Hag Hunter

By Scholar of Trivia

sexual content, fantasy, humanXhag, multiple partners, harem, trap, older female/younger male, femdom, gods
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Hag Hunter
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In his throne of flames and shadows, Dispater sat. Golden scales covered his chest, and golden fur his legs. Sinister plants, interwoven with his disparate horns, formed a crown, encircling his midnight black hair.  Silver claws adorned his fingers,golden armor, or perhaps chitin, encompassed his arms, and his spine continued in a tail. Folded around him, dozen of wings, be they of bats, birds, insects or stranger things, all of the same deep purple, served as a cloak, concealing the light coming from within. All in him radiated power and danger.

The fact he had the face and the stature of a young human boy excepted.

“I'm bored.”, said Dispater, letting out a yawn that revealed several ranges of pointy teeth.  Being the God of Monsters, he was as restless and unrelenting as his followers, and thus never had taken well the periods of inactivity others seemed to enjoy.

“In the mood for a game, my Lord?”, questioned a teasing voice. The boy in his throne looked down. At the base of the pedestal he stood on, lazily slouching on an incredibly soft couch, rested Voluptas, Goddess of Pleasure and Fertility. She passed an hand in her perfectly groomed hair, her brown skin meeting her red locks, as if disinterested by the answer to her own question.

“Why not, my Lady?”, responded Dispater, his reptilian irises dilating. With a little grin on her full lips, the Goddess stood up, slowly stretching, offering the view of her body, bare safe from the ritual tattoos of her cult, to the world with a nonexistent modesty, before ascending the steps that lead to the boy's throne with what Dispater would have qualified of perfectly calculated hip sways if he didn't know it was innate of her. Arrived to his level, Voluptas bowed, locking her green eyes on his red ones while her hands reached for the throne's arm rests, towering over the juvenile-looking deity.

“The same bet as usual?”, she asked with a predatory smile.

“The same bet as usual.”, confirmed the golden God.

“Then, let's begin, shall we?”, Voluptas said, suddenly standing straight. She noted with pride how Dispater's gaze rested one moment too many on her plump curves. They snapped their fingers, and suddenly were elsewhere.

They were seated on each side of a table, which happened to be the world. Not in a physical sense perhaps, as it would have been impractical even for divinities to use a sphere this large as a furniture. But in a metaphysical, spiritual sense, the map-covered table was the world, as anything done to one would be transposed to the other.

Both players, as the game had begun, were reading, Dispater from a series of heavy, thick, leather-bound tomes,  Voluptas from sparse sheets scattered on her side of the board. “Ah!”, exclaimed Dispater, having apparently found what he searched. “The Hag Coven of Greenbath Swamp. They have threatened to curse  the village of Watermoss if the inhabitants didn't pay a monthly tribute.”

“What a coincidence!”, replied Voluptas, looking up from her sheets with a radiant smile. “ Felicia Lightningbold, renowned fighter, is currently less than half a day from Watermoss, and in need for a job.” The pattern on the table started to change, zooming form showing the whole planet to only an area of a few miles. Both Gods  placed their pieces on the board and, in perfect synchronisation, snapped their fingers.

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The adventurer waited, hidden in the bushes. Given how tall and broad she was, it offered poor camouflage. And that was before accounting for the fact she was wearing a red leather armor which helmet was adorned by a pair of golden wings. For all her numerous capacities in the art of adventuring, Felicia Lightingbold was not known for her subtlety. Yet, you didn't last one decade and a half in the business of solitary questing if you acted recklessly, and so she waited, watching the rickety hut lost in the middle of the swamp for any indication of its inhabitant's location. Felicia sighed. The fact was, most adventurers didn't last one decade and a half in the business of solitary questing because they usually had found a cute monster husband in a much shorter time and, while it didn't necesseralily signified the end of the “questing” part, it did of the “solitary” one.

It was said that, a long time ago, the monsters were savage beasts, cruel raiders or sadistic tyrants. But one day, Dispater, God of the Monsters, and Voluptas, Goddess of Pleasure, changed this fact. It was an explanation as good as another for most people as to why monsters looked like human teenagers with a few exotic features, and one that defended by the clergy of both deities, despite the famed animosity that existed between these religions. The point was, most adventuring theses days was done by women, often said to have heard a “calling”, who decided to make a name for themselves by accomplishing feats of might and overcoming challenges, with for reward glory, money and an attractive monster lover. It was well-know that the usually aloof monsters tended to fall head over heels for anyone able to best them, and thus “going on an adventure” had become synonymous with “coming back with a steady”.

This has never happened to Felicia. Oh, she had plenty of relationships, but each time, soon enough, she found something to be... lacking. Once the novelty disappeared, both she and whoever was her current boyfriend grew bored, and a prompt, if polite, breakup followed. The adventurer sighed again. It was tough to have so many different tastes no one could hope to fulfill them all.

To distract herself from thinking about her love life, she remembered her mission. She has been hired by the Mayor of Watermoss, a small town who existed nearly solely as a place for travelling merchants to stop for the night rather than spending it on the Greenwater Swamp. The village was being threatened by a mysterious entity appearing in its inhabitants' dreams, demanding a large tribute to be given unless they wanted to face its wrath. Probably a Mara or an over-ambitious Incubus. Nevertheless, this job offer promised a pretty penny to whoever resolved the situation, and Felicia Ligthningbold was determined to do so.

Just as she finished thinking that, she heard a voice coming from the east corner of the hut, reciting an incantation of which Felicia could make out the rather gloomy nature, even muffled by the walls and the distance. Unsheathing her sword, Felicia charged. It was time for action.

With a shout, she busted through the half-rotten wooden door of the hut. In one glance, her trained eyes identified the potential threats, and she elbowed the incantator before they could react before cleaving the large iron cauldron that emitted a sick green light with her sword. A victorious smile appeared on Felicia's lips. Easy job. As she turned around to face the figure she hit, her satisfaction transformed into confusion. Before her was what appeared to be  a rather unkempt young woman, petite and thin,  her green-skinned body convulsing on the floor.

“What the hell”, Felicia thought in disbelief.

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Margat Greenteeth had  many traits of the archetypal Green Hag: Ambition, ruthlessness, the power of illusion, a preference for bogs and swamps, long, wild gray hair and bright green skin and the habbit to wear a tattered dress tainted with foul water and spell ingredients even when nicer clothes where  available. However, he set himself  apart from the norms in the facts that he was bossy, short-tempered and would rather use offensive magic to tear  in his foes' flesh than subtle illusions. Watching the youthful face  of his fellow coven member, Puky Böggel the Night Hag, snore loudly, he was tempted to use the rusty knife he had in hand to eviscerate the lazy bum and be done with it. He settled for pilling blankets and pillows over the sleeping Hag until the sound, and its author, disappeared.

Silence, at last. If one didn't count the usual noises of the swamp outside, like the frogs, or the mosquitos. But for Margat, busy preparing the ingredients for the coven's next spell at the kitchen table, it was silence. At it was needed: You didn't want to experience  the backlash that happened when a spell preparation was interrupted. Throwing the roots he has been cutting into the large cauldron in the center of the room, the Green Hag started the next step.

The most powerful ability of the Hag, strangely enough, is the one to form coven. By having at least three Hags uniting their powers, forming a thick mental link, a Hag coven could accomplish feats of magic the members would individually be incapable of. And given the feats a Hag alone could accomplish, a coven was not to be taken lightly.

Today, Margat was the one in charge of mixing the brew that will serve as focus for the coven's spellcraft. Slowly pouring his magical energy into each ingredient, the Hag cackled: This brew was going to add quite a bit of credibility of the threat they made to the village of Watermoss. He looked at the muddy, unkempt hut the coven was currently occupying. Yes, life was going to be sweet once they get the tributes flowing.

But now was not the moment for idle thoughts. It was an important step of the recipe, and Margat really needed to not blow it. He approached the cauldron, raised his hands and started to sing, in a happy tone he certainly was not feeling:

There is blood in my cauldron;
In my cauldron there is blood.
Of human or of dragon?
Whatever lighten the mood!
Hahaha! Hahaha!

Margat felt his magic being drained, and soon the preparation began to glow with an intense green light. Good. Now, all what Margat had to do was to keep the fire under the brew alight until...

This train of thought was interrupted by a loud battle cry, followed by an armored figure busting through the door, elbowing Margat in the face and slashing the cauldron in two with one mighty sword strike.

“Oh shit.”, thought Margat the instant before the magical backlash started electrocuting his mind.