”

“Mhm.” A slight brief nod. “Southern. It means south?”

“It means that it exists in the south of something else, something bigger.” Once more, ignoring the tail itself, he flowed around the base of the furry appendage and and started working her thighs. “Southerner means someone who was born in a southern place.”

Monica scoffed. “Useful word?”

“If you care for where someone was born, then yes.”

“Monica southerner?”

“As far as I know, you come from the east of the kingdom. Easterner would be the right term while inside the kingdom.”

She mumbled for a moment. “Rick care if Monica easterner?”

“Not really.”

Her tail brushed against his forehead, its touch careful and gentle. Her hips shifted ever so slightly. "Pregnant mean baby?"

Rick hesitated, lowering his gaze to the back of her knees where the white striped fur receded and the honeyed skin began. “It’s when you have a child inside, before it is born.”

"Monica not pregnant." The tail trailed down his chest, tickling his shoulders. "Soon."

He grimaced slightly. "You need to become a matron first."

It was one quirk maidens had. Dia had explained it, how maidens had three stages in their lives. Kits, maidens, and matrons. "Only matrons can make babies with a human, maidens become pregnant through parthenogenesis."

Her response was a scoff. "Monica can pregnant."

The massage slowed to a stop. "What do you mean?" He asked carefully, sensing the shift in her emotions, the touch of anger and sadness apparent in how her tail flopped down.

"Monica baby, die little." Her voice was twinged, mixed with a growl. The maiden shook her head, glancing away. "Not good memory."

Rick moved further up the bed, so that they might meet gazes. His hand lingered on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She hesitated, then sighed, shifting her weight so that she'd lie on her side. The maiden reached to her stomach and pointed at a dark scar there, one that looked like many others. "Monica lose." She whispered. Her blue eyes met his, wavering for a second. The moment passed. She leaned back down, shifting her gaze away. "What parthenogenesis mean?"

“It’s… complicated. Give me a moment.” Rick wasn't sure how to process things. Part of him was floored. The other part curious. But she clearly didn't want to talk about it. So with a soft sigh, he returned to the massage. “Maidens can become pregnant on their own. That is parthenogenesis. It is how ferals reproduce.”

“Yes.”

He bit his lip for a moment. “Dia mentioned that it's also less likely to happen, the stronger the maiden is."

She took the words in, considering them, then nodded. “Then try more.”

And just like that, the heaviness from earlier was gone. The Sabertooth could shift through emotions with ease. It left Rick with a smile. He chuckled and continued to massage her thighs. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” His fingers moved to the base of her tail, adding pressure. He enjoyed how she sucked in air sharply, shuddering, how goosebumps spread over her body. “Rick grow strong.” Her voice dripped with pride. “Soon Monica can make nest, not need to protect Rick always.”

The declaration brought with it a very complicated set of emotions, none of which he’d been prepared for. It was a mix of whiplash and a gut punch, with a sprinkling of pride on top just to drive the confusion further. “And… what does it mean to make a nest?”

This was definitely new ground. His voice was careful. Did he have to account for a potential Monica-zilla let loose inside a city? This could mean a serious change to his plans. Would she seek to make some cave out in the wilderness? How could that even work out? The-.

Her tail swatted his nose.

“Rick think too much.” She sank into her arms, purring and wriggling her hips to get him back to work. “Monica knows want nest with Rick. Will know place and time later.”

“And… will others be allowed to live near the nest?”

She considered it. “Dia yes. Others Monica not sure. Maybe yes. Maybe no.”

Wait what?

“You’d let Dia?”

“Dia learn sharing, important. Dia learn to stronger?”

“Learning to be stronger.”

“To be stronger.” She parroted, nodding. “Dia learning to be stronger, important also.”

Her purr was like an idling chainsaw. It made his work harder but more amusing at the same time. Rick considered this new set of information, trying to figure out how to piece it together. It was obvious in hindsight, the maiden had glued herself to his side every waking moment, only recently allowing herself to take longer hunts and to do her own thing.

What would happen once she was certain of his safety? Would she just wander around and only show up when she felt like it? Rick would need to think about it.

The purring stopped. “Go away,” Monica growled. She declared to the door.

Whoever had approached the hut didn’t even knock, and Rick continued to massage his way all over her body. And as he continued, she dozed off, tail possessively wrapped around his hips and urging him to continue even while she napped. It was only when Rick's hands and arms felt numb that there was a soft rustling of fabric.

“Big, green, and ugly sent me.” Kiara declared as she stepped through the curtains. She was floating a few centimeters over the ground. “The guards caught a Spinner, a human called Yasir insists it's his wife.”

Rick nodded. “He would be correct. Send them to the meet-tent. I’ll be there soon.”

“Will inform them not to execute her, then.” Her eyes lingered on their naked bodies, appearing to lock on Monica for a moment before returning to Rick. “When her heat comes, I’d recommend chains or she’ll break you like a dry twig.”

"Her WHAT!?"

The Succubus chuckled loftily, leaving the hut without providing an explanation, and Rick could only turn to eye Monica in concern.

“Do… you know what going into heat means?”

“Monica always warm.” She shrugged, reaching up to pull him back to the bed. “Nap?”

“Work.”

The pout deepened.

“You could practice your writing while I handle this. Want to come with me?”

Her face turned into dejectedness, but she nodded.

“And no going outside naked.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, grumbling as she fought her way into the clothes. The fabric was torn wherever she'd been less than careful with its handling, so Rick helped her out just to make sure the shirt and shorts would hopefully last longer. With his own tunic and pants, he headed out to start work.

Walking around the tribe was… odd.

Everyone kept looking at him like he’d just grown a second head. He could understand why, but still. It was a strange feeling to have the tall Orcs making way for them. The awkwardness of not knowing what to expect was clearly mutual. Neither the tribe nor he was fully certain what his presence meant.

He took to the throne of leather and bones and waited, shifting his thoughts to the work ahead.

Monica left, coming back with several wooden slates and pieces of charcoal. The three meter tall maiden sat cross-legged next to him and slogged her way through the alphabet. By the time she’d started working the repetitions for the words she was familiar with, the guards ushered their visitors in.

“Welcome.”

Ahina stepped first, followed closely by Yasir. The two were a stark difference in appearances. The Spinner wore rags tightly bound to her body, their presence obviously meant for minimal modesty and nothing else. Yasir was different, finely dressed, with a pale green poncho that hid everything about his body save his smiling face and bushy white beard.

“We greet the chief.” Ahina spoke cordially, coming to a stop a good five meters away, bowing. “And we present a simple gift of gratitude.” At a gesture of her hand, Yasir stepped forwards, carrying a bundle of cloth. “I will bring more once I've had the chance to rest."

“It is Spinner-silk.” Yasir declared, taking the cloth from his wife and presenting it to Rick. “My Ahina is well versed in the craft. We had come to Sinco in search of an elemental stone for her to shift into an Arachne, to expand our business.”

Rick took the cloth, marvelling at how smooth and light it felt. "I will freely admit I don’t know enough to fully appreciate this." He had the distinct impression the material was sturdy, but he wasn't about to put it to the test in front of the couple. "I am thankful all the same."

Monica raised her head from the wooden slate, gave the cloth a sniff and frowned slightly, but returned to her homework.

Rick continued. “I would wish to drop formalities, since I am definitely not good with them. Nor is this the proper time.” He looked from Yasir to Ahina and back. “You told me you were a merchant?”

“I am, if only to better sell my wife’s work,” he spoke with that trademark smile, fuller now than it'd been days prior.

“That still makes you the most experienced merchant currently in the tribe.” Rick replied. “We will need someone with money managing skills pretty soon. I thought to ask whether you would be interested in the position.” He raised his hand. “Though I will warn ahead of time that I don’t have a grasp on what is or isn’t a fair pay for such a job. I would need to negotiate with some help.”

The man and his wife shared a look.

“And… what would be my Ahina's fate?”

“Fate?” He frowned, turned from one to the other, and frowned further. “Neither of you are prisoners or property, nor would I let that be the case. You are free to choose what to do and where to go. Currently, the tribe should head to Sinco within the week or so."

“I would wish to help.” Ahina declared without missing a beat.

“In what way could you offer service to the tribe?”

The part-spider maiden straightened up, squaring her shoulders. “I can fight.” She spoke with a voice full of conviction. “And my silk can be used in many things. I doubt its protective properties would be useful to the Orcs, but it is still comparable to simple chain-mail, and could undoubtedly save a human’s life.”

“I did not know that.” Rick eyed the bundled cloth on his lap. Several questions had been answered, but they'd been replaced with an even greater number. The first of them being how she made the silk itself. With how the Polita operated... He reined in his thoughts when he noticed her eyes locked on to his chest. On the edge of his shirt, where the scars peeked through. That explained the gift and its nature at least.

“Monica, is Ahina dangerous?"

The feline's ears canted as she raised her gaze, meeting the Spinner’s squarely. There was a shift in the air, a growing tension. Rick’s skin tingled and Ahina flinched, the spider limbs opening as her hands tightened into fists. Just as it came, it left. “Eva weaker, Dia stronger.”

With her assessment done, she returned to her slates.

Rick rubbed at his chin. This was a bit of a pickle. It seemed Monica considered Ahina to be rather ignorable as far as raw fighting power went. He realized his mistake in openly asking Monica when the Spinner bristled and glared. “I will protect Sinco from ferals. I have done so before, and will again." Ahina stood proud and tall. "I would not allow my children to come to harm. There will be no need for payment.” She squared her shoulders, glaring.

Time for some minor damage control. “Monica is good at assessing individual strength, but it’s Kiara and Urtha who can determine the potential as part of a fighting force. You will need to clear things out with them over how you could help.” Rick clarified, hoping he was right on that assessment. Sending the Spinner their way ought to be taken as trust in their skills at least. “But know that I won’t accept this service for free.”

“It is a matter of honor, and a mother’s will.”

“And for that, I am giving you the opportunity to prove you can fight alongside the tribe.” He glanced from Yasir to Ahina. “But both of you have gone through rough times, and you have two children waiting for you. Either you take payment for your services or you will be treated as guests and protected accordingly.”

That startled the maiden. Eyes going wide as she looked at Yasir, clearly asking for his input, the man shot her a not subtle shake of the head. “I am thankful for the offer.” She intoned every syllable with effort, bowing.

So much for smooth relationships, but he was sure it could be smoothed over. “Yasir, please stay. I need to speak to you.”

They shared a look, and Rick was wondering whether there was such a thing as married telepathy. In the end, Ahina gave another nod and walked off in a huff. Yasir watched her go, sighing and turning to Rick with a practised grin plastered on his face. “I am certain she will tell me you are a terrible influence.” The man chuckled, stroking his beard. “It was a very bold move, what you did. It is the first time I've seen Ahina rattled so.”

“Where I come from, not giving a warrior their fair share is highly dishonorable," he said in response. There was also the aspect that Yasir had also been willing to kill and put himself at substantial risk for the sake of his plan. Rick would not besmirch that. Even if he apparently would need to be a little forceful about it.

“That explains many things.” Yasir’s eyes were on Monica as he spoke. “What would you have this humble merchant do for you, oh Father of the tribe?”

“I want to learn to form bonds the way you did with Ahina.”

There was a pen chock-full of feral maidens, many of them from Sinco or other villages, and he could use both their strength and whatever shred of knowledge they held. But forming the bond the normal way would take too long. And they needed to be processed before they headed out, otherwise they posed too much of a threat.

“Indeed?” Yasir stroked his beard, his dark skin wrinkling in thought. “You do not treat maidens the way many do in these lands. It should be possible for you to learn, but…”

“But?”

He eyed Rick carefully. “I mean no disrespect, but you stood against a maiden and cowed her with but a shout. You are cunning and care for the feelings of those near to your heart. But you are… imposing, demanding.” The comment had been spoken cautiously, and Rick could see the grain of truth in it.

Though he wasn’t exactly sure what it meant for this situation.

“How would that be a problem?”

“A man’s heart is open and welcoming, a father’s embrace, one of unconditional love and a tender touch.” Yasir explained. “Such would be the role of a tribe’s Father, to be the hearth for all its members. A shoulder for them to lean on when their souls waver, or Fortune above, the voice of reason when there is little sanity to be found.” Yasir caressed his beard in thought. "Such are the ways of how I form bonds."

Rick tried not to show annoyance at the description. He could understand where Yasir was coming from, but… “Are there Orc tribes where you come from?”

He chuckled. "The land of Golden Sands is a place of much sun and little food. Such conditions are ideal for Orc tribes." He chuckled. "Many claim it is the birth-place of the species. And if I were to put my hands into Fortune's whims, I would bet that the Orcs of these lands splintered from those lands long ago. Some customs appear similar enough."

The customs... Rick put aside the feral question for a moment and he tried to consider the other big conundrum: consolidating and unifying his power. “What would you suggest? I ask in pertinence to the tribe.”

He hesitated. “You proposed to the Spear of the tribe, Urtha, did you not?”

“Proposed is a bit of a strong word, but let’s run with it.”

“Traditionally, it is the Orc who shows their interest by kidnapping the male, showing they possess the strength to fend off those that chase after.” There was a cheeky grin on Yasir’s face. Pearly white teeth flashed through the scruffy beard. “But not even Urtha would survive Monica were they to fight. Under these circumstances, the male would not be open to marry another without Monica's blessing. Alas, you are the Father of the tribe, which puts you in an even more peculiar position."

The feline’s ears twitched at the mention of her name, but she kept focused on the slate, mouthing the syllables as she wrote them down one by one.

“Meaning?”

“I make no assumptions, but Urtha did not strike me as one who would be happy with having her pride bruised. And you have been working with a heavy hand.” He bowed his head slightly. “One way to handle the situation could be to use a softer touch? To follow the tribe's marriage rites."

Rick slumped to the chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a pain. He just knew it.

“You do not wish to bond with her?”

“She is the heart of the tribe, and has led them through a lot. Not bonding with her means risking instability,” he mumbled. “Right now, we need unity.”

“Is she not of your tastes?”

Yasir asked in a neutral tone that raised alarms in Rick’s mind. He followed the man’s gaze as it moved from Monica and to the far door. Were there eavesdroppers? Of course there would be. The guards were of the tribe, and the rumor mill moved faster than the speed of light.

He might as well have Urtha standing right in the middle of the hut.

The words were chosen carefully. “She is quite… maidenly, I will admit.” The word still felt weird coming out of his mouth. “Strong, and determined. It is nice. When…” What were examples of Urtha being strong? Ah. “When she lost her arm in the fight, she barely even flinched.” He was not sure how to add a dreamy quality to his voice, and he would not try. “Maybe a little too hard-headed. I don’t mind any of those qualities. But it seems pretty clear she doesn’t enjoy being challenged, or me.”

“She only needs time.” Yasir spoke softly. “But Fortune might smile on your endeavor. Many speak of Urtha's penchant for growing bored with her partners. She is open for love.”

Love.

Rick’s neck stiffened at the word. It brought the image of ring boxes gathering dust on drawers and empty beds. “Fuck love.” He snapped. “This is about what’s good for the tribe. Love can come when it damn well pleases.”

“That… is certainly one way to go about it.” Yasir’s response was a tad too political, his smile stiff.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” The man bowed his head slightly, the expression softening. “Wounds need to heal at their own pace. Scars do not go away overnight.”

The question of who had put that scar on Rick lingered, unspoken but felt. And he did not answer its call.

“Thanks for the counsel.”

Yasir bowed. “May Fortune smile upon you.”

“And you.”

The man from a faraway land left quietly.

The man that came from another world remained.

In the silence of the empty meet-hut, Rick groaned.

“Seems I’ve got my work cut out for me.”