Stump

A twisted old Goblin comes upon the scene of an epic battle between the forces of good and evil. There's only one survivor.

This fantasy adventure story started out as a Halloween submission but evolved as I wrote it. It's a long story, so strap yourself in and read on. I hope you enjoy the ride.

All characters engaging in sexual activity are 18 years old or older.

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Chapter 1

An Epic Battle

Stump trudged through the dense woods, cursing every step of the way. His gnarled scaly green hands held a short bow with an arrow knocked and ready.

"I hate hunting," he muttered. "I like killing but I hate hunting."

He repeated it like a mantra, over and over again, just under his breath. He didn't really hate hunting it was just something he said while he hunted.

His hunched lumpy form traveled quietly through the dense forest, avoiding dry branches. The throbbing strains of age made his joints and muscles ache, making him limp stiff legged and slow until his old body warmed up.

His dark brown eyes scanned the forest from side to side, missing nothing.

Noting a game trail, he stopped at its edge and crouched down to inspect the ground then took off at a muscle-warming trot, as silent as the stag he now hunted.

Stump was a Goblin born of the Harga clan. He'd been born to the clan, but hours after his birth the tribe shaman had carried him far from it and left him in a hollow stump next to a rutted dirt road more than 20 miles from the village.

The tribe didn't accept weak or deformed offspring. Custom dictated he be killed outright or left to fend for himself. If the gods wanted him to live, then he'd live.

Stump was born small, with a twisted spine and unnaturally large hands, feet and genitalia. His wide-set brown eyes were large and bulging over a thick overhanging brow and his scaly-looking, heavily-wrinkled skin was a mottled green-gray. His upturned nose was wide and flat with round, wide, up-angled nostrils. His head was large, misshapen and covered with short spiky green hair shot through with gray. His teeth were sharp and pointed, his mouth was large and nearly lipless and his tongue was long and thick. He'd been a hideously ugly deformed infant born of a race already ugly to begin with.

An hour after the shaman left him in the hollow stump, just as a pair of hungry wolves sniffed out the crying Goblin child, a rumbling wagon caravan rounded a bend on the road, scaring the hunting carnivores away.

The misshapen infant cried so loud his wail cut through the rumbling wooden wheels and screeching ungreased wagon axles.

The white-haired old man driving the lead wagon hollered out a command and the long line of wagons came to a slow grinding halt.

The old man jumped off the wagon and strode to the tree stump to find the ugly Goblin infant wailing, squirming in a puddle of its own watery waste.

He reached in gingerly, careful not to get its filth on his hands and motioned to one of the mounted caravan guards patrolling ahead and around the caravan. He waited until the young man got close.

"Nikol, go get Marati," he said, pulling out the squirming squalling Goblin infant and holding it gingerly in both hands.

He stared at the child for several minutes, scrunching his face in disgust. Its back was twisted, its skin was a strange shade of mottled green and gray, its large bulging eyes were scrunched closed, its ears were large, long and pointed, and its wide mouth was a gaping nearly lipless hole as it cried. Its thin neck was not yet able to hold its bulbous oversized head upright.

"Gods, that's one UGLY creature," he said out loud.

Eventually, the guard returned with an ugly gray-haired middle aged woman in tow.

"Looky here, Marati," the old man said holding the squirming infant in her direction. "Looks like the gods finally answered your prayers. You have a son now."

"And his name is Stump."

Marati looked at the child and her angry, bitter cold heart thawed just a bit.

She'd tried to entice a man to put a baby in her belly for years now, but no one wanted anything to do with her. She was nearly as ugly and deformed as the Goblin child the white-haired old man held out to her and with a sour personality to match.

And so Marati the Twisted raised him as her own. She was cruel and bitter but she cared for him, providing him a squalid painful childhood full of starvation, beatings and malice.

She took out her misery on the twisted little outcast, beating him mercilessly for the slightest imagined transgression. She seemed to enjoy his pain and misery.

Marati abandoned him in a small town eight year later when she finally convinced a man as ugly as she to marry her. The man insisted she get rid of the "horrid little monster" so she discarded him as one does a piece of useless garbage, and he grew up in the streets of Briarscrest.

From the day his adoptive mother abandoned him, Stump was on his own. He learned to survive by stealing and scrounging. Like a rat, he could squeeze through holes smaller than himself and learned to pick pockets, lie, cheat and steal like the other starving homeless children living on the streets.

His deformities never prevented him from doing anything. His back was twisted, but he could still run, dodge and squirm his way out of pretty much anything. As for his enormous genitals, he kept them squeezed into a loin clout, well hidden under a pair of baggy trousers.

Everything changed when he went through puberty. Though he was barely over four feet tall, his massive genitals outgrew his skinny malformed body. But his biggest problem was his almost constant erection. One glance at a woman and he was instantly up. He was in a state of constant arousal, causing the baggy pants he normally wore to tent out obscenely. His friends avoided him once this started to happen on a regular basis.

Stump's limp penis was almost eight inches long. When stimulated, it was longer than his upper leg and as thick, gnarled, knotted and lumpy as an old tree stump and his balls were nearly as big around as his clenched fists. They would bloat and swell when he became aroused and shrink down and empty when he came.

He had no way to control his body's reactions and eventually learned to tuck his lumpy boner into the waist of his baggy pants, under the frayed rope he used as a belt. The only thing that helped was masturbation. The more he masturbated, the more control he had, the more he was able to function to some small degree in the town's underground society.

Goblins are generally a small race so he never grew taller than four feet eight inches. His thick knobby cock finally stopped growing when he turned 18, but he could only control his erections by masturbating... meaning he masturbated all the time.

From then on, he'd spent his life fucking all the women he could; thieving, adventuring, murdering, betraying, and spying until he grew old and tired of it all. Then he built himself a comfortable cabin with a rather small portion of the mountains of loot he'd acquired from a long life of adventure, and resigned himself to live away from the people who judged and reviled him, attacked and bullied him.

Stump glided through the dense underbrush like a ghost, leaving not a rustle in his wake. As he trotted along, he suddenly heard the metallic clang of blade against blade and felt the telltale signs of magic in the air. This was something unique to him, he'd always been able to tell when magic was around, either wielded by a mage or imbued in a person, place or thing.

He stopped dead in his tracks and crouched, his large pointed ears twitching to catch every sound muffled by the dense woods. His pointed teeth were clenched in a grimace of fear and anger. This was his forest!

He heard branches snap and leaves rustle from the game trail up ahead and, with just enough time to draw and release, shot an arrow unerringly at the ten point buck that suddenly appeared barely ten yards in front of him.

The animal took two bounding steps, crashed against a thick tree and fell to the ground with Stump's arrow lodged in its heaving chest, the wound pumping out its heart's blood onto the damp loamy forest floor. Its rear legs kicked wildly in its death throes.

He checked on the animal, marked the area with broken branches dragged in the buck's blood, and continued down the trail, nervous but eager to see a battle.

Crouched low but running fast, he sped down the trail, aches and pains forgotten, every sense engrossed on the world around him.

He stopped when the forest ended suddenly at the edge of a large grass-covered glade.

Crouching behind a clump of dense bushes, he carefully parted their branches and peered out.

Three people fought on a grass-covered hill. Patches of the hill smoldered and burned, the result of fire spells launched by an obviously powerful mage.

Bodies lay in postures of death near the top of the round hill, some of them still smoldering or aflame, obvious recipients of the mage's vicious fire magic. Other bodies lay tangled together in attitudes of death, their armored bodies slashed, cloven or smashed by sword, axe and mace.

It was less than ten minutes since Stump heard the first clash of battle yet bodies lay strewn across the hill in bright splashes of blood, red licking flames and dark smoking ash.

His bulging excited eyes watched the three figures fight. One wore dark robes, The Mage, and the other two wore plate armor. The mage had pointed ears and long flowing brown hair shot through with golden highlights, an elf by the look of him.

The two other armored figures appeared to be human. The taller one was broad shouldered but slender and obviously incredibly strong and agile. He wielded a long sword with unbelievable skill and quickness and bore a tall, curved kite-shaped shield with surprising ease and grace. His shining plate armor was close fitting, allowing ease of movement, and his helmet had a long bright gold plume flowing strangely from its bottom edge. Stump thought of him as The Knight.

The other, slightly shorter fighter wore heavier, more robust plate mail and swung a massive warhammer with surprising ease. Stump labeled him The Fighter.

Stump watched as The Fighter swung his hammer in a wide arc, intending to knock the mage's head off his shoulders only to see the mage duck down to avoid the powerful blow which smashed The Knight on the side of his helmeted head, sending him spinning and rolling like a lifeless rag doll down the hill to sprawl unmoving on the sward.

Stump heard The Fighter shout in dismay and renew his efforts to smash the robed figure into pulped flesh and shattered bones. He swung and thrust the heavy weapon, hoping to score at least one bone crunching strike.

The robed figure swayed and danced, avoiding the weapon with difficulty. Finally, he stopped dancing, stood his ground and raised his right hand over his head, intending to cast a powerful death-dealing spell at his heavily armored opponent.

A bright light lanced from the mage's raised hand just as the armored form swung the hammer in a powerful and inexorable downward arc.

Stump watched as a bright bolt of powerful energy pierced The Fighter's body, through his armor, through his heart and out the other side to gouge a large hole in the smoldering ground. At the same time, The Fighter's massive hammer crashed down with devastating force on the robed figure's head and then down, killing him instantly and shattering and pulping his body into an indistinguishable bloody ruin.

The Fighter fell to his knees then toppled forward to fall dead on the mage's shattered remains, his mighty heart pierced through and through.

Stump's heartbeat was racing with excitement and greed. There was a fortune littered on that hill... armor, weapons and items infused with magic.

He could feel their magic throbbing in his bones.

He'd make a fucking killing!

Stump crept out of the bushes wearily, his bulging eyes flicking around looking for danger, and finding none, limped up the small hill.

He stood at its crest and surveyed the scene, cataloguing all the valuable items he could see. Several sets of plate, chain and leather armor, swords, axes, a massive warhammer, and then of course they were each probably carrying valuables of some sort.

He clapped his hands in glee, expecting a windfall that would significantly add to the already large fortune he'd amassed over the years and buried near his home.

First, the buck... he trotted back to it and quickly gutted, skinned and quartered it, putting the edible and usable parts in game bags. He piled the viscera a dozen feet from the game trail, leaving it for the scavengers. Nothing would go to waste. Then he carried his kill to the edge of the low hill.

He started on the bodies at the bottom of the shallow hill, stripping them of valuables and putting the contents in their packs. He even stripped off their clothes. They were well-made. Good materials were hard to come by. Then he laid the bodies out in two neat rows.

He made two groups, "the good guys" and "the bad guys." As he worked, he discovered they were all male and of various races. There were humans, elves, dwarves and even a tall powerfully-built, green skinned half orc.

For some reason Stump left The Knight for last. There had been something about him he couldn't quite pin down, something different and unusual. Maybe it was the way he moved or the shape of the armor.

He realized what it was as soon as he approached the fallen knight... it was a woman. The fine armor was forged to fit a woman's shape. The breastplate had two outward bulges resembling a woman's breasts, cleverly designed in a way that still made it capable of deflecting a striking sword or thrusting lance. The rest of the armor hugged a small waist, wide hips, and long lean powerful legs. She was a tall woman.

Stump felt himself harden at the womanly shape sprawled lifeless on the grass. He tucked his hard cock under his belt then jumped in fright as the armor rattled when the form twitched and moved.

She was alive!

He drew the long hunting dagger he wore at his waist, next to a sheathed slender-bladed shortsword, and crept forward, wary as a rat. She writhed in pain. Her helmet was crushed in at the temple and there were rivulets of blood down her neck. He could see them in the gap between the helmet and the breastplate.

He took the tall woman's sword and shield, which were lying beside her and moved them out of reach then sheathed his dagger and carefully tried to remove her helmet.

It took him a few minutes of twisting and turning to get it off her head. He could tell the deep dent hurt her so he was as careful as he could until he was finally able to pull it off her head.

The bright gold plume he'd thought decorated the bottom of the helmet was actually the woman's long blonde hair. It had been braided close to her head but had come undone during the hard-fought battle.

She had an unlined chiseled face dusted liberally with freckles, a wide mouth and soft full lips, high cheekbones, a wide forehead, high arching eyebrows and long curving lashes the same color as her golden hair. The delicate features and their proportions combined to make her a stunningly beautiful young woman.

"Buh, buh, buh, buh," she stammered, unable to finish whatever word it was she was trying say.

Enormous green eyes flecked with gold stared up, unfocused and unseeing, blinking rapidly in the glade's soft sunlight. There was a large lump on her forehead, right above her left eye. The skin was split and bleeding profusely. Blood streaked her golden hair and smeared red rivulets streaked her face and neck.

He found the rag he'd used to clean his clawed hands after butchering the deer and held it to the bleeding lump on her forehead.

Stump stared down at the young human woman's lovely pale face. He figured she was in her late teens and based on the quality of her arms and armor, was more than likely a younger daughter from some noble house.

Stump felt the familiar ache in his loins as he stared down at the beautiful confused face. She was stretched out on her back. He decided he was in no danger so he found her sword, shield and helmet. He sheathed her sword at her waist and laid the other items close by.

Shaking his head, he snapped his fingers before her eyes, trying to get her attention.

Her eyes blinked even faster then slowly stopped and focused on his snapping fingers. He brought his snapping fingers to his face, drawing her attention to him and watched her eyes focus on his face. They were blank, innocent and filled with confusion.

"You okay, lass? You got hit on the head," Stump said nervously.

"I watched the whole thing from there," he said, motioning at the bushes.

She didn't reply, just kept staring blankly at his face, "buh, buh, buh, buh."

Stump stood and her eyes followed him. He leaned down, gripped her elbow, slipped a hand under her armpit and tried to pull her to her feet.

Rattling in her armor, she got her feet under her and stood at his steady urging, pulling and tugging.

Stump thought she was never going to stop as she stood and stood and stood. Once she straightened to her full height, she towered nearly two feet over him. She was six feet six inches tall. Easily the tallest woman he'd ever seen.

She stood, swaying unsteadily on her feet and looked around uncomprehendingly. He could see the confusion in her eyes as she raised her hand to gingerly touch her head with long delicate fingers, callused from years of gripping a sword hilt.

Flinching at her fingers' gentle touch, she looked down at Stump's old wizened ugly face, unsmiling and uncomprehending.

He gingerly took her long slender hand in his own clawed one and led her to the jumble of stacked weapons, armor and bulging packs, urging her to sit. Childlike, she did as he bid.

He'd avoided searching and stripping the dead mage, not wanting to see the handsome elf's shattered body, but he reconsidered when he looked at the two lines of bodies. Maybe he had a magic item that could help do something about them. He could feel magic thrum in his bones when he approached the elf's mangled bloody corpse.

Stump set his jaw, pulled the robes off and patted the shattered body down. His throbbing bones told him there was magic there... and lots of it. He found two rings on the elf's fingers, a pair of leather bracers on his wrists, a glowing red stone in a pouch at his belt along with a pair of gem-set earrings, the long dark robe and a long, slim double-edged dagger.

He dragged the body over to the "bad guys" and sat down cross-legged next to the tall beautiful knight and dumped the items on his lap. Her eyes never left him, not even for a second.

His throbbing old cock was still tucked under his belt. He was used to his body's reaction and didn't give it another thought.

Stump brought his attention to the baubles in his lap and examined each item carefully. One of the rings was meant to store magic spells, the other allowed the bearer to augment a cast spell, the bracers made the wearer harder to hit when attacked, the earrings allowed the two wearers to communicate mind to mind through short distances, the robe hardened like armor when struck and the dagger was magically sharp and struck unerringly wherever it was aimed. It was a glorious find.

He left the red gem for last. As soon as he picked it up, he knew it was what he'd been hoping for. It was stone of fire. Its enchantment allowed the user to cast spells associated with fire. It was a powerful item and responsible for slaying or injuring many of the warriors on the hilltop.

Stump held the many faceted red stone, about the size of a hen's egg, and walked to the two lines of bodies. Pocketing the stone, he struggled to stack the corpses into one pile at the center of the glade and was surprised when the tall knight stood to help him. She moved mechanically, mimicking everything he did.