Razi’s Tale

With a jubilant howl, Razi spins the mighty pole-axe around her head, slicing two of the braying Beastmen clean in half.

She dances over the dusty ground on bare feet - the only way to experience a new land, no matter how insistent Lavorra and Melira always are that she put some damned boots on!

She laughs, bringing the haft of the axe back around to slam into a third Beast’s gut, sending the creature reeling.

The herd backs up momentarily, bestial eyes watching her warily. They chuff and knock the ground with hooved feet, their broad, muscular chests more human-like, glistening with sweat and reeking of musk. Razi wipes a bead of sweat from her own honey-coloured brow, bright almond eyes tracking them as they move to surround her. She cannot help but admire their savagery, and their powerful musculature, and notices with a smirk that several of them have stiff, angry erections fighting to be free of their loin-cloths.

She spins the axe again, settling it into the crook of her elbow, as she traces a half-circle with her toe. “Like what you see?” She calls mockingly, “Quite a bit better than the nags you’re used to, eh?”

With a great bellow, the Beastmen begin to part. Thunderous hooves shake the ground, as their leader approaches, standing head and shoulders above the herd, and dwarfing Razi’s lithe, athletic form. Perfect. The plan worked, and the Herd-Lord has been drawn out.

She has to admit though, taking a step or two back, that the beast is bigger, and tougher-looking than she’d expected. She hefts the pole-axe, looking over his built form, the snorting bull’s head atop his muscular, powerful shoulders.

Might have to find another way around this…

“I’m not here to bargain or make deals.” She calls to the herd at large. “Your mob needs to move on. The people here don’t want you, and frankly I don’t either. You stink, for one thing. You and me, big fella. We fight, and when I beat you, you move along - simple rules.”

Their chorus of braying laughter makes her frown, adjusting her stance defensively. But the Herd-Lord holds up a fist for silence, and they obey. He regards Razi appraisingly, but she gets the impression that it’s not her light, toned muscles and battle-scars he’s interested in.

She can feel him drinking in her smooth skin, vast swathes of it bare in her simple leathers and furs; her thick, powerful thighs and athletic, tight rump, her ample, mid-sized cleavage. She doesn’t hate it, she has to admit, finding herself wondering what kind of monster is hidden within his loin-cloth.

The beast speaks in broken common, moving forward to tower over her. Razi may be small for one of her tribe, but she’s still of average height. The Herd-Lord must be at least six-foot-four. “No challenge. You not beat me. Not with stick.” With a powerful chop, the side of his palm crashes down on the shaft of the axe, splitting it clean in two.

She looks at him, wide-eyed for a moment, drinking in the impossibly powerful musk that radiates from him. It is overpowering, and she feels a mix of battle-adrenaline and lust creeping over her.

“I liked that axe.” Razi frowns up at him. “That was a good axe. Fine. A different challenge. One of stamina.”

Here goes nothing.