Crestmoore smacks me like a barmaid's lusty slap—dusty streets crawling with grimy miners, jagged quarry pits flashing Zenoite veins and teasing blue flickers, like Bera's midriff under torchlight.
The market's a sweaty mess, stalls sagging with bronze, orichalcum, and herbs, louder than Lila's death glares. The Iron Bloom looms, a smoky den of ale and curves, screaming for my prankster art. N'Nazmuz's curse weighs me like a Gromble's carcass, 30 kilograms dragging my steps, my body still aching from Bera and Lila's Starshade beatdown—nose throbbing, ribs whining. But chaos is my fuel, and Crestmoore's my canvas. Bera and Lila ride their bandit-gift Zoraths, pulled from my spatial ring—Goran's Chapter 15 gift. Bera's skirt rides high, bare midriff shimmering like a Spirit Stone, Lila's hips swaying like a Crestmoore quake. "Supreme Elf's landed, Crestmoore!" I holler, grinning. "Ready for my art?"
"Art?" Lila scoffs, thighs gripping her Zorath. "Your brain's glued to my hips, moron."
"Earth Queen, they're a masterpiece," I wink. "But Bera's Fire Queen midriff? Divine." Bera smirks, leaning forward, her top straining. "Keep drooling, pervert. My curves own this town."
The market's my first stage. I hit up Markus, a weathered trader, to sell two bandit Zoraths and crystals from my spatial ring, stuffed with mithril swords, silver, gold, Level 1 Spirit Stones, herbs, and that glowing egg with its creepy heartbeat. I pocket silver, keeping the egg—too freaky to sell. Bera's skirt distracts me, and Lila growls, "Focus, idiot." Then I spot a sweet blonde with green eyes at a herb stall, curves begging for my charm. "Emerald Eyes," I purr, leaning close, "got Glowvine to match your sparkle?" She giggles, blushing, my gold-flecked eyes hooking her—charisma's my blade. I'm golden until Bera and Lila barrel over, grins evil.
"Killy!" Bera shouts, half the market turning. "We found a cure for that tiny problem that won't rise!" Lila cackles, "Yeah, it's small, but we'll save it!" Stalls erupt, merchants howling, kids pointing. The blonde's face burns scarlet, herbs scattering as she bolts. I laugh, spinning it. "Ladies, my 'problem' rises for both of you—wanna test it?" The crowd roars, a miner choking on his ale. Bera smirks, "Dream on," while Lila flips me off, her flush screaming she's thrilled. "Supreme save," I mutter, eating the chaos.
Heading toward The Iron Bloom, Bera's midriff keeps me hypnotized—damn, that Fire Queen's a walking prank. I don't see the brunette hauling a crate of Glowvine until we crash, vines spilling, glowing like a festival. I trip, face-planting right into her cleavage, softest cushion in Crestmoore. "Best landing ever!" I grin, muffled, as she laughs, shoving me off. "Pervert, watch your pointy ears!" she snaps, but her smirk's pure fire. Tira, she says—Beginner Master Fire, all curves and sass, a prankster's soul in a body hotter than a Lava Dragon. Glowvine tangles us, her skirt riding up, my hands brushing her thighs—pure accident, swear it. "Like what you feel, elf?" she teases, untangling with a wink. I'm hooked—she's good almost like me but with better assets. Bera and Lila glare, jealousy sparking. "Who's this, Killy?" Bera hisses. "My new muse," I purr, dodging Lila's elbow. Tira laughs, "Stick with me, elf, and Crestmoore'll burn."
We hit The Iron Bloom, a sweaty tavern reeking of ale and bad decisions. Tira's tight top screams for my art, her fiery vibe matching mine. I pull a silver coin from my ring, coated in Glowvine nectar and Moonflower sap—sticky, glowing like a star. "Oops," I say, tossing it between her cleavage. It sticks, lighting her chest like a festival. "You're my beacon!" I crow, as the tavern freezes, then explodes—miners roaring, barmaids gasping. Bera and Lila's faces twist, jealousy burning hotter than Tira's Fire Qi. "You're dead, pervert!" Lila snarls, fists clenched. Bera's eyes blaze, ready to torch me.
But Tira—holy chaos—grins and yanks off her top, standing in her bra. The tavern gasps, her chest bared, a phoenix tattoo blazing on her left breast. "Thanks, Killyaen, for making me Crestmoore's star!" she winks. My jaw hits the floor—her beauty, that tattoo, and her out-pranking me? She's turned my art against me, just like I'd do. I'm stunned, thrilled, heart racing. I've met my rival, and I'm obsessed. Bera and Lila stand frozen, mouths wide, eyes locked on Tira's phoenix. I grin, taunting, "Girls, ready to swallow something?" They snap back, Lila snarling, "I'll bury you!" Bera hisses, "My skirt's hotter!" I laugh, blood pumping—chaos is my altar. Tira slips her top on, smirking, and the tavern roars, mugs clinking.
We stumble outside, the night air cooling my buzzing head. Tira follows, her phoenix seared in my brain. "Mind if I tag along to the quarry?" she asks, eyeing the fox's "blue glow" talk. Bera scoffs, "Think you can keep up, Fire Girl?" Lila snaps, "Stay away from our prankster." Tira laughs, "Your pointy-eared pervert's got you both hooked, huh?" Their glares could melt Zenoite, but Tira's right—Bera and Lila's feelings for me, buried under kicks and glares, spark like her flames. I grin, loving the mess.
We sneak to the quarry, Crestmoore's pits shimmering, Zenoite veins pulsing faint blue, like a barmaid's tease. My amulet hums, annoying as that fox. The curse slows me, stamina draining, but loot's my spark. I snatch Glowvine sprigs and Moonflower clumps—prank fuel—shoving them in my ring. Skarva, a sharp-eyed woman with five thugs, ambushes us, daggers flashing. "Hand over the blue relic," she snarls. Qi-blind, I can't read her power, but she's no pushover.
"Stay sharp!" I yell, pulling my mithril swords—Wind's Rebuke, Thunder's Edge—from my ring. The blades, light as air, cut the curse's drag. I toss a Moonflower sap trap, gumming two thugs' feet, then pocket a Zenoite scrap—good for coin. Tira's fireballs blaze, scorching one's arm. Bera's Fire Qi fries another, her skirt riding up. "Fire Queen, your kitty's stealing the show," I mutter, parrying a dagger while snagging a glowing crystal—sellable, shiny. Lila's Earth Qi spikes rocks into a thug's leg. Skarva's blade nicks my arm, blood dripping, the curse killing my stamina. Lila shoves me, snarling, "Focus, pervert!" I spot a blue Zenoite shard in the quarry wall, my amulet going wild. I pry it free, a vision hitting: waves crashing, "The Child binds the Altars." I shove it in my ring with more Glowvine, but Tira's phoenix flashes in my head, and Skarva lunges. Lila's earth wall saves me, crushing Skarva's arm. I finish her crew with Thunder's Edge, mithril flashing, then grab another crystal—chaotic profit.
We collapse, bruised but alive, the curse easing as I rest, healing my cuts slightly. My ring's stuffed—Glowvine, Moonflower, Zenoite scraps, crystals, that shard. "Teamwork," I pant, grinning. Tira smirks, "Not bad, Beacon Boy." Bera laughs, "My skirt did half the work." Lila glares, "Barely." I wink, "Plenty of me for all." Lila hurls a pebble, clipping my cheek. The luminescent fox appears, trotting smugly. "The spark draws shadows," it says, calm. I lob sap from my ring, missing, to Bera's giggle. "Piss off, Sparkles," I snap, amulet pulsing. Ruins? Boring.
Back in Crestmoore, I sell herbs and silver, keeping the Spirit Stones, egg, and quarry haul—Glowvine for pranks, Zenoite for coin, crystals for whatever. Tira teases, "Buying Bera more skirts?" I grin, leaning in. "Of course, my two goddesses deserve the most beautiful, tightest dresses and skirts to make their curves light up the whole valley…" Bera blushes, Lila's eyes soften, both eating up my perverse praise, their rivalry simmering. Then I add, "…and panties—Bera's untrimmed kitty draws too much attention!" Their faces twist, flattery ruined. Bera's Fire Qi flares, Lila's Earth Qi rumbles, merging into a lava-like blast that singes my backside. I yelp, stumbling, my pants smoking. Tira collapses, tears streaming from laughter. "You're more brutal than me!" she chokes out, clutching her sides. Bera snarls, "Pervert!" Lila growls, "You're done!" I grin, rubbing my scorched rear, thriving in the chaos. Tira's my rival, The Iron Bloom calls for my Feather-Tickler Trap, but this lava burn's my altar.