The Thunderborn's Destiny

The fiery wet sheath enveloped his haft, and a guttural roar erupted from his throat. He opened his eyes and didn't recognize the trees or the sky. The stars twinkled, the moon was full, and the trees were still green, but...decidedly different. How far had he marched?

Lark's hips gyrated around his cock, stirring her insides with his manhood. She was panting, moaning, her head tossed back and her auburn looks gleaming with red as she tossed it about wildly, like some lioness tossing her head about after a kill. Her eyes were pale and golden, her skin almost ivory in the moonlight.

By Celestia, Hammer didn't even remember the moonrise or the sunset!

Still, Lark rode him, her hips pounding down powerfully on him now, her nectar flowing freely over his cock and sack, setting his skin a-tingle somehow. His orgasm was growing, burgeoning in the forge of his sack, gathering like all the armies of the North set to bear down on the weak villages of the South. Such a feeling he'd never experienced. A barbarian took pride in his virility, his ability to obtain several climaxes before ultimately flagging.

But Hammer knew what was about to happen. He could feel it in Lark's spasming, clenching sheath, his cock twitching as she rode him. Gods above, was this Sune herself? The skin...the ruby sheen...

The woman looked down at him with eyes burning bright with nude divinity. Looking upon the goddess...or some fragment of her...made his head spin and throb at the same time. Moreover, it caused his cock to erupt in a way that seized all his muscles, arching his back and clenching his throat even as he growled roaringly. The deluge that surged into...whatever this woman was...drained him utterly. And her own climax choked his cock, her hands digging angry red furrows into his skin as they bore down on him. Ruby and golden light, mingled with streaks of ivory, flashed in his vision—no, flashed around them both! He wasn't simply seeing it, it was happening before his eyes, emanating from the woman's loins as she absorbed his essence.

And suddenly, it was over. The night returned to normal. His cock began to flag, to his surprise. And the woman—

"That was...unexpected," the voice said. It was glassy, almost hollow, but filled with such power that his head throbbed and his joints ached. "In all my years among all the gods and goddesses of this world, I've never mated with a barbarian. Only Celestia knows what will come of this..."

"What?" Hammer asked, suddenly sitting straight up.

And then Lark fell off him, coughing and retching, vomiting on the ground beside them. Hammer fell on her, hugging her tight. "Lark?"

Sputtering, the woman was quivering as he hauled her atop him. Her pants were indeed gone, and his cock was indeed out, spent, and slick with nectar. The scent of sex wafted up and reminded him that his encounter had not been illusion or phantasm.

"Hammer," she groaned, rolling to look up at him. "The goddess...she was...in me."

"I know," he said. "I was too."

Lark's eyes went wide, her lips cracking into a grin as her hand reached for her slightly gaping cunny. His cum, surprisingly, did not drool out.

"That's strange," he said, looking down at her loins. "My cum...it's not there. As much as I pumped into you, you should be overflowing..."

"Sune took it," Lark said softly, nuzzling into Hammer. "For what purpose, I know not."

Hammer thought on that for a moment. If his seed went into a goddess...could it be possible that he would father a child with the goddess of love? He shook his head. Such thoughts were not a mortal's concern.

"We should camp here. The night is late," he said softly, stroking her hair as he began to stir. She clung to him, though, and he relented. He leaned over toward where her pack had fallen, opening it and pulling out a bedroll and blanket, disturbing some of her personal effects. He had enough chivalry to not peer too deeply into those items.

Spreading the bedroll out under them, he pulled Lark close and draped the relatively thin blanket over them. It did little to keep the elements out, but he generated much more body heat than the average human. He had a hard time believing Lark would catch a chill enveloped by his bulk.

The sun's rays peaked into the wooded area and Hammer felt like he'd slept just a few moments. Tired and rubbing sleep from his stubborn eyes, the barbarian realized Lark had already risen and was moving about the area. She seemed to be inspecting different plants, testing their touch, smelling them, and such like. He watched her for a bit, the way her lithe legs flexed and bent, the way her hips flexed when she would squat down. She had lost her tabard, wearing just a thin tunic that was snug against her athletic torso, letting her move fluidly and without restriction or obstruction.

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and the barbarian rose from the bedroll like a beast from its slumber. He started walking toward the woman when there was a shout, a crash of branches and leaves, and a fully armored man fell on his back between Hammer and Lark. A bestial roar shattered the peaceful morning, and the armored man clambered to his feet. Hammer made a quick visual survey.

As the man drew himself up, he straightened a gleaming steel helmet, and his full plate armor was dented and scratched in places. The emblems painted on it were all scratched or chipped, save for one: a red knight from a chess board game. Hammer instantly felt a connection to the man, stitched by divinity, he reckoned. The knight picked up a sword from the ground, its hilt plain but the pommel a red-stylized rose. It was an elegant piece that served as counterweight to a weapon that was otherwise the image of violence. Chipped and nicked, the broadsword had seen countless battles, but when it flashed with inborn light and burst into rosy-steel fire Hammer knew it was possessed of a kind of magic. The man brought his shield to bear, this one emblazoned with the flaming sword over a red field, the icon of Tempus, the Foehammer.

"Fight on, battleguard!" Hammer roared, just as a massive, hairy, horned beast thrust its presence into the clearing. A minotaur, the barbarian realized, and roared, falling into rage as he lunged at the beast. The knight shouted something but Hammer didn't hear it. His fist flashed with primal power as it crashed into the minotaur's snout, crunching bone and cartilidge as the magic in his tattoo activated, making his fist hard as iron. The beast roared, tossing his head around and bending down to gore the barbarian. The knight shouted again, but before Hammer could comprehend the words, the minotaur bore down on his, the horns missing him but his massive forehead butting him and buffeting him backward onto his rump with surprising strength.

The beast bore down on him again, angling his horns down to spear the barbarian, but Hammer grabbed on, roaring to Uthgar, to Tempus, to the spirits, and held the massive, eight foot beast away with inhuman strength. His arms and shoulders flushed with blood, the muscles tight and twitching, veins thick as they laced his arms. The minotaur roared with frustration, then, suddenly, relented.

Hammer let go, scrambled to his feet, and took a moment to gauge the situation. The knight was wide eyed, mouth agape, and Lark looked frantic. The minotaur shook his head, snorting and rubbing a big, hairy hand across his horns.

"Hells-blasted manling twisted my horns!" it roared thunderously.

"He didn't twist anything, the knight said, sheathing his sword and slinging his shoulder over his back. "It was a misunderstanding, clearly. Stand down, barbarian. There is no threat here."

Hammer gaped at the knight as he removed his helm, revealing a chiseled face, cleft chin, and thin stubble-beard. He had the bearing of a heroic figure, the kind of man one might read about in tales of valor and heroism.

"Gungir and I were just sparring," the man said, smirking. "And I was winning."

The minotaur snorted.

"I am Sir Allander Forespell. My comrade Gungir Bloodhorn is from the Bloodhorn Tribe, native to the Feywild. His story is a long one and even I do not know it all."

"I don't speak of my past," the minotaur grumbled in a voice deep and rumbling as Hammer's. He stared the barbarian down. "Your strength is unlike most of your hairless kind. How is this?"

"I am a barbarian," Hammer said, glancing at Lark with a grin. She returned it slyly. "You might find that my people are possessed of greater mettle than most humans."

"Hmph," the minotaur grunted, and the knight walked toward Hammer. He was a full head taller than the armored man. Regardless, he had a bearing and inner strength that made him seem mightier than his corporeal shell could contain.

"I am Hammer, of the Tribe of the Thunderbeast," the barbarian said, his voice assertive and confident as he recalled his tribe's patron totem. "This is Lark, a priestess of Sune and skilled healer. We travel to Silverymoon."

"Silverymoon," Allander said, grinning. "It seems we're on the same path, my friend." He clapped the barbarian on the shoulder. "Come, it is time for breakfast. Our third ought to be finishing up as we speak!"

"I travel alone," Hammer said quickly. Lark looked as if she wanted to speak up, but held her tongue.

"Nonsense," Allander said anyway. "Come, a big man like you must be starving."

Indeed, his belly made an audible grumble. "Fine," Hammer said, nodding at Lark. Her smile must have been one of relief.

"My lady," the knight said, bowing at Lark. "It would be an honor for you and your man to join us at our humble table."

Lark snickered, taking Hammer's big arm in her hand as they followed the towering minotaur and deft knight. It wasn't a long walk, and Hammer was not a little bit surprised to find their third member was a woman unlike anything he'd seen before.

Slight, sleeker and leaner than even Lark, was a woman with icy blue skin, lines of pure white looping about in whorls around her arms, joints, face, and legs. Her "hair" was actually a bundle of dangling, tinkling crystalline structures that formed braids resembling human hair. They glinted and refracted sunlight into splashes of rainbow as she bent over a low-burning fire, a large metal pan bearing something delightful before her. She meticulously poked at the meat and eggs, sprinkling dashes of powder amidst the food.

She looked up when Gungir made a heavy crunching sound with his hoof. Her eyes narrowed immediately. "You two go off tumbling around with each other and bring back more mouths to feed. It's fortunate I cook in anticipation of the minotaur's hunger, though I daresay that man-thing will eat nearly as much."

"More," Hammer said, his stomach rumbling in response to the delicious scents. "By the Thunderbeast, woman, what is that?"

"Venison, fowl, and duck eggs," she said with a delicate, airy voice, turning back to her food.

"By Sune, he's smitten," Lark chimed in, smirking as the barbarian knelt by the cooking food, eyes wide with eagerness. "My apologies, fair lady, the barbarian knows not his manners when food is about. I'm sure his uncouth kin know nothing of seasonings, and he's in awe of them."

The genasi cast a wary eye at the auburn-haired woman, then to Allander. "Who are they, Allander?"

"Hammer of the Thunderbeast Tribe, and Lark, priestess of Sune," the knight said, resting his helmet on a stump by the fire. "The barbarian tried to rescue me from Gungir."

"He bent one of my horns," the minotaur grumbled.

"It looks fine," the genasi woman said. "I am Vespire, a bladesinger. I'm sure you've heard of our ilk. The eladrin of Evereska taught me my craft, and I added my own flair to the craft. They didn't appreciate my 'bastardization' of their art, thus I left, but not before earning the favors of several eladrin princesses. And such. Allander is a servant of the Red Knight, though he knows full well that Tempus is more powerful. Gungir is a warden. We found him after he came here from the Feywild."

"A warden?" Lark asked. "I've never heard of their kind before."

"The earth," the bovine said, "the sky, the storm. The mountain and the earthblood within. They are my companions. They lend me their aid as the spirits aid your barbarian friend, as your goddess aids you, as...well, as the air itself aids Vespire."

The minotaur spoke with eloquence and sophistication. More so than when they had met him first. It struck Lark as strange, and Hammer only grunted.

But then the barbarian rose, and though he was a full head shorter than the minotaur, he was just as wide of shoulder. "I am of the storm as well," the barbarian said, thunder rumbling in his throat. "Perhaps we are more kin than appearances would suggest."

He cracked a grin at the minotaur, but the horned beast-man merely tossed his horns about. "If you touch my horns again, I'll gore you."

Hammer only laughed, clapping his hand against the beast's shoulder. "You tried that, remember?"

"Food is ready," Vespire snapped, producing three bowls. She shoveled equal shares into each, handing them to Lark and Hammer, and keeping the third for herself. Divvied in such a manner, there was not much remaining on the pan over the fire.

"There's not enough for us," Allander said, though he knew what Vespire was going to say in response.

"Should have thought about that before brining strangers into our midst."

Gungir snorted, stamping his foot. Hammer looked to Lark, and the priestess smirked.

The woman fished into her pack and produced a leaf-wrapped bundle of bread. Handing it to the paladin, she said, "It's elvish waybread. If that doesn't slake your hunger, I know of nothing that will. Half a slice for each of you." She eyed the minotaur. "One slice for you, actually."

Allander did as he was told, but the minotaur shoveled the remainder of the package, five slices total, into his hungry maw.

Half an hour passed, and he was on his back, clutching his stomach.

*****

Hammer had relayed the vision that had set him and Lark upon their course for Silverymoon.

Lark sat next to him, a hand on his forearm idly, by the symbolism was enough for Vespire to get the hint. The windsoul genasi had marked Hammer from the first moment she saw him as someone she wanted to explore more intimately. The way Lark put her hand on the barbarian's muscular arm, though, was evidence that she felt the barbarian her man. Or, at least, her goddess's man, if the vision was to be believed. Vespire scoffed inwardly.

It wasn't as if she wanted to take him for herself. She just wanted a new taste in her mouth. Something other than fowl and eggs, paladin and minotaur. Hammer was obviously interested in her. She could tell by the way he appreciated her cooking. Hells, it'd been the same way with Gungir when she and Allander had met him.

By all the elements that were a part of her, Allander had been even easier than that. The formerly terse, overly serious warrior only needed a flash of thigh, a sly grin, and his trousers were slung over a tree branch and the man was rutting her like a hungry dog. She shuddered. It had been the most unremarkable encounter of her life.

"Vespire?" Allander said. She realized she'd lost herself in her ruminations.

"What?"

"They asked how long the journey to Silverymoon was from here. You know this area better than the rest of us."

"Oh," she said. "Several days, perhaps a tenday. If you fancy yourselves woodsmen, then mayhap quicker. It takes skill to navigate the forests and avoid danger at the same time."

"I fear no danger," Hammer said quietly. His voice was like distant thunder again. "Come what may."

"Indeed, but some of us don't want to have our hair mussed or our makeup smeared," Vespire said snidely. Lark bristled, her hand tightening slightly on Hammer's forearm.

"I've hunted worse than these woodlands have to offer," Lark snapped. The instantaneous tension between the two women grated against Hammer.

"Be silent, women," he said. "I'm sure she meant no offense."

"Indeed," Lark said coldly. She removed her hand from his forearm.

One point for me, Vespire thought inwardly, smiling a small, petty smile. "Regardless, it would not do to find ourselves neck deep in goblins or worse."

"How worse," Hammer asked.

"A dragon. Hill giants. Beasts from the Feywild." The minotaur's voice was deep and rumbling as well, like a landslide. Vespire noticed that Hammer felt some sort of connection with the horned man-beast. That struck her as amusing.

"Ah, but we've our own fey, don't we, Gungir," Allander said, slapping the warden on the back. He snorted, tossing his head about like an irritated bull.

"That hardly equalizes things. If we encounter a Cyclops, or satyr, or worse, a fomorian, we will be in dire straits," the beast said. He snorted again, fists clenching. "And you have no weapons, barbarian."

"More than you can see," Hammer said, holding up his tattooed fist and clenching it. Grayish light, dull and lusterless, laced the veins pumping through the mighty fist. It faded, and he grinned.

"Douse the fire," Vespire said, rising suddenly. She reached behind a nearby tree, belting on a fine leather belt with mithril filigree, holding a matching scabbard and a rapier with a swept hilt and leather-wrapped grip. Miniature rubies and sapphires were set into the pommel and secured with enchantments that made the sword, an elegant rapier of elven make, hum in her grip. She tied the belt off, letting the remainder of the length dangle between her thighs, and waggled her fingers in a down-sweeping motion in front of her body.

Flickering into existence, as if it had never left her body at all, was a form-fitting suit of leather armor, darkened and studded with gleaming silvery studs, that hugged her slight, athletic curves, pushing her small breasts up beneath the bodice, and wrapping her forearms and shins, up to her knees, in sleek armor.

And when it was all done, and she was fully armed and armored, the fire was still smoldering.

"Gods-blasted slow-wits," she snapped, summoning frigid air with her Art, and using it to extinguish the embers. "Get you up. We've miles to cover!"

"Insatiable women," Allander said snidely at Hammer. Before the barbarian could respond, Vespire intervened.

"You couldn't sate me with your best efforts, Allander. Now get your ass moving. If we stay here any longer, we invite trouble to our camp."

"The wind-girl is right," Gungir said, rising quickly. He strapped on a massive hide hauberk and thick leather boots. His low-slung cloth kilt was all else he wore, but the spear he pulled from behind a tree looked big enough to skewer half a dozen men in one thrust, and the hide-wrapped shield he threw over his back was likely too heavy for a human like Allander to carry.

The paladin, already armed and armored, merely shouldered his pack and was prepared. Hammer and Lark, of course, had already been ready for the road when they were disturbed by the man and minotaur's duel.

*****

Gungir had a hunger that couldn't be slaked by food. He watched the windsoul summon her leather armor and stifled a growl before it left his throat. The wispy, revealing cloth she'd been wearing had been fueling his primal lusts for the entire morning. It was part of the reason he'd taken to sparring with Allander, to work out some frustration.

And now, that frustration remained and his bedmate was ready to hit the road again. The prospect of awaiting dusk, when they would make camp again, to savor his morsel was not pleasant. Grunting, he put a hand on Vespire. "I would have a word," he said, and Vespire, as she was busy securing her pack, instantly knew what the beast wanted by his tone of voice.

"You three go to the road, make sure the way is clear. Gungir and I will make certain evidence of our passing is gone," she said. Allander, still a little sore on the ego after her jab at him moments ago, muttered under his breath and lead their new companions away.