The Three Adventurers Pt. 02

Included kinks:

High-Fantasy, Medieval, futanari, mini-gts, size difference, female muscle, strong-fat body type, full-figured women, big penis, exhibitionism, action, seduction, size praise

All characters are entirely fictional and all above the age of 18!

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Lyanne yawned as she stared up to the vivid colours of her tent. So much to not wasting any time with sleeping, but as shown by the book sunken into her lap, healing was indeed a taxing task. She peeled the bandage off, still red and wet with blood and cum, freed of any pain. Her wound was gone without leaving a mark on her muscles, which she flexed with delight and without any discomfort. She never grew old of admiring the old magic, even if that display of wonder always came with some initial pain. Wonder, that is what magic was. A wonder of the old age. One that vanished from the world, besides some shattered fragments living on through futas.

A grin always crept up when she remembered the look on her parent's faces when they were told that their daughter working the field was bestowed at birth with the last remnants of the ancient power that once ruled the world. Which came even more unlikely considering humans were furthest related to those who were once masters and wardens over all sorts of magic. Still, Lyanne had yet to discover the feeling of being as special as the maesters made it out to be ... and being treated as such. To the majority futas were nothing more than over-grown brutes, an anomaly that kept reappearing on the world at random. To the curious they were a relic of the ancient past, capable of some feats that ranged from magical wonders to glorified party tricks, depending on who to ask. And to the daring, certainly Lyanne's favourite kind, they were immaculate lovers capable of pleasure unmatched by anybody else. Lyanne had yet to come across someone who didn't fall into one of those categories. Well, maybe the company of other "magical" anomalies like her will broaden her horizon in that regard. A companionship of implausible uniqueness. For the numbers of futas never exceeded more than a few dozen in the entire world. Maybe a hundred in total, spanning all races. Crossing paths with another futa, let alone two, from different races even, now that was an improbability of chance that some would credit the whim of a god of fortune. But of course, Lyanne would never believe in such a thing.

She put the book aside, one of many Syn lent her in hope of getting closer to understanding the most serene and ancient of all languages -- High Elvish. A day of learning this was never destined to be and neither would it turn into such that night. Darkness had invaded the outside and embraced Lyanne's tent together with the merry, drunken, songs of her comrades. She joined in to one of the many ballads clearly born from wine as she put on the finishing touches in her reflection. Magical? She wouldn't go so far to call the woman frowning back at her that, but deemed it decent enough of a sight to head out. Her dark vest set nice and tight, her raven hair tied together comely and her girthy 7 inches tucked away as best as possible in her bulging pants. She crammed the ever-enticing, lavishly-proportionated woman drawn in black and white back under her bedroll and strolled towards the epicentre of music and intoxicating scent.

Gunjon proved one more he was a master of logistics. In no time he set up not one but two tents big enough to house hundreds of hungry maws and arranged them fed and their thirst quenched. And yet they just barely fit the ranks of visitors that came to drink and sing as much as the ones who invited them.

Lyanne walked into the big, green tent, towering as high as most taverns in the major merchant cities and smirked when she saw the scenes unfolding before her. Men of all three banners sat at the tables, laughing and bragging like they had always been brothers in arms. Their tables were bursting with beers and wine, foods of all corners of the world and were being ravaged by men of all sorts of races and backgrounds. Just one particular half-elf went sorely missing.

"Easy there, boys," Lyanne chuckled when the first gaggle of happily drunk faces almost stumbled into her. One could tell they had gone wild on their homemade schnapps again... and already paid the price.

The towering knight walked past a few fires before spotting Ser Lundor and Karstjan at one of the main tables, surrounded by dozens of empty mugs and clearly captivated by the great company of Brossim and his dwarfs turning drinking into an art form. Upon deciding she wouldn't wish to be the one to disrupt such an unlikely gathering she set her eyes for the main banquet instead, for her stomach kept on grumbling.

The halls of many counts and countesses paled in comparison to the delectable medley of culinary splendor put on display here. The boys certainly appreciated that as well, for the line snaking to the ocean of filled platters was longer than the one assembling before Syn's tent on payday. Which was generous like everything else she provided the boys with.

To nobody's surprise, Gunjon led the line and towered above the plentiful selection, his plate filled to the brim and then some to the dismay of everybody waiting. Truly, as the saying back home went, there was two things truly infinite in the world: The ocean ... and the hunger of an Islander.

Lyanne, knowing Gunjon wouldn't be urged on by any power in the world, passed by, one finger led to her lips and shushing the boys as she snuck up on him and pocketed a juicy looking chicken leg without him taking notice. Neither did he pay the roaring laughs behind him any mind either to be fair, too hypnotised was he by the prospect of further adding to his wide array of appetizers.

Lyanne noticed herself stopping with a silent stare amidst happy bites. Those were the moments that truly mattered. Seeing the boys this enthralled and coming together with friends, new and old made all trouble with Lord Daeron and his kin worthwhile. Well, not everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves as others. She spotted something green creep into the corner of her vision, morphing into an orcish back giving into chunky buttocks its owner didn't mind showing to the world just like the lack of enthusiasm. A part of her should have noticed something was wrong when she wasn't greeted by the biggest member of the band's thunderous laughter.

Fel sat alone at a counter in the corner, next to a huge barrel and looked thoughtfully into the mug in her huge green hand.

"What are you sitting here all alone for?" Lyanne asked and leaned over the bar, startling her comrade greatly before she realised who ripped her out of her deep thoughts.

"Ah... hey...," Fel said softly and looked at Lyanne top to bottom, taking in seemingly every detail that was to her. "Good to see you are back on your feets."

"It's just 'feet'," she corrected and noticed the orc's grey eyes stray away from her with a slow nod. "Aren't you enjoying yourself? C'mon this is the hour for celebration!"

"I am not in the mood," Fel growled and took another sip.

"Do your people not celebrate victory after a battle?" Lyanne asked, still leaning into the counter, yet barely standing taller than Fel sitting down.

"Battle? This was no battle. Had bigger scraps three times per week back home," Fel muttered and took a deep sigh before whispering in an even softer-spoken tone. "And people got hurt because of me."

It was simply impossible to make sense of orcs Lyanne thought. Fel made it a habit to turn everything into a big joke, especially in situations when humour was far from appropriate. Now she was brooding in solitude when everyone else is having the times of their lives. What would have been a welcome change a few hours ago now felt sour... wrong even. No matter how obnoxious and loud Fel could be most times, this glum, borderline dejected version of her made for an unpleasingly depressing sight. One that the raven-haired warrior ought to see corrected.

"What are you saying, Fel? Who?"

"It does not matter. It is done already," Fel said, while continuously looking down the knight's thigh until it all made sense.

"Hold on. Do you ... mean me?"

Fel didn't look up, but nodded after some hesitation.

"Oh, Fel! That was merely a flesh wound. Nothing to feel sorry for," Lyanne chuckled and now fully slid into the counter and back into the orc's vision with a clap of the giant's massive shoulder. "It's fine. For real. Now lighten up a bit. It suits you better."

Fel's tusks came out with her signature wide grin.

"If you say so... boss."

Suddenly, laughter and even greater commotion interrupted a brief moment of unexpected closeness.

"Who did this?! Was it you?!"

Gunjon stood around laughing faces, half seriously, half-jokingly accusing everyone for stealing his food for simply grinning sheepishly enough. His eyes wandered in search of who committed the worst crime imaginable on a constantly starving soul like him. He found his answer when he spotted Lyanne and Fel in the furthest corner, the missing chicken leg lifted into the air when Lyanne couldn't withstand the urge to tease him a little bit. She was possibly the only one to get away with such a sacrilege with just a knowing nod among Islanders.

"About time he noticed," Lyanne chuckled and took another hearty bite, leaving only bare bones behind.

"Heh. Did not want to wait, huh?"

"I think he could spare a bit. Not that he starts getting fat."

"Heh! Thought the same. But he was angrier when I did it before."

"Again? Hohoho, Fel! Twice per day? You got nerves," Lyanne scoffed so exaggeratedly she earned a chuckle from Fel. "Don't be surprised when he puts poison into your wine when you're not looking."

"I hope he does. Would make your fancy grape water taste of something at least," the green-skinned futa chuckled and shifted in her stool. "Well, at least some here know how to brew."

With a brow lifted high, Lyanne took hold of the jug and gave it a sniff, that almost sent her flying back.

"Is that Brossim's stuff?!" Lyanne coughed while the putrid scent kept lingering in her nose.

"Yep," Fel laughed and took another gulp while she shifted in her seat, with her hand reaching between her legs soon after.

"Everyone chooses their own poison," Lyanne sighed, even more so after spotting the orc's oversized hard-on almost pushing into the bar. "Guess it does something for you at least."

"Guess it does," Fel grinned without any shame.

How could Lyanne possibly expect something different from her at this point? If anything, the huge green futa seemed to be constantly erect nowadays. Strange, because she thought she'd notice something ... this unmistakable... straight away, but it would have been a lie to say she actively looked for it.

"Syn is not here if you look for her. I think she is still with Lord Prick."

Fel's words broke the brief but eery silence, not only because they came in the midst of Lyanne's contemplation of orcish virility, but also for the rough tone they came in.

"She very well might be," Lyanne said eventually. "And he goes by 'Duke Prick' by now."

Fel's swelling, deep laugh thundered louder and louder, before it infected Lyanne as well until her stomach hurt.

She was certainly a unique character. Even someone as inexperienced in orcish company like Lyanne could tell how Fel didn't fall into too many of the commonly known stereotypes for her people. It was rather remarkable how fast she picked up on a foreign language - a feat orcs were for sure not known for. Neither were they famous for hygiene or taking care of their appearance. Even in that regard an attempt was made to somewhat fit in. While the slaps of fur towed around her bulking frame did little to hide her more delicate parts, getting an orc to wear anything in the first place was like convincing a dwarf to take a swim in the ocean. Songs would have been sung about anyone who managed that sort of miracle. Yet, she sat there, freshly washed, her wild mane braided in a fancy manner, trying her best to blend into a world that was clearly not hers. A world, now that Lyanne thought about it, she knew little to nothing about.

Lyanne grabbed a stool, pulled it closer and took a seat next to a rather surprised Fel.

"Care to join me?" she asked wide-eyed.

"Sure. I just realised we never really sat down... and just talked about what brought us here. That sort of stuff," the knight said and reached for a mug that wasn't tarnished by dwarven schnapps.

"We really never did. I was looking forward to doing that," Fel said, again surprisingly soft-spoken, almost timid even. "What do you want to know?"

"For once, if there is still some wine left in that barrel."

"Sure! Take all you want," Fel laughed in bubbly excitement and lifted the barrel, by the sound of it still full, over her head and placed it next to Lyanne with ease.

The strength of an orc was almost frightening at times. Good, Fel was quite considerate in her use of it.

"Thanks. Well, how about what brought you here? Your people are a rare sight in these lands," Lyanne said and began pouring. "Why's that?"

"We are. We certainly are," Fel began thoughtfully. "Very few ever leave the desert."

"What is it like?"

"Hot. Much hotter. Nobody could run around like you do here. Not that anyone would have wanted that anyway... it is a sign of bad manners to hide your body. So, if you want to n-"

"Fel... you know what I mean," Lyanne smirked with rolling eyes.

The massive orc nodded and one could feel her mind drift away and return back to her past. Her gaze was distant and a knowing grin levelled her cheeks.

"It is a good home. Simple. Simpler than here. We do not have much, but we do not need much either. We take what we need and that is all. No more, no less," Fel whispered in an affectionate tone, interrupted with another gulp of Brossim's finest.

"A good home. Plenty of splitting elven heads and some good fucking. That is what life is all about, right?"

"I could think of some other things too," Lyanne said. "And I think we can agree not all elves need their heads split."

"No. Every elf needs to die. It does not matter if they live in trees or behind walls. They need to die."

Shaken by the casualness and total certainty with which she said that, Lyanne's mind began to race. Was there some beef between Syn and Fel she didn't notice until now? Or were half-elves an exception to orcs? That was impossible to tell yet. Whatever the case, she took a mental note not to bring up the topic again ... and to look over Syn and Fel more closely. Just to be save.

"So...do you miss it? Your home I mean."

"I often do," the orc smiled back. "Right now. Not so much."

"Why did you leave?" Lyanne asked and leaned in with interest.

"It is complicated... for a northerner to understand."

Fel's body noticeable tensed at the thought. Her biceps swelled another two inches, effectively surpassing Lyanne's utterly stretched sleeve right next to it.

"You can try," Lyanne encouraged, added with a cheeky bump into the bigger futa. "Besides, I'm by no means regarded as a northerner here."

"Anyone beyond the big rocks is a northerner to us," Fel returned, equally cheekily.

"Big rocks? You mean the weeping mountains?"

"Mountains? Weeping?"

Confusion claimed Fel. She might have learned to make sense of most words by now, but assessing metaphors or the origin of names was a step too far still.

"You know. Because all major rivers originate from there? Like the Durstrom? It looks like tears streaming down the mountainside," Lyanne said and earned another utterly lost frown.

"Doesn't matter. I guess it's just a northerner thing after all," she admitted, which Fel seemed to find extremely amusing.

"It is... well... we are different to your people," Fel began.

"I barely even noticed."

"Heh! But for real. We are not ruled by weaklings like Lord Prick. We follow the rule of strength. The strongest in a tribe is our chief. And when someone stronger comes along... well... the tribe will have a new chief."

"What happens to the old chief?"

"Well. Pretty much the same as with Lord Prick's brother today. Just for everyone to see and with both having their axes in hand and not a dagger from behind."

Lyanne sensed the conflict in Fel's voice, one that made her sound strangely vulnerable.

"Don't tell me there was someone stronger than you," she chuckled.

What was meant as a joke in the best intentions, wasn't received as such. Fel's wide face turned to stone, with eyes that gave away that the mere thought about this particular matter brought her great pain.

"I had to leave because I was. That was the problem," she sighed before Lyanne could apologize and concluding with another elongated sip until she could no longer pretend to be drinking.

"And you? Feel like talking about yourself a bit?" Fel asked eventually.

"That's just fair. Where should I start?"

"Why are you not allowed to have fuck?"

Lyanne was so baffled by that question she didn't believe she was asked those words long after Fel's green face demanded an answer.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who said I can't have... sex?" Lyanne asked, utterly confused.

The green woman scrambled for words with wide and lively gestures, but seemed as uncomfortable formulating her answer as Lyanne was waiting for it.

"You know... uhm. You are wearing your ironskin. And you do not want to kill. And ... you do not have fun with the prisoners. Is there not like... an... oath? Within your group of knights ... what is the word... c-chavalry?"

"You mean 'The oath of Chivalry'?" Lyanne asked and began grinning. "You think all knights are celibate? I mean... don't have sex?"

"Well... are you not?" Fel asked, clearly blushing by now.

"Oh, Fel. Being a knight doesn't make me a nun," Lyanne laughed and took a hearty sip to ease the tension. "And besides. I do enjoy having a good a tumble as much as any other futa, you know. Lady Edlyn can happily attest to that."

Fel's bulky 7'4" frame shook in disbelief, her mouth wide agape.

"The blonde? The small, fat one with the," Fel smirked and imitated the countesses' massive bosom with her hands. "That one?!"

"Yup. Her," Lyanne said with some pride and a growing tightness in her pants. "And I wouldn't call her fat either. More like... "very generously proportioned."

"No way!" the orc laughed happily and leaned in like Lyanne had just told her the most riveting story in all the realms. "You like big girls like her?"

"There is never too much of a fine woman," the Island warrior laughed, still unsure where Fel's sudden excitement came from.

"And about me being a knight. That's not about such things. It's about honour. And fighting for what's right. It's about serving and not about wanting. That doesn't mean I can't have some fun though."

"How did you become a knight?"

Fel was fully entranced now and stuck to Lyanne's lips eager for every new word.

"That's a long story," Lyanne exhaled.

"We got time," Fel chirped with almost childlike enthusiasm.

"Fine. It... wasn't an option really. It just happened. My parents were living off the sea at first. Fishers, boat fixers, ropers, all sorts of stuff, before we headed inlands and built our farm. We had to make due with little as well. So, I can relate to what you're saying," she said, returning the warm smile that listened keenly to her story.

"Soon we noticed that I wasn't just bigger and stronger than both my brothers, but I was stronger than most grown men."

She smiled and revelled in nostalgia before continuing.

"My parents didn't want me to train with wooden swords and spears. Gods forbid they saw us with anything resembling a weapon! There was no place for daydreamers on a busy farm. But every night, me and my brothers would sneak out and train together, until there was nothing left, we could teach each other," Lyanne said softly, realising she never told anyone the full story up until this very moment. "Until ... one day. Just by chance. There was a tournament held on our little island. Not a big one, but the first in many decades. Naturally, I had to enlist, after latching on to any opportunity to see the great knights I admired on the mainland for so long. As a poor farmgirl I just did so without a proper weapon or any equipment suited for a tourney."