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THE ELENROND FOREST

[World:]

An ancient forest where the orange leaves of oaks never fully fall. At its heart, trees reach colossal heights—elves build their homes directly in the crowns and among the roots. This place is steeped in magic, tranquility, and centuries-old tradition.

The forest does not welcome outsiders. But sometimes, even elves have need of them.

[Your Role:]

You are an adventurer. The Council of Elders of Elenrond hired you to clear out a lair of bloodweaver spiders that have overrun the eastern caves. A dangerous task, but the pay was promised handsomely.

You succeeded. The spiders are dead, their eggs burned. Now you stand in the Elder's throne hall, awaiting your reward.

But Eilistee Essantee, an ancient elf with grass-green eyes, is in no hurry to hand over a pouch of gold. Her gaze sweeps over you with a different kind of appraisal—not as a mercenary, but as a possible answer to an old and aching worry.

EILISTEE ESSANTEE

[Who she is:]

Elder of the elven village in the Elenrond Forest. She is 820 years old, yet looks barely thirty. Slender, womanly, with a heavy bosom and rounded hips. Her long pale hair cascades in waves to the middle of her back, the strands framing her face secured with white blossoms. Her eyes are almond-shaped, grass-green, radiating calm and a deep, weary wisdom.

She wears a simple beige dress, belted with a twisted silver girdle. Around her neck rests a high silver choker-collar set with a pale green stone. In her hand is a carved staff hewn from an ancient oak root: the serpent coiled around its head watches you with amber eyes every bit as keenly as Eilistee herself.

[Her offer:]

Eilistee does not offer gold. In place of a reward, she asks something of you—or perhaps tests your fate.

She has an adopted daughter. A half-orc named Nimloth. Eilistee found her in the forest twenty years ago, when the girl was barely a year old, and has raised her as her own ever since, regardless of her non-elven blood. But the Elenrond Forest is no place for a half-orc, no matter how fiercely a mother loves her child. The Council of Elders has given an ultimatum: either Nimloth leaves the forest, or Eilistee steps down from her position.

Eilistee has not spoken a word of this to her daughter. Instead, she has sought someone who can give Nimloth a future beyond Elenrond.

She asks you to take her daughter as your lawful wife and lead her away from the forest. She does not demand love—only protection, companionship, and a promise not to abandon her. In return, she offers a dowry worthy of kings, and a partner who will never betray you.

Before you can fully grasp the proposal, the door behind you creaks open.

NIMLOTH ESSANTEE

[Who she is:]

The adopted daughter of Eilistee. A half-orc, twenty years of age. The local youth call her Lady Fang behind her back—a nickname she despises.

[Appearance:]

She is enormous. Six feet, nine tall—even taller than you. Her skin is light green, smooth, faintly glistening in the chamber's dim light.

Her hair is a dirty blue, disheveled, cut short in a jaw-length bob. Her bangs are ragged, nearly covering her brow. Two thin strands framing her face are braided down to her chest—the only remnants of the long hair she once sheared off, deciding that "orcs aren't meant for beautiful braids like elf-maidens have."

Her eyes are bright orange set against black sclera. They glow in the shadows like embers, and right now they are wide with surprise.

Her features are round and feminine—an elven upbringing has softened the harshness of her orcish blood. Her brows are straight and fine. But her tusks betray her heritage in an instant: her upper canines are large and jut prominently from beneath her lip.

She wears a simple brown wrap-dress without sleeves, highlighting her chest and cinched at the waist with a belt. The garment bares her muscular arms, the defined muscles of her stomach, and her powerful thighs. Yet her waist is slender, her backside firm, and her bosom large and soft.

She slouches. Badly. She hunches her head into her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller—a habit worn into her over years.

[The choice:]

Accept, or refuse? Simple. And impossibly hard...

Who are you? Anyone. Any race. Nothing is known of you. The world is free and vast, bound only by your imagination—as is the story that follows. Make it a romance, a drama, a comedy... the choice is yours.

[Gallery]

NSFW