Rithwraith
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Greetings one and all. This story will appeal more to those who’ve played Neverwinter Nights (and later on also to those who’ve played Baldur’s Gate), though you by no means have to be familiar with the games to understand the story. A quick search for ‘Aribeth’ on deviantart shall reveal the woman in question for those that don’t know. For the record, this story is set a little way before the first game.
For disclaimer purposes, the character Aribeth de Tylmerande is the property of Bioware, I believe. Sarir is a character of my own design.
Tickling Tales of the Sword Coast (Title may change soon.)
By Richard Paul
Chapter 1: The Price of Failure.
Despite the significance of her first mission on her own, or perhaps because of that fact, the sun seemed to be shining all the brighter on the outskirts of Neverwinter wood. Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande, newly appointed to the Neverwinter nine, stood before the inviting woodland and found herself having to resist the urge to smile. This was a truly a great day for her, thanks to Tyr. At last she was being given a chance to demonstrate her full potential, not just perform simple errands with five other knights peering over her shoulder to make sure she was holding her sword the right way round.
Truth be told though, this mission was still rather simplistic: Apprehend a ranger by the name of Sarir Redrillo, who had turned to banditry. He wasn’t overly nefarious as bandits went, according to the reports at least. Though his victims had remained insufferably tight lipped about their encounter with the villain they had at least emerged from the woods with their lives, if not with their coin pouches, pendants, rings and, in two peculiar instances, their shoes.
Aribeth could only assume that those victims had been wearing some manner of magically enhanced footwear. Boots of fortitude perhaps, or speed? Who could say? Nevertheless it was strange indeed to hear of bandits pilfering boots.
Taking one last look at the sun drenched canopy of the forest, she breathed in one more breath of fresh air and moved into the shadowy forest. She too had been a ranger, long ago, before events had conspired to guide her towards the service of the Just God. As the prelate had commanded she had tried to push as much of that life away so as to focus her mind and being onto her new role as a Paladin of Tyr, but the skills she had developed as a Ranger she knew might one day help her serve her God, and so she had remembered as much as she could. Now at last, that foresight would serve her well.
She walked as quietly as she could along the leaf-coated ground. It was not easy to be stealthy in chain mail, but her footfalls remained quiet. Her path ran parallel to the main road through the wood. She did not want to risk being seen too close to the road, either by her target or by any other aggressive forest beats that she may have to deal with. All the while her keen Elvan eyes scanned the ground for any tracks or disturbances that might point her in the right direction.
After almost an hour of methodically trudging through the dirt, a promising find finally showed itself. A well concealed trail led away from the path in a definite line. The tracks were well covered, someone untrained in the ways of the wild could easily have overlooked them, but here and there was just the right dent in the soil or bend in the leaves to tell her that someone had walked this way from the road. Nearby there were more concealed tracks that suggested a short lived chase had occurred. This was definitely worth investigating.
Drawing her bastard sword, Aribeth began to slowly follow the trail she had discovered. For two hours she walked, the trail enduring despite the efforts of the stealthy creature that had made them and the obscuring wind. Finally, Aribeth caught sight of a humble wooden cabin in the distance. This had to be a bandit hideout, and judging by the thin trail of smoke emanating from behind the dwelling, she had caught the occupant at home.
She doubted she could sneak up on a ranger dressed as she was, particularly an Elf. She’d have to charge him. But then she wasn’t entirely certain if this was the bandit in question. Nevertheless, she wasn’t tasked with killing him, so if it turned out she had taken a wrong turn she would apologise and be on her way.
A slight pain forced Aribeth’s neck to twitch as she planned her approach. Reaching up with one hand, she was shocked to discover a small dart had pricked the skin of her exposed neck. The wound was nothing serious, but even as she studied the offending weapon in her hand she quickly began to feel more and more drowsy. Looking upwards for the source of the projectile, she had just enough time to register the form of a grinning Elvan male perched in the branch of a nearby tree, before she collapsed onto the ground.
An Hour Later
Aribeth awoke with a start as some pungent smelling salts were waved under her nose. For a few moments she just shivered and mumbled incoherently, then she remembered her few waking moments and focus returned to her with an unpleasant abruptness.
She tried to sit up, only to find her efforts hindered by a length of rope tied around her wrists and keeping them fastened above her head to a support on the roof of what had to be the cabin she’d been sneaking up on. Another thing keeping her in place was a heavy set of wooden stocks around her ankles.
It was then that she realised her armour was gone, she had been stripped down to her underwear. A flush of embarrassment and outrage, closely followed by worry, passed through her at the prospect of being laid out bound and half naked for the amusement of a common thug.
At least she still had her underwear, for the moment. But By Tyr, what had she gotten herself into?
“Good evening.” Said a voice from behind her, making Aribeth jump. Resisting the urge to try and look over her shoulder, she simply clamped her jaw shut and stared forward at the door. It was only two meters away and yet there was no way she could reach it.
“Ah, now this is different.” The man behind her said, “Normally when I bring a shapely young woman to my secluded retreat I’m bombarded with the same lines over and over again ‘Where am I?’ ‘Who are you?’ ‘Release me!’ ‘Put that down.’ It gets a bit much sometimes.”
That last example was more then a little concerning. From what she could see, Aribeth noted no branding irons, hooks or any nefarious torture devices. That wasn’t to say they weren’t there though. By Tyr, what a mess she had made of her mission.
She braced herself as best as she could for the worst.
“But enough about me my dear,” he said, “who, if I may ask, are you?” She kept her mouth closed.
“Oh come now, you sneak up to my property, sword in hand and almost certainly seeking my death, I’d say you owe me some kind of explination.”
“I owe you nothing cur!” She spat out despite herself, “I am but one of those who will ultimately bring you to justice. I may have failed, but others will not.”
A loud chuckle echoed through the room.
“The Tyrists are coming after me?! A harmless rogue in the woods? How sad. Still, such is life. But enough of that.” The speaker moved himself into Aribeth’s field of vision. He was an elf with auburn hair stretching down past his shoulders. Just as the accounts had described her target.
“But anyway, as I’m sure you know, I am one Sarir Redrillo. Now you really must introduce yourself good lady, tis only polite.”
“Don’t think you can deceive me with your false platitudes!” She spat, “I know your kind well enough.”
“Nonsense.” He said, then with a sigh he moved behind Aribeth, “Well, I’d hoped your name at least you’d be willing to volunteer, but it seems I’ll have to pry even that out of you.”
With no warning, Sarir dug his fingers into Aribeth’s exposed ribs and with a practiced ruthlessness he began tickling her hips. The reaction was more instant then he would have thought possible, the surprise of what was happening didn’t give his prey the opportunity to clench her mouth shut or try and brace herself, and a stream of delicious laughter began to resound throughout the room.
After a few minutes he stopped, letting Aribeth draw in a few rushed breaths. It took her a few moments to truly grasp what had just happened. More then once when she was training at the Hall of Justice she’d had a class mate draw a quill over her abnormally ticklish ears in the library. Then sometimes a female cadet in the dorm room would sit on her legs and scrabble their long fingernails over the soles of her feet if they thought she had stolen something from her. It was always her who they suspected of thievery.
“Will you tell me your name now?”
“I am a servant of the Just God, that is all you need to know.”
Sarir was more then happy not to know her name for the moment as it gave him an excuse to put his fingers to her sensitive skin once again. This time he scrabbled his fingers in her vulnerable underarms, this time she was prepared but it didn’t stop her from being reduced to an uncontrollable laughing fit.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.” (Rest assured the sound was more pleasing then the transcription may suggest), “Ha ha ha. Unha ha ha ha ha ha hand meee he he he he he he he he he he he he…”
Forgetting the matter of his captive’s name for a while, Sarir’s fingers darted randomly between Aribeth’s hips and underarms, the delicious squirming of her tormented lithe form was more then a little arousing, and after a time he had to pause in his ministrations to give himself time to breath as much as her. Damn her beauty… sort of.
After ten minutes of heavy breathing and trying to shake the loose strands of hair away from her eyes, Aribeth fell back as much as her bonds would allow.
“Now,” Sarir said finally, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give me your name?”
“So you could brag to your depraved friends as to who you tormented this way? No.”
“You have me all wrong.” Sarir said, mocking indignation. “I have few friends, and I’m certainly not one to brag.”
“Your kind lies as readily as you breathe.”
“I can do this all day you know.”
With that he renewed his assault on her underarms. Eliciting yet more delightful laughter from Aribeth.
“Oh Gods nah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Staaaha ha ha ha hap it! He he he he he he he he he he he he he he he.”
“All I want to know is your name.”
But on she laughed in defiance. After another half hour or relentless assault on her upper body, Sarir snaked back around the bench that Aribeth was sat upon and placed a stool upon the floor by her feet. Aribeth could see what was coming and could not stop herself from parting with a panicked squeak. Sarir looked up at her when he heard the sound and grinned at the barely concealed fear on her face.
“A sensitive spot I take it,” He said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to yield your name now?”
As much as she loathed the idea of revealing anything to this villain, Aribeth knew full well that her feet were by far the most sensitive spot on her body. The stream of blasphemies that her classmates had extracted from her by putting a cockatrice feather to them were testament enough to that.
“I am Aribeth de Tylmerande.” She said eventually. She left out her title, no doubt that would only give this pervert greater satisfaction.
“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” Sarir said cheerfully, staying seated and flicking his gaze downwards continually towards the small, flawless feet extending from the stocks. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance my Lady.”
He outstretched his arms as he mocked a yawn, Aribeth flinched violently as his hands passed by her feet.
“Tell me,” he said, “are there any more with you, hunting poor misfortune me?”
“No.” She replied truthfully.
“None?” He said, “That doesn’t sound likely. You wouldn’t be trying to mislead me would you?” (He knew perfectly well that there was no one else with her as he had tracked her since she entered the forest.)
“There’s no one else,” Aribeth said fearfully, “I was sent alone to apprehend you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Looks like I’ll have to prise the truth out of you again.”
Before she had time to protest her innocence, Sarir grasped Aribeth’s left foot with one had and began scrabbling his fingers over her hypersensitive sole.
“Ohhhh Gods!” She screamed, loud enough to turn the heads of every forest creature within miles, “Not theeeheh heh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Pleeeeeeeeee he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he hese le he he he he het me he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he goho ho ho ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
With no warning, Sarir quickly swapped grabbed her other foot and began tickling that in much the same way. It was a wonder that the force of Aribeth’s wonder didn’t shake down the entire cabin. If he thought that her squirming had been delectable when he was working on her upper body he could barely bring himself to look upon the heavenly thrashing of Aribeth’s laughing self as he applied only a modest touch to her sole.
It wasn’t long before the urge to experiment with her toes became too strong to resist. Plucking a long, stiff feather from under a loose floorboard, he began to drag it ever so slowly in between each of the cute toes on her foot in descending order. Aribeth’s screams had by this point degenerated to indecipherable pleading. There was none of the outraged fury that had come before. At times Sarir thought that she might just be enjoying it.
He moved the feather back and forth from one foot to the other, striking at random between her arches, soles and over every inch of her toes. All the while Aribeth parted with increasingly demented shrieks as the fiend at her feet continued to tickle her ever more towards insanity.
When Sarir’s right arm grew tired he switched to his left, when that grew tired he contemplated the idea of using his tongue. But for all his faults, and as tempting as it truly was, he wasn’t going to go that far unless there came a point when he was sure that Aribeth would want him too. It happened far more often then one might think. At the moment he imagined it could go either way.
On top of everything else though, if he kept this up much longer he’d make an unspeakable mess of his britches.
“I think you and I are going to have a great deal of fun over the next few days my dear.” He said to the top of Aribeth’s drooping head. He wasn’t sure if she was still conscious. No doubt that was exhausting for her.
Sarir stood up and with a last check of Aribeth’s restraints, he made his way to the door.
To be continued. The next chapter will include both Imoen and Aerie from Baldur’s Gate, and of course more of Lady Aribeth. I hope you’ve enjoyed thus far.
For disclaimer purposes, the character Aribeth de Tylmerande is the property of Bioware, I believe. Sarir is a character of my own design.
Tickling Tales of the Sword Coast (Title may change soon.)
By Richard Paul
Chapter 1: The Price of Failure.
Despite the significance of her first mission on her own, or perhaps because of that fact, the sun seemed to be shining all the brighter on the outskirts of Neverwinter wood. Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande, newly appointed to the Neverwinter nine, stood before the inviting woodland and found herself having to resist the urge to smile. This was a truly a great day for her, thanks to Tyr. At last she was being given a chance to demonstrate her full potential, not just perform simple errands with five other knights peering over her shoulder to make sure she was holding her sword the right way round.
Truth be told though, this mission was still rather simplistic: Apprehend a ranger by the name of Sarir Redrillo, who had turned to banditry. He wasn’t overly nefarious as bandits went, according to the reports at least. Though his victims had remained insufferably tight lipped about their encounter with the villain they had at least emerged from the woods with their lives, if not with their coin pouches, pendants, rings and, in two peculiar instances, their shoes.
Aribeth could only assume that those victims had been wearing some manner of magically enhanced footwear. Boots of fortitude perhaps, or speed? Who could say? Nevertheless it was strange indeed to hear of bandits pilfering boots.
Taking one last look at the sun drenched canopy of the forest, she breathed in one more breath of fresh air and moved into the shadowy forest. She too had been a ranger, long ago, before events had conspired to guide her towards the service of the Just God. As the prelate had commanded she had tried to push as much of that life away so as to focus her mind and being onto her new role as a Paladin of Tyr, but the skills she had developed as a Ranger she knew might one day help her serve her God, and so she had remembered as much as she could. Now at last, that foresight would serve her well.
She walked as quietly as she could along the leaf-coated ground. It was not easy to be stealthy in chain mail, but her footfalls remained quiet. Her path ran parallel to the main road through the wood. She did not want to risk being seen too close to the road, either by her target or by any other aggressive forest beats that she may have to deal with. All the while her keen Elvan eyes scanned the ground for any tracks or disturbances that might point her in the right direction.
After almost an hour of methodically trudging through the dirt, a promising find finally showed itself. A well concealed trail led away from the path in a definite line. The tracks were well covered, someone untrained in the ways of the wild could easily have overlooked them, but here and there was just the right dent in the soil or bend in the leaves to tell her that someone had walked this way from the road. Nearby there were more concealed tracks that suggested a short lived chase had occurred. This was definitely worth investigating.
Drawing her bastard sword, Aribeth began to slowly follow the trail she had discovered. For two hours she walked, the trail enduring despite the efforts of the stealthy creature that had made them and the obscuring wind. Finally, Aribeth caught sight of a humble wooden cabin in the distance. This had to be a bandit hideout, and judging by the thin trail of smoke emanating from behind the dwelling, she had caught the occupant at home.
She doubted she could sneak up on a ranger dressed as she was, particularly an Elf. She’d have to charge him. But then she wasn’t entirely certain if this was the bandit in question. Nevertheless, she wasn’t tasked with killing him, so if it turned out she had taken a wrong turn she would apologise and be on her way.
A slight pain forced Aribeth’s neck to twitch as she planned her approach. Reaching up with one hand, she was shocked to discover a small dart had pricked the skin of her exposed neck. The wound was nothing serious, but even as she studied the offending weapon in her hand she quickly began to feel more and more drowsy. Looking upwards for the source of the projectile, she had just enough time to register the form of a grinning Elvan male perched in the branch of a nearby tree, before she collapsed onto the ground.
An Hour Later
Aribeth awoke with a start as some pungent smelling salts were waved under her nose. For a few moments she just shivered and mumbled incoherently, then she remembered her few waking moments and focus returned to her with an unpleasant abruptness.
She tried to sit up, only to find her efforts hindered by a length of rope tied around her wrists and keeping them fastened above her head to a support on the roof of what had to be the cabin she’d been sneaking up on. Another thing keeping her in place was a heavy set of wooden stocks around her ankles.
It was then that she realised her armour was gone, she had been stripped down to her underwear. A flush of embarrassment and outrage, closely followed by worry, passed through her at the prospect of being laid out bound and half naked for the amusement of a common thug.
At least she still had her underwear, for the moment. But By Tyr, what had she gotten herself into?
“Good evening.” Said a voice from behind her, making Aribeth jump. Resisting the urge to try and look over her shoulder, she simply clamped her jaw shut and stared forward at the door. It was only two meters away and yet there was no way she could reach it.
“Ah, now this is different.” The man behind her said, “Normally when I bring a shapely young woman to my secluded retreat I’m bombarded with the same lines over and over again ‘Where am I?’ ‘Who are you?’ ‘Release me!’ ‘Put that down.’ It gets a bit much sometimes.”
That last example was more then a little concerning. From what she could see, Aribeth noted no branding irons, hooks or any nefarious torture devices. That wasn’t to say they weren’t there though. By Tyr, what a mess she had made of her mission.
She braced herself as best as she could for the worst.
“But enough about me my dear,” he said, “who, if I may ask, are you?” She kept her mouth closed.
“Oh come now, you sneak up to my property, sword in hand and almost certainly seeking my death, I’d say you owe me some kind of explination.”
“I owe you nothing cur!” She spat out despite herself, “I am but one of those who will ultimately bring you to justice. I may have failed, but others will not.”
A loud chuckle echoed through the room.
“The Tyrists are coming after me?! A harmless rogue in the woods? How sad. Still, such is life. But enough of that.” The speaker moved himself into Aribeth’s field of vision. He was an elf with auburn hair stretching down past his shoulders. Just as the accounts had described her target.
“But anyway, as I’m sure you know, I am one Sarir Redrillo. Now you really must introduce yourself good lady, tis only polite.”
“Don’t think you can deceive me with your false platitudes!” She spat, “I know your kind well enough.”
“Nonsense.” He said, then with a sigh he moved behind Aribeth, “Well, I’d hoped your name at least you’d be willing to volunteer, but it seems I’ll have to pry even that out of you.”
With no warning, Sarir dug his fingers into Aribeth’s exposed ribs and with a practiced ruthlessness he began tickling her hips. The reaction was more instant then he would have thought possible, the surprise of what was happening didn’t give his prey the opportunity to clench her mouth shut or try and brace herself, and a stream of delicious laughter began to resound throughout the room.
After a few minutes he stopped, letting Aribeth draw in a few rushed breaths. It took her a few moments to truly grasp what had just happened. More then once when she was training at the Hall of Justice she’d had a class mate draw a quill over her abnormally ticklish ears in the library. Then sometimes a female cadet in the dorm room would sit on her legs and scrabble their long fingernails over the soles of her feet if they thought she had stolen something from her. It was always her who they suspected of thievery.
“Will you tell me your name now?”
“I am a servant of the Just God, that is all you need to know.”
Sarir was more then happy not to know her name for the moment as it gave him an excuse to put his fingers to her sensitive skin once again. This time he scrabbled his fingers in her vulnerable underarms, this time she was prepared but it didn’t stop her from being reduced to an uncontrollable laughing fit.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.” (Rest assured the sound was more pleasing then the transcription may suggest), “Ha ha ha. Unha ha ha ha ha ha hand meee he he he he he he he he he he he he…”
Forgetting the matter of his captive’s name for a while, Sarir’s fingers darted randomly between Aribeth’s hips and underarms, the delicious squirming of her tormented lithe form was more then a little arousing, and after a time he had to pause in his ministrations to give himself time to breath as much as her. Damn her beauty… sort of.
After ten minutes of heavy breathing and trying to shake the loose strands of hair away from her eyes, Aribeth fell back as much as her bonds would allow.
“Now,” Sarir said finally, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give me your name?”
“So you could brag to your depraved friends as to who you tormented this way? No.”
“You have me all wrong.” Sarir said, mocking indignation. “I have few friends, and I’m certainly not one to brag.”
“Your kind lies as readily as you breathe.”
“I can do this all day you know.”
With that he renewed his assault on her underarms. Eliciting yet more delightful laughter from Aribeth.
“Oh Gods nah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Staaaha ha ha ha hap it! He he he he he he he he he he he he he he he.”
“All I want to know is your name.”
But on she laughed in defiance. After another half hour or relentless assault on her upper body, Sarir snaked back around the bench that Aribeth was sat upon and placed a stool upon the floor by her feet. Aribeth could see what was coming and could not stop herself from parting with a panicked squeak. Sarir looked up at her when he heard the sound and grinned at the barely concealed fear on her face.
“A sensitive spot I take it,” He said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to yield your name now?”
As much as she loathed the idea of revealing anything to this villain, Aribeth knew full well that her feet were by far the most sensitive spot on her body. The stream of blasphemies that her classmates had extracted from her by putting a cockatrice feather to them were testament enough to that.
“I am Aribeth de Tylmerande.” She said eventually. She left out her title, no doubt that would only give this pervert greater satisfaction.
“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” Sarir said cheerfully, staying seated and flicking his gaze downwards continually towards the small, flawless feet extending from the stocks. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance my Lady.”
He outstretched his arms as he mocked a yawn, Aribeth flinched violently as his hands passed by her feet.
“Tell me,” he said, “are there any more with you, hunting poor misfortune me?”
“No.” She replied truthfully.
“None?” He said, “That doesn’t sound likely. You wouldn’t be trying to mislead me would you?” (He knew perfectly well that there was no one else with her as he had tracked her since she entered the forest.)
“There’s no one else,” Aribeth said fearfully, “I was sent alone to apprehend you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Looks like I’ll have to prise the truth out of you again.”
Before she had time to protest her innocence, Sarir grasped Aribeth’s left foot with one had and began scrabbling his fingers over her hypersensitive sole.
“Ohhhh Gods!” She screamed, loud enough to turn the heads of every forest creature within miles, “Not theeeheh heh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Pleeeeeeeeee he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he hese le he he he he het me he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he he goho ho ho ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
With no warning, Sarir quickly swapped grabbed her other foot and began tickling that in much the same way. It was a wonder that the force of Aribeth’s wonder didn’t shake down the entire cabin. If he thought that her squirming had been delectable when he was working on her upper body he could barely bring himself to look upon the heavenly thrashing of Aribeth’s laughing self as he applied only a modest touch to her sole.
It wasn’t long before the urge to experiment with her toes became too strong to resist. Plucking a long, stiff feather from under a loose floorboard, he began to drag it ever so slowly in between each of the cute toes on her foot in descending order. Aribeth’s screams had by this point degenerated to indecipherable pleading. There was none of the outraged fury that had come before. At times Sarir thought that she might just be enjoying it.
He moved the feather back and forth from one foot to the other, striking at random between her arches, soles and over every inch of her toes. All the while Aribeth parted with increasingly demented shrieks as the fiend at her feet continued to tickle her ever more towards insanity.
When Sarir’s right arm grew tired he switched to his left, when that grew tired he contemplated the idea of using his tongue. But for all his faults, and as tempting as it truly was, he wasn’t going to go that far unless there came a point when he was sure that Aribeth would want him too. It happened far more often then one might think. At the moment he imagined it could go either way.
On top of everything else though, if he kept this up much longer he’d make an unspeakable mess of his britches.
“I think you and I are going to have a great deal of fun over the next few days my dear.” He said to the top of Aribeth’s drooping head. He wasn’t sure if she was still conscious. No doubt that was exhausting for her.
Sarir stood up and with a last check of Aribeth’s restraints, he made his way to the door.
To be continued. The next chapter will include both Imoen and Aerie from Baldur’s Gate, and of course more of Lady Aribeth. I hope you’ve enjoyed thus far.
