Hypnovember 24 - Drink
#24 of Hypno Stories
All characters are 18+
"Hey now, let's take it easy. We can still discuss this like gentlemAHHHH--!"
A dagger thunked into the wooden wall, inches from the satyr's floppy goat ear. Across his hollow, underneath the roots of a great tree, a vulpine assassin stalked towards the fae. He stepped atop and over the ringed table between them, no care taken to avoid kicking trinkets and goblets onto the dirt floor. Zash drew another knife from his cloak. The satyr pressed his back against a larger root, fear stricken across his face as the shadowy-faced fox glowered over him.
"What did you do with him?" Zash seethed.
"Could you be more specific?" the satyr winced. His voice rose in pitch on the last word as he felt Zash's blade at his throat.
"You made a flower SWALLOW my friend Kog. An orc. About eight feet tall and probably gonna kick your ass when I free him. Now. Answer on three. Where is he? One! Two! Th-"
"I-I-I don't know! Honest!" The satyr's ears fell back, his voice whimpering and pathetic. "Put that away, please! What did I do to you?"
"You led us into a trap, you DANCED when my friend got eaten by a flower, and then you tried to charm us with your little pan flute!" As a show of force, the fox's sticky fingers reached for the satyr's belt where his pan pipes hung. He snatched them away and tossed them over his shoulder like the trash they were. "I've been wandering around this fey fucked forest for days! I've been separated from my other companion and everything is out to get me. Do you know how many fairies have tried to put a flower crown on my head to make me forget how to breathe? In the last HOUR? I haven't had a bath for a very long time and sleep for even longer! Go fuck yourself and tell me where my friend is in either order, RIGHT the hell now!"
He pressed the cool steel closer to the satyr's neck. "Hey now, hey now--that's not how this works! Yes, I may have done a little misdirection, but he's perfectly safe! And--" he lifted a finger when the fox opened his mouth to shout again. "I can't just give him back. That's not how the feywild works! You can kill me if you want, but it won't get your friend back. If anything, I come back in a few days and your friend is lost forever."
The fox's eyes narrowed. Sadly, the satyr made a good point. He retracted the dagger a touch, but kept a firm grip on the goat's shoulder. "Alright. Fine. What do I have to do to get you to release him?"
A cheeky grin fixed on the satyr's lips. "We make a deal. A wager."
"I'm listening."
"Tell you what," the satyr hoisted up a full mug of ale seemingly from nowhere. He received a deeper glower from the fox as a result. "How well can you hold your mead?"
The fox grinned. "There isn't a town I've been to where I haven't been able to oust the local tavern champion."
"Drinking contest. Whoever hits the floor first loses. The winner can ask them one request without restriction."
The fox, without hesitation, yanked the satyr by the collar. He thrust him into one of the giant blades of grass sticking out of the ground that the satyr used as chairs in his dingy hollow.
"You won't regret this," said the satyr. He reached below the table between the two and extracted a bottle of wine. Two wooden tankards popped into existence at a snap of the goat's fingers. He gently began to pour the substance inside, gentle gaze fixed on the fox. "Let's not even think about the stakes, hm? Just enjoy a nice drink together."
"I'll enjoy watching you lose." Zash clasped the mug and brought the drink to his face. He took a whiff. He detected an old brew. Fruity but with a robust texture--a red wine. There was no poison that he could perceive. The substance was likely strong and his opponent was a satyr, who were legendary in their reverie. But, he thought as a smug smile tightened across his muzzle, the satyr never established he couldn't cheat if worse came to worse.
"Hurtful!" said the goat. He drew his hand to his chest in mock offense.
"Shut up and drink." Zash watched the satyr raise his own mug to him in a toast before bringing the mug to his lips. In unison, they knocked back their drinks.
The fruity, sour taste went down smooth. He chugged his first glass no problem with a few full gulps. As soon as he did, a wave of euphoria like no other filled his head. The air became just a little fresher. The tension he felt since stepping foot in the feywild seemed to fade as he smiled placidly. He blinked his eyes open one at a time to see the satyr there, his thick, hairy chest and stomach hanging above his spread goat legs. One meaty hand was wrapped around his cock, swaying it before his enthralled eyes like a metronome. Zash's gaze landed on the satyr's which had become awash in beautiful shifting pinks and blues.
"Hee, hee," the satyr chuckled. The laughter tapped against his brain like lilting musical notes. Zash didn't notice as his head lolled to one side his ears beginning to creak and expand into floppy goat ears. "Someone didn't listen to his wizard friend when he explained the feywild did he?"
"Buhh...there's...no poison..."
"No poison dear. Just the law of the feywild. You've got plenty of time to learn allllll about it now." The satyr snapped his fingers. The fox felt his arm lift up. In a sober state of mind he might have recognized his orcish friend, green skin now darker and harder with bark, his hair now strands of grass that swept over one side of his face. But as Kog the dryad happily filled his glass, the fox was so far away. His eyes drew back to the satyr as he swung his cock back and forth in a pendulous fashion. "It's true that mortals from the material plane should never accept food or drink if they want to go home, buuuut you don't have to worry about that do you? You can let go of quests, political intrigue, and everything else. Instead you can focus on what matters. Fucking. Drinking. Making merry all over the forest."
The fox nodded and he found agreeing with the satyr a narcotic idea, erotic even as he watched that dick dangle. He poured his next glass down his throat and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. He slouched in his seat, head lowering towards it as his muzzle squeezed into a stubbier, rounder nose. Horns began to grow from his head and his orange fur faded into a creamier spotted white.
"I think it's about time you lost the bet, don't you?" the satyr grinned victoriously as he pointed the head of his cock towards the enraptured mortal whose eyes were reddened, high out of his mind on fey magic. "What's a good drink without something to eat, hm?"
Zash slid out of his chair and immediately fell over. He wasn't used to hooves quite yet.