The lost temple of Shar’hradar

by Charvolth

A ribald fantasy of sword and sorcery in a D&D setting, with physically enhanced characters and a bit of sex thrown in.

The following tale is a ribald fantasy of sword and sorcery, with a bit of sex thrown in. It is intended for adults ages 18 and over, anyone younger then 18 should read no further. The story takes place in a D&D setting I’ve been working on for a while, the wild physical dimensions of the characters are the likely results from a modified character generation system I came up with. I hope you enjoy.

The warm summer mid-day sun beat hard on the mud and stone buildings of the village. The few that were out were local women fetching water from the well. The air was moist and heavy, a rain might be approaching, but the clear sky indicated that relief would not come for hours. But there was something else hanging over the town, a dark mood, an oppression that permeated everything.

Tension hanged over the normally cheerful crowds of ‘the Writhing Dragon’. The tension that pervaded the inn was a far cry more pleasant then what infected the rest of the town, the rest of Sha’Harada was far darker.

Everyone feared what would happen in the autumn. News traveled fast, as it often does in small farming communities, three larger interior farms were attacked last week, the raiders bypassed the fortified farming collectives at the edges of the town’s claimed lands. This week a cattle caravan was attacked as it tried to drive the cattle to the markets of Sharanar. The twin sons of a local merchant, Ern’Mal, son of Pelvash, considering themselves something of adventurers, tried to find the source of the troubles, they disappeared in the hills south of town. Their parents, quite distraught have offered a reward for either news of their death, or their safe return.

‘The Writhing Dragon’ was doing slightly better than the other tavern/inn in town, Geshra’s, mainly thanks to the silk merchants who made it to town from Sharanar, and because of their proclivities, preferred the atmosphere of ‘The Writhing Dragon’, or more specifically the staff of ‘The Writhing Dragon’.

Ferrada made his way to a table balancing a serving tray laden with fresh apricots and wine. He was a tall lad of 6’4, broad shouldered and very well built, a sturdy and muscular 230 pounds. His curly blue-black hair was at shoulder length ant tied in back with a strip of leather, his violet eyes were sensuous and fiery, a vision of Kemetish male beauty. He had seen 19 summers, his dark sun baked skin was still smooth, his features delicately sculpted. In the summer heat, all he wore was a gauze cotton loin cloth and sandals with a belt to hold on the loin cloth.

When he reached the table, one of only two occupied, it was to deliver some fruit and wine to a short round man with a bald head, red, full cheeks, and a waxed mustache, his skin almost as dark as Ferrada’s. He was dressed in silk breeches, sandals, and a light silk shirt, left open to show his many gold chains.

As Ferrada pored the wine, a soft, ring covered hand reached under Ferrada’s loincloth, “My dear, why hide such wonderfully tasty bits, I’m sure you taste far sweeter then the apricots you brought me?” the round man said with a laugh.

“Because, then we would not buy apricots from the farmers, who then turn around and spend their money in here.” Ferrada said with a slight laugh.

“Imagine, the serving boy giving a merchant a lesson on economics, you are precious. But tell me dear boy, how much to know the pleasures of those fine loins?” the round man then asked.

“For you, three gold pieces, I normally charge five.” Ferrada said with a mischievous grin.

The round man almost choked on an apricot he was gnawing on, “In Hervasha’s name lad, you must not get much business.”

“No, but then I think I’m worth it.” Ferrada said with an arrogant smile as he returned to the kitchen.

A few minutes later the peace of the inn was broken when another entered, “Innkeeper, some wine, my throat is parched raw!”

He was a huge man, a staggering 7’2 in height, his large feet hitting the floor boards caused a slight creak, he was over four hundred pounds. of muscle, and he showed it. With the exception of his soft leather boots, all he wore was a heavy leather belt, a few straps to brandish a collection of mighty blades and his worn shield. Also on his huge, broad back rested a worn backpack that also supported a mighty long bow and a case of arrows. His skin was stretched tight over his massively built frame, his muscles delineated from sweat, veins throbbed in his arms, legs, chest and loins. His complexion was tanned, but lighter then the inhabitants of Sha’Harada. Though he spoke Shevarish well enough, his thick accent told that he was from more northern climes. What held the crowds’ attention the most was the massive un-cut stalk that dangled between his massive thighs, even limp it went half way down his long, powerful legs, and his smooth sack looked to contain a pair of jungs the size of grapefruits.

He looked young, seeing no more then twenty summers, his face was incredibly handsome with full lips, a well defined nose, a handsome jaw line. His rich blonde hair cut short, and spiked with lye. Both of his ears pierced with a trio of short gold loops, along with his right brow. His eyes were a burning gray that seemed electrified with wild life.

The huge man reached into a belt pouch, pulled out a gold coin, and placed it on the bar, the barkeep and owner of ‘The Writhing Dragon’, Arval son of Shelnin was a tall middle-aged man of slightly less then forty summers. His smooth, beardless face just showing the lines of age, his curly neck length blue-black hair showed a light peppering of gray, and classical nose showed that in his youth he was easily just as handsome as Ferrada.

The barkeep bit the coin, it was soft enough, he placed a jug of wine on the bar. The huge man promptly seized it and downed its contents in a few gulps before Arval could get a mug, a bit of the rich purple liquid dowsed his huge chest.

“Many thanks” the huge man said then placed another coin on the bar, “A rack of meat, and some more of that wine.” He then added.

“Of course sir” the barkeep replied, his voice tinged with fear.

The huge man then took a seat at a table, took off his pack and the shouldered blades. Ferrada watched from the kitchen, while Arval prepared the large man’s food.

“Why not give the barbarian a jug of water, I don’t want to give him more wine till he gets some food in him, his is a violent race, and worse when they’re drunk.” Arval said with a sigh.

“Yes master” Ferrada replied nervously.

Ferrada grabbed a brass jug, filled it with some water recently fetched from the well, placed it on a tray with a clay cup and brought it to the table where the huge man sat.

“Some water sir, while you await your food?” Ferrada said as he approached the table.

“My, are you not a fair sight.” the huge man said as he swiped the jug from the serving tray, and re-enacted his gulping of the wine. Water dribbled onto his massive chest, and flowed down the contours and valleys of his magnificent body. Ferrada could not help but lick his lips.

“That was refreshing lad, many thanks.” The huge man said, then noticed Ferrada staring,

“Ah, you like what you see lad, you’re not the first.” The huge man said with an arrogant smirk.

“I have never seen a man like you before, you are so large.” Ferrada said nervously.

“I am from southern Boltharria, I am Havrik son of Ulfdan of the Marshcat Clan.” The huge man said as he looked over Ferrada.

“You are a barbarian!” Ferrada said in shock, and wonder.

“Watch how you use that word boy, I may not have known the soft life of city-folk, but I have seen enough savagery from so-called civilized nations to make me wonder about such labels.” Havrik said with a dark tone.

“I mean no insult sir, all I have heard of the northern countries is what we hear from passing merchants.” Ferrada said defensively.

“Then I am not offended.” Havrik said with a low laugh.

Suddenly Havrik grasped Ferrada by the base of his back and pulled him closer, the serving tray crashed onto the table. Havrik reached around and felt Ferrada’s hard, round bubble ass under his loin cloth, one of the barbarians fingers slid into Ferrada’s bunghole.

“You took that easily enough, tell me boy, when was the last time you were fucked?”

“This morning” Ferrada groaned, his cock was getting hard and started to tent his loincloth.

“Well, much to my delight it seems your hole is still ‘salved’.” Havrik said, the boy’s ass was as clean as a whistle from recently applied ‘cleansing salve’.

Ferrada’s ass was still thoroughly greased, Havrik quickly rose to full erection, his cock was massive, hard it almost reached his mountainous pecs, the fat purple head looked like it was throbbing. The massive beast was two feet long and had a diameter of six inches, thick and round, veins throbbing.

Havrik yanked off Ferrada’s loin cloth, freeing the lad’s own cock, now a swollen fourteen inches long and 3.5 inches wide, his balls the size of lemons. Havrik pulled the lad closer, and quickly impaled him on his massive stalk. Defying the laws of space and distance, the beast slides in all the way.

This phenomenon was one of the great mysteries, only when it comes to sex, and certain magicks are the rules regarding space and distance side tracked, or ‘not enforced’. Most priests assume it to be merely the will of the gods and leave it at that.

Havrik was soon thrusting with powerful, piston force into Ferrada, the lad’s own fourteen inch brute was throbbing, smacking loudly in between the valleys of his six hard abdominal muscles. The other three inhabitants in the inn watch with awed eyes, the fat merchant is drooling seeing the beautiful lad so thoroughly ravaged by the massive barbarian. The other two inhabitants enjoy the display, but also take note of the barbarian’s magnificent physique.

Ferrada barely lasts a few minutes from this awesome thrusting before he unleashes his load. Twelve long thick ropes erupt from his stalk, one actually splatters against the inn’s ceiling. The barbarian barely notices and continues his brutal thrusting, for four more minutes before he erupts. The barbarian unleashes a fierce roar as his loins go wild, long hard thrusts accompany massive jets of thick spew deep into Ferrada, only to spurt out as Havrik eases out, only to thrust in again.

Havrik spends almost as much time in orgasm as he took to reach it. So long in fact that Ferrada unleashes a second load that was just as grand as the first. When the torrent finally ends, “Many thanks lad, I’ve not had a good fuck in days.” Havrik said with a groan.

“Tis I who should thank you, such a dong would satiate the gods.” Ferrada said as he lean back, bracing against Havrik’s massive thighs.

Suddenly Havrik is struck with inspiration, not bothering to ease out of the sweaty boy, he spins him around, and now Ferrada’s broad sculpted back, and hard round sculpted ass face the mighty Boltharrian warrior.

Slowly Ferrada then begins swaying his hips back and forth, moving his stomach like he is dancing. Havrik lets out a groan of pleasure, the beat being kept by Ferrada’s still hard cock beating against his stomach.

While Havrik sits and relaxes, and Ferrada works his charms, the two other occupants approach the huge barbarian. One was tall, almost seven feet in height, his skin darker then the barbarian’s, but slightly lighter then the town’s inhabitants. He was very muscular, weighing in at a solid 340 pounds., his apparel, or lack of, showing off his awesome physique consisted of a black leather thong, black vest, boots, a belt, plus a few blades and his pack. His almond shaped red eyes, long pointed ears, silky midnight black hair, elegant and beautiful facial features screamed his dark elvin heritage. The most shocking aspect of the elf’s physique was the bulge that his black leather thong tried to contain, even wadded up Havrik could tell the elf could easily match his own massive endowment.

The other was native to these parts, dark sun baked skin and blue black hair that contrasted beautifully with his electric blue eyes. His features were more refined and handsome then even Ferrada’s, his curled blue black hair was shaved on the sides, but had a mid back length tail tied in back. He stood a solid 6’6 and was also very muscular, weighing just over 300 pounds, but he had a litheness to his movement and a grace that told he was far more built more for stealth then fighting. He wore a brown, worn leather loin cloth and a brown leather vest laden with pockets, his own waist sported a belt for sheathing a pair of fine blades, his legs also sported bands for dagger sheaths.

“Master Boltharrian, might we have a word with you?” the elf said in far finer Shevarish then Havrik’s.

“Speak Eldar, I can talk and fuck at the same time.” Havrik replied in his own brutal rendering of the local tongue.

“I surmise that your presence here has to do with the reward for the retrieval of the missing merchant’s children?” the elf then asked.

“It might, what of it?” Havrik said as he started to increase his pelvic thrusting.

“I am Felvaennan of the House of Gershael, my partner Ildrash son of Armael and I would most welcome a strong sword arm.

“I might be interested, I take it we split the reward three ways.” Havrik said as he soon had Ferrada screaming in ecstasy.

Ferrada erupted again a minute later, the spectacle of his orgasm holding everyone’s attention. This time Havrik followed Ferrada a minute later and unleashed another massive load of his own.

Finally finished cumming, Havrik eases Ferrada off of his cock. The lad eases up, barely able to stand, cum is still dribbling out of his well fucked ass, and will continue for some time to come.

“Master Boltharrian, you are sated already?” Felvaennan said with an amused smirk.

“Far from it, but we have business to discuss, the reward for finding the whelps is enough to keep me in wine, food and flesh for a week even if we split it.” Havrik replied, and seeming to prove his point, a long spurt of precum shot out of his still hard cock.

After discussing the cut of the rather substantial reward of 150 gold pieces for the retrieval of the twins. The discussion quickly steered towards Felvaennan and Ildrash getting more acquainted with their new partner in this venture. Each of the three told of various misadventures that helped bring them to this small town south of Sharanar.

Havrik was born into a tribe of the Marshcat Clan in southern Boltharria, their lands bordering those of the tribes of the Goltharrik, a dark jungle filled land where the Goltharrians worship their sacrifice hungry goddess Verkara, She Who Caresses the Night. The Marshcats frequently skirmished with various tribes of the Goltharrians, it was while accompanying a raid that Havrik was separated from his band after fleeing a Goltharrian village, his only escape a boat in a south flowing river. Numerous encounters with the beasts of the Goltharrian jungles kept pushing him ever farther south till he reached the frontiers of the vast plains of northern Brevothos.

Now curious to see what lied passed that vast jungle, Havrik ventured into the expansive country. He was quickly shocked to find that, like the heart of Goltharria, Bevothos was also covered by another vast jungle. He was also shocked that this exotic and wild land of decadent merchant city-states was also dominated by the cult of Verkara, and in fact was the source of her worship. Months of thieving and running, through this seemingly endless country finally landed Havrik in this large bastion of the displaced Kemetish people, and the ancient rival of the cities of Brevothos, Shaldarra. With some saved coin, he was able to travel by river barge to Sharanar, and from there to this small outlying town. It was clear that Havrik’s travels had help make him into the fierce warrior he is, his baring alone showed that.

Ildrash was in fact a child of the streets of Sharanar, a moderately prosperous city-state till recent events hurt its trade with the outlying agricultural communities that kept it fed. Ildrash had lost his father at a young age, his father, having mounted substantial gambling debts simply disappeared one night, whether he was killed or not he nor his mother did not know. His mother now destitute, but still quite fair, found work at ‘The Thrashing Serpent’ as a cleaning woman in that den of wine and flesh. Barely able to feed herself, let alone her son, her only option was to sell Ildrash to the owner to train as a man-wench.

Horrified at that prospect, then fourteen year old Ildrash fled that small hovel in the slums, and soon found himself lifting purses to survive. Much to his delight, in a few years he was becoming quite good at it. Good enough, that he was on the occasion able to visit ‘The Thrashing Serpent’ as a customer. It was with the rising troubles, the lack of a number of merchants getting through, and one too many run-ins with the city-guard that Ildrash decided to take his chances in the countryside, meeting Felvaennan along the way.

Felvaennan was born into a wealthy merchant family in Shar’Valaen, the busiest port in the Eldraenen peninsula that house the surviving kingdoms of elves. His talents were not geared towards selling reeves of silk or barrels of wine, but towards the arcane arts. Felvaennan apprenticed under the master mage Harshael of the House of Brevallen, a wizard wise in many fields. Harshael was also a great collector of artifacts and books from the far corners of the vast Inner Alsharren Sea that the known countries of the world sailed, and built in the young apprentice a curiosity to see the far corners of the world. After completing his studies, he purchased a passage for Ostgal, the great port city of the eastern Argothik Empire, and gradually made his way east to Shaldarra and Sharanar.

After these rather tame tales of how they all came to be in this begotten town, tales started turning to ribald adventures, of escaping beds at the last minute, or chance encounters for a brief hour’s pleasures. Wine and food continued to flow as the three sat and talked, Havrik’s massive organ seemed to almost constantly remain full and fierce from this point on.

The hours of tales, also saw a change in the crowd of ‘The Writhing Dragon’, three more silk merchants entered much to the inn owner’s relief, and other local regulars came as well. The rains came later in the night, but the urge for wine overcame the weather. Enough had entered that Arval had to fetch two more serving boys and get Ferrada off his cot in the back, the boy exhausted after trying to deal with Havrik’s awe inspiring cock managed to carry out his tasks.

Finally exhausted of tales, “Let say we get a room, and make some new tales of our own?” Ildrash said, his voice slurred form a prodigious amount of wine.

“Bah, why get a room, when here will do nicely.” Havrik said with an almost bestial growl, what few inhibitions he had were long drowned in wine.

The massive Boltharrian quickly stood, though having consumed much wine, his graceful, and powerful gate was barely affected. He walked over to Ildrash and quickly put the young rogue’s mouth to work on his still throbbing cock, and large, heavy jungs.

This display soon held the crowd’s attention as they watched the scene unfold. Initially Felvaennan watched with the eyes of a thrilled spectator, but soon his own ire was building. One of the crowd that was held in awe of Ildrash’s skillful worshipping of the Boltharrian’s giant dong, he was a night shift ‘serving boy’.

Dresharna was a strapping 6’6 with a powerfully muscled 250 lbs. body, yet he was just now knowing his eighteenth summer. He was beautiful with full lips a well formed chin, smoldering black eyes, and a narrow handsome nose. He had his full curly blue black hair down, reaching half way down his back, his dark sun baked skin was dripping perspiration, though the evening was mild. His thick and brutish fifteen inch cock had escaped his gauze loin cloth, standing full and erect. So drawn he was to the scene that, without thinking he walked closer, and soon caught the eye of Felvaennan.

Felvaennan stood and greeted the boy,” My are you not a pretty sight, why not make yourself useful lad.” Felvaennan said as he untied the side of his G-string, and his mighty cock quickly sprung to half mast.

Dresharna quickly went down on his knees, so taken in by the huge organ, and quickly started washing it with his very talented tongue. Soon Fevaennan had eased his dong down the boy’s throat, the tendons at the root grinded as it leveled, and much as what had happened with Ferrada riding Havrik’s cock, Dresharna was able to take in the whole of Felvaennan’s cock into his wanting mouth.

Havrik was soon doing the same to Ildrash, making him take in all of the Boltharrian’s giant cock, and soon had his pole buried into Ildrash’s throat till the young thief reached the smooth musky root of the barbarian’s throbbing beast.

After a few minutes, Felvaennan wanted far more, he eased his cock out of Dresharna’s mouth, the great rigid stalk smacked hard onto the dark elf’s muscular torso. Going into his pack he pulls out a dark blue glass jar, corked at the top. Prying the cork off, he dabs his fingers into the semi translucent salve in the jar. Dresharna knows what this is, and quickly bends over the table. Felvaennan rips off his gauze loin cloth and eases in one, then two of his fingers dipped in the salve. A shudder runs up the young lads spine as the salve transforms into a mist and enters his invaded rectum. Soon a slight minty scent dominates the area.

Havrik, not bothering to ease his cock out of Ildrash’s mouth grabs a dallop of salve as well, yanks off Ildrash’s loin cloth and does the same while the Sharanaran thief continues sucking the huge barbarian.

Felvaennan didn’t bother with any sort of tongue probing of Dresharna’s hole, he simply loosened it with a few fingers before driving his throbbing cock in with one long smooth thrust. Dresharna was soon groaning and screaming in wild lust as Felvaennan unleashed a fury of artful thrusting.

Havrik did the same with Ildrash, simply prepped his ass with a few fingers, before switching ends. Ildrash was soon face to face with groaning and screaming Dresharna, Ildrash’s own groans and screams were soon silenced as the two mounts starting licking and kissing each other. Underneath the table Ildrash’s throbbing eighteen inch cock was soon crossing paths with Dresharna’s fifteen inch meat. The two slabs of flesh were also banging against the underside of the table, spewing precum with each swing.

The crowd watched, jaws agape at this wild carnal display, loincloths and breeches were tented, some already stained with seed as they took in this wild sight. Finally the building tension broke when Dresharna was the first to erupt. Fifteen long thick ropes of spew erupted from his throbbing cock, splashing on the floor, underneath the table, on Ildrash’s legs, three actually just passing underneath Havrik’s massive legs.

Ildrash followed a minute later, his orgasm had him writhing for almost two minutes as a continuous flow of cum erupted from his mighty cock, followed by several long thick ropes. Cum splashed on Dresharna’s legs, underneath the table, some landed on a merchant’s fine leather slipper eight feet away.

Felvaennan followed next, though his orgasm racked him for almost three minutes and sent a flood of spew poring out of Dresharna’s ass with each violent thrust that Felvaennan delivered while in his orgasmic throws. Cum soon coated the back of Dresharna’s muscular legs, and the front of Felvaennan’s.

Havrik was just as raw and intense with his deluge that followed, never seeming to stop flowing from Ildrash’s battered hole. Havrik pinned Ildrash to the table as his thrusting became more violent, When Havrik finally finished three minutes later, he had a primal, satisfied grin on his face, that soon changed to one of continued hunger.

The three wanderers were far from satisfied, even after such intense fucking. Their hunger was soon unleashed on the finest cocks and ass in the inn. Ferrada was once again pulled in, his mouth and hole having to satisfy all three repeatedly, along with Dresharna, and the other night shift ‘serving boy’ Halmada, a strapping lad of 6’5 and 240 lbs. The intense orgy carried well into the night and would be an evening to be told and retold in the walls of ‘The Writhing Dragon’ for years to come.

The next morning saw the trio head out early, the news of the reward was spreading and other would-be adventurers were arriving. The trio walked through town as well clad as when they arrived, Havrik drew many stares. The trio headed south along an old road that none in town knew where it led. The air was still heavy from the previous night’s rains, the ground damp. The road was old, most of the stones that helped pave it vanished with time, but a solid track of packed earth still showed. This was the road that the twins were said to travel down.

The road went straight for barely 20 yards before it started weaving and turning based on geographical features long since disappeared. The road was only broken with rising hills that obviously were not there when the road was built. They followed the strange winding road for many miles, tension grew as they started entering areas where farms had been attacked. They passed through a few copses of trees, and managed to down a deer for dinner.

They made camp in a clearing near a stream, refreshing their water, and taking off a day’s worth of sweat and later dust. Despite the refreshing water, they appreciated their situation but could not manage to deny themselves the pleasures of the flesh.

The bathing turned to sex play when Havrik forced Felvaenan’s down to his half hard cock, which the Dark Elf quickly took in. Havrik then turned to Ildrash and pointed towards Felvaenan’s bag and the jar of salve. Ildrash caught on and quickly ran to it. He grabbed a dallop on each hand, he inserted one dallop up Felvaenan’s ass and the other up his own. Ildrash then started probing Felvaenan’s salved ass with his tongue to further prepare the elf’s bung to be penetrated.

In the meantime, Havrik has his massive cock going down Felvaenan’s throat, and savored the dark elf’s skilled tongue and mouth. And the hunger of that mouth grew when Ildrash penetrated Felvaenan, whose big cock and skilled hips were soon working Felvaenan’s pleasure points.

Havrik was the first to cum, Felvaenan barely noticed it was happening till his chin felt Havrik’s huge balls strike it as they contracted upward. The wizard tried to swallow as much as possible, but soon his stomach could take no more, with great agility he eased the massive stalk out of his mouth and soon bathed in the torrent of cum that Havrik unleashed. Ildrash followed, then Felvaenan a minute later, soon all three groaned in the sweet ecstasy of orgasm, seed spewed forth in great eruptions.

The trio continued their sexplay till sunset, the highlight of their torrid lust being Ildrash on his hands and knees being savagely fucked by Felvaenan who in turn was being savagely fucked by Havrik, after so many hours the virile adventurers still had massive eruptions of cum spilling fourth from their massive cocks.

The moon shined bright that night, Felvaennan hardly needed the night vision that was common to the races of Eldar. Havrik wound up taking first watch that night, his senses on edge now. Even though these were not the swamps and fields he grew up in, it was wilderness none the less and his instincts had taken over.

Several hours later, Felvaennan awoke and saw that Havrik was on his knees, his head bowed down low. Worried he rushed over and saw that the Boltharrian’s eyes were closed.

“Havrik, wake-up, what are you doing!” Felvaennan said excitedly.

“Quiet, we’re being watched!” Havrik whispered harshly.

“Watched, watched by what, how can you tell.” Felvaennan then whispered.

“Greenskins, goblins I think judging by the smell.” Havrik whispered back.

“Then why are your eyes closed?” Felvaennan whispered.

“I wanted them to think I fell asleep so they would be lured out to attack, now act like you’re trying to wake me.” Havrik whispered in reply.

Felvaennan shook the huge man, acting like he would not budge, finally he began to lean forward, then opened his eyes and prevented himself from falling over with a quick hand.

“I think there might be a dozen, at least that’s how many sets of eyes I counted. But they move swiftly and are naturally stealthy, there might be more or less. All I know is that there is a warm feeling in my jungs, blood will be spilled tonight.” Havrik said as he eased up, then started staggering a little, like he was drunk.

Ildrash started stirring, and saw this, was quite puzzled when an arrow landed not a foot from him. Soon the tall grasses seemed to erupt as fifteen swift, agile, hard muscled shapes stormed forward. Drool flung from mouths of jagged teeth, sharp curved daggers and swords were held tight by large knotted hands. Large pointed ears swept back as they surged forward. Beady red eyes squinted with a fury, hungry for blood, as sweat slicked green skin streaked through the night, though only four feet tall at the largest, numbers and agility could win the day.

Havrik was ready for this, a long bow at his side, he fell three of the beasts before they were in a sword’s reach. Felvaennan was also ready, with a series of incantations and a few hand gestures tongues of flame soon erupted from his hands, catching two of the beasts and charring them beyond recognition.

The horde converged, forcing the trio’s backs to their campfire. The green swarm tried to crush them in a wave of flailing blades, but their numbers were being cut down swiftly. Losing another four in the assault, the horde of green fury was reduced to eight cowardly and broken creatures that fled into the night. Ildrash and Havrik gave pursuit, Ildrash felling one with two well thrown daggers, but they lost the creatures in the tall grass and the night.

Gathering his wits, Felvaennan sees something glittering around the neck of a fallen goblin. He goes for it, only noticing his sandals getting wet when he approaches the dead creature, and sees that the goblin was cut in two at the stomach. He seizes the ring, secured around the neck by a piece of dried leather string. He sees a crest set into it, and immediately chases after his comrades.

He meets them half way back to the camp, “Look what I found on one of the goblins!” Felvaennan said excitedly.

With the moonlit night, it was not difficult to make out the ring, and a look of astonishment crosses Ildrash and Havrik’s faces.

“That’s the seal of the merchant house, by the gods. Those goblins may have the twins, such good fortune!” Ildrash was quite excited.

The trio quickly put out their fire and gathered their supplies, unfortunately giving the goblins a half hour lead. The evidence of the ring enlivening them, shockingly even Havrik, who has not had an ounce of sleep. They make swift time down the road now, Havrik still able to make out the goblin’s trail, a sense of urgency pervaded now. They reach the hill country, which was the twins’ destination, a few hours later. It was as they reached the top of a second row of hills that they saw what appeared to be a hill that rested against a sheer cliff face. Reaching the top, and another thirty feet of cliff to climb, they find a series of handholds in the side of the cliff that appear quite new. They climb the cliff face quickly, reaching the top, now on guard, hoping not to meet an ambush at the end.

Shockingly no one is there to greet them when they reach the top, but the trio are now met with another dilemma. A vast ravine just forty feet inward of the summit. And it runs for miles on either side. The trail still fresh, they follow it to the edge of the ravine, then hook a sharp right along the edge and follow it to the ancient remains of a large stone arch. The veins of white on a black surface and still rather smooth surface identify the stone as a type of marble, but the runes that aligned the arch eluded even Felvaenan.

Passing through the arch they found a pair of stones stuck deep into the ground that appeared to be made from the same marble. Upon examining the stones they found a fairly new length of rope tied to each of the stones.

“This must be the way the goblins went, I can still smell their piss stained fear.” Havrik said in a grim tone as he quickly descended down.

“That blood thirsty fool, to rappel down a dark ravine, the sun hasn’t even risen.” Felvaennan said with a sigh.

“Well we have to go down, besides I have some pre-made torches, and you should be fine down there, there is still a bit of moonlight left.” Ildrash said as he also started his descent.

For lack of company, Felvaennan followed, and was soon able to catch up to his companions. He saw a pair of lights appear that almost blinded him, but soon found that Ildrash had already lit a couple of torches.

Now with stronger illumination they saw that the ravine in fact had a vast cave opening on the other side. As they moved along they also noticed the ground, a wide path of broken marble lead into the cave that was of the same quality as the arch. This intrigued Felvaennan the most, and as they traveled further in they could also make out obelisks of a strange design, with a similar series of runes carved into them. As they got closer they could hear more numerous sounds as well, a sound of flesh being torn, high pitched squeaks and the foot falls of bare fleshy feet on stone. The trio slowed their approach, the need for caution overtook them.

Just as they approached the cave’s entrance along the path, they notice something lying on the ground. Finally reaching it, they see the body of a dead goblin, the body is still fresh, but it appears to have had chunks of it eaten.

“What could have done this, look at the bites on the arm, such deep punctures, yet don’t seem to indicate fangs or talons of any kind.” Felvaennan said as he examined the body.

Just as Havrik is about to get a closer look at the body, something, heavy, furry and greasy landed heavily on his chest. The huge Boltharrian went sailing back, his huge hands trying to keep a mouth with a long snout from tearing into him, though the beast’s claws managed to scratch into his flesh.

Just as Havrik managed to reach for a dagger, he heard Felvaennan scream, shortly followed by Ildrash. The situation now more desperate, Havrik manages to stab the beast deep into the neck. It lets out a blood gurgled scream. Finally free from it, he throws it off. It only goes a few feet, being thrown from such an awkward position. But it gives Havrik enough time to get to his feet and draw his bastard sword. Bringing his blade up just as it leaps for him, the beast is cleaved in two, its two severed halves fall to the ground barely five feet away. Havrik just gets a glimpse of the beast, a rat the size of a large dog, it’s body twisted with tumorous growths. Another shout from Ildrash returns Havrik to the situation at hand. Finding his torch, he soon finds Ildrash flailing on the ground with one of the beasts, having less success then Havrik at keeping its teeth at bay. Havrik runs over, kicks off the rat then slices it in half as it sailed back down. Relieved, Ildrash joins Havrik and soon find Felvaennan fending off two rats, a dagger in one of the elf’s hands, a long sword in the other. Both Ildrash and Havrik manage to skewer the beasts while they are distracted.

Felvaennan looks the rats over, both have arcs of blue electricity going through them while the swords are still imbedded, “These rats are not natural, some dark magic has twisted them, as we draw closer I can sense a taint to this place, dark energies permeate it. Energies capable of far more then just twisting a nest of rats.” Felvaennan said as he saw the arcs cease when Havrik and Ildrash withdrew their blades.

The trio traveled into the cave at a far more cautious pace now. Ears twitched at every sound they heard as they entered the cavern. Anything that sounded like it was made from flesh drew their attention. As they entered they were soon overtaken by the sheer height of the cave, they could not make out the surface of a ceiling. Twenty feet in, despite their cautious, observant pace, when they beheld the gates, they were taken back by shock. The massive black wooden door seemed to leap out at them from the darkness. Ornate bands of iron reinforced the black wood, perhaps adding more then tensile strength, judging by Felvaennan’s intense examination of the runes set into the iron.

“I think I have a notion of what these runes are, this place was built before ‘The Skyfire’, some five thousand years ago, the civilizations that existed before that time dabbled in dark arts that can only be dreamed of. My master managed to find artifacts from that period from this area, the runic language was similar, this might be a regional variation.

Behold the Gate to Shar’Hradar, and know his glory, of course I could just be wrong, and it is merely the name of the blacksmith who cast the iron bands.” Felvaenan said with a smirk.

“Ah, if it were the work of a vain smith, we could not be so lucky.” Ildrash said as he also looked them over.

The gate was part of a huge wall that rose at least forty feet into the air, and seemed part of the surface of the floor itself, like it had grown from the marble surface. Thick square towers formed the corners, each featuring a strangely tarnished bronze bell that seemed to darken when light passed over it.

The gate however was not secure, and opened easily, the walls seemed thick, and the sides of the barbican, for it was a barbican, featured wide windows defended by three narrow arrow slits, the passage also made a hard 135 degree angle half way through and ran for twenty feet. This gate was obviously designed for defense. As they traveled into the courtyard they could see numerous two story barracks lining the wall, and appeared to have access to the top surface of the wall. It was quite clear, despite the dÈcor this was also a fortress with a fairly large garrison. However, the goblin’s trail continued on along a marble path to the grand hall of the fortress, also made obvious by the dim lights from numerous fires coming from the windows.

Felvaennan looked over the walls, taking in the details as they reached the heart of the courtyard and noticed that a fountain sat in the heart of it. This fountain depicted a massive demon bearing a strange looking lantern in one hand and a savagely jagged great sword in the other. The beast was more then anatomically correct, and judging by the hole, the primary source of water erupted from its massive, erect organ. Like the bath and the fortress walls, this too was made of the same black marble.

Passing the fountain a shiver ran down the spines of the trio, numerous times they looked back to make sure the statue hadn’t turned or was watching them. When they reached the door to the grand hall, the trio’s senses were on edge. Havrik took the lead, as they slowly eased the door open. The small reception hall that was on the other side was littered with refuse and swarming with small carrion, the stench alone almost made the three leave. Rushing to the next door, they could hear few sounds and slowly opened the door, though faces were turning red as they were holding their breath from the stench.

They ease open the door and find only a slightly cleaner reception hall, the blackened remains from numerous fires dot the floor. They head up a flight of grand stairs and soon hear noises coming from a series of rooms. As Havrik approaches, he hears the shuffling of feet, and pulls Ildrash and Felvaennan behind a doorway. Unfortunately they were heard.

The lone goblin guard walks slowly down the hallway, sweaty hands try to grip the crude mace and wooden shield which serves as his only protection. For now luck was on the little one’s side, he ducks as he sees a massive steel blade swing from around a corner. He runs down the hall howling in terror. Within a few minutes the hall fills with a horde of hastily armed greenskins. They number some two score strong, and feel brave enough with the odds. However, they did not realize with the hall as narrow as it was, they could only charge at the intruders six abreast. The slaughter didn’t last long, more then a dozen goblins were splayed all over the halls, many disemboweled and dismembered.

Dripping from sweat from the fast paced fighting the trio is shocked when the goblins cease to attack. Weapons ready they watch as the goblins part in two rows and a rather large goblin of four foot two, solidly built and wearing a rusted scale hauberk and a helm approaches, his small scimitar at the ready.

“Why have you invaded our domain pink filth.” The goblin says in a high pitched growl in poor Shevarish.

“We seek two of our kind, both wore rings like this.” Havrik said in an intimidating growl of Shevarish, though many goblins didn’t understand it, the tone more then frightened them.

“We gave those over to the orks and their master in payment for letting us use this place.” The goblin chief said in a far more deferential tone.

“They dwell under us, in a dark place under the black stone. If we tell you how to reach them, will you spare us?” The chief then added.

“We shall, but if you betray us, you will not live this night out, I can assure you of that.” Havrik said in a tone just above a growl.

“The soldier houses that are against the great wall, each has an entrance to the under place. You will find the orks and their pink master there.” The chief said, picking up a sense of confidence, ‘Pink bastards, the orks will do far worse then eat you I’m sure.’ The goblin chief thought adding a grim, thin lipped smile to his lips.

Havrik caught the smile as the trio departed, and quickly made their way out of the grand hall. They went for the nearest barrack they could find, and again were surprised that the surface was not guarded. The urge to vomit was barely contained as they also saw the barracks were strewn with the carcasses of cattle, bones littered the floor. Along with old blood splattering the walls and rotting entrails at the corners of the room.

“Well, I guess this solves the mystery of what happened to the cattle caravan.” Ildrash said with a sigh.

They found a doorway that lead to a stair case, with stairs going down. They slowly went down the stairs, soon their ears were being bombarded with harsh sounds of orks talking and singing. The smell was almost as bad, sweaty orks and bad ork cooking almost made the scent of rotting cattle entrails preferable.

They waited by the door for the way to be clear, they would have to wait awhile it seemed. Suddenly a large rack of meat spills into through the door. The ork that dropped it quickly jumped for it before others noticed.

The ork was a huge 7’ tall, only because the broad muscular brutes seemed forever bent forward. His complexion was a rich dark, sun baked green, he frequented the surface often enough. He wore only a loin cloth, his massive, heavily muscled torso and legs sheathed with foul smelling sweat. One of his long ointed ears looked to have had a sizeable bite taken out of it, and one of the tusk-like lower teeth was also broken, but those small red eyes also showed the fire of a killer. He was an ork who lived a hard life, but not for much longer.

As he looked up, he saw Havrik, but before he could say anything a heavy axe split his skull. Unfortunately two more orks also make a dive for the meat and see their fallen comrade. Like the battle with the goblins the trio is forced to fight off wave after wave of orks. Holding the stairwell, in case they had to flee, the orks could only attack two or three at a time, keeping the odds even. But exhaustion, lack of sleep, and numerous cuts and gashes would eventually overwhelm the trio even if the orks fail to land a killing blow.

The situation desperate, Felvaennan and Ildrash falling back, hear only the sound of grinding teeth and a roar that seemed worthy of the abomination at the fountain filled the narrow hallway. It was as if Havrik gained another sixty lbs. of raw power, veins were throbbing, his eyes were wild and crazed, he fought less like a man and more like an animal. Foam flew from his mouth as he started plowing into the vast line-up of orks, his heavy battle axe and bastard sword met skull and limb with the darkest fury of nature. The orks at first simply tried to defend themselves as they were being driven back by the blood thirsty fury. Seeing this horrific and awesome display, Felvaenan and Ildrash rejoin Havrik and add their blades to the maelstrom of death. Several times the orks tried to rally and push them back, but somehow the trio found new strength and carried on.

A half hour later, all three are stooped over their weapons, sweat and ork blood so thoroughly coated them it was difficult to differentiate the two. The trio all but finished their water, just to keep from passing out. They rested barely half an hour before Havrik, covered in cuts, small gashes, and shockingly cum, he had apparently reached orgasm in the fury of battle, stood up.

Shockingly Havrik sheathed his sword and hoisted his axe, “We still have work to do.” He said in a grim tone.

The room they were in seemed to double as both a storage room and as a means of moving between the barracks unseen. It also seemed obvious as they walked through the near deserted room that either the remaining orks were hiding or they killed the vast majority of them.

Reaching an area that corresponded to the great hall above, they found a door, and more voices coming from the other side. Easing the door open the voices grew louder as they saw another staircase heading below. As they came down they heard heavy foot steps, suddenly a dull roar erupted from behind them, four better armed and armored orks tried to rush them, they barely dodged out of the way from the heavy axe falls. Ildrash was far luckier, as an ork passed him he was able to slash its thick exposed throat with an underhanded slash of a dagger. It sprawled forward, blood squirting from the long gash, flailed on the ground and was soon in its death throws.

The remaining three turned and charged again, this time, all three were prepared to parry. Havrik getting his sword underneath the base of the axe blade, felled his opponent with a vicious slash across the torso with his axe, the beast fell back blood gushing from its open wound.

Felvaennan though successful at parrying the falling axe had forced the over reaching ork to fall on top of him. Trying to free himself from the flailing brute, he recited a quick incantation as he pointed the index finger of his free left hand at the ork’s chest. Suddenly a bolt of force blew through the ork’s torso, the huge green brute letting out a blood curdling scream before it died.

Ildrash desperately trying to keep the huge axe from falling on him, had both hands at his sword handle. Trying to fight it off, he did what first came to mind, and delivered a swift boot to the ork’s sizeable jungs. Distracted enough from the excruciating pain, Ildrash was able to behead the beast, both hands bringing his long sword down hard.

The orks down, the trio storm into the next room and a set of spiral stairs. Their blood pumped with the feeling that this arduous task will soon be over. Running on adrenaline the trio make their way down the stone stairs, suddenly a shiver runs up their spines, like a hand as cold as death itself has just passed over them.

“The taint of this place is powerful, I fear it may grow worse as we draw closer.” Felvaennan said in a grim tone.

As they reach a landing at the bottom of the stairs they are all staring down into a large chamber from a balcony. What the trio sees is a grim sight indeed, tied to a double sized slab and squirming under the glint of a strange looking pair of daggers were the twins. The beautiful, strapping lads, were bound by heavy chains, their dark skin glistening in sweat and terror. Taught, powerful muscles strained, veins throbbed in sync with pounding hearts over their muscular frames. Their fear struck violet eyes looked pleading as they bit down on the leather straps that gagged them.

A wild eyed man was holding the daggers while a huge red haired ork stood at his side, showing a shocking lack of interest in the proceedings. The man was nude, save for the ornate cockring he wore, his huge cock stood rigid, and spewing precum in eager anticipation. He stood at almost seven feet in height, his body massively muscled, though his skin was as pale as marble. His eyes were the color of blood, his hair black as night, and flowed like a silky veil down his front and broad muscular back. He had the look of beauty and madness. To the rear of the pale man was a set of massive brass doors that seemed to writhe with daemonic faces and glowing runes.

The ork that stood by the pale man was striking handsome, with a narrow jaw for his race, though still featuring a pair of mighty tusk like lower teeth. His snout far less elongated and pronounced, and his posture was shocking straight and rigid, he towered over all at 7’6 and looked to weigh over four hundred lbs. of muscle. He was also stark naked and easily as well endowed as Havrik if not more so. It was a good guess that the brute was a half breed.

The chant the man was making was difficult to make out, but it seemed to be in a dark and ancient tongue. The eyes of the trio however, were locked on the daggers, and waiting for the pale man to strike.

Felvaennan was reciting an incantation under his breath, but as he nearly reached the end, he seemed to be holding it, till the pale man raised his arms, then he finished, two bolts of force erupted from the dark elf’s fingers, both striking the pale man in the arms.

The trio then leaped from the landing to the ground, ten feet below, landing on their feet, “Get the lads, I’ll deal with the brute!” Havrik roared.

Ildrash and Felvaennan made a run for the alter, while Havrik charged at the massive ork, an ork who was indeed larger then the mighty Boltharrian in many ways. The ork seemed more then ready for Havrik as he approached, the huge green brute grabbing a massive weapon of orkish ingenuity, a long heavy poll with each end sporting a massive double hefted axe head.

The half breed twirled the weapon in a show of skill and intimidation, Havrik replied by simply trying to take a swing at him. The ork blocked with some skill, and also took advantage of his slightly longer reach. The ork tried to bring an axe head down, all Havrik could do was dodge as the heavy blade came down. However, in the ork’s swing, he over extended himself, allowing Havrik to swing his sword at the ork’s vulnerable legs. A solid wound across the calf brought the ork to his knees. Havrik leaped up and tried to deliver a killing blow, but the ork brought his weapon up, and Havrik looked into the green brutes eyes, and suddenly knew fear.

The orks beady red eyes were now flaming with hatred, green foam started spilling out of his mouth, and the ork seemed to become even larger, stronger. Havrik leaped back as the now 500 lbs. juggernaut charged at him roaring like a daemon, the beast was in a state like Havrik knew earlier, a berserker rage.

Havrik dodged almost constantly, missing the wildly swung double axe, desperately searching for some sort of opening, or perhaps trying to outlast the ork’s rage. Havrik also saw a desperate fight brewing between the pale man and his companions, swords swinging and parrying, trying desperately to get to the twins.

Felvaenan missed the swinging blade by barely an inch, the pale man was a formidable swordsman as well as a maddened lunatic. A long sword in each hand, he was able to stave off Ildrash and Felvaenan. Giving him enough time to shout for guards. Within a minute four more heavily armed orks stormed forward. It would be a difficult fight now, though Felvaennan was capable with a blade, fighting off four armored orks with heavy axes, and the pale man would indeed be a difficult task. Eventually Ildrash and Felvaennan were just trying to fend off the orks, quickly losing track of the pale man.

After a few crucial seconds, Felvaenan heard chanting in the distance. Suddenly a white mist engulfed Ildrash’s head, then he fell unconscious. Felvaennan was nervous now, even with one ork dead, three would be difficult to face. But then more chanting, another incantation, suddenly Felvaennan’s vision was flooded with swirling colors of a seemingly infinite variety, they quickly overwhelmed his senses, and he too lost consciousness.

Havrik could barely manage a swing against the ork, spending much of his time just trying to dodge the giant axe blades. However, as he caught a glimpse of his pinned down friends he saw an opportunity. Leading the massive ork towards them he was able to dodge one more axe swing, though one of the guards did not and lost his head.

Eventually Havrik found himself cornered, till just as the Ork was about to finally land a devastating blow, he collapsed exhausted, his body seeming to shrink before him. Relieved, he thought now was the time he could land a killing blow, he thought that as he entered unconsciousness and fell to the floor.

Havrik was the first to regain consciousness, he was surprised to not be in some dark cell, but instead, sleeping chambers chained to a wall. He also saw that his companions and the twins were also chained there as well, though all still unconscious.

“We will re-start the ritual soon, and then we will usher in the legions of Shar’Hradar, Lord of the 12th Pit, who will stand at our side. We will conquer Shaldarra and from there Brevothos, and the rest of the east will fall to our legion of daemons.” Came a silky, yet masculine voice speaking a refined Brulgothik.

“Good, I tire feeding these whelps good meat that I could have. And I would still rather be at the head of forty orks then a legion of daemons.” Came a voice speaking a rougher version of the same tongue.

“Is not your cum filling the whelps bellies. And you will adjust, commanding such terrifying troops would be a pleasure.” The silky voice said with a sinister laugh.

“Yes, but they still hunger, and that cursed ritual requires two healthy specimens. Which we had to pay goblins to get for us, of all the lows.” The rougher voice replied.

“Well it does require two hearts that share the same soul, and they are the only identical twins in the area.” The silky voice said.

Havrik’s blurred vision was now finally coming into focus and he saw a huge green hulk rubbing scented oil on a man, a man whose skin was as pale as marble.

“How delicious, the big Northron awakes, isn’t he delicious looking Grundor?” the silky voice said.

Havrik soon saw that it was ‘the’ pale man speaking, now shimmering in scented oils, his wounds from Felvaenan’s spell gone. His silky black hair was now pulled back into an intricate tying together of three braids.

“I might fuck him for a warm up.” The huge ork said in a rougher rendition of the same tongue as the pale man.

“I’d like to see that, actually he is quite large as well. It would be a pity for such proud meat to go to waste.” The pale man replied with a wicked laugh.

“Up to your same old cockteasing games Elgarn, is not my dong enough for you, you marble skinned whore.” Grundor said as he stroked his mammoth organ in front of the pale man.

“Let’s just find out, shall we.” Elgarn said as he brushed aside the half ork and approached Havrik.

He immediately put his mouth to work on Havrik’s dong. Normally in such situations he would try and fight it, but the pale man had a wet mouth and more skill then many of the finest whores in the vile land he hailed from.

As Havrik grew more erect, Elgarn began to merely lick and caress his stalk while rubbing Havrik’s mammoth meat all over the hard, hot contours of his muscular body. Elgarn managed to bring Havrik to the very edge of ecstasy, he knew he was, but then, cruelly, stopped.

“My my, such a proud cock indeed, but still not as large as you Grundor, you have him by two inches in length and an inch in girth.” Elgarn said with a cruel laugh.

“Enough of this then, let me kill them and we can re-start the ritual.” Grundor said with a harsh grunt.

“I say when we restart, since these three interrupted me I am going to have some pleasure with them first.” Elgarn replied defiantly.

“Fine, have your way with them, but so will I...” Grundor said as le looked over Havrik and liked his thin orkish lips.

Suddenly, Felvaennan awoke with a scream, which in turn awoke Ildrash and the twins, “Where are we?” Felvaennan groaned in his own tongue then repeated in Shevarish.

“You would be quite surprised.” Havrik replied.

Felvaennan then took in the bedroom, then saw Havrik was naked and very erect. He also noticed that he too was naked as were the others, including their captors, strangely enough.

“Ah, how wonderful, the sultry Eldar awakes, I bet he is almost a match for the Northron for size, but I hear the dark elves are masters of the erotic arts as well.” Elgarn said as he licked his lips taking in Felvaennan’s body.

“So I take it you will take on all three, why not throw in the twins, they can stick their cocks in your ears.” Grundor said with a derisive snort.

“Oh be quiet you product of rape, I will take all three, but if you see an opening, say not with me, but one of them, then by all means join in.”

“I love you Brulgothik beasts, you’re all such perverted whores” Grundor said as he kissed Elgarn wantonly.

“Bring the three of them to the bed, chain them to the posts.” Elgarn said with a sinister smile.

It took Grundor and the two remaining guards to haul the three of them to the bed. Ildrash was chained to the left post at the headboard, Felvaennan to the right post of the headboard, Havrik had his chains placed at the two posts at the foot of the bed.

Despite the trio’s attempts to stave off Elgarn’s lustful whiles, they fell to his charms. Already salved and oiled it was easy for both Felvaennan and Havrik to enter his ass and he took Ildrash’s proud cock easily enough into his mouth. Grundor initially just stood and watched, his own mammoth cock at half mast and spewing precum like a waterfall.

“Decisions, decisions...” he said, then smiled evily.

He went with his initial choice. He approached Havrik from the rear, a jar of salve in hand, “Tell me Boltharrian, is your bung still virginal?” the huge ork asked with a toothy grin.

“No, do your worst half breed!” Havrik said defiantly.

“I’ll split you in two!” the ork replied in a near growl.

He salved Havrik’s ass then thrusted the whole massive thing in. The rhythm for the whole fourway was fierce and fast. Elgarn took it all with glee, while still lovingly sucking off Ildrash. Grundor was slamming Havrik fiercely as they fucked, his massive green stalk practically bruising Havrik while his fat melon sized balls battered the barbarian’s thighs and ass. Havrik in turn was fiercely ramming into Elgarn, who was only maddened for more pleasure.

Felvaennan was the first to cum, his heavy load flooding the Brulgothik wizard’s ass in seconds, Ildrash then followed, shockingly, Elgarn swallowed the whole massive load with glee.

When Grundor erupted, it sent his hips into a frenzy, thrusting into Havrik, Havrik unable to hold out, unleashed his own load, but he had a plan. At the height of orgasm, Havrik also found his rage. His body seemed to grow in size and power, his teeth gritted, his mouth foamed.

He pulled the chains loose from the posts, shocking Grundor who fell back and out of Havrik. Havrik then leaped on the Half ork’s broad back, and started strangling him with the chains.

The ork guards rush out, going on instinct, Felvaennan rolls out from the bed and recites a quick incantation. So quick it was sheer luck that the recitation was correct, and unleashes a sheathe of flame from his hands, scorching the two approaching guards, their now heated hauberks burning their flesh.

Havrik’s massive, rage fueled physique exploded with power, his skin already damp with sweat from fucking, the†huge†veins on his neck, chest and arms seemed to†almost burst to the surface. His temples were ready to explode as he tried to break the half orks massive neck. Finally, not sure whether the half-ork’s neck or back snapped first, but both did, he fell limp to the ground. Havrik roared in triumph, grabbed the half orks double axe and used it to finish off the two guards. Ildrash had run off to free the twins, picking the locks with an old nail that had been lying on the ground. In the ensuing chaos, Elgarn had disappeared.

However, the orks were all dead and the twins were freed. A quick search of the private chambers lead to the trio recovering their clothes and equipment. From there they set off back to the town.

“Many thanks for saving us, you have no idea what you have accomplished.” One of the twins said as he greeted the trio.

“It was keeping the world from knowing the burning blades of daemons.” Felvaennan said with a laugh.

“Why yes, how did you know?” the other twin said, quite astonished, and also astonishing Havrik, who thought he was the only one who heard the mad scheme.

“Let us see, you were tied down to ancient alters to be sacrificed. A pair of brass doors with all sorts of lovely images engraved on them. I figured it was either some sort of daemonic summoning or perhaps to get the ultimate recipe for berry tarts.” Felvaennan replied with a laugh.

That set the others laughing, thankfully glad that this ordeal was over.

“You know, since we did save the world and all, I think we should get a bit more money out of this.” Ildrash said with a scheming smile.

“Maybe, or maybe we can take it out in some other way when we get back.” Felvaennan said as he eyed the twins.

The twins simply groaned with delight at the prospect.

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