Wellll, today is the day I go on vacation. I'll be cut off from the internet for five whole glorious days, so there'll be no posts from me during this period (not that you'd notice from the rate I've been updating lately anyway ;P) Because I'm a whore for my character though, I'll leave a short little story I worked on for him, introducing Slake "properly".
Give it a read, if you like! You'll probably be able to see my conflicting desires to write silly porn vs character-based drama all over the place.
The
wind was frigid. It howled and whistled, and whipped ice and snow
against the traveler as he worked his way up the treacherous pass. The
way was treacherous, and he had to break his own path since few lived in
this desolate mountain range, and fewer still attempted the journey up
to the summit. But this particular traveler had come too far to be
turned back by mere weather.
A
normal man would have succumbed to the freezing temperatures long ago,
especially without numerous layers of protective gear and spells to ward
off the chill. But the Oni known as Slake climbed without the benefit of
so much as a parka. He wore only the barest of loin-cloths, one of the
few allowances he still made for his people, and didn’t seem to be
affected by the cold at all. His blue hide shrugged off the icy blasts
which assailed him, and he ignored the ice which formed on his strong
body like a second skin. He simply kept moving, one step after the
other, determined to get to his destination.
This
storm wasn’t completely natural. Slake knew that. It was the act of a
coward who feared his arrival. But he wouldn’t even let it slow him
down. He had been born out of his father’s essence merged with a river
flowing out of a frozen glacier, and it was to this environment that he
now returned, albeit as far removed from that berg as one could get. A
hundred dimensions away by now . . .
At
last he saw a distant light. It must be the temple. None of the
villagers below had willingly spoken to him of this isolated, holy
shrine--not until he’d ‘motivated’ them to do so, at least--but Slake
had known it was here. It was the point of his whole journey. He’d
tracked whispers and rumors for over fifty years, trying to pinpoint the
exact location of the place, and he’d finally found it.
It was a tiny little temple, on the coldest, loneliest mountain on this world.
And it was the place that, devils willing, could finally get him home.
*****
The
ogre tromped up to the sole doorway he saw leading inside, not
bothering to mask his presence. What would be the point? Whoever was
here already knew he was coming, and anyway, he didn’t have enough magic
stored that he could waste it unless absolutely necessary. Cut off from
his homeland, Slake couldn’t draw on the land’s powers without some
sort of conduit, which were few and far between.
So
much snow covered him that Slake resembled a white snowman more than
anything else, but that was nothing compared to the beast who answered
the door.
“Can I help you?” the shaggy thing intoned.
Slake
looked up in mild surprise. The yeti stood a good head taller than he
did, and he was no slouch himself in the size department. Covered in
thick, white fur which draped over his form, even in front of his eyes
so he looked almost like a sheepdog. The fur did nothing to disguise the
rippling cords of muscles underneath, however.
“Are you the monk who is said to dwell in this temple?” Slake asked cautiously.
“ . . . No. I am the temple’s guardian.”
“Ah. So, if I want to see the monk, I have to . . . ?”
The
yeti looked down at him disparagingly. “If your cause is just and pure,
state it and you will be allowed through. If it is not, you will have
to go through me.”
Slake grinned, and shouldered his iron club. “Through you it is, then.”
*****
Inside
the door, Slake brushed snow off himself, then tucked himself back into
his fundoshi. He hadn’t had a good fight like that in ages, but the big
yeti still hadn’t proved much challenge. And he could’ve sworn the guy
even started to moan in pleasure once he’d been forced to ride Slake’s
dick as punishment for losing. Left tied up outside in the snow and with
cum leaking out of his raped, hairy ass, the yeti wouldn’t bother him
again.
“Guess I’d better find this monk then,” Slake said, cracking his neck.
He
picked a corridor at random and started walking. The temple was bigger
than it looked from the outside. Apparently it’d been carved into the
side of the whole mountain.
Now
that the snow and ice had melted, Slake’s features were more fully
visible. The Oni was gifted with a strong, built body. Big pecs, hard
six-pack abs, and thick, brawny arms and legs. In other words, his body
was packed with muscle everywhere. And he didn’t care how exposed it was
either, as the tiger-skin fundoshi he wore left very little to the
imagination. His groin bulged with the power of his manhood in the
front, and the cloth nestled between his beefy buttocks in the back so
most of his ass-cheeks were visible.
As
for his more unusual attributes, Slake’s skin was a vibrant cobalt
blue, reflecting his otherworldly origins. Oversized fangs curled up
from his lips, and a pair of short horns sprouted from his forehead,
right at the edge of his hairline. A black and white ying-yang tattoo
was marked on his left shoulder. His eyes were a bright yellow, and
glowed whenever he called upon his power. Most who saw him at first
mistook him for a demon, and that wasn’t too far off the mark.
As
the burly ogre walked, he came across several doorways and
intersections, but saw no signs of other people. Could the place be
uninhabited? But no . . . He’d seen firelight coming from a window at
the top level. He just had to find a way to get up that high. But the
place was immense. Or rather . . . it felt immense, as the corridors and
sanctums kept folding in on each other. Just how many worlds and times
intersected in this place? Simply finding a stairway could take hours
for all he knew.
“This way,” a passing breeze whispered softly in his ear.
“Eh?!” Slake swatted at the sensation. It was like the wings of an insect, or the breath of a lover. But he touched nothing.
“This way . . . ” it said again, and blew on.
The ogre stared after it for a moment, then shrugged and followed. Why not? It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
He
followed after the mysterious voice, lead on by the occasional ghosting
of air against his hairy chest. Who knew where a breeze could be coming
from so far from the outside, or what it’s intentions could be. For all
he knew it could be leading him into a trap. But, as his heavy feet
stomped around corners and through doorways, he eventually came across a
flight of stairs. And after ascending, it was only a few more minutes
before he found another, and climbed again.
He
continued in that way for some time. The further he walked, the more
Slake began to feel he was taking a very specific route. Several times
he would travel in a needlessly convoluted way around certain rooms, or
approach intersections only from certain directions. But each time he
started to feel foolish and become certain that the breeze was leading
him in circles, another stairway would appear.
“Hey, you’re taking me to the top, right?” Slake asked it once.
“This way . . . this way . . . “ was the only answer he received.
He
shrugged again. As long as it kept going up, he had no quarrel with the
voice, whatever it was. He even bore the way it started panting the
further he climbed. Not like it was getting tired and losing its breath,
but like it was somehow getting its rocks off on him following it.
Whatever floated your boat, fuckin’ perv wind . . .
Slake
got so used to the trek, he didn’t even realize when he reached at his
destination. It looked like any other oak door from the outside. But he
could hear movement behind it, and the flickering of light underneath as
a form moved in front of the light source. There was someone inside.
The monk he’d traveled across a thousand miles and three worlds to
find?
He
considered breaking the door down with his club, but settled for loudly
beating a fist against it instead. No need to resort to violence . . .
yet.
“Who is it?” an elderly voice quavered from inside.
Feeling
just a little foolish, Slake covered it by answering in a threatening
snarl. “I’m the big, bad Oni who just trashed your guardian. I’ve come a
long way to talk to the monk who lives here. . . . so you better let me
in, or you’re gonna get it!”
He
heard footsteps on the other side of the door. “Ah, yes. Slake, wasn’t
it? I’ve been expecting you! The blizzard and guardian were little more
than a mere hindrance to you, just as I expected. Just a moment, just a
moment . . . “ The handle turned, and the portal slowly swung open on
silent hinges. Behind it stood an elderly Monkey with a circlet on his
head and holding a red staff which he used to lean upon. His limbs were
gnarled and he had long white whiskers . . . yet behind his eyes Slake
saw no hint of weakness or decrepitude belying his age. The monkey
extended an arm to welcome him and smiled. “Come in, my boy. Come in.”
“
. . . All right.” Slake did so, lumbering past the tiny old sage. The
top of the monkey’s head barely reached the first row of his defined
abs. He looked around. The room was a warm, though dusty place, with
books and tomes covering nearly every surface. A fire burned cheerfully
in a corner, and a desk covered in various artifacts stood against the
far wall. He recognized several of them--they all originated from worlds
other than this one. So the monk’s power was either real, or a clever
sham.
But first things first. “Expected me? So it was you who sent those storms . . . ”
“Oh,
yes,” the sage said, closing the door behind them. “Just as a small test, you understand. I have been
watching you for some time now.” He tutted and shook his head. ”I just
wish you hadn’t been so hard on poor Mehteh.”
“Mehteh?”
“The
yeti down below,” the sage explained. He gave a tut. “He’ll be sore for
quite some time, I expect . . . “ He bent his neck to take all of Slake
in. “In truth though, I’ve been quite entertained observing your
adventures. A very interesting life you lead, gallivanting across the
countryside, shifting between dimensions in your search, not even
noticing the destruction you carelessly wreak. You get into fights with
whomever you please, yet seek out only the strongest and most powerful
foes as being worthy of facing you.“ He raised his furry white eyebrows.
“You must have quite a chip on your shoulder, to always be trying to
prove to yourself your own strength.”
Slake crossed his brawny arms. “That’s none of your business, old man.”
“I
suppose not. But you must forgive an old monk his chatter. I get so few
visitors up here, you see.” The man puttered over to the desk, where he
retrieved a cup with steam wafting from it. It smelled of honey and
cinnamon, and had obviously been prepared in advance. “Tea?”
Slake narrowed his eyes and did not take the concoction. “Thanks, I’m good.”
The
monkey shrugged, and took a sip from it himself before setting it back
down. “Or perhaps . . . it’s your way of training yourself,” the monk
continued slowly, “Of pushing your body and skills to their limits as
best you can. Perhaps you wish to become strong enough to defeat . . . a specific person?”
The
blue ogre growled, and grabbed the slight man by the collar of his
robe. “I didn’t come here to be psycho-analyzed by an old fool!”
“Of
course not,” the sage said calmly. “You came for my power, did you not?
That is the reason most like you come, however, they all leave
disappointed.”
Slake growled, and lifted the small monkey up into the air. “And why is that!”
“Because
it is very difficult to intimidate me,” the monk told him, tail and
feet dangling, ”In order to be granted my help, you must convince me
your cause is just.”
“Oh really?” Slake let out a toothy smirk. “Difficult? I think maybe you just haven’t been intimidated properly
yet, such as by an Oni like myself . . . “ His grip shifted, and then
he was heaving his arm down, flinging the old man against his own
floorboards. “Let’s see if you’ll be more cooperative once I ‘grant’ you
a few broken bones!”
Then he blinked. His hand was empty.
A
moment later he heard the quiet tap of the sage’s staff touching the
floor behind him. “That is the trouble in talking to dimension hoppers
such as myself,” he said once Slake had whirled around. “You can be
discussing things with us one moment, the next we’re in a completely
different space. Can be quite disorienting, I understand.”
Slake
snarled. “Making a fool out of me . . . !” He charged again, arm thrown
forward in a punch to knock the old man unconscious--if he lived
through it. But his fist only hit the wall behind where the monk had
been standing, leaving a crater and a shower of stone dust. Of the
monkey, there was no sign.
An
instant later, he felt a sudden hard *crack!* against his backside,
making him grunt out in surprise. Slake turned again. The monk was now
twirling his staff over his head, that having plainly been the thing to
strike him. “It must be very frustrating for you. Especially with the
added knowledge that, in truth, I am only toying with you. If I wished
it, I could leave at any time and you could not follow.”
With a roar, Slake dove at him. “I WILL force you!”
SMACK! CRACK! WHACK!
He
received three more smotes for his trouble, all performed with the
staff, and all landing on his muscular rump while he was off-balance.
The Oni actually yelped at them, before turning around yet again. His
eyes widened. Hanging on the tip of the monkey’s staff now was his own
fundoshi.
“No,
you will not,” the monk said to him with a small chuckle, and a
meaningful look downward. Slake’s face flushed as he realized he was
completely nude now with his big, blue manhood fully displayed. He
instinctively went to cover it up--then huffed and reached around to
massage his stinging butt-cheeks instead.
“Okay, fine. So you’re pretty fast . . . for a geezer.”
“I’m glad you think so. So, now that we have that
out of the way . . . ” the monk spoke in a calm, though clipped tone as
he stepped around to his desk and sat down. The fundoshi remained on
top of his staff, where he swung it absent-mindedly, seeming to have no
intention of giving it back. Slake remained in the center of the room,
standing naked. “Perhaps we can explore other avenues of agreement,
hmm?”
“ . . . All right,” Slake replied, re-evaluating his estimation of the wizened sage. “What did you have in mind?”
The old man steepled his fingers. “Why don’t we start with exactly where you would like me to send you.”
The
question sparked an image in Slake’s mind, and for just an instant he
saw it. The land he’d come from, and dreamed of returning to. A dark
place, yes, full of cruelty and battle. The sky, the ground, and even
the oceans and rivers were tainted the red of blood. It was the only
place he understood. His spirit ached with the urge to take it, to
dominate the land and its occupants, his own brethren, his brothers and
countrymen, his fellow Oni. It was what he was meant to do. To make it
all his, to wrest control of it from its present ruler . . .
“Ah,
I see. Your homeland,” said the sage, as if Slake had told him the
answer himself. The ogre looked up in surprise. The monkey raised a hand. “Do not be startled. A little peek, that was all.”
Slake glowered at him. “Outta my head!”
“I
should have expected it when I noticed the enchantment placed on you.
You have been magically banished from there, yes? And by quite a
powerful sorcerer. Which makes it the one place you cannot go . . .
Anywhere else, your own rudimentary talents at sorcery could take
you--even if the journey is long and hard since you cannot draw on any
land’s power as well as you can the one which birthed you.”
“Can
you break my banishment? Return me to the land of the Oni?” Slake
asked. It was what he’d been attempting to do for years. To overcome the
spell which had whisked him out of that world, and into a countless
stream of other, lesser places.
The monk considered for a long moment. “ . . . Yes. That is within my power.”
Slake’s face turned up into a huge demonic smile. Yes! The moment of his return was finally at hand!
“ . .. but I will not.”
“WHAT?!”
The brutish ogre’s hands slammed down on the desk, causing everything
on it to jump into the air and land in disarray. “Why not!” he demanded.
“Because
I choose to use my gifts only for the pure of heart. And you, my large
and belligerent guest, are a beast. The very reason I assumed this life
of quiet contemplation and inner peace was solely to avoid being coerced
into serving monsters such as yourself,” the monk replied simply.
Slake
saw red. His muscles strained with the effort not to reach across the
desk and strangle the life from the wise old fool. His eyes glowed with
the power he suddenly subconsciously drew on, causing the focus of the
room to shift and warp. “You dare . . . !”
“But,” the monk held up a solitary finger. “There is one way.”
The ogre stilled, with great effort. “What,” he said testily.
“If you become . . . a hero.”
That
startled the ogre enough that he drew back. First, his look was
quizzical. Then, his mouth slipped open. A flash of sharp teeth gleamed
as he grinned. He then threw his entire head back as a hard laugh took
him, rumbling the whole room. “Me, a hero?! If you haven’t noticed, I’m
about as far from one of those as a guy can get. I think you really are
off your rocker, old man!”
The
monk shrugged. “That is my offer. You may take it or not, as you see
fit. But in all the worlds you have visited it, you must know this: I am
the only one who can grant your desire. You simply have to ask yourself
which is more important to yourself. Your vaunted life of villainy, or
returning to the place you’ve been dreaming of for the last several
centuries.”
That
quieted Slake. What the old monkey said was true. He’d been searching
for a way for so long . . . and he was growing desperate. No one else
he’d met had the power to do this. The enchantment placed on him was
simply too strong for ordinary sorcery to break.The monk’s gift must be a
billion in one odds to learn. He narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you
can really do what you claim? You might just be yanking my chain.”
The monk smiled. “One moment, and I can prove it to you beyond a shred of doubt.”
Slake
blinked his eyes, and in the moment between his eyelids falling, then
rising again, the monkey had vanished. A moment passed, then he was
there again, sitting behind the desk as if he’d never moved. He held out
a strip of tiger-skin cloth. “I trust this will remove all doubt.”
Slake
glanced at it. “But that’s just my . . . “ But no. He’d been about to
say it was his own underwear being handed back to him, but that still
lay on the tip of the sage’s red staff. This was a different fundoshi.
One from his homeland?!
He
took it in trembling hands and felt the texture. Rough and gritty, like
it hadn’t been washed in years. He took it to his nose and breathed in
deeply. This musky odor . . . Slake recognized it at once. Only one
creature could leave such a scent. A strong Oni male, in the prime of
his life as a warrior and who gave little thought to the pouch which
housed his sweaty manhood. It recalled a dozen different memories to
Slake at once, recalling his time being in charge of such men, living
and fighting with them every day, leading them howling into battle . . .
“It
comes from a sentry posted along the eastern border of the largest
kingdom in your land,” the old monkey said, smirking slightly as he
watched. “I hope it’s owner will not be teased by his fellows overmuch
for losing it. Your kind wears so little in the way of clothing.”
Slake
grunted, too overcome for the moment to speak. This was the first piece
of his homeland he’d held in centuries. It brought back everything from
those days. And along with those memories, his single-minded ambition
to return and conquer it.
He crushed the fundoshi in his fist.
That settled it, then.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
The monk raised his eyebrows. “Ohh?”
“You heard me. I’ll do what you ask. I’ll become a fucking hero.”
The
monkey tapped his long fingers on the desk. “I did not expect you to
agree so quickly . . . It’s not that simple, of course. One cannot
simply declare they are a hero, and have it be done. You must perform
heroic deeds. You must prove yourself.”
“Fine,
I’ll do whatever you want,” Slake said shortly. He would dress in a
tiger-skin mini-skirt and become a go-go dancer if that’s what it took.
“Just tell me what I have to do.”
The
monkey considered, eyeing the proud, strong, and nude Oni. “You must
defeat great evils. You must assist the downtrodden, mitigate disasters,
battle cruelty wherever you find it.”
Slake
nodded, though his head spun at the idea of doing such things. He had
no compassion for the weak, and usually he was the one perpetrating acts
of cruelty, rather than fighting against them.
“Hmmmm
. . . Ten. Ten great deeds must be done, I think. Yes. that should be
enough. Once completed, you will return here, and I will send you where
you wish. Deal?”
“Okay . . . fine,” agreed Slake. “Do I need to bring proof or shit that I’ve done them? Or are you gonna be . . . “
“Do not worry,” the monkey smiled grimly. “I will be watching.”
“Figured,” Slake grunted. “Fine.”
“Can
I ask you one question, however?” The old monkey asked him. When Slake
gave a nod, he went on. “I glimpsed it, in your thoughts . . . You want
to conquer this land you hail from, don’t you.”
Slake crossed his arms and nodded. “Yeah.”
“And the one you wish to defeat . . . and the one who banished you . . . they are one and the same.”
“. . . Yeah.”
“He is also the king of this land.”
“ . . . Yeah.”
“And he is also . . . your father.”
Slake’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Which
makes you a prince. Your reasons for wishing to beat him and take his
throne . . . is it because he is an evil and vicious king who rules
through fear . . . and you wish to shatter his dominion to usher in an
era of peace for your people?”
“Hah!
Are you kidding?” Slake chuckled darkly. “It’s because that throne
should be MINE. If anybody’s doing any oppressing, I should be the one
to be doing it. His time is done, pure and simple. And if you think his
reign is bad, just wait ‘til I get my hands on the power.”
“I see . . . “ the monkey looked downcast. “You are simply a power hungry demon.”
“Damn right I am, and don’t you forget it. The only
reason I’ll be playing hero is so I can do way worse later on. Now,
this’ll take no time at all. I’ll do these stupid deeds of yours, and be
back in a week,” he said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.
Regardless, he hefted his club and readied himself to leave. He held out
his hand for the old coot to return his fundoshi.
The
monkey did no such thing however, but simply smiled sadly. “If you say
so, though I think you may find the life of a hero quite challenging . .
. As well as change you in ways you least suspect.”
“Heh, I wouldn’t count on it.”
“We will see. Now, if you wish . . . it’s possible I can assist you in your first task.”
“Huh, how’s that?” Slake asked. “You know of a dragon in these mountains that needs bringin’ down or something?”
“Something
like that,” the monk replied, glancing up and down Slake’s defined
body. “In truth, I’ve been admiring your masculine form since opening my
door to you, and am developing quite the problem beneath these robes,
if you know what I mean. I think that perhaps . . . providing a lonely
old man some companionship for a time would count as quite the act of
heroism.”
Slake’s face fell. “Are you serious?”
The old monkey leered at him. “By the way, you can call me Wuku.”
“ . . . You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me . . . “
* * * * *
A
short while later Slake was bent over that self-same desk, muscular ass
in the air, groaning in annoyance as he was penetrated by the old
sage--who for his part was letting out high-pitched whines of pleasure.
For an old guy, this ‘Wuku’ was plenty horny. Slake had taken a lot
bigger in his time at least so it didn’t stretch anything, but to submit
to the old coot like this was still just embarrassing . . . He grit
his teeth as he received a slap on the rump while the “wise old monk”
rode him.
He’d just better keep up his end of the damn deal.
One heroic deed down, nine to fucking go . . .
---------
And there you have it! For those who made it to the end, I'd also like to announce Slake's participation in 'Damian's Tournament' held by the artist Bogrim on Furaffinity. For those not familiar with it, the Tournament is a massive event where powerful fighters clash with the outcome of the fight depending on votes. The fighter with the most votes goes on, but the loser is secretly transported to another area where he is stripped, tied up, and gagged, inside a glass case, his nude body turned into one of the Tournament "prizes".
It starts in just two weeks or so, so be sure to keep a lookout for Slake's matches! There's also still time to enter your own character, if you've got one. For more info you can read here and here, or start reading the last Tournament from the beginning.
