Cloudberry Chronicles Part II: Meltdown by dresspockets

CW and themes: fantasy, predicament play, magic, peril, temperature play, ice, melting, oral, sex, tiefling, elf, orc, male, drow, interrogation, threesome, bisexual, lesbian, transgender, nonbinary —

The wind was still, and for the first time in a long while the sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, setting its rays upon the rough cut stone of an old drow temple.

It sat alone on a small, rugged island near the centre of a lake. In the spring, bluebells covered the island in a purple haze. In the summer, the grove of aspens quivered and shook their thick, greeny-yellow leaves. In autumn, thick clusters of red berries coated the bushes and the local swans prepared to migrate. In the winter, the snows came.

It was winter now, and as the pale sunlight trickled down through the leaves it dappled over the floor of the ruined temple and the exposed stairwell. A shaft of light fell down the stairs, down and down until it hit a wall of ice and refracted around the large ice cavern hidden beneath.

It was once the resting place of an artefact of terrible and forbidden power, the Joy of Just-Ice, a crystal ball that attached itself to the wearer and brought about the most intense sensations and control over the cold.

Now, however, it was a tomb.

The light of the sun faintly touched upon the figure of a woman, kneeling besides an ornate throne. Her face was trapped in a look of complete despair and hopelessness, her arm outstretched towards the Joy of Just-Ice itself, a sparkling silver ball.

This was her mausoleum, her final resting place. Together she would rest here, watching over the Joy of Just-Ice until the end of time.

There was a thump from outside. The kind of thump that usually meant heavy boots upon stone.

Another thump. And another.

The sunlight entering the cavern was cut off as the figures descended the stairs, blocking its path and filling the hall with long, looming shadows. Three shadows. Three sets of footsteps upon the stone.

Three figures filed into the cavern, two cloaked with heavy capes and hoods and one a dark shadow. Steam rose from their flaming torches as they wandered over to a raised dais and pool of frozen water.

Like Cloudberry had found before them, the cavern was warmer than the outside. The tallest among them was the first to shuck off their massive, fur-lined cape, revealing veiny green skin and well-defined muscles. An orc male, he wore his hair long and loose down his back. Glittering golden caps covered his tusks, one broken near the base and the other curling up and over his cheek. A braided beard covered his jaw. His green skin was only broken by the crisscross of scars over his torso. Spear wounds, knife wounds, burns and magic blasts; all healed over time. More than could be said of those who attacked him.

“Khargosh dear, check for traps.”

The orc nodded and surveyed the nearest wall of ice.

“Enora, I trust you know what we’re looking for.”

The second figure inclined her head stiffly, a tall drow woman carrying a book that looked quite similar to Cloudberry’s, which now lay on the floor by her feet gathering ice crystals. Her eyes were a deep crimson, almost completely black and they seemed to mock anything she looked at. Her mouth was a cruel, thin line that did not smile for any reason. Her outfit was a black leather ensemble, all straps and harness and barely any skin coverage. Drow had no need to fear the cold, and her lithe legs with skin the colour of crushed grapes were open to the elements. Her hips were narrow, giving her a wispy and feminine silhouette. Short white hair cascaded down one side of her face, the other side an undercut.

On her chest she wore the insignia of the drow Queen’s personal executioner guild. An assassin. As she flipped through the book with deft fingers it became clear that some of the pages were unreadable, covered in the blood of its previous owner.

The commands came from the third figure, slightly smaller than the others, and plumper. Two twisted dark horns snaked out from beneath their hood and over their head, large enough to show that this must be a tiefling with many years behind them. They marched up to the dais with the statue of Cloudberry and the ornate throne, throwing off their black velvet cape and revealing a long train of thick dark hair, trailing behind them on the floor. Unlike the stoic and beanpole-like Enora, this tiefling rogue was a riot of sarcastic smiles and insolent curves. They walked with purpose, each hooved step a powerful blow, bouncing their breasts and exaggerating their wide hips.

They ran a finger across Cloudberry’s back as they walked past, leaving a path in the condensation from her ass to her head, and with ceremony sat down in the throne of Just-Ice and surveyed the room. They crossed their legs, the leather of their trousers creaking, and tapped their long red nails against the arm of the chair.

Their skin was a deep and unmitigated crimson, the only darker patch being the lips, which were maroon like the twilight sky. Like the drow assassin, they had no need for many clothes to keep them warm. Demon ancestry gave them an inner fire that burned brightly through their veins. The cape, therefore, was for dramatic effect. They wore a simple shirt of white cotton, unbuttoned and fastened via a sash at the waist.

The tiefling curled their tail elegantly around their leg and quickly surveyed the scene.

“Well well, what do we have here?” Words dripped off their tongue like honey, sweetening the air.

Their amber eyes had fallen onto the icy statue of the frozen elf girl. Echoes of the panic and humiliation could still be seen on her face, though icicles had started to form on her hair, her neck, her breasts and her outstretched hand. The tiefling saw something glitter near the hand of the ice maiden, and cocked their head.

“Enora dear, how long until you finish that damn book?”

The drow seemed to ignore her, before answering snappishly.

“Do not call me ‘dear’, hireling. It will be done when it is done.”

The tiefling grinned. My my, the dark elves were a short fused people. No matter, we had all the time in the world.

Hireling indeed…

They smirked to themself, and tapped their nails on the chair even louder. Loud enough to destroy the concentration of anyone trying to read a book nearby.

Enora moved further away, leafing through the book at a terrible pace. The mage who had been its previous owner had not been very forthcoming about its contents. Reluctantly however he had finally handed it over to her. She had had to kill him, of course, but at least the book was still mostly intact.

As she wandered away from the persistent tapping, she stumbled over something beneath the hoarfrost. Fabric? A pile of discarded clothes, scintillating with tiny ice crystals. She kicked them away and… What was this?

It was a copy of the same book she was holding, open to a page depicting what this very temple would have looked like in its glory days.

There was good news, and bad news.

The good news was, she now knew what artefact was in this temple. The bad news was, someone had been here before. She glanced suspiciously over to the statuette of Cloudberry and picked up the book, frozen stiff with the cold.

“Found something, sweetie?”

Enora winced, but let the endearment slide. This time. She would be glad when this mission was over, and she could watch the ‘dears’ and the ‘sweeties’ fade from the lips of that loathsome tiefling as she slit their throat. Or no – strangled them with their own severed tail. The suggestion of a hint of a smile played near her lips.

But no, for now, she needed this demon’s help. The orc was the muscle, the tiefling was the guide, and she was the brains. If this wasn’t the right place, she would still need their help. She turned to her reclining companion.

“We are looking for a relic the size of a small ball. It is the last remaining part of a set of seven objects, called the Offerings of Joy. All others have long since been destroyed, or lost. Each one was imbued with a different elemental spirit… I am guessing this is the ice one.”

“A small ball, you say…” The tiefling didn’t seem to be listening, only admiring the hands of the ice statue.

“Khargosh darling, I have a task for you.”

The orc up until that point had been checking the walls diligently for traps that were not there.

“Kargosh… I need you to melt this statue for me. I know how much you like elf maidens.”

Enora rolled her eyes. Their entire journey had been constantly interrupted by the tiefling’s merciless tormenting of the poor orc. Insatiable goat-headed fool! She couldn’t count the amount of times they had infiltrated a castle, or a hidden treasure vault, only to find her pleasuring herself with the artefacts or making Khargosh ‘test’ them for safety purposes. It’s true, many of them were highly dangerous sex magic constructs which cursed the user with unsuppressible urges, and had to be removed from their plinths with many a moan and a shudder, but this tiefling actually seemed to… delight in it.

Khargosh was not a stupid man. He knew a good job opportunity when he saw one, and travelling the world having magically enhanced sex with a gorgeous drow woman and a tiefling? Now that was living.

He put his hand on the head of the statue and felt the cold spread beneath his fingers.

He felt something else, too. Her body acted like a conduit for the artefact at her hand. He couldn’t help it, his dick began to swell.