ACR - Ch8

“I want you to tell me what that was all about,” Felife said. “Then we can talk about the flock.”

“Felife,” Itria mumbled, poking the smaller birdgirl in the side.

The two had a rather obvious knight and princess relationship—Felife was the knight, and Itria the princess. Lyle wondered if there was something behind that.

The Vierfach dozed on the floor by Lyle’s feet, occasionally letting out murmurs or poking their tired faces up to see if talking had finished. Not that they were actually tired, but nothing caught their interest. So they slept, like dogs.

The rest of them sat around the table in Itria’s main room. Lyle had taken care to clean it down, given what had happened on top of it earlier. The basket of eggs sat to one side, and Itria beamed at them from time to time.

Small wooden cups sat in front of each of them, containing a selection of leaves and flowers in steaming water. The color was pale green, with hints of red leeching into the water from the flowers. Lyle had been right to assume the birdgirls drank herbal tea.

Every mouthful carried a heavy dose of corruption with it, giving the brew an undercurrent of sticky sweetness that clung to his mouth and throat. Otherwise, it had a bitter earthiness. Far from a favorite beverage, but it might be nice with a touch of liquor, he supposed.

Also, he’d be driven insane if he wasn’t immune to the corruption. Part of him wondered if the tea was another test, but neither birdgirl watched him drink.

After taking a long sip, he answered Felife’s question, “Laying eggs induces arousal and pleasure in birdgirls. This is for physiological reasons, and just because of the corruption. Arousal creates lubricant. The muscles also relax during what should be a very painful experience—I’m certain that change is due to the corruption. While women can bear larger objects than eggs from their wombs, the process is the exact opposite of pleasurable.”

Itria and Felife stared at Lyle.

“What,” Felife said flatly. Itria nodded enthusiastically in agreement with her protector’s sentiment.

“Too much?” Lyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You went from ‘threatening warrior with gigantic dick’ to ‘expert on birdgirl laying’ in about five seconds,” Felife replied. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Why do you know this?”

“Part of my role on the other side of the Wall of the Damned was to learn about the effects of corruption. That includes birdgirls, who are common everywhere,” he said. “I’ve had various reasons to help birdgirls lay eggs and was taught by somebody with a lot of direct experience.”

“The other side of the wall sounds like a fascinating place,” Felife said.

“Wall of the Damned?” Itria mumbled.

“That’s what it’s called these days,” he said.

“These days,” Felife repeated, narrowing her eyes. “I can’t pick your age, and you seem to be immune to corruption. What are you?”

“Human.”

“So am I,” she said.

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows shooting up.

“That’s… no, not that way.” She shook her head, bunny ears flopping around. “I was born as a birdgirl. But my mother was a human, once. She fled Ghraive long ago. But the place you’re talking about sounds drastically different to the one she described.”

Curious. Lyle wondered if this had any connection to Felife’s eloquence? Although getting corrupted in the wilds should have the opposite effect, given how strong the Blight was out here.

And that didn’t explain Itria, either.

“I’m assuming she’s passed on, given how you’re talking about her,” he said.

“We can’t all live forever. Or can we?” Felife stared him down.

“I assume she spoke of the Priestess?” Lyle replied, draining his tea.

“Everybody knows about her,” she said. “But little other than her name. You’re not going to say you’re two centuries old as well?”

“No, and I suspect your mother comes from a Ghraive I’ve never seen,” he said. “I’m older than I care to remember. I’ve seen Ghraive change, but it’s not so different that I can’t recognize it.”

“Well, I guess that means you’re not a hundred years old then,” Felife muttered.

“We’ve changed topics,” Lyle pointed out.

Itria frowned and looked at Felife. She was ignored.

“True. My apologies,” Felife said. “So, you know how to help us lay eggs. And the best way to do that is overwhelming pleasure?”

“Yes. It prevents the birdgirl from focusing on the process of egg-laying or the pain. Once they’re experienced, they usually don’t need help, save for certain weekly-laying breeds. But until that point, that process is the best to help someone get passed their… performance anxiety.”

“And why did you take off your crotch plate? I’m assuming that wasn’t for the aftermath.”

“It’s the alternative method. The idea is to the keep the birdgirl focused on something else,” Lyle said drily. He smirked. “I’m sure you can guess a good use of a man’s cock to distract a birdgirl.”

Felife’s and Itria’s faces flushed. Beneath him, the Vierfach sprung to life at the mention of their favorite object. Their faces propped up on his thighs, and they pawed at him.

“Down,” he said to them. “I already said to wait until we get home.”

“Fine,” they whined, glaring at him sullenly as they returned to laying on the floorboards.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Felife said.

“I’m sure you have something around to shove in her ass,” Lyle said.

Itria’s eyes bulged. “No!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Felife said.

Lyle took the opportunity to refill his tea while Itria fumed at her friend.

The kitchen had very little in it. Heating was done using a fire with a magic circle, as at the communal café from earlier. A small icebox sat in one corner, also inscribed with magical symbols. The symbols were familiar to him, more so than most. He found that curious, but decided to bury it in the back of his mind.

He grabbed some herbs from a jar and filled his cup from the pot of water on the fire. Then he returned to the table.

“Tell me about your problems flocking,” he said, returning to his original topic.

Felife and Itria grimaced.

“It’s not that we don’t want to flock,” Itria said. “It’s that we can’t.”

“I figured. Birdgirls don’t usually share their humans with strangers. I’m asking why,” he pressed.

Itria opened her mouth to answer, then hesitated.

Felife gave the answer instead, “There’s a dangerous catgirl who claims territory along the entire eastern stretch of the forest. Although even she steers clear of the tower in the chasm.”

“A catgirl? You’re saying that a single catgirl can stop an entire forest full of birdgirls from forming a flock?” Lyle refused to laugh, as he suspected there was more to the story.

“She’s not a normal catgirl. We deal with those all the time. She’s far more powerful than any of us. Her attacks utilize pure corruption. She’s extremely fast—I’ve wondered if she can’t teleport—and can take down a hunting party within seconds,” Felife explained, expression dark.

“Pink or purple hair?” Lyle asked.

Itria and Felife blinked.

“Yes,” Itria said, nodding and shaking her breasts with the movement. “You know what she is?”

“A Blight Cat, probably. They can teleport short distances and they have an innate form of corruption magic that enhances their physical abilities,” Lyle said. He grimaced. “They’re not Blight heralds, but I’ve only ever seen them working with one.”

Felife scowled. “So she’s connected to the tower, and the rumors about a baphomet there are true.”

“Maybe,” Lyle said. “If she’s claiming territory, does that mean she stops you from flocking?”

“Yes,” Itria said, taking over. “When too many of us are together, she’ll drive us apart. Our communal area is as small as it is because she attacks if we try to expand it. If we collect more men, she steals them.”

“She doesn’t kill many of us,” Felife added. “Whenever she attacks, it’s to wound or scare us. Only if we hunt her, does she strike back with force. She’s claimed this territory but doesn’t want to kill us all.”

Or to face literally every birdgirl in the forest, if they thought they were in existential danger. A single hunting party is one thing, but even a Blight herald would struggle to fight off a hundred or more birdgirls at once.

“This is why we don’t have much to offer you right now,” Itria said quietly. “Our food stores are low by necessity.”

“She steals those, too?” Lyle asked, surprised.

The birdgirls nodded in response.

What a pain.

“We can’t collect the humans or build a nursery to lay eggs in sufficient quantities. Most of us lay eggs once every two or three weeks. Otherwise, we rely on hunting and foraging,” Felife said. “But you could change that. And if you do—”

Lyle cut her off, “I’m not fighting a Blight Cat unless I literally have no other choice.”

“That’s the limit of your strength, is it?” Felife spat.

He rolled his eyes. “It has nothing to do with strength. If she’s connected to a baphomet, then defeating the cat means antagonizing a blight herald. My purpose here is to live peacefully, or close enough. Fighting two powerful monstergirls within months of arriving is the opposite of my intentions.”

Not that victory was assured. A Blight Cat was a dangerous opponent. Normally, he’d confident in his victory.

But every monstergirl in the wilds was more powerful than they had any right to be. Many of his spells might slide right off the catgirl.

Perhaps he could convince the Royal Army to deploy and help him deal with the Blight herald and her guardian. The baphomet was close enough to the wall to concern them. But that was a drastic move, and one he’d prefer to hold off on.

“Can’t you relocate?” Lyle asked.

“And go where? Harpies to the south, the cat’s to the east, wolves to the west, and the north already has multiple flocks.” Felife shook her head.

“This is our home,” Itria said softly. “I refuse to leave this forest.”

Felife looked away, her expression pained. For how stony she had been when Lyle first met her, Itria brought out a lot from the petite birdgirl.

This trip was turning out to be a waste of time and effort. Lyle didn’t care about whatever feelings the birdgirls had toward this land. He came here to secure his own food supply, given he lacked the ability to produce much more than simple grains for the moment.

At the moment, he wasn’t sure that the Itria and her not-flock could provide that. And if they wouldn’t relocate, he doubted they were a viable path.

“If that’s the case, I don’t think there’s anything more to discuss,” Lyle said, standing.

Itria blinked up at him. “Wait!”

“For what? I already told you that I won’t fight the Blight Cat.”

“But you have somewhere safe for us to lay, right? Out of her reach?” she said, speaking quickly.

Lyle frowned. He sat back down. “If you’re proposing what I think you are—”

“She’s not,” Felife said, and gave Itria a sharp look.

“I am,” Itria confirmed. “Our greatest problem is that we cannot build a nursery or breeding hall.”

“You’re not building a breeding hall anywhere near me,” Lyle said coldly.

“You seemed willing earlier,” Itria teased, her eyes glowing with excitement as she rubbed her belly. “But no, I’m not interested in somewhere to keep males. Only somewhere for us to safely lay eggs and raise any potential young. You want food, and nurseries produce a lot of it. Can’t we make an arrangement that suits both of us? Especially given your… talents?”

Her eyes lowered to his crotch, even though it was hidden by the table.

“Itria,” Felife protested.

“I’m listening,” Lyle said, before Itria could be convinced otherwise. “But I think we should discuss some of the finer details.”

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Commentary: The Blight Cat was originally MGE's Cheshire Cat, but I don't want to borrow that heavily from MGE for my own setting now that this is a proper thing and all.