The Thunderborn's Destiny

"You two have come far for an audience with the Emerald Queen."

Hammer felt magic crawling under his skin, but something--perhaps the primal spirits of his ancestors, or perhaps Lark's blessing--fought it off. He could tell the woman--thing--before him was consternated by the flash of a furrowed brow that crossed her face. Lark's hand dug in slightly on his forearm.

"We hunt a green dragon who stole goods from a dwarven blacksmith," Hammer said in his growling voice.

"Oh?" the woman asked, arching her brow as she switched her feet. They both got a clear view of the plump, silk-sheathed vulva between her lithely muscular thighs. "I don't know of any green dragons in the area."

Lark snapped off a quick, curt prayer and golden radiance leapt from her suddenly outstretched hand--bearing the symbol of Sune--and lashed at the woman before them. For a brief moment, her divine spell clashed with the arcane spell shrouding the woman. Dark green scales flashed around the woman, but they weren't quite what Hammer was expecting. They appeared more like gemstones than actual reptilian scales...

"There are no green dragons in this area," the woman said, her voice taking a sibilant, deeper timbre, "because I am an emerald dragon. There is quite a difference."

Hammer brought his mordenkrad to bear. "The difference being?" he asked, but the woman extended a placating hand.

"Be still, mighty barbarian, and I will make all things clear to you," she said, her voice still bearing a strong reptilian hiss. "Emerald dragons are not like those chromatic filth. We are not malicious, and serve Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon, in goodly deeds."

"She is not lying," Lark said, putting a calming hand on Hammer's bulging arm.

"Listen to your mate, barbarian," the dragoness said, and Hammer faltered. He hadn't thought of Lark as a mate, simply a dalliance. Sighing, he planted the hammer's head in the soft soil. "I have the dwarf's weapons. The reason being, he made a bargain with me. If he conducted his business in a fair, proper manner, I would return them. Too many times has that one cheated his clientele out of quality goods, charging too-high prices."

Hammer looked down at his mordenkrad.

"Ah, yes, that bears his markings as well. Go ahead, swing it at me." The dragon smirked, holding her arms out wide. "You won't touch me through my scales. The weapon is garbage."

Hammer, seeing no other recourse and wanting very much to smite this tricky woman, hefted the weapon and charged. He swung it through the air, Lark squealed, and before he could even begin the downward smash, the head slid off its haft, flying backward through the air. The wooden shaft clattered against ghostly emerald scales, and the woman laughed. "You see?"

Growling, Hammer turned to Lark. "Tell your scouts to return to Grunwald. We're done here."

A strong hand grasped his shoulder, and he whirled back at the woman. Suddenly, Lark was at his side. "I am Alizabexathestra, the Emerald Queen of the High Forest," the dragoness said, her teeth flashing into fangs before his eyes, then returning to perfectly shaped teeth. "Won't you and your Lady enter my lair with me?"

Hammer could think of no reason not to. Certainly, the growing strain in his trousers argued that he should join her. And Lark was moving closer to the dragoness. Emerald eyes gleamed back at him as the two women locked lips, tongues visibly swirling around each other in a lewd display of sexuality. Hammer reached a hand into his pants, gripping himself in his hand and stroking slowly as he watched the naked dragoness in humanoid form maul his lover's tongue.

He didn't register the walk into the dragon's lair, but emeralds were glinting at him all around, mounds and heaps of coins, magical gewgaws, weapons of various sorts, and all sorts of objects too obscure and foreign for him to identify laid in mounds as tall and taller than he was.

Alizabexathestra was falling backward into what appeared to be a heaping pile of silk garments fashioned into a mountain of a bed, her legs splaying wide as auburn-haired, fair-skinned Lark slithered between them, her tongue lashing the dragon's thighs and damp, downy hair shrouding her vulva. His cock was standing proudly from his hips.

Shucking his shirt, he moved forward, sliding Lark's battle mail, tabard, and clothes off in a rush, making the woman squeak in surprise and delight. Her round bottom glared up at him, and he bent to bite on the soft flesh. Lark cooed, a sound that was absorbed by the dragoness's flesh.

"Come to me, mighty barbarian. Show me the thunder in your heart." He looked over the woman before him at the dragon's gleaming, mesmerizing emerald eyes. He moved past Lark, hand resting in the cleft of her bottom, prodding at her anus and teasing at her vulva as he laid at the dragon's side. Both he and Lark somehow ended up pressed against the dragoness, on each side of her. He was mesmerized by the way their breasts--Lark's modest bust and Alizabexathestra's impressive bosom--meshed together, green scales sometimes knitting across the dark-skinned flesh, then vanishing in a mesmerizing dance of illusion.

The dragon's hand crept down around his hard cock, and with a gesture and snap of a word of power, Hammer was nude with the two females. The dragon was stroking him, her hands feeling oddly soft and hard, as if partially scaled. The sensation was incredible.

"I've always been curious what it would be like to mate with humans," she hissed, nibbling on Hammer's shoulder as Lark slid her fingers down between the dragon's thighs. Aliza cooed as her deft fingers split her vulva, the silky white hair gleaming with nectar that was warm and tingling to the touch. Hammer could smell her essence, and it seemed vaguely familiar.

He placed it in the next heartbeat as the scent of the fumes outside the dragon's lair. The idea that an emerald dragon in heat was prowling around, spreading the scent of her wanting cunt throughout the High Forest spawned a grin on his handsome, rugged face. The dragon took advantage of his distraction and bit down on his shoulder with real fangs, puncturing flesh lightly.

The pain lit fire in his blood, and he turned eyes like thunderheads on her. She licked her lips, fangs gleaming.

"Fuck me with the fury of the storm, barbarian," she rasped in her draconic voice. It was needful and powerful, rattling loose coins and his brains alike. Lark squealed slightly, but Hammer fought through the ringing in his ears and laid over the supine dragoness. He shoved her thighs apart, a growl like thunder in his throat as his steely cock plunged into the waiting dragon-cunt.

Alizabexathestra's roar was deafening as her preternaturally cunt was sundered with his great-hammer. He wasted no time. Gripping Lark's head and pulling her into a kiss to make sure she didn't feel neglected, he thrust into the dragon's loins with the fury and abandon that only a berserker could manage. He hammered deep into her hot, tingling snatch, her soft hairs mingling with the fine black hairs wreathing his cock. His sack slammed into the pucker of her anus. Her nectar splashed, setting his skin a-tingle with its noxious nature.

Hammering down into her, the barbarian let out his own mighty roar, and thunder seemed to roll in the cavern. Lark, on inspiration, moved to sit on the dragon's face, facing away from Hammer and bending over so that he could see what transpired between her thighs. A green mist flowed from the dragon's mouth, coating the woman's snatch as her long, too long tongue slithered along the slit, lashing the clitoris before delving deep into the woman's canal. Hammer leaned in, his tongue lashing against her asshole before sliding down to enter the priestess's sacred channel with the dragon's tongue.

The barbarian knew not what the dragoness was doing inside the woman's cunny, for he could only feel a part of her sweet-tasting tongue with his own, but further in, she must have struck a deep chord with Lark, for she began to sing her ecstasy into the cavern walls.

Her body writhed and shuddered, twitched and spasmed, and a crystalline jet if clear liquid shot from her tongue-stuffed loins. The dragoness let out a purring laugh that sounded much like silken boulders. Hammer thrust and must have had a similar effect on the dragon, for she soon began to twitch and lurch, her illusion fading in places as her ecstasy removed her willpower for several moments. Green scales grew along her flesh, limbs bulged with draconic muscle, and Hammer, cock surrounded by twitching and bulging cunt-muscles, couldn't help but howl with thunder in his breast as his cock churned forth jet after jet of pearly spew, deep into the she-dragon's womb.

And then, the man and woman were dumped off of the body they'd mounted, as tawny skin twisted and reformed, bulging and growing scales, claws, horns, and various other spikes. Psychic echoes of the dragoness's pleasure thrummed through the cavern, pummeling Hammer and Lark in turn. The force of the mental thrusting drove them into further pleasure, Hammer's cock bursting into empty air and splattering on what was quickly growing to be a dragon's tail, and Lark falling to her knees, cunny squirting as her eyes went wide with surprise.

Suddenly, the young emerald dragon was laying off-kilter between them, fully transmogrified into her natural state, chest heaving with sexual ecstasy.

And then, just as quickly, he was back in the forest, surround by a faint, sweetly smelling vapor.

"Hammer?"

Lark's voice was like a crystal clear bell ringing in his head, and he stared back into the sharp emerald eyes, slit-pupiled and glinting. The dragoness was grinning slyly at him.

"At least I know what it would have been like," the dragoness said, smirking and pecking him on the cheek. "I have something of a keen foresight, Gundor Stormherald. You will travel far from this place, where silver reigns, and beyond that, with painted woman sister to she that you now travel with. Your heart will keep you strong in your ideals and in your passions. Let none stand in your way, mighty barbarian, and you will own the world."

The barbarian stared at the dragon in human guise, dumbfounded for a moment, because her portend mimicked the vision he and Vyathan had shared many months ago. He felt the strength leave his bones and wondered if some enchantment had been laid on his person.

Lark's hand was on his shoulder, then, anchoring him to this plane of existence and drawing his stare back to her gleaming eyes. He pulled her tight, glanced at the dragon, and turned and left.

*****

Thunder rolled in the distance, and while Hammer was contemplatively quiet, Lark was abuzz with excitement, wanting to know more about the mind-to-mind vision he'd shared with the dragoness. To her surprise, he was fairly tight-lipped about it. Finally, she resigned herself to losing the conversation.

Apparently, that's all it took, because Hammer heaved a sigh, then stopped his march back to Grunwald. So the barbarian went into graphic, explicit detail of every facet of his mind-vision with the she-dragon. Lark blushed furiously, biting her lower lip repeatedly, and squirming as she stood there. He even felt the warmth in his groin, but was too perplexed with his future to care enough about slaking its thirst.

"I just want to return to Grunwald. I have a road to ponder," he said.

"A road?" Lark asked.

"Yes. I will be leaving soon. This was only a stopping point on a much longer journey. My visions have told me as much. I am being led by the gods, or at least a goddess."

Lark nodded. "Sune," she said, but Hammer wasn't so sure.

The rest of the march back to Grunwald was silent, save for breathing, idle banter, and the crackle of leaves underfoot. When Hammer returned, he quickly departed the company of Lark and her group for his own room. Sleep beckoned him, though it was not so late. Drowsy more than he could recall ever being, he plopped into his bed and was fast asleep.

The visions that took him were vivid and unforgettable.

A woman with black hair, shining red armor, stood staring at him, her face stern and calculating. The black hair was wild, and she wore a pendant of a sword wreathed in flames. Tempus. He knew enough of the war gods to recognize this woman, now. She was the Red Knight, goddess of tacticians, goddess of battle and honor. A deity he had dreamt about before.

Then, to his surprise, her armor vanished piece by piece, leaving her pale skin, unmarred by battle, bare before her, her pert breasts slightly upturned, veins lightly gracing the thin skin and large areola capped by turgid nipples. She took him by the wrist and pulled him in, but before their lips could meet, her skin turned to black.

Like polished obsidian, with eyes of pure gold swirling with blood-red. Ears pointed, the hair turned to stark white, and the body became fuller, more voluptuous, but no less athletic.

A drow. His jaw clenched, but her touch was so soothing, so comforting...

A pale, alabaster face appeared behind the drow, fiery red hair wreathing the face, and pouty, smirking lips parted in a moan of pleasure.

"Silverymoon," the voice said in his dream-thoughts. The word was like a rapturous climax, and the drow arched her back, panting and sweating suddenly.

Something warm splashed against his naked manhood, and he realized the drow had sprayed her climax on him. His cock was hard as iron.

"Silverymoon," the voice moaned again. The Red Knight was behind the drow, kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples, while the drow frigged herself.

"Silverymoon." The pale face moaned it, The Red Knight commanded it, and the drow screamed it.

Hammer ejaculated a fountain of cum so large he knew it couldn't be his own. It covered the drow, the goddess, and arced into the air amidst the three laughing women.

He awoke in a sweaty mess.

*****

Lark had her sword on her hip, and Captain Ellyet was beside her, looking something between relieved and anxious. Hammer emerged, tightening the belt around his long tunic and straightening the light leather breeches he wore. His boots fit snug, but the straps that held them to his feet were not pulled tight. His massive, muscular form filled the doorway of the tavern, and though he bore no weapon, the barbarian of the Clan of the Thunderbeast was violence in man-form.

"You leave, then," Ellyet said, his melodic voice quick. Hammer only nodded.

"This relieves you?" he asked as Ellyet breathed a sigh.

"In a sense, yes," he responded bluntly. "One less person to potentially share spoils with. Although, Lark is convinced it is her sacred duty to escort you to...Silverymoon is it?"

"Aye," the barbarian said. He turned his iron gaze at Lark, brow coming together slightly as he stared hard at her. "This is my road, not yours. I would not willingly share it, or deprive your comrades a skilled warrior and healer."

"I'm afraid the decision isn't yours to make," Ellyet said, sighing and throwing his hands up in apparent exasperation. Hammer turned to the captain.

"Explain," he demanded, suddenly growing irritated that his quest had been thrown into an unexpected direction.

"You may not want me to come," Lark interjected, "but I will do so, regardless, even if I am only following you. But knowing that I follow you, would you so quickly spurn my assistance?"

He grit his teeth, and she knew she had him. Her triumphant smirk was all he needed to see. "Of course not."

"Then it is settled," she said, shouldering a travelling pack. Her smile, while triumphant, was radiant and full of warmth, commitment...Hammer found himself smiling back at the woman. Supple and athletic, Lark looked to be a good travelling companion. Weapon at her shapely hip, the tabard hugging her not-insubstantial bosom, and the auburn locks pulled back into a functional tail.

"Ellyet," Hammer said, surging forth. He took the elf's hand and clasped his wrist. "May your enemies never die, and your sword stay wet."

With that, he left, turning without any baggage, without any weapon save for his own fists, and without any tether to the world he walked away from. Except, of course, the primal spirits of his tribe. The Thunderbeast strode with him, the storm surged within him, and the memories of the ancients filled his soul as fury rode his blood. The rage, under control, always, was his constant companion, much like...

Vyathan. A knot formed in his throat. He could sense Lark approaching from behind him, her steps hurried to match and gain on his long, powerful strides. The barbarian pushed her presence out of his mind, losing himself in the memories with the shaman who had been his wife. Tattooed, muscled as all barbarian women, she was truly a woman that could match him in every regard. From battlefield to bedroom and beyond, she was his equal in most regards, superior in some, and inferior in others. Where he fell short, she soared high, and vice versa.

He would miss her dearly, and though his barbarian upbringing taught him not to mourn the dead, for they are with the spirits, he certainly mourned his own loss, selfishly if nothing else. Gods above, but he'd kill all the fiends of the Abyss to have her back. He would slay the primordial lords, all the enemies of Tempus and Uthgar, make love to the Red Knight for an age without stop, if it meant he would be with his Vyathan again.

But the soft hand that wrapped only halfway around his thick, iron forearm was not Vyathan's. Her grip was firm, sure, purposeful. This one was tentative, weak, almost fearful. He wanted to spit in Lark's face, but when he turned to her worried expression, his heart softened. She was not, Vyathan, no, but she was a devout servant to Sune, and the goddess's favor meant the woman had worth, even if his barbarian sensibilities could only see fragments of it.

Even a whimsical, useless deity like Sune had her uses, he reminded himself. Indeed, if the tales were true, she was the goddess of love, and what else had he shared with his Vya? If not love...

He shook his head, then stopped. A sheen of sweat beaded on Lark's brow, matting some of her auburn hair down, and her chest rose and fell with exertion. Hammer felt no hints of fatigue or exertion. He sighed.

"Are you going to slow down and tell me what's on your mind?" Lark asked tentatively.

"Yes. And no. Not at the moment."

She huffed, squeezing his muscular forearm. "Have it your way. It might do you some good to vent, if you are angry. Or if you are...sad..."

"I am neither of those things," Hammer said. "I have a purpose that I strive toward, do you? I walk with purpose because I wish nothing to stop me from attaining what I have set my mind on. Why are you here?"

"Because my goddess commands me," Lark said, her voice suddenly taking on an aspect of authority that rocked Hammer back on his heels. "And I will be damned before a barbarian savage questions my divine commandment!"

Hammer stared hard at the woman. "You speak—"

Her slap shut him up instantly.

"Woman—"

Smack!

And suddenly, Lark was atop him, her legs around his hips, her pack hitting the ground with the sound of jumbled belongings, and her lips were searing against his own. Her tongue thrust forth, not sparring with his own, but dominating it entirely. Strength he had not expected caught him off balance, sending him down to his knees, then back on his rump, and finally completely supine. She mounted him, biting down hard on his lip, biting his throat and shoulders as her hands tore open his tunic. He gasped and growled as fierce need blossomed in his groin, in his chest, sparking an inferno that set his blood to burning for the woman.

"I am as strong as she was," Lark snarled, her hands pinning his hands over his head. And suddenly, nothing he could do was enough to budge the woman. He started to wonder—but her slap interrupted that train of thought. Before he could realize what she was doing, her hand had undone his belt and thrust his trousers down to grasp his surging cock. Something about her grip—magic?—flowed into his cock, swelling it into iron tightness, a sensation he'd felt few times in his life. Her wetness was against him, and he wondered when her leggings had vanished. Had they even been there? Had his mind simply placed them there, imagining it because it was logical to assume she'd be clothed?