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  1. Here is the next chapter of my brand new story - Spire of Submission! I've been so excited to post this first chapter! I hope you all enjoy it! A tower in the neighbouring province has been an issue for far too long, and a hopeless band of adventurers will be chosen to take on the Spire, with promise of riches and power... if they can survive. Set in a fantasy world (think Dungeons and Dragons) full of elves, dwarves, tieflings, magic, demons and warlocks, this story will see our adventurers take on the Spire, in the hope of defeating the Mistress who resides there. This story is a bit of a slow burner when it comes to the ABDL content, and there are other... interests... in it. It is also not like my usual stories. It's not told by a protagonist, instead being told by a narrator, and it is not like my romance stories. I can't even promise a happy ending. This will be a challenge for the party, and not everyone will make it out... if any. But it will be kinky and fun. So I hope you enjoy it, even if it's not like my usual stories! I feel like the humour is the same as Infernum, so if you liked that, you should like this! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them. They really help with the motivation to write more! Especially when it comes to new stories and stories like this that aren't my usual thing! Especially when it's a story not connected to either of my main series. Don't forget you get get 2 week early access (so 4 chapters) to my main ongoing story, if you subscribe to my Subscribestar. Also, please link to my stories rather than posting them as files when sharing with others! Chapter 1: The Tavern Spire of Submission – LittleFallenPrincess The sun began to set across the crooked sign for the local inn, causing nearby traders to start packing up their goods to head home before the darkness comes… and all manners of dangers begin showing up in search of unaware travellers or food. Which in these parts of the Audrasta Empire… were often the same thing. Sure, the town had guards; the King ensured that all their subjects were protected, no matter where they decided to settle down in the Empire. Problem was, some were more ‘well-guarded’ than others. And Rosehaven… well it was a small town on the border, close to the Oblivion Province. And it was not one of these lucky settlements. And for the longest time… that bordering province was considered non-hostile. It had no armies, no capital… just small villages apparently full of feral bandits who never ventured out, surviving purely on the unaware traveller that passed through. But not once did any of them make the crossing over to Rosehaven. And then there was the Spire, but not once had anything stepped foot outside of it. That’s why no one ventured out that way. Tales told throughout generations meant that there was no need for a large garrison, that the Oblivion Province was not dangerous… provided you stayed out of it. At least that’s what they say. So with its two guards, both of whom were stationed here due to insubordination, the small village of Rosehaven began settling down for the night, before the nearby forest woke up and all its inhabitants started hunting the outskirts for lone travellers. But as the quaint little village started settling down, with its small cottages, its tiny array of stores, its rather cramped marketspace, and its handful of farms… its tavern started waking up. During the daylight hours, the Dazzling Leaf Pub was… well… It was a shithole. It was a run down old pub that hadn’t seen a new fresh piece of wood or a non-rusty nail in what was probably decades. The drinks were watered down, the food was stale and off, and the company was… questionable. And during the twilight hours… well… It was the same shithole, just a bit rowdier. But to Rosehaven, it was their shithole. It was the one good place to socialise, to get out of the house, to get away from the boring, monotonous lives the villagers led. It was also the only place the adventurers would gather in, every ten years, when the village mayor put out the same quest he and all his predecessors had put out every decade. So tonight… it was going to be busier than usual. Ten years to the day was the last time the adventurers, mercenaries and do-gooders gathered in this shithole-of-a-tavern to drink the last remaining hours away, all before one group was chosen to enter the tower and try to slay the Mistress there. And like clockwork, more adventurers, mercenaries and do-gooders have shown up to take on the same quest that the previous group failed to complete. Determined to defeat the Mistress of the Domination Spire, the Mayor put out the same bounty every ten years, when the doors to the tower magically opened, to attract any groups they could… to kill the Demon Queen. And every time, more suckers turned up, despite knowing full well that the previous group who had been chosen… were never seen again. And it’s been like this for over a hundred years now. You see, the doors to the Domination Spire open only every ten years, allowing entry for anyone stupid enough to go in. Nothing ever came out, mind you, and no one who went in ever returned. So you may be asking why send adventurers to their inevitable deaths? Why risk it when the Domination Spire shows no threat or hostility to the village? Well… It started off hundreds of years ago, back when the village was more of a bustling town than the run-down quaint village you see today. Every ten years, the tower doors opened, and the town thought nothing of it as the Spire was miles away from them. It wasn’t even in the Empire’s lands, so they dismissed it and went on with their lives. Around that same time, there were a few disappearances every year, seven… to be exact. And it took a while, it wasn’t until the Mayor’s daughter had disappeared that they finally started noticing this phenomenon. One that had been going on for a lot longer than they realised. Ten years later… Another seven went missing. Then another seven. The Mayor at the time, still distraught from losing his daughter two decades ago, didn’t put two and two together until it was too late… when his Granddaughter went missing. Then a note appeared. A sealed note, sealed with a wax symbol of the tower. ‘I will return this child. I have no use for her. But you owe me an adult soul.’ So the Mayor instantly put out a quest for all adventurers to enter the tower… and recover his Granddaughter. Many adventurers took up the quest, preparing themselves and heading into the Dormant Vale, where the Spire stood… waiting. And as the first adventurer, sword in hand, entered… the doors shut, magically sealing themselves before anyone could react. No matter what they did, they couldn’t break through the seal. Fire had no effect. Hammers shattered upon impact. Some even brought a battering ram, only for it to burst into flames… along with the adventurers carrying it. All hope had been lost, until hours later… The door opened and out walked a little girl, looking for her Grandfather. Safely returned, the Granddaughter told the Mayor that the Mistress of the tower required seven souls every ten years. That’s it. No bloodlines specifically, no specifics about who it could be… just… anyone. But there had to be seven. Ten years later, as his last act as Mayor before stepping down due to old age, the Mayor rounded up all the vagrants about town. Drunkards, layabouts… anyone society deemed as ‘unproductive’, and lead them to the tower. The doors opened, the sacrifices were made… and no one disappeared from the village that decade. Ten years later, the next mayor did the same. And ten years after that. But eventually… they ran out of ‘undesirables’, and had to look elsewhere. Instantly, the community started looking inwards, trying to judge who could be sacrificed and who couldn’t. Until… the Granddaughter of the previous Mayor stepped up, now a young woman… and suggested that they hire adventurers. If the adventurers make their way in and somehow manage to slay the Mistress… then they can keep the riches of the tower and the village never has to worry about her ever again. But if they fall… then they reach the quota of sacrifices for the decade and the village tries again ten years later. So it’s a win-win. And so here we are, many… many decades later, having been through countless adventuring parties… the day before the ten year mark, when the sacrifices need to be made. ---------+++++++--------- “I know we’re technically sacrifices… but do we really reckon we’ll kill the bitch?” the angry-sounding halfling grumbled, before lifting his tankard vertically as to obtain peak-chugging capability. “What I want to know is… why seven?” asked the pointy-eared devout, as she sipped her drink slowly. She had never been one to drink much, and her party knew it… that’s why they gave her the biggest tankard. To ‘calm her nerves’ before the Spire tomorrow… or so they’d tell themselves. Really, they just wanted to watch the devout cleric get drunk and dance on the table naked for once. “Why seven? Well it’s clearly some ritual or spell,” the dwarf commented as she stuffed scraps of food into a pouch. “But hey, that means we have a better chance at getting picked in the morning, as looking around now… these other parties drinking tonight are much smaller. It’ll be easier to pick us than stitch some other smaller groups together and hope they fight well enough together to beat that demonic bitch.” “Yes, but Herta… do we even want to be picked?” the tiefling said to the dwarf ranger sitting beside her, as she looked at her adventuring companion with disgust. “I heard no one’s ever even made it out alive…” The differences between the ranger and the warlock were as clear as day, as one clearly loved roughing it out in the wild, sleeping under trees, communing with animals and foraging… and the other… Well, the warlock tiefling had standards. “Or even out, full stop,” the Half-elf hovering at the edge of the group added, lending their voice to the conversation finally. “Look, let’s just enjoy tonight,” the Paladin ordered to the other six, trying his best to sound commanding, because he loved the way everyone looked at him as if he was the leader of the group. “We’re probably going to get picked tomorrow morning, so we need to be rested and ready. So first thing, before the Mayor calls us all to the village square… get your equipment prepared, got that?” There was no real leader of this party, they were all equally incompetent in some way and were either too arrogant to consider voting for anyone but themselves as leader… or were too anxious to vote for anyone else… in the worry that others would be upset. Herta, the stout dwarf ranger with scruffy brown hair, wearing roughed-up leather armour, communed with animals so well that she has been invited into wolf packs, which led to her gaining her current companion, Trace, who is patiently sat outside the tavern due to a ‘no pets allowed’ sign hanging above the front door. And despite a lot of arguing and well-reasoned points… the tavernkeep had told her that the wolf had to wait outside. Herta was a stocky dwarf, with a love of alcohol, and a soft spot for her animal companions… but when it came to people… she was hopeless. It’s not like she didn’t trust them… but… well… no, she didn’t trust them, and would happily sacrifice them if it meant saving her wolf. This party is the closest she’s ever got to actual people, and she was slowly warming up to them, especially after they survived their last quest together. To her though, they still rank below a squirrel she saw once. Maybe above a slug. Magnus, the overconfident Paladin who normally would be wearing his signature heavy plate armour… was a darker-skinned human with perfectly cut jet black hair… who had been born with a silver spoon stuck up his arse. Which would explain the superiority complex this man has now. Desperate to ‘fight evil and save the innocent’… This man felt righteous in his quest for justice… but didn’t realise that he just looked down on everyone because he felt like he was superior to them, all because of his status as a Paladin. If this man was here to save you, he’d be just as likely to smite you by accident if you stood too close to his enemy. …And then he’d blame you for it. Thistle, the Half-elf dressed in the stereotypical messy green and brown druid robes, with brown hair and a youthful appearance, was a small, timid creature, perhaps even rivalling the elf cleric in how anxious they were around people. They were very similar, apart from the fact that Thistle didn’t put themselves down as much as the other elf in the group, they were actually pretty confident about their abilities. It was mostly just social interaction that the druid was lacking on, mostly due to growing up in the forests in a small druidic commune where no one talked to each other. Despite knowing the group for over a year now, since they were grouped up for another quest by a Lord miles from here, no one could tell if Thistle was male or female. And when one of them would finally get the courage to ask… Thistle just laughed and shrugged it off, never actually answering them. They loved that no one could tell, and made them feel so happy and so… them. Serrill was the other elf, though she wasn’t a half-elf like Thistle, she was a High-elf. Serrill grew up in a small village, quickly becoming a Cleric, one who worshipped one of the smaller Deities of the Empire, one that brought her childhood village good crops and a scarcity of disease. And for this, she trained to become a Cleric and travel the world, to do good and help others to thank her deity for all the privileges she had growing up. Serrill was definitely the most shy one of the group, often not standing up for herself, and only being part of the group because they needed a healer and she happened to be the only one around. And it’s not like she could just tell them no… she didn’t want to disappoint anyone. With a lack of self confidence, blonde hair, very pointy ears, her trusty staff, and her favourite blue robes that were always clean when she put them on in the morning (thanks to her deity), she worked her arse off keeping this catastrophe-of-a-group alive, often causing her to run out of magic and collapse. But not once is she ever thanked for it. Not that she’ll complain… that would just cause drama and that’s even worse than getting no recognition to her. Vico was the halfling currently choking on the ale he attempted to chug in one go. He’s an idiot. That’s it. Fine. If you had to describe this feral barbarian half-pint in five or more words… ‘No brain, compensates with rage’. Wearing what would be more accurately described as ‘scraps’ or ‘rags’... this little ball of rage favoured no armour at all, as even leather armour would slow him down. He had a great big brown bushy beard and a matching brown mohawk that just made him look feral more than anything. He clearly didn’t take any effort in his appearance, as no doubt it’d just get covered in whatever monster’s entrails he’d be fighting later. Even his backpack was falling apart, which made his companions wonder just what he spends his money on, because it clearly wasn’t himself. If you’re wondering… it’s ale. Ale and a weird multi-level marketing scheme he fell for years ago… one that he swears is going to pay off eventually. Isolde is the bard. Because what party isn’t complete without an idiotic annoying creature that loves to flirt with literally anything that can form a sentence. Sometimes not even that. With ginger hair, a pretty face, and a great body for a human… you’d think that this charisma-focused musician would get action wherever the party goes… but she can’t even do that right. She has all the charisma… but also has the worst luck imaginable. It’s led to some of the party thinking she may be cursed, as she should by all means be able to sweet-talk anyone into anything, but no matter what… she is being constantly rejected and ignored by everyone and everything. She’d often wear something slutty, in the hope that she’d get some action, but even with this body-formed brown leather armour she had custom made to hug her curves and show off her cleavage, the only ‘fiddling’ she was getting… was from her own instrument. Aurelia was the refined Tiefling warlock, sipping her drink slowly, savouring the little flavour it had. As mentioned before, Aurelia has standards. Which begs the question… Why did she decide to join this group of all groups? A refined, red-skinned tiefling, with perfectly brushed black hair, a perfectly ironed black robe, and a taste for the finer things. You’d think she’d have found a better group by now, but for some reason she likes adventuring with these six failures. Whether it’s to boost her ego, or to rob their bodies when they inevitably die… no one but her knows. She’s also the direct antithesis of Isolde. This woman gets laid. A lot. But she doesn’t brag about it or openly flirt like her companion. She doesn’t need to. And despite their failures and their problems… this party has managed to stay alive for the past year, managing to take on jobs across the Empire, until they heard from another party that there was an upcoming quest. One that promised untold riches… if you survived. So being the party of idiots and people too anxious to speak up… they bravely made their way to the quaint little village of Rosehaven and settled down in the tavern, waiting for the announcement tomorrow morning. ======================================================= It's always scary posting the first chapter of a new story. You'd think having posted 11 other first chapters on here... it'd get easier. But this being a new story and a new series for me... makes it even scarier. So I hope you like it! Obviously, with it being such a uninvolved first chapter, mostly setting some stuff up... there won't be much to comment on as the story hasn't even gotten started properly yet and you haven't really properly met our characters yet. But I hope that you love them all as much as my other characters from my other series! And I promise it won't take long for the story to get going, even if some other things in this story are a bit of a slow burner. But despite this, comments are greatly appreciated, especially with this being a new story. So please let me know what you think, even at such an early stage. ❤️ Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my new story posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories (or even have a chance at commissioning one when I add the tier for them!), why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! The basic tier gets early access and exclusive access to short stories (when they're written), higher tiers will be limited but get a short story each month (1-2 per month in total, also not yet running this tier yet, will announce when I'm starting!). Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post! Thanks!
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