North-east to the unused trade route

Knowing that any option could prove dangerous, you decide to follow your past and explore the old trade route running inland. Any bandit still prowling after the armies of fiends rampaged through the area must be a fool indeed. You travel for several hours, searching the woods and fields for the path. At last you find it, marked by a completely-overgrown signpost. Once you've found it, you are able to follow the path as it delves into a dark forest. The woods are ominously quiet. You draw your blade and prepare yourself for danger.

After only a mile or so you encounter a rickety bridge high above a swiftly-flowing stream. You feel very uneasy, but you cautiously approach the bridge suspended above the rapids. It seems sturdy enough to hold you. The moment you set foot upon the bridge it begins to sway from side to side. You hurry across, rotted planks falling away and the bridge shaking terribly. Suddenly, an orc leaps out and blocks your way. He's clad in animal hides and carying two wickedly-curving blades. His grin shows jagged, tusky teeth. You turn back and see that your retreat is blocked by another orc, even larger than the first, he holds an axe and is dressed in the pelt of a white bear.

"Human woman," says the axe-wielding orc, "make good ****."

You don't hear the sound of the blade flying through the air, but as it strikes the axe-wielding orc in the throat it makes a load thump. The orc grabs his throat and pitches over the side of the ravine and into the stream's white waters. The other orc howls with rage and seeks the source of the attack. A man leaps from concealment and impales the orc on his short sword. The orc falls away with a groan, already dead.

The man offers you a hand, his face shadowed by his hooded cloak. You take it and hurry across to his side of the bridge just as a rope snaps and the bridge clatters into the stream. Your savior pulls back his hood and you see a very handsome half-elf.

Twin scars carve from forehead to chin on one side of his face, the mark of some long ago beast he battled. His hair is close-cropped and brown as sand, his skin sun-bronzed, and his eyes glittering green as they gaze into yours.

"Who are you?" you ask. "What were you doing out here?"

"My friends call me Scars," he says. "I was just looking for a beautiful girl to rescue. Seems like it was my lucky day."

"Or mine," you say, blushing a little at the man's forwardness.

"I wonder, why would a ripe peach such as yourself be traveling this dangerous road all alone?" He raises an eyebrow. "You weren't looking for some brutes to capture you and sell you into slavery, were you?"

"I have to reach the druids of the Dragon's Spine. An army of the dead marches with fiends from the beyond, threatening all of the land. I have this stone," you take it out of your backpack and show it to Scars. "I believe it is the key to defeating them."

Scars takes the stone from you and examins it. He hands it back and shrugs.

"Seems like a doorstop to me, but you seem a friendly sort and bound for action, which suits me fine. I will offer you this, my beautiful little adventuress: let me share in the riches wherever you go and I will stand by your side." He looks you up and down and winks. "I can also be of service in other ways, if my assistance is needed."

Your face goes bright red, not in anger, but at the thought of this handsome warrior ravishing you beside a campfire. Such a lurid fantasy would have been unthinkable only days ago, but now you yearn to be made a woman.

"Very well," you answer. "If you promise to be a gentleman I will share myself - ah! - share my journey with you."

Scars smiles and winks at you as you resume your journey along the path. Before long night approaches and Scars suggest you build a fire and bed down for the night. He lights some fallen timbers and cooks a rabbit he caught in the morning. You share the meat and a few tales of the countryside before retiring to your separate bedrolls.

Alas, you cannot sleep, and as you lay beside the dying fire your mind turns to fantasy. You imagine Scars, muscular and nude, felling the orcs, his cock hard as a spear. You imagine him taking you, stroking your ass as his cock slips inside of you, looking into your eyes, touching your breasts. As you think of this your hand moves unconsciously downward to the mound of your womanhood.