Totally fucking … that poster of parchment … those blocky black letters spelling WANTED …
Oh, for the Oak of Ages … Peaches totally fucking wanted to give the middle finger to that sly sneak of a trickster the moment she spotted that parchment poster hanging all cozy and sinister and sooo much like a little black widow on those shutters behind the windowsill of those stinkier than stinky roses.
The sky wouldn’t be the only one growling soon.
Good thing Peaches wore her finger loop gloves snug and ready. Each was as scarlet red as she’d soon make that trickster, what’s her face, the Rouge Reapist, and even better, there were pentacles of unicorn hair woven into each palm to speed up her magic casting faster than a fox pouncing a mouse.
Along the glove were cute heart-shaped gaps. Normally, they’d hold rosy pink hearts, each of which held a precast spell she could fling at a target for instant effect, but she ran out a while ago and seeing a human alchemist … pretty dangerous when her kind made such good ingredients to those sorts.
But that thunder close by, not just thunder.
The narrow street echoed the rumble and only confirmed the groan of a dire ogre coming this way.
Strange how there weren’t any screams.
Disturbing, in fact.
Regular people shouldn’t be so calm around one, unless … no.
Peaches didn’t want to think of it.
Yet.
It was bad enough that the pink sky, as lovely as it was, meant the coming storm would be terrible, if her father’s stories held any truth to them.
(Big if.)
But no telling what these half-timber houses were hiding then. So what if they were beautifully decorated with apples, apples, and more apples? Plus a flower or two.
A chill seemed to ache her whole spine.
A warning of danger.
Demonic danger.
Nearby.
Never mind elves were technically lightspawn, a kind of demon, but of the light, so too many humans, sigh.
Least she usually could be reborn a few more times.
More than a few, actually.
Nine lives, like a cat, but three already used, but least her power and beauty were upped each time, but she started out as a brand new fairy, hatching from the Oak of Ages, and had to find another compatible human girl to fuse with, eat her soul and sigh.
No wonder some human despised demons of all sorts.
If her brother only had one life … if she only had one life … like these humans … sigh.
Why Roo even understood way back when … sigh.
But the lamppost of black iron, horribly styled like tall and narrow tulips, no, that burn to their smell, a burn like that death pepper chili that little brat Roo tricked her stupid bratty self into trying long ago (and stupid her tried it again and again and again …)
But it was definitely cold iron.
A quick way to a really, really awful death.
No wonder she couldn’t pinpoint the source of demonic danger.
No doubt it was darkspawn demons but so what?
This was just a step toward her true dream, becoming an elf witch explorer, and discover why there’s so many ruins appearing here and there, and elves had extension records proving some of these ruins appeared without a civilization before, as if it had been moved there.
Some even came from the future.
Others were from the distant past. Ruins that should no longer exist.
Ruins full of monsters.
So today, good practice.
Peaches made a point to keep strutting down the road without hesitation or obvious concern.
If orcs were hunting her … letting them know she sensed something suspicious, especially as a witch with her foresense able to detect danger and ill intent toward her, well, according to her training, a big no no.
And despite it being in the early afternoon, the shutters of all the half-timber houses were shut.
Locked.
Other human towns she’d been in … plenty of dumb human girls overlooked her demonic side and drooled over her looks, but here, today? Nope. Not one dumbass to brush off.
Something was off.
Good thing she could summon her bow and arrows of light quicker than any other elf in her generation, guy or girl. Several split seconds ahead of the best of the best guys and rapid fire better too. She could even build up plenty of blessed arrows as long as she got enough sunlight during the day, each day to build up and store more blessings for arrows for when she’d need them.
At least if any orc managed to get too close, the stiletto heels of her thigh boots could double as slyly placed daggers.
Alicorn style. Beauty and power came together for elf girls, so lucky her.
And her alicorn was the high grade spiraled kind.
Her boots were as scarlet red as she’d made those orcs.
Normally, she had rosy pink hearts lacing them snug up her leg. They normally would hold spells she could fling off for instant magical attacks just like her gloves.
But right now, like her gloves, they were just a bunch of heart-shaped gaps.
At least her rosy pink minidress and witch hat were woven with silk of a spellbinder silkworm. They weren’t protective against blade and fang, or even against magic … but they both together were a huge reserve of extra magic that naturally refilled as long as she wore them enough, especially in sunlight.
Even today.
And to fuck with the mind of those perverted orc bastards, she went with the sluttiest minidress she could manage. Translucent silk, so the right angles, the right nude elf deluxe, he-he.
So double the weirdness that no human guys went lusty dumbass toward her today.
Not even the gate guards.
Okay. Gate guards rarely did. Being a guard was all reputation and honor, not about coin. Any act tarnishing that, tarnished all the guards, and the guard loathed that.
Plus, her rosy pink minidress had the perfect distract and destroy notch down the front. One that showed far more than the little it covered.
Including her bra of ruby hearts.
And her chest, buxom to the extreme.
With only a few stretched to the breaking ruby ties down each the notches, the slutty side notches revealed more than just her tasty midriff, they revealed a good solid hint of her lace panties.
Ruby lace.
Orcs were rapeholic monsters, after all. She might as well use their lust smitten idiocy against them.
Roo would so laugh and approve.
(And leer.)
((Leer plenty.))
(((Sigh. Boys.)))
((((But if he didn’t … her pointy tipped boots, his rear, he-he.))))