Chapter 2: Into the Ghetto

The stench makes me gag as I walk towards the old abandoned docks. Not that the new docks further down stream smell any better. The stink of rotting seaweed, open sewers and garbage is overpowering. The pungent pheromones of fertile Elf Maidens must be like perfume by comparison. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Elves are made to live in the least desirable parts of the city. How any living being can be expected to live in an area like this is beyond me. Nor is it a safe place to be. It’s the haunt of criminals and drunks as well as those who, like the Elves, are banned from living inside the city walls. I waived the offer of an armed escort as I feared their presence would simply drive into hiding those I want to interview.

My first stop is at a run-down building proclaiming itself to be a House of Delight. It’s the colloquial name for an Elven brothel that Elf Maidens frequent when they are in heat and are wanting to attract a male. Despite the wretched surroundings, trade seems to be steady. I enter the building and I’m immediately accosted by a scruffy old man.

“Entry charge is a groat,” demands the man. “Negotiate a price with the wench of your choice.”

I toss a small coin at the man and work my way to the back of the building. I’m not prepared for the sight before me. I suppose I should have done more research before venturing here, but there’s no turning back now. Three semi-naked Elf Maidens are sat on rickety beds. The mattresses are badly stained from what must have been years of use. One of the Elves has her face and chest covered in what appears to be a man’s cum ... several men’s cum more likely. As uncomfortable as her condition must be, she is making no effort to clean herself up. I scrunch my face in disgust.

“We mean no offence, sir,” says the one in the middle, clearly unsettled by a well dressed man being here. “A copper coin will buy you the use of my cunt.”

“I’m not here to satisfy base desires. I am doing work for some important people and I need to learn more about your lives here in Thurn. Will one of you talk to me and help me get the information I need?”

The three Elf Maidens look at each other trying to assess whether I’m a threat or not. They talk briefly in what I assume is their native language. These women must be second or third generation clones of the captured Elven women, so who has taught them their native language? None of the original captured Eleven women will still be alive today. The survival of their native language is something none of the scholarly articles I’ve read about the Elves of Thurn bother to mention.

Our discussion is interrupted by the entry of a man wearing the sort of clothes typically worn by a tradesman. He ignores me and stands in front of the three Elf Maidens with his cock already out of his pants.

“Two bronze bits for the wench who will satisfy my cock,” he offers.

It’s an insulting offer to my mind. Two bronze bits will just about buy a bread roll. Hardly a fair price for sex with an attractive woman, even if she is an Elf. But the Elf Maiden covered in cum readily accepts the offer. The man tosses the coins onto her bed and she spreads her legs wide. There’s a noticeable increase in the smell of her pheromones coming from her pussy. It has the desired effect of making the man’s cock go rock hard. It causes my cock to rise as well. Stupidly, I hadn’t prepared myself for this.

I assumed he would fuck her, but he simply masturbates in front of her and adds his cum to what is already covering her. The whole transaction is over in less than three minutes. He leaves without saying a word.

“Why do you look so puzzled, Sir?” asks the talkative Elf.

“I always believed that Thurnian men fuck you when they want sex.”

“Some do, but many simply spill their seed over us. If they fuck us, then we may become pregnant. A pregnant Elf is no use for sex as she stops producing the scents that trigger a man’s cock. Far better for them to keep us in this state, even if it deprives us of the satisfaction we crave. Besides, people are already complaining about there being too many Elves. It wasn’t all that many years ago when hundreds of adolescent Elves were rounded up and sent to work in the death camps in the mountains. None of those taken survived the following winter.”

“Which is something I hope my work will put an end to, but I need your help. Will you help me?”

“Are you willing to pay for my time? I could make a couple of silver coins here today if I’m lucky.”

Somehow I doubt she would earn anything like that sum if I left them to their trade, but I’m desperate for more information.

“Two silver coins for your time until dusk. An extra silver coin tomorrow if I find today’s information helpful and I need to learn more.”

“OK. I agree,” says the Elf with an eagerness that confirms she was lying when she estimated her likely earnings in this wretched place.

“Good,” I say as I hand her one silver coin. “One now, one at dusk. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”

“I know a place nearby where we won’t be disturbed. Follow me.”

“Do you have a name?” I ask, realising I’ve no idea about the naming customs of Elves.

“DF35,” comes the reply.

“That’s your serial number, not a name,” I reply. “Don’t you call yourselves by any other name?”

“No. It’s the only name I have. I’m the fifth child of the third child of the Elf taken from our homeland and given the designation DF. See. My name is tattooed on my inner arm. All Elves are named by the same rule and are so marked. It is the law here. Did you not know?”