Monster Breeder

27. Twisted Treefolk Part 1

The three of us follow Dura’s trail of destruction and my nose. The Dire Wolf’s trail mysteriously happens to run in the same direction.

Every few steps, another panicked Fuzzy, bunny, or mouse scampers around us, between us, or through our legs. Then the Fuzzy-type monsters start pouring in from the sides, and I know what’s going on. The Goblinoid forces are spreading out in a ‘net’ to scare up the Fuzzies. Once inside the ‘net,’ the Fuzzies will run into Goblinoids on the opposite side.

It’s an effective strategy for catching large numbers of prey. We were right to be worried; a few days of this might decimate the Fuzzy population.

Then I see her, a grey wolf as tall as a horse, darting around the field. The Dire Wolf girl from my first day as a Tamer.

At first, I assume she’s being controlled like the Goblinoids until I realize she’s fighting them. A half dozen Goblins rush her, claws extended and teeth gnashing. I thought I’d seen her move before, but not like this. She must’ve activated her Dire Wolf Rush, because she blurs across the line of Goblins in a moment. Blood spurts from the fodder as she tears through them.

Then she’s off to the next group of enemies.

“Maybe she’s on our side?” I suggest. “Let’s go after her.”

“We can’t have her slaughtering our clansmen, anyway. They’re too inebriated in this state to know when to retreat. It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Gabby smart. No like stink wolf, but if Gabby think Alex-plan work, Dura follo’.”

The three of us advance in pursuit. Not a minute later, a group of Goblins spot us and charge. I’m not concerned because there’s only three.

I flip my spear to jab with the butt, knocking the wind from my Goblin with a hit to the solar plexus. While he’s dazed, I swing the spear to smack him in the neck, causing him to pass out. Fuck yeah, I beat a Goblin in two hits!

Of course, Dura to my left fells her opponent in a single blow to the temple with the handle of her club. “Nighty-night.”

I turn to check on Gabby. I’ll admit, I expected my little green wife to be on an even footing with a fellow Goblin. I shouldn’t have doubted her experience and the difference in tiers between them.

My gaze lands on Gabby administering a sleeper hold to a crazed Goblin woman who falls unconscious in seconds. She sees my surprise and raises an eyebrow.

“You remember I have Fast Learner too, right? I’ve lived with enough Goblins to know how they move and where their weak points are. Even two on one, they can’t touch me.”

“Oh, uh, right! Never a doubt!” My own feat seems a lot less impressive…

Another few steps in the Dire Wolf’s direction, and Gabby calls a halt. I spot a strange purple smear on the ground before us and quirk my head in curiosity. My Goblin wife plucks what looks like a twig from the sludge and holds it up for inspection while adjusting her spectacles.

“Apple core.”

She’s right. That means the nasty smudge is… “Rotten apple?”

Our Orcess warrior crouches and sniffs the spot. “Dura smell booze.”

I lean in to catch a whiff, and yep, it reeks of fermentation. Gabby proceeds to lick the apple core, making me gag in sympathy.

“It’s poisonous as well.” I blink in shock, worried for her. She sees my distress and continues. “Goblin Gut; it won’t affect me. Indeed, eating these apples would be deadly for a non-Goblinoid. We, on the other hand, simply get drunk… though there may be a secondary effect that opens the victim’s mind to suggestion. Yes, this is our culprit.”

This just confirms Gabby’s earlier deduction, but it’s good to fit the pieces into place.

Guttural cries interrupt us as four drunken, maddened Hobgoblins charge our position. They’re supposedly the weakest second-tier Goblin evolution; even I know that. I’ve seen a few in town, but my understanding is that domestic monster training pushes the majority of Goblin kids into becoming Orcs. (I’m pretty sure physical-oriented Goblin evolutions have competitive, sport-like requirements.) Hobs are elevated, yes; physically mature, sure; but they’re essentially underachievers.

Our attackers are four and a half feet tall, grey-skinned, with Goblinoid features: pointed ears, sharp teeth, and claw-like nails. They’re swinging small wooden clubs; mere twigs next to Dura’s weapon.

I grab one’s attention with a spear-butt jab to the gut. I’m taller and wielding a spear, so I have the reach advantage. It’s an edge I intend to capitalize on.

Dura claims two of the Hobs as her opponents. They could hardly hurt her with direct hits, and their booze-addled minds can’t keep up with her battle-hardened footwork. She makes subduing two at once seem easy by grabbing each on the neck and slamming their heads together with a ‘thunk.’

Meanwhile, Gabby is a bit more cautious of her target. She doesn’t have the tier-advantage, but she’s an intelligent fighter facing a drunken buffoon of a Hob. My wife focuses on dodging and observing until she can safely close in for another sleeper hold.

It takes me three times as many hits to dismantle my attacker compared to the earlier Goblin. My Hob at least knows to get his club in the way of my spear, blocking several swings, and he’s significantly more durable than a first-tier monster. Still, I don’t need magic to finish things.

The three of us leave the group of Hobs unconscious in a heap.

*Hobbled the Hobgoblin – One Goblinoid Mark!*

I’ve got three Goblinoid Marks to play with…

Before I can browse through my tummy tattoo menus, we arrive. The Dire Wolf we’ve been chasing is up against eight Orcs, and she’s losing. Even drunken idiots can figure out they need to surround an agile opponent to catch her. Whenever the Dire Wolf goes in for a bite, the target’s neighbor takes a swing at her, and she’s forced to retreat. The encirclement is slowly closing in as we watch.

The Orcs are as I remembered them, tall, bulky with muscle, square-jawed, and large-tusked, with piggish ears. Some have porcine snouts, while others only have slightly inhuman noses like Dura. They wear loincloths and not much else besides the clubs they carry.

I explain my plan, “We just have to distract a few, then she can escape. Once we’ve subdued the others with hit-and-run tactics, I’ll attempt a parley.”

“If she keeps killing Gobbos after that, we need to deal with her before the Treefolk,” Gabby replies. I nod.

“Dura knock heads.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

For a moment, I question our good sense. Eight is a lot of Orcs.

“Alex, get their attention.”

If the little shortstack next to me is confident, how can I quail? Wolf Rush! I dart forward, spear blade extended, and rake a red line across four backs.

The damage is insignificant to the seven-foot-tall, heavily muscled Orcs, but they all yell out in pain and turn to face me. I retreat toward my comrades with some trepidation. While I could outrun the brutes in a pinch, I doubt my companions have the same speed and stamina, and I’m not leaving them behind.

“Hold your breaths!” Gabby intercepts the charging Orcs as I leapfrog over her head. She grabs a fistful of something powdery from a pouch and takes a stand. Covering her eyes with a sleeve at the last moment, she flings the payload in a wide arc. “Pepper Spray!”

The spicy barrage hits the four Orcs directly in their bloodshot eyes and open mouths. They fall to their knees coughing, sneezing, hacking, and vomiting on themselves. Dura steps around her broodsister to deliver a blunt coup de grace to an Orcish temple.

Then I’m off, speeding for the other melee. Now the Dire Wolf is circling the remaining four Orcs, nipping at their heels, searching for a weak spot. I lunge for the closest Orc with my spear butt and shout, “Don’t kill them! Subdue!”

Wolf Rush!

Kidney shot, followed by a sweeping strike to the thigh. My target cries in pain but doesn’t fall. I learned from Dura that Orcs are much tougher than Hobs.

The Dire Wolf springs at the distracted Orc’s other leg with shocking speed. Teeth on calves tug the Orc off-balance, sending him tumbling to the ground. I follow up with a crushing overhead blow to the fallen Orc’s face. I try to avoid a strike that might force bone shards into the poor bloke’s brain, but this is ultimately a life-or-death struggle and I need him to stay down.

Nice, wolf girl is at least somewhat listening to me!

Before the other Orcs can round on me, I use Earth Magic to make the lead brute stumble and trip the ones behind him. The Dire Wolf takes this as an opportunity to snatch an Orc away from his allies, bash him on the ground, and choke him unconscious with a paw to the throat.

…Hot? Wow, I may need to question my personal kinks.

Two Orcs regain their footing and charge me. I lead them on a merry chase, skipping backward, turning on my heels, and Wolf Rushing away.

Dura’s Orcish opponents are back on their feet (still sneezing) at three left, then fighting through teary eyes when they’re down to two. My Orcess ally can’t so easily brain them at that point; she has to evade two club swipes at a time while sneaking glancing blows past their guards.

I drag the two Orcs chasing me towards Dura’s two, then bob and weave between her opponents in an attempt to crash the groups together. Even activating Wolf Rush, it’s a tight squeeze through the thick of flying limbs and clubs. Something hits my head, and I take a tumble.

Reorienting myself from where I’ve fallen prone, I find my plan basically worked. My drunken pursuers barreled into their comrades without a thought in a tangle of Orcish bodies. Dura and the Dire Wolf are able to non-lethally dispatch our foes without taking further damage because of my moronic move.

“Reckless idiot,” Gabby scolds me with concern in her voice. Then she pats her pockets with a displeased frown. “I’ve only got one Pepper Spray left to cover your next ridiculous stunt.”

“It… worked… didn’t it?” *Huff, puff,* “Whew, that was close.” I clutch my head. It aches a bit after that blow, but my crab armor protected me from the worst. Doing so many Wolf Rushes in close succession also drained my stamina. I need a minute to recover before I can stand without throwing up.

“Dura smash?”

My Orcess lover and the Dire Wolf are eyeing each other in a standoff while growling, hackles and club raised high. I plant my spear in the ground and raise my empty hands in peace as I come between the two mortal enemies.

“We have a common foe!”

“Alex is right, Dura. The Treefolk comes first.” Gabby stands at Dura’s side with her claws bared, but advocates for me.

After a tense few seconds of staring at the snarling horse-sized wolf, she transforms. Wolf girl is as I remember her: curly grey hair, perky wolf ears, sharp canines, grey furry forearms and legs to the knee like socks and gloves, and a fluffy tail.

“So, you’re really not with the tree bastard?” she asks, not seeming to expect an answer. Her voice is a husky feminine alto. She’s standing there nude in a fighting pose, not willing to lower her guard yet. She sniffs the air. “You’ve got a human. A woman… and she smells familiar…”

“Alex is my wife!” The green shortstack takes a fearless step forward in challenge.

“Stinking wolf heard Gabby,” Dura seconds her broodsister’s claim.

The wolf girl snorts at them derisively. I remove my crab armor helmet and meet her eyes. She points at me, claw trembling with rage.

“It’s you! The human I captured who… anyway, I’ve been sniffing for you all over! I’m taking you back to the Wolf Lord to regain my honor.”

“Yeah, actually,” I begin, speaking before Gabby can argue, “I wanted to apologize for embarrassing you before but never got the chance.”

“Embarr’s?” Dura looks at me quizzically.

“Oh, um, she was supposed to dominate me in front of the Wolf Lord, but I accidentally made her cum so hard she fell on her ass, and everyone laughed. I still feel really bad about it…”

“SHUT UP!” Wolf girl shouts at me. “I’m going to fuck you so hard when we get back to Kennel Hills, you’ll be screaming my name to the whole pack!”

“And… what’s your name?” I ask, all innocent curiosity.

Her face turns red with fury and mortification. “I-It’s Suka! Remember it!”

“I like your name. It’s almost as pretty as you.” I’m not lying, Suka is 100% in my strike zone. Fit with womanly hips. Her breasts are slender, though not small; enough to spill over my hands if I were to cup them. Suka’s nethers are shrouded with grey hair, obscuring her sex like a tantalizing curtain.

“Eh!?!” Suka takes an involuntary step back, unable to reconcile my compliment with how she’s supposed to act around prey. “A-anyway, I’m taking you with me!” She regains her momentum mid-sentence.

“Over my dead body,” Gabby says, growling, though she looks like a small dog trying to intimidate a wolf. I’m always surprised by her self-confidence.

I lay my hand on my wife’s shoulder, “Let me fight for myself this time.”

Gabby reluctantly nods, recalling this is the actual purpose I set out for this morning.

“Fine, then. One-on-one, the winner makes the loser her bitch.”

“Great!” I couldn’t have picked better conditions myself. I want nothing more than a chance to Tame her without interference. Having Gabby and Dura assist me would muddy the waters, diluting the impact of a victory. Ambiguity can only hurt a monster/human relationship.

“G-great?” Suka blinks, confused. Her assurance is a bit shaken by my undaunted demeanor.

“After we deal with the Treefolk.” That puts things back on track.

“Right.” Suka is all business, now. “After somehow getting control of a bunch of stupid Orcs and Goblins, it and its Pitcher partner started decimating the local prey population. Kennel Hills is going to starve this winter unless we do something.”

“Why didn’t you gather your pack?” Gabby questions. I have to admit the Wolf Lord would make short work of the problem. I know how scary third-tiers are after seeing the Harpy Matron that one time.

The Dire Wolf girl tsks. “If I did that, even more Orcs would be ensorcelled by the time I returned, and more Fuzzies would be dead. The Wolf Lord would massacre them all with the Goblinoids acting even stupider than normal. Then it’d be war.”

Gabby nods, and picks up the thread, “With our forces weakened, the Ogre Fen would have no choice but to strike immediately, or else risk getting whittled down and wiped out later.”

“We’d win,” Suka says with confidence, “But it wouldn’t be worth the cost.”

As strange as it was to say, both sides preferred the occasional raid and skirmish instead of all-out war. Victory would cripple the winner and open them to the risk of Incursion from a foreign monster camp. Even Orcs and Ogres could intuitively grasp this.

“Hmph. Dura fight tree now. Club stink’n wolves later.”

“It’s settled, then.”