The climb up the tower had been excruciating, and Mynna had the bruises, lesions, burns, and most recently, goo-soaked attire to show it.
Even though she shook as much of what remained of the slime-sentinel from her boot as she could, the noxious smelling goo still clung to the leather. Worse still, as she dispatched the thing with an exploding vial of alchemical fire, it had flung its remains all about the private study’s antechamber, and Mynna herself, causing foul slime to coat every inch of Mynna. Even as she entered what had to have been the private study of the tower’s former resident, she could feel her feet squish inside her boot, and the cool gel seep into gaps in her clothing and leather armor. She just hoped the stench could be washed out.
She hoped it would all be worth it. The lower floors of the tower, each magically more spacious than the narrow structure should have allowed for, were almost barren of valuable goods. The mage that had built the place had been, as most mages in Mynna’s experience were, an annoying combination of extremely spartan with material goods and extremely paranoid anyway. A scholar had once told her that the riches a mage possessed lie in their books, or in their own knowledge, but neither of those could be sold easily or safely to Mynna’s normal fences. Besides, the one time she had pilfered a few mage’s tomes, he had come looking for one, and the other turned out to be a collection of Northern stew recipes. No, in order for Mynna to break even on this venture, she would need to find something of value that she could sell off to someone who didn’t have a vested interest in the arcane arts.
That hope was quickly dwindling as the topmost floor of the tower, a private study, seemed to be bereft of any such loot. Not nearly as spartan as the rest of the tower, the study still lacked anything that shone with immediate value. The only furniture, a bed, a lounge, a desk, and a chair, seemed comfortable enough, but also heavy and not particularly valuable. There was a bookshelf, overflowing with books, but Mynna immediately pushed it to the side in her mind. That left only the contents of the desk as potentially worth her time.
The room was smaller than the others, and given the level of security it boasted outside, Mynna was relatively confident in the safety of the room itself, but that didn’t mean that a wizard wouldn’t have an enchanted desk, so Mynna approached the workspace with characteristic caution. On closer inspection, the desktop revealed a disappointing assortment of mundane-looking effects. Quills, inkwells, papers, books, an oil lamp, and a small keepsake box seemed to be the only things of note on the bare wooden surface. The books, paper, and writing supplies were likely worthless to her, which left an oil lamp that apparently had centuries of wear on it, and a keepsake box of plain, dark wood, and plain dark metal. Mentally marking the oil lamp, dirty and worn with years of use, as a last ditch effort to make some copper, Mynna focused instead on the box.
Mynna approached the box slowly, very slowly. Although it didn’t look like the banded treasure chests most mimics chose to imitate, one particularly nasty encounter with a watch that bit had taught Mynna to be paranoid about even the most mundane objects. As she drew closer, the dark box did nothing to indicate an aberrant creature hiding in plain sight, but neither did the box show any signs of being worth anything. Near as Mynna could tell, it was unfinished wood and untreated iron.
Her hands extended, fingers clenching and unclenching as she reached toward the box. Her lips felt dry, her eyes hurt from staring, her heartbeat, although slow and very much under control, still thundered in her ears. When her fingertips finally touched the wood, and nothing jumped or bit, Mynna let out an exhale of relief, a held breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The box itself was miserably banal. Even picking the box up, Mynna was disappointed. the immediate tactile response was apparent, and singular. The box, for whatever it held, held only one thing inside. A simple latch was all that secured the box’s lid, and even that was disappointing. Mynna flipped the latch and, cautiously holding the box at arm’s length away from her turned-away face, she used her thumbs to throw the lid open. When nothing erupted or leapt out at her from the box, Mynna unclenched her everything and brought the box close to inspect its contents.
The inside of the box was significantly more ornate than its exterior, as it was lined with what appeared to be a thick, velvety, purple cloth, over what seemed to be thick cotton padding, and in the middle of the padded cloth, a small draw-string bag of similar substance, tied tightly shut at the top, and, most notably to Mynna, squirming.
Resisting the urge to chuck the box away, Mynna instead brought the undecorated chair to the desk and sat down, setting the box down on the desk to facilitate easier inspection. Now open, and free of the box’s heavy insulation and padding, Mynna could make out noises coming from the small sack. Mynna turned her head and recognized words, in heavily accented common-tongue, spilling out of from the cloth, mostly profanities and hateful threats.
“Hello?” Mynna asked, unsure of who, or what, she was addressing.
The squeaking obscenities paused momentarily, before switching to a tirade of new, slightly different obscenities, punctuated with demands for release and freedom. Mynna considered her surroundings for a moment. Even here in the sanctum of the architect of the tower, dust coated everything, including the exterior of the box. The owner of this tower hadn’t actually been in the tower in years, maybe even decades, but the box contained a tiny, hateful, vocal thing that spoke the tongue of men. Mynna considered, very briefly, simply shutting the box, re-latching it, and walking away.
A quick tabulation of the costs she’d incurred ascending the tower prompted her to, instead, begin working at the knot fixing the bag. Her disturbing the bag seemed to only intensify the squirming within, but having it within her grasp brought into stark relief the potential size of whatever was in the bag. Even if it was malicious, it would fit in the palm of her hand easily. The knot itself was nothing special, another disappointment in a tower of them, but it was securely tied, and tightly drawn, resulting in a concerted effort for Mynna to undo the knot, but it came undone.
“I’m going to let you out.” Mynna said. “I’m trusting you don’t bite or sting or something.”
What followed a brief silence was a collection of some of the most vitriolic insults and rage that Mynna had never heard from something so small, or, in fact, from someone she had not either stabbed or robbed.
“If you’d prefer, I can re-tie the knot, shut the box, and chuck the box into the moat on my way out of the tower?” Mynna offered.
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair while the bag grew silent and still for a moment.
“No! Please! Don’t leave me in here! I’m sorry, I thought you were the witch!” Came the bag’s voice. “Please get me out of here!”
“No biting or stinging?” Mynna asked for clarification.
“No biting!” The bag assured, and then after a brief pause remembering. “Or stinging!”
“Okay, but if I think you’re about to be some kind of little shit, I won’t hesitate to put you back in the box and leave you there.” Mynna threatened.
The knot already undone, Mynna had simply to reach in with the tips of her fingers and dilate the bag’s opening. Fearful of a dishonest creature within, she immediately drew her hands away and sat back. After a few seconds when nothing happened she returned to the bag and, still wary, grabbed the base of the bag between her pinched fingers, and turned it upside down. Sure enough, something tumbled out, but what exactly shocked Mynna.
Now deposited onto the plush cloth of the box’s interior, bound at the knees, ankles, elbows behind his back, and wrists, with an intricate network of ropes connecting them all, was a tiny man, naked except for the ropes restraining his movement. With the notable exception of an unkempt mane of blonde hair and a matching wreath of a beard, there were no discernable features on the man.
“What in the thirteen hells is going on here?” Mynna said, leaning in to get a better look.
“Get me out of these binds, y’ filthy-wet whore!” Shouted the tiny man.
Mynna’s eyes narrowed. Before the man could say anything more, she reached over and slapped the box lid shut, making more noise than anything else in the sanctum had since Mynna had entered the room. She picked up the box, relatched it, and then proceeded to shake it, gently enough to her, but she could feel the man bounce off of the interior with each jostle. Even through the thick padding, she could also hear his profanities as she sent him ricocheting about his padded cell. When she felt his attitude may have been tempered, or at least his energy exhausted, she set the box back down and flipped the lid back open.
“Would you care to try your request again?” Mynna asked.
“I’ll gut ye’ like a rotten fish, ya’ sodden thrice-damned… no, wait!” He didn’t get to finish before Mynna slapped the lid shut again.
“You’ll get one more chance, you little shit!” Mynna yelled toward the box.
This time she picked up the box and shook it like it contained a pair of dice on the bet of her last copper piece. There was no screaming from inside the box, Mynna didn’t give him the chance, instead turning his world into a well-contained, personal catastrophe like nothing nature could match. By the time it occured to Mynna that the hellish shaking could break his tiny neck, Mynna had spent almost a full minute treating the box as violently as she could. She set the box back down and flipped the lid open immediately, a bit relieved to see the tiny man still breathing if even more disoriented.
“Well?” Mynna asked.
“Please, no more.” He begged. “No more…”
“If you don’t want to go for another ride, I’d suggest you try again, and politely.” Mynna ordered.
“Gods! That was worse than that knife-eared bitch!” The shrunken man said.
“Who are you?” Mynna asked.
“Would you, with all the gentleness ye’ can muster, free me from these bonds?” The shrunken man dodged the question.
"Answer my question." Mynna insisted.
When it became apparent that the shrunken man in the box was near another expletive laden tirade, Mynna pulled her camp knife from its sheath at her belt and made sure the tiny man could see its shine.
"Kor!" He shouted. "My name is Kor, of the Unblemished Order! I am here to kill this bitch of a wizard for her part in the sack of Ur!"
“Ur? How long have you been in there?” Mynna asked. “Hold still.”
She began to bring the point of the knife down toward Kor’s bound form, only to be forced to pause as he began to scream as the glint of the knife came closer, and struggled, squirming around in the box.
“I said ‘hold still’, are you deaf or just as stupid as you are small.” Mynna said with mounting frustration.
She reached into the box and plucked him free of it, more roughly than she needed to, but quickly slapped him down onto the desk, and pressed him onto the wood to keep him still. He still squirmed under her hand, but she didn’t care. With the precision of someone who had too much practice with the knife, she slid the tip of the blade into the extremely small space between where his knees were bound.
The knife made very quick work of the miniscule ropes holding him fast, but it didn’t stop him from screaming as it passed by him, the blade bigger than he was slicing through his bonds one at a time, with the methodical precision of a surgeon.
“There, now, don’t try anything.” Mynna said. “How long have you been here?”
The shrunken man took his time standing up, every motion seemed to be both labored and unfamiliar as he climbed to his feet. More than once, Mynna half-expected him to tumble over and onto the floor. Through a combination of flailing limbs, steadying himself against the box that had been his prison, and cursing, he managed to stand on two legs after a while.
“I had only just arrived when that wizard’s nefarious spells ensnared me!” Kor replied. “I had crossed over the moat and into the tower where there was this blinding light! I awoke at the mercy of that wizard as ye’ see me before you.”
Mynna really wanted to mention that the daze trap he’d triggered had been the absolute earliest of the tower’s defenses and among its most gentle. She wondered if he’d have even survived many of the other traps and spells she had disabled on the way up here.
“That still doesn’t answer the question of ‘how long’, why would you be avenging Ur?” Mynna asked.
“What sort of half-brained question is that, you daft…” Kor stopped mid-sentence as he saw Mynna’s expression darken. “I mean, what else would y’ have us do? Them knife-eared bastards laid waste to the entire kingdom! Murdered the royal family! Burned everything in unholy arcane fire! And she! She was the one who made it all possible!”
Kor continued to rant and rave on the table, his rage and hate seeming to fuel his tiny body as he recounted the specifics of the sacking of Ur, but Mynna was only half listening, her own mind running through horrific possibilities. The shrunken man in front of her was recounting the sack as though he had lived through it. He noted specific people, humans, in the defense of the city-state, he recalled specific defenses mounted by the city against the elvish empire, and he even seemed to know key members of the histories. What he seemed to be unclear on, however, was the fact that those histories were almost twelve hundred years in the past.
“Shut up.” Mynna said, interrupting Kor’s raving. “Are you telling me you were at the sack of Ur?”
“Aye!” Kor said, exasperated. “Why d’ y’ think I’ve been talkin’? To hear myself be exhausted? Those forest fuckers destroyed my home only a fortnite ago and I mean to get some measure of revenge! But then that wizard caught me, and thrice-cursed me!”
Again, Kor became lost in his tirade, while Mynna’s mind occupied itself with possibilities, this time profitable ones. It was suddenly possible that this trip might yield something sellable after all. She knew of at least a dozen scholars who would murder each other to have the opportunity to actually speak with someone who had been at Ur, and most of them would happily pay her for the opportunity. Then there was the possibility of fencing the shrunken man to some power-hungry mage looking to unravel the secrets of time, surely a human who had been alive for centuries on centuries would be of immense value. But two words Kor mentioned bounced around in Mynna’s mind.
“What do you mean ‘thrice-cursed’?” Mynna asked.
“That leaf-lover shrunk me, y’ blind…” Kor restrained himself. “She cursed me with three distinct hexes, she took real joy in them.”
“Shrinking’s only one of them, right? What else about you is amiss, other than your attitude toward your savior?” Mynna pressed.
“Aye, I should be ‘appy to see someone other than an elf.” Kor said. “She cursed me to live, and to not die.”
“Immortality doesn’t sound like much of curse.” Mynna said, although she immediately recognizing why it would be. “Unless that left you prey to her less-than-savory behavior.”
“Aye, it did.” Kor responded. “I think I had been here maybe a week and I’ve endured all the torments the thirteen hells could conjure and then some novel ones too. I suspect if you had not found me, she’d have returned and added some fresh villainy.”
“And the third?” Mynna asked.
The shrunken man paused, his eyes suddenly widening, and for what seemed like the first time since he began spewing obscenities from inside the box, he fell silent. His eyes, previously unfocused as he ranted and raved slowly turned back to Mynna.
“I… uh… I forgot.” He said, in what Mynna could only describe as the worst attempt to lie she had ever heard.
“Well, I wonder…” Mynna said, picking up the knife she’d used to free him. “If there’s anything I can do to help you recall your third curse. You seemed very keen on the defenses of Ur, perhaps some prodding would help you remember.”
With a thunk, Mynna buried the tip of the blade into the wood of the desk, narrowly avoiding Kor’s shrunken form. To his credit, he didn’t scream, or run, instead, paralyzed with fear, just pondered the dull steel blade many times his size suddenly in front of him.
“Aye, yer’ right.” He said, his eyes not moving from the blade. “I ain’t forgotten it.”
“Well?” Mynna pressed.
“The third curse was to be as a spirit to all that lived, save for those that possessed a cruelty of a kind to her own.” Kor said, finally turning back to Mynna.
Mynna almost spat. She could handle being called ‘cruel’, that was fine, but if the shrunken man before her had any value as a commodity, the buyer would need to be at least as cruel as the wizard who had shrunk him, and that might put her in some decidedly unpleasant company.
“Look, I ain’t got nothin’ against ye’.” Kor said. “Just help me get out of here, we can travel west to the Songmere barony, I’ve friends among the barons men that can shield us from these fuckin’ knife-ears.”
Mynna had almost had enough, very aware of his second curse, she snatched him off the table with as little regard for his comfort as she could manage. She brought him up to her face, squeezing him tightly in her grip, preventing any noise from him save for the occasional cracking of bones between her fingers. And when he was looking her in the eyes, she pulled her hood from her head.
It was a little satisfying to see his horror and comprehension, even through his pain, at the sight of her ears. Although not nearly as long as a true elf’s, they were a clear indicator of her elvish parentage, and moreover the very object of Kor’s malice.
“Well, I think we’ve established that the first curse holds true.” Mynna said. “You’re as tiny as a mouse. And the second seems to be as true, since you’re still suffering. But let us see if we can put that third curse to the test. I wonder if I really am as cruel as you suggest.”
She didn’t give the shrunken man a moment to respond as she opened her grasp, marveling a bit at how his body snapped and cracked back into form, looking to be as painful as the act of mangling it in the first place. Before he could draw a breath, she brought her other hand to bear and used them to compact his form between them. Like crumpling parchment, she crushed and squeezed the shrunken man into a tighter and tighter ball, until he felt smaller than a sling stone in her hands. She clutched him in one hand and let him drop back to the table. By the time he his the wood, his body had uncrumpled and he screamed as he landed.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you.” Mynna said, as she reached down and began to slide off her right boot. “I came to this tower to rob it, and near as I can tell, the only thing of value worth selling is a shrunken little shit who might be of interest to some evil historian.”
“No! No, please!” Kor said, barely able to stand.
“And, although I don’t suppose it matters much, but the sack of Ur didn’t occur weeks ago.” Mynna said, finally pulling her foot free. Almost immediately the awful stench of the slime she had destroyed began wafting through the room. “It fell twelve centuries ago, and I’ve never heard of that barony.”
Kor’s pained look was replaced by one of confusion.
“Please!” Kor pleaded as she picked him up between her fingers.
“And now, for the last bit of bad news.” Mynna said. “I doubt I can trust you to stay peacefully in one of my pouches, so you’re going to need to go somewhere… else while I get you to a buyer.”
“No! Please! I’ll do anything you ask, lass! I’m sorry! I meant no offense to you!” Kor begged.
“Well, it sounds like you pissed off the two worst possible people; the wizard that did this to you…” Mynna said, letting Kor fall from between her fingers.
He screamed as he dropped from where she held him all the way to where he hit the inner sole of her boot, making a splat in the goo that still soaked the boot. She caught a glimpse of Kor’s body rolling deeper into the boot, but was still visible from where she sat. Mynna held her foot over the boot, clenching and relaxing her toes, still dripping the slime that seemed to be everywhere in and around the boot.
“And me.” Mynna said, sliding her foot back into the boot.
As uncomfortable as the cool goo was, and as bad smelling as it had been to her, she could only imagine the nightmare Kor was enduring as she felt him roll under her foot, and be pressed into the boot’s sole. The boot squelched as her foot slid into place, and her heel came to rest on the insole. It took her a moment to adjust her foot, to feel comfortable in her own boot again, but mostly that was because of the slime suffusing the thing, and less because of the body being compressed under her bare, stinky foot. A quick re-tie of the laces, and a quick re-buckle of the two straps and her foot was as secure in her boot as it had ever been, with a new passenger unable to move, and to Mynna’s estimation, probably wishing he was back in the box, bound by fine silken ropes, and kept in a velvety bag.
Mynna stood and spent a few moments shifting her weight on the boot, working out how the addition of Kor’s body would change her gait or her stride. She tested rolling her weight back onto her heel, to an even distribution, the ball of the foot, and then even standing on her toes with just the one foot. Even as she could feel Kor squish and break under her, every time she let up on the weight she could feel his body return to a semblance of its former shape. With a quick hurdle-hop, she was satisfied that his presence wouldn’t impair her movement much if at all, since she didn’t need to consider his comfort or safety.
“I’d say ‘I hope you’re comfortable’, but I don’t really care.” Mynna said, making her way to the sanctum’s window. “We’ve got three days of travel over easy country, and two over the mountains, so you’ll get plenty of time to get used to it.”
Mynna secured her rope to the window’s edge, and began the first hop out, descending down the tower, leaving the sanctum slightly more smelly, and bereft of a shrunken man.
The Grinning Goblin wasn’t the most fun of the shady establishments that Mirabelle was familiar with. Not even in the top ten. But it was among the only that could really accommodate her size and bulk. Although, with the exception of the horns growing out of either side of her head, each capped in a brass point, Mirabelle didn’t look much like her minotaur father, she did inherit most of his size, which made most interactions with a human populace half her size very difficult. Still, the Goblin had hugely vaulted ceilings, and a massive stable that she could sleep in. Tonight, however, Mirabelle planned on passing out on a table, preferably with half the inn's reserves of booze in her gut.
To that end, she'd already challenged a pair of local men-at-arms to arm wrestling competitions, with mugs on the line for each win. She'd hammed it up pretty hard, giving each of the overly confident soldiers-for-hire the inkling that they may have a shot in a rematch, but ultimately, she could've beaten them both at the same time.
A third, younger, man had just sat down at her table, making a show of pulling up the chair Mirabelle couldn't use, and slamming his elbow down on the table in challenge. He wore ill-kept armor, but a tabard in the colors of the previous two men that had challenged her.
"Oh?" Mirabelle wondered aloud, as she drained the latest cup of strong ale down her throat. "Do you think you can do better than your friends?"
"You know it, cow!" The young man said.
The inn went still. Conversations halted. Cups were held in suspension above tables. Even the subtle jangle of armor plates or rings stilled in silence.
"'Belle! You know he don't know any better! Ain't no need to kill him!" Called the barkeep, who thought for a moment and added. "Or foul up the Goblin!"
"I'm not gonna muck up your precious bar, Havvel!" Mirabelle retorted without taking her eyes off her challenger. "But I think a little something more than an arm wrestling competition might be in order if he thinks he's the better of us."
"What did you have in mind, cow?" The mercenary asked, adding spite to the word he knew Mirabelle hated.
The entirety of the Goblin's clientele recoiled and some even gasped in shock. One man even dove for cover behind the bar. But Mirabelle just smiled.
"I've already beat your friends, and I'm bored with arm wrestling. What do you say we take this outside, and have ourselves a genuine wrestling match?" Mirabelle offered. "First one to pin the other wins."
"Don't take much to wangle a cow to the ground." The man said. "But what's in it for me?"
Mirabelle had a reputation for her temper, a carefully cultivated reputation for being ever only one wrong word away from a whirlwind of destruction, but tonight, she had other plans in mind.
"If you win, I'll work for you. Do whatever you want me to do, whenever, and however, for a full fortnight." Mirabelle offered. "But if I win, you pay for my drinks tonight until I can drink no more. Do we have a deal?"
"Thirteen hells! My own, personal milker to wash my feet and suck my cock for a fortnight?" The man exclaimed. "You bet we've got a deal!"
"Good." Mirabelle said.
With that she began to climb to her feet. Sitting at the Goblin's tables was always a challenge, but they were at least high enough that Maribelle could sit cross-legged underneath them. She took her time standing to her full height, and was once again thankful for the Goblin's construction. She had been told once that it had been built as a temple to some forgotten god, and that was the reason for the extremely high roof. But as she stood up, to her full height, and stretched upward, her hands brushing the ceiling, she enjoyed the dawning look of dread and awe in the man's face.
"Wait…" The man started to say, but was interrupted by Mirabelle's hand clamping down around his head.
Without any other warning, Mirabelle threw her challenger, by the head, over the patrons of the Goblin, through the Goblin's double-hinged door and out into the early evening.
The patrons cleared a path for her as she sauntered to follow her challenger. She had to duck under the Goblin's door, but by the time she stood up to her full height outside, she could see her opponent struggling to regain his footing.
Mirabelle walked out into the dusty road, away from the Goblin, just as people began pouring out to watch. She lifted her foot up and pried her shoe off, letting it drop before taking off the other. While she did, the man, who had finally, albeit shakily, stood up, had drawn a hand axe from his belt. He set himself for an attack, but paused.
"What in the hells are you doing?" He shouted.
"Do you have any idea what it cost to cobble footwear for me?" Mirabelle asked. "I'm not putting holes in my shoes while playing games with idiots. And who ever heard of wrestling with an axe?"
“Fuck you, cow! I’ll kill you for that!” The soldier for hire screamed.
“You will eh?” Mirabelle asked, more than a little haughty. “But then who will wash your feet, or suck your cock? Him?” Mirabelle indicated one of the soldier's two companions.
At the provocation, he roared as he charged forward, his axe held up while he ducked low. Although he moved quickly, for a human, Mirabelle had more than enough experience with charging opponents, and skirmishing in general. The charge would’ve been devastating to a normal person, had it connected. But Mirabelle wasn’t a normal person, and she would be thrice-damned before such a sloppy attack landed.
The axe came down and Mirabelle caught the haft as it fell. The soldier was left holding nothing as he pitched forward, too committed to the chop. Instead, he found Mirabelle’s knee, rushing forward to meet him in the chest. The rings of armor the soldier wore were meant to defeat blades and points; axes, swords, spears and arrows, but it did little to mitigate the blow from Mirabelle’s knee, and the soldier was sent to the ground a few feet away, with some bruised or shattered ribs for his efforts.
Mirabelle threw the axe to the ground, the bladed head burying itself deep into the dirt, deep enough that it would take someone else significant time to recover it. She was planning on continuing her fight, when she felt a sharp sting in the back of her thigh. Looking down, one of her opponent’s cohorts had drawn his sword and attempted to run her through. He had either greatly overestimated his own sword and strength, or greatly underestimated Mirabelle’s superhumanly tough skin, either way, the blade of his sword had simply glanced off her. Still, the blade had nicked her, and more importantly, it had sliced through the cloth she had wrapped around her waist as a skirt.
Mirabelle roared and seized the new attacker. Without barely any effort, Mirabelle hoisted him into the air above her head and immediately brought him down over her knee. The crunch of bones and armor was telling and her attacker didn't even scream in agony the back-breaking blow was so brutal. The armored man went limp in her hands, likely unconscious, if not already dead. She released him and the armor and flesh collapsed in a still heap in the dirt, but Mirabelle’s infamous temper had genuinely been triggered and she wasn’t about to let the new offender off the hook.
Although barefoot, she lifted a leg high into the air and brought it crashing down. If there had been any doubt before, Mirabelle's foot caving in the man's chest with a sickening crunch made it clear that he was dead. Her rage unsubsided, however, Mirabelle delivered a brutal kick to the downed man, sending his body flying yards away, where he collided with a tree, almost certainly killing him, and finally fell down in a still mound of what had been a person.
Mirabelle turned behind her to the other man she had beaten in an arm wrestling competition earlier that evening, only for him to drop his drawn sword in fear, and begin backing up behind the crowd that had gathered to watch. Satisfied she wouldn’t be interrupted again, Mirabelle turned her attention back to winning her bet. The soldier that had accepted her bet for the night’s drinks still had not stood up, but was at least moving and groaning, which was more than could be said for the one who had tried to stab her.
“And who ever heard of wrestling in ringmail?” Mirabelle asked.
Without waiting for a response, she reached down and picked up her opponent.
“Let’s get you out of that armor.” Mirabelle said.
There was a crunch of metal, and a brief pause, as Mirabelle established a grip on the shoulders of the ringmail. Then there was a sound like the ringing of dozens of small bells, as Mirabelle pulled in opposite directions, shredding the rings and splitting the mail apart. Although she hadn’t intended to also rip apart the soldier’s padding under the mail, and the jerkin beneath it, Mirabelle’s hands came away with everything that had been the man’s clothing and armor, leaving him bare chested, and without Mirabelle holding him up, falling back to his knees.
“That’s better.” Mirabelle said, regaining her composure and tossing the scraps of armor and clothing aside. “Now, first to pin the other?”
The man’s only response was to cough in pain.
“Great! I’ll even let you get the first shot in.” Mirabelle said. “Go ahead!”
Moments passed with nothing but a shaky swaying from her challenger, and when it looked like he’d collapse again, Mirabelle crouched and stabilized him by holding his head.
“Well, if you’re not going to take the initiative, I might as well.” Mirabelle said. “Do you want me to break your legs or arms as I pin you?”
“Wait… no… “ Was all the man could manage.
“Oh? What was that? You want me to break all of your limbs?” Mirabelle mocked.
“Please don’t…” The man pleaded.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Mirabelle offered. “If you wash my feet with your tongue, I’ll only break one of your arms. I’ll even let you choose the arm.”
The prospect of guaranteed violence widened the man’s eyes and he legs shuffled in the dirt, failing to move any distance as Mirabelle still held him in her grasp.
“Oh, that’s a poor choice if I do say so myself.” Mirabelle said, lifting him up.
The soldier had a moment to yell in pain, and consider his situation before Mirabelle seized one of his flailing legs by the ankle with her free hand. He had only a moment to consider how Mirabelle lifted him into the air as she stood up and how her hand enclosed his entire armored foot. His brief shout of pain became a sustained scream as Mirabelle crushed the ankle in her hand, collapsing the armored greave, flesh, and bone into a mangled mass.
“That’s one.” Mirabelle counted. “But since you didn’t take me up on the deal, I guess I just have to break everything.”
The man hanging by his head tried to pry Mirabelle’s hand off of him but had little effect on the half-minotaur’s grip. She calmly grabbed his other ankle, letting the realization of what was about to happen settle in before crushing it in the same fashion as the first, resulting in more screams. Mirabelle dropped him back to the ground, a fall worsened by the fact that he fell on shattered ankles. Without any effort, Mirabelle kicked him onto his back.
“You appear to be having a rough time.” Mirabelle said. “If you beg me extra nice, I’ll end this right now.”
“Fuck you, cow!” The man spat.
Mirabelle responded by lifting her foot above the downed man. She took her time in slowly lowering her heel onto the man’s shoulder. Gradually, with a deliberate speed and ever increasing force, she pushed his shoulder into the dirt. The crunching of his bones was almost overshadowed by his screams, almost.
“If you value your remaining limb, I’d suggest an apology.” Mirabelle said.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, just please leave me alone!” The man pleaded, clutching his shattered shoulder.
“Very good, but I still have a bet to win, which means…” Mirabelle said.
Mirabelle raised her foot again, wasting no time in kicking away the man’s good arm, and settling her sole on the man beneath her. With her heel on his chest, and her toes curled over his head, Mirabelle pressed down more than she needed to, but not enough to further damage his already broken ribs. It was satisfying enough to hear his gasps for breath as she leaned into the foot.
“One, two, three…” Mirabelle counted aloud, more for the crowd that was still watching than for the man under her foot. “And that’s a pin. Good match, although I’d recommend you work on your grappling.”
Without bothering to take her foot off of him, Mirabelle leaned in and grabbed his coin purse from where it hung at his belt. She ripped it off him with the same ease she’d ripped his armor apart.
“I hope it was as fun for you, as it was for me.” Mirabelle laughed.
Before she lifted her foot, she gave her ankle a twist, grinding the man’s entire body into the dirt, but took special care to ensure his face ended up under her toes for the duration of the act. With him crippled and humiliated, Mirabelle walked back toward the Goblin, collecting her shoes as she did.
“Hey, Garrick!” She called out to the stableboy. “If you bring me the coinpurse of that one I kicked into the tree, you can keep his sword and any part of his armor that's still intact!"
The stableboy ran off without further prompting. Mirabelle, meanwhile, was walking through the crowd that parted for her, back inside. She didn’t bother to put her shoes back on as she sat back on the floor next to her table, leaning back, and kicking her feet up. She tossed the bag of coins over to the the barkeep who caught it mid-flight.
“Whatever that’ll buy me!” She said, leaning against the wall. “And I’ll have more in a bit.”
“You didn’t have to kill him.” The barkeep said, despite still pouring another draught.
“No, I didn’t.” Mirabelle acknowledged. “To be fair, though, he didn’t have to stab me with a sword. Besides, what are you complaining about? Now both their coins will be going to you through me.”
The barkeep dutifully brought over the draught, this time bringing four mugs at once. Mirabelle hadn’t bothered to count the coin, it almost went without saying that in the current environment of strife and conflict a mercenary, especially one in the employ of a mercenary company, would be well paid, and the coin pouch was heavy enough to confirm that.
The Goblin’s patrons had already filtered back in, and in the din of the inn, unburdened by the fear of Mirabelle still being upset, she heard conversations go up of disappointed betters who had backed her impromptu opponent. The quantity of coin that changed hands seemed little enough, but Mirablle regretted not taking bets herself. It might have been fun to throw the wrestling match, for the right price.
Still, Mirabelle had her booze for the night, and drank another mug away. The night was beginning to fall, and the inn had already switched over to oil lamps as the door to the Goblin opened up. Mirabelle wasn’t paying attention, but it was hard not to see her friend, or at least sometimes business acquaintance, Mynna walk into the Goblin.
Mynna stood a bit above the normal humans, not nearly so much as Mirabelle, but enough that her deep-pulled hood could be seen among the seated patrons, that and Mynna was making a bee-line for the bar, or at least as straight a path as the Goblin's layout allowed. The hooded Mynna weaved through the tables with a measure of grace and dexterity very rarely seen among the drunken patrons of the Grinning Goblin. Normally, Mirabelle would be excited to see Mynna in town, Mynna always had a plan, scheme, or at the very least mark that Mirabelle could provide muscle for, but several tankards into her night, Mirabelle was excited just to see someone she knew more than in passing.
“Mynna!” Mirabelle called out, still reclined. “Come over here! Drinks are on me tonight!”
Almost immediately, the half-elf stumbled over some unseen obstacle, her concentration apparently broken by the hail. Mirabelle winced as Mynna, normally unflappable, pitched over a table. The half elf recovered admirably though, rolling deftly over the table top, avoiding any of the patrons, and landing on her feet to continue her path to the bar, almost as though she hadn't faltered at all.
The half elf wasted no time in dropping some coins on the bar top, and began negotiating some kind of order with the barkeep. The barkeep seemed to resist, but another handful of coin from Mynna's purse seemed to quell the barkeep's objections.
After lengthy debate, the barkeep disappeared for a moment and returned with a small cask that looked like it had been dredged up from the bottom of some stagnant pond, and a lidded flagon of pewter. The act of setting down the flagon looked easy enough, but as the barkeep uncorked the cask, both Mynna and the barkeep looked as though they'd been slapped with a rotting fish. The flagon was filled, the lid shut, and the cask recorked with desperate alacrity. It was only then, after Mynna had secured the flagon, that the half elf began to make her way over to Mirabelle.
"Hey! Mynna! What in the seven hells are you doing here?" Mirabelle called out.
"Shut up, Mira, shut up!" Mynna called back, arriving at Mirabelle's table. "Do you have any idea how loud you are?"
"I do!" Mirabelle laughed. "I absolutely do. What brings you to the Goblin?"
"Then keep it down." Mynna quipped. "I need to talk to you about a job, can we go outside?"
"Have you ever considered that little lord you burgled has better things to do than spy on you six years later?" Mirabelle asked.
"It's not him I'm worried about." Mynna stressed, glancing around with a possessed look. "I just, I can't shake the feeling that someone's following me, and I'd like to take as few chances as possible."
"Okay. Fine." Mirabelle said before draughting the entirety of her drink. “But I’m getting one for the road.”
“Great, I’ll meet you in the stables.” Mynna said and then dashed back out, flagon and all.
Mirabelle sighed and collected her things, it didn’t bother her to be in the stables, it’s where she was sleeping tonight anyway, but she was nowhere near ready to cease her libations. Before she followed Mynna, she made her way to the bar and filled one more mug at the leisure of the barkeep.
Compared to the day’s blistering heat, the night air was cooling. Mirabelle would almost prefer it to the Goblin’s interior, were it not for the lack of booze. The stables were deserted, and only a few horses had been stabled. Mirabelle made her way to the stall she ahd rented for the evening, in leiu of a room of sufficient size for her.
Mynna was no where to be found, but Mirabelle knew better than to look, Mynna would make herself known when Mynna was ready. Mirabelle collapsed into the thick bed of hay she’d laid out, kicked off her shoes, and began to work on the mug she had managed to get out to the stables with no spillage, regretting she hadn’t also brought out some vitels. A few moments later Mynna stayed true to her nature and skulked into the stable, still obsessing over pursuers no one else could see.
“Okay, let me show you what has me so worked up.” Mynna said, reaching down and beginning to work off her boot. “His name is Kor, and you’ll forgive, he’s a little shit, but if he pisses you off, just do whatever you feel you need to.”
“Who, you daft woman?” Mirabelle asked. “There’s none but us here.”
Mynna’s hand and wrist disappearing into her removed boot, Mynna looked disgusted with what she found, her face scowling as she felt about in the depths of her own worn footwear. When she pulled her hand free again, something was caught in her grasp. Dangling from Mynna's fingers, pruned and reddened from soaking in Mynna's foot sweat for gods knew how long, was a tiny man, his blonde hair matted to his head and his skin stained with grime and sweat.
Almost immediately, the smell assaulted Mirabelle's nostrils. Even pinched in Mynna's fingers across the stall, the stench wafting from the tiny man that Mynna pulled from her boot was unlike anything Mirabelle had ever had the misfortune of smelling.
"Gods damned, Mynna! He reeks of rat-fucking death and disease! What is the thirteen hells is in your boot?" Mirabelle asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
"I broke for camp near the river just outside of town." Mynna said, holding Kor away from her own face. "I washed and dried him off, but he's such an asshole that I threw him back into the boot. I guess the boot needs washing too. Hand me that swill from the Goblin."
Mirabelle handed over the flagon with the Goblin's most rot-gut brew. Mynna wasted no time in dropping the tiny man into the container and immediately sealed its lid.
"He's been cursed, not just to be small, but also to be unkillable, and also, uh, invisible. Sort of." Mynna explained.
"Sort of?" Mirabelle asked, still buzzed enough to be unfocused. "Wait, what did you mean by 'unkillable'?"
Mynna held the flagon closed with both hands and began to shake it as vigorously as she could. Even with the pewter vessel filled with what might be charitably called a libation, Mirabelle could hear the ringing sound of the little man's body bouncing off the metal interior as Mynna shook. The violence of Mynna's shaking left no doubt in Mirabelle's mind, that tiny man had been pulped into a vile cocktail.
Instead, when Mynna turned the flagon over, and poured the alcohol out through her fingers, a severely alcohol-logged tiny man tumbled out, whole, if severely beaten and broken. Before Mirabelle's very eyes, the small mangled pile of flesh rearranged itself into the semblance of the man, still soaked in booze, that Mynna had originally pulled out of her boot.
"So, yeah…" Mynna said, shaking the shrunken man off vigorously. "He's basically immortal. I'm taking him into the city to see if a friend of mine can discern exactly what he's been enchanted with."
"Where did you find him?" Mirabelle inquired, fixated on the coughing, sputtering man in Mynna's fingers.
There were a number of thoughts running through Mirabelle’s head, wonder at the small size, marvel at his durability, but more than anything else, Mirabelle couldn’t help but feel a growling hunger, having drank more than enough, but eaten nothing.
“An abandoned tower, but like I said, I keep feeling like someone is following me.” Mynna said. “I could use some protection. I’ll pay your regular fee, and if I turn a profit a cut of that.”
Mirabelle’s thoughts were interrupted by shouting and the light of lantern just outside the stable.
“Hells!” Mynna exclaimed.
“It’s probably just the Scarlet Company.” Mirabelle noted, still fixated on Kor. “I may have killed one of theirs earlier, maimed another.”
“Why didn’t you warn me? I need to get out of here.” Mynna asked. “I can’t let them find Kor, if someone else knows about this…”
“Well, I’ve got somewhere to hide ‘im.” Mirabelle offered.
“Fine. Do it. Just make sure they won’t find him!” Mynna said, more than a little panicked.
Mynna tossed the shrunken Kor through the air to Mirabelle. Mirabelle’s vision was still a bit fuzzy from the alcohol, so she missed the catch, but the tiny human hit her chest, bounced off and tumbled squarely into her cleavage. Before he had a chance to wiggle through them, Mirabelle flexed her arms together, trapping him between her breasts.
“Stall them for a moment.” Mirabelle ordered.
Mynna rushed to the stable entrance, and even though it was a very large stable, Mirabelle could hear Mynna already diverting the attention of the soldiers to other stalls. Mirabelle reached between her tits, more roughly than necessary, and without letting up on the pressure on him, pulled Kor from between them. She lifted him, pinched between her fingers, up to her face.
“Well, you heard her, gotta put you somewhere they’re not going to find you.” Mirabelle said, licking her lips.
“What… what hellish nightmare are you, filthy half-breed?” Kor said, sounding more than a little shaken.
“Such bawdy talk, but let’s see how that tongue wags when it’s faced with mine.” Mirabelle said.
“No! No! You wouldn’t! You can’t!” Kor screamed.
Mirabelle didn’t pay any attention to his struggling or screaming, as he kicked and flailed with his torso caught between her fingers. Mirabelle simply pushed him into her mouth between her lips. A single index finger pushed him deep into her mouth. Kor’s screaming was almost immediately silenced inside her mouth, but that didn’t stop Mirabelle from enjoying herself.
She had already seen proof of Kor’s durability, so when she pushed him between her molars with her tongue and began to chew, it was genuinely because her drunken mind had almost immediately forgotten her plan, and instead wanted to chew the morsel she’d just pushed into her face. She’d eaten live food on occasion; beetles and insects were occasionally required on the road, and once a faerie had ‘accidentally’ made it into her stew, but it was an entirely different sensation to have the food survive the first chomp. Every time her teeth came together, Mirabelle was treated with a crunch, a squish, and a new scream from inside her mouth.
Even the taste on her tongue was something rewarding. True enough when he had been pulled from Mynna’s boot, he was vile smelling, and likely would’ve tasted just as bad, but after being thoroughly washed in the Grinning Goblin’s least gentle barleywine, Kor almost tasted of raw pork. Mirabelle regretted the absence of any sauce, but realized if he proved to be genuinely immortal, she may be able to try new flavor pairings in the future.
Using her thumb and forefinger, Mirabelle fished inside her mouth and found Kor. She pulled him out from between her lips to regard her work. The enchantments that prevented him from dying had kept him relatively well off, considering he’d just been crushed between her teeth over and over again beyond counting, but it didn’t seem to numb him to the pain, or stop him from being soaked through with her spit.
“I have to admit…” Mirabelle said. “When Mynna said you couldn’t be killed, I didn’t much believe her. But you seem to have held up alright.”
Kor simple groaned in response.
There was a growing sound of commotion from outside her stall, clearly Mynna’s efforts to diver the Scarlet Company men were winding down.
“Looks like we’re going to have to put an end to this little meal-time.” Mirabelle said.
She lifted him up above her mouth, with some of the excess saliva from Kor still dripping off him. Before he could protest, she released him, allowing him to fall back into her mouth, just as three armored men walked around the corner into her stall.
“Oi! Half-breed! Are you the one what laid our men low?” One of the forward soldiers demanded.
Mirabelle snapped to focus, and remembering what she meant to do, moved Kor’s still struggling form to the back of her throat, and with surprisingly little difficulty, swallowed. Kor certainly wasn’t the largest hunk of meat Mirabelle had ever swallowed, but it was among the largest that still moved. She felt the lump of Kor slide from her mouth and, still squirming, down into her throat and then pleasurably down out of her throat, almost disappearing into her gut. Even still, muted and almost imperceptible, she could still feel him as he landed in her stomach. She sighed a powerful sigh of contended relief.
“Oh, I most definitely am.” She said, climbing to her feet.
Just the act of standing up often dissuaded people from attempting to antagonize her, and as her shadow fell over the three men now gathered in the stable, she could see even in the dim light, their eyes widen at just how large she was.
“The first of ‘em, the one that still breathes, came at me with an axe, and the other actually stabbed me.” She said, stepping forward. "Or tried to, anyway."
The trio of men, Mirabelle thought she recognized one of them from the Grinning Goblin, stepped back from her in unison. Even as she took only a single step, the feeling of something in her stomach, still alive and moving was a sensation she found herself enjoying more and more, and adding a bit of exertion to that seemed like it would only make everything more fun.
“Have you three come to apologize, and pay for the damages to my clothing?” Mirabelle asked with the most innocent voice she could muster.
Even though she put on aires with her tone, her body language was clear, she braced herself on the stable’s beams as she stepped free of the stall. One of the Scarlet Company men, the one Mirabelle thought she recognized from her earlier armwrestling and subsequent scuffles, took the hint and dashed away, in his scramble for safety, he left his companions in the stall without torches of their own. Only the faint light of Mirabelle’s own lantern remained, casting a faint orange glow about her and casting both of the remaining Scarlet Company soldiers in her shadow.
“I think I could forgive you and yours…” Mirabelle said, stepping forward again and backing the pair into the door of the opposite stall. “If you would both offer me sufficient funds to replace this fine garment.”
With one more step she afforded the pair no safe exit, if they wanted to flee they would have to do so right in front of her, well within range of her legs or arms, and if they wanted to draw steel on her, they would be hard pressed to do it in the tight confines she afforded them.
The pair looked at each other, clearly more shaken than resolved to fight. Mirabelle wondered what they had been told, if the coward that had justifiably fled had been accurate in his retelling of the evening’s events, or if the pair beneath her were only now learning of the difference in height and strength between them. Mirabelle crouched down, her knees now blocking any exit.
“Well? Are you going to compensate me, or am I going to have to take it out of your hides?” Mirabelle asked.
The threat seemed to job the pair into action, and fortunately for them, both reached for their coin purses instead of their swords. Each fumbled with the pouches and produced a small palm of coins that Mirabelle didn’t bother to count. Instead she reached out with both hands and grabbed the coin pouches themselves. With a tug that snapped the cords holding them to the mens’ belts, she pulled them free and stood back up, idly tossing the coin purses in her hand and catching them.
“Good..” She said. “Now, unless you want to learn first hand what happened to the others, I suggest you follow your compatriot.”
Mirabelle facilitated the Scarlet Company mens’ exit by stepping aside. They obliged her and scrambled over each other to flee the stable. Even before they had cleared the stable, Mirabelle could see Mynna poking her head in. Mirabelle knew that Mynna could handle herself in a fight, Mirabelle had watched the half-elf calmly take apart a knight of the realm with frightening efficiency, but neither did Mynna seek out conflicts where they could be avoided.
“I had almost expected you to murder them.” Mynna said. “Where did you manage to hide Kor?”
Mirabelle smiled, strolled back into her stall, and reclined back on the bed of hay she’d secured for herself. She lay there for a moment, her hand resting on her stomach, feeling the shrunken man still very much alive inside her.
“Well?” Mynna asked, growing frustrated.
In response, Mirabelle belched, and patted her stomach.
“I figured, he needs a hiding place, and I need a snack, why not solve two problems with one gulp.” She said.
“You … ate him?” Mynna asked worriedly. “What if he…”
Mirabelle just relaxed more as it was clear that Mynna’s reservations about her actions were waning. The half-elf walked into Mirabelle’s stall and up to Mirabelle, resting her ear against Mirabelle’s abdomen. Mirabelle took the opportunity to hold Mynna’s head close to her, letting her get a good sound of Kor’s torment inside her gut.
"I chewed on him pretty good before I swallowed him, I don't think the little shit is going to meet his end from this." Mirabelle said. "But I think those Scarlet Company sods would've had a hard time finding him in there."
Mynna pushed away from Mirabelle, much to Mirabelle's disappointment.
“And how are you planning on getting him out of there?” Mynna asked.
“A hearty breakfast, and maybe a heavy lunch!” Mirabelle laughed even as Mynna turned up her nose.
The prospect of sifting through her own shit wasn’t appealing, but it was more reasonable to her in the moment than vomiting up the tiny man.
“Grotesque, but I suppose it means we can put a few miles behind us before we have to, ugh, retrieve him.” Mynna said.
“That’s the spirit!” Mirabelle said. “We’ll set out at first light. Now let’s get some sleep!”
Mirabelle pulled Mynna in with one hand and wrapped her arms around the much smaller half-elf, rolling over onto her side as she did.
“Goodnight.” Mirabelle said, allowing the booze to finally win her over.
“No! Mira! I’ve rented a room in the Goblin!” Mynna said, ineffectually trying to free herself from the half-minotaur’s embrace. “A room with a bed! And a wash basin! You lummox, let me go!”
Mirabelle heard her, in truth she was still minutes away from sleep, but it was a comfortable sleeping arrangement; a nice soft bed of hay to lay on, a pleasant squirming in her stomach, and a warm partner, however unwilling, to cuddle with.
“Let me go, Mirabelle!” Mynna said, although muffled, just as Mirabelle flung a thigh over Mynna and began to drift off to sleep.