An Enchanting Adventure

(set: $storyStyle to ((text-colour:#fbe9cc)+(background:#0f0200)))Six in the morning was a rather unusual time to be hitting a tavern, but adventurers were rather unusual people, so they tended to contribute the greater portion of The Copper Flagon’s revenue. Anyone could go there at the end of a day and buy drinks, but who else but adventurers would be willing to pay the exorbitant rates they charged for rooms rather than the much more reasonable prices of any given inn in the city? Yes, only an adventurer was willing to shell out all the extra gold just so he could go straight from drinking to flopping face down into a purportedly clean and demonstrably overstarched bed. Which was why, all things considered, a cloaked lizardman slinking through the front door of The Copper Flagon right as the sun was cracking over the horizon wasn’t really //that// odd. Or rather, it was the sort of odd that was positively mundane. Just noteworthy enough to have the exhausted looking tavernkeep glance up to see who’d come in, before returning to polishing a glass when he realised it was just one of the group from the room upstairs. Crius hadn’t slept a whole lot throughout the night, and with good reason. Night was prime time for him to make use of his abilities, and not necessarily by stealing things. He wasn’t just a thief, after all: he was a //rogue.// No, he’d made use of the night to touch base with some contacts and make some perfectly legitimate exchanges. The sort that lightened his own coin purse, which was a rarity for him, but well worth it for what he got in return. The only thing that a competent rogue valued just as much as gold: [[information.->tavern2]]

Information which he’d be keeping to himself for the time being, in favour of meeting with his current set of companions. Crius figured that they’d be up at around sunrise, early risers as they were—some more than others—and a quick sweep of the tavern confirmed that suspicion. Five figures, all clustered around a table in one corner of the room. Judging by the slew of plates and mugs across its surface, most still half-full and being poked by forks, breakfast was well underway. Closest to Crius was a big dog in gleaming armour, his cuirass proudly emblazoned with his holy symbol: an open-handed gauntlet. Then two cats, one a boy swaddled in travelling clothes, the other mature and clad in colours that would better fit a troubadour than a traveller. Finally, a human bedecked in fur and leather and a half elf dressed in something that clearly wanted to be a robe, but only got halfway there before cutting short around the knees. They had names, of course. Crius would be remiss if he didn’t memorize the names and skill sets of his companions within a day of being in their company, let alone the three months he’d spent with this particular band. For example, the boy-cat that was currently focused on shovelling forkfuls of runny egg past his muzzle was Tadeas, squire to the great dogged dog of a paladin that was [[Khasar.->tavern3]] More importantly, he was a fledgling cleric in his own right, replete with powers gifted from his god in spite of his youth. Crius imagined such power was the only reason why they brought along a kitten whose voice—among other things—had yet to drop.

Khasar had dropped his own fork and was leaning across the table, armour clanking as he jabbed a finger in the direction of the other cat—Maximon, a bard, evidenced as much by his garish colours as by the lute slung across his shoulders. “You will be respectful when you are speaking of the great god Esege!” Khasar shouted—or barked, Crius thought, smiling to himself as he leaned against a post and observed the goings-on from a comfortable distance. All the yelling drew sideways glances from the other patrons in the tavern. There were only a handful of them at such an ungodly hour, which was all the more reason for them to detest the noise. “I //was// being respectful,” Maximon said, throwing up his hands in what would’ve seemed like a placating gesture were he not wearing such a cocky smirk while giving it. “All I’m saying is I don't see why you have to be so stolid. What does Esege care if you have a bit of fun while you're kicking dirt down here?” “Your idea of 'fun' is infidelity and debauchery, and I won't have you saying such things in front of my squire.” Khasar gestured to Tadeas to reinforce his point, though the boy didn’t look nearly as offended as his master, apparently too consumed with consuming egg to pay the argument much heed. [[“Afraid he might make a few decisions of his own? Not cast his lot in with the codes and texts?”->tavern4]]

Khasar’s eye twitched at that, but his voice dropped down a register, either out of awareness of the attention they were drawing or in some attempt to sound imposing. “He's //twelve,// Maximon. I hardly think it's appropriate for you to boast about your... escapades, while he's in earshot.” If it was meant to intimidate, it had the opposite effect. Maximon leaned back in his chair, picking at his fangs with the tongs of a fork. “I hardly feel it necessary to censor myself in the company of friends and compatriots. As a matter of fact, I—” “G-gentlemen,“ the human interjected, his placating tone undercut right off the bat by stuttering. Speech impediment, not nervousness—that was an entirely unrelated phenomenon, constant as it might’ve been. “Is this quarrel really n-n-necessary? Can't we all just, eh, get along?” Crius suppressed a scoff in favour of a more silent puff of air through his nostrils. Not exactly a moving speech. He could see why it was that Leolin had wound up being a [[druid->tavern5]]; trees were less judgmental about that sort of thing than people were.

“I appreciate your attempt at peacekeeping, Leolin,” Khasar said, not taking his eyes off of Maximon even as he directed a response to Leolin, “but I'm afraid it's quite necessary. Now, Maximon, what is it you were going to say?” “Nothing that need be said,” the half-elf cut in, finally deigning to insert himself into the conversation after so long spent staring into a mug of tea at the far end of the table. “I'd prefer if you'd limit your smiting to those outside the party, Khasar.” That’d be the sorcerer. Not mage, wizard, or gods forbid, //warlock//—sorcerer. Cadmus made sure to clarify that point to anyone who dared address him incorrectly, along with a lecture on the differences. Otherwise, he typically held his tongue. He probably thought he came off as being mysterious and aloof. Crius thought he came off as smug in a cool, distant way: self-satisfied and utterly insufferable. Even though Khasar didn’t share Crius’ enmity towards Cadmus, it was clear that such a casual dismissal wouldn’t be enough to make him back down. The paladin’s eyes were locked on Maximon’s, burning stare meeting lackadaisical sneer, [[silence->tavern6]] threatening to boil over into yet another round of either shouting or worse.

Surprisingly enough, it was Tadeas who spoke up next, the silent tension in the air apparently enough to pry the cat away from his meal where open argument had proved insufficient. “Doesn't Esege tell us to temper justice with mercy?” It seemed that the cleric part of the cleric-boy dichotomy Tadeas embodied had reared its head. It was a stroke of luck that he’d chosen to quote only a line from Esege’s holy texts rather than an entire passage. He seemed to have them all memorized, a more impressive feat than any display of divine magic he could conjure up—or more off-putting, depending on who you asked. But somehow, even while quoting religious tenets, he avoided sounding condescending. He didn’t talk like a smarmy upstart trying to undermine his betters. His voice, the way he looked up at Khasar as he spoke, it all made what he’d said seem like a legitimate question. As if, despite his undeniable knowledge of their religion, he still looked to the paladin to ensure that his interpretation of it was correct. Khasar looked down at Tadeas, and his eyes softened. He pulled himself back from the table and settled back into his chair, grabbing his half-empty cup of whatever it was a paladin drunk to start their day—Crius suspected a finely tuned mixture of piss and vinegar—and stared into it, muttering under his breath. From what Crius could pick up of it, he seemed to be praying. A prayer for strength in the face of adversity. Khasar might’ve backed down, but Maximon was brimming with haughty passive aggression, and it was clear that it was about to bubble back up to the surface. Leolin sat clutching the edge of the table hard enough to whiten his knuckles and Cadmus watched the bard with a wary eye from over the lip of his mug. Crius could see the feline’s lips part, some line of half-formed wit fighting its way to the surface[[—->tavern7]]

But it never got the chance to escape because, down out of the stairway, a familiar face burst out onto the tavern floor: a kobold. Under most circumstances, Crius would consider having to endure a kobold’s presence for long enough that they could be considered familiar a great misfortune, but this one was different. Vogge, unlike the sort of gutter-rutting trash most city-dwelling kobolds wound up being, was an artificer. A valuable asset, given the great shortage of such in the area. Assuming, of course, that the tales he’d spun of his talents turned out to be true. Thus far, Vogge had slung a few cantrips, pulled weight as a pack mule, and on one occasion crawled into a crevice too small for any of the rest of them to fit in order to retrieve a ring, but had yet to display any of the enchanting abilities that so defined an artificer. But judging by the leather satchel he was gripping in front of him as he scampered towards their table, jangling with his every motion, it seemed that this might be the day that changed. “Friends!” Vogge [[shouted->tavern8]], drawing the glares of patrons who’d only just returned to their breakfasts after the scene moments before. “I have gifts!”

Khasar bristled, Leolin winced, Maximon cringed. It was probably for the best that Cadmus was the one to speak up before either of the other three could. “Perhaps you could tell us about them at a more reasonable volume?” Vogge glanced at Cadmus and then modulated his volume to something marginally less ear-piercing, if still too loud for certain mildly hungover parties in the tavern. “Friends, I work all night on this, for whole week. Every night! Well, most of every night. Sometimes I sleep. Pass out some hour while work. But still counts! Not even that many hour, because kobold only sleep four hour, and //I// only sleep //two—//” Khasar held up a hand. “Vogge, please. Explain things to us a bit more calmly, if you would?” The whole party was looking at Vogge with interest, now. Maximon with annoyance on top of that and Leolin with the same mild distrust that he held in regards to everything unknown, but interest all the same. Vogge capitalized on it, moving up to the edge of the table and hoisting the satchel up onto it. “You all so nice, letting me be adventurer with you. I make you all thing, magic thing, each and every one!” With that, he flung open the top of the satchel, and everything inside came tumbling out to scatter across the surface of the table. A collection of six small [[objects->tavern9]] of varying shape, size, and material, but with metal and jewels visible at a glance. Naturally drawn by the prospect of valuables, Crius crept closer and finally joined the rest of the group at the table, his sudden appearance gone unnoticed amid the interest in what Vogge had brought.

Crius was sure the questions in his mind were shared by the rest of the group. Perhaps not Tadeas, ill-versed in such things as he was, but the rest of them seemed intelligent enough that they’d wonder: how was it that the kobold could create six magical items in the span of six nights? While spending his days working with the party, no less. That had to work out to a ratio of, what, eight hours’ work to one magical item? That was a level of productivity bordering on miraculous. Yet there it was, a whole heap of the things on the table in front of them. Vogge sorted through it and picked up a ring, a twisting band made out of brass and copper. Not exactly expensive materials, Crius thought, unable to rein in his natural tendency to appraise any potential valuable he laid eyes upon. Looked to be decent craftsmanship, though, and if it was magical... “Tadeas, this one for you!” Vogge said, holding it between two fingers and thrusting it out to the cat in question, who held out a palm for Vogge to place it in. “You want be tough, right? You want take lots of abuse? This ring do that!” “Wow, really?” Tadeas said, words flighty with a sort of awe that made it clear that, in spite of how much he might’ve given up for the sake of his religion, he was still a child. Though that awe seemed diminished somewhat when he went to put his finger into the ring and found that it was about three or four times too wide to fit any of his digits. “Um...” “No-no, goes on tail! Powerful magic, too much for finger.” Crius had seen his share of magic items, including rings of protection, what it sounded like Vogge was describing. They could fit on fingers. He suspected the reason for its size was more shoddy materials being poor at holding an enchantment—or a shoddy craftsman poor at putting magic in them. But Tadeas seemed to hold no such suspicion, just went ‘ohh’, nodded as if the kobold’s explanation made perfect sense, then turned to fit the ring over his tail. Khasar watched with a look of mild concern. Hardly unusual: Tadeas couldn’t so much as feed himself without drawing [[Khasar’s->tavern10]] concern.

“Khasar!” Vogge said, drawing the paladin’s attention away from Tadeas. The kobold was holding a string of coppery looking beads, attached to a carving of a gauntlet about half as long as a thumb. A bit blocky, but otherwise decent work for an amateur carver. “I make you god symbol.” And so it was. Esege’s symbol, a gauntlet. It took it being outright stated for Crius to recognize it, but then, he never was much one for religion. So many ordinary objects that were suddenly holy if you stuck them on a necklace or a shield. Didn’t look holy. Didn’t look magical, either. When Khasar reached out and took the necklace from Vogge, though, Crius could see the dog jolt slightly, hear his tail letting out a thwack as it smacked against his chair. //Now// it seemed magical; you didn’t get that kind of reaction from touching a completely mundane wooden necklace. Maybe powerful magic, too, if it’s aura alone was enough to inspire such a reaction. “Not just symbol, though!” Vogge said. “You want others know you god strong? This do it!” Khasar looked at it, then looked back up at Vogge, staring at the kobold as he waited for some sort of an explanation. Vogge met Khasar’s eyes for a moment, then apparently took his silence as acceptance and looked back down at the table, reaching for the next bauble to show off. “What do you mean by that, exactly?” Khasar asked, before the moment got away from him. “What does it do?” “Make you talk so others listen. It gives...” Vogge trailed off, eyes narrowing to slits as he visibly wracked his brain and tenuous knowledge of Common. “Don’t know word. Makes kobold listen to chieftain.” “Charisma?” Khasar hazarded. “Yes! Chareesma. You show people how strong you god is! Loud and strong!” “Well, er, thank you,” Khasar said, holding the necklace up to his face and inspecting it, squinting as if its secrets would reveal themselves. Unfortunately for him, the necklace’s magic didn’t seem to be forthcoming in the wood grain. [[Not that such a fact lessened any interest in looking at it, as evidenced by Tadeas leaning over the table next to Khasar and all but bouncing up onto his lap. “Woah, cool! Can I see it? I’ll let you look at mine!”->tavern11]]

While Khasar was left to deal with his necklace and the outpouring of excitement it brought with it, Vogge moved onto the next magical item. This one was small, not even the size of a marble. Given the kobold’s previous excuse about size, Crius wondered if that meant this item had less magic in it. If that were the case, it wouldn’t be too hard to guess who Vogge’s favourites were. “Bard!” Vogge said, drawing the attention of an already irritated and argumentative Maximon, made none the more happy for the fact that he was apparently the only one whose name the kobold either hadn’t bothered to memorize. “I make you shiny thing!” Vogge held it out, and Maximon plucked it from the kobold’s fingers, inspecting it. It certainly was shiny. A tiny jewel, greenish-yellow—chrysoberyl, Crius figured. It seemed decently cut, but it still wasn’t rare enough that a pea-sized sample like the one Maximon was holding was any sort of prize. It was mounted on a short, sharp bit of silver, forming a stud earring. Maximon’s ears were already adorned with several gems of far greater value than the one he was currently holding, and that wasn’t by luck. He could tell an expensive jewel from a shiny rock just as well as Crius, and evidently, he wasn’t impressed by what he was seeing. “And?” “Make you popular!” Vogge said. “All eye look at you. You receive [[attentions->tavern11.5]], no fail!”

“Cadmus, you get dragon scale!” Vogge said, and true to his word, he picked up a small red scale off the table. It had a hole punched in it through which a thick piece of string had been fed. Another necklace. Crius supposed there was only so many ways to turn a scale into a convenient accessory. Cadmus looked at Vogge’s hand stretched out towards him, offering the necklace, but refrained from taking it. “What does it do?” “Sorcerer get magic from dragon blood, right?” Vogge said. “This help with that! Help expand bloodline.” Cadmus stared at it for another second, then reached out and took it from Vogge’s fingers, giving the kobold a slight smile. “Okay. Thank you.” He threw the string around his neck, shuddered as the scale came to a rest on his chest, then returned to his drink as if nothing had changed. Crius had no idea what effect the necklace was intended to have, and to be honest, he doubted that Cadmus did either. That meant he either really trusted the [[kobold->tavern13]], or he just wanted to look smart by not asking a lot of questions. Crius had a good idea of which it was.

“Leolin, make you bracelets!” Vogge scooped up two leather bands from the table and held them out, one in either hand. They looked surprisingly plain, up until Crius spotted the arcane script looping around their insides. It looked slovenly. Crius couldn’t read whatever runic alphabet it was that the artificer had used, but whatever it was, it looked like the arcane equivalent of chicken scratch. “Sorry it’s two. Leather hard enchanting, needed more.” “No, it’s fine. It’s...” Leolin reached out and took the two bracelets from Vogge, looking down at them. “W-what is it that they do?” “Well, you kind of druid that good with tree, bad with animal, right?” Leolin huffed through his nostrils, rankling a bit. “Listen, just because I got bit by a wolf one time—” Vogge waved away his indignation. “Sorry, sorry! But this help, see? Make animals like you a whole lot, treat you like one of them?” The tone Vogge had used made that sound like more of a question, but if it was, Leolin didn’t have the answers. “W-what do you mean, ‘a-animals’? All of t-them?” Vogge hummed. “Four leggies. More or less leggies, don’t know.” Leolin looked at the bracelets again, first one, then the other, and sighed. Then, he let out a short laugh, looking up at Vogge with a little smile. “W-well, I guess I could use a little h-help with that. [[T-thank you,->tavern14]] Vogge.”

“Glad you like! Sneaky!” Vogge said, turning to face Crius. It seemed that he was the only one who had been deemed worthy of receiving a nickname—apart from Maximon, anyway, but ‘bard’ wasn’t so much a nickname as it was a profession. “I make you... this!” Vogge was holding up what Crius could only immediately identify as a piece of worked metal. Bronze, specifically, made of two pieces that were connected by a thin strip in the middle. The two halves looked like moons, one waxing, one waning. Crius took it, felt the tingle of magic in his fingers, but exactly what it was or what it was meant to do remained unclear. He wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to wear it. Was he supposed to wear it? “What am I looking at?” Crius asked, more curious than hostile. Leave the snapping to Maximon, he figured. More flies with honey than vinegar and whatnot. “Clasp for cape,” Vogge said. Crius unhooked the two pieces from one another. Ah, so that was what it was. Now he could see it. Though he did feel the slightest twinge of annoyance at his cloak being called a cape, Crius had a modicum more self restraint than, say, Cadmus, and decided not to turn it into a wizard-sorcerer situation. “And what does it do?” “It help with sneaking, hide in shadow. It, er... what was word in book, eeh, ens... ensna...” Vogge’s face contorted in such an ugly way as he grasped for that word on the tip of his tongue that it was almost painful to watch. Crius had to help things along. “Enshroud?” “Yes, sounds right! Enshroud in shadows. Sound very good for sneak. You like?” Crius didn’t know if he liked it. He wasn’t going to be able to see how effective it was until he had a need to sneak past someone. Still, he liked the idea of it, if nothing else. And he doubted if it would make him any worse at sneaking—barring it lighting up like a bonfire the moment he stepped into the shadows, but Vogge didn’t strike him as being that incompetent. Crius was willing to give it a shot. Though even if he was going to toss it into the ditch the moment they stepped out of the tavern, his response to Vogge would’ve been the same: keep a polite face and maintain party relations. He smiled, something he wouldn’t do if he were dealing with anyone other than another reptilian—they tended to see the amount of sharp teeth on display and misinterpret the gesture. But he felt a kobold would get it. “[[Thanks->tavern15]].”

Vogge smiled back, quite pleased with the reception. All six of the magical items he’d brought down had been doled out—a fact which had not escaped the notice of Leolin. Perhaps his item wasn’t shiny enough to consume the entirety of his attention. Whatever the reason, he spoke up. “B-but Vogge, didn’t you make anything for y-yourself?” Khasar laughed, looking at Vogge from over the head of Tadeas, who was giving the paladin’s necklace a thorough and fascinated examination. “A good question indeed! I’d say such a valuable member of the team deserves something just as much as everyone else.” Vogge looked floored. His eyes steadily widened, then he spoke in, somehow, an even more frantic voice than what he’d started off with when he’d first come down the stairs. “I can work more hardly! Work all tonight, no sleep, have thing ready for morning. I’ll make, uh, I’ll make—” He found himself cut off by another bout of uproarious laughter from Khasar, this time joined to varying degrees by the rest of the group—even Crius threw in a chuckle or two. Vogge grew more and more restless at the sound of it until Khasar finally collected himself enough to speak. “No need, Vogge, really. You’ve done more than enough as-is. How about we focus on getting some work, instead? Sitting around in a tavern is no way for a group of adventurers to spend their time!” And there was his cue. Crius cleared his throat, ready to put the [[information->tavern15.5]] he’d spent his night collecting to good use.

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Tadeas made the poignant suggestion that they shouldn’t discuss party matters without everyone present, so Khasar made them all wait while he went and fetched Maximon from the bar. Once they’d returned, Crius spun them all the tale of what he’d been told. A dungeon. For what claimed to be a party of adventurers, they visited surprisingly few of the things. Khasar had taken up a position of de facto leadership, and he tended to steer the group more towards ventures that wound up being glorified relief efforts. They’d aided any number of small settlements along the countryside, slaughtering goblins, kobolds, xvarts, and ankhegs by the score, easing the burdens of whatever farming community the beasts had been plaguing. Often, it felt as if they were a team of glorified exterminators, with all the minuscule pay to show for it. Crius had a distaste for it. He hadn’t signed on with the party so he could rack up a reputation for humanitarian work, and he felt that he wasn’t alone in that. Tadeas might’ve shared Khasar’s views, being that he did his best to be a complete mirror of the paladin in every respect, but the rest of the party was not nearly so slavishly devoted to pursuing the righteous and noble. Not to say they were at all evil, just that they were grounded enough to understand that a dungeon meant loot, loot meant money, and that money was undeniably a good thing. Which was why the place that Crius had scoped out was so perfect: an abandoned fort. Put as plain as that, it didn’t sound like an appealing prospect. Such places weren’t uncommon in the area. It wasn’t too far in the past that armies had marched up, down, and across the nearby border on a daily basis, guarding territories that changed hands almost as fast as they could determine patrol routes—but times were more peaceful now, and many of the fortifications that were previously vital had now fallen into [[disuse->tavern17]].

But only disused by the armies of the region. It seemed almost a law of the universe that if you left an imposing structure to its own devices, some manner of fearsome creature would move in and make a home for itself. With dangerous creatures came valuables, typically in the form of hoarded wealth, occasionally through whatever coin could be made by selling off the bits of such monsters as alchemical ingredients and spell components. That was a worst-case scenario: it wasn’t glamorous when your loot consisted of a bag of sopping wet guts, but it paid a damn sight better than taking alms after slaughtering a tribe of goblins. If that was Crius’ only selling point, he would’ve had his work cut out for him convincing even the greediest among the group to take the job, but that was only half of the information he’d acquired. The remainder was what made it a real prospect. He’d gotten word from a diviner—gracing his ears second- or third-hand, but originating from a diviner nonetheless—that magical emanations had been felt coming from the fort. Mysterious, exciting, and delightfully vague. What sort of magic? Impossible to say. The only thing Crius’ informant had known was that it was strong enough to be passively detected from the edge of town, and given it was a two day journey to reach the fort, that was a significant distance to be throwing magical energy. Certainly, it’d be possible to get more information with the aid of complicated and expensive scrying magic, and no doubt other groups would be investing in such things. Crius’ [[suggestion->tavern18]] was going to be that they eschew that idea and move out right away, so that they could use the time saved to beat any other interested parties to the punch.

He didn’t get to make it, because as soon as he’d finished describing the situation, Maximon had suggested it first. “I vote we strike while the iron is hot,” Maximon said. “The more time we spend sitting around talking instead of moving, the more likely someone will swoop in under our noses and hit the place first.” “I-isn’t that a bit rash?” Leolin said. Maximon shot him a sideways look. “Rash? It’s the spirit of adventure! It’s why we //are// adventurers, instead of you being a farmer and me some court’s bumbling fool.” Cadmus snorted. Maximon turned his head slightly, as if considering glaring at the sorcerer, but ultimately decided that he wasn’t worth the effort and instead went on. “There’s magic to be had, treasure that’ll make us rich, powerful—more than likely both. It’s our duty to go and take it!” “And if your treasure turns out to be more of, say, a creature?” Cadmus said, apparently intent on earning the bard’s ire. “What then?” “Like a dragon?” Maximon said. “Then I suppose we ought figure out whether it’s planning on razing this town to the ground, shouldn’t we?” “I’d rather not spend my time running around after hypothetical treasures and imaginary dragons when we could be doing work that actually benefits people,” Khasar said. Tadeas nodded in agreement. “Say it’s a lich, then,” Maximon said. “It’d be your duty to go out and strike them down, wouldn’t it? Or at least keep whatever’s pouring out all this energy from falling into the hands of any evildoers. Come on, even you have to see that ignoring [[this->tavern19]] is simply not possible!”

“I like treasure,” Vogge helpfully added. “See?” Maximon said. “At least one member of this party has a lick of sense in their head.” Khasar shook his head. “Fine. So that’s two for, four against—” “I hope you aren’t counting me,” Cadmus said. “Overeager as Maximon might be, I agree that we should investigate.” “I’m in favour as well,” Crius said. Considering Khasar’s numbers, apparently that hadn’t been obvious, or else he was just trying to skew the vote. “Four in favour out of seven,” Maximon said. “That’s a majority. Sorry, Khasar, seems like we’re going.” Khasar wasn’t one to pout—an expression on a big, muscular paladin like him would look ridiculous—but the set of his face made it clear he was well and put out by the outcome of the situation. His displeasure was Tadeas’ displeasure, and unlike his better, the little tomcat had no issue throwing out a pout himself. “I-it’s only two d-days out, Khasar,” Leolin said. “That’s not that long at all. And b-b-besides, maybe it’ll be a w-worthwhile venture after all!” Khasar didn’t even look at him, just furrowed his brow and muttered a response under his breath. “[[I’m sure.->taverntotraveltransition]]”

{(live: 1s)[ (go-to:"tavern16") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to ((text-colour:#f8f7e5)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0,#0f1c11,1,#585c4f))))The party had been ready to hit the trail for some days already, merely waiting for some lead that would permit them to do so. Before noon had struck, they were well on their way out, the outskirts of town disappearing into the trees behind them as they made their way westward. Khasar’s mood had rebounded and settled into the same calm neutrality he usually carried himself with, always striving to be the bulwark of stoicism that the group could rest upon. Maximon had recovered somewhat from whatever it was—likely a hangover—which had driven him to be so argumentative in the morning. Such a mood, combined with the great journey that laid ahead for all of them, lent itself to conversation in order to pass the time. “Vogge,” Tadeas said, “what is it that made you want to become an artificer?” “Whaaat?” Vogge said, looking up from a scrap of parchment he’d been scrawling notes upon. Crius peeked at it; his writing was utterly illegible. “No sense question! I //always// want to make things. Made things ever since being born.Very best at it!” “Best I’ve ever seen! But you had to have had a teacher at some point, right? You couldn’t have learned all of this [[alone->travel2]].”

“Hmm.” Vogge scratched at his cheek. “Not wrong. Ugge was shaman before tribe scatter and we move to city. Teach me magics. “But!” Vogge added sharply, waving around the parchment in his hand for emphasis. “Ugge no read. Vogge learn read, learn many much more magics. And how to use words to put magic in things!” “Oh, so enchanting’s like... magic poetry, then?” Vogge shrugged. “Something like. Not like other things, hard to make compare.” “Well, he’s certainly not going down in any great books of verse,” Maximon muttered, low enough that most of the party couldn’t hear him and the ones who could found him easy enough to ignore. However, he was not alone in his sentiment. “V-V-Vogge,” Leolin said, working his way through a particularly harsh stutter. “If [[words->travel3]] are so important to your work, w-why is it that... t-that you...”

“That your Common is so lacking,” Cadmus said, bluntness earning a sharp look from Leolin. The druid, however, made no move to correct him. But Vogge didn’t seem offended by the question. “Hard at talking, good at reading. Gooder at writing magic words and making magic things.” “So what’s that you’re working on there, then?” Tadeas said, gesturing towards the bit of parchment in Vogge’s hand. “Is scroll. Never make scroll before. So start small, make scroll of magic missile.” Vogge made two last marks on the parchment with grand, sweeping motions. “And now, is done! Want test.” “Then woe to our next enemy, for they’re sure to face the sting of your magic,” Khasar said. “P-perhaps it would be more p-p-prudent to do any experimenting outside of battle,” Leolin replied—and oddly enough, Khasar gave no reply, through his brow knit and his eyes narrowed on the path ahead of them. “I agree,” said Cadmus. “Let’s see your magic, Vogge. Any of these trees ought to do for a [[target->travel4]].”

And so the party pulled to a stop by the side of the trail, its various members scattered at a respectable distance around Vogge. Vogge himself stood in front of a great oak that’d grown a few feet from the path, conveniently placed and large enough to serve as a perfect target for his spell. Vogge held out the parchment with one hand while tracing intricate patterns in the air with the fingers of the other, muttering strange syllables under his breath all the while. Crius couldn’t understand a lick of it, and moreover, he hadn’t even realised Vogge was capable of producing some of the noises he was making. It was something that made him realise that, as much as he detested the sorcerer’s personality, he did prefer Cadmus’ method of spellcasting. Just pure force of will, no mumbling in long dead languages required. It took longer than a typical casting of magic missile would’ve, which was to say, it took any time at all. Crius figured that Vogge was just playing it up for theatrics. Crius was certain that Cadmus felt the same, being a magician himself—but that was also the reason why he was so interested in seeing the outcome of Vogge’s experiment. So none of them said a word. While it might not have been instantaneous, it didn’t take very long. Perhaps ten seconds from the start of his casting, red energy began to form around Vogge’s fingers, wisps of red light that crackled like lightning, shimmered like the air off a hot dune, forming and dissipating as if they were embers burning through their fuel as soon as they formed. More and more of them collected, until his hands were well and cloaked with their glow, all over the course of another five or so seconds. Then, when the stuff had reached its peak and it seemed like Vogge wouldn’t be able to hold it any longer, he threw out his hands towards the tree. His fingers splayed wide, the energy surged towards his fingertips, the queer zipping sound of arcane energy [[travelling->travel5]] through space cut the air...

And then nothing. No bolts of energy shot free from his fingers, and the tree was none the worse for wear. Glances were thrown around, and after a moment, the party looked down and saw where all that magic had gone. Lying on the ground in front of Vogge was a spread of five arrows that had not been there before. They looked sparkly. “Ohh, I get it!” Tadeas said, sounding amused and delighted by the whole display. “I-I must admit,” Leolin said, “I never thought you’d have an appreciation for, eh... w-wordplay.” “Oh, please,” Maximon said. “Puns are the lowest form of wit.” “Ah, er, yes!” Vogge said, crouching down quite suddenly to collect the arrows. “Is pun! I make new spell because, for reason of joke! Very good, very funny artificer, Vogge is! Here, gift for you, bard!” Vogge thrust the arrows out towards Maximon, thankfully with the pointed ends facing inward. Maximon, unimpressed by the whole situation as he might’ve been, was still never one to turn down a gift. He took the bundle of arrows wordlessly. “Riveting as this has been,” Cadmus said, “if there’s nothing more to your display, perhaps we ought to continue [[moving->travel6]].”

Vogge let out an explosive sigh. “Yes, keep moving, reach big magic! Good idea. Go go!” Then, he scuttled off towards the road, casting looks back over his shoulder and clearly trying to get the rest of the party to do the same. The tiny kobold trying his best to goad a group of adventurers into moving along, all of which were at least twice his height, was a sight. But it was spirited enough to get the few members of the party who weren’t already itching to get moving to fall into step. Crius was one of the last to do so. He wasn’t dense; he could tell that what he’d witnessed wasn’t any great feat of brilliance. While it’d be rude to suggest it, he thought that it’d be best if Vogge steered away from scrolls and stick to magic items, if that was the sort of result he provided. Others were not so perceptive. “Wow, Khasar,” Tadeas said, needing to move at almost a jog to keep up with the long strides of the paladin’s legs. “Did you see that? Wasn’t that amazing? I mean, maybe it wasn’t like any of the flashy stuff that Cadmus does sometimes, but think about it: no more buying arrows! And they’re magic, too, so I’ll bet they can[[—->travel7]]”

“Tadeas,” Khasar barked, cutting the boy’s rambling short with a single, sharp word. “Contemplate in silence.” Tadeas looked shocked for a moment at being spoken to in such a manner, then turned away without another word, as ordered. Some of the other party seemed equally surprised, Leolin glancing uncomfortably at the two out of the corner of his eye, Cadmus quirking a brow in silent question. Khasar acknowledged none of them. If any of them had hoped to say anything to Tadeas, perhaps a few comforting words after he’d been snapped at, they wouldn’t get the chance. In spite of the tongue lashing he’d received, Tadeas stuck close to Khasar’s side as they walked, now in a heavy silence. The boy wasn’t the type to hold grudges or go sour on people. That was one of his better qualities. Crius wondered if Khasar would recover from his sour mood before the day was out, or if that unshakable positivity of Tadeas’ would go wasted until they finally hit [[ground->traveltocamptransition]] for the night. It was impossible to say.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"travel1") ]}

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"camp1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to ((text-colour:#fcfaf6)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0,#000000,0.6975,#2f0000,1,#781c05))))Travelling was one of the biggest parts of adventuring by sheer amount of time spent, and generally, it was the least interesting part as well. You walked, and that was it. Bandits and highwaymen were a high point purely for the brief excitement fighting them offered, but they’d met none, so the only distraction was through conversation. But Khasar’s mood had not improved, which lent itself towards uncomfortable silence. Usually, the paladin could be counted on to be a strong, righteous presence. He kept party conflicts from reaching any degree of seriousness and, as much as Crius wouldn’t expect it from someone who was essentially a proselytizing zealot, fostered morale and cohesion among the group. He supposed that was just the effect a leader had on people. So with him being surly as he was, those effects were greatly diminished. The party talked in hushed tones between individual pairs, with few conversations that included the whole group. A sense of slight unease hung over all of them. And, worst of all, boredom. Without talking, there was nothing to break up all the walking. It was unbearably dull. Crius was relieved when they finally elected to make camp for the night. It wasn’t that he was particularly tired, given he tended to keep late hours, but at least it was something to do. Tents were set up, a fire lit, and the seven of them were [[huddled->camp2]] around it and the spit set up over top. A rabbit was skewered on it, rotating over and over, the air filling with the scent of cooking meat.

Conversation remained stilted. For lack of that distraction, Crius had taken to observing the rest of the party, simply for something to occupy the time. Most of them were fiddling with their equipment, Khasar polishing his sword, Maximon plucking tunelessly at the strings of his lute, Tadeas flipping through the pages of a thick, dog-eared book. Vogge and Leolin tended to the cooking in a twin effort, turning the spit in shifts. Cadmus would typically be sitting some distance off from the party, honing his magical skills. Crius had always thought of that as an affectation and a performance more than any legitimate attempt at practice. He wasn’t doing that tonight, though. Instead, Cadmus was pulled up just as close to the fire as the rest of the party—and was staring into it, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees. It wasn’t an idle sort of stare, not the bored look of someone with nothing better to do than watch wood burn. It was intense, focused, as if his attention were wholly consumed by the play of the flames. His eyes glittered with their light. Crius wondered at it, studying Cadmus with just as much interest as Cadmus paid to the fire. That keen attention was the reason he was the only one to see when Cadmus reached a hand out towards the flames, fingers outstretched, as if he wanted to grab them and hold them in his palm. He got close, close enough for the fire to lick at the tips of his extended fingers—and that was the point at which he jerked his hand back, the sudden motion drawing the [[attention->camp3]] of the rest of the party.

“Food not done yet,” Vogge said, as if trying to reach for something cooking in a roaring fire was typical, run-of-the-mill behaviour—thinking back on how some of the kobolds that Crius had met were, it very well might’ve been, for Vogge. “A-are you quite alright, Cadmus?” Leolin said. “P-p-perhaps you ought to t-turn in early, once you’ve e-eaten.” “Maybe you ought stick to shooting flames from your hands instead of trying to grab them,” Maximon added. Cadmus ignored Maximon’s comments, something which came quite easily. Most of the party was quite effective at doing that, bar Tadeas, who was too polite to purposely ignore anyone—though even he offered Maximon only the briefest glance for his insensitive comment before returning his attention to Cadmus, concerned for his wellbeing. Cadmus was holding the wrist of his hand, staring at his fingers. “I’m fine,” Cadmus said. “Just... an experiment. Don’t [[concern->camp4]] yourselves.”

His dismissal wasn’t readily accepted, Tadeas’ and Leolin’s eyes in particular lingering on him with looks of concern, but he didn’t acknowledge any of them. With Cadmus refusing to respond to them and no real harm to be addressed, that concern was difficult to maintain. So it began to recede, and the two eventually returned to what they were doing, Tadeas looking back to his book and Leolin swapping in for his turn rotating the spit. Attention eventually shifted away from Cadmus entirely, but Crius continued to watch, his attention rooted in the more enduring emotion of curiosity rather than fleeting concern. That different lens was the reason he picked up on something nobody else seemed to have noticed: in spite of his fingers having gone at least half an inch deep into the fire, Cadmus didn’t show the slightest sign of being [[burned->camptooutforttransition]].

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"outfort1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (background:(gradient: 0, 0.1944,#171312,0.8189,#332920,1,#a9bed1)))With a steady pace and a lack of interruptions, the journey made up for its lack of interest by being mercifully short. The party reached their destination two or three hours past noon, the thick clusters of trees that had made up their surroundings for so long finally giving way to a clearing. In the centre of it sat the fort. It was large. There wasn’t much else to say about its appearance, save that it didn’t look like it was any great source of magic. Great square walls of undecorated stone spoke of a focus more on military strategy than aesthetics. It didn’t even look inhabited. No shady figures lurked up on the parapets, no lights flickered in the windows high above. Though they wouldn’t, if the fort’s new inhabitants had chosen it specifically to avoid the light, preferring the dampness and darkness such a place would offer. They circled around the outside of the fort until they found its entrance. Another testament to the focus on function rather than form: in spite of how large and imposing the fort was, the entrance itself was small and plain, with only a short stairway differentiating it from a hole in the wall. Perhaps at one point it contained a gate, but if it did, it was long [[gone->outfort2]].

“Doesn’t look like much,” Maximon said. “P-perhaps that’s the intent,” Leolin replied. Maximon offered a noncommittal grunt in response. None of the rest of the group had any commentary to offer, and none of them seemed intent on spending any more time standing around outside the fort than was necessary. So, without another word spoken, they moved for the entrance. And were cut short by a sudden flurry of motion. Something swooped down from the parapets above, grey and translucent in colour. Even in the full light of the sun, it was difficult to distinguish any details apart from a vaguely humanoid shape. It was as if its form blurred at the edges. Details or not, it was quite clear that it was headed right for them. The group hastened to prepare themselves, hands planting themselves on the handles of weapons. They got no further than that, though. Rather than collide with them as it seemed intent on doing, it tilted sharply, making an almost ninety degree turn away from them and into the entrance to the fort. It swooped out of the light of the sun and into the unlit corridor ahead, rapidly swallowed up by the darkness. The group [[paused->outfort3]], only dropping their guard when enough time had passed that it was clear it wouldn’t be returning.

“What was that?” Tadeas said. “M-m-mist mephit,” Leolin said. “From the plane of s-steam. Certainly not n-n-native to the area.” “No, but a ready choice of servant for a conjurer,” Cadmus said. “Likely the source of magic that’s brought us here.” “I’m not intimidated by imps. A wizard falls as readily to a blade as anything else,” Khasar said, rummaging through his pack to retrieve a torch. He looked at it, considering, then shoved the torch and the flint and steel he’d gotten to light it into Vogge’s hands. “Get this lit and we’ll be off.” “P-perhaps proceeding with caution would be advisable,” Leolin said. “And what manner of caution would you advise?” Khasar said, readying his sword while Vogge fumbled with the flint and steel. “I hope not standing out here and giving them time to prepare a defence. No, we move forward.” “I m-merely meant that we ought to be careful.” “We should always be careful. Saying we should be careful means nothing.” Tadeas spoke up. “I think that—” “I am not spending any more time discussing this,” Khasar said, speaking loudly and sternly to put an immediate end to whatever it was Tadeas had been trying to say. He glanced down, seeing that Vogge had finally managed to ignite the torch. “Done? Let’s go, then.” Khasar moved forward through the entranceway, walking at a brisk pace that, it had to be said, seemed to fall a bit short of ‘careful’. Regardless, Tadeas moved to keep pace with him, as did Vogge, though he had to practically jog to keep up on account of his far shorter legs. Unwilling to be left behind or to let the three of them venture alone into the potentially dangerous unknown, the last four of the group fell in behind, and the party made its way [[into->outforttoforttransition]] the fort.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"fort1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (text-colour:#f9f0dd)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0.3175,#010209,0.6189,#011337,1,#664b5c)))The fort maintained its appearance of desolation quite nicely, for a little while. The hallways held little but dust and sconces with torches long since extinguished. Presumably, the intention was to make it look as abandoned as possible. With the knowledge that it most certainly was not, Khasar led the rest of the party ever further into its depths. Eventually, they came across rooms that, while maintaining the same general look of disuse, began showing signs of habitation. Clawed footprints in the dust covering the floor, a heel of bread that looked far too fresh, general clutter that betrayed a sense of movement through the area. It seemed they were coming up on the edge of the facade and approaching wherever the inhabitants of the fort. Khasar kept his sword at the ready. Well that he did, too; when he turned a corner, the corridor they were walking through opened up into a large room, likely intended to be a hall. Now, it was nothing but bare stone, stripped of all furniture or decoration. It might as well have been part of the corridor, for all the function it served, were it not for [[one thing->fort2]].

In the centre of the room, placed squarely between them and the way deeper into the fort, was the first creature they’d encountered since setting foot inside the fort—the mephit obviously excluded, given its fleeing the moment they’d laid eyes on it. This was most certainly not a mephit. This was a four legged beast with the body of a lion, the head of a falcon, and a set of huge wings that were folded in as it laid curled up on itself on the floor. Before the rest of the party could follow him through, Khasar held up an arm to stop them and ushered them back around the corner, out of sight of the creature in case it suddenly awoke. Then, he spoke in a hushed whisper. “There’s a sphinx ahead.” “A-a sphinx?” Leolin said. “Are you sure?” “Hard to be unsure,” Khasar spat. “It’s a lion with wings, it’s rather self-evident.” “Y-yes, yes, quite right, s-sorry. Well, s-sphinxes tend to be intelligent. P-perhaps we could reason with it.” “Intelligent? I don’t care if it’s a damn //archmage,// I am not[[—->fort3]]”

His response was cut short by a sudden, shrill scream, loud enough to have the whole party reaching up and clasping their hands over their ears. That was followed by the sound of claws scrabbling against stone as the sphinx came bounding around the corner, body checking Khasar and sending him stumbling into the wall with the loud clang of plate armour colliding against stone. Everything after that point was pure chaos as the party, taken off-guard and partially deafened by the volume of the sphinx’s shriek, suddenly found themselves plunged into combat. Everyone scattered, trying to distance themselves from the beast. Everyone but Khasar, at any rate. The sphinx seemed to be fixated on him and had pressed forward, forcing the paladin’s back to the wall. An attempted bite was just barely thwarted by Khasar’s shield, beak clanging against steel, and a visible dent in its surface left no question as to just how bad it would have been had it connected. The block allowed for Khasar to make a move of his own, thrusting out with the blade of his sword. The sphinx dodged with a surprising amount of dexterity for something so large, but even if it hadn’t connected, it forced the creature [[back->fort4]] far enough that Khasar could move out from the wall and out into more open ground.

As the sphinx was driven back, the rest of the party had recovered and were joining the skirmish themselves. Maximon let loose an arrow; as big a target as the sphinx was, it had no trouble hitting its mark, embedding itself into the creature’s side. The sphinx seemed to be more angered than debilitated by the injury. It let out another shriek, but the party was better able to handle it than the last; they winced at its volume, but weren’t crippled by it as before. With its old strategy having failed, the sphinx resorted to more basic tactics. It whirled on the one who’d shot it and bounded towards him, paws lashing out in clawed slashes. Maximon dove to the side, failing to roll and instead tumbling into an undignified heap on the floor. He scrabbled to push himself back to his feet, but for the few seconds it took to recover, he was immensely vulnerable. Left completely open for the sphinx to rake furrows across his back or tear out the back of his throat. Which the sphinx no doubt would’ve done, had the combined efforts of Maximon and Khasar not bought enough time for the magicians of the party to weave their spells. Tadeas was just close enough to grab Maximon’s tail, and as soon as he did so, a blue glow enveloped the bard’s body. The sphinx pounced, only to find his claws unable to find purchase, skating helplessly off the protection of the sanctuary [[spell->fort5]].

Before the sphinx could shift his focus to another target, another spell was let loose, this time from Cadmus. A long jet of flame sprang forth from his outstretched hands, streaking across the hall until it slammed into the back of the sphinx, filling the air with the scent of burning fur and feathers alike as his wings were set alight. The sphinx let out another screech, scrabbling back from Maximon’s prone form and towards the room he’d emerged from—bringing him within range of where Leolin had positioned himself. The druid brought his quarterstaff down in a powerful overhead swing. A less than magical solution, but an effective one. The staff collided with the sphinx’s skull with a loud crack, cutting its screeching short and sending it dropping limp to the ground in a smouldering heap. It was probably dead. Shortly after it had been incapacitated, Khasar moved up to the sphinx and brought his sword down on the creature’s neck in the manner of an executioner. Its head was cleaved from its body in one clean blow, sent rolling across the floor until it came to a stop against the wall. It was most certainly [[dead->fort6]], then.

As intense as the fighting had been, it’d been quite short. Vogge hadn’t even had opportunity to contribute to it, nor had Crius, which suited him just fine. As enjoyable as fighting and killing might’ve been, Crius preferred leaving such things for when the odds were weighted in his favour. Though however little his participation, he still took the opportunity to stand around breathing heavy with the rest of the group. It wouldn’t do to look like he’d been taking it too easy. Leolin was the first to break the silence, in his stuttering way. “T-t-that was a hieracosphinx.” “And what does that mean?” Khasar said, panting. “That it isn’t fond of riddles?” “W-well, yes. They’re the w-weakest kind of sphinx, evil, s-stupid, cruel. I-if one’s here, that means this is either its t-t-territory—” “Or it’s been drafted as a guard,” Cadmus murmured. “Y-yes, exactly.” “Who would be able to hire something like this as a guard?” Tadeas asked, moving to nudge the body of the hieracosphinx with his foot, hesitating for a moment before thinking better of it and stepping back. “If they hired it, rather than conscripting it,” Cadmus said. “And if it’s a who, and not a what.” “If you’d both stop standing around asking questions,” Khasar said, “perhaps we could get a move on?” Some sour looks were cast about at that, but Khasar took notice of none of them. His own face was just as sour; being shoved around by the hieracosphinx had done nothing to improve his disposition. Still, nobody was quick to contradict him for fear of upsetting their only frontline fighter while in the depths of a dungeon crawling with enormous beasts. The group simply went silent and fell into step behind Khasar as he led the way further [[into->fort7]] the fort.

They came to something that they ought to have suspected from the start, but none of them had really planned for: a crossroads. The hallway split off into three different directions, continuing on straight ahead as well as offering a path leading to either side. They all either led on into darkness or had corners that made it impossible to see where they led at a glance. Khasar stopped, and the rest of the group along with him. Ideally, they would’ve found some manner of clue or lead that would give them a direction to work towards. Instead, they were going to have to choose a direction quite blindly—hardly a desirable strategy, given the kind of creature they’d already seen to inhabit the place. The paladin let out a long sigh through his nose. He turned back to face the rest of the group, about to ask for suggestions in spite of the fact that he knew all of them would be at exactly as much of a loss as he was, and he’d wind up having to lead them on blindly anyway. Such was the expectation. It was an expectation that was not met. When he turned, he saw that the rest of the party had turned as well, all of them staring at Cadmus. The sorcerer had his head turned up, and was taking quick, short breaths through his nose—sniffing at the air, Khasar realised, just the same as he would if he were trying to track down a scent. Only Khasar couldn’t detect a whiff of anything unusual, other than the musty scent that tended to form in dungeons and old stone structures like this one. Cadmus brought his eyes back down to the horizon, then pointed a finger down the hallway leading off to the left. “That’s where we should go. The [[magic->fort8]] is stronger that way.”

“You can smell magics?” Vogge asked. Cadmus paused before replying, only a second or two, but a pause nonetheless. “Yes.” An equally long pause from the rest of them. “You’ve never done that before,” Tadeas said. “How could you possibly know that?” Cadmus said, tone turning sharp. “You know nothing of my senses. You know nothing of the arcane. Withhold your commentary.” “Finally some measure of reason,” Khasar muttered. “Onward, then.” The first thing any of them had said all day that Khasar had found agreeable, and it was telling someone to shut up. His agreement had done nothing to put any of them in a better mood, Cadmus becoming sullen and Tadeas cowed and downtrodden as he fell into step a few feet beside Khasar. Crius headed up the rear. He wasn’t sure just how much he [[trusted->fort8.5]] Cadmus’ nose.

{(live: 1s)[ (go-to:"fort9") ]}

The corridor made a sharp turn that led out into a room, and a few surprises laid inside. The first one was somewhat pleasant: light. Oil lamps hung from each corner of the room, all burning and illuminating the room, albeit dimly. It was still a welcome change from the darkness, and if they’d gotten deep enough for people to be lighting lamps, that meant they had to be past the facade of abandonment. Which meant they were going to start running into the ones that facade was meant to conceal. Thus, the second surprise: three lizardfolk, standing scattered around the room. Or at least, the majority of the party had assumed them to be lizardfolk. Crius knew lizardfolk, being one himself, and these three weren’t. They were a good three feet too tall, for one. Too muscular. The head and face were entirely, entirely wrong. The tiny, dark eyes, huge jaws full of jagged teeth... “[[Werecrocodiles->fort10]],” Leolin whispered. He needn’t have bothered; the three creatures were already staring at them the moment they stepped into view.

Leolin’s knowledge of creatures mundane and magical was impressive. No doubt he could’ve regaled the lot of them with all manner of details about werecrocodiles: their habitats, their dietary preferences, the intricacies of their socialization. On one particularly boring march, he’d told the whole group absolutely everything they could’ve possibly wanted to know about winter wolves. Some of the information he knew might’ve even been helpful. He didn’t get a chance to tell them anything more than the name, though. That was because after Leolin had said it, the three werecrocodiles, as if on cue, let out one unified roar and charged. “Why is everything screaming at us us today?!” Maximon shouted, throwing himself to the right in a dodge that only just brought him out of range of a set of snapping jaws. Khasar stepped in and drove the beast back with a swing of his sword, only for it to whirl into a sudden spin—one that Khasar realised the intent of only when he felt the thick bulk of a tail slam into his side and send him [[stumbling->fort11]].

While Khasar dealt with the one, Leolin had cast a hasty spell to immobilize the other two with vines. Unfortunately, it had only managed to stop the one; the other werecrocodile had thrown themself out of the spell’s range, and was closing in on Leolin while the druid did his best to keep them at bay with wide swings of his staff. It wasn’t stopping the beast’s advance, only slowing it. Meanwhile, the werecrocodile he’d entangled was working its way through its restraints quite rapidly with the use of tooth and claw. Ground was being lost at a dangerous rate. Cadmus was weaving a spell, offering some hope of the battle becoming less utterly hopeless. So was Tadeas. Vogge was cowering behind whatever large party members were most convenient to hide behind at any given moment. Overall, the magicians were functioning as expected. Crius, not as given to the sort of cowering that his shorter companion was indulging in, dashed forward towards the werecrocodile attempting to divest Leolin of his innards and swung his dagger out in a neck-aimed [[slash->fort12]].

It connected. Crius would’ve been shocked if it hadn’t; the creature certainly had a thick enough neck. Unfortunately, that thick neck had equally thick, interlocking scales to protect it. Crius’ dagger would’ve been enough to slice clean through the hide of a lizardfolk, but it was only enough to carve out a flesh wound when brought to bear against his exotic opponent. Though that was enough to get the werecrocodile’s attention. It turned from Leolin to Crius, a clawed club of a hand already swinging through the air as it rotated. Expecting such a response, Crius had leapt back and out of the range of the swing, and Leolin took advantage of the opening to slam his quarterstaff into the werecrocodile’s side. It went staggering under the force of the blow. So did Leolin, when the other werecrocodile, having finally managed to tear itself free of its bindings, came barrelling forward and slammed a shoulder into him. Before it could do any more than that, Cadmus let loose a gout of flame from his hands, sending the werecrocodile diving to the side and away from Leolin. Crius briefly wondered why it was that, out of all the infinite wonder that [[magic->fort13]] was capable of, it always seemed to come back to shooting fire at people. Crius dropped the line of thought when the werecrocodile he’d slashed pounced at him, forcing him to fling himself to the side in a rolling dodge.

Tadeas finished his spell. A flash of teal light filled the room, accompanied by a feeling of strength that suffused Crius’ body—a feeling of general surety. A blessing. Crius would hardly voice a word against it, though if he was being perfectly honest, he preferred clear and tangible effects to the vague sorts of benefits a blessing spell offered. Whatever happened to gods smiting the enemies of their devoted? The answer to that was it had never stopped, but was merely the domain of paladins. Khasar had been engaged in a one-on-one brawl with a werecrocodile for some time now, and the fact that he’d even managed to hold his ground spoke measures about his strength. Perhaps it was Tadeas’ blessing that gave him what he needed to tip the scales in his favour, because a few moments after its casting, he’d driven his opponent to the wall. Or rather, pinned them to it. His blade had gone through the werecrocodile’s stomach, out his back, and the tip of it was embedded in the mortar between the bricks. With a tug that incorporated his whole body, Khasar wrenched his sword back and pulled it free of the beast’s body, his blade red and shiny with [[blood->fort14]].

It dropped to its knees, clutching at its stomach. Khasar took advantage of the position to make another swing, this time a sharp downward blow across the werecrocodile’s neck. It wasn’t enough to sever it like he had the hieracosphinx, but the half foot that it did cut was enough to lay the beast out flat on the ground, either dead or close enough to being such to no longer be a threat. For about two seconds or so, anyway. That was how long it took before the werecrocodile’s body jerked, his jaw wrenched open at an angle wide enough that it looked unnatural even for his species, and he began to let out a hissing noise like escaping gas. Another second, and a thick red mist started pouring out of his mouth, coalescing into a hovering, translucent red figure. Khasar’s eyes met the figure’s own, though they were little more than sunken pits filled with bright red embers. Then, as seemed to be the common means of introduction in the fort, the creature began to [[shriek->fort15]].

“What in the Hells is that?” Maximon yelled, staggering as the entity took to flying about the room, swooping past a few scant inches from his snout. His fur prickled in the wake of the thing’s passing. Khasar tried to swing at it when it looped back around, only for his blade to phase right through it as if it were made of thin air. “Seething spirit!” Tadeas yelled back, trying his best to speak over the din of the continuing skirmish with the two remaining werecrocodiles, now combined with the screaming ghost. The spirit lit up for a moment, a pulse of crackling red light like the embers of a fire rolling through its form. A wave of energy emanated off of it and rolled through the room, one felt more emotionally than physically. As it washed over Crius, he could feel the adrenaline and focus that he usually felt during combat take on a different note. His grip on his dagger tightened, and he felt the need to stab it into someone over and over in a way that was anything but tactical. And it seemed he wasn’t alone in such a reaction. Leolin was gritting his teeth in a way that Crius couldn’t tell if it was from an effort to resist the foreign emotion or just a manifestation of it. Khasar let out an angry, barking noise as he took another ineffectual swing at the spirit. Cadmus swore loudly as he fumbled whatever intricate gesture he was weaving with his fingers and his spell fell through. “They feed off anger!” Tadeas said, trying to stay out of the thick of things while he channelled energy for another spell. “Try to stay [[focused->fort16]]!”

Easy advice to offer, but far more difficult to put into practice. The last thing anyone wanted to hear when they were angry was to calm down, particularly when they still had two werecrocodiles trying to gut them, now on top of the spirit saturating the room with what seemed to be pure anger that was only building in intensity. Khasar at least had the presence of mind to redirect his anger towards those that it could be put to use against, and a good thing that he did. Leolin and Cadmus’ tactics were gradually breaking down under the dual onslaught of werecrocodiles. Spells were difficult to concentrate on and they were wholly outclassed physically. But just as things seemed to be reaching a breaking point, Khasar charged in and slammed his sword into the side of one of the beasts in a wide arc. It sheared clean through the werecrocodile’s scales and sunk deep, sending the creature dropping to a knee and offering Khasar a perfect position for a follow-up strike, this time driving the tip of his blade through its back. The werecrocodile’s jaw dropped open in a silent scream as it was skewered. The same red mist started pouring out of its mouth, forming a second spirit. Its presence alone was enough to make the aura of [[anger->fort17]] in the room double in intensity.

“Can someone kill those damn things?!” Khasar shouted, yanking his sword free from one werecrocodile as the other charged at him, forcing him into a parrying retreat as he did his best not to get disembowelled. “They’re ghosts, it’s the cleric’s damn job!” Cadmus said, the air around his fingers sparking and sputtering as yet another spell fizzled out into nothing. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he abandoned spellcasting entirely, instead drawing a dagger from his belt and rushing forward with it held high overhead in an icepick grip. Cadmus’ advance was thwarted by the werecrocodile’s tail sweeping out and kicking his feet out from underneath. Leolin lashed out with his staff at the same time, and the werecrocodile reciprocated with a slash that tore streaks through the druid’s leather armour, though his claws came away mercifully free of blood. Both attacks that were ultimately ineffectual, but served as distraction enough for Khasar to regain an advantage, pushing forward with brutal slashes that the werecrocodile was incapable of deflecting. The beast was hopelessly outnumbered. Victory was assured. Which left only the matter of the spirits, now two in number, presumably about to be three. Such thoughts were hardly at the forefront of anyone’s mind; undead were best dealt with by divine magic, and they’d made it clear they all expected Tadeas to take care of it. The sight of the cleric hard at work on a [[spell->fort18]] only strengthened that idea.

Whatever the reason, be it better self-control or something to do with where he drew his magic from, Tadeas was able to finish his spell where Cadmus couldn’t fire off a single one. When he did, it became clear that it would do nothing in regards to getting rid of the spirits. What it did do was unleash another wave of energy throughout the room, almost identical to the one the spirits had released in the first place, though completely opposite in effect. Whereas the spirits had provoked anger, this seemed to snuff out any intense emotion, leaving in its place a feeling of calm neutrality marred by only the most physical aspects of the adrenaline pumping through their veins. That’s what it did for Crius, anyway, and he assumed the rest of the group. He didn’t like the feel of it. It seemed that the spirits liked it even less, because as soon as the spell had swept the room, they ceased their wild circling and narrowed in on Tadeas like a pair of hawks. They did not seem calm, and they did not seem pleased. Given their avoidance of it up to that point, the general assumption among the party had been that the spirits were incapable of direct physical attack. When both of them swung at once, lashing out with hands that suddenly formed into vicious claws, they had cause to rethink that assumption. Tadeas let out a cry as ephemeral claws raked across both sides of him at once, front and back, leaving a pair of matching gashes that immediately began to weep [[blood->fort19]] into the fabric of his robes.

Clear thinking enabled swift action. Cadmus splayed out his hands and quickly brought his magic to bear, a volley of glowing red bolts of energy springing forth from his fingers and streaking through the air, all of them slamming into one of the spirits. It lost cohesion and burst into a cloud of the red mist that had made up its form, quickly spreading out and dissipating into nothing. That left a single spirit, but precious few of the party able to actually attack it. Cadmus wasn’t yet ready to cast another spell, Leolin was helping push back the last werecrocodile, and Tadeas was hardly in any position to perform magic while he was being clawed at. The only ones left that could do anything to help were Vogge—given the kobold been doing little but cowering up until the cleric’s spell had forcibly calmed him, Crius found the idea of him saving the day unlikely—[[or->fort20]]...

Unlikely hero and unlikely magician as he was, Maximon was capable in both respects. A sphere of magical energy had formed in one of his hands, and with a wild swing, he sent it shooting across the room. It found its way unerringly to the last remaining spirit, striking it square in the back right as the thing had raised its claw for another swing. It exploded in a flash of colour, and when the light had dissipated, so had the spirit. Flashy, but that did seem to be the bard’s style. He even seemed to have struck a dramatic pose for the spell, arcane energy painting his already colourful clothes in vivid light. They looked pristine. Crius had no idea how he managed to keep them so clean and vibrant, given the filthiness that came with the adventuring profession. It was a question that he’d need to ponder another time, though, as more pressing things drew his attention; a gurgling scream came from his left, and a glance in that direction brought the sight of the werecrocodile dropped to all fours, neck slashed and blood pouring from his mouth. Something else was quick to join that blood, the same mist they’d come to know and dread. With no enemies remaining, though, they’d be able to focus their full attention on the spirit. They were prepared, and they felt no fear as it collected into a great mass of [[red->fort21]].

But their preparation hinged on the idea that it would form into the same manner of spirit as before. Certainly, nobody was prepared for it to shoot out like an arrow for Khasar’s face, taking advantage of the paladin’s resulting gasp to force its way into his mouth and nostrils, forcing its way entirely into his muzzle in a second flat. Khasar stumbled back, only avoiding falling flat on his back by his proximity to the wall. He slumped against it, the tip of his sword digging into the floor tiles to offer yet more support, likely the only thing that kept him from dropping into a heap on the ground. Leolin, being closest, moved forward to help. His help was poorly received. Which was to say, Khasar’s head suddenly snapped up, he let out a wild scream, and the sword that had previously been supporting his weight was suddenly held high with clear murderous intent. It led into a swing with no hint of subtlety, easy for Leolin to avoid by throwing himself to the side, but the loud clang Khasar’s sword made as it slammed into the floor made it clear he wasn’t holding anything back. Khasar looked up. The next person to meet his eye was Maximon. Khasar let out another incoherent scream and charged forward, swinging his weapon less like a swordsman trained in the use of a blade and more like an angry child with a stick. Brute strength devoid of technique. Easy enough to dodge, but if even one of those blows struck, he was liable to take off a [[limb->fort22]].

“Grab him!” Tadeas said. A child with clothes soaked in his own blood was the last person who should’ve been issuing orders, but the situation was so chaotic and he spoke with such conviction that the party leapt at the opportunity to obey. Cadmus, near at hand and not the subject of Khasar’s ire at that moment, rushed forward and grabbed the paladin by the arm. Crius was the next closest, so it fell on him to grab his other arm, working in concert with the sorcerer to hold Khasar in place. It was a struggle. Khasar was the strongest among them, being their only real warrior, and the rage that had taken hold of him did nothing to diminish that strength. Even with two of them working to hold him back, it took everything they had to keep him from wrenching himself free and hacking at every nearby warm body with his sword. Crius was a lizardman, though, a race strong in their own right—and while Cadmus might’ve been a half-elf with no claim to that sort of bestial strength, he somehow managed. Crius wasn’t sure how. It was competency in an area he hadn’t expected from the sorcerer. Tadeas shuffled forward, coming to a stop in front of Khasar. Standing at his full height, Tadeas’ muzzle only came up to the paladin’s chest. At the sight of him, Khasar snarled, gnashing his teeth like a [[wild dog->fort23]].

There wasn’t a hint of fear in Tadeas’ face. The spell made sure of that, of course, but perhaps there was something more than magic at play. He raised his hands up, palms out, and they began to glow with a white light. When it had grown to such an intensity that it was painful to look at them, he pushed forward, shoving against Khasar’s chest with enough force to push the air from his lungs. Khasar immediately began to spasm. His growling and snapping was replaced by coughing and wheezing, as if he were trying to dislodge something from his airway. As he coughed, the same red mist that had forced its way into his body began to come back out, wisps that quickly grew into great bellows of the stuff, struggling to escape his body. It collected, tried to form into the shape of a person like the two other spirits before, and very nearly finished coalescing before Tadeas wrenched his hands away from Khasar’s chest and threw himself towards the forming spirit with hands outstretched and still glowing. They found purchase for only a moment before passing right through, the red mist exploding out and forming a cloud that quickly dissipated into nothing. Tadeas himself continued staggering forward, and were it not for Leolin rushing forward to [[grab->fort24]] him, likely would’ve kept going until he either hit the wall or tripped over his own feet and faceplanted onto the ground.

“A-a-are you alright?” Leolin said, concern thick in his voice alongside a slight twinge of panic as the effects of Tadeas’ calming spell began to fade. “Yes, I’m fine,” Tadeas said, but his voice sounded dim and distant. He raised a hand to his chest and touched it before examining his fingers. They were coated in blood, his robes sodden with the stuff. He let out a faint laugh at the sight of it. “D-do you need a healing potion?” Leolin said, reaching down and digging through a pouch for one before Tadeas could reply. “No, I can... heal myself,” Tadeas said, casting a slightly glazed look around the room, taking in the sight of all the party looking at him. All but Khasar, anyway, who was hanging limp in the combined grip of Crius and Cadmus. “Is Khasar okay?” Khasar looked up at the sound of his voice, cast a glance at the two holding him as if noticing them for the first time, and then jerked in an attempt to free himself from their grip. “Get your hands off of me,” he muttered. Neither Crius nor Cadmus let go immediately. They looked at each other, then at Tadeas. When Tadeas gave a slight nod, only then did they finally release their hold on him, and Khasar stumbled forward a few steps in his haste to get free from them, bringing him a few feet short of [[Tadeas->fort25]].

“Khasar,” Tadeas said, looking up at the paladin, “that spell should’ve kept you calm enough that the seething spirits couldn’t do a thing. Why didn’t it work?” Khasar looked at Tadeas as if noticing him for the first time, clinging to Leolin’s arm with robes soaked through with blood. There was no concern in his eyes, though, only irritation. “How am I meant to know that? Maybe your magic fizzled. Wouldn’t be the first time.” “But—” “I’ll not be questioned by my own squire,” Khasar said, cutting Tadeas off. “Heal yourself, make sure your magic won’t disappoint us again, and then maybe we can finish exploring this stinking hole that //I// never wanted to explore in the first place!” With that, Khasar turned and stormed off a ways, putting a bit of distance between himself and the rest of the group before dropping to the ground and making a show of slinging off his backpack and rooting through its contents. In search of what, Crius couldn’t say. Likely nothing and it was simply something to do to look [[busy->fort26]].

The rest of the group seemed unsure of how to react to such an outburst. Obviously, Khasar’s steadily worsening temper hadn’t gone unnoticed, but nobody had anticipated a display of the likes he’d just put on. Nobody knew how to react to it. Leolin, uncomfortable with the fresh tension as he might’ve been, was nonetheless more concerned with treating Tadeas’ injuries. He brought a thin-necked blue bottle up to the cleric’s muzzle. “D-drink this,” Leolin said, pressing the mouth of the bottle against Tadeas’ lips. The sweet and bitter taste of healing potion began to flow into the cat’s muzzle, and he gulped it down, feeling the magic of it flow through his body and immediately begin to knit his wounds closed. Only when the bottle was empty did Leolin bring his hand away from Tadeas’ muzzle. Tadeas panted to catch his breath and, strangely enough, let out another laugh as he felt at his chest that, moments ago, was a canvas of deep wounds and gashes. Leolin wondered if Tadeas hadn’t lost a bit too much blood. Tadeas spoke, and what he said didn’t exactly dismiss that possibility. “It didn’t... well, it did hurt, but it felt [[good->fort27]] too, y’know? Like I could take it.”

“Do you t-think you can use your magic to heal yourself the rest of the way?” “Oh. Yes.” Tadeas shifted his weight from Leolin back onto his own two feet, and once Leolin had let go of him and he was once again under his own balance, he began channelling positive energy to finish the job the healing potion had started. Leolin stood by close at hand, watching the process closely in case Tadeas took a turn and needed his help once again. He hoped that Tadeas’ odd behaviour was just the result of being too much on the receiving end of the fight. He hoped that it and all the other oddness would resolve once they got through the dungeon. All manner of oddness which seemed to have come over the party since they stepped foot into the fort. Leolin couldn’t say just how much he wanted it all to be over—really couldn’t, for fear of angering Khasar any worse than he already was. “D-don’t take his behaviour personally,” Leolin said. “I-it’s probably just residual anger from the p-p-possession.” Tadeas nodded, but said nothing. When he finished healing himself, he made his way across the room silently, right over to where Khasar stood waiting. And they [[continued->forttodeepforttransition]] their way into the fort without a word.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"deepfort1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (text-colour:#fce4ca)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0.4194,#020008,0.7293,#01072f,1,#5b3539)))There was no treasure. There was just a series of completely mundane rooms, same as he’d expect in any abandoned fort that wasn’t full of monsters and strange, unidentified magic. Some were more lived-in than others, on account of the inhabitants, but rough bedding and scraps of food were hardly adequate reward for the risk involved. Maybe everything that would make this trip worthwhile was simply hidden deeper inside the fort. Or maybe there was nothing that would make this trip worthwhile, the magical aura that they’d been chasing was a fluke, and everything they were doing was completely pointless. Who was to say? Certainly not Crius. He was just the thief. He unlocked locks, disarmed traps, snuck around when required, and occasionally served as an informant. It wasn’t his job to speculate; speculation was unnecessary, since he already knew what he wanted to know. It wasn’t his job to complain; complaining wouldn’t do any good. So he just fell in with the rest of the party and followed behind as silently as everyone else. Cadmus had taken up a spot next to him, sharing the rear position. Hardly unusual. It wasn’t as if the sorcerer was particularly sociable at the best of times, barring those few interjections he made to flex his wit. Something was [[off->deepfort2]], though. Crius couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but he registered it enough that he couldn’t pull his attention away.

After some time of walking and sneaking surreptitious glances over at Cadmus whenever the opportunity presented itself, Crius figured out what it was. The sorcerer had hair long enough to obscure his forehead, but at some point, it had been brushed to one side to reveal a rather distressing looking growth jutting out of his head. One that hadn’t been there before. When Crius saw it, he stared at it quite openly, all efforts of stealth he might’ve been pursuing falling to the wayside. It didn’t seem fleshy like a bruise, but rather like an eruption of bone. Pointed, too, giving it an appearance reminiscent of a horn. It didn’t take long for Cadmus to catch him staring, at which point his head snapped over to Crius, the movement sending his hair falling back into place over that budding growth. “Do you [[want->deepfort3]] something?”

Crius considered bringing it up. He considered a lot of other things, as well, such as the clear tone of annoyance in Cadmus’ voice—seemed that it was catching—and the fact that, when you were on the up about something nobody else was paying attention to, it was often best to leave it be and let it play out until you could use it. Was trying to get a leg up on his own party something of a treacherous move? Arguably. Did he know how he was going to use this knowledge to his advantage? Only in the vaguest possible sense. Was he going to do it regardless? Absolutely. “Just wondering what you’re gonna do when we get outta here,” Crius said. “Hit a brothel,” Cadmus said, completely straight-faced, then turned his attention away from Crius, clearly done with the conversation. Well. That wasn’t the answer that Crius had been expecting. Crius had headed into the fort with a bit more knowledge than the rest of the party, certainly, but none of it was lining up with everything that was happening. He briefly thought about letting the rest of the group in on what he knew. Then, upon reminding himself that their de facto leader seemed ready to tear out the throat of anyone who raised even a reasonable complaint, Crius decided that it would be best to //[[not->deepfort3.5]]// to announce that he’d been holding out on the party.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"deepfort4") ]}

Their next encounter broke the trend of them running into monsters lying in wait for them. They’d just gotten to the end of a particularly long corridor and were about to round the corner when an entirely different group came up the opposite end, forced to stumble to a stop to avoid a collision. Both parties leapt back from each other, weapons brought to bear and assessments made of one another in what was clearly a very unplanned encounter. The other group consisted of four individuals, the largest thus far, but the most usual in composition compared to what they’d seen before: two wolves, two kobolds, each kobold riding one of the wolves. Or at least, they seemed like wolves at a glance. A closer inspection revealed they were too large to be regular wolves, and there was far too much intelligence in their eyes for them to be simple beasts. None of the party made such an inspection, because it unnecessary; it became quite obvious they weren’t ordinary animals when one of them [[spoke->deepfort5]].

“Who are you?” one of the beasts snarled. Crius imagined it was quite difficult for them to speak in anything but a snarl. That seemed to be a thing among wargs, and there was no longer any doubt that was what they were. There weren’t many other kinds of wolf that were given to conversation. The two kobolds riding the wargs scanned the party. In spite of their fearsome mounts, they didn’t seem to be much in terms of warriors. They had daggers, hardly suitable weaponry for fighting from wargback, and they were devoid of armour, instead outfitted in the sort of short-cut cloth robes that had grown quite popular among the magical community. The questions all of this raised were innumerable, but there was no opportunity to launch into an interrogation, as the kobolds spoke first. “Calm down, Ulfhild,” the one on the right said, patting his warg on the side. “I doubt we’d get intruders this deep. We do have guards, after all.” “These six are with [[you->deepfort6]]?” said the one on the left, addressing, of all people, Vogge. Khasar looked taken aback at not being immediately assumed to be the head of the group. Vogge looked bewildered, for similar reasons.

“Uh, er, yes,” Vogge said. “These are, that is, I’m— These are prisoners! Yes, prisoners. I take them to... the... boss! For, uh, punishment. Yes?” Crius, conman at heart, felt his soul wrench at such an insecure attempt at bluffing. The two wargs growled and slavered, moved to hostility, distrust, and hunger in equal measure. The two kobolds exchanged a look. “I don’t think they’re supposed to be here,” the kobold on the left said. “No, definitely not,” said the one on the right. “Perhaps we should post more guards to the entrance.” “Agreed. Think we ought to leave, then?” “Quite.” The two kobolds both made the exact same motions: right hand up, grab hold of a ring on the middle finger of said hand using the other, twist. Once they did so, the hall immediately began to fill with a thick mist, originating from the middle of the hall. Orange light shone from inside it, and the party reeled back from the glowing [[cloud->deepfort7]].

There was the sound of paws against stone, far more than two wargs would be able to muster. The mist cleared within a few seconds, and when it did, the wargs and their riders were gone. That accounted for some of the sound. The source of the rest of it became apparent: two dire wolves, distinct enough in appearance from the wargs to be told apart, now stood before them. Scattered around them were four kobolds, dressed in none of the fancy robes as the ones before, but rather in ragged sets of leather armour. They all had clubs gripped in their hands. Summoning spells. If it hadn’t been obvious enough from the sudden appearance of their opponents, it’d be clear enough from the focused looks the six of them had, even the animals, all determined to carry out the will of their masters. Masters which were more than likely telling the rest of their fellows about their intrusion. These creatures were no doubt intended to serve purely as obstacles, to slow them down enough for a proper defence to be raised. They certainly wouldn’t be enough to stop the party outright. Even with that knowledge, though, there remained only one course of action: fight. The wolves and kobolds charged forward, clubs, fangs, and claws brought to bear. The party raised their own weapons and [[engaged->deepfort8]].

Their choice of targets, however, was somewhat odd. In spite of his being front and centre, not a single wolf or kobold attempted to engage Khasar. They all tried to run right past him, splitting up into three separate groups, a pair of wolves and two pairs of kobolds. Khasar managed to stop one of the wolves by charging at it and forcing it into a melee. Unimpeded, the other five were free to reach where they were headed. The first pair of kobolds made a beeline for Cadmus, circling around and shoving through the party ranks in an effort to reach him. The other two made out for Maximon, though with his bow already at the ready, one of them was quickly dispatched by a well placed arrow and sent tumbling to the ground where his body vanished into a puff of the same smoke that had called him up. Which left the last summon, the wolf that Khasar hadn’t engaged in combat. It was a large and dangerous beast, far more so than any of the scrawny kobolds that had been drawn up to assist it. For a large part of the party, it was a formidable, even lethal opponent, in the context of a hand-to-hand fight. But it didn’t go for any of the party members that it would be most effective against. Instead, it wove its way and made its way straight towards Leolin, the druid, perhaps the one best equipped to deal with such a foe. Odd choices of target for all of them, but choices which made them easy to deal with. The lone kobold pursuing Maximon got close enough to grab and rip at his armour before being swiftly dispatched by the bard’s short sword. Cadmus faced similar treatment, though given he was facing two, he had something more of an issue on his hands; the two of them grabbed at him and tried to rip and tear his clothes away with sharp claws, working in concert to keep him [[off-balance->deepfort9]].

Had it only been Cadmus they had to deal with, it might’ve been effective. A backstab from Crius took care of one of them, though, which left Cadmus free enough to take care of the other with a well placed spell. He slammed an open hand, glowing a pale blue, into the back of his sole opponent. It cried out for a second before the life was leeched from its body, and dissipated into smoke shortly after. A clipped howl and more smoke from up the hall made it clear that Khasar had faced no trouble in taking care of the wolf he was facing, which left only Leolin’s own opponent. Given his druidic powers , he ought to have had no problem handling the situation. But he did. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. As good as he might’ve been with nature magic, as comfortable as he might’ve been with foraging, fieldcraft, or anything that the forest might’ve called for, he was less well-versed when it came to its residents. Animals disliked him. Given this one had been magically summoned to kill him, that dislike had been heightened. Leolin had tried magic to calm the wolf. When that failed, he’d put up a spirited attempt at resistance using his quarterstaff, only to be rapidly outmatched, pounced and forced onto his back by the dire wolf. The beast was posed on all fours over top of him, paws pinning his shoulders to the ground, lips peeled back to reveal a mouthful of [[fangs->deepfort10]] that would no doubt be tearing their way into his flesh at any given moment.

But the beast wouldn’t end up getting the chance to. Crius, Cadmus, and Maximon alike were quick to come to the rescue. An arrow to the skull and getting slit open by daggers on either side had the wolf howling out a death rattle and puffing back into the realm it’d been drawn from soon after, leaving only a plume of smoke behind. Once the combat was over, the party gathered themselves. It had been bloodless on their end, the lot of them more than experienced enough to be able to take out a couple of kobolds and wolves without injury, in spite of whatever brief advantage their wild charge might’ve granted. What the battle lacked in injury, though, it made up for in confusion. “Wasn’t that ring supposed to make you good with animals, Leolin?” Maximon said, rousing a wave of interest throughout the party. Passive as their effects were, Vogge’s items had slipped the attention of the party. After their string of encounters, the opportunity to assess their efficacy seemed to have presented itself. “W-well, those weren’t normal animals,” Leolin said. “They were s-summoned.” “Convenient,” Maximon said. “Do we have proof that any of Vogge’s trinkets do anything?” Vogge stiffened, looking at Maximon with eyes bulging out of his head, outright shaking as his usefulness was brought into [[question->deepfort11]].

But Leolin spoke up before he could mount a defence for himself. “T-Tadeas’ seemed to work well enough, handling those spirits back there.” Leolin nodded over at Tadeas, and the cleric gave a bashful smile in response. “H-how about yours, Cadmus?” “It works,” Cadmus said. He offered absolutely no further explanation than that. “Fine,” Maximon said. “If you’re all convinced, I won’t argue. But if we get back to town and this earring—” “They’re rallying as we speak,” Khasar shouted, booming voice overpowering Maximon’s words. “The lot of you, quit wasting time on this nonsense and let’s move!” Khasar had a point, and even if he hadn’t, his words didn’t brook any room for argument. The brief moment of reflection was over, and they were once again pushing forward, now with a sense of urgency in their step as Khasar charged forth. But Crius carried on that spirit of contemplation, silent as it was now forced to be. He didn’t spend any energy wondering about the efficacy of the magical items Vogge had provided—it didn’t matter whether they worked or not, Crius was confident enough in his own natural abilities to get by with or without assistance. What it was that had stuck in his mind was their most recent batch of enemies. Four kobolds. Crius, being the scaled sort himself, had an eye for picking out the differences between their genders beyond the rest of the party—bar Vogge and Leolin, of course, but neither of them had pointed it out, so he had to assume they hadn’t [[noticed->deepfort12]].

Half the kobolds had been female, half of them male. The male ones had both focused on Maximon, and the females on Cadmus. Crius couldn’t pin down why that was. Kobolds didn’t instinctively divide themselves by sex like that, and it wasn’t as if there were any prior relationships to pair them up as such, given they were summons. So why the gender divide? Crius thought about it as they jogged through the corridors, Vogge falling back to the rear and panting as he struggled to keep pace with his shorter legs. Yet the more he thought about it, the less it seemed like anything more than a coincidence. That happened sometimes; he’d catch on some small, meaningless detail and try to spin it into a whole theory. That was the mind of a rogue at work, always trying to process little things to account for larger dangers, but sometimes there really was nothing to worry about. He dropped the topic from his mind. Even on the far-flung chance that it was something, Crius had faith enough that Cadmus’ magic could burn women just as well as men, and Maximon had certainly never had issue with planting arrows between the eyes of any males they’d [[fought->deepfort12.5]] in the past.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"deepfort13") ]}

The hallway was long. The wargs had to have gotten to the end of it long before them, having the natural speed advantage of four legs versus two. By the time the party got to the room at the end of the hall, the wargs and their riders were nowhere to be seen. Instead, they found themselves faced by three great iron portcullises, one for every side of the room but the one they’d emerged from. All three were slammed shut. Vogge was the only one who gave Crius a hopeful glance, and Crius was forced to dash that hope with a slow shake of his head. He was good at lockpicking. He had yet to find a portcullis with a lock on it. In the absence of locks, though, there was one clear lead on how those portcullises might be opened. In the centre of the room sat six [[levers->deepfort14]], arranged side by side and all painted in different colours of the rainbow. Painted on the floor in front of them was a message: “Pull the lever that’s the colour of dreams.”

“Dammit!” Khasar said, stamping a boot into the floor loud enough to echo down the hall behind them. “Dammit, dammit, damn it all to the Nine Hells and back! Fuck!” Ears perked and faces contorted into grimaces at that. Never before had they heard Khasar let off such a string of curses, particularly the last. Such a common vulgarity was enough to stop the party short when they heard it coming from Khasar. “N-now Khasar, stay calm,” Leolin said, and Crius preemptively winced at him telling someone in the thick of a rage to calm down. “P-p-puzzles aren’t anything we haven’t handled before—” “No!” Khasar roared. “Touch one of those levers and you’re dead! This is obviously a trap. What, you think that whatever creatures slink through here use a puzzle based security system? You stuttering halfwit!” “There’s no need for insults,” Tadeas said, caught between trying to sound soothing and reproachful. He drew eyes throughout the party, some hopeful that Khasar might be calmed by his faithful squire. Others had less optimistic predictions. Judging by how Khasar whirled on Tadeas, they seemed to have the way of it. “I’ll not have you chiding me when neither you nor anyone else in the party has said or done a single helpful thing since we started out on this useless venture,” Khasar said. “If you say one more word, a single word, I’ll make you regret it.” “I[[—->deepfort15]]”

That was as far as Tadeas got before Khasar’s fist snapped out and collided with the side of his face, gauntlet slamming into cheekbone with enough force to send Tadeas sprawling to the floor. Everything exploded into motion. Leolin and Cadmus rushed forward to grab Khasar and hold him back, and the paladin responded by launching into another series of swings, this time directed at the two of them. They managed to avoid most of them, but it kept them from getting a grip on him. The rest of the party would’ve moved to help, were it not for the portcullises on the sides of the room choosing that moment to draw themselves up. Crius, Maximon, and Vogge turned to face those freshly opened entrances, being the only three of the party not embroiled in the sudden skirmish, and had the best view of what happened next. Kobolds started to pour out of the hallways and into the room. Clearly summons of the same sort as before, but now far greater in number; there had to be a dozen of the things, rushing yipping and cackling out of the darkness. Under regular circumstances, twelve kobolds would’ve been something the party could deal with, albeit something of a challenge purely on account of their numbers. With Tadeas laid flat and two of their spellcasters busy trying to keep Khasar from pummelling him into unconsciousness, the situation was different. The room was suddenly swarming with the things, so many short lizards with short blades. With their twelve bodies to the party’s seven, there was enough of them that they could match the party two-to-one—excluding Tadeas, given that he was lying on the ground and not posing much of a threat. That was the strategy that Crius would’ve expected. It was not, however, the strategy that the kobolds employed. Instead, they [[split->deepfort16]] themselves into two even groups of six, one group focused on Maximon, the other concentrated on Cadmus.

An exact repeat of the last encounter, right down to the gender division. The difference was that now, the kobolds had the advantage of numbers. Maximon didn’t have the chance to notch an arrow before he was being grabbed by so many scaly hands. Cadmus managed to shoot off a single volley of magic missiles, enough to dispatch a single kobold, before he was subject to the same. The kobolds’ short swords went unbloodied, but the sounds of tearing cloth made it clear their claws were seeing their fair share of use. Leolin tried to help. He swung his quarterstaff in an overhead blow and caved in the skull of one of the kobolds attacking Maximon, finding it an easy task, given he wasn’t the object of their attentions. He was rewarded for his initiative by a dire wolf, near identical to the one from before, bounding out of the hallway behind him and slamming into his back in a flying leap. With no way of expecting it and therefore no way of dodging, it was the most Leolin could do to catch himself with his hands and keep from slamming his face into the stone as the wolf pinned him down onto his belly. Khasar likely could’ve rescued the situation single handedly. He made no move to do so. His sword laid on the ground, having been dropped and forgotten during his punching match with the rest of the party, and he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he was advancing on Tadeas’ prone form, his fists clenched and eyes filled with fury. Crius glanced down at [[Vogge->deepfort17]]. Vogge, the only other member of the party to have escaped the mayhem that had suddenly boiled up all around them. He also happened to be the only member of the party near completely useless in any sort of combat situation, both out of lack of ability as lack of grit. He was outright shaking; he looked absolutely terrified.

“Aren’t you going to //do// something?” Crius half asked, half demanded. “Don’t think they’re working good,” Vogge muttered, almost to himself, wringing his hands for lack of any helpful action. “Don’t think //what// is—” And that was the moment when it hit Crius, obvious enough that he felt like an idiot for not having put the pieces together sooner. The magical items, Vogge’s pride and joy that he’d been so eager to gift them with. Maximon had questioned their efficacy before. Apparently, they’d gone beyond having questionable effects into the realm of being downright harmful. Crius had anticipated and planned for them getting farther into the fort. The party being brought to heel by a horde of summoned kobolds would put something of a damper on those plans. “If your trinkets are at fault for all this, you’d damn well better fix them,” Crius said, adopting what he’d found to be the best means of persuasion when dealing with someone of a weak and nervous disposition—growling, snarling, borderline threats. “Don’t know if can,” Vogge whined. “Never try change enchantment while being worn!” “Try now, or you’re gonna have a bigger problem than those kobolds to deal with.” Vogge looked around wild-eyed, at Crius looming over him, at the rapidly worsening battle unfolding all around him, his companions being overwhelmed by the swarms of enemies all around. All but Khasar, who had bent over and grabbed Tadeas by the hem of his robe and was now holding him up in the air with one hand. All apparently his fault, and if he didn’t fix all of it, Crius was going to do something. Something vague and ominous, but undoubtedly involving grievous bodily [[harm->deepfort18]].

There was only one thing to do. If Vogge had screwed things up this bad with his enchantments, then he had to have enough power to fix it all just as well. He was an artificer. Everyone always questioned his abilities, just because he couldn’t do flashy spells like the wizards and didn’t have the resources to make things like flaming swords or staffs that shot lightning bolts on command. But now, if he could use his magic to fix what he’d done, there’d be no doubt as to his usefulness. Moved by that need to prove himself almost as much as he was by the terror of what Crius would do to him if he didn’t, Vogge began to cast. Traditional casting was not a familiar magical medium to him. The grand majority of his spellcasting was geared towards imbuing magic into a singular item, or manipulating it slightly as necessary to create an enchantment. This fell more into the latter category, which happened to be the hardest part of the process, with added difficulty from doing it over a great distance and to six different objects at the same time. Regardless, he tried. Fear and insecurity turned out to be incredibly powerful motivators. He splayed his arms out wide and braced himself, shifting as much of that magical force within him out into the world as he could. Those items of his shone with his unique arcane signature like beacons in the dark, incredibly easy to hone in on. He focused on the threads binding his enchantments to the objects they resided in, and let the magical energy inside him pour [[out->deepfort19]].

His insides burned from the effort of it. More inside than his blood and guts; his soul itself was twisting with effort. The power it took to bond an enchantment to an object paled in comparison to what it took to sever one, and he was doing six at once. It was the spiritual equivalent of attempting to overhead press an anvil. Vogge didn’t stop, though. He tried and tried and tried, an invisible effort that could only be detected by the way light twisted and rippled around his fingers. He never was much for the flashy stuff. It lasted a few seconds, and then, there was a click. Everyone felt it, could swear they heard it, even if there was no sound to be heard. Like a latch setting into place, or a key being turned in a lock. A wave of energy rolled through the room, as if the air were rippling like a sheet in a windstorm. Everyone stopped, aside from Vogge, who took the moment to collapse onto the floor in a heap. The torch he’d been carrying rolled from his fingers, coming to a stop on the floor somewhere near the centre of the room, burning away and bathing everything in a low-shone, flickering light. And then the screaming started, from everyone and all directions. [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]], [[Leolin->leolinphase1]], [[Khasar->khasarphase1]], [[Maximon->maximonphase1]], the kobolds. The wolves were howling, as well, which he supposed counted.

Cadmus' screaming was different from those of the others around him. He sounded angry, powerful. As if the vocalization was barely even a sound of effort, but merely an accompaniment to him exercising his will. He showcased all that same potent energy in his appearance. Cadmus had struggled with having to fight four kobolds at first, certainly; such a numbers disadvantage would cause anyone to stumble. But it hadn’t taken long for Cadmus to gain the edge. Now, he'd pushed his way out of the defensive and well into the aggressive. Everything had started going his way after the brief pause in the conflict, at the same time as that great conflagration of energy had tore through the room. Cadmus couldn’t pinpoint the source of the energy. Not out of lack of ability—Cadmus was no diviner, but it hardly took one to determine the source of such a massive outpouring of magic. He couldn’t pinpoint it because he made no attempt to. Which made it less of an inability and more of a conscious choice, but that was a given. Cadmus could do anything he set his mind to; to think that something was beyond him was absurd. Some things took more time than others, certainly, but what was time to a sorcerer? With the aid of his magic, he had all the time in the world, to gain all of the [[power->cadmusphase1p2]] in the world.

Khasar was screaming out of anger, but not the typical sort. In the party's line of work, anger towards an enemy wasn’t usually founded on any intense personal feelings about the opponent. They killed as a job. An opponent was simply something that had to be overcome, an obstacle. They weren’t worthy of hatred, merely the sort of working anger that enabled one to fight for a living. Which wasn’t what Khasar was feeling. The way his face had twisted, the incoherent roar he was letting off into Tadeas’ face, devoid of anything approaching logic or reason—he was held in the grip of a rage, something that needed a different term to differentiate itself from that ultimately lesser emotion. Because a man merely angry at an opponent would be satisfied with their death; it took someone truly enraged to require more than that. Khasar hooked a punch into the side of Tadeas’ face. Knuckles cracked against his muzzle, sending his head whipping about on his shoulders and a spray of [[blood->khasarphase1p1]] erupting from his nostril. The stuff had already been gushing from his nose even before he was hit, but the newest blow left the front of his snout soaked with red, running down his chin and soaking into the collar of his robe.

Maximon was spouting off a string of increasingly colourful curses. Overwhelmed by the four kobolds attacking him at once, all operating in seemingly perfect harmony with one another, he’d had his feet taken out from under him, and he toppled to the ground. At that point, death seemed a certainty, just one well-placed stab away that could be delivered by any of the kobolds. Yet it didn’t come; his opponents hadn’t taken advantage of his state to kill him, maim him, or injure him in any way. Instead, they grappled and pinned his limbs to the ground, using sheer numbers to make up for a lack of individual strength, and finished the process of tearing away his clothes that they’d begun when Maximon still had his legs under him. They’d finished the job at around the same time as Vogge had cast his spell. During the pause that followed, Maximon could feel the earring he’d been given burning like a hot iron rod jammed into the flesh of his ear. And when the chaos resumed afterwards, the kobolds were moving with a far stronger sense of both urgency and purpose. In spite of the clothes tearing, Maximon hadn’t expected anything untoward. Nothing more untoward than a fight to the death, anyway. Part of that was because he was still of the firm belief that he was in such a fight, and he was fighting tooth and nail to escape it, arms jerking and legs kicking against the kobolds' grip. He spat curses and swore oaths to rip out tongues and tear off tails all the while. The driving impetus behind those curses shifted somewhat when, after Maximon felt one of the hands shift from his leg to grope at his crotch through the thin fabric of his underwear—the last piece of clothing between his head and knees that remained intact. A second later and it was ripped away, too, leaving his sheath and balls [[exposed->maximonphase1p2]] to the air.

That was the point at which Maximon drew the same conclusion as Leolin: his enemies didn’t mean him any harm in the traditional sense. No, they were after something far less injurious and all the more confusing. He would’ve picked up on it sooner if he had thought of it as a possibility at all. They were summons! Did the summoners responsible purposely conjure up a rape gang? The whole situation was ridiculous. Yet, absurd as it was, Maximon might’ve been amenable to it. There wasn’t a member of the party unaware of Maximon's libertine attitudes. Even Tadeas, beautifully innocent little kitten that he was, had something of an idea. Whether he fully grasped what it was Maximon was doing with all those women he met at the taverns was another matter, but still. He’d talked down smooth skinned barmaids from their fear at the sight of his barbed member. He’d run his hands across the scales of a lizardfolk mercenary, having wooed his way past her grizzled exterior. He’d woken up with back fur full of dried blood after a night with an overly excited, sharp clawed canid woman. Maximon did not discriminate based on species. He was connoisseur of physical pleasure, well-versed in all the ways to pleasure a [[female->maximonphase1p3]] of any race, be they common or obscure.

But there was the rub: female. A cursory examination of his assailants might’ve led one to believe they were female, given the slits they had between their legs in lieu of anything dangling. Even Maximon himself was tricked for a moment, unfamiliar with male reptilian anatomy as he was. In that brief moment, the possibility of cooperation had crossed his mind. But a look at the kobolds down by his legs brought with it a glimpse of pink among those otherwise featureless slits. Something pink //emerging// from them, at first small, but gradually pushing their way free into the air until there was no doubt about what they could be. Maximon picked up on things quite quickly after that, and his struggles surged right back up to the level of intensity they’d been the moment the kobolds had brought him to the ground. It was enough that they very nearly lost their grip on him, but they managed to pin him back down, though now the four of them were being treated to a whole different line of exclamations than the death threats Maximon had been slinging earlier. “Let go of me, you degenerate beasts!” Maximon shouted. “I swear, I’ll personally send each and every one of you [[perverted->maximonphase1p4]] monsters back down to the Hells that spawned you!”

The idea of Maximon calling anyone a degenerate or a pervert would be laughably ridiculous to anyone who’d talked to the bard for more than five minutes. Alas, the kobolds weren’t much for conversation, so the humour was lost on them. Instead, they focused on helping themselves to Maximon’s body. Creative measures needed to be taken to make sure Maximon was kept secure while he was being played with. Two of the kobolds had taken up spots sitting on his arms, keeping them pinned while they ran their hands through his chest fur, seeking out his nipples and grabbing a hold of them with clawed, scaly fingers. The other two did something similar with his legs, the one on his right leg choosing to busy himself hefting and rolling Maximon’s balls in his palms, the other deciding to pinch and squash the cat’s sheath, pushing the tip a finger into its opening to feel at the cockhead hidden within. “You ffffucking freaks! Where do kobolds even learn to do this?!” How a group of freshly summoned kobolds would have any idea how to perform such niche sexual acts as nipple play—made triply odd by the fact that the things didn’t even //have// nipples—was a [[mystery->maximonphase1p5]]. The kobolds certainly didn’t seem eager to answer, if they understood Common at all.

But regardless of unanswerable mysteries, Maximon’s protests, or his bursts of futile resistance, the kobolds’ work was beginning to have an effect. There was only so much Maximon could do to hold himself back in the face of such raw stimulation, and for every measure he took the keep himself in check, the kobolds had two ways of pushing him further along. A finger pressing down on his taint, sliding perilously close to the base of his tail. A slight squeeze to his balls, enough to provide a tingle of dangerous excitement without any actual pain. A mouth planting itself against his nipple, tongue sliding over it, drawing small circles of spit. By that time, even the slowest of the kobolds was already halfway free from his slit, with the rest of his fellows sporting full erections that throbbed and bounced with excitement. Maximon was forced to join them; the head of his cock poked free from his sheath, offering a clear target for the kobolds on his legs to focus their attention on. Two snouts pushed themselves up against either side of his crotch, and each was quick to offer a wet tongue to lap at his sheath, lapping at his junk and each other in equal measure. Maximon might not have been gay, might’ve been the farthest thing from gay that it was possible to be, a shining beacon of heterosexuality—but a tongue attached to a male felt exactly the same as a tongue attached to a woman. The feeling of the two kobolds having what was rapidly shifting into a makeout session with his cock smack dab in the middle of it drew Maximon out of his sheath in a hurry. Those tongues of theirs lingered over his barbs. The kobolds weren’t the least bit put off by them, like some of his partners had been, but instead took their time running over, along, and in between them. Such dutiful attention would’ve driven Maximon wild, were it from a beautiful woman. With the source of it being as it was, it drove him [[wild->maximonphase1p6]] in an entirely different sense of the phrase.

“Stop it!” Maximon shrieked, staunchly maintaining his opposition in spite of his body’s response and the rapidly crumbling state of his composure. “Stop it right now!” Then, the most shocking thing happened since the kobolds made it clear that they were after his dick: they stopped going after it. The two down on his legs pulled their faces out from his crotch, the ones up on his arms ceased their relentless, roaming exploration of his chest, and the four of them all started exchanging glances with one another. There was a brief moment where Maximon wondered if they understood what he was saying and, moreover, if they'd decided to listen to him. Brief was the operative word. That rectangle of eyes lasted only a second before it was replaced by a flurry of action, though this time of a different bent than what had come before. The kobolds hopped off his limbs and moved into wrestling him, attempting to roll him over onto his front. Maximon put up a lively struggle, hoping that he might be able to take advantage of the situation to break free before they could reassert their pin, but found no such luck. He did manage to push himself up onto his hands and knees, but that was when Maximon’s momentum ground to a halt and the kobolds regained control of his body. A poor position to be stopped in, as their next course of action was to yank his hands out from under him—but not his knees, leaving him with chest pressed against the floor and his ass high up in the air. Hardly the most [[dignified position->maximonphase1p7]].

But one that left him ripe for the kobolds’ attentions, which had shifted away from his chest and crotch towards other, somehow even less desirable areas. Less desirable for Maximon, that was. The kobolds seemed to be having their desires met just fine, judging by the pair of hands that grabbed a hold of his ass, squeezing down on either cheek. A third hand joined them soon after, two fingers planting themselves against his tailhole. They pressed with a dangerous amount of pressure, feeling the way the feline’s muscles clenched tight in response. Maximon gasped and immediately tried to bring his tail down to cover himself, but there was nothing he could do with those fingers already pressed against his entrance. Maybe if Maximon'd had one of those thick, muscular tails like the lizardfolk, he could've smacked the kobold right off. With a thin, furry cat tail, he'd be better off politely asking them to stop. As it was, even his attempt to bring his tail down was little more than a suggestion, one that the kobolds saw fit to deny. The fourth hand back there finally made itself known—Maximon’s position made it impossible to tell to whom it belonged, but it hardly mattered, with all the kobolds looking identical anyway—and grabbed a hold of the base of Maximon’s tail. It was yanked up and out of the way, providing the two kobolds back there with an unobscured view of and unfettered access to Maximon’s hole. “You scaly bastards,” Maximon said, almost whined. “I’m not [[gay->maximonphase1p8]], dammit! Get off of me!”

Whether they understood him or not, his complaints went completely and utterly ignored by the kobolds, though the ones sitting on his shoulder blades chattered to each other in high pitched tones in a language Maximon couldn’t understand. Only a few words were exchanged before it devolved into equally high-pitched cackling. That was not reassuring. What might’ve been reassuring was the feeling of those fingers finally moving away from his tailhole, stopping just short of forcing their way inside. Whatever comfort that might’ve offered was instantly dissipated when Maximon felt a sharp-angled snout force its way between his cheeks. A noisy inhale and the feel of air rushing between a place that knew so little breeze told Maximon that the kobold was taking a deep whiff of his tailhole. Despite himself, Maximon was moved to remember times in the past where he’s done the very same thing, drinking deep of the scent of so many lovely ladies he’d been lucky enough to bed. The comparison was made even more sickeningly complete when the kobold stopped inhaling and let his tongue drop free, dragging it over Maximon’s tailhole in a big, lingering lick. Maximon let out a shuddering cry. So far, it was still nothing that he hadn’t experienced before—bedding a wide variety of worldly women meant he got to experience everything that two people could do behind closed doors. But that didn’t mean he liked everything that he’d tried. Having stuff done to his tailhole [[made his fur stand on end->maximonphase1p9]].

The feeling of another person laying claim to his body by licking, //tasting// a part of him that he went to such lengths to keep private and protected, even from those he took as lovers—it made Maximon’s skin crawl, made him want to sink his teeth into something just as much as it made him want to grit his teeth and never open his mouth again. Maximon let loose another high, pathetic cry, unable to do anything but whine as he was used. Struggle was pointless, only serving to further excite the kobolds pinning him down. Maximon struggled anyway, feeling the muzzle between his cheeks press in deeper and harder every time he jerked against the bodies pinning him down, tongue lapping with ever greater urgency. The highest cry came when that tongue pushed with enough strength to slip inside. The ultimate violation: no longer restricted to the outside, a part of another person was inside that part of Maximon which was so sacred and private. Hells, not even a person; a summoned creature, but one that was undeniably //male//. Whatever its strength, its species, its consciousness or lack thereof, it was a male, and it showing its dominance over him in one of the oldest and most emasculating ways possible. Or was it even a show of dominance? Was it just that these things were so attracted to him that they felt the need to push Maximon down and use him to sate their lust, to the point of discarding their purpose of fighting him entirely? Maximon didn’t come to an answer. Instead, he let out another warbling scream as the kobold’s tongue pushed even deeper into his rear—less from the feeling of it invading him as much as the fact that his cock throbbed in response to it. (if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Crius heard the sound, and it even caused the briefest spark of interest in him—but unfortunately, he had [[more pressing concerns->deepfort20]] that kept him from stopping to enjoy it.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Crius heard the sound, glanced over briefly, but his attention was ultimately stolen by [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] shouting on the other end of the room.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[Crius heard the sound, glanced over briefly, but his attention was ultimately stolen by [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] shouting in the thick of the kobolds assaulting him.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[Crius heard the sound, but only just barely, overpowered by the combined shouting of [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] and [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] as it was.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Crius heard the sound, glanced over briefly, but his attention was ultimately stolen by the sound of animal [[growling->leolinphase1]] some distance away.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Crius heard the sound, glanced over briefly, but it was impossible to give it his attention with the sounds of [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] shouting on one side of him and the snarling of a [[wolf->leolinphase1]] on the other. The sounds were remarkably similar.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[Crius heard the sound, glanced over briefly, but it was impossible to give it his attention with the sounds of [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] shouting on one side of him and the snarling of a [[wolf->leolinphase1]] on the other.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[Crius heard the sound, but only just barely. His hearing was overwhelmed with the combined shouting of [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] and [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]], on top of the growling and snarling of a [[wolf->leolinphase1]] some distance away.] (set: $maximonp1read to true)

Everyone in the party acted as if they were an individual and not part of a unit. Nobody respected that the only reason any group functioned was because natural leaders like Khasar emerged to direct them. Perhaps Khasar had to tolerate that kind of thinking from the others, but he wouldn’t allow it to take root and fester in his own squire. That was the most cogent that Khasar’s thoughts ever became, and even that brief spurt of what could only generously be referred to as clarity didn’t last long. It passed as Khasar threw Tadeas to the ground—didn’t drop him, but flung him like a rag doll, limbs slamming into the stone floor and flailing painfully as the cat slammed against it. (if:$maximonp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. [[Crius->deepfort20]] didn't bother watching any further.](if:$maximonp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But the sounds of Maximon's [[shouting->maximonphase1]] drew Crius' attention away from the two.](if:$maximonp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But an angry [[roar->cadmusphase1]] from Cadmus drew Crius' attention away from the two.](if:$maximonp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But the shouts of [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] and [[Maximon->maximonphase1]] continued to ring throughout the room, stealing away Crius' attention.](if:$maximonp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. Interesting as it was getting, Crius' attention was stolen by the growl of [[wolves->leolinphase1]] some distance away.](if:$maximonp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But Maximon's [[shouting->maximonphase1]] and Leolin's distinct [[silence->leolinphase1]] wrenched Crius' attention away from the scene.](if:$maximonp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But Crius' attention was drawn away by the [[roar->cadmusphase1]] of a man and the [[growl->leolinphase1]] of a wolf.](if:$maximonp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[Then, he reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. But the shouts of [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] and [[Maximon->maximonphase1]] continued to ring throughout the room, stealing away Crius' attention—both underlaid by Leolin's noticeable [[silence->leolinphase1]].] (set: $khasarp1read to true)

That was what being a sorcerer meant. That blood running thick through his veins, undiluted by the passing of generations. The blood of dragons, finally making itself manifest. When fire ceased to burn him, when those lovely horns had begun to push their way out of his skull, Cadmus had //known// it then. That the power in himself which he’d spent so many years trying to understand was not only making itself understood, but prominent, asserting itself in his being. That aspect of him had responded to the explosion of energy, intensified and drawn out as it washed over him. The arcane within drawing on the strength of the arcane without. That was what had pushed him into a superior position over the piddling kobolds he faced. It seemed ridiculous that he could’ve gone without understanding it for even a moment, but fitting that such knowledge came effortlessly. Those inner changes were reflected in his body. The way Cadmus' horns had pushed themselves out another two inches, following a gentle curve to provide him with a look of natural majesty. Majesty which was only amplified by the red scales that had formed across his body, as of yet only in isolated patches, but Cadmus was sure they would multiply until they came to cover every inch of his body. Majesty matched by strength. After the lull in combat had ended and the skirmish resumed, he lashed out at one of the kobolds in a punch that he’d thought poorly placed and weak—only for the kobold it hit to be sent flying, feet lifting clear off the ground, until they collided with a wall and flopped to the floor. They [[disappeared->cadmusphase1p3]] in a puff of smoke a second after.

The three remaining kobolds stopped their assault, gawping at the spot where their companion had been a second before. Where was the half-elf that they had been able to keep off-balance so easily just a few moments before? Looking at the opponent they were facing now, it seemed that he’d been replaced by someone else entirely—in attitude, in ability, and increasingly in appearance. Cadmus whirled on one of them and called on that familiar reserve of magic inside of him, drawing it up and out in the form of a spell. Yet the way it made itself manifest was anything but familiar. Fire came as he willed it to, but rather than shooting in jets from his hands, it erupted from his mouth in an enormous gout of flame. By the time Cadmus had stopped spewing fire, there was no more kobold, merely wisps of smoke that mixed and joined with that of the fire itself. The two remaining kobolds had long since ceased their assault, both frozen in place and shaking as they stared up at him with out and out terror. Fear. Such a response seemed appropriate to Cadmus. The word ‘god fearing’ did exist for a reason, after all. Cadmus was so far beyond the likes of these kobolds. He could take out either of them with just as much ease as he did the two of their companions. But the question: did he [[//want//->cadmusphase1p4]] to take out either of them?

He’d felt such irritation lately, having to travel with a party that squabbled amongst itself, made poor decisions for want of competent leadership. It was all so tiresome. It was what had moved him to slaughter his last two foes with such extreme prejudice. But having done that, it had abated, his frustration vented. Now, another sensation was making itself known. The sight of those two remaining kobolds, staring up at him like the potent, powerful being he knew himself to be. It stoked passions in him that were a good deal less violent in nature, though by no means any less intense. Cadmus sniffed. His sense of smell had become so much stronger that his earlier senses seemed positively stunted in comparison. He could pick out the nitre encrusted on the walls of the keep. Magic tingled in his nostrils. A whole new realm of sensory experience. But beyond those new scents, the things that he’d already been able to detect gained new levels of depth. The kobolds, for example. Kobolds always tended to have a smell about them, barring extraordinary hygiene—hardly a quality kobolds were known for—but now, rather than the sensory assault that Cadmus was used to experiencing, the smell of the creatures brought with it [[information->cadmusphase1p5]].

That the two of them were female, for one. It was impossible for Cadmus to put into words how he deduced that. He'd simply caught wind of their scent, and it immediately clicked into place in his mind: female. That knowledge brought with it certain urges, ones that he was familiar with, but had never before felt so strongly. What was before simply a desire now felt like an undeniable need, just as physical and demanding as hunger or thirst. He needed to //breed//. So many questions presented themselves about the cause, the nature, the particularities behind such a sudden, overwhelming urge to mate, and why it was directed at these kobolds, of all things. Cadmus asked none of them. It didn’t even occur to him that they were to be asked. His thoughts of grandeur from mere moments ago gave way to something more base, primal. Just as proud, but now of an animal sort of pride: there were two females there, ripe for mating, and so he would step forward and claim what was rightfully his. All this ran through Cadmus’ mind in fewer words, manifesting instead as action. He lunged forward and grabbed one of the kobolds from under her armpits, lifting her up clear off her feet and into the air. She let out a squeal and struggled, kicking her legs through the air helplessly, but quickly realised there was nothing for it. The half-elf—if such a description still applied—was so much bigger than her, [[stronger->cadmusphase1p6]] than her, that any hope of victory or escape seemed utterly futile.

That strength seemed to exude from Cadmus like an aura, soaking into the kobold’s body and striking her limp in his grip, like a kitten held in the jaws of its mother. Her partner was brought to heel with a similar amount of ease; with his hands full, Cadmus was forced to use his legs, but found no trouble bringing the second kobold down to her knees with a kick before pushing her down onto her back with a foot. That foot planted itself onto the centre of her chest, and she hardly even tried to squirm out from under its press, just wrapped her hands around Cadmus' ankle and stared up at him looming over her. It was so easy. Cadmus could hardly contain himself. Just a bit of push and shove, and both of those pesky, piddling, decidedly //fertile// females were laid low before him. The natural order of things: a strong, male dragon like him on top, and weak, breedable females like them placed firmly on the bottom. If they were willing to play into their roles, Cadmus was more than happy to step up and fill his. Shifting his grip on the kobold he was holding to one hand, he reached down to his waist and undid the belt holding his robe in place, then fumbled with the garments beneath. It was a feat of willpower that he didn’t start tearing off buttons or burning fabric to cinders. But he managed, and with the scent of female kobold running wild through his nose, it was no surprise that Cadmus was already well and hard when he managed to free himself from his robes. The surprise came from what laid [[underneath->cadmusphase1p7]] the robes.

Put bluntly, his dick was huge. It stood at what had to be at least a foot in length. Unheard of among half-elves, or either of the races that made up their parentage. Any male among them would be proud of such a size. But its size was its least noteworthy quality. More eye-catching was the fact that, rather than the familiar helmeted shape common to man and elf, Cadmus was sporting something as bestial as the rest of him had become. It was a deep pink colour, tapered to a point at its head, but widening at the base into a roughly fist-sized knot. Dragon-shaped and intimidatingly large, if not quite dragon-sized. That was probably for the best: as it was, it was probably already on the upper end of what a kobold would be able to take. That fact was apparent to none more than the two kobolds that Cadmus had pinned and grappled. They both stared at the great spire jutting from between the sorcerer’s legs, the one on the ground with a look of wonderment and awe, the other with something more resembling horror. Which would prove to be a warranted reaction. Cadmus manhandled the kobold he was holding into a stand and carry position, one that spread her legs wide around his body and left his cock laid out across her belly. With the full heft of it draped across her body, the kobold’s terror was brought into even sharper relief. The size difference could not be more apparent. It had to be long enough to scrape the back of her womb, and that was without accounting for the knot, both in terms of the length it added and its thickness. In its current state, it looked fat enough to split her open, and it was only going to get bigger if he put it inside. The spell that Cadmus seemed to have cast over her finally faded then. Her struggles were revived in earnest, the kobold kicking and thrashing in an attempt to escape his grip. It was a hopeless endeavour; even before the changes, Cadmus had been more than strong enough to keep a kobold held down. As he was now, her struggles would only serve to [[amuse->cadmusphase1p8]] or [[irritate->cadmusphase1p8]] him.

He found himself caught somewhere between those two options. On the one hand, it was funny to think that a creature as weak and pitiful as the kobold could possibly hope to free herself from him. On the other, the fact that she was trying to do such showcased a deep disregard and lack of respect for her rightful superior: him. Such disdain could not go unpunished. Cadmus lifted the kobold up and shifted his hips back until he’d aligned his cock with the slit between her legs, left completely exposed by the few scraps of leather that served as her ‘armour’. His pointed tip nestled easily into it, perfectly suited for penetrating even a partner as small as her—even if the rest of him wasn’t. Past the tip, the rest of his dick stretched back towards the root, thick and long enough that the kobold would’ve blanched at the sight of it, if such a reaction would be visible through her scales at all. Instead, she let out a scream. It spiked in volume and took on a strange warbling quality as Cadmus shoved her body down and thrust his hips forward, sinking a third of his cock into her at once. Cadmus’ jaw hung open and drool trickled out of his mouth, dripping from a lolling tongue far too large to belong to a half-elf. Not only had his penis become larger, but more sensitive, to boot. The crushing [[tightness->cadmusphase1p9]] around his newly changed flesh—he could feel every bit of her, including the tearing of her hymen as he made that initial thrust. It figured that a summoned creature would be a virgin.

The pleasure went beyond the sensations of a warm, wet hole, though. It was the feeling of dominating something smaller and weaker than him, feeling her squirm and writhe in a hopeless attempt to escape. It was the feeling of breeding a female, knowing that when he finished, he was going to be pumping the little kobold’s womb full of thick, virile seed. Impregnating her with his spawn. It didn’t matter that she’d been summoned by magic, and those selfsame magics would draw her back to whatever ether had spawned her the moment the spell expired. The thought of such things didn’t even occur to Cadmus. His mind was increasingly lost to the thrill of being a domineering, fuck-hungry brute. It came naturally and without question: all that mattered was breeding every fertile hole that he had access to. To the point where a single kobold wrapped around his cock wouldn’t be enough to sate his desires, however deliciously tight and wet she might’ve felt. He didn’t have to, //refused// to settle for less when he could have more. But he wouldn’t have to; Cadmus merely had to glance down to see the other kobold he’d left alive, still staring up at him, seemingly mesmerized by the treatment her companion was receiving. That was what Cadmus saw when he looked at her. What she saw of him was the base, animal stare of someone totally lost to their instincts, more beast than man. Summons and kobolds were not two of the smartest groups, to say nothing of their overlap, but the intimidation inherent in such a look went beyond intelligence. It was like gazing into the eyes of a predatory animal, a [[fear->cadmusphase1p10]] that ran deeper than conscious thought.

Cadmus removed his foot from her chest. There was a second or two where the kobold could’ve tried to mount some sort of escape, might've even succeeded, depending on how much the kobold Cadmus had skewered on his cock limited his dexterity—but she didn’t make use of it. She laid there, shocked into obedience, squandering that brief moment of freedom until Cadmus dropped down and joined her on the ground. His hands shot out, planting themselves onto her knees and pinning them to the ground. Which meant his hands weren’t keeping the first kobold held down anymore, but that was fine. The new position meant the weight of Cadmus’ body kept the kobold pinned on her back, unable to do anything but flail her limbs while he thrust into her, grinding her back against the stone below. It was effortless, which meant he could focus his attention on his newest conquest. Cadmus wasted no time leading into it, because he had no desire to deprive himself of his prize for even a moment. Spreading the kobold’s knees as far apart as they’d go, he shoved his face forward, pressing his mouth and nose up against the slit between her legs before taking a deep drag of her scent. She gasped. Cadmus let out a rumble of pleasure. Both sounds were drowned out by the kobold beneath Cadmus shrieking in pain. A roll of Cadmus' hips had forced another two inches of his cock inside her, breaking in new territory, a spurt of precum shooting inside her to christen it. One cunt wrapped around his dick, squeezing him like a vice, the other pressed against his face and filling his sinuses with the heady scent of a fertile female. It drove him utterly mad in the most delightful way, but scent alone wasn’t enough. He needed [[more->cadmusphase1p11]].

The two kobolds were soon crying out in unison as Cadmus opened his jaw and put that enormous tongue he’d been given to use. The kobold would’ve wrapped her legs around Cadmus’ head if she were able, but the hands keeping her knees spread meant she could do nothing but squirm as it gave a single lick to her outer folds before driving itself past them and as deep into her body as it would go. For every inch it’d grown in size, it more than matched it in strength. The kobold could feel it force its way past her clenching muscles effortlessly, prehensility on top of raw power meaning that there was no way she could even hope of shutting it out. Not even when it drove itself to depths even a lover of her own species wouldn’t be able to reach, punching right through her hymen. Cadmus stopped only long enough to lick up the droplets of blood running down his chin, along with some of the juices that had come to coat near every bit of his face below his cheekbones, before plunging right back into her with only greater intensity. Nothing even approaching thought ran through his mind anymore, only pure, unmitigated need, indulged with every rolling thrust into the kobold beneath him and every jab of his tongue into the cunt on the one in front of him. Both let out twinned cries, a blend of pain and pleasure. No sound could be sweeter. (if:$khasarp1read is true and $maximonp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Given other circumstances, [[Crius->deepfort20]] would've found it pleasant, himself. But the situation was hardly conducive to such pleasures.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $maximonp1read is true and $leolinp1read is true)[Yet Crius could hardly hear it, overpowered by [[Khasar's shouting->khasarphase1]] as it was.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $maximonp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[But for Crius, the sound was overpowered by the sounds of [[Maximon's shouting->maximonphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $maximonp1read is false and $leolinp1read is true)[Though Crius found it difficult to hear, overpowered by the combined shouting of [[Maximon->maximonphase1]] and [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] as it was.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $maximonp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Though for all the noise Cadmus was making, Crius found his attention stolen by the suddenly stifled cries of [[Leolin->leolinphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $maximonp1read is true and $leolinp1read is false)[Yet Crius could hardly hear it, overpowered by [[Khasar's shouting->khasarphase1]] as it was, to say nothing of the loaded silence of [[Leolin->leolinphase1]] some distance away.](if:$khasarp1read is true and $maximonp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[But for Crius, the sound was overpowered by both the sounds of [[Maximon's shouting->maximonphase1]] and the somehow even more distracting silence of [[Leolin->leolinphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $maximonp1read is false and $leolinp1read is false)[Though Crius found it difficult to hear, overpowered by the combined shouting of [[Maximon->maximonphase1]] and [[Khasar->khasarphase1]] as it was. Yet [[Leolin's->leolinphase1]] silence was distracting in its own right.] (set: $cadmusp1read to true)

Crius looked away from the once-battle that had since transformed into something else. It was obvious that Vogge’s attempt at fixing the situation had failed miserably. If anything, things had become exponentially worse. While Crius did have a slight desire to stick around and see the fireworks, he had an even greater desire to not get burned by them. So he decided to make use of one of the greatest skills a thief had, one so often overlooked. Everyone was so determined to think of stealth as a tool for backstabbing and gaining combat advantage, they forgot about its most obvious use: running away. With everyone’s attention being drawn away from him by a dozen different distractions, it was easy for Crius to slink away to the edge of the room. The light provided by the dropped torch only illuminated so much, meaning plenty of shadows for him to lurk within. Perhaps unnecessary, given that Crius wasn't a high priority target for anyone, but he was hardly going to stay out in the light when he was trying to slip away. But when Crius felt something smooth brush against his ankle, smooth like flesh, his first thought was that perhaps he ought to have done just that. There was something lurking in the [[darkness->deepfort21]]. Likely there to ensure that he didn’t get away. By stepping out of the light, he’d led himself right into its hands.

He thought that and drew his dagger from its sheath all in the span of a second, whirling to face and skewer whatever it was that had touched him—only to see nothing. Nothing but the same deep shadow that the torchlight barely managed to penetrate. Then, the same sensation, this time against his other ankle. Crius twisted to face it, and again found nothing. The feeling was too strong to be a trick of the mind; there was //something// there, but he could see no trace of it, no matter where he squinted in the gloom. An invisible enemy, then? They’d encountered such things before. In those circumstances, Crius was usually able to rely on the spellcasters of the party to magic up some manner of solution, either by making their opponent visible and able to be taken out by regular means, or simply by killing it with spells. Here, he had netiher luxury. His options were limited to either fighting blind or trying to run from something wound up around his ankles. Neither seemed like a good idea. Given the choice, Crius chose to lash out with his [[dagger->deepfort22]] in a wild swing, aimed where he hoped was where his enemy was standing.

Crius’ blade caught nothing but air, but as he leaned forward into his slash, the air caught him right back. What felt almost like tentacles but looked like so much thin air lashed out and wrapped around his ankles, pulling his feet out from under him. Before his snout could slam into the stone, another invisible tendril wrapped itself around his chest and arrested his fall, coiling tight around his torso. His arms weren’t bound, though, and he used that undoubtedly fleeting freedom to take another slash. But even though Crius could judge where the tendrils were by the feel of them on his body, his dagger still phased right through them. But as his knife passed through them, Crius saw the light glinting off its blade disappear—as if passing through a veil of darkness. Crius’ mind worked. It had a tendency to do that, regardless of how hopeless or intense a situation was. The sight of that darkness, the knowledge of all the awful effects Vogge’s items had proven to have, and a vague recollection of the effects of his own item as Vogge had described to him all blended together in Crius’ mind. His item. Crius was still wearing his item, wasn’t he? That clasp on his cloak, promised to aid his stealth. He remembered the word ‘shadows’ being tossed around. This was utterly ridiculous, though; if the item was at fault for what was happening, then not only was Vogge a terrible artificer, he was an absurdly //[[powerful->deepfort23]]// one to boot. Unmatched in his field while simultaneously being a complete, bumbling idiot.

Crius didn’t know if he believed it, but he didn't have any better ideas. The thing was coming off. Crius’ hands shot up to his neck and grabbed a hold of the clasp, one hand angled away so that he didn't plunge his dagger into his own throat. Then, he started twisting it, trying to pry the two halves apart. Only they wouldn’t separate. Crius had latched and unlatched the clasp at least a dozen times since Vogge had given it to him without issue, yet now it was stuck so solidly that it might as well have been welded shut. There was no physical reason that would explain such resistance. The shadows made it impossible to tell by sight, but he could feel the slight wiggle of the clasp. There was no reason that the pieces shouldn’t be able to come right apart, yet they wouldn’t. Which meant the reason had to be magical in nature. Vogge's hand at work again, no doubt. If Crius’ clasp wouldn’t come undone, it seemed likely that the other items would be stuck as well, to say nothing of how their effects might’ve changed. After all, the shadows certainly hadn’t been trying to ensnare Crius prior to Vogge’s influence. But however magical the clasp might’ve been, the cloak was just plain fabric. Crius moved his dagger into position, ready to slash at it and [[tear->deepfort24]] the thing off his shoulders—

But the tendrils must have caught onto what he was planning, because they chose that exact moment to grab his arms, wrapping around his elbows and prying his hands away from his cloak. Two more wrapped around his wrists shortly thereafter, spreading his hands as far away from his body as they’d go. Crius tried to jerk himself free of their grip, but he might as well have been trying to rip his way through a pair of manacles. More and more of the tendrils joined in after that, materializing as fast as the clasp’s magic would allow. At first, most of them focused on his legs, wrapping around his ankles and spreading them wide to snuff out the last vestige of free movement he still possessed. Or rather, second last; his tail was their next target, three tendrils wrapping around it by the base, middle, and near the tip to keep it well and secured. It didn’t matter that there was hardly any way he’d be able to use his tail to escape such a predicament, they seemed intent on tying it up regardless. By the time they’d stopped, Crius wasn’t able to get so much as an inch of wiggle room, completely bound from toe to tip in thick ropes of shadow. They twisted through the air, taking his body along for the ride as they pulled back towards the edge of the room and as deep into the darkness as they could. By the time they’d stopped moving, Crius was left spread eagle, back pinned against the wall, tail stretched out beneath him. It left no possible course of action. What could Crius do against an opponent that he couldn’t see or hit? It was as effective as trying to fight his own shadow—in fact, that was quite literally what it was. It wasn't as if he could call out for help, either; Crius didn’t trust the members of his own party anymore, to say nothing of the slew of monsters using them. So Crius hung there, suspended in the grip of so many tendrils, and watched. If nothing else, they at least gave him a decent vantage point. In fact, he had a perfect view of [[Leolin->leolinphase2]], [[Maximon->maximonphase2]], and [[Khasar->khasarphase2]].

When Leolin had gotten pounced from behind, he was quite sure that he was going to get his throat torn out by a dire wolf. Between the kobolds and Khasar's wild rage, there was nobody there to assist him, and he had no spells prepared that he could cast fast enough under such circumstances. Perhaps a charm would’ve worked, but he never was good with charming animals. If only the ring had worked to fix that, like Vogge had claimed it would. If he’d been the angry sort, Leolin might’ve spent his last moments cursing Vogge’s name over that failure; instead, he kicked and struggled pointlessly in those few seconds before the end. But the end didn’t come. The wolf had every opportunity to finish Leolin right then and there, and Leolin had expected that opportunity to be taken when he felt the hot breath of the creature on the back of his neck. He was already making his peace with nature, praying for as painless a death as having one’s throat ripped out from the back could be. When those jaws snapped shut, though, they didn’t sink into the soft flesh of his neck. Sharp teeth instead grabbed a hold of tough hide, digging into the leather of his armour before jerking back. They [[tore->leolinphase1p2]] a strip out of it as easily as if it were cotton.

Maximon was long past the point of being able to voice his complaints using words, if the whines and moans he was making were still complaints of any sort. It was difficult to tell. But if didn’t matter, because the only ones those complaints concerned didn’t give Maximon’s noises a second thought. Those ones being the four kobolds that had brought him to heel, tore his clothes to shreds, and pinned him down while one of them buried their tongue in his asshole. Maximon had wished that they’d stopped at the one tongue. He’d wished that they’d stopped at tongues in general, in fact. Unfortunately, Maximon was not so lucky. He'd //thought// he was lucky when the kobold finally pulled his muzzle back and dragged his tongue out with a wet slurp, but when the kobold stood up, he realised that while there might've been a lucky one in that situation, it certainly wasn't him. Maximon had felt something firm and fleshy press against him from behind, grinding against his spit-soaked hole. It certainly wasn’t a tongue. It was warm, wet, and moist, and... small. That was a given, seeing as how it was a kobold behind him. Which wasn’t a slight against kobolds—they were well-endowed, relative to their size. But Maximon was not [[kobold-sized->maximonphase2p2]]. Was at least twice the height of one, in fact, to say nothing of other areas.

Noises blended and rang off the walls from all around, turning the room into a maelstrom of pained and pleasured voices, but nowhere was there so much pain and so little pleasure as where Khasar and Tadeas were standing. Or where Khasar was standing, at any rate. Tadeas’ feet were supporting no weight of his own—were, in fact, dangling two or three feet above the ground, kicking weakly at the air. All his weight was supported by the hand clutched around his throat, squeezing down hard enough to make the cat’s eyes bulge from his head and turn him blue in the face. Khasar had found that to be a more fitting place to hold Tadeas than by the hem of his robe. A sturdier grip. It also freed up his other hand to do with as he liked. At that particular moment, Khasar had it balled into a fist. He pulled it back as far as his shoulder would allow before driving it forward, straight into Tadeas’ gut. Tadeas' soft midsection folded up around his fist, the boy's developing and untrained muscles hardly suited for bearing such a blow. His whole body swung from the impact, his already bulging eyes rolling up into his head. Tears poured down his cheeks and spit flew from his muzzle in thick strands, all of it coming to mix with the blood pouring out of his mouth and nose. Much of that blood was coming from a gap in his mouth where there had once been a fang, knocked completely free by one of [[Khasar’s->khasarphase2p2]] stronger punches.

Khasar hadn’t noticed, and Tadeas was in no state to call attention to it even if he were able to draw enough air through his clenched throat to speak. It was difficult enough to remain conscious, to say nothing of the feat of not vomiting all over himself, which was nothing short of a miracle. He pulled back for another punch, this time placing it square in the middle of Tadeas’ chest, right on his sternum. Khasar could feel the boy’s rib cage flex under the strength of the blow, could hear the wheeze as what little air he’d managed to hold onto was forced out of him through a throat barely wide enough to permit its passage. Tadeas stared right through Khasar with eyes that barely seemed to register his presence. That only served to make Khasar angrier. Everything about Tadeas seemed to make him angry, and had for some time. If he were in a more coherent state of mind, Khasar might’ve wondered why that was. In the beginning, the reasons had been evident. Tadeas would speak out of turn, speak needlessly, speak, speak, speak, just wouldn’t shut up. Harsh words had been enough to quiet him and soothe Khasar’s irritation, for a little while. Until they were no longer enough. Until the moment they’d stepped into the room they were in, when all the frustration of the worthless venture they were on came crashing down on Khasar, and Tadeas had chosen that moment to open his mouth. Then, the anger he felt for Tadeas and the irritation he felt at everything else merged, forming a great rage that was utterly [[impossible to contain->khasarphase2p3]].

Which would be when Khasar first struck Tadeas, and when all the chaos started unfolding around him. Khasar paid it no mind, the concerns of the party at large already lost to him in favour of satiating his violent impulses. Not on his enemies; pulverizing a mindless kobold would do nothing for him. It needed to be Tadeas. The boy needed to be taught a lesson. That was the last bit of rationale that Khasar’s mind had been able to conjure before he'd launched into an utterly mindless assault. He’d hit Tadeas, over and over again. Punching his face to start off with, followed by throwing him to the ground and battering him with kicks, then picking him up again for another volley of punches to his midsection. The ground was smeared and dotted with Tadeas' blood, as was his robe, and his fur was downright matted with it. Considering that and just how many blows to the head he’d taken, it was a wonder that he’d remained conscious. Yet even that wasn’t enough to satisfy Khasar. It didn’t matter how much he struck Tadeas, his anger didn’t abate in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to intensify. As if there was something that he wanted from beating Tadeas that he wasn’t getting. He didn’t know what it was, and without any means of meeting that desire, he was stuck in a ever-deepening spiral of violence. Smacking Tadeas around like a ragdoll while he just [[hung limp in Khasar's grasp and took it->khasarphase2p4]].

Maybe that was what it was. Maybe it was the fact that, no matter how much Khasar hit him, Tadeas showed no appropriate reaction to such a severe beating. He made all the cries and squeaks of someone getting hit, but there was no begging for Khasar to stop, no real sobbing. Only the dullest, most instinctual acknowledgement of what was going on. Up until Vogge’s failed attempt at remedying the situation had washed over them as a wave of magical energy, with its accompanying pause. When it was over, Tadeas had looked up at Khasar—and smiled, a weak, bloody-toothed gesture. Khasar hadn’t thought it possible for his anger to burn any brighter than it already was, but now it felt like a physical, tangible thing inside him, like red hot coals in his gut. His latest series of punches to Tadeas’ midsection had been an attempt to quench that fire, and it had done nothing. There was something more, something else that needed to be done to quell that burning, inscrutable rage. The paladin barely knew what he was doing anymore. Action seemed to come of its own volition, merely using him as a conduit. He stepped forward and pinned Tadeas against the wall with a forearm, exchanging the choking grip on the boy's throat for one that instead squashed his chest with enough force that his rib cage threatened to bow inward. That freed his other hand to reach down to his waist, blindly fumbling at the straps that held his armour in place. Familiarity with his armour meant it was easy enough to undo his greaves, even while working blind and in the thick of a wild rage. They dropped down around his ankles with a [[clatter->khasarphase2p5]].

“Fucking smile at me,” Khasar mumbled to himself in a guttural, nearly incomprehensible growl. “Wanna fucking smile? I’ll give you something to smile about.” Tadeas’ vision was blurry, and his ears were ringing. He was certain he had a concussion. He wondered if any of the damage he’d received was going to be permanent. Healing magic went a long way, and the more powerful stuff could cure just about anything up to and including death itself, but he wasn’t nearly that good a cleric. There was a chance some of it would stick around. The thought didn’t gall or frighten Tadeas. None of what he was experiencing did. None of what he was feeling made any sense at all. Maybe the most physical sensations did, the feeling of fists slamming into bone, leaving pain blooming in bruised, blackened flesh. Boots digging into the soft flesh of his stomach, bruising his insides. The struggle to draw breath through a cinched throat or with a crushing weight on his chest. All of that was as it should’ve been. But his //reactions// to those sensations were completely out of sorts. Pain was supposed to serve as a deterrent, a sign of danger that needed to be avoided. It was meant to be unpleasant. But with every strike, Tadeas didn’t feel deterred, didn’t feel the need to struggle or escape. It felt [[good->khasarphase2p6]].

Or, not good. It didn’t feel good in the same way as a good massage, or good tasting food. It wasn’t a good feeling, but it still //felt// good. It felt good like probing the raw gum left behind from a missing tooth. It felt good like finally vomiting after a night spent writhing in nausea. Perhaps a better word was satisfying. It felt right to be hit. But Khasar had stopped hitting him. Why was that? Tadeas squinted, trying his hardest to glean some semblance of what was happening with eyes blurred and thoughts slowed by one too many blows to the head. His neck refused to bend far enough to allow him to look down at what Khasar was doing, and most of what he could hear was drowned out by the sounds of shouting, screaming, and crying that surrounded them. That left Tadeas mostly in the dark about what was happening until it was already happening //to// him. Khasar lightened the press of his arm against Tadeas’ chest just enough to allow the boy to slide down the wall, until his head was roughly level with the paladin’s chest. Then, Khasar stepped forward, replacing the pressure once applied by his arm with that of his entire body. Metal armour pressed against Tadeas’ body, rounded plates and harsh angles alike pushing uncomfortably against him. But that discomfort wasn’t what grabbed Tadeas’ attention, nor Khasar’s. The both of them were focused on Khasar’s groin, angled forward so that his erection ground against Tadeas’ crotch, though the fabric of the boy's robes and underclothes prevented any direct contact. Even so, Tadeas could feel the size of it, its weight, throbbing against him. There was no need for Tadeas to look down to know that Khasar was already [[hard->khasarphase2p7]], though how hard he was and just how big he was going to get remained a mystery.

But Khasar hadn’t undone his pants simply so he could grind himself against Tadeas. In fact, sexual pleasure was almost an afterthought. His intention remained the same as it’d been the moment he swung his first punch at Tadeas: to punish. Khasar reached down and grabbed a hold of Tadeas’ robes, yanking what he could out of the way and using his claws to tear off what was pinned in place, buttoned up, or otherwise resistant to being removed. Khasar didn’t care about damaging Tadeas' clothes any more than he did his body. It only took a few good rips before Tadeas was bare from the hips to just above his knees, more than exposed enough for Khasar to do everything he wanted. Exposed enough for Tadeas to feel Khasar’s cock pressing directly against him, that protective layer of fabric now gone. The heat and moisture of it soaked through his fur and into his body, the residual sliminess clinging to the canid’s shaft from his sheath smearing against Tadeas’ skin. Tadeas had some idea of sex. Twelve was old enough to glean some insight on the topic, regardless of anyone's perceptions of innocence. Such innocence was impossible to maintain with a libertine like Maximon in the party, anyway. But some was the operative word. Tadeas knew sex was between a man and woman and that it involved such parts as were currently being pressed against him, but the actual logistics of it were beyond his grasp. That was thanks in no small part to the tireless efforts of Khasar to keep his mind [[pure->khasarphase2p8]]—the same Khasar that was now rubbing himself against Tadeas like a raging, rutting beast.

That was why Tadeas wasn’t entirely sure what Khasar was planning. He had only the vaguest possible idea of how sex worked between a man and a woman. As far as he was aware, two males doing it just didn’t work. Khasar was going to show him just how wrong he was. He shoved Tadeas up higher on the wall and adjusted his hips, bringing his cock down from the place it’d been rubbing against the bottom of Tadeas’ abdomen, lower and lower. The tip of it dragged a trail along the side of Tadeas’ sheath, small and empty, and past the tight coin purse of his balls. Khasar paid both of them no mind as he moved past, following the trail of the boy's perineum, the head of Khasar's cock eventually coming to settle on its target: the tight, pink pucker at the base of Tadeas’ tail. Tadeas felt the pointed tip of it dig into his asshole slightly, nestling there as comfortable as anything. Even as thoroughly dazed as he was, it didn’t take more than a moment for his mind to piece together what was about to happen. Once he did, he couldn’t for the life of him tell how he felt about it. Confused? Certainly, but no more than he already was. Frightened? A touch. Everything was so new, painful, and utterly unpredictable that fear was constantly in the back of his mind. The same sort of fear as when he wondered if Khasar was going to snap his neck or gouge out one of his eyes. There was no telling just how far the paladin was going to go with things, and now that Khasar was going into areas that Tadeas had absolutely no [[knowledge->khasarphase2p9]] of, he had no idea of what level of danger was even //possible.//

Though he was going to receive a swift education, because Khasar had no interest in taking things slow, the state of Tadeas’ insides be damned. As soon as the head of his cock got the slightest foothold, he bucked his hips forward and pulled Tadeas’ body towards himself, sinking himself a third of the way into the boy’s tailhole in a single stroke. The only thing that stopped him from going further than that was the immense resistance of the muscles clamping down around Khasar’s cock, forcing him to stop. Tadeas let out a loud, shrill scream, all the haze and fuzziness that had been beaten into him clearing in an instant before a wave of searing, clarifying pain. It hurt worse than any of the punches or kicks had; all that was external, but this was //inside// him. It was like being stabbed. The feeling of being penetrated, of his body being agonizingly pried open, muscles desperately clenching in an attempt to stop the invasion only to be brutally split apart. And the sheer friction of it, leaving an intense, burning pain in every inch, every millimetre that Khasar rubbed past. Lubricant was another bit of sexual errata that Tadeas had no knowledge of, but he’d intuited just how important it was from experiencing its absence. Tadeas choked on his own screams and was overtaken by a sort of sobbing-coughing fit, flecking spittle all over the front of Khasar’s armour while spasms wracked his body, diaphragm contracting sharp enough that it seemed like it wanted to tear itself right out of his chest. He couldn’t [[breathe->khasarphase2p10]]. He couldn’t do anything.

Yet Tadeas still liked it, in that same roundabout way that he liked all the rest of it. Every part of his body hurt to the point where he wanted to vomit from the pain of it all, but he wanted more of it. He wanted Khasar to force his cock even deeper into his body. He wanted to feel himself being torn apart from the inside. He wanted Khasar to strangle the life out of him while ripping his ass to shreds. Which might not have been too far off from what Khasar had in mind. Even with his cock digging its way into Tadeas’ guts, the paladin hadn’t calmed down at all. His teeth were still bared, saliva frothing and spitting between his fangs from the force of his breath. It seemed like he was ready to sink those fangs into Tadeas’ flesh at any moment, to tear a chunk out of his neck. He didn’t, though. Instead, he brought his hand up and slammed the butt of his palm into Tadeas’ face, giving his nose yet another blow strong enough to send his head whipping back on his neck. Not quite a punch, but still more than enough to send an explosion of pain ripping through his muzzle, particularly after it had taken so many blows already. Judging by the disproportionate amount of agony he was feeling, Tadeas guessed he had a fracture. It was strange, being able to dissociate from his pain enough to think of it in logical terms like that, even while simultaneously shrieking loud enough from said pain to run his vocal cords ragged. Tadeas had never been very good with pain before. Usually, even a glancing blow ran his mind into the ground so that he couldn’t focus on his spells, couldn’t do anything but wait for the party to help him. But now he could [[think->khasarphase2p11]], even as what felt like enough blood to fill a pint glass gushed out of his nose.

It had to be the ring, the one Vogge gave him. He was grateful for it. Tadeas would have to thank Vogge later, assuming he was still able to speak by then. Assuming he was still alive. Khasar reared back a touch before slamming himself forward again, thrusting with the same mad power as before, claiming another inch or two of Tadeas’ ass for himself. Viewed as a measurement like that, it hardly seemed like much at all. To Tadeas, it was two more inches of merciless stretching by two more inches of the largest cock he’d ever seen or felt—the first cock outside of his own that he’d ever seen or felt, for that matter. Tadeas’ screaming picked up in volume, as if it were forced out of him as Khasar forced yet more of himself into his ass. The sound pleased Khasar just as much as it infuriated him. He jerked down on Tadeas’ body, cramming yet another inch of himself into the boy’s tailhole in the process, and then silenced the scream that followed with a punch hooked into the side of his face. It collided with Tadeas' cheekbone, wrenching his head to the side and cutting his newest shriek short, instead shifting it into a warbling whine of pain. What an annoying little pissant he was. What a completely ignorant, ungrateful snot. What a loathsome burden. Utterly useless. Khasar reached up, grabbed one of Tadeas' ears, and //twisted// it like he was trying to screw it off of the boy’s head. That brought the [[screaming->khasarphase2p12]] back in a hurry, higher pitched than before.

Khasar pushed forward again, and would’ve been surprised at the result, if he were able to feel anything besides anger. Tadeas would’ve been as well, were he a touch more wizened and a good bit more sensate. Pressed against the wide-stretched ring of Tadeas’ tailhole was something thicker than the rest of the cock he was packed full of—through some miracle, he’d actually managed to take Khasar all the way down to the knot. Tadeas didn’t know what that meant, or what was in store for him. Khasar registered the feeling, but only as a signal that the kitten had taken everything he had to offer, which meant that he could now focus purely on using him as a fuckhole without spending any more effort on breaking him in. Khasar jerked his hips back, wrenching half of his cock free of Tadeas’ asshole in an exit that was just as painful as his entrance had been. Then he slammed back in, at the same ridiculous speed. Khasar working himself in had felt mercilessly fast, but it was nothing compared to the breakneck pace he’d adopted. Tadeas’ asshole could hardly withstand it, visibly tugging out whenever the paladin drew back before it was forced back in on the next thrust, his body unable to keep up. Worse than when he pulled out, though, was when he thrust himself all the way in. When Khasar was in deep enough that his knot was pressed flush against Tadeas’ asshole, he could do more than feel it in his belly; Tadeas could //see// it in his belly, a visible bulge where Khasar’s cock was pressing out from inside him. He had just enough strength to bring a hand up to feel it before his arm slipped back to his side, [[limp->khasarphase2p13]].

Could there be a more obvious sign of how his body was being misused than that? Of just how horribly mismatched they were? Hulking canid paladin and small feline cleric, both male, utterly incompatible. Yet Khasar was fucking him anyway. It felt like his insides were being torn apart, and the ragged sound of his screams reflected that. It went on and on. Time lost meaning. Tadeas was relatively sure that was due to either blood loss or cranial trauma. But while it was impossible to tell how much time had passed or at what speed, whether it was a minute or an hour or a day, that violent fucking he was receiving did come to an end. Or rather, the thrusting did. Khasar slammed himself forward one last time, but instead of drawing back, he stayed there. The pressure of his hips increased. Tadeas could feel that huge bulge at the base of Khasar’s dick pressing against him with quickly mounting strength, and dimly, he realised that the paladin intended to insert it into him. It seemed absurd. A thousand miles away, the conscious part of Tadeas’ mind could only think that it was obviously impossible. At the same time, Tadeas dearly hoped that Khasar would do it anyway. He seemed to have a means of doing the undoable. His hopes would not go unfulfilled. Khasar kept pushing and pushing, hands tugging down on Tadeas’ legs at the same time, hard enough for his claws to draw blood. He let out a low growl, deep in his chest, pressed forward even harder, such that Tadeas felt like he was going to be crushed into the wall behind him—and then slowly, inexorably, Tadeas felt his tailhole stretching even wider than it already was. That fist of a knot was beginning to slip [[inside->khasarphase2p14]] him.

It was slow, agonizingly slow, every millimetre of progress earned only by unimaginable pain on Tadeas’ part, such that his brain had stopped processing most of it and his body hung limp and made strange spasms in Khasar’s grip. But it was progress nonetheless. The bulge in his abdomen grew larger as that last inch and a half of cock was forced into him, though Khasar’s going deeper went almost unnoticed in comparison to the feeling of him going //wider//. Tadeas, with a certain amount of glee, imagined that he’d split apart. But he wasn’t. Instead, Khasar got to the biggest part of his knot, as wide as he’d go. Then, without any fanfare, came the rest of him. Sliding right inside, swallowed up as Tadeas’ asshole tightened around the backside of his knot. The opposite of splitting open, instead accepting that knot inside and allowing it to do its job of tying them together. A job which didn’t stop at just forcing the knot in. Khasar’s hands gripped tighter still, claws digging deep gouges into Tadeas’ thighs, wounds which went utterly ignored by the both of them. Khasar let out a howl and Tadeas coughed up a mouthful of blood as the paladin’s knot started to inflate. It felt like it was big enough that it was no longer just Tadeas’ flesh stretching, but his bones as well. Tadeas had no idea if that feeling was true to reality; the sensations he was receiving from his body had long since ceased to make sense. Though as inscrutable as his senses had become, Tadeas did still feel when Khasar started to cum. Forceful jets of wet heat that shot directly into his belly, one after another until he felt bloated from the sheer amount of liquid that was being packed into him. Tadeas hadn’t produced a single drop of cum himself, hadn’t even gotten hard; even if he’d developed enough to be able to, the agony that comprised every moment of the fucking precluded the possibility. But Tadeas didn’t need to get off himself to be able to enjoy the feeling of it. He didn’t even need it to be a pleasurable feeling. Whatever it was that was happening, the knowledge that it was what Khasar wanted, either because it made the paladin feel good or because it made him feel bad, that was enough to satisfy Tadeas. As the paladin’s seed continued to flood his bowels, Tadeas slumped down, let his eyes roll back in his head, and promptly fell unconscious. (if:$maximonp2read is false and $leolinp2read is false)[Khasar went on using and hurting him, but Crius' attention was moving elsewhere, towards [[Maximon's shrieks->maximonphase2]] and [[Leolin's squeals->leolinphase2]].](if:$maximonp2read is true and $leolinp2read is false)[Khasar went on using and hurting him, but Crius' attention was moving elsewhere, over towards the sounds of [[Leolin's squeals->leolinphase2]].](if:$maximonp2read is false and $leolinp2read is true)[Khasar went on using and hurting him, but Crius' attention was moving elsewhere, over towards the sounds of [[Maximon's shrieks->maximonphase2]].](if:$maximonp2read is true and $leolinp2read is true)[Khasar went on using and hurting him, but Crius' attention was moving elsewhere, over towards the sounds of [[Cadmus->deepfort25]] and the pair of kobolds he was occupying himself with.] (set: $khasarp2read to true)

But that fact provided no solace, given the area in question was being ground against Maximon’s asshole and oozing a liberal, almost excessive amount of precum, so that it wasn’t long before Maximon could feel rivulets of the stuff running down his taint. So much lubrication and such a small partner meant that their coupling would no doubt be quick and painless, a thought which Maximon found galling in the extreme. Not that he wanted it to be painful—he just didn’t want to be fucked, and he especially didn’t want to be fucked by a band of kobolds, of all things! The fact that he was going to be violated by something as small, weak, and stupid as a kobold, it only served to add a burning shame on top of what was already an unbearable indignity. But the kobolds didn’t care one whit for his dignity. For whatever reason, they only cared about breeding him like a female in heat. And so the one behind him finally stopped grinding for long enough to line the tip of his dick up with Maximon’s tailhole, then thrust in. Small and well lubed as it might’ve been, it was still a dick, and Maximon a complete virgin to taking any sort of penetration. The kobold’s length being driven into him was enough to force a pained scream out of Maximon, though said pain was perhaps felt more in his dignity than anywhere else. He felt the kobold’s thighs slap into the backs of his own; the creature had managed to [[bottom out->maximonphase2p3]] in him in a single thrust.

The kobold took no time to bask in the sensation. As soon as he was in, he was pulling back out, hips retreating until only half of his cock remained inside before reversing direction once again. His claws dug into Maximon’s ass as he fucked the bard with quick, short thrusts, each one accompanied by the slap of flesh against flesh and the feeling of precum squelching out of his tailhole. The pace was frantic, spurred on by a frenzied need not to drag things out, but to fuck Maximon as fast as possible. To fill him like he was a female in heat, begging to be bred. Even if he wasn’t, and he wasn’t. The first kobold finished fast enough, pumping a load of cum into Maximon’s guts that he could feel shooting into him, liquid warmth running along his insides, marking him as the kind of male who got fucked in the ass by other males—by //kobolds.// A mark that nobody would ever see or know about but Maximon, but to Maximon, that was agony enough. Though he’d be foolish to think that the kobolds would stop at one turn. After the one using him was finished, he hopped off of Maximon’s ass, returned to his task of pinning down the bard’s lower half, and allowed one of the other kobolds the chance to indulge. This time, there was no grinding; the kobold simply lined himself up and thrust right in. It was about halfway through that most recent fucking, Maximon jerking, thrashing, and protesting all the way, that the wave of energy rolled over him. His body tensed up, clamping down around the kobold bottomed out inside him, who’d stopped thrusting for just a second. He felt one of his earrings burn like a hot iron rod in his ear, before that heat disappeared and a strange [[buzzing->maximonphase2p4]] appeared in its place, spreading out and washing over his whole body before disappearing.

Maximon let out a shudder. He wasn’t alone in that; the rest of the kobolds did, as well. Maximon could hear them breathing, heavier now, all of them outright panting in a way that earlier had been solely the hallmark of whichever one had the honour of pounding him. A moment passed. Then, they resumed fucking him. Not only the one clinging to his ass, but every one of them. The two that had previously been focusing their efforts on keeping his arms pinned to the ground abandoned their duties and flung themselves forward, pressing their crotches against Maximon’s face and rubbing their slick, slimy lengths along his cheeks. The one by his legs suddenly had a great interest in his sheath, grabbing it, kneading it, leaning forward to lick at his balls. And the one fucking his ass resumed his duties with a passion, his legs leaving the ground entirely and wrapping themselves around Maximon’s body as he slammed himself into the bard’s body with powerful, knee shaking thrusts. Knees which rapidly gave out, sending Maximon collapsing flat onto the ground, though that didn’t stop any of the kobolds from fucking him. If anything, it seemed to whip them into an even greater frenzy. The one that had been fondling his junk flung himself flat onto his belly, burying his muzzle between Maximon’s legs. A second later, Maximon felt the thing’s tongue snake out, this time pushing its way inside of his sheath. His tongue, wet and slippery as it was, had no issue wedging itself between the head of Maximon’s cock and the sensitive inner wall of his [[sheath->maximonphase2p5]].

Maximon gasped, which turned out to be a poor move. The two kobolds by his front immediately rushed to take advantage of his open mouth, competing for the spot. A competition that apparently ended in a draw as, with much tangling of limbs and a remarkably uncomfortably squeeze, the two kobolds had somehow arranged themselves so that both of their cocks were pressed against each other side-by-side and poking against Maximon’s lips. Both thrust forward, each trying to oust the other and claim the bard’s muzzle for their own, yet they only succeeded in forcing both of themselves into his mouth at the same time. Maximon spluttered, a sound which was pushed to the point of utter ridiculousness as it was filtered around the pair of cocks in his mouth. The kobolds’ smaller size meant that they were able to fit inside his mouth alongside each other, albeit just barely, and that meant the both of them were willing to share Maximon’s muzzle—again, just barely, more out of a tolerance of each other than any sort of cooperation. They started thrusting in and out of his mouth in staggered, uncoordinated motions, only occasionally falling into sync with one another before breaking apart once again. Maximon coughed and hacked around the pair of cocks invading his mouth, sending a spray of saliva and pre across their scales and rolling down the front of his chin. Excessive amounts of precum was clearly not a thing limited to the kobolds behind him; these two had been using his mouth for no more than a few seconds, and he could already feel the stuff coating every surface of his mouth and then some, drooling past his lips in thick globs. Maybe that was a kobold thing. Whatever the reason behind it, it meant Maximon’s sense of taste had been forcefully dragged into the proceedings. The smell had been bad enough; when the two kobolds pinning down his arms had started grinding against his face, he’d been plunged into a cloud of reptilian [[musk->maximonphase2p6]], strange, foreign, but recognizably male and distinctly unpleasant. He’d done his best to not consider it.

But having that scent turned into a flavour that coated the inside of his mouth made ignoring it impossible. The saltiness of it, the bitterness, the puckery taste of //maleness// that was as difficult to describe as it was to block out. It was almost felt more than smelled or tasted, so that even breathing through his mouth wouldn’t have helped with ignoring it—if such a thing were even possible. Given the fact that two kobolds were doing their best to plug up his muzzle, it most certainly was not. The thought occurred to Maximon that he could bite down. The kobolds had finally put themselves in a position where he could do some real damage to them. Taking advantage of that opportunity meant that there was a good chance he’d finally be able to break free of the things’ grasp, maybe even be able to help the rest of the party do the same. So he tried to do just that. He tried to gnash his teeth, cause some real damage—and found himself utterly unable to do it. It didn’t feel like he was incapable; all the muscles in his face still responded, and it felt like he //should’ve// been able to do it. But he couldn't. When Maximon tried, some deep instinct kept him from following through, as if he were trying to sink his teeth into his own flesh. Impulses of self-preservation, somehow rerouted to serve these creatures who hardly had his best interests in mind. It made no sense. The fact that his body wasn’t responding to his commands sent Maximon into something of a panic, hyperventilating breaths through his nose only serving to fill his nose with yet more reptilian musk as the two kobolds thrust in and out of his mouth and the one on his back continued to do the same with his ass, drops of the load already shot inside him drooling down Maximon’s taint with every outstroke. His mind, with what little logic it had left in the grip of such panic, tried to [[understand->maximonphase2p7]] what was happening.

Amazingly enough, he not only managed to construct a guess as to what it could be, but actually guessed correctly. What was happening to him had to be the result of some foul magic, and that magic had to have a source. The dungeon itself? Maybe. But the more likely source was that damned stud jammed in his ear, thrumming with magical energy that he could //feel//, yet had never shown any discernible effect. Until now, that was, where it had drawn four kobolds to him, eager to rut, and then rendered him incapable of anything more than the most token resistance. He could struggle against a pin that he had no hopes of breaking free from, but now that the opportunity to do something that would actually help his situation presented itself, Maximon was impotent. Turned into nothing more than a servile toy for the four of them to fuck and use like a female in heat. Maximon let out a groan of frustration. The noise was given a wet, bubbling quality as the two kobolds fucking his face both finished at the same time, thrusting as deep in his mouth as they could manage before their cocks tensed up and erupted in twin bursts of seed. Cum filled Maximon’s mouth to capacity in moments, and with nowhere else to go, the stuff forced itself past his lips and up through his nose. A burst of thick white seed shot out of his nostrils. Globs of the stuff drooled out of the sides of his muzzle, rolling down his chin. Unable to breathe with his nose clogged with kobold seed and his mouth with the cocks providing it, Maximon’s self-preservation instincts pushed him to swallow. Not only had he been forced to endure having his guts filled with cum at one end, now he had to suffer the indignity of the same occurring at the other. The stuff was thick; he could feel it sliding down his throat as he gulped it down, [[slime->maximonphase2p8]] working its way down his throat until it dropped down into his stomach and suffused it with wet heat.

It was awful, and gulping it down only served to slam him over the head with the taste of it, a saltiness and masculinity far more potent than their cocks and precum alone had been. It seared itself into his taste buds, more and more with every spurt of seed that splattered across the surface of his tongue. After gulping down yet more cum, some amount that Maximon couldn’t quantify apart from ‘entirely too much,’ the kobolds pulled out of his mouth. Maximon immediately let his face drop to the ground, coughing and spluttering in an attempt to clear the stuff from his mouth and throat. At the same time, the kobolds scrabbled around his body, rearranging themselves. Potentially a moment during which he could’ve made some attempt at escape, but by the time he’d stopped coughing, it’d already passed. And the two kobolds that had taken their turns with his ass already were now in front of his face, cocks already hard and at the ready. One hopped up and shoved their crotch into Maximon’s face, the tip of his cock easily spearing its way past his lips. Behind him, he felt one snout wedge itself under his tail, tongue slipping out to lap at the cum drooling out of his asshole, while another began kissing at his balls while an unseen hand reached up to grope at his cock, hanging halfway extended from his sheath. (if:$khasarp2read is false and $leolinp2read is false)[Maximon let out a scream, but muffled as it was by a mouthful of kobold cock, it was lost beneath the sounds of [[Khasar's shouting->khasarphase2]] and [[Leolin's squealing->leolinphase2]].](if:$khasarp2read is true and $leolinp2read is false)[Maximon let out a scream, but muffled as it was by a mouthful of kobold cock, it was lost beneath the sounds of everyone else—particularly [[Leolin's squealing->leolinphase2]].](if:$khasarp2read is false and $leolinp2read is true)[Maximon let out a scream, but muffled as it was by a mouthful of kobold cock, it was lost beneath the sounds of everyone else—particularly [[Khasar's shouting->khasarphase2]].](if:$khasarp2read is true and $leolinp2read is true)[Maximon let out a scream, but muffled as it was by a mouthful of kobold cock, it was lost beneath the sounds of everyone else—particularly [[Cadmus->deepfort25]], and the pair of kobolds he was occupying himself with.] (set: $maximonp2read to true)

Leolin didn’t understand. When he realised he wasn’t dead, his first reaction was to try to push himself up, which he quickly realised was a mistake if he wanted to continue being in that state. The dire wolf shoved him with down with a paw between his shoulder blades, its huge, sharp claws poking through his torn armour and into the flesh of his back. A very clear hint as to what awaited him if he continued to struggle. Or perhaps Leolin was just interpreting it as a threat when the wolf was really moving with practical purpose in mind. Those claws raked across his leather armour, tearing it into strips with motions more dexterous than he’d imagined a wolf capable of, along with the clothing he’d worn beneath. Before long, the skin of his back was exposed to the air, from the nape of his neck clear down to the backs of his thighs. The task meant the dire wolf had needed to relinquish his pin on Leolin's back, yet even when the beast's paw had stopped pressing down on him, Leolin hadn't moved. It was as if he could still feel that great weight crushing down, those sharp claws pushing into his back—but he was only being crushed by the weight of his own fear. But when Leolin felt the dire wolf’s cold, wet nose press right up against his tailbone, snuffling as it did so, he found himself moving right quick. He tensed up and threw himself forward, instinct forcing him to get away from that strange, unexpected, and unwanted sensation as quickly as possible. The wolf had been prepared for such a reaction. Leolin had no more started forward than a pair of paws had shot out and planted themselves onto his thighs, forcing them to the ground. Then, the beast let out a low, rolling growl, another warning to Leolin about what laid in store for him if he continued on the path of [[resistance->leolinphase1p3]].

Leolin didn’t understand. He understand what the wolf was doing, certainly; it hardly took a druid to pick up on the subtleties of canine sexuality, or lack thereof. What he didn’t understand was why right there, why right then, and why to him. Animals didn't like him as a rule, and he'd never had a single one like him in //that// way. Was it because it was a summoned creature like the kobolds? That was counter-intuitive. A magically called creature ought to have been in perfect condition, not hungry, not thirsty, not wounded, and certainly not aroused. It had to have been ordered to do what it was doing by its summoner. But to what end? All that accomplished was buying time for Leolin's companions to come to his aid, once Khasar regained his senses and helped the rest of the party drive off the kobolds. There was no possible benefit to it, and what kind of sick, twisted, perverted kind of magician would it take to— Leolin didn’t get a chance to finish the thought, because that was the point at which the dire wolf decided to abandon its sniffing and launch into something even more invasive. There was absolutely no warning given beforehand, the wolf simply shifted its muzzle down and let its jaw drop open so that it might plant a great, sweeping [[lick->leolinphase1p4]] across Leolin’s exposed ass.

While that first lick might not have gone deep, only succeeding in painting Leolin’s asscheeks with a thin layer of wolf slobber, the contact was still more than enough to draw a gasp out of him. Its tongue felt long, flat, and enormous, which was appropriate enough. Given how big the rest of the wolf was, why wouldn't that part be big, too? That size would be brought into even greater definition, come the wolf’s second pass. It drove itself forward, well aware of where its interest laid, deeper between those cheeks than it would be able to reach just by lapping at the outside of them. Leolin felt the wolf’s snout wedge itself between his cheeks with such practiced ease that one would think the beast had done it a thousand times before, ease that shone through in spite of how hard Leolin’s ass was clenching around its invading muzzle. A response borne of fear, distaste, and a vain, primal hope that clenching some magic combination of muscles would be enough to stop things from going where they were clearly going. It wasn’t. The wolf’s tongue came out for another broad, slobbery lick, this time planted right against the puckered ring of his asshole. Leolin’s fingers dug into the stone below as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. Never before had he known such a sensation—while he might not have been a virgin, his few sexual experiences had not included any animals, and certainly not anything involving his backdoor. To have both those things forced on him at once was [[overwhelming->leolinphase1p5]].

It didn’t feel good. If Leolin had to describe it with a word, it’d be filthy; he could feel runnels of saliva running down along his taint from that single lick, a testament to just how horribly slobbery the wolf’s mouth was. To say nothing of the sheer invasion of having such a huge, powerful creature laying claim to what had to be his most private area. He swore he could almost //feel// his dignity leaving him, burned up like wax in a candle. But the wolf took no notice of that fact. Perhaps a warg like the ones they’d encountered earlier would’ve, but this was a dire wolf, no more intelligent than its eponymous cousin. As much as some great noble houses loved to laud the wolf as a symbol of courage and dignified power, when it came right down to it, wolves were simply animals. ‘Simply animals.’ Some of the higher druids in his circle would’ve given Leolin an earful for such a description. Maybe it went towards why Leolin had never gotten on with them, but it was hard for him to see such a beast for its grace and bestial intellect when it had its muzzle jammed up his rear end. Those first two licks were the closest the dire wolf ever came to anything that could be described as ‘calm’ or ‘measured’. After it’d gotten a feel for what Leolin’s body had to offer, it began to gorge itself in earnest, with all the wild abandon that a feral beast would be expected to exhibit. A barrage of fast, powerful laps, each big enough to press against every square millimetre of Leolin’s asshole and wet enough to fill the air with the sound of wet slurping even over the din of struggle surrounding them. The sounds of Leolin’s squeals would be next to join the cacophony. (if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $maximonp1read is true)[But Crius found himself ignoring them, instead focusing his attention on his [[own->deepfort20]] situation.](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $maximonp1read is true)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the sounds of [[Khasar's screaming->khasarphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is true and $maximonp1read is false)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the sounds of [[Maximon's own shrill cries->maximonphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is true and $maximonp1read is false)[Though they were hardly able to overpower [[Khasar's shouting->khasarphase1]] or [[Maximon's own shrill cries->maximonphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $maximonp1read is true)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the sounds of [[Cadmus's shouting->cadmusphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $maximonp1read is true)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the combined din of [[Khasar's screaming->khasarphase1]] and [[Cadmus's shouting->cadmusphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is true and $cadmusp1read is false and $maximonp1read is false)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the combined din of [[Maximon's screaming->maximonphase1]] and [[Cadmus's shouting->cadmusphase1]].](if:$khasarp1read is false and $cadmusp1read is false and $maximonp1read is false)[Though they were hardly able to overpower the din of the combined screams of [[Maximon->maximonphase1]], [[Khasar->khasarphase1]], and [[Cadmus->cadmusphase1]] alike.] (set: $leolinp1read to true)

A puff of smoke escaped Cadmus’ nostrils as he slammed his knot into his second kobold of the evening—the first already lying at his feet, exhausted, drooling cum from her gaping and thoroughly bred hole. She’d tried to get him to stop, certain she wouldn’t be able to take his knot. Cadmus had shown her otherwise, that it was not only able to go in, but that he could yank it out just as easily. And then he’d started in on the next one. His refractory period seemed to have wholly disappeared, and orgasm seemed to do nothing to cool the lust burning inside him. Cadmus had needed more, and with his tongue already buried inside of one kobold, it hadn't been difficult to find out where to continue sating himself after he’d finished with the first. She'd been a bit more compliant than the first. That might've been due to Cadmus’ tongue licking and writhing inside of her, getting her wet and ready to receive him, or it might’ve been simply because she was more disposed to being fucked and dominated. Cadmus didn’t know how much tastes and personalities differed between summons. In the end, it didn’t matter, because Cadmus hadn't wasted a second pondering the logistics of it. He’d simply moved her down from his mouth to his groin, lined himself up with her cunt, and thrust in. Lubricated by a mixture of her companion’s juices and the remnants of Cadmus’ own seed, penetration had been smoother than his last attempt, even if she was no less tight. Her body was just as pristine and virgin as the other kobold’s, and it had been a delight to have her squirming and whining as he speared deep inside of her. She offered no resistance in spite of what had to be clear pain, just laid there in his grip and [[took it->deepfort26]].

Which led, after a bout of fast and especially rough fucking, to where he was now, having just rammed that fist-sized knot of his past the lips of her pussy. Now, those walls that were previously clenching around the middle of his knot were wrapped around the whole of it, gripping deliciously tight around the root of his cock. A clear signal to his body that it was time to cum, to pump a fertile female full of his seed—and with him being deep enough inside her that the head of his dick was pressed flush against her cervix, butted up against it with such pressure that it was a wonder he didn't push through straight into her womb, he couldn’t be in a better place to do it. He gave a few last bucks into her body before climax finally washed over him. Cadmus let out a yell, almost a roar, as his cock throbbed and his knot began to swell. It was matched by a scream from the kobold; she'd barely managed to accommodate his knot in its uninflated state. As it got bigger, she worried if she was going to rip open. She didn’t. Kobolds were resilient little things, seemingly built to be used by larger creatures. That figured, considering how often they wound up serving dragons. Considering he was one now, Cadmus had no fear as to their compatibility. He was right. Just like the other kobold, she stretched just fine around Cadmus' knot, even as it swelled large enough to bring a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. Cadmus felt no pity. This was her purpose, and it was necessary. His knot had to be as big as it could be, as tight a fit as possible, so that he could feel himself filling up the entirety of her womanhood. It was the only way to ensure she was well and truly [[bred->deepfort27]].

Bred. She clenched down on his knot right as it swelled to its biggest, and Cadmus could hold back no longer. A throb rolled through his shaft, powerful enough for the kobold to feel all the way in her stomach, and a slight bulge rolled up from its base. It kept going until it reached his tip and exploded into a burst of cum, almost uncomfortably hot, powerful enough to shoot past her cervix and pool inside her womb. Another spurt came on its heels, and another, coming one after the other and every one of them collecting and sloshing around her deepest reaches. It quickly became clear that his productivity was another thing that had changed; his load was dragon sized, enough to quickly pack her womb full and then some. The kobold let out a warbling moan as her insides stretched to accommodate what he was pumping into her, and then her outsides, her belly swelling out as she was filled beyond capacity. Sometimes, an orgasm felt so good that it seemed to last far longer than it really did. Time stretched out around the moment. Cadmus didn’t experience that phenomenon. He came, he pumped another kobold full of his seed, and that bestial element in his mind was already pushing him on. But he was only going to be able to move on if he wasn’t tied to some half-rate minion. Cadmus grabbed the kobold by the waist, just above her hips, then wrenched her upward, throwing his hips back at the same time in an attempt to [[pry->deepfort27.1]] her off of his knot.

It was only by pure luck that his eyes landed upon Crius and not Vogge, but when he saw the lizardman bound up against the wall, he stopped. Cadmus' body demanded another mate, and it seemed to have chosen one. Of course, he //knew// that Crius was a male as well, but stopping for that fact would be a logical response. What he was experiencing was instinct, and it did not respond to logic. He saw scales, he didn't see a penis, and a newly born desire for reptilian creatures drew him in. Crius saw Cadmus approach, saw the familiar glint in his eye, and renewed his struggles against the shadows that had entrapped him. They didn't yield an inch, and Cadmus didn't even acknowledge the rogue's attempt to escape, but merely strode right up to him, hands at the ready in front of him with a bevy of dangerous looking [[claws->deepfort28.1]].

Crius screamed. He was no stranger to doing things with another man, not even to having things inside his slit on occasion, but nothing like this. It was a sensitive area, and all of his previous forays into it had been with small objects and a gentle touch. Cadmus was not small, and he was certainly not gentle. Inner walls never meant to handle any sort of penetration were suddenly and sharply split apart, stretched to accommodate a member far larger than his own. It was overwhelming. Being electrocuted would probably be a less intense sensory experience. When Crius’ scream finally tapered off from lack of air, he could hardly draw in a breath to replace it, only hang in his restraints and shiver from the sheer amount of tension contained in every tight drawn muscle. There was the slightest moment of relief when Cadmus drew back an inch, aggravated by the feeling of his shaft tugging at the inside of Crius’ slit as it might’ve been—but even that slight respite was done away with when the sorcerer slammed himself back in with just as much force as his initial thrust, claiming a bit more of Crius’ slit as his own in the process, sheathing another few inches of himself in the lizardman’s body. It was deep enough that Crius could feel his own member finally being stimulated, flaccid and deep in his slit though it might’ve been. Cadmus’ own cock pressed against it, tips pressing against one another, a spurt of [[precum->deepfort30]] wrung out of the sorcerer just in time for it to wash over the head of Crius’ dick. It was almost as if they were kissing, in the most depraved manner possible.

That precum wound up being just the lubrication necessary for when Cadmus gave another thrust and forced himself yet further. The head of his cock slid up and over Crius’, plunging forward, shifting the lizardman’s flaccid shaft to the bottom of his slit. It was pinned there, brutally crushed out of the way to make room for Cadmus to push his way into his deepest reaches. And he did reach them. He went deep enough that Crius could feel every inch of his own cock being squashed down without it having the chance to so much as peek out of his slit, deep enough that Crius wondered if he’d even have enough room to house everything that Cadmus had to offer, or if the sorcerer would butt up against some internal wall that refused to be pushed through. But, no, he felt Cadmus’ knot come to rest against the outside of his slit before they reached any such point. Which was the point at which Cadmus drew back for a second thrust, all the way back until only an inch or two of his cock remained inside Crius’ slit. Finally emptied after being so utterly, paralyzingly full, Crius was able to shift the pained whimpers and groans he was making to another full blown scream. One that seemed to call Cadmus to slam right back in, finding a good deal less resistance after having already broken in Crius’ slit. Less resistance meant Cadmus could go faster, and he took advantage of that fact. He wasn’t keen on dragging things out for his pleasure or Crius’ pain; his goal was purely to [[breed->deepfort31]] Crius, whether such a thing was physically possible or not.

And so the lizardman found himself forced into the role of a horny dragon’s mate, in sheer spite of the fact that he was not a female, nor was the half-elf a dragon. The fact that he had the equipment of one was enough. Crius could feel his own cock shoved aside with Cadmus’ every thrust, its attempts to harden from the stimulation nipped in the bud as it was beat back down into him. Perhaps his body adapted to the role a touch too well. Crius made a show of squirming, screaming, writhing underneath the press of that rutting half-elf, jerking every time their bodies came together in that unnatural union—but what showed on the outside didn’t match his reactions on the inside. Specifically, on the inside of his slit. Even with the brutal stretching of his inner walls and painful crushing of his own manhood, all the brute stimulation Crius was receiving was drawing, almost //tearing// a climax out of him. He could feel it building, battered out of his unwilling and misused slit. There was no way to tell when it would finally come just as there was no way to tell when Cadmus would finally finish, so it seemed appropriate that both came at the same time. With no warning, without even a change of pace, the half-elf slammed forward until Crius could feel that great knot of his pressing against the battered lips of his slit. Then, he kept going, pressure building against a hole never meant to be used as such. Crius’ jaw dropped open in a silent scream. It had always been a given that Cadmus was going to try to force it in, it was simply a question of whether or not it would actually fit. Crius had his doubts, but Cadmus didn’t, nor did he care for the lizardman’s. He would //make// it fit. His muscles strained as he pushed that knot against Crius’ aching slit with as much [[force->deepfort32]] as he could muster.

Until, finally, Crius’ body finally started to give. His slit stretched from painfully wide to something that could only be called agonizing as that huge fist of a knot pried him open, the head of Cadmus’ dick burrowing the deepest into him it had ever gone as his knot lodged itself firmly inside the lips of his slit. When those lips came to wrap around the root of Cadmus’ cock, that spelled it: as impossible as it seemed, Crius’ slit had been knotted. Though that was only the beginning, because then, it began to swell larger. Crius’ silent scream turned vocal. It was impossible to withstand. The abuse of his most sensitive area, finally culminating in the seat of his masculinity being knotted and tied like it was some female’s fertile hole—and in a completely paradoxical reaction, a show of submission beaten out of him by that enormous, draconic breeding tool, his body gave in. His slit clenched tight around the cock invading it, and his own maleness, crushed into flaccidity by Cadmus’ presence inside him, nonetheless managed to twitch. His load, made especially copious by the pressure against his internal testes, drooled out of him. Though his productivity would remain unseen by either of them; plugged up by Cadmus’ knot, every drop of it was kept locked inside him, his seed serving only to warm and wet his slit for the [[benefit->deepfort33]] of the male using him.

Cadmus seemed to appreciate it, given his snorting and the small humps he made into Crius’ slit, working his knotted cock in and out as much as the tie would allow. That slight movement was enough to push him over. He reared his head back and roared, actually letting out a burst of flame from his mouth, before he erupted. Crius felt the whole of the half elf’s cock throb inside his slit, then the explosion of warmth inside him as the first rope of cum shot inside him. Just that one spurt was enough to have him feeling ungodly full, packed to capacity with draconic seed—only for another to follow right on its heels. And another, and another. In spite of having already bred two females, Cadmus’ output remained excessively productive. He was certainly built like a dragon in that regard. Crius even found the pressure of it dragging out his own orgasm, milking out a few more squirts of his cum that were immediately diluted and lost in the deluge of fertile dragon seed, enough to leave him feeling bloated, aching, packed to bursting with the cum of that feral male. And then, [[something else->deepfort34]].

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall and approaching the party wouldn’t have come as a surprise to any of them. There were already monsters running loose throughout the fort that knew of their presence, so it figured that they’d call reinforcements and converge on their position. Even in the midst of being fucked, Crius had been expecting it, in the back of his mind. Planning for it. But that wasn’t what happened. There were no footsteps to be heard, which was why what //did// happen still managed to take Crius off-guard. Someone had heard of their presence and had come to investigate, but rather than coming in through the hall, they simply appeared. One moment there was nothing, and the next, a plume of ochre smoke, spilling out in thick tendrils along the floor to reveal the figure standing at its centre. It was outfitted in expensive, colourful fabrics, silk and satin draped along limbs and hanging off its back with enough ostentatious flair to outdo even Maximon’s outfit. Its clothes aside, it looked like a tigerfolk. Or rather, it looked something like a tigerfolk. The difference was subtle, but just present enough to unnerve anyone who looked at the creature, even if they didn’t know what that difference was. Crius, however, picked up on it immediately. The thing’s arms were resting at its sides, yet he could see its palms; it’s hands were on the wrong way around. A [[rakshasa->deepfort35]]. Far from a typical beastfolk like Khasar, Tadeas, or Maximon, this was an out-and-out demon, a deceitful shapeshifter. Crius had been expecting a number of things, a few more than any of the rest of the party, but this was not one of them. The fact that the creature felt comfortable enough to be in its natural, easily identified state did not put Crius at ease.

Once the rakshasa had made its entrance, it wasted no time in acting, bringing its arms up and weaving twisted arcane motions with its fingers, made made even stranger by the backwards construction of his hands. The rest of the party had just begun to realise his presence, but far too late; Cadmus looked over his shoulder just in time for the rakshasa to throw out his arms and send an orb of golden energy into the centre of the room. From there, it split, sending out a wave of smaller bolts that each sought out and struck every member of the party square in the chest. When Crius felt it collide with him, he expected pain, maybe to find himself with a sudden gaping hole where his lungs were, or perhaps to be turned to dust right there on the spot. Instead, it felt like nothing. When Cadmus stayed glued to the spot staring back over his shoulder, though, Crius had a feeling as to what had happened. When he tried to move and found his muscles refusing to respond, locked in position, he found his guess confirmed: a hold spell. “Ah,” the rakshasa said, its voice a deep, husky growl—from the sound of it and the demon’s general build, Crius assumed it was male, though he was hardly up on what demons thought of the concept of sex. “So we’re starting to attract adventurers, then?” He let his eyes roam over the room. The druid knotted, the bard laid low and used by a handful of kobolds, the artificer unconscious, and the rest of the party engaged in their own conflicts against... each other. “Incompetent ones, at that,” the rakshasa added. He walked forward, casting his eyes along the party, every one of them as stiff as statues. The kobolds straightened up and came to attention at his passing, the ones that’d been using Maximon pulling themselves free of his holes. Even the dire wolf seemed to eye him with something approaching respect. Considering the lot of them were summoned creatures, that spoke to something. “Would any one of you care to explain yourselves?” he said, glancing around. Unsurprisingly, given their paralysis, none of the party volunteered. So he [[examined->deepfort36]] each and every one of them, one at a time.

The unconscious held no interest for him. He looked at the bard, crumpled on the ground with kobold cum leaking from both ends, with nothing but disgust. Leolin had a look of pleasure burned into his features from the hold spell, and earned a similar reaction from the rakshasa. Khasar and Cadmus had both been lost to animal desire; they got only a brief glance from him, thick with contempt, before he moved along. Which left Crius. Crius, who had managed to keep his mind and body intact, and who had been undone purely because of magical restraints. But those restraints had no effect on his ability to reason, and the rakshasa must’ve seen that, because he held the tiger’s eye for far longer than any of the rest of the party had. Eventually, the demon approached, leaning around Cadmus’ side to tap a finger onto Crius’ forehead. “You, then,” the rakshasa said. “You may speak. What is it that you’re doing here?” Crius found he could talk. Given that he still had a knot jammed into his slit and Cadmus' oversized cock crushing his own deep into his body, it figured that the first noise he made upon regaining his voice was a shamefully high, shuddering moan. The rakshasa seemed unimpressed. Crius tried his best to collect himself in spite of his compromising situation. He had to think. If he told the demon the party's goal, to loot whatever magic it was the fort was throwing off, it was unlikely they’d outlive the hour. And, while deception might’ve come as naturally to him as breathing, Crius would be hard pressed to come up with a lie sufficient to fool a demon without a good long time to think about it. Time he didn't have. So, as anathematic to his existence as it might’ve been, Crius was forced to tell the [[truth->deepfort37]].

“I’m here for Firreonth,” Crius said, voice cracking not from fear, but from an unexpected throb from the cock lodged inside him. That earned a quirked eyebrow from the rakshasa. Whether it was from the name he'd given or the voice crack, it was hard to say. Firreonth. Crius had convinced the party that he had the most milquetoast origin that a rogue could have—making his way as a pickpocket and burglar until the call for adventure drew him away from a life of crime. But that was, of course, a lie. Lying came easily to him. Crius had done things in the past before joining up with the party, a great many things. Some of those things were contracts, special jobs for the kind of people who could afford to contract a thief's services. People who typically wanted to remain anonymous. But Crius was perceptive and nosy, and it tended to be easier than not to sniff out the kind of people who could throw such large sums of gold around. Which was how he’d discovered, three years ago, just who had paid him to steal a manuscript from a wizard’s heavily defended and thoroughly trapped library. The details of the manuscript escaped him. The item no longer mattered. What did matter was who’d paid for it to be stolen: one [[Firreonth->deepfort38]]. A draconic name. One which now, three years after the fact, he'd heard crop up in relation to a derelict fort in the middle of nowhere. Crius had invested enough effort in digging up the name all that time ago, he figured it was time to cash in.

The rakshasa stared at him. Crius stared back, matching his gaze. It was important not to show fear in any interaction—no //real// fear, anyway—but particularly when it came to demons. They’d jump on any sign of it and tear you to shreds. Seconds passed. “Do you think I’m impressed because you’ve dropped a big name?” the rakshasa said, voice tinged with the sort of amused tone that indicated a very unamused person. “You could milk that information out of any simpering kobold in this fort. Tell me why I shouldn’t tear your eyes out and eat them.” “Because I heard you were in need of artificers,” Crius said evenly. It was a trick to talk evenly while knotted to a foot of cock, but Crius was picking up on it. The rakshasa let out a trill, a curiously catlike sound, one that Crius was more grateful to hear than not. “Did the kobolds tell you that, too? Tell me then, lizard, which one of you is supposed to be the artificer?” “The kobold.” That earned a hissing sigh from the rakshasa as he turned to look at Vogge, sprawled out face-down on the stone. “Of course it’s the kobold.” He walked over and hooked two fingers into the neckhole of Vogge’s shirt, lifting him up clear off the ground. His limbs dangled and his eyes remained shut, looking quite dead to the world. The rakshasa leaned in, lips peeling back to reveal a mouthful of fangs—but rather than sink them into the kobold’s face, he blew a puff of air across Vogge’s muzzle, observing the way his face screwed up slightly in response. Definitely [[alive->deepfort39]].

“He stinks of magic, but so do the rest of you. Tell me, then, how good an artificer is he?” “Terrible.” The rakshasa snapped his eyes over to Crius. Feeling himself at a delicate moment, Crius pushed on. “But with great potential that your master could make use of. See this cloak?” Assuming that the rakshasa was a servant of Firreonth and daring to state as such was a risky move on Crius’ part, adding to the already ample risk he was taking by using Vogge as a bargaining chip. But at least one of those things seemed to have paid off, because the rakshasa didn’t immediately immolate him. Instead, he let out a puff of air through his nostrils and leaned around Cadmus' side, inspecting Crius' cloak. “Drab and repellent,” the rakshasa said. “A wrapper I want to tear off so I can consume what lies within.” “And the clasp?” The rakshasa leaned in closer still, dropping Vogge to the ground so that he could inspect the clasp of Crius' cloak. At a glance, it looked utterly mundane. But Crius was counting on the rakshasa being able to see deeper than the object’s physical appearance. The rakshasa seemed to, judging by the way some of the irritation in his face sublimated into curiosity. “This is a powerful curse, and quite specific. I take it this artificer of yours intended to [[kill->deepfort40]] you all, then?”

“Hardly.” The rakshasa looked up sharply, annoyance back in full force. “You test my patience. Explain yourself or I will eat you alive, starting from the legs.” Crius had no doubt in his mind that the rakshasa was willing to make good on that threat, but nonetheless, he tried to maintain his unshakable tone. Were it not for the shock stillness imposed by the hold spell, it would’ve been impossible to pull off while Cadmus was knotted to his slit, but Crius just barely managed. “None of those items were intended to be cursed. He’s not malevolent, merely incompetent.” The rakshasa looked at Crius with pursed lips, an odd expression to see on a feline muzzle. After looking at Crius for a moment, seemingly studying him, the rakshasa walked around the room and up to each of the party members, one by one, examining their magical items. Tadeas, soaked in so much blood that his face was difficult to recognize with more of the stuff coming up from his mouth and nose, yet still alive and breathing. Cadmus, halfway to becoming some manner of dragon, or else something approaching one. Maximon, having somehow developed an irresistible allure to kobolds—male ones, unfortunately for his staunch heterosexuality. All their items had effects that varied in ease of identification and certainly in terms of usefulness, but they were all undeniably powerful in their own right, be it in their effects on their wearers or on those around them. With his magical senses, the rakshasa must’ve come to the same conclusion. He walked back over to Crius, leaning down to pick up [[Vogge’s->deepfort41]] unconscious body before holding it out in front of him.

“So you’ve brought an invalid, seeking Firreonth’s approval? And you expect anything but a fiery death?” “He’s more than an invalid. You said yourself that his enchantments are powerful. He can fashion items at a breakneck pace of a strength that few can match—just none that anyone in their right mind would want to wear.” “And what use is that to me? Firreonth expects us to make items of use, not baubles and distractions. However powerful the magics fuelling them may be.” “You’ve a man turned into a raging beast and another into a dragon. Is that what you’d call a distraction? Are you unwilling to put in the effort to harness that sort of power?” The rakshasa’s muzzle twisted in consideration of his words. Crius pushed on. “Every one of us is wearing something he enchanted. I know you’ve got plenty of artificers here. Study the items, their wearers, their effects, and the one who enchanted them; with enough effort, you could unravel his secrets.” “So you’re offering you and your party as prisoners, then?” the rakshasa said, eyes narrowing. “As test subjects?” “Not all of us, no. This clasp is magical—the cloak is not. I think you’ll find it quite removable, and far easier to study when it’s [[removed->deepfort42]] from its wearer.”

The rakshasa smiled. “Aah, selfishness I understand. But what is it you want in return? Certainly not freedom, now that you know so much. I suppose I could rip out your entrails and eat them in front of you, if you'd like.” Crius would’ve shrugged had he the ability. “You could, but it would be a waste. I was going to ask Firreonth, but seeing as how you're in charge here, don’t you feel you could use a resourceful rogue in your employ?” At that, the rakshasa’s grin widened. “You weren’t bluffing earlier, were you? You really came all the way out here to sell out your party just to get into Firreonth’s good graces?” “What can I say? Current company has provided scarce profit and scarcer entertainment.” The rakshasa laughed. Nails on a chalkboard would’ve been a more pleasant sound, but at the very least, Crius was among the small list of people who’d lived to hear the laughter of a rakshasa without being disembowelled before or afterwards. “Very well, lizard, you’ve convinced me. I’ll let you live until Firreonth tells me whether he intends to keep you. Just know if you try to leave the fort before then, I’ll tear your intestines out through your throat. Yes?” “And here I was afraid you’d be one of my meaner employers. [[It’s a deal.->deepforttoupperforttransition]]”

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"upperfort1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (text-colour:#fcf4e6)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0.2348,#010c12,0.7399,#2e2f27,1,#69625c)))There tended to be a prevailing idea among people that serving under a dragon meant horrible conditions, oppression by one’s superiors, and a general atmosphere of misery. That was a misguided thought. Only the most basic and unorganized forms of evil managed themselves by means of crushing subordinates into submission, like goblins and and xvarts. More civilized creatures realised that fostering morale produced happier and more loyal subjects. So Crius’ time in the fort wound up being rather pleasant. Sure, he couldn’t leave on account of technically being held prisoner, but he was used to spending time underground and didn’t have much fondness for the sun anyhow. Plus, there was good food and good company, what with more than a few of the kobolds in the dragon’s employ being amenable to having a lizardman to warm their bed at night. What wasn’t to like? He’d been enjoying the accommodations for some days at that point, drinking in the opportunity to relax for a bit and merely enjoy himself. The rakshasa trusted him enough to not have him locked in a cell for the duration of his ‘probation’—funny, having managed to earn even a mote of trust from a demon—though that trust didn’t extend quite far enough to assign him any duties. So Crius spent most of his time trying to [[occupy->upperfort2]] himself.

During the day when there was precious little opportunity for fun with any of the kobolds, busy as they were, Crius spent a good chunk of his time loitering. Mostly around one of the higher floors of the fort, which he'd come to learn was something of a working area. Well out of the way of the fort's entrance, it was a secure place for the artificers to busy themselves enchanting items, be it ones as typical as enchanted arrows and swords or more experimental pieces. Which explained the magical aura that the fort was giving off. Some of those experiments tended to be a bit unrefined. Occasionally, some of them exploded into bursts of arcane energy that resulted in whatever artificer that had been conducting them being scorched, frozen, burnt by acid, horribly mutated—all manner of unpredictable magical effects. Crius did wonder what it was their experiments were working towards, but he didn’t ask. He figured he wasn’t in a position that would permit that sort of investigation. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t observe some of those experiments, even if he didn’t necessarily understand them. That was why Crius was headed towards that floor at that very moment, moving through hallways that were far better lit and a good deal cleaner than the dim and dismal corridors he’d trudged through when first entering the fort. There was no need to pretend the fort was abandoned this far up. There was a guard posted outside of the area, though given how secure the floor was already, it wasn’t the most critical post to man. Which was probably why the guard posted had no weapon, nor hands which would permit them to use one. They were a [[warg->upperfort3]]. Crius had learned that there were a great deal of wargs around the fort. As to why, he didn’t know. Perhaps there was just a pack of them nearby and hiring them was convenient.

“Hello, Ulfhild,” Crius said. The warg grunted at him in response, which was about as lengthy as any communication between them ever got. He’d had sex with her once. It was quite a feat to get to that point while having never exchanged more than two words in one sitting. Crius walked on past her and entered the room where the magic happened. One of the rooms, at any rate. That particular one was the one he visited most, and there was a reason for that. It was a wide open space, somewhat resembling a workshop, with a cluster of tables and shelves on one half of the room that were strewn with absolutely everything that an artificer could possibly want for their job. Various half-finished projects were scattered across whatever surfaces would hold them. Kobolds shuffled about between them, carrying various items that Crius couldn’t concern himself with less. His real interest laid on the other half of the room. A series of cells lined the wall, the room having apparently been some manner of prison before being refitted into its current form. There were five cells. Four of them were occupied. Crius walked up to the first of them. Through the bars of the door, he could see a human dressed in tattered scraps of leather and fur that had once been a well-made outfit. Leolin, his old companion. He’d appeared to have made [[new associates->upperfort4]] since their party’s disintegration.

Which was to say, he was being mounted by one of the ubiquitous wargs. Leolin was sprawled out on the ground, face down and ass held up by his knees, drool trickling out the corner of his mouth and collecting into a small puddle on the ground as the beast thrust into him. Another was waiting by the side, its cock hanging free beneath itself, dripping pre onto the ground. Apparently unwilling to make use of the druid’s mouth, it was waiting for a turn with his ass. Leolin seemed rather content with the situation, judging by his own cock swinging about beneath him, half-hard but drooling thick globs of pre that smeared against his stomach and splattered against the ground below. He’d taken to his new role quite nicely. The kobolds said that was due to the effects of the bracelets he was wearing, practically the only bit of clothing on him that had been untouched by the wargs’ claws. Crius didn’t know if he believed that acceptance was wholly due to magic. He had to have become a druid for a reason, after all. Whatever the case, it was nice to see Leolin finally getting on with the animals for once. There was a [[kobold->upperfort5]] standing outside the cell, holding a keyring and shifting about somewhat awkwardly. The wargs couldn’t operate the cell doors by themselves. Thankfully, the kobolds were more than willing to lend the use of their hands for that purpose. The wargs and kobolds cooperated well together; Crius almost found it cute.

“Hey,” Crius said. “Hi,” the kobold replied. “Is that Knud in there?” “Oh, uh, yeah.” “Did you ever manage to take him all the way in?” The kobold’s eyes widened for a moment, then she looked off to the side. “Nnnno.” “Looks like Leolin can. Might want to work on that.” The kobold didn’t reply, though Crius could hear her tail slap against the ground behind her. He offered her a smile, a wink, then walked past her. In the next cell over was Maximon. As Crius passed the wall separating the two cells, the sounds of Leolin’s grunts and moans gave way to Maximon’s, sounding distinctly less pleasured than his human companion’s in spite of the similarity of his situation. He was stripped naked and strapped onto a table that forced him into a spread eagle position, though with material removed around where his ass sat to provide [[easy access->upperfort6]] to his body.

Access that was being made use of. One kobold was between his legs, pounding away at his ass like a man possessed, while another was up by the bard’s face and fucking his mouth with an equal lack of abandon, tilting the feline’s head back so that he could best penetrate his throat. As best he could, anyway. For all his eagerness, he was still only a kobold, with the endowment to match. What the kobolds were doing wasn't productive. It wasn't any sort of magical experiment. It was just sex, the same as what was happening to Leolin. The effects of the two’s magical items seemed to include an irresistible attractiveness to specific groups, Leolin’s being animals, Maximon’s being males in general. That meant he drew the attention of any aroused male bipeds in his vicinity—which tended to consist mostly of kobolds. That wasn’t to say that their items //weren’t// being studied in a more academic sense. The kobolds were hard at work trying to figure out exactly what magic was at play that could create such an aura of desirability. The issue was that the ones researching it tended to become distracted by the object of their study, and it wasn’t long before the idea emerged to simply use him as a source of relief before returning to work. Which led to his current position as a public use [[hole->upperfort7]] for the relief of any males among the artificer staff. Unlike Leolin, however, his item seemed to have very little effect on his //own// mental state. The bard detested his position just as much as he had when he’d first been pushed down and raped by a pack of summoned kobolds—though his mouth was often too crammed full of kobold cock for him to voice those complaints.

Crius had made use of the bard a few times, himself. He had to admit, the cat had become far more attractive since Vogge had ‘enhanced’ his earring’s effects. If it wasn’t for the excess of willing kobolds and wargs around, Crius would probably visit him a lot more often than he already did. It was for the best that he didn’t, though. Maximon’s complaining tended to be a bit grating on the ears, and there wasn’t always someone available to plug up his throat to stifle them. Past that cell, the sounds of mating remained just as strong, but shifted in tone and composition. No longer the whining moans of a male being taken like a female in both holes, but rather the sound of a female being used in the traditional fashion, a kobold crying out as she was bred and pleasured by none other than Cadmus. Though anyone outside of the party would be hard pressed to identify him as such, given the transformations he’d undergone. Cadmus had taken on the grand majority of features that defined a dragon: scales, tail, wings, even a weak but ever-strengthening breath attack—one that had necessitated the creation of a specialized muzzle to keep him from hurting anyone. But he wasn’t in the traditional shape of a dragon. For all the changes he’d undergone, Cadmus had maintained his bipedal form, leaving him as something that almost resembled a lizardfolk. The item responsible for those changes was unarguably the most powerful of Vogge’s creations, and much of the kobolds’ attention had gone towards studying its [[effects->upperfort8]].

That study was mostly the domain of the males. The female kobolds had found their attention drawn to other pursuits. Like Leolin and animals, like Maximon and males, Cadmus had developed an attractiveness to a very particular group—female kobolds. But unlike the others, the artificers had developed a rather comprehensive understanding of the mechanism behind that attraction. Dragons, particularly in their youth, tended to have very powerful mating urges. Infrequent ones, but when they struck, they left a dragon incapable of thinking of or devoting his attention to anything but mating, seeking out and breeding any female deemed fertile enough to carry his eggs—and sometimes ones that couldn’t, or ones that weren’t even female. Such powerful urges did lend themselves to a lack of discrimination, after all. The dragons had their own word for the phenomenon, one that was ancient and long winded. Few non-dragons knew it; fewer bothered to use it. Most species just called it rut. Cadmus was quite young, relative to a dragon, so it figured that he’d be in the thick of his first and most powerful rut. It was difficult to get the sorcerer to focus on anything but fucking. His communication tended to be limited to growls, roars, and other guttural, primal noises. Eventually, in spite of the desire among many of the artificers to study his behaviour, Cadmus had been restrained, shackled to the wall to prevent any additional attempts from him to force himself on the female staff. It didn't fix much. Cadmus was quite effectively restrained, that was true, but the problem simply became the female artificers becoming the instigators. They were inexplicably drawn to him, eager to mate with him, a magnetism even stronger than that exhibited by Maximon and Leolin. At first, they’d thought it another [[magical effect->upperfort9]], stemming from his enchanted item.

But the male artificers, able to focus on studying the matter when they weren’t busying themselves with Maximon, traced the phenomenon to another source. It wasn’t magical, but biological. Kobolds had a natural affinity for dragons, a servant-master relationship that was practically bred into them. When a dragon went into rut, a kobold would feel its effects as well—far more sharply in the case of females, who went into something approaching heat, filled with a need to be impregnated by their draconic master. Cadmus had apparently changed sufficiently to be able to trigger that impulse. It hadn’t taken long before every female kobold with the ability and opportunity to do so was coming to Cadmus’ cell, taking advantage of his bondage to sate themselves on his body. Being used in such a way hardly befit the dignity of a dragon, and Cadmus made his objections known. The rattling of chains from his cell was constant as he jerked and strained against his restraints—to absolutely no avail, of course. His struggles didn’t even so much as inconvenience whatever kobold was riding him at any given moment. But it wasn't as if Cadmus was in any state of mind to concern himself with dignity. All he cared about was fucking, and in his position, he was getting to do plenty of that. So what was it that was fuelling his [[resistance->upperfort9.1]]?

And went right past an empty cell, the sole uninhabited room among the lot. It hadn’t always been so. For a short time, it had been filled by Tadeas. That had lasted all of a day and a half before he’d been moved. Not out of any bad behaviour on his part. Far from it, in fact; Tadeas had been one of the most cooperative captives by far, bar perhaps Leolin. No, he’d //requested// to be moved—specifically, moved to Khasar’s cell. Aware that the two seemed to have a sort of synergy with each other, the artificers had obliged his request, interested to see how their interactions would evolve. There wasn’t much evolution to be found. Khasar had acted exactly as expected. Which was to say, he regularly beat Tadeas, often clear into unconsciousness, and rammed his knot up the cat’s tailhole with only marginally less frequency. After the first such incident, the artificers less familiar with their relationship and behaviour had insisted that they be separated and again placed into individual cells. It was only Tadeas’ insistence against such an idea that they were kept from doing so, and similar protests kept them from using magic to heal the cleric’s injuries, though they remained prepared to do either in the event that it seemed like Khasar was well and truly in [[danger->upperfort11]] of killing the poor cub.

But that risk never seemed to materialize. A number of things became clear: that Tadeas’ magical ring did more than give him a taste for pain, but also gave him an impressive threshold for injury far beyond what a twelve year old child ought to have been capable of, and that he was still well in command of his divine magic. Whenever Khasar had beaten Tadeas enough to satisfy his bloodlust, the kitten would crawl off to the opposite corner of the cell and use his spells to heal whatever serious damage he’d sustained. Leaving behind the smaller wounds to ache and form scars, of course. That was the usual way of things. That day, however, things were different. Crius came to the entrance to their cell, and rather than the typical scenes of abuse playing out inside, there was something heretofore unseen in Khasar and Tadeas’ cell: sadness. Khasar was sitting in one of the far corners of the cell, sulking, while Tadeas was nearer to the door looking uninjured and positively miserable. Tadeas was one of the few members of the party that Crius was still on speaking terms, when the cub wasn’t beaten to the point of being unable to speak. Crius took advantage of that fact and moved up next to him, leaning against the bars that separated them. “What’s wrong with him?” Crius asked. Tadeas turned his head to look at Crius, as if noticing him for the first time. It was a slow movement, devoid of energy, and when Tadeas finally laid eyes upon him, there wasn’t a hint of emotion to disturb the look of resigned misery that had become his face. “It’s his [[necklace->upperfort12]],” Tadeas said. “They took it off, and now he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Crius snapped up and stared at Khasar, caught off-guard by the news. Took off his necklace? He’d heard the kobolds talking about how Vogge’s attempt to dispel the enchantments on the items had rendered them cursed beyond any of their usual means of removal. Whether Khasar’s was somehow affected less strongly or it was merely the first one they’d managed to remove, Crius didn’t know, but the fact that they’d gotten it off was a significant development. One that presented certain opportunities. Khasar hadn’t been particularly communicative ever since being captured. Sometimes he’d shout demands, either for food, water, or to be let free. Other times, he’d scream indignities at his captors. Most often, he’d take out his frustrations on Tadeas, beating the cub to a pulp to briefly vent his anger until it inevitably took hold of him again. Now that the necklace was off, perhaps he’d be willing to talk. Crius looked back over his shoulder at the kobold standing outside of Leolin’s cell, idly fiddling with her keys. “Hey, you!” She jumped hard enough to make the keys in her hands jingle, head snapping up to look at Crius. Once he’d gotten her attention, Crius beckoned with one hand, inviting her to approach. After a moment of hesitation and a glance back at the cell she’d come over to unlock, apparently deciding that the wargs were busy enough that they wouldn’t notice her absence, she shuffled over. “[[Unlock->upperfort13]] the door,” Crius said, motioning towards Khasar and Tadeas’ cell with a toss of his head.

“Uh,” the kobold said, glancing at the door in question before looking back up at Crius’ face. “Why?” “Because I want to talk to Khasar.” The kobold looked over at the cell again. Khasar remained at his place in the corner, not having responded to the sound of his name. “Can’t you talk to him from out here?” “I don’t want to talk to him through the bars. I want to speak to him face-to-face.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s temperamental, and you two didn’t part on... good terms.” Crius ought to have expected some hesitation on her part. Nevertheless, he was finding himself feeling a bit of irritation himself at being told what to do by a kobold. But he maintained a cool, calm face. “Then have a hold spell prepared, for your own peace of mind. Not that it’ll be necessary. Now, are you going to open the cell, or shall I get someone else with another set of keys and a more helpful attitude?” The kobold winced. Perhaps Crius hadn’t sounded as cool and calm as he’d intended. Nevertheless, she did as she was told, turning away from Crius and casting him a look over her shoulder before fumbling with her keys to find the one that fit the lock to the cell. It didn’t take long. She unlocked the door, then stepped aside to make way for Crius. Tadeas stood by and watched as Crius opened the cell and walked inside, making his way towards the corner [[Khasar->upperfort14]] had taken up residence in.

Crius stopped short a few feet from Khasar. As quick as he’d been to seize the opportunity, he wasn’t entirely sure how to broach a conversation with someone who he’d last interacted with by means of betraying him and selling him into slavery. “Khasar?” Crius said, deciding addressing him was probably the safest bet. Khasar did not respond. “Are you alright?” Crius asked. “No,” Khasar replied. As honest and direct as ever. “Tell me, friend, what blackens your mood?” Khasar turned to look at Crius from over his shoulder, allowing the lizardman to see just how utterly neutral his expression was. Blank, devoid of any visible emotion, with a level voice to match. A stark contrast to the continual rage Crius had seen from him as recently as yesterday. “Is this an official interrogation, Crius, or are you mocking me?” “Are you past the need for niceties, now? You’ve hardly been much for conversation recently, I’d figure a [[polite inquiry->upperfort15]] would do you some good.”

“So much wasted breath. Do you have anything of substance to say to me?” “Do you? I’d figure finally being able to think clearly after so long would make you eager to say a few things.” “Say a few things, he says,” Khasar said, pushing himself up to his feet and turning to face Crius. Even stripped of his armour and left with only a few scraps of cloth for modesty’s sake, Khasar was a large, imposing presence—no small praise, considering lizardfolk like Crius were large in their own right. “What, then? You’ve come to hear about my experiences with that hellish collar wrapped around my neck?” That sort of passion was far more familiar than his hollow tone from earlier, and that familiarity meant that Crius was able to stand his ground quite easily even when Khasar was barking his words into the lizardman’s face from less than a foot away. “If you’d like to tell me.” “Can’t give a straight answer for the life of you, can you, Crius? Always the people pleaser, ‘whatever you’d like’, playing at sacrifice as if every word that comes out of your mouth isn’t a finely crafted, self-serving tool.” People liked to talk. You just needed to prompt them, and they’d carry a whole conversation for you. Sometimes, all that took was a single word. Khasar wore himself on his sleeve; that one word shone to Crius’ eyes as if it were a white star. “[[Sacrifice->upperfort16]]?”

Khasar’s eyes flashed. “Sacrifice! All my life, I’ve been sacrificing things. Do you think I hole up in a tavern with a two-bit whore when we get into town like you and Maximon? No! I sharpen my weapon, polish my armour, and pray with Tadeas. I don’t drink; I study the holy texts and do my best to teach that damn boy the laws and tenets of Esege. I have done my absolute best to steer this group down the path of righteousness. “And for //what?// What have I made all these sacrifices for? I’m trapped in a cell in some godforsaken fort with my fate decided by a horde of kobolds playing at being hedge mages. “Did you know that every boon Esege has granted me has vanished? I no longer feel her light in my soul. She has completely and utterly forsaken me. And do you know what’s funnier? She hasn’t done the same to Tadeas. He’s kept every shred of divine magic he has, because he had the luck to have his mind magically addled so that he finds nothing but joy in sacrifice, craves the feeling of hurting himself for others. “But I was just... angry. Because when that empty-headed kobold heard I wanted people to hear the word of Esege, he thought all that meant was I needed to [[yell->upperfort17]] at them.”

Khasar had started running out of steam halfway through his rambling monologue, and at some point, his focus had slipped from Crius’ face entirely. By the end of it, his voice was low enough that he was practically mumbling his words, staring over Crius’ shoulder at the wall on the other end of the cell. Tadeas stared at him from his spot near the door. Neither Khasar nor Crius paid him any heed; it felt like they were in their own space, separate from the rest of the world. “That hardly seems like it’s your fault,” Crius said, after a few seconds’ silence. And those few words immediately jerked Khasar back to reality, and back into the state of anger he’d been in when he last left it. “Of course it’s not my fault! You of all people ought to know exactly whose fault it is. It’s...” Khasar couldn’t have stopped for more than a second, but that was time enough for Crius to recognize his hesitation and pounce on it. “Whose? Mine? Vogge’s? The demon’s?” “Are you implying there’s someone else at fault here?” Khasar said, more growled, fangs bared and grinding together. “None of those people control [[Esege’s->upperfort18]] behaviour.”

Khasar blinked, then clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Is this your plan, then? Betray me, have me thrown in a cell, and then attempt to strip me of my god?” “Hardly. I have no interest in your beliefs. Though I’ll admit I didn’t come here just to make conversation.” “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you came here to serve as replacement for that cursed necklace. You certainly piss me off just as well.” Crius resisted the urge to snort. “Good to see it didn’t affect your wit any. No, I came to offer you a way out of this cell.” That drew surprised looks from all around, from Tadeas as well as from the kobold standing outside the cell. But Khasar didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, just crossed his arms. “Don’t even start. I’m intended to believe that you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart? A greedy, backstabbing lizard like yourself? That you don’t have an ulterior motive?” “I can be self-seeking without trying to screw you over. I’ve got new superiors I’m trying to impress; taking the initiative by recruiting others will do that. Not to mention you seem to be in need of [[a new master->upperfort19]], yourself.”

“A new master?” Khasar scoffed. “You seem to think of me as some loyal hound.” “You served that role well enough in your service to Esege.” “And back to this. I thought you said you didn’t care a whit for my beliefs.” “I don’t. You can continue believing in Esege, for all I care. I’m talking purely about who you serve in //this// life, not the one after.” “Ah, so you’re merely asking me to pay lip service to my god while acting in clear defiance of Her will. I suppose you're right, my beliefs really don’t matter to you.” “If your god and your job are so inextricably bound together, then yes, I suppose I am.” “Of course they are!” Khasar snapped. “I’m a paladin!” “Are you?” Khasar had to pause at that one. An accusation so blatant that to just throw it out there ought to have been unthinkable, yet there it was, straight from Crius’ mouth. Though that pause didn’t last long before it was replaced by what was clearly poorly suppressed [[rage->upperfort20]].

When Crius saw Khasar baring his teeth, he continued on before the canid could say or do anything regrettable. “Don’t take that as any sort of attempt on your honour. It was simply my impression that a paladin is only made such by having the support of his god.” Khasar scowled, then stepped back, leaning against the wall behind himself with a distinct sag in his shoulders. “Just because I’ve lost Esege’s favour doesn’t mean I don’t believe in Her.” “Then you can continue to cling to your belief in a god that’s abandoned you. Or, you can move on with your life and move out of this cell, in service to a master that I think you’ll find a great deal less restrictive. “Think about it. You’ve told me yourself just how much you had to sacrifice to maintain your status in the eyes of Esege, and what did you get in return? A smattering of divine magic that pales in comparison to your squire’s, to be used solely to further the will of the one who gave it to you. Firreonth asks very little of you in comparison. Simply fulfill your duties, and the rest of your time is your own, however you’d like to spend it. Crius leaned in. “What was it you called Tadeas earlier? ‘That damn boy’? Such anger, even without the necklace. Esege would never approve. But Firreonth would let you express that anger in whatever way you’d like.” Khasar’s muscles tensed, his nostrils flared, and for a moment, it seemed like such a presumption would be what finally pushed him over the edge. But Crius never pushed without knowing exactly where and how hard to push. After a few seconds, Khasar [[slumped->upperfort21]] back against the wall, eyes closing while his head rolled back to face the ceiling.

“It’s not that you’re wrong. I simply wish it were anyone but you telling me this. Even Maximon would be preferable.” “Yes, well, Maximon is... indisposed. There’s a reason I’m extending this offer to you and not him. So, will you take it?” Khasar took a deep breath and then let it out through his nose, long and slow. “I suppose so.” “Good. Then we can move onto the matter of proving yourself.” Khasar’s eyes opened and he looked down sharply. “‘Proving myself’?” “Indrajit—the rakshasa—employs people whose motivations he understands. At the moment, he understands you to be the most utterly stolid sort of zealot, and thereby unfit to serve. So we’ll simply demonstrate that his assessment is inaccurate.” “And you don’t think I’ll need anything for this demonstration? Like, say, a set of clothes?” Crius looked Khasar up and down. The canid had fashioned something resembling a loincloth for himself. It exposed as much of his chiselled musculature as was possible while still granting him some measure of decency. But decency wasn’t going to be of much use for what Crius had planned. “Mmm, no. [[No->upperforttocelltransition]], I don’t think you will.”

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"cell1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (text-colour:#fce4ca)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0.4194,#020008,0.7293,#01072f)))“...I wish you’d at least gotten me a pair of pants.” “I’m telling you, there’s no need. S’not anything that everyone here hasn’t already seen, anyway.” Vogge could hear the voices coming muffled through the door of his cell. Even without seeing the faces of those speaking—he couldn’t see much of anything, with the door shutting out any source of light—he was familiar enough with the voices that he could place them. Khasar and Crius. He heard the door squeaking as it swung open. Vogge craned his neck to try to face it, as best as he could manage. “Crius? Khasar? You here to save me?” “Vogge?” Khasar said, sounding more than a little taken aback by the sight, but Crius raised a finger to silence him. In the light that poured in from the open doorway, the two could see that Vogge was tied up, suspended in mid air by a number of magical tendrils stretching out towards him from the darkness filling every corner of the room. The kobold didn’t have a scrap of clothing on him, but he did have a number of accessories. A blindfold. A collar. Two brass knobs, screwed onto the tips of his horns. “Vogge!” Crius called out in a [[stage whisper->cell2]]. “Vogge, are you in there?”

Apparently catching onto the need for ‘stealth’, Vogge replied in the same manner of faux whispering. “Yes! Over here, friends! You have to help me, the kobolds here been very, very mean!” “What did they do to you, Vogge?” Crius said, though he looked at Khasar while he spoke, muzzle split in a wide grin. “They make me make bad things, then make me wear them! Then //they// make //weird// things, and make me wear those, too! Oh, please help! Help Vogge!” “Of course, Vogge, don’t worry,” Crius said. “But you have to be very quiet while we figure out how to release these restraints, okay?” “Okay,” Vogge said, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Vogge be quiet.” With that, Crius walked up to Vogge’s side, snapped his fingers, then turned to look at Khasar while crossing his arms. Vogge didn’t seem to react to the sound at all. “He can’t hear us now,” Crius said. Khasar glanced at Crius, but found his attention quickly drawn back to Vogge, looking nervous but hopeful as he hung in his magical bondage. “Why not?” “The blindfold’s [[magic->cell3]]. Snap your fingers, he can’t hear a thing. Snap again, he can. Bit of cleverness, I thought, combining the two of those.”

Khasar kept looking at Vogge. The kobold’s scales were covered in scars, most seeming to be from judicious use of a whip, others seeming to be more from deep gouges from some manner of blade. And more, it seemed that something had //dried// on his scales—mostly around the area between his legs. “Crius, what is it you brought me here to do?” “How about I finish telling you about the items they made for him, first? There’s quite a few of them, and they’re rather impressive.” “Crius.” “You see those brass knobs on his horns? Those keep him from casting any spells. Funny thing is, he made those. The other artificers were hoping they could force him to make a few items and study his process, so they told him to make something that provided magic resistance, then decided to test his work. Seems it worked. He’s rather resistant to magic, now.” “Crius.” “And then, seeing as how he couldn’t really enchant anymore, they decided to just start using him as a testbed for all sorts of fun stuff. The collar makes him more sensitive, in exactly the ways you’d think. Those kobolds are a horny bunch. And the clasp on it? That’s the one he made for my cloak. Keeps him tied up, s’long as the cell doesn’t get too bright.” Crius slid a hand down between Vogge’s legs and used two fingers to spread his slit wide open. The kobold let out a high [[squeak->cell4]] in response.

“What? Who’s that?” Vogge said, still whispering, though now in a rather shrill tone. “What you doing?” “All the best stuff is inside, though,” Crius said. “They gave him a piercing that makes him cum massive amounts, right on the base of his dick. But you can’t really see it, because they put a ring on him down there too, one that keeps him from getting hard. That’s what the collar’s for, actually. They like fucking him and watching him cream the inside of his slit.” “Crius, you can’t honestly be thinking of doing this.” Crius released his hand from Vogge’s slit, and the kobold let out a sigh and relaxed a bit into his restraints in response. “And why not?” “I thought you were going to have me kill someone, not rape a member of the party!” “You still think there’s a party? Never mind. They already expect you to be angry. Murder someone and they won’t bat an eye. Something like this will make them realise it’s more than just anger, that you’re operating under a new set of beliefs. One that’ll let them rationalize taking the risk of hiring you.” Khasar didn’t look angry. He looked caught somewhere between disgusted and conflicted. “Crius, is there no one else you could pick? This is... it’s //[[Vogge->cell5]]//.”

“Well, you’d hardly make a good impression by raping one of the dragon’s own workers,” Crius said. “And yes, it’s Vogge. The same Vogge who cursed us all and led to us losing to a wolf and a bunch of kobolds.” Khasar gave Crius a sharp glare. “You act as if you had no part in that. Am I intended to forget you admitting you led all of us to this fort in a bid to curry favour with a dragon?” Crius shrugged. “You weren’t part of that plan. To be honest, I was hoping to have gotten the lot of you out so that I could take Vogge where I needed him. His ‘gifts’ are the only reason all of you got roped into this mess.” “Mhm, right,” Khasar said, scowling. “Regardless of whatever your 'plan' was, you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust you after you strung us all along for it without giving us a word of warning.” Crius threw his hands wide. “If you don’t trust me enough to go through with it, we can always call the whole thing off, but this is the only way I can get you out of that cell.” Khasar’s muzzle twitched, but he said nothing, so Crius pushed on. “Besides, can you honestly say that you don’t feel even a bit of [[enmity->cell6]] towards Vogge for what he did?”

Khasar looked at Vogge. The poor kobold looked scared out of his wits, unable to hear or see a thing, only having felt hands pressing against that most private space of his and a resounding silence when he asked the reason. How long had they kept him in this dark cell? This was the first time Khasar had seen him since their capture, so there was a decent chance Vogge hadn’t seen any of the rest of the party. That he barely even knew what was going on. Khasar was doing more than just looking. He was staring, trying to feel what emotions the sight of Vogge stirred in him. There was no sadness or pity at the kobold’s predicament. There was no arousal at his nakedness or the clear ways in which he’d been used. There was only a feeling of bitterness, of distaste, disdain, and disgust. Crius was right. Khasar fully understood what Vogge did, and he hated him for it. He’d been galled at the suggestion of rape as a general concept and because some shreds of group loyalty still clung to his heart, but none of his objection had been due to it being Vogge. Realising that, the idea of doing something to Vogge seemed to suddenly become almost palatable. Khasar wished he felt revulsion at the idea of raping another person. He wanted to feel disgust that he didn’t. But he felt neither. If he did as Crius asked, this wouldn’t even be his first act of rape. That dubious honour had long since gone to Tadeas. Sure, he’d liked it, but it had been //meant// to hurt him. Every bone in Khasar’s body had been aching to make it as painful as possible for the boy. The first time, and every time thereafter. That malevolent intent was what made it [[rape->cell7]], however Tadeas might’ve felt about it.

He’d done it at least a dozen times already. Rape was just another form of abuse he could dole out, and Vogge seemed so worthy of abuse. Perhaps the necklace had more lingering effects than he’d realised, or perhaps it was simply due to a necessary change in perspective after the twin experiences of betrayal and temporary madness, but Khasar found that he wanted to hurt Vogge. The desire was weak enough that he could suppress it, if he so wished—but he was being asked to act on it, indulge it. Would he? “Fine,” Khasar said, and the decision was as simple as that one, single word. He would. Deceptively easy, considering the lingering apprehension he felt about the whole situation. Yet at the same time, anticipation. “Good,” Crius said, walking around and taking up a spot near Vogge’s head before reaching down to wrangle with the buckle of his belt. “Then I’ll let you start us off.” Khasar shot Crius a look, but he remained steadfast. Crius never was the sort of person you could beat down with a stare, and considering the whole point of what they were doing was for Khasar to participate, it was difficult for him to argue against being the first to make a [[move->cell8]].

So Khasar stepped up between Vogge’s spread legs, let his loincloth drop to his ankles with a tug, and then—stood there. He wasn’t sure //how// to start things off. Before, he’d always acted on instinct, ridden on the rage stirred up by the necklace. Now, Khasar was left to his own devices, operating with full conscious thought, and he had no idea how to proceed. “Just do what comes naturally,” Crius said. Khasar didn’t look at him, but his lips peeled back to show his bared teeth. That advice was a touch less than helpful. Yet as trite as it might’ve sounded, Crius did have a point. Whatever came naturally. He just had to start, really. Then it would all start to flow. So Khasar reached out and let his hands touch down onto Vogge’s body, taking up places at the crooks of either thigh. As soon as he made contact, Vogge let out a squeak. “Who keeps touching me? What you doing?” He had an annoying voice, Khasar could say that much. High and shrill, the way kobolds tended to sound. Khasar had developed a distaste for kobolds in general, and quite naturally so, he thought. His whole life had been spent killing them, and now, he’d been kept caged like an animal and studied by the yipping, squealing things. Forced to listen to all the sorts of aggravating noises they made as they sated their [[lusts->cell9]] just a few cells over.

It reminded him of some of the sounds that Tadeas made. When Khasar thought of that, he got angry. It was through that anger that he pushed through any hesitation he might’ve felt and acted. He took his right hand, extended two fingers, and //jammed// them into Vogge’s slit. Vogge wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore. As soon as he felt those fingers inside of him, he let out an awful screech, one that would be enough to make the hair on the back of one’s neck stand up—were it not for Crius not having any such hair, and Khasar being long since desensitized to that sort of noise. That reaction was only partly out of pain. Vogge had experienced far rougher penetrations than that, and been able to bite his tongue through most of them. No, mostly it was out of shock and surprise. Shock at such sudden stimulation, surprise that it seemed to be coming from one of two people that he’d previously thought both to be his friends. “Stop!” Vogge cried out. “Why aren’t you saying anything?!” Khasar didn’t stop. He pistoned his fingers in and out of Vogge’s slit until the moisture within had coated him up to the knuckle, then added a third finger to boot, listening to the whines and confused whimpers the kobold made as he was jerked about in his restraints from the sheer force of it. He’d slipped into an entirely different mode. No more of the uncertainty or hesitation from earlier; all of that had vanished in an instant. Now, Khasar was simply doing what came natural, and the emotion that came naturally to him at the sight of Vogge was anger. It was all decidedly familiar, but Khasar didn’t dwell on the familiarity. He merely [[operated->cell10]] in it.

“I don’t understa— MMPH!” Vogge’s latest whining protest was cut short with a muffled shout. Khasar didn’t bother to look up, merely felt a distant sense of gratitude that the noise had stopped. If he had, he would’ve seen that Vogge’s muzzle was now buried between Crius’ legs. The rogue had stepped forward and taken advantage of Vogge’s supine position and perfect height to shove his crotch into the kobold’s face. While he wasn’t fully erect just yet, Vogge could feel the lizardman’s cock starting to poke out of his slit, the tip of it rubbing against his lips. Crius didn’t need to plug up Vogge’s muzzle to stifle the majority of his cries. He just needed to grab the sides of the kobold’s head, press himself against his mouth just-so, and presto, words were transformed into nothing more than muffled noise. If they ever got a bit too loud or decipherable, Crius merely pulled Vogge’s face tighter into his crotch, ground against his muzzle with even greater insistence. That freed up Khasar from having to think or worry about the sounds Vogge was making, allowing him to focus purely on what he was doing to the kobold’s body. He was still three fingers deep, but what he’d neglected to increase in terms of digits, he’d made up for in terms of depth. Khasar was delving deep enough into Vogge’s slit that he could feel his fingers brushing against the tip of the kobold’s member, secreted [[deep->cell11]] inside, hidden away from the world.

But he hadn’t gone as deep as he had for such slight contact as brushing. When he felt it against his fingertips, Khasar went deeper still, forcing his fingers in deep enough that part of his palm wedged its way between the lips of Vogge’s slit. That was deep enough for him to get a good feel of it, fingers running along a half-inch past the pointed tip of Vogge’s cock. Which was far enough for him to feel a small metal stud there, placed along the underside of Vogge’s shaft where it pressed into the wall of his slit. The piercing that Crius had mentioned, the one that supposedly made Vogge the most productive kobold in the fort. Wisely placed, too; with it on the bottom, anyone who decided to make use of his slit would hardly notice its presence unless they decided to seek it out. Not that Khasar noticed any of that ingenuity. His first reaction upon feeling it was to grasp it between the tips of two fingers and give it a sharp tug. Vogge gave a loud shriek in response, one that send vibrations rolling through Crius’ slit and had his shaft sliding out that much faster as a result. The lizardman let out a low croon of pleasure and rolled his hips, grinding himself against Vogge’s face. Khasar let the piercing go and pushed against the tip of Vogge’s cock with his fingers, as if he were trying to force it deeper into his body, hearing the pitiful noises he made in response to such rough treatment. The kobold was so small, mewling, and pathetic. So much like Tadeas. That resemblance made Khasar want to hurt him. His job wasn’t just to hurt Vogge, though. That would be accomplished well enough as a side effect of the real task at hand. Khasar extracted his fingers from Vogge’s body and brought the hand down to his groin, feeling at his sheath with fingers still slick with moisture from the kobold’s slit. It was plump, thick with [[arousal->cell12]] even if he wasn’t fully erect, just a little over two inches of pink flesh poking out from his sheath.

He wasn’t particularly attracted to Vogge, but it seemed that his mind had made an association between hurting others and arousal—likely because of so many sessions disciplining Tadeas being followed up by indulging more primal urges. It might’ve been a mildly distressing thought, if he were in his right frame of mind, but Khasar was somewhere else entirely. He had a job to do, and as as far as he was concerned, his body was merely responding in the way that would best allow him to accomplish it. Khasar sidled up and aligned the tip of his cock with Vogge’s slit, the slightest bit of moisture beaded on its lips, dragged out by his fingers. It would lubricate things. It would not be nearly enough. Vogge had no warning but a second of two of prodding against his slit before Khasar thrust himself as deep as his half-sheathed cock would allow. It might not have been particularly deep, but it was plenty rough, and Khasar’s shaft was thick enough to provide a stretch which more than equalled that of his fingers. A stretch which was felt by Khasar in the form of tightness, a snug grip around his cock that was quickly coaxing him further out of his sheath and deeper into the kobold’s slit. Vogge let out a warbling whine. By that point, Crius was already well over halfway out of his slit himself, more than enough that he could’ve simply shoved himself into the kobold’s mouth and shut him up that way. It would’ve been easy, it seemed the most straight-forward option—but Crius refrained, because a far more entertaining prospect crossed his mind, one that made him want to let out a laugh just at the thought of it. Crius peeled himself away from Vogge’s face, the kobold's muzzle smeared with moisture from his shaft. He quickly wrapped one hand around it to keep Vogge from making any unnecessary noise, and with the other lifted the blindfold up and over Vogge's horns, pulling it [[off->cell13]] entirely.

It was the one thing Vogge was wearing that wasn’t magically bound. It was only intended to be worn by Vogge while he was otherwise restrained and unable to remove it, so the artificers hadn’t bothered to make the effort. Quite convenient for Crius. Now that Vogge was able to see as well as hear, the blindfold’s mundane and magical effects done away with, Crius yanked his head up until the kobold’s chin was pressed against his chest, forcing him to look at what was happening. Khasar, hunched over Vogge with a wild-eyed look than would more befit a gnoll than a canid. His hands had found a moment’s work aligning his shaft with Vogge’s slit, but now that such was no longer necessary, they'd grabbed a hold of the kobold’s thighs tight enough that Vogge could feel claws pressing painfully against his scales, threatening to poke right through. A slavering beast, solely focused on satisfying his own needs with a complete and utter disregard for Vogge’s own. But the trick was in what those needs were. To Vogge, it had to look like Khasar was trying to slake his lust and didn’t care how much he hurt the kobold in the process. In reality, it had nothing to do with the former, and absolutely everything to do with the latter. Crius considered telling him that, but it seemed unnecessary. The horrified look in Vogge’s eyes said that, whatever conclusions he’d come to, it was more than enough to take whatever friendship he felt he and Khasar had formed and turn it into a red hot spike, one that stabbed right through the centre of his [[heart->cell14]].

Vogge had to have suspected what was going on. The feel of what those hands were doing too him was too obvious for him to mistake for anything else, even while blindfolded. But maybe he was just deluded enough to hold out hope that there was some manner of explanation. Maybe he’d thought they were trying to remove those cursed bits of jewellery. But no. Finally able to see Khasar, it was obvious to him that they were doing exactly what every other person that had come into their cell had done. The strongest, holiest leader that Vogge had ever known, raping him just like every other horny and sadistic kobold that the fort was crawling with. And Crius. The lizardman jerked Vogge’s head back, giving the kobold a wide grin and a little wave before wedging the tip of his cock between Vogge’s lips and thrusting his hips forward. Vogge was in too much shock to keep his mouth shut, to bite down, to do anything but let Crius spear himself into his mouth. The taste of reptilian musk assaulted his taste buds. It was a flavour that he’d become familiar with. Familiar enough to pick it apart from the taste of the others who’d used him in a similar manner. Those were all kobolds, and they all tasted mostly the same. But a lizardman tasted different. He’d tasted that difference before while hanging blind and deaf in his cell—on multiple occasions, no less. But that blindness meant that, while he was sure it wasn’t a kobold, that was all he [[knew->cell15]].

Now he knew the truth. Crius had been visiting his cell and using Vogge without him even knowing about it. At least a half dozen times, from what he could remember, and that was only the times when the lizardman had used his mouth. Who knew how many times he might’ve fucked Vogge’s ass? His slit? All of that, and he’d still pretended to be Vogge’s friend when he came in. Every bit of the companionship Vogge thought he’d formed with the two of them, a complete sham. Khasar was a brute. Crius was a conman. Both of them were rapists, deceiving him so that they could make use of him. And for all he knew, the rest of the party was either dead, captured, or in on the whole scheme, too. Vogge couldn’t trust a single person in the whole world. Khasar didn’t care, and Crius' interest in emotional torment had already vanished, replaced by the desire to drive himself as deep into Vogge’s mouth as he could go. Any sign of the kobold’s anguish was quickly hidden away as his face was buried into Crius’ crotch, so that none of them could see the anguish that he was going through. The physical effects they were having on him, though, were more readily apparent. Khasar was thrusting at his own pace without any attempt at rhythm, but Crius was doing his best to time himself so that his movements lined up with the canid’s. That way, when they both thrust into Vogge at the same time, from both ends, the kobold couldn’t shift towards one or the other. All that pressure was focused into him, so that he forced to bend at the middle to take it. Crius had been doing it merely to amuse himself, but a few times, Vogge was unfortunate enough to have his back arched when they thrust in. That meant he couldn’t fold in on himself to take it, and all the force of Crius’ and Khasar’s hips was put towards bending him over [[backwards->cell16]].

Vogge let out a louder, higher squeak than usual whenever that happened. Crius liked the feel of it around his cock, so he shifted his movements towards trying to coax as many of those kinds of sounds out of the kobold as he could, grabbing a hold of Vogge by just under the arms and wrangling his body towards that end. It was tricky, and didn’t always work. Vogge was simply too wriggly, and the grab too weak. But Crius found that he could use the hold to squeeze down the sides of Vogge’s chest, forcing what breath the kobold could gather with Crius’ cock in his mouth right back out of him. It was fun to hear the noises that caused and feel Vogge struggle and thrash in an attempt to get some measure of air. Not a simple task, given that Crius had already fully slid free of his slit, and his erection was large enough that when he thrust in as deep as he could go, he entirely plugged Vogge’s throat. The wonders of a bit of size difference. Kobolds were so small and weak that you could practically do whatever you wanted to them. Crius had done so in the past, and was only kept from fully indulging those old desires here because it would mean complaints from the artificers. But Vogge couldn’t complain to anyone. All he could do was hang in his restraints and take all the abuse he was given. Of which Khasar was giving more than his fair share. The canid was going wild, slamming in and out of Vogge’s slit with all the care and respect that he’d shown Tadeas. The difference was that, in Tadeas’ case, he’d at least been using the boy’s tailhole. Most people wouldn’t perceive that as any sort of mercy, but a reptilian—or at least, any reptilian who’d had the experience of having his slit penetrated—would be quick to understand that the alternative was much, much more [[intense->cell17]].

Some could withstand that intensity, even gain pleasure from it. Others, less experienced to that sort of use, only felt it as unbearable agony as that sensitive area, only meant to house their own member, was brutally stretched and used for the pleasure of another male. Vogge had the questionable honour of inhabiting both ends of that spectrum at once. In his natural state, he fell firmly into the latter category, incapable of experiencing even a mote of pleasure from such flagrant misuse of his body. But then, they’d put the collar on him. That awful, awful collar. Every pain, every discomfort was made that much sharper. Every nerve fired off with that much more magically-induced strength. And sensations that were previously too weak for him to make out from under the veil of pain were brought up to the surface. So it was then. Khasar was thrusting in and out of his slit deeply enough that Vogge could feel his cock getting crushed into his body with the canid’s every stroke. It was a particular kind of sensation that non-reptilians, not having slits, would never be able to fully understand. A cramping, a crushing, a //suppression//. At the same time, there were feelings in his slit itself. The stretching of his inner walls, something he never grew accustomed to no matter how many times he experienced it, thanks to the effects of that magic collar. The sensations never dulled. He could always feel his body being brutally pried apart, the friction of the invading cock against his insides as he was used as if he were a female made specifically for this purpose. For the ones fucking him, he served the role quite well. Vogge was the only one who could feel just how woefully unsuited he was for it. But amongst all those feelings, the aching stretching, the fullness, the way his cock was beaten down deeper into himself, there was [[pleasure->cell18]]. A sicking feeling dredged up and out of him by the collar’s magics, materialized out of some faint spark that Vogge otherwise wouldn’t have even known was present. But the sensations were //made// present, regardless of how absurd or unwanted they might’ve been.

Tingles of enjoyment running up Vogge’s spine as Khasar’s cock split him open and ground against the head of his own, smaller member, lying limp deep inside his slit. Precum somehow being forced out of him, as if squeezed out by the sheer pressure of the canine’s cock, only to be smeared against the crown of that invading member. A few drops more lubricant, and nothing more. And Crius’ cock made itself at home in his muzzle all the while, staying in his mouth for only moments at a time before the lizardman would thrust forward again and bury himself in Vogge’s throat. The taste of reptilian musk smeared itself across his tongue in the form of thick precum. When Crius pulled back, it would dribble out the edges of Vogge’s muzzle, trailing down his cheeks and dripping off his face onto the floor below. Both of them had settled into comfortable paces—comfortable for them, that was, which meant almost overwhelmingly fast for Vogge. One cock pounding in and out of his slit, knot slamming against him with every stroke, another using his throat like a fucksleeve until every breath he managed to draw in the midst of that oral assault brought with it the feeling of stinging, raw flesh. It was awful. Vogge was no stranger to having his slit used, no stranger to having his face fucked, not even a stranger to having both done to him at the same time. But it never got any easier. The collar made sure of that. Even if he fully [[surrendered->cell19]] to his circumstances, took whatever foul treatment he received as it came, it would never be easy. He’d walk on nails forever.

Yet it was made all the worse for the fact that Vogge hadn’t done that. All this time, for as much as he’d gone along with what his captors had asked him to do for fear of what they’d do to him if he didn’t, he hadn't given up. He'd always held out some hope that he would manage to get through it somehow. That he would escape, or be rescued by the rest of the party. But it had become clear that there would be no getting through this, because there was no through. This was his life now, with no exit in sight, and the party he’d hoped would deliver him from it was now just another part of it all. The realisation of that was more painful than any way Khasar or Crius could hurt him physically. Khasar didn’t care for that sort of pain. He was purely concerned with physical suffering, whatever agony he could drag out of Vogge by stuffing the kobold’s slit or raking his claws along his scales. Crius might’ve found some enjoyment in it, but with Vogge’s face between his legs, he couldn’t see the expression of pure misery in Vogge's eyes. Both of them were focused purely on fucking him. Which they were doing with increasing speed. Khasar had shown a complete lack of restraint, with Crius following in suit, and that meant both of them were rapidly approaching a finish. A far cry from the hesitation Khasar had displayed earlier. Crius was almost proud to hear the lewd squelches coming from Vogge’s slit as Khasar fucked it, pre forced out of it with every thrust and drooling down the bottom of the kobold’s tail. The gags he made as Crius probed the back of his throat were a pleasant accompaniment. Knots that had been battering either end of Vogge’s body since he’d been penetrated were now doing so with more insistence, having grown larger and fatter since they’d started fucking him. They’d swollen, a sure sign of closeness, both evidently eager to sheath themselves in Vogge’s body and knot him properly. Big as they might’ve been already, Vogge was well aware of just how much [[bigger->cell20]] they’d get when they grew to their full size.

He might’ve been worried about that being knotted orally would mean for his breathing, but he’d done it before and managed. It made it hard to breathe, obviously, enough so that he almost passed out last time he had to experience it, but Vogge didn’t care about that. He felt curiously devoid of any concern for his own well being. There was pain, and it drew all the physical reactions from him that could be expected, but he simply felt no concern about if there was any lasting damage. About whether he lived or died. Not that there was any risk of death; Crius was well aware of that fact, even if nobody else in the room was paying it any mind. That was why, when he’d finally pounded Vogge’s throat enough that his long-awaited release was upon him, he had no compunctions about slamming his hips forward and pressing his knot against the kobold’s muzzle. More and more pressure, mounting in strength as he tried his hardest to cram his knot past Vogge’s lips. Until it went in. Vogge’s jaw was forced open so wide that it felt like it was at risk of unhinging entirely, tears squeaked out of his eyes through lids scrunched shut tight, but he somehow managed to take that knot. It popped past his lips, Vogge’s front teeth came to rest just behind it, and his tongue felt cramped in his mouth from having to share space with that enormous bulge at the base of Crius’ cock. A feeling which only increased as the lizardman’s knot swelled larger, his body intent on tying him to what it perceived as a breedable hole. It didn’t matter that it was a kobold’s mouth; his body would do its job and fill it with enough seed to well and [[fertilize->cell21]] a female.

It tackled that job with gusto. Once his knot grew large enough that they were locked together beyond any hope of pulling free, it only took a few small thrusts before Crius let out a groan and his release exploded out of him, a thick spurt of cum shooting out of him and directly into Vogge’s throat, bypassing his mouth entirely. Vogge gulped all the same, instinct guiding him to try to swallow and keep his airway clear, though all that swallowing accomplished was wringing Crius’ shaft as if he were trying to draw out as much seed as possible. Vogge could feel it dropping into his stomach, suffusing his gut with its warmth, sloshing around inside of him and giving him a feeling of fullness that none of the other kobolds that used him could come close to matching. They were small, whereas Crius was large, with the output to match. But Crius wasn’t the only one coming to a finish. The lizardman had been carefully matching his speed to Khasar’s, and appropriately enough, he was reaching his peak just a few seconds later. His knot finally ceased battering against the lips of his slit and instead, with one final slam of Khasar’s hips, stayed against them, pushing against them with an intense and quickly mounting pressure that made it clear exactly what his intention was. Vogge remembered the first time he’d had to take a knot like that. Usually it was only the kobolds that came in to use him, but there was the odd occasion where a warg wandered in, and it was inevitable that one would eventually want to make use of his slit instead of his tailhole or mouth. And it figured that when they did, they’d wouldn’t want to pull out having only partially satisfied themselves; they’d want the full package. So he’d spent half an hour hanging there, blind and deaf, with a warg knotted to his slit. Packed full enough that it felt like he ought to burst and with his most sensitive bits being crushed by the beast’s size. That was the first time, but there was a second, and a [[third->cell22]].

If Vogge remembered correctly, this would be the fourth. He imagined he did; it was hard not to remember each and every time he was used, with it having become the only thing to occupy his attention in the dark. Nothing but occasional patches of physical or sexual abuse to break up the long stretches of isolation and deprivation. A fourth wasn’t enough times for him to have become used to it. A dozen wouldn’t be, nor a hundred, nor a thousand. Every time would be just as agonizing as the first. Vogge could feel his slit, already spread wide by Khasar’s shaft, being split open even more by the great bulge at the base of his cock. One of the artificers had once tried to fit their whole fist into his slit. The feelings were roughly similar. Though where the artificer had ended up quitting out of boredom, Khasar was quite intent on getting himself in. The canid’s hands were gripping hard enough on his thighs that Vogge felt the pain of them all the way down in his bones, his legs reduced to nothing more than convenient leverage so that Khasar could make use of his holes that much easier. That pain, the pain of his slit being stretched and put to a use for which it was never intended to serve, all of it made it feel like his body was [[incompatible->cell23]], utterly [[incapable->cell23]] of dealing with what was being done to it.

Incompatible was accurate. The slit of a male was never intended to be penetrated by another. But Vogge already knew that, whatever his body might’ve been telling him, he most certainly wasn’t incapable. However slowly and painstakingly, his slit was being pried open, and that knot was working its way into him, a fraction of an inch at a time. Vogge would’ve cried out, screamed ‘til his voice was hoarse and his throat ragged, if said throat weren’t already plugged up with Crius’ cock. As it was, he could only make strange, strangled noises as the lizardman continued to pump cum into his stomach. Hardly enough to express the overwhelming pain of it all, but it was all that he had the ability to do. But not pain alone. As that last portion of Khasar’s dick forced its way into his slit, Vogge could feel that awful pleasure rising up, squeezed out of him by the crushing force of the canid’s cock cramming his own, limp manhood as deep into his body as it would go. The most emasculating pleasure of all, that of being used, of being //bred// as if he were a female. All of which he felt solely due to the collar wrapped around his neck. Vogge wanted to kick, scream, cry at the injustice of it all as much as from the overwhelmingly intense sensation. But with the magical restraints binding his limbs taut, he couldn’t even do that much. All he could do was take it, spasms wracking his body. Vogge couldn’t even control his physical reactions to what was happening to him. Every vestige of autonomy had been stripped from him. Khasar shoved one last half-inch of himself inside Vogge’s slit, finally reaching the widest point of his knot, before all the rest of him suddenly slid inside in a great rush. That last push that Vogge could feel stretching out new areas of his insides, crushing his cock as deep as it could possibly go, only stopping when the canid was finally and [[completely packed->cell24]] inside of his slit, sheath pressed up against its lips.

Then, his knot started to swell larger still, intent on reaching that perfect size to tie the two of them together and ensure they wouldn’t come apart until the kobold was well and seeded. Vogge could feel it pressing out against the sensitive walls of his slit, that last stretch to plug him up as much as he could possibly stand. That crowning stretch was what finally pushed Vogge over the edge. His whole body jerked once, followed by a tensing somewhere in his groin—the replacement that had stepped up to replace the throbbing of orgasm, given his cock was crushed into limpness inside of him, unable to so much as twitch—before his slit suddenly flooded with warmth. It barely even felt like a regular orgasm. There was none of the powerful, shooting pleasure of one—instead, it felt more like a valve had been turned inside him, and the cum simply came oozing out of him. It felt like a prostate orgasm more than anything else. He’d experienced more than enough of those to be able to draw the comparison. But with Khasar’s knot plugging him up, there was nowhere for that cum to go. So as Vogge’s [[release->cell25]] dribbled out of him, it stayed inside of his slit, filling up what little space there was inside him that wasn’t occupied by the canid’s cock with wet heat.

Which was where the piercing, that little stud of metal digging into the wall of Vogge’s slit, finally made its effects known. It was such an unassuming thing. Nobody looking at him could see it, and its continual presence meant that Vogge himself often forgot it was even there. All up until the point where he came, where it became impossible to forget. When he’d started to orgasm, the slightest twinge of magical energy had run through it, quite easy to ignore with all the rest of the sensations overpowering it. But it didn’t fade away. It grew and grew, until it felt like a little molten, arcane pearl, glued to the underside of his cock. And the cum pouring out of him in a thick tide, instead of dying down, it just kept coming. Such was the power of the piercing. If he’d been having a normal orgasm, it would be coming out of him in thick, strong spurts, one after another. But with the cock ring keeping him flaccid, it just drooled out instead, pouring out of him like a hole in a vessel. Whatever relief such a release might’ve brought was overshadowed by the growing feeling of pressure inside his slit. He was cumming more than a kobold had any right to, and without anywhere for it to go, that was translating directly into internal pressure. Building up and up, more and more heat filling the inside of his slit at the same time as a horrid tightness was making itself known. That was how Vogge experienced it, anyway. Khasar only felt the warmth building up around his dick as Vogge filled up his own slit, the wonderful wet pressure of it, and it was a wholly good feeling. It made Vogge’s slit feel that much warmer, more welcoming, as if it were a place that he was //meant// to [[breed->cell26]] rather than a place to house the kobold’s own maleness.

So while the feeling wasn’t what pushed Khasar over the edge, it went a ways towards making Vogge seem that much more of a worthy receptacle for his seed. That was why Khasar let out the pleased growl he did as a powerful pulse rolled through his cock, right before the first rope of his own seed shot out of him to join what Vogge had already let loose into himself. Khasar’s size and virility meant his output was enough to match Vogge’s own, but he was able to pump it out with a great deal more strength and power than Vogge was capable of. Great spurts of seed splattering against the head of Vogge’s own member, each one filling up Vogge’s slit so much more that the pressure of it would’ve brought tears to the kobold’s eyes if they hadn’t already been pouring freely for some time. Vogge was only half-conscious, barely able to breathe with Crius’ cock lodged down his throat, but that smattering of awareness was enough to register the pain and discomfort of it all. Fullness in his slit, choking and coughing as cum was shot down his throat and straight into his stomach. All of it rolling on and on until, even with all his experience, he simply wasn’t able to draw enough air with a knot plugging up his only airway, and that last vestige of consciousness started to slip away. Before he was plunged into the black, Vogge’s last thoughts were of wonder at whether or not Crius and Khasar were going to kill him when they were done. Followed by a realisation that no, of course they weren’t; such an enormous [[betrayal->celltoepiloguetransition]] would only remain complete by allowing him to live.

{(live: 2s)[ (go-to:"epilogue1") ]}

(set: $storyStyle to (text-colour:#fffef9)+(background:(gradient: 0, 0.2284,#170514,0.7633,#4c1802,1,#733d1a)))Crius picked his teeth with a claw, leaning against the wall outside of one of the fort’s armouries—a mundane one, rather than one of the treasure troves of magical items that were as likely to kill the one wielding them as their opponents. It had been a week since Khasar’s ‘initiation’. Crius had pitched it to Khasar as being a far more sure thing than he’d thought it would be. Really, he’d intended it purely as an evening’s amusement, rather than any genuine attempt to spring his former companion from his confinement. But then, he hadn’t fully expected to survive after Vogge had saddled the lot of them with cursed items and led them into an ambush. Things seemed to have a funny way of working out. Crius’ head snapped to the side as the door to the armoury creaked open. Creaked for a moment, anyway; the sound was quickly replaced by a loud bang, the door slamming into the wall as it was thrown open. Then, the stomping of boots and the clanking of [[metal armour->epilogue2]].

Out strode Khasar, clad from toe to tip in steel plate, just as he’d been in his adventuring days so recently passed. But that was where the similarities ended: rather than the polished metal of his previous set, gleaming in the sun and emblazoned with the symbol of his god, Khasar’s newest set of armour was simply black. Crius looked him up and down, bit back a remark about black knights, and instead chose to say “Looking good, Khasar.” Khasar glanced over at him, and then spat on the ground at his feet. |clue)[“Go [[fuck->end]] yourself, Crius.”] {(live: 4s)[ (show: ?clue) (stop:) ]}

[[End->intro]]

Tadeas didn’t scream, though he did make the most remarkable squeak as the punch made contact with his face, one that would sound more appropriate coming from a toy than a living being. It wasn't enough to break the din of screaming and shouting coming from every given direction. He turned his head back to face Khasar, wincing from the effort of the motion. Their eyes locked, Khasar’s eyes burning with fury enough to rout a band of hobgoblins with a glance, Tadeas staring back with something strangely close to calm. His breath was laboured and brought with it bloody bubbling from his nostrils, but there was no fear in his eyes. Tadeas’ lips pursed, and he hocked a wad of crimson-streaked spit onto Khasar’s face. It splattered across the bridge of his muzzle, but the paladin didn’t show any surprise, didn't even flinch. Instead, he reared his head back before bringing it back forward in a brutal headbutt, forehead colliding with the front of Tadeas’ snout. Tadeas' head whipped back and hung limp, eyes staring up at the ceiling while more blood gushed from his nose. He’d never taken so many blows to the face before. Everything tasted and smelled overwhelmingly of copper. His head was spinning. Why had he done that? Tadeas didn’t know. He just felt. He didn’t know if he felt good or bad, he just felt and acted, like some blind, mindless animal seeking out warmth, reacting to stimuli. A smear of blood ran across the top of Khasar’s head from where it had collided with Tadeas’ snout, the rivulets of crimson dripping down from his forehead making him look like some god of war incarnate. He had just as little logic to his actions as Tadeas. He acted on feelings and needs. The feeling of anger at being slighted and disrespected. The need to dole out punishment and instill that [[respect->khasarphase1p2]], that fear, which Tadeas was so clearly lacking.

(if:$storyStyle is not "a")[(enchant: ?page, $storyStyle)]

She let out a shrill cry. Evidently, she’d still been lost in the haze of orgasm, or else struck dumb from being so violently used. Cadmus wasn’t sure if the kobold had reached an orgasm of her own, and didn’t particularly care. His partner’s pleasure wasn’t even an afterthought in his mind; it didn’t occur at all. That was the whole reason he could bring himself to rip his knot out of her so soon after forcing it in. Cadmus simply didn’t care about how the kobold he was fucking felt, about how any of his partners felt. Pain, pleasure, it didn’t matter. They were simply there to be bred by him, and to be tossed aside when they’d filled that use. He yanked his knot back again. This time, her body started to yield. He could feel his knot prying her cunt open once again, wider than before, but with more ease after she’d been so thoroughly stretched. She kept shrieking all throughout it, but Cadmus tuned it out. He was halfway there. One more good tug, [[and->deepfort27.2]]...

//Pop//. His knot slipped out of her, and the rest of his cock followed swiftly behind, sliding out from her cunt with a lewd, wet noise. A gush of cum followed from her gaping hole. Cadmus wasted no time taking in his accomplishment, instead dropping the kobold to the ground beside her other, similarly bred companion. Yet even having just fucked, knotted, and filled no less than two females, Cadmus was not satisfied. The urge to breed had not subsided at all. If anything, it’d gotten worse; he couldn’t think of anything but the need to fuck, to fill a fertile hole with his seed. All higher order thought fell by the wayside. He [[scanned->deepfort28]] the area with eyes lost to reason, operating purely on instinct. All around him, he saw nothing but males. Leolin getting rutted by a wolf. Maximon being used by kobolds—a brief moment of hope, before he saw the cocks between their legs. All useless to him.

Cadmus tore away the crotch of Crius’ pants, and his mouth split into a wide, toothy grin at what he saw. A slit. In his mind, base and feral as it was, that meant female. In spite of his newfound desire for them, Cadmus knew very little about reptilian anatomy, certainly nothing about the function of genital slits. In his mind, what he was looking at was a vagina. A hole to be bred. Without a moment’s consideration, Cadmus shuffled up closer to Crius until their thighs were pressed together, lining up the head of his cock with the lizardman’s slit. It was still slick and dripping with a mixture of his cum and kobold juices. Crius could feel it smearing against his scales as well as inside of him, where the tip of the sorcerer’s dick poked the slightest bit inside of him. "Cadmus, I swear, if you even //think//—" Crius’ words went wholly ignored, probably not even understood, and were cut off as Cadmus slammed himself forward and buried his cock into the lizardman’s [[slit->deepfort29]].

Maximon pursed his lips. “I already ‘receive attentions,’ thank you very much. Look at my ears. Sapphire. Diamond. Beljuril. Can you tell me why I would stoop to putting a glorified rock like this alongside those?” “Not just rock, magic too, remember? It like...” Vogge trailed off for a moment, then snapped his fingers, eyes brightening. “You like have fun with people, yes? This earring, double people want have fun with you. People you never think of before, want you bad! Come to you and give you fun!” Halfway through the kobold’s explanation, Maximon had started to smile, and his grin only widened as he went on. Crius could see the disgust spreading across Khasar’s face at roughly the same rate. Both of them had clearly caught on to exactly what it was Vogge had tried to accomplish with his enchantment. Maximon pushed his chair back and walked around the table towards Vogge. “Vogge, I like the way you think,” Maximon said, giving the kobold a firm clap on the back, hard enough to force the air from his lungs in an odd sort of squeak. Then, Maximon made his way off towards the bar, hands already up by his head as he tried to insert the earring. Crius couldn’t help but question the [[kobold’s->tavern12]] judgment. It wasn’t as if Maximon needed any help in picking up women. If the enchantment really was as effective as Vogge claimed, Crius supposed he was glad that the tavern was dead in the morning, or else they’d likely be waiting another hour for him to return from his latest conquest.

Only Crius and perhaps two or three artificers knew the answer to that one. It didn’t matter how new you were to a social structure or how tenuous your position was, if you pulled the right strings and talked to the right people, you could curry favour. Crius had greased a few wheels by means of greasing a few palms, and had arranged for a special enchantment. Not for himself, of course, but for Cadmus, and Hells if Crius didn’t think he was clever for coming up with the whole idea. How to get an enchanted item onto Cadmus without arousing suspicion? Simple: enchant something he already wore. Like, say, the manacles chaining him to the walls. That little spark of brilliance was purely in the choice of item. The real genius was in the enchantment itself. Oh, Cadmus. Poor, poor Cadmus. Every lick of sense driven out of his mind, left with nothing more than a burning desire to fuck every female he laid eyes on. Lucky Cadmus, to be put in a position where he could do just that. Unfortunate Cadmus, that he couldn’t enjoy one second of it. The manacles had no effect that anyone would be able to discern at a glance, even upon close inspection. Cadmus could get erect, fuck, and cum with all the endless stamina that his rut provided. Given he was a prisoner, nobody batted an eye at the fact that he hated every moment of it. That was to be [[expected->upperfort9.2]].

Certainly nobody would expect he was so angry because, in spite of the endless stream of females that came in his cell and walked back out bowlegged and dripping, he never got any //real// satisfaction. That there was an expertly crafted bit of magic which made it so Cadmus could feel those kobolds milk his cock, build his pleasure up to an incredible peak—only for it to sputter out into nothing. No release, just pure denial, even as he pumped them full of his seed. Yes, Crius was one of the precious few people who knew the real reason why Cadmus was the most resistant of all the prisoners, spending every day thrashing about as if he could rip his manacles right out of the wall, burning with a fire that his captors simply could not douse. It had nothing to do with pride, be it that of a sorcerer or that of a dragon. It had everything to do with him paying the price for sticking his dick where it didn't belong. Ah, revenge. So petty. So enormously satisfying. Maybe when Cadmus got over his rut, he’d be clear-headed enough to learn from his mistake. But without the ability to get any sort of release, that likely wouldn’t be for a long, long time. At the moment Crius was passing by, a kobold was just forcing her way down onto his knot, the lips of her cunt sliding tight around the root of his cock just before it started to swell and inflate inside of her. Cadmus let out a growl and bucked up as much as his chains would allow, letting loose a blast of cum that forced its way right into the kobold’s womb. The kobold writhed in ecstasy, skewered on the sorcerer’s cock, being pumped full of enough draconic seed to make her stomach swell. He’d tensed up in his chains for a moment, stiff as an iron bar—then sagged back down, disappointed, unsatisfied, a muffled groan filtering through his muzzle. Cadmus snorted. Served him right. Crius kept on [[walking->upperfort10]], leaving the kobold and captive dragon to their pleasures.

Slap. Whine. Growl. The sounds Leolin and the wolf atop him were making were quiet, subdued—or perhaps a better word would be ‘suppressed.’ It was clear that there was a good deal of potential volume behind Leolin's noises, and that it was taking great effort to keep them suppressed. His whimpers and cries were barely kept in check by means of a bit lip. The wolf's growls rumbled with just as much potential, threatening to become far worse if Leolin failed to keep silent. Amid all of that, the sound of the wolf’s thighs slapping against Leolin’s over and over with quick, short humps, a pair of far larger, far furrier balls smacking against the back of his with each thrust. That fat knot smacking against his hole, feeling huge even in its uninflated state. And, of course, Leolin’s own cock slapping against his belly. Leolin didn’t quite understand what had happened. At the beginning of things, when the dire wolf had first leapt on top of him, he’d been utterly terrified. The thought of such a wild beast able to rip his throat out at any given moment had left him in the grip of such fear that he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t make use of his druidic training to try coaxing the beast off of him, couldn’t do anything at all. It felt like he was an animal himself, but more a rabbit than a wolf. And when it became clear that the wolf didn’t want to kill him, that it had entirely different intentions in mind, Leolin’s fear hadn’t abated in the slightest. It was clear that the wolf was still a wholly wild animal, ready to sink its teeth into the back of Leolin’s neck if he didn’t do exactly what it wanted. Every second it’d spent with its tongue buried in Leolin’s ass, his heart had been in his throat, trying his best not to move out of fear that he would prompt far worse use of the wolf’s [[muzzle->leolinphase2p2]] than just licking.

But the wolf’s muzzle would turn out to be the least of his worries. After a bout of licking that felt entirely too long, the wolf hopped up onto Leolin’s back, and Leolin immediately wished that the licking hadn't stopped. He could feel something firm and wet poking at his ass, blindly questing for his entrance, jabbing him with every roll of the wolf’s hips. That was when the fear started to become too intense to handle, transforming from something that kept him from doing anything to something that burned in his chest and demanded he do something, //anything//. If he couldn’t escape from the wolf, couldn’t get a grip on himself—Leolin didn’t know what he would do, wasn’t in a state where he could even consider the possibilities, but there was no doubt that it would be bad. Yet right at the moment where it seemed like everything was about to boil over, when the wolf’s blind probing had finally resulted in the head of his cock pressing tight against the ring of Leolin’s asshole, that was when everything stopped. A wave of magical energy washed over the both of them, purging the intense emotions that had gripped them for just a moment, forcing them to pause to [[collect->leolinphase2p3]] themselves.

When Leolin had gathered up the pieces of himself again, everything was different, though it was difficult to say exactly how. All he could say was that he wasn’t as afraid anymore. Not to say he no longer felt any fear towards the wolf over top of him, because he absolutely did, but it seemed to have shaped itself differently. Instead of the overwhelming uncertainty over whether or not he would be hurt, pounding inside his chest and demanding he do something to escape, now there seemed to be a feeling of almost... security. A knowledge that, as long as he did what he was supposed to do, the wolf wouldn’t hurt him. There was no way he could possibly know that, yet he did, with bred in the bone, instinctual certainty. It couldn’t be questioned, not in the least because the wolf had recovered from the spell at precisely the same moment that Leolin had and, before he had even a moment to consider what had happened to him, it thrust forward and speared the druid onto its cock. Which lent itself to the realisation of something even more surprising: it didn’t feel bad. Whereas before Leolin had been in utter terror of getting penetrated by the wolf, certain that getting split open would be ungodly painful, he was surprised to find that it was bearable. It was an intense [[stretch->leolinphase2p4]], to be sure, enough to make Leolin tense up and suck in a breath through gritted teeth, but nothing like the searing agony he’d expected.

The wolf was relentless, not pacing himself at all, instead launching into a series of quick humps to work as much of himself into Leolin’s body as fast as possible. Leolin felt himself being pried open, that fat cock forcing its way deeper and deeper into his ass with every roll of the beast’s hips, until the knot at the base of it was slamming against him with every thrust. Leolin had never felt so full before, areas inside himself that had previously gone completely ignored now being stretched wide by the wild probing of the wolf’s cock. The feeling of fur rubbing against his back and the weight of a strong, powerful beast pressing down on him. The huffing of breath, cut with occasional growls whenever Leolin moved in some way deemed unpleasant. Claws digging into his flesh where the wolf’s forelegs gripped around his belly, carving furrows into his skin. Leolin had never expected to be on the receiving end of another male. He certainly hadn’t expected to be on either end of a wild animal. Yet for all that brutality, that raw animal strength, Leolin felt no pain and no fear that could be considered excessive. What did that mean? It meant for all the stretching of his insides and the constant knowledge that the wolf could sink its fangs into him at any moment, Leolin felt he could take it. Felt he //had// to take it. Couldn’t help but [[submit->leolinphase2p5]] himself to the bestial power that the wolf exuded in every growl and thrust.

His cock flopped around beneath him, half hard, drooling pre forced out of him by the wolf grinding against his prostate. Leolin didn’t understand what had happened to him, where this submissiveness that had come over him had come from. Submissiveness, that was what it had to be; there was no other way to explain the way he felt compelled to obey the wolf’s every unspoken command, even without any of the terror from before to shock him into compliance. It simply came to him, the natural desire to serve a stronger, more powerful male. Natural. That was another key word, wasn’t it? Leolin was a druid, his entire existence was devoted to protecting and furthering the goals of nature. He’d thought he was doing that by sitting and meditating amongst the trees, trying to connect with some greater spiritual force. As if nature was something separate from him that he could contact without any real effort or action, just by sitting around and touching grass. But that wasn’t right. //This// was what nature was: participating in the morass of sex and violence that drove life ever onward, the conflict and struggle that gave way to ever fitter, stronger beings. Nature was him accepting the fact that he was a part of a chain of predators and prey, that there were animals that were stronger in him, that could tear him limb from limb, that they were above him in that chain. Animals that demanded and deserved his [[subservience->leolinphase2p6]].

The wolf thrust into him again, its balls smacking against the back of his own, and Leolin pushed his ass back to meet it. The animal let out a curious sounding noise, but no more than that, apparently willing enough to let Leolin do as he would as long as it worked towards the goal of knotting the druid's hole. Leolin’s pressing back angled the wolf’s cock inside him so that it ground even harder againstt his prostate, crushing it with such force that a thick rope of precum drooled out of him and stretched halfway to the ground below before a particularly sharp thrust from the wolf caused it to snap. In spite of how drippy he’d become, Leolin’s body was still only able to work itself halfway erect, so that his dick swung and flopped with every motion. Likely due to the intense stretching he was receiving from having his ass broken in by a dire wolf, one big enough that it felt like it was grinding his prostate flat. But wasn’t that just appropriate? Wasn’t it right that a stronger animal, a superior male like the wolf, be allowed to use Leolin in such a way that it could rut like a true male while he was left to flop about, half limp, eking out what pleasure he could purely by the feeling of being used like a female? The wolf started thrusting shorter, harder, each one of its strokes slamming its knot against Leolin’s hole. Leolin could feel that it’d grown the slightest bit larger, in preparation for when it would be forced inside him so it could grow huge and fat there, locking the two of them together. Making sure that every last bit of the wolf’s cum went inside him and stayed there, something meant to ensure proper fertilization, but instead being used to put Leolin into his proper place as the wolf’s [[inferior->leolinphase2p7]].

Leolin’s attention was split between the feeling of the wolf gripping and rutting him with increasing speed and intensity, and the thoughts of just what that knot would be doing to him once it’d finished. Images of the wolf walking around and dragging him around by the knot lodged inside him, still spurting ropes of animal seed into his guts, pooling inside him. A tie that’d last an hour, maybe more, giving the whole party plenty of time to see what place Leolin deserved to occupy. Serving nature in the position that best befit him: as a knot warmer for her animals. He snapped back to reality when thoughts finally joined back up with reality. The wolf let out a howl, thrusting its hips forward while simultaneously jerking back on Leolin’s body, pulling him back onto its knot. Leolin felt it throbbing as it pressed against his hole, pushing against it with such force, so much pressure behind it as it tried to enter him. Leolin was not dire wolf sized; a dire wolf sized knot trying to enter him was proving to be a challenge. But it wasn't impossible. The wolf was determined, and Leolin just as much so. Ignoring the pain of it all, Leolin tried his best to relax his muscles, letting them stretch even wider to allow that knot entry. And slowly but surely, it started to happen. His ass was pried open to its widest yet as the wolf sunk into it, pushing the druid to his limits in an effort to well and truly [[claim->leolinphase2p8]] him as its own.

It got harder and harder to take, until suddenly, he took it. Once the wolf had forced his knot in up to its widest point, Leolin’s body was so quick to swallow up the rest of it that one could miss it just by blinking. It slipped in, the ring of Leolin’s asshole clutched tight around the root of the wolf’s cock, and that was that. It was inside. Though that didn’t mean that he was done just yet; Leolin knew more than enough about how canines mated to know that. That knot started to swell up inside him, growing larger and larger, stretching the walls of his ass ungodly wide—and pressing directly against his prostate, all that growth translating directly into submissive, emasculating pleasure. But that wasn’t what pushed Leolin over the edge. That only came when the dire wolf swung a leg over his side, leaving them tied ass to ass in true canine fashion, then let out a howl as its cock throbbed. Then Leolin felt it, that first jet of lupine cum shooting inside him. The seed of an alpha, forever marking him as nothing more than a bitch to this superior creature. Leolin moaned loud, his cock twitching beneath him as it drooled cum without any real pressure, a prostate orgasm squeezed out of him by the feeling of a strong, virile //beast// shooting spurt after spurt of fertile seed into his guts. It was more powerful than any orgasm he’d had prior. If Leolin hadn’t already figured it out, that would’ve cemented it—that was his proper place, on his hands and knees underneath any animal that felt the desire to knot him. He hoped there’d be a great many. (if:$khasarp2read is false and $maximonp2read is false)[Crius looked away. The wolf had finished, the fun was over; [[Khasar->khasarphase2]] shouting his head off or [[Maximon->maximonphase2]] shrieking his lungs out were far more interesting subjects.](if:$khasarp2read is true and $maximonp2read is false)[Crius looked away. The wolf had finished, the fun was over; [[Maximon->maximonphase2]] held much more interest, shrieking his lungs out as he was.](if:$khasarp2read is false and $maximonp2read is true)[Crius looked away. The wolf had finished, the fun was over; [[Khasar->khasarphase2]] held much more interest, shouting his head off as he was.](if:$khasarp2read is true and $maximonp2read is true)[Crius looked away. The wolf had finished, the fun was over; [[Cadmus->deepfort25]] and his pair of kobolds seemed far more interesting to observe.]