Chapter 98 Moving.

Murders didn’t happen often in New Larrin.

Oh sure, people died a lot. But that was mostly accidents.

For instance, walking down certain streets at night tended to invite ’accidents’. People asking the wrong questions were very prone to ’accidents’.

And lots of ’accidents’ in New Larrin were preceded by the statement, "What’s the worst that could happen?"

But a boat drifting to the docks without a crew, the deck smeared with blood and no bodies was more than an accident.

That kind of ’accident’ tended to only take place in the magic district.

And when the captain was found outside an alley dressed in black robes, with a broken head and no boots, it was no longer an accident.

That was a mystery.

And Ava Copperman, intrepid elven reporter of the Morning Wood, loved a mystery.

"Oh sure!" harbourmaster, Worrig, said.

The portly man shifted his arms, propping his shoulders up on the back of the booth.

He idly waved a scarred hand towards the window of the tavern, where the shape of the ghost ship could be seen, along with the glittering armour of a dozen or so Silver Griffons standing around it.

"I knew the Windjammer. Knew the captain until he sold it."

"Sold it?" Ava said. "To whom?"

The harbourmaster scratched his bristly chin, admiring the elven beauty before him with obvious approval.

Especially her blouse, whose upper buttons were undone, revealing the pale valleys of breasts men dreamed of.

Her pinstripe pants hugged hips and ass that caused his pants to tent notably.

Blonde curls fell around guileless blue eyes, her earnest look lovely in the extreme.

It was usually irate merchants or sailors wanting to talk to him, and rarely to say anything complimentary, so he was very much enjoying the change of pace.

"Hmm. Couldn’t quite say. Maybe you could jog my memory..."

He sidled nearer, his arm wrapping around the elf’s waist, his palm enveloping her bottom.

Ava gasped, pulled against the man, his mouth grinning down at her as her breasts pressed against his chest.

"Ooooh," Ava said, nibbling at the end of her quill. "Mmm, well, if it’ll help you remember..."

Worrig’s grin widened as Ava leaned against his bulk, her breasts pressing against his thick chest.

Not even the tavern wenches, well regarded for their bustiness, could match Ava’s ample tits.

Soft, large, her hand slid into his lap and brushed against the thickness of his cock.

Worrig groaned as Ava began to stroke him through his pants.

By the gods of the sea and everything in between, she was a fucking marvel!

Her hands seemed to know just what to do to get his cock throbbing, his hips lightly bucking as she worked.

"I’ve heard orcs have trouble thinking when they’re horny," Ava said. "Is it something similar?"

"Oh aye," Worrig groaned as he worked her hand up and down his cock. "Very... ah..."

"That must be so hard for you."

"Something’s hard alright," Worrig gasped.

"Huh?"

"Said aye! It’s a trial for sure," he grunted as Ava’s hands unlaced his pants.

His chest swelled with a sudden intake of breath as his cock burst into her stroking palm, the tip captured at once by Ava’s fingers, her thumb teasing over it.

"I’m so sorry to hear that," Ava said, pouting sympathetically. "Now, about the Windjammer..."

"Hrrrrrm! Yes, it’s ah... comin’ back to me," Worrig grunted, thrusting into her stroking hand, his gut wobbling.

"Aye, yeah, now I r-remember. Bought by... by some artist. Yessss! He wanted to go... go for cruises!"

"What was his name?" Ava said, leaning in closer, her blue eyes shining, pleading. "Please, sir. Can you remember?"

Worrig knew he shouldn’t say. That it was a breach of confidentiality.

But on the other hand, Ava’s hand had just increased its pace, pumping his cock under the table as her breasts rubbed his chest.

Worrig groaned, head tilting back, voice rising high.

"L-Lorris Lyyyyyyy Lynch!"

The confession rode a wave of ecstasy, his cock pulsing in Ava’s hand, seed spurting onto the underside of the table in sharp bursts of his thick cum.

Ava drew back her hand, hastily licking the cum from her fingers even as she wrote the name in her book.

"Lorris... Lyyyyyynch. Was that with four or five y’s? You know what, I’ll figure it out. Thank you, Worrig! You’ve been a huge help."

The harbourmaster wheezed where he slumped. "A-anytime," he said.

Giggling, Ava gave him a kiss and stood up.

She folded up her notebook and tucked it away, sliding out of the booth as she made her way across the tavern, ignorant of the stares of the other patrons, the men envious, the barmaids indignant and jealous.

Outside, Ava checked the large clock at the peak of a nearby merchant warehouse.

It was getting a bit late.

Too late to find anything out about Lorris Lynch, but she certainly still had time to have some fun wandering around the waterside shops of New Larrin.

You found such interesting things when you took a look around.

With a smile, Ava started off, idly window-shopping as she went.

Treasures from across the known world and occasionally beyond ended up on the docks.

Sailors were quick to sell trinkets they’d found or taken, collecting money to spend at the taverns on ale and wenches.

Ava ooed at a cage holding a bird whose feathers changed colours as she watched.

She scrutinized strange wooden masks displayed in the window of another.

But she wasn’t sure what drew her to the little pawn shop she finally walked into.

It was one of those delightfully quirky places that tended to accrue all manner of strange and interesting items.

The door was almost been impossible to open, as the place was simply crammed with knickknacks.

The light from the window barely came through there were so many items on display.

Instruments hung from hooks.

An old steering wheel sat in one corner, a row of coloured bottles in another.

Junk, treasures, and curios haphazardly sprawled on shelves filled to bursting.

Had a tornado passed through, it could only have tidied things.

The owner was sitting in the back behind the desk.

Dressed in a tweed jacket, glasses askew, head balding, and with a thick mustache, he smiled at Ava from the other side of the counter.

"Need any help?" he asked.

"Just browsing," Ava said, flashing him a smile.

The man smiled back, and returned to his paper.

Which, Ava felt proud to observe, was the latest edition of the Morning Wood, her own story about the new trend of drinking minotaur semen to enhance virility plastered across the cover.

As she wandered among the shelves, the elf felt a tingling of pride at the thought of her work being read.

Of course, few would guess that an elf wrote the salacious stories appearing in the paper, but there was no denying their popularity.

It made Ava feel good.

But another feeling was making itself known.

It took her a minute to realize what it was.

A niggling sensation, like something was brushing the hairs on the back of her neck.

The elf shivered, rubbing her arm and looking around.

Then she saw it.

It sat on the shelf, all alone, sandwiched between an old journal and a china doll.

It was made of black stone and depicted several tentacles intertwining, winding up out of the base, wrapped around each other tightly.

Ava swallowed hard, riveted at the sight of the thing.

Something about it reverberated in her in a way that made her skin tingle with a sense of arcane purposes.

Elves were naturally attuned to magic. They lived, breathed, and often fucked in it.

But this felt different. Old.

Older than even her, and she had a couple centuries under her belt.

She picked up the sculpture, turning it over in her hands, marvelling at it.

The sense of strangeness was even stronger when she held it.

Again she shivered, a strange sense of pleasure seeping through her.

Washing over her like a wave.

Her hands stroked the stone, wondering what it was made of.

It felt smooth. Flawless. Almost... oily.

The shop owner looked up as Ava came to the counter.

He brightened on seeing the item she carried. "Ah, found that, did you? Not bad, eh?"

"Where’d it come from?" the elf asked.

The older man suddenly looked cagey, rubbing his chin.

"Hmmm... Well, that little thing was sold to me a while back. Must have been years ago. Oh yes. Many years now. Seemed a fellow was trying to pay off his debts and was looking for some quick cash. Seeing as he was so desperate, I took it off his hands."

"Where did he get it?"

The shopkeeper spread his hands with a shrug. "Couldn’t say. Couldn’t say. These things tend to show up, you know? Could be something rare. Mysterious artifacts."

"Wow," Ava breathed. "How much?" the elf asked.

The man glanced at the sculpture and worked his mouth. "Hmm... Well. Let’s see... twenty silver coins."

"Done!"

Ava slapped down the payment, exiting the shop in a flutter, clutching the sculpture to her chest.

She didn’t know what it was about the item that so fascinated her, but she intended to find out.

But, perhaps tomorrow.

Looking up into the sky, Ava saw the dirty clouds grow red and orange with evening.

Lantern lighters were already abroad and hard at work down the streets, but making haste.

Untamed jungles were safer than a New Larrin street after dark.

Yet, as Ava made her way back to her flat, she couldn’t help fondling the artifact she had bought.

Something about it just begged her to stroke it.

Rub it.

Run her thumb over it with thoughtful fascination, admiring the facets of it.

It was so simple, unadorned, and yet the feeling of wrongness that radiated from it tickled in her core delightfully.

She continued giddily admiring it, even as she reached her home, going up the stairs and into her cluttered bedroom.

She yawned, setting the sculpture down near her bed, stretching her arms over her head, her shirt riding up, exposing her toned midriff.

She undressed lazily, strangely tired.

She barely had the energy to toss off her clothes, her pale curves glowing in the lamplight below her window.

Breasts soft yet firm, hips curved in perfect counterpoint.

Ava rarely slept clothed. She usually didn’t sleep alone, either.

But it was too late to find a lover to share her bed.

Eyelids drooping, she slipped under the sheets, wriggling in pleasure as the blankets enfolded her.

She tilted her head, and found herself looking at the winding sculpture she’d bought.

Strange, she thought as her eyes slowly slid shut.

The dark almost made it look... like it was...

...moving...