CarelessCleric

The stench of blood and offal choked the night air. Trees, twisted and gnarled like the fingers of a corpse, loomed overhead, their branches slick with the dark splatter of slaughter. The clearing was littered with the carcasses of beastmen—mangled, charred, and torn asunder. Some still twitched, nerves firing uselessly long after life had abandoned them. The battle had been short but savage enough with both of them involved, a brutal display of merciless efficiency. Leoric stood amidst the carnage, his greatsword buried deep in the sternum of a still-gurgling brute responsible for the raid on the last village. He twisted the blade and yanked it free, a spray of thick, blackened blood painting his weathered cuirass. His long, wolf-pelt cloak was matted with gore, and the rough-stubbled jaw beneath his helm curled into a sneer of contempt. Beastmen, mindless butchers, only useful as corpses. A soft, sultry laugh echoed in the clearing. "You’re getting slow dear." Leoric snorted. "Still fast enough to clean up your mess, Sylvaine." Sylvaine, draped in shadow and the tattered remnants of a dress that clung more suggestively than protectively to her curvy body, sauntered toward him. Her raven hair cascaded past her shoulders, a stark contrast to the unnatural glow of her violet eyes or the distracting sway of the two pale orbs that formed her generous massive cleavage. Her lips curled in amusement, yet her hand, resting on her hip, crackled with the remnants of the devastating spells she had unleashed. The remains of her last victim were still smoldering—its upper body reduced to violet cinders, its lower half twitching pathetically in the dirt. Even now, the very air sizzled with residual sorcery, a lingering echo of the arcane magic she had called down upon the monstrosities that Leoric saw. One of the larger beastmen, its skull half-caved in but still clinging to a miserable semblance of life, let out a rattling breath. It reached for a discarded axe with a trembling claw. Leoric didn’t even flinch. His boot came down with a sickening crunch, silencing the wretch with brutal finality. Sylvaine tsked. "You could have let me finish that one." "You’ve had your fun," Leoric replied as he sheathed his blade. "Besides, I doubt you’re done savoring the moment." Sylvaine’s eyes gleamed. "You do know me so well." She knelt beside a dying beastman, the poor creature barely clinging to its shredded throat. With a delicate, almost affectionate touch, Sylvaine traced a finger down its ruined chest. It shuddered, the last of its wretched life pouring from it in choked gasps. Then she whispered something in a language that made the night itself seem darker. The beastman’s eyes bulged as its own blood boiled within its veins. Its skin blackened from the inside out, bubbling and splitting as its flesh cooked in a slow, agonizing death. Sylvaine exhaled in satisfaction and stretched her arms overhead. The dark energy of her magic pulsed through the clearing, heralding the promise of more carnage. Leoric exchanged a glance with her, walked past her...and his free hand swung downwards slapping her on the rear, sinking into one of her buttcheeks for just a moment as the warrior smirked. "Let's get going?" *** Thanks for reading. I really don't want more from this RP than to write how our characters go out on quests, fuck when at camp, at inn, or in the wilderness and then get another quest to fight equally evil monsters of another kind. The characters above aren't set in stone, feel free to be a witch, sorceress, priestess, paladin, amazon, fellow warrior etc. Just make sure your character is fittingly brutal when dispatching of her foes. Think last episode of Goblin Slayer where all experienced adventurers came in. They're scary fucking bunch and I want that experience here. For kinks, I'm open to a lot, I can dom, I can sub or switch. F or Futa, just make sure to have thick thighs big breasts and huge ass and I'm happy. Plus of course all characters 18+. Limit wise I just don't want to go into bad ends as I'm not looking for that, but we can discuss darker kinks of other kind.

(Example of how I'd like the dynamic and characters to be. Consider this as more of a presentation of the idea. Plus just the idea of the world and how I write.) Julee lifted the lantern from her knee, casting light to fend off the blackness of the forest. Her horse moved slowly, exhausted from the day's ride. If she were completing a normal task, she'd force the beast to fly up the snowy mountain path like a drake. Today though, she allowed it to move as slow as it wanted. The blizzard was making it exceptionally hard to see, and more focus had to be put into seeing beyond the flowing curtains of snowflakes than keeping her passenger comfortable. Under seven layers, her fingers and toes were only now becoming numb. The outer protective layer was surely falling apart, having been dampened, frozen, then cracked as the massive woman swung her lantern or drew her spear. As she approached the outpost, and the night grew darker, she seemed to have it in her cautious grip constantly. She knew the difference between the steps of a wolf and deer, and those of people, but any hunter with a clever mind could mask his steps in those of the wilds. A sword jammed through a tree told her that she was perhaps a mile out from her destination, one of the only Kadian-controlled outposts in the highlands. Julee checked it for blood, a sign that it was unsafe. Hawks couldn't carry messages through the storm, it was up to anyone fleeing to give warning. The blade was clean, and so she proceeded. The massive beacons on the wall appeared from behind the trees like the eyes of gods above. Julee's horse made a sound of relief. Through the whistling winds of the blizzard, her ears gathered the sounds of bowstrings being pulled tight, and the cracking of the bow's wood. These men were the toughest in the ranks stationed here at Farron's Gate, and so their bows were made more massive than any other. Julee did not flinch, raising her lantern above her head once again and waiving it left and right three times. When they did not duck their aim behind the wall, she raised her spear, and right away the gates opened. At a good time too as her passenger was shuffling quite a bit. Making the pressure in her chest and space between her thighs all the more noticeable. *Kavuro*, her spear, was almost more known than she. Julee dismounted her horse, letting the animal feel rest as she removed her incredible weight from its back. She looked like a giant to the blue-tabard wearing guardsmen waiting just inside the gate, standing far taller than their tallest, wider than their widest, and more beastly than what they hunted. Each step deserved a song of magnificence. The snow gave way like cream on milk left to separate. "Julee!" One guard called out. "We weren't aware of your coming!" The woman did not reply right away. One gloved hand removed the protection on the other, and as the pseduo-giant came close enough to reach out, she placed her scarred fingers and palm on his face. Her head covering was next to come off, letting her large thick braid and cascade of long locks fall down her back to her waist. Like a mane of a lion almost. Even in the night, her blonde hair was shining like gold. The man was lifted from the ground, head held in her hand like an apple she was about to take a bite from. **"Not a word of this to the Queen Velin."** Her whispered voice carried the footfalls of a dozen baloths, as well as the threat. **"Take a roll of bedding to storage."** She let go of the man, and made her way slowly to the dining hall, where she located a cauldron of soup sitting on hot coals. Without the heat, it would be a solid chunk come morning. She removed the lid and flipped it around, using its curved inside as a bowl as she scooped a day's worth of rations into it. She put the edge to her lips and tipped it, letting the savory meal slide down her throat. In a few minutes, the lid was empty and she was full. She grabbed a bowl from a stack on a nearby table and gathered another few servings, then left. She moved within the shadows, massive but unheard. As she stepped into the storage room, and confirmed no one was there, she set the bowl down on a barrel and began to strip, layer by layer. As the clothes were shed, her exceptionally bulky frame became more disfigured. "We are alone, my cub." She whispered, and pulled the string holding together her last layer. In her eyes, all she saw out of the ordinary was the head of hair coming from between her breasts. Anyone of normal height would see the rest, a young prince wrapped around her abdomen, head held between both warm sweaty melons. Julee pulled him from her and set him on a barrel next to his food. He looked exhausted, and was covered in sweat. No doubt it was hot in such a space. He was nearly nude, only in his underwear bleached to royal standards. His length throbbed and pulsed, pushing a stream of precum through the fabric. To the crowned prince of Kadia, this whole journey had quite a different experience. Even hidden beneath the layers of fur, padded cloth and smooth silk, the subtle movements of the Kadian prince's body were a thing hard to ignore. Like a living harness, he was left in a fairly comfortable position despite the clear lack of freedom. He couldn't even move his limbs, besides slightly dragging his forearms over her breasts. Pair that any vulgar man from outside of the capital city of Tharya would compare to udders. Heavy, soft, supple. with his hands resting on each for an extra sense of stability, each rougher turn or faster step had caused his fingers to sink into the soft flesh. These long pale fingers of his perfect for playing instruments or wielding a curved blade spent last few hours examining his sentinels body, all while the face nestled between the two melon-sized (if not larger.) orbs continued to offer soft, mass to rest his head on. Farron's Gate. It was one of the last outposts which marked Kadia's reign over this territory, even in the fierce blizzard, the blue-white-gold banners stood proudly, the heraldry of a lion with a sword within its maw a reminder of Kadian virtues as the people. Had he seen it with her, the principles they have followed would've flashed in his mind. All the things one opts to follow and believe in, whether they're a prince or knight or a peasant. **Respect your superiors.** **Die with valor.** **Fight with honor.** **Defend the weak and innocent.** **Act in the best interest of your king and countrymen.** **Praise the gods for all they give us.** But alas, in reality, most of these are rarely followed already, when corruption and profit easily twists these principles, even in a faraway place like this. An enormous gate, with two stone watchtowers built on either side, the troops stationed at the Farron's Gate are men and women used to the harsh surroundings, their eyes, used to watching the entire herds of beastmen watching them back. Wild-folk, with desires and goals beyond the understanding of even the greatest of Kadian scholars. Where one village had been razed to the ground by these savages, another had the people dragged out into the great orgy with the beasts, only to be left alone and unharmed. An enigma, like many things and figures within the great kingdom, a giant built atop the ashes of dynasties and empires that once ruled before them. Julee was an enigma like that too. His legs, try to stretch again, his heels bump against her thighs first, then, move back to the original curled up position, each pressed tightly against each of her hips, leaving his manhood, pushed out forward, giving involuntarily twitch with every rougher step her steed has made. It's when she reached for her spear, when the muffled, voice of a guard reached him, that Vizyan's body curled up again, hands as if to make matters worse, clutched onto her tits for his dear life as he could feel himself slipping, that bare back of his sweaty and wet, was like a hot wet rag being dragged against her chest and abs while his drenched underwear, felt more like a flimsy cloth rag than the fine bleached white silk which was supposed to keep him comfortable. He calmed down, his emerald green eyes trying to look up, still finding himself in complete darkness, trapped behind layers of protective clothes and sturdier replacement for her usual armor. He could hear subtle creaks of the hardened, padded leather she was wearing too, straining because of the second body she was smuggling beneath it. Dutifully following his order too. Where he had moments, expecting Julee to reveal him before the whole cohort of guards as if it was her and his mother's plan to humiliate him from trying to escape again, but she didn't. Even now as they were inside, he could only imagine how the rumored Farron's Gate looked on the inside. Was it similar in opulence and style to the capital? Could he find that each door and window frame, was decorated with gold and silver? While motifs of lions could be found on everything? Goblets, utensils, doorknobs, pillars, furniture. Of course, the reality was far more disappointing with such things, denying the prince the chance to see it, but maintaining a moment of closeness with his guardian a while longer. He could smell it, the vague scent of a soup or stew, quite salty and lacking the same quality, provided by the Arguran chef, that was spoiling Vizyan in his youth especially. Still, the moment he had heard soft gulps and gentle splashes of the said liquid in Julee's belly, his heart began to race. There was something about her enormous size, twice his height if not more, that made it all so strangely exciting, even these gulps he could hear so perfectly, the warmth that was landing in her belly, which had only turned his prison into even more unbearable sauna, all of it gave yet another perspective on the difference in scale for them, of how much she had to even eat to maintain her form and energy. He was almost saddened that he couldn't take a look at her belly, to see if the abs were now replaced with a soft layer of fat, impossible of course but, just hearing her swallow something so intensely, did, get his manhood to twitch again, dragging that wet, damp, precum drenched silky underwear of his against the layer of her clothes he was pressed again, his nose too, invited to take in the smell of her sweat mingled with his. Occasionally, his erect manhood would accidentally push against the string of her last padded shirt, giving Julee a quiet, muffled grunt, as Vizyan was unintentionally edging himself while hidden beneath her clothes. Something he was keen on putting to an end, and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard her address him. Even if, being called a cub, in a teasing or careful way was hardly appealing, as opposed to all the praises he heard before that compared him to a lion that would one day rule all of Kadia. He was weak all things considered, putty in her arms, despite the healthy body, glistening in the light of the few candles left around. Dripping in sweat and with his legs spread out and stretched to finally let the sore body rest, all while flashing that hard, erect manhood of his, drenched in his precum, wafting that smell of his musk forward, just as his eyes got to look at her face and, her breasts... *** **"Wonderful."** The woman moaned out. Her word choice was another example of the surprisingly delicate language a woman of her background could use. For certain most of the time she used simple, straightforward sentences without grace or fluff. But when she was around the Prince, especially during a time more intimate like this, or even more, she would sometimes only feel comfortable speaking in the small selection of precise words suitable for the golden gilded halls of the Queen, or those closest to her highness. His hair, black as ink which carried words freshly scratched into parchment, was wet and stuck to his forehead. His shirt, already nearly soddened with the sweat, that clung to his skin with the same feel as the night clothes of a sick young man as his chest is covered in ointment or balm, was becoming more tightened and bunched around his sides with each powerful gulp that tensed his cut jaws. The slick arms that both clung to her breast like insect mandibles, working with his whole body in order to pull nourishment, reminded her of the sheer amount of water he must have lost through the ride. Was he dehydrated? Would he last through the night without a pale or bucket of fresh water? She remembered how the prince's doctor had explained to her, when he was ill once before, that soup wasn't a remedy to replace water lost as the body fought off the evil spirits of disease. Going out right in that moment to gather water wasn't an option, as Vizyan was fully focused on the task he generously took on, so Julee was pressured to simply hope what he was taking so ravenously from her would make up for it. "Let me," The warrior said, leaning down and forward, pushing the bulk of her pillowy chest up to envelope the fragile prince in maternal comfort, and scooped him into her arms. She kicked over a barrel which, by the sloshing sounds, was assumed to hold wine, and sat down upon in as she placed her escort upon a barrel that still stood, shortening but not removing the extreme difference between them. Here, in this half-cradled position, Vizyan could let his pillar-width legs hold the weight of each breast, leaving his jaw to coax the flow of creamy sugar out of her. Julee felt like a prize cattle, smelling of milk and musk, sitting with pleasure as a tiny pale man relieved them of this unique stress. On the underside of her tanks, she felt his royal stick pressing like a blacksmith's steel rod into her. She wasn't entirely surprised. Every man in her own village had wanted her, to fill her and mate with her. She drew the eyes of each man, as rare as they were, in the royal guard, even as they sat among dozens of women. The prince was having a normal, primal reaction, typical of everyone, but she could tell this excitement was special because of what they were doing. The prince would have to come off of her bosom eventually, his mouth clouded partially white, like his teeth had melted over his tongue. Julee saw the milk that had run down his neck, soaking the collar of his taut shirt down to the level of his nipples. The woman's right side felt much lighter, much more agile, like air now that she had been nearly fully drained. But still, the left side had to be dealt with. "One more side, please." She asked, holding her apple-sized nipple to the boy's face, even as he let out a belch larger than life from what he had already downed, and his stomach looked beyond full. And it was merely the first more discreet pit stop of their journey to Maccabia... *** (Second example.) Rugna came to a halt upon hearing the guttural scream. She’d been running for hours, a daily exercise, but it was rare to hear someone screaming unless she was doing the killing. She dashed toward the sound, then slowed and lowered her large frame down into the undergrowth. Forkorn Orcs were tall and easy to see, when they stood, but down in the bushes, no one ever saw them coming. She came to a clearing in the rough, arid forest. A dry husk of a meadow housed a human caravan, a large one at that, each carriage adorned with bright blue flags and banners on each side with two men dancing around by the largest one, swinging their tiny little swords at one another. *Humans and their dinky swords.* She grinned. Watching the battle proved entertaining. The combatants were terrible, but that made it fun to watch. They were evenly matched in their horridness. A swing into a stumble, followed by a cowardly retreat from the man in half-rotten leathers. The man in thicker chainmail armor snagged his cape on a gnarled branch, pulling him off balance. The loud shifting of the plate and his own curses quickly announcing the man's vulnerable state. Mercifully, a man in dark leathers and a mask covering the bottom half of his face stepped out from behind the prancing horses to stab the man with the torn cape in the back. Once on the ground, the two men stabbed the downed man repeatedly. *Cowards.* Unable to defeat their opponent on their own. “Fuck you, you Kadian shite,” the man who’d been fighting shouted at the dead man. “Blimmy, Sag, he nearly tore me ear off!” “Calm down.” Sag wiped his blade on the dead man’s cape. “Fucker’s dead, you ain’t. That’s all you need to concern yourself with now.” “And where were you? You could have come helped me at any time.” “We was busy with the others,” Sag shouted. “They fucked Rodi and Pete.” The other man paled slightly. “Gone? By the gods, whoever’s in there had better be worth the mess!” “I’m sure he will be,” a new man said as he entered the clearing. A tall man, for a human, still not as tall as Ragna, though maybe he could reach her shoulder’s if she slouched. He slid his thin sword into a scabbard at his hip and knocked on the door to the caravan. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. It’s safe now. All the bad men are gone.” That earned him some laughs from the other two men along with four more who came out of the woods and into the clearing. *“I don’t want to,”* a small, timid voice replied from inside the well-crafted caravan. The banners around it, depicting that of a lion's cub, a particularly unique coat of arms, especially this deep in the orc-controlled territories. Rugna had only seen two human caravans before, one of a much smaller size and poor quality that held four people in a cramped little space, and another larger one that wasn’t quite as large as the one in the meadow but no less ornate. That had held one of their so-called lords. Wealthy landowners, as Rugna understood them to be. Whoever was in this caravan, with all its pristine carvings and gold inlays must be of even higher importance. “Oh, I know you don’t want to,” the tall man said. “But my dear Prince Vizyan, you must come out. Or else we’ll have to come in, and if we come in, you might die. And we wouldn’t want that, would we boys?” The men laughed and agreed, one even saying, “That’s right, Reggie. Wouldn’t want to hurt the lad.” Reggie… Rugna recognized the name, but from where? “If you don’t come out by the count of three, we’re knocking this door in, and we’ll be stabbing you till you’re as cold-dead as your little knight out here.” Reggie backed away from the door. “One.” He pulled his sword free. “Two.” Reggie and the Renegades! Human bandits that had taken their exploits far to the north. So far north, they were encroaching on the orcish tribes territory. But what was the prince doing all the way up here? That would have to be answered later, and the only person who could answer it was about to get killed. Rugna leapt to her feet, her axe slicing through one of the men, shoulder to hip. His two halves fell to the ground before the others even had a chance to turn around. Shifting her weight and momentum, Rugna brought the weapon up, the blade of the axe slicing into a man from groin to throat. It didn’t cleave him in half, but he burst open like an over ripe sunmelon. “Kazaks balls!” Reggie cursed, dodging behind one of his other men. The dragonbone axe pulled down and the reverberation of shattering bone slammed into Rugna’s hands, a well-known feeling by this point in her life. Two more sweeps saw the other hapless men sundered to the ground, leaving only Reggie. Rugna lunged at the man, causing him to fall to his rear. She didn’t attack, instead, savoring the fear rolling off the man. **“The ground thirsts and drinks its fill this day.”** She tossed her long, thick braid back over her shoulder. It reached all the way down to her butt, though she left the top of her head unbraided so that her hair gave her a wilder appearance. It did well with elves and humans. **“Let’s give it some more.”** She gave him a crazed smile and lifted her axe over her head. Reggie threw his sword to the side and lifted his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’ll give you whatever you want. I have gol—” Her axe crunched the man’s skull, shattered his spine, and sent fragments of his ribcage flying before the massive weapon impacted the blood-soaked ground. **“I have what I want,”** she said in Orcish. If the prince knew her language it would be a shock to her, but even if he’d heard her, there was nothing he could do to change what was happening. She walked to the caravan and pulled the door open, snapping the soft metal henges. A shriek and a whimper rang from inside. She stepped up onto the carpeted flooring, a strange sensation to her toes, though not unpleasant. There, huddled in the corner, on a plush couch fashioned into the wall of the caravan, a young man gripped a pillow as he shook in the fetal position, burying his face behind the soft satin, as though that would erase the world he didn’t want. **“In orc customs, when one’s life is saved, that person owes their savior a life debt. You now belong to me.”** Rugna’s green skin turned near black in the dark of the caravan. What little green her hair held hid in the dark, though nothing could hide the glow of her red eyes. The young man shook even more, whimpering some kind of prayer into the pillow. Humans. They scare as easy as fish in a pond. She sat next to the prince and reached a hand over onto his shoulder, a soft touch. **“There, there, little prince. You are safe with Rugna. I am the Garak tribe’s most renowned warrior, and I will see you home.”** That brought the prince out of hiding. His emerald eyes filled with tears but also hope. *“R-Really? You’ll… take me home?”* Rugna nodded and stroked his golden hair. **“I will, as long as you show proper respect, fear, and adoration for your savior.”** A grin spread across her face. **“You belong to me, little prince. I claim ownership and cast my protection over you. As long as you are obedient to me, I shall defend your life and your honor.”** The prince nodded. *“O-Of course. I swear on my family name. I shall obey your every command.”* Rugna’s grin turned wicked. **“Good. Now get on your knees and lick my feet clean. I’m in need of a bath. I’ve been running this morning, and you took me off course from my usual dip in the spring. Don’t worry. I didn’t get any blood on me.”** Rugna pulled the leather strap at her back, releasing the knot to allow her breasts free. What little gold she owned, she’d fashioned into rings that pierced her brow, ears, nose, belly and of course, her large, dark green nipples. **“It’s just sweat and a little grime you’ll have to contend with.”** She leaned back on the couch, letting her arms rest on the smooth fabric, the hair of her armpits catching a small but blessed breeze through the wood-slatted window. Running her fingers through the top of her hair, she smiled down at Prince Vizyan who moved ever so slowly down to the floor on his weak little knees. **“Work your way up and I’ll even give you a kiss for a job well done.”** She gave him a wink, and added, **“but don’t skip my ass or pits, little prince. I expect you to take your time on my extra sweaty bits.”** The prince swallowed hard and nodded. *** It's been many months since that fateful meeting and Rugna was still by his side. Different, in some ways, closer, gentler, through the months of interaction the sickly prince. Even now. On the run, from the crown itself just to save his life. Their arrival at the Brass Boar Inn wasn't uneventful. Even now, wrapped in so many furs he could still remember the cold touch of the steel dagger placed against his throat. It happened quickly, with Vizyan, secured firmly against her chest, shielded from the rain, as the heat of her body and wet, slaps of her naked feet moving across the grass reassured him they were completely alone. Even that didn't last, as thudding of hooves, multiple riders, were chasing after them, interrupting Rugna's leisurely walk through the Agvald Woods at night. Normally no fool dared to venture into them without an escort, even more so, a band of riders wouldn't do that normally. So- He could hear her harsh, deep rumbly voice mutter something in her alien tongue, his body pressed closer to her flesh, could feel the tension of her muscles preparing for the incoming attack. To flee the capital initially they had used the services of one of the Barossian merchant caravans that frequently visited the Capital city of Tharya. It went without a trouble yes but now that the word has spread, back at home about the prince's disappearance, it wasn't too surprising to think the merchant that had offered Rugna a ride connected the dots. Vizyan was unaware of that, but it was worse, rather than King Zaphiel's royal guard, what came after them were mercenaries. Mercenaries aiming to kill the massive orc through any means necessary. The familiar feeling of her body changing poses to draw her two handed axe only caused him to hold his breath, the stampede of rushing horses grew closer only to be interrupted by a loud **THUNK** as the very weight of the blade in itself was enough to connect with first of the few riders that attempted to as Vizyan could only assume, strike her. What he did not expect to hear, was the sound of a breaking glass, and sudden feeling of heat against his back. The rider was holding a bottle with a flammable substance inside. Causing some of the mud beneath it to bubble ominously as other mercs shouted orders preparing to circle and slowly close in on Rugna. Before Vizyan knew it they were retreating into the woods. What was minuts of dangerous chase and Rugna's hunt on his pursuers, to the princeling lasted only seconds as he soon felt blood dripping from underneath his fingernails. His body slumped weakly against her, sagging against the rags that made up most of her clothes as the prince simply blacked out, suffering one of his episodes, his body growing cold, while Rugna was forced to ignore his critical state, in favor of defending herself. Next time he had woken up he was no longer in the safe, dark confines of Rugna's clothes, but cold grass and the uncomfortable roughness of a scaled armor digging into his back. With muddy ground of some distant clearing scattered in massacred bodies of the dead mercs that had made the mistake of not only crossing Rugna, but even daring to try and use Vizyan as leverage to spare them. The man had held his unconscious body moments prior, had his head crushed between the great Orcess's palms. No words were exchanged, Vizyan simply threw himself into her arms as she tossed the body of the mercenary away, not before long, he helped brush her palms off blood, whlist failing to properly clean her claws. Not that it mattered. *** That's how it felt as they entered the Brass Boar, after both of them hastily looked over themselves, hurrying for their next pit stop. They had to get to Montera, the port city, and from there, hopefully, find all manner of necessary herbs and goods for Rugna to work on a "cure". He believed her, after experiencing his improvements first hand. He nearly bled out the last time she stopped his episode, feverish and light headed, the promise of curing him just...won him over. He didn't want to perish trapped forever in his quarters, and thanks to her he already got to see more of the world outside of the castle walls, the wilds he had seen with her, small towns and villages scattered around the lush green lands of Kadian Kingdom. All until now. He held onto her massive hand- No, just one of her palms, with no intention of letting go as they approached the doors to the Brass Boar. The sign depicting the animal, crudely painted with cheapest brass-like colored paint squeaked eerily while showing the sign of its age and chip, it swung uninvitingly as the faint glow of orange light was visible through the dirty stained windows of the inn also didn't inspire confidence. The inn for whatever reason, so far from civilization...was packedl. A bad sign, given what just transpired but they had no other choice, his hand was worryingly cold against her massive palm, there was no option to sleep outside tonight. Especially not so deep in the Agvald forest. Inn's by the main road had it rough as it is. Wandering into the wild was just asking for trouble. Still, he waited, looking up at Runga before finally forcing himself to let go. Watching as she ducks to enter the tavern, slowly scanning the room. Dressed in thick unwashed pelts, she towers over the fur trappers who occupy this remote roadhouse. A pitch-black braid, draped down her backside all the way down to her rear and hips nearly as wide as the door. He watches as the feathered earrings on her sharp ears swish as she scans the various trappers and even potential poachers spending their night here whlist her nose flares as she takes in the reeking tavern's unwashed occupants. Piercing eyes of pure red, rake over the present men before she judges them no threat to her charge and steps aside to let the small and slender charge enter. As she does, turning to allow him to step in unhindered, the jangle of the thick and thin gold chains beneath marks her to everyone here as a bonded mercenary/bodyguard - indentured to whatever lord or lady she accompanies. This, along with the massive two-handed axe across her back promises a quick end to anyone who dares commit violence or disrespect to her or her companion. But disrespect is perhaps warranted by her inhuman features, by the limbs the size of logs and massive feet that drag across the floor leaving behind trails of mud and helping to clean off her feet. They all pay attention to something else though, all manner of marauders and thugs sitting here, care not for her weapon or her bulk, their eyes glued to the titanic shelf of breasts pressed under her rank and sweaty cloth. Still as Vizyan follows, her scowls and growls, baring sharp tusks, discourage any of the patrons to even try and glance at him. It was smart, to pretend at times she was but a shallow brute, few times already many were surprised of how fluent she was at Kadian tongue or how quickly she could turn the conversation around, now it was best to keep that information to themselves. The word of the prince's Protector kidnapping him already must've spread given the attack they suffered moments ago. They needed to play it safe. Her feet moving across the room make the boards of the roadhouse groan as she shifts her weight from one pillar-like muscled thigh to the other, leaving Vizyan to follow with his eyes down, embarassingly marvelling at the glistening of her massive soles each time she lifted one of her feet to take another step, only to then entertain him with the shine of her toenails, reflecting the faint light and at times even spreading or flexing as if to tease him for his gawking. She points to a table tucked in the corner, and with a basso rumbling tone speaks out, **"You are in my table."** She has never been seen before, but her presence is an implied violence that clears the way even among these hardened men. "And who the fuck are y-" Vizyan flinches at the sound of her fist slamming against the table, the very hand massive and larger than man's hand, reassuring the trapper this monster could grab his head and pop it like wet cabbage if she wanted. He leaves the spot without another word, letting the two sit down for a moment of respite. **"I'll get us food, stay here my liege."** Her bassy voice rumbles again, as Vizyan stays put, waiting for his protector's return. *** I'm gonna keep the OOC side of things nice and quick. * I'd like to write with someone interested in **Long-term** and **Multi-paragraph** approach to responses. So if you don't feel like that's your forte, I'm gonna have to say no. :( * Before jumping to the RP I'd like to talk things through for few details regarding the world and characters. Their relationship, how long they knew one another, and even the mental state of each. * For kinks and limits. I'd say the less limits you have the better, even if some extreme stuff won't make an appearance. I'm into a fair bit of stuff including rather nasty things, but I don't need them in RP. Only things that are a must are obviously the stuff already presented in the example, burly, massive motherly protector ;y Everything else is up to discussion. Rough list of the kinks is here, those more extreme or just not up your alley aren't necessary so feel free to say if you'd like to have nothing to do with x or y. Same applies to me. As I have limits of my own even if it's only few things. > Kinks: Amazonian women, either them being dominated or them dominating their partner; breeding; anal, and feet, face sitting, switch relationships, romance, cuddling, flaccid play, inverted nipples, playful wrestling, sweat, pubic hair (armpit/crotch), monstrous characters, musk, giantess, frotting, facesitting, grinding, hotdogging, piercings, tattoos, bodypaint, worship, mutual service (blowjobs/handjobs etc.) scars, addictive cum (not hypnotizing kind, just more of a satisfying type usually just for futa characters.) , foreskin play, small dom big sub/big dom small sub, futanari, MILF's, very curvy/well-endowed characters, non-con/abuse of third party character's/npcs, Herbos (Himbo but for futa/female character.), mommy/big sis personality, gentle giant, doting character paired up with someone sickly, ugly duckling trope, chubby but strong/big women/futas, hyperspermic futas, fat grotesque futa cocks, big testicles, huge breasts, thick thighs, Venus body, dark skinned/tanned characters, Foodplay (Kinda related to chubby characters and more extreme fetishes) -> (More extreme kinks from vore and toilet play are fine too but have to be discussed, and also aren't a must/needed to those against them. I'm into some of them and I'm indifferent to others.) * If you want to message me. I would appreciate some sample of your writing. Or even introduction of the character you'd like to play as Julee is a great character from an RP that died long long time ago. But if you feel like her character works feel free to roll with it as well. But still some sample of your writing would be appreciated. I'm happy to share a google doc link with plenty of my own in private if you reach out. Or feel free to take a look at my other prompts...even if first few pages will be dominated by one I'm constantly/desperately posting to find someone for ;y.

The rain had turned the dirt road to mud, slowing Tevan's wagon to a crawl. The dim light of his alchemical lantern barely pierced the evening gloom, but it was enough to catch the glint of something unnatural by the roadside. A massive figure lay crumpled in the ditch, as still as the surrounding trees. Tevan halted his horse with a sharp tug of the reins, his stomach knotting at the sight. It was a woman, an orc, by the distinct greenish hue of her skin and the tusks peeking from her slack jaw. She was enormous, even by orcish standards, her body covered in blood and grime, with tattoos and tribal markings etched across her muscled arms and shoulders. Her long black hair was braided intricately, adorned with small trinkets of bone, metal, and glass that jingled faintly in the rain-soaked breeze. “Damn it all,” Tevan muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the safety of his wagon, a mobile laboratory packed with fragile vials and carefully organized reagents. He could just ride on and pretend he hadn’t seen her. But something, perhaps the faint rise and fall of her chest or the pitiful angle of her bruised face stopped him. With a sigh, he clambered down and approached cautiously. Her breathing was shallow, and a high fever had turned her skin clammy and burning hot to the touch. Deep lacerations marred her legs and torso, and crude arrows still jutted from her thigh and side. Infection had already set in, the flesh around the wounds swollen and angry. Tevan shook his head. "You’re lucky to be alive. Let’s see if we can keep it that way." Fetching a collapsible stretcher from his wagon, he set about the daunting task of moving her. A tincture of concentrated ghoulvine, a plant that momentarily deadened nerves, helped dull her pain as he carefully maneuvered her bulk onto the stretcher with a combination of pulleys and winches built into his wagon. Sweat drenched his thin, delicate frame by the time he secured her onto the bedroll inside the cramped interior of the cart. Once she was settled, Tevan lit the array of lanterns inside his mobile workshop. Shelves lined with neatly labeled bottles and jars rattled as the wagon lurched forward. He rummaged for the tools and ingredients he would need to tend to her wounds. "Let’s start with the arrows," he murmured, rolling up his sleeves. With a pair of sterilized tongs, he gently removed the shafts, each one followed by a gush of dark blood. He sealed the wounds with a combination of coagulant powder and healing resin derived from the sap of strange silvery-color. For the deeper cuts and gashes, he cleaned them with a solution of distilled pitch black root, it was a natural antiseptic that hissed and bubbled as it made contact with infected tissue. The fever worried him most. Forcing Tevan to brew a tea of multiple ingridients to deal with it. The mixture glowed faintly as it steeped, the herbs imbuing it with restorative warmth. He dripped the tea into her mouth with a small spoon, her throat convulsing weakly as she swallowed. Her tattoos caught his eye as he worked. They weren’t merely decorative, they told a story. Swirling patterns depicted battles and victories, the jagged lines of her scars interwoven with the ink in a way that suggested they were part of her narrative, proof of survival. Despite her savage appearance, there was an undeniable beauty to her. Her features, though sharp and fierce, held a regal quality, and the trinkets in her hair spoke of a culture steeped in artistry. Over the next several days, Tevan worked tirelessly. He applied salves infused with special red moss to draw out infection and stitched her worst wounds with threads soaked in basilisk ichor to promote rapid healing. He ground roots and herbs into poultices, layering them over her bruised and battered skin. Her fever ebbed and flowed, but his remedies kept it from overwhelming her. At night, he would check her breathing, adjusting her position and muttering soft reassurances as if she could hear him. He became attuned to her silent presence. The rise and fall of her chest, the subtle twitch of her fingers as sensation began to return to her body, became a strange sort of comfort. Each day brought small victories, a slight improvement in her complexion, a lessening of the heat in her skin. Yet she remained unconscious, her immense form almost too large for the wagon’s narrow bedroll. One evening, as they camped beneath a canopy of stars, Tevan sat by her side, exhaustion etched into his delicate features. The fire crackled softly, its warm glow casting dancing shadows across the trees. He studied her face in the flickering light, wondering who she was, where she had come from, and what kind of life had left such a strong warrior at death’s door. The soft sound of her breathing was the only answer he received. The night was still and heavy, the woods alive with the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Tevan leaned back against the wheel of the wagon, his eyelids drooping as fatigue finally overtook him. Unbeknownst to him, the orc woman’s fingers twitched faintly, her breathing deepening ever so slightly. The first fragile tendrils of consciousness began to stir within her, a prelude to the moment he was greatly anticipating...or dreading? Heyyyy thanks for reading. Idea's pretty straightforward, slice-of-life story with a big, burly warrior woman that ends up indebted to Tevan (can be any fantasy race), a travelling healer and alchemist that happend to find her on the side of the road after a particularly nasty fight with someone that left her on the death's door. I want to explore the small dom and big sub dynamic here, but other than that I still want the usual fluff of slice-of-life with action and smut in one package. The idea's not much more than that unless someone wants to discuss and brainstorm ideas with me on how to develop it further. But this is how it is right now. Idea is a bit more freeform I just want to have someone that wants to play a big, bulky barbarian or amazon that needs all kinds of loving, spoiling, edging and fucking in between all the adventures and travel. And needs her wounds treated every now and then. So if you have different idea for the location, character or such let me know I'm happy to discuss. I should say the orc warrior was just a rough idea, I'm a big fan of just normal amazons and enormous barbarian women so if you're into that feel free to go with that over the orc. Or any fantasy race, minotaur, gnoll, some monster girl types etc. Anything works as long as it's burly, curvy and wants to be pampered and fucked by a feminine man that just reaches up to her tits or waist. For kinks, it's not that I'm lazy but there are many with some among them being in the list of limits for people. I know some people also just read kinks and only then message the person in spite of what's in the prompt, so I'd rather get someone interested directly in the prompt, while the kinks and fetishes while still an important part of the story, would be the rightful 50% of it while the other belongs to the world and plot. Though for clarity sake, I'll say I am a big fan of Romance, Big semi unrealistic proportions, Cuddling, Switch-relationships, Size difference, Futa, and Feet. None of those are a must, but hey, if you're open to all of those I'll be already happy Anyways thanks for reading.

The air reeked of decay and blood. A heavy mist clung to the broken earth outside the gates of Evengrad, muffling the cries of the desperate militia battling a tide of nightmares. The clatter of steel and wood, crashing against the unnatural clawed limbs and entire bodies of the ghoulish adversaries. The town, a walled refuge of soot-stained stone and flickering lanterns, stood as a lone bastion in a desolate land scarred by the ongoing war between the two neighbouring kingdoms. But Evengrad’s allegiance didn’t matter now when the soldiers left widows and grieving mothers in their wake as well as an unattended field of rotting corpses just to the east. The remains of a battlefield were littered with bloated corpses and broken equipment, piles upon piles that had drawn a horde of ghouls and worse horrors the entire continent was made wary of. The Evengardian militia fought valiantly, but their numbers with men too old or too young to fight, their swords blunted against unending waves of clawed and rotting flesh each a sickly patch of pale or gray, caked in mud and filth as if this decay was their own embodiment of strength. Then, all of them heard it. THUD. THUD. THUD! The ground shook as a behemoth, a hulking mass of twisted muscle and bone poking through its skin like sharp thorns, emerged from the throng. Its guttural roar echoed through the mist, shaking the timbered gates of Evengrad. The first few unfortunate souls trying to stand up to that giant had been flung like ragdolls into the air, shields shattered and arms broken, lungs popping from the sheer force of the impact the enormous beast’s limb carried. Even the arrows fired from the walls seemed to do little to no damage, barely cutting through the tough hide of this monstrum that had grown and feasted over countless of such battlefields, benefitting from the conflict of the living. Only for a javelin to come flying through the beast's jaw, lodging itself into its cheek to interrupt the triumphant roar. The sickening sound of tearing flesh as the blade lodged itself somewhere between its other cheek and teeth, trapping the tongue and leaving the jaw slack. It didn’t kill the beast, merely infuriated it as its blood-red gaze turned towards the source. The fog these things have used to advance at Evengrad, now turning against them. From the fog, a figure emerged, charging like a storm given flesh. He was a Cyvian warrior-nomad from the frozen wilds of the north, where the skies burned green and the winds howled with the voices of the dead like these. His wild mane of raven-touched hair whipped behind him as he swung a great axe with terrifying precision. The clan’s oath is engraved upon its side in the form of ancestral sigils. Each shining in the glow of the lanterns. He was fearless, charging into the horde of scrawny ghoulish beasts. With each strike leaving a deep cut or directly beheading and knocking these regressed undead maneaters down. But such battle wasn’t one-sided, each ghoul managed to leave its mark, a claw or tooth leaving small to medium cuts on the burly-fit form of the Cyvian who only fought with the silent determination. Grunting and growling only when he truly felt the next strike. Most cults and religions on the continent paint north as the hellish land, rumored that its highest peak held access to the gates the gods had once arrived through to this world. Though not all, some cults even go as far as to blame Cyvians for the horrors that plague this world. That they have insulted their gods long ago. Bringing nothing but damnation to the world. Whether true, one thing was certain. Cyvians were people trained to fight the monstrosities that forced their clans to be on the move in the icy north. With every cleaving blow, ghouls fell, torn apart by the sheer brute force of his strikes. But his was no mindless savagery. Between the ferocious blows, he hurled glass vials that burst into plumes of caustic fire each with a characteristic hiss, each landed, igniting packs of snarling beasts allowing the smoke and the acrid stench of alchemy to mask the coppery stench of blood. The behemoth turned, drawn to the lone warrior cutting through its kin like a reaper through wheat. The Cyvian hurled a spike-tipped bomb in return, which embedded in the beast’s flank before detonating with a wet explosion of gore. The creature staggered but did not fall even as blood continued to seep from its new wound and the jaw. It lumbered toward the gates, each step a tremor… The Cyvian scoffed, and with a determined look, he charged through the remaining ghouls, pushing them to the side in his onslaught just to leap towards the now “retreating” Behemoth. He knew that allowing the beast to get into this town would prolong the fight. He couldn’t allow it. A roar erupted from his chest, more primal than human. The axe swung low travelling in a slow upward curve just to bite deep into the beast’s leg, halting its charge. But the retaliation came swift…a backhanded blow that sent the Cyvian hurtling into the dirt. Blood seeped from his side despite his efforts his body was no more mortal than that of the same militants, it was hard to breathe, the taste of blood was at the back of his throat, the wound on the side continued to seep blood, staining the ground as he struggled to rise just as his free hand blindly searched the bandolier slung on his chest..focusing only as he plucked an oddly shaped vial from it. He uncorked it with trembling hands and drank deeply, his body trembling as the alchemical brew coursed through his veins. The concoction dulled his pain, he just had to pray the old gods would spare him for this deed and allow him to carry on. The behemoth loomed over him, maw gaping to deliver the final blow. The javelin still lodged within it. As Cyvian’s strength ebbed, his rage grew. A guttural scream tore from his throat as he surged forward splattering his own blood against the beast's face. With a brutish display of tenacity he gripped the javelin with his free hand as the other despite the pain in his arm, swung the two handed axe. Its enormous head pulled down, the blade of the axe soon sunk into the beast's eye, causing the once humanoid gray-skinned giant to reel back roaring in pain as the heavily bleeding Cyvian charged after it. Looking more like a twisted abomination himself. Toppling the beast as his axe fell upon its exposed chest again and again, carving out a path to its twisted heart, silencing it with one final blow. As it happened, the remnants of the twisted ghouls scattered, fleeing from the field…leaving the stranger as the only one standing. The Cyvian stood triumphant for only a moment. His bloodied form swayed before he collapsed beside the corpse of the behemoth, his axe still embedded in its ruined chest, its sliced heart basked in the first rays of the breaking sunlight... The militia, emboldened by his sacrifice, pushed back the remaining ghouls and despite some disagreements between the surviving soldiers-dragged the unconscious warrior through the gates as the first light of dawn pierced the choking mist. The Cyvian had saved Evengrad for now… *** Look, I could've named this something shorter and more cryptic but I wanted to get the point across. I want a meaty, dark fantasy with combat, where there's a hot, strong cleric healer gal that's just as competent in smacking a bad guy with a mace in their stupid face as she is with sucking cock (or for futa enjoyers) or even using her own to fuck her new love. It's the usual trope of the world is beset by darkness and these two are just people living to make it through, earning coin from jobs and contracts to live another day. How she ends up being a healer to militia in Evengrad and then nurses the warrior back to health? I don't know, I just wrote the easiest set up to introduce the potential character I will play and have them meet as quickly as possible. It's a simple premise but I am the idiot that enjoys stuff like worldbuilding, long multi-paragraph replies, character plots and equal amount of cuddly romance and rough hardcore sex. I'm not looking for typical petite cleric or healer/mage and a big burly warrior pairing. I'm looking for all muscular woman enjoyers and roleplayers to come over. Or at least going with something where the said lady has as much experience in fighting as she has in healing. This is the rough idea I want to go with, happy to brainstorm with anyone interested and make changes if needed.

Hello, thanks for taking a peek. Just wanted to state that while above serves as rough guidelines I mostly stick to more specifc OC characters that can be variations of the Character types found above, while different RP ideas will have different kinds of fetishes focusing on them. Some depending on the setting or plot might just not fit in. But enough yapping. That's all I wanted to share. Thanks for stopping by and have a good day.

The battlefield was eerily silent, save for the occasional groan of the dying and the crackle of scattered fires. One of the toppled siege towers just began to crumble as fire chewed through its support beams causing the whole construction to topple of countless slain soldiers below. CLANG! A two-handed sword imbued with magical inscription met a monstrous, jagged glaive, the impact ringing across the desolate field. Thwoop! A bolt shot from a crossbow and embedded itself into the armored chest of the towering "demon", hissing as the enchanted tip began to burn through its plating. The man gritted his teeth, a smear of dirt and blood streaked across his face like some warpaint. His patched leather armor barely held together, but his mismatched arsenal was as versatile as his reputation. He sidestepped as the monster's weapon crashed into the ground, spraying dirt and stone like shrapnel. The banners of the Agathian army behind him, shaking with each blow from the monstrous adversary. Three, two...jump- Spin. Throw. Fwoosh! A flask sailed through the air, shattering against the demon’s helmet as shimmering glass shards mix with the gravel and mud below. Acid hissed and bubbled, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the wind. The beast roared, a guttural sound that made the ground tremble it's sickly gray skin visible beneath the melted plating, slowly revealing the reddish-pink tissue within. “Just fucking die already, will you?” the man muttered, his voice tinged with both irritation and exhaustion. He slung the crossbow over his back and drew a rune-etched dagger from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, it hummed to life, glowing faintly blue. The demon swung wildly, blinded by the corroding acid eating away at its helmet. Thud-thud! The man dodged two heavy strikes, rolling to his feet with surprising agility. His free hand reached into a pouch, pulling another flask, this one filled with a volatile, glittering liquid. A label plastered over it showing nothing more but a crudely drawn warning possibly to remind the user of how volitile it was. Whoosh...! BOOM! The explosion knocked him backward as the flask erupted against the demon’s chest, tearing through the already weakened armor. The beast staggered, black ichor spilling from the wounds, but it wasn’t down yet. “Stubborn...bastard,” the man growled already out of breath himself, hefting his sword. Its blade glowed faintly with a strange, runic light as he waited for the right moment. The demon, agitated and hurt, gave into the flurry of mad swings, which was just the opening he needed. The man lunged forward, weaving through the demon’s desperate, heavy swings. The blade pierced the demon’s exposed side, sinking deep into its flesh just for good measure, the man wrists moved twisting the blade with a sickening squelch! The creature screamed, thrashing as the enchantment flared, sending streaks of blue energy crackling across its body. The man held firm, planting his boots into the churned earth and twisting the blade again. “Now...To get that payout..." *** Hii, I take if you've got here you're at least mildly interested. As per title, I'm looking for someone to write out a fantasy story with me. I want our characters to be as much sexual caricatures as they are to be cool and enjoyable characters. Now I made myself clear what I want but the title extends to me too. From femboys, average dudes to masculine alpha males. You have a type I will play it too. What I want is to see how these characters get to slay monsters and do quests and then rail eachother in the tent or the tavern. While I'm primarily interested in classic healsluts, because I like boobs as much as I like asses and just general allure of a woman. I have no problems with this becoming M4M or NB pairing. Or even stuff like Futa, Femboy etc. I will play as Male though so that's the only limitation. Don't ask me to play as a Woman unless you want to bait me into making for you content in MenWritingWomen joke site. Nuh uh. But yeah, you want me to play a soft mage to your burly amazon. A big dumb barbarian to your shortstack rouge. Or maybe some classic romance of a warrior knight and elf ranger. I'm happy with all of it. World wise I prefer to go for something original than to use established universes be it Baldur's gate or Skyrim. Easier to weave in lewd stuff in that way. Writing wise, I tend to write between 5-6 paragraphs. And happend to write more if scene requires it. Again got samples I can send over. Anywho if you're interested, feel free to reach out. And then we can brainstorm/create our characters and decide how the two meet and soon end up fucking and slaying monsters together in this fantasy sandbox we're creating. Oh yeah, I'm happy to play via ecchi text here and other mediums if someone prefers. Thanks for stopping by!

(Example of how I'd like the RP to be like dynamic-wise below.) "Strike now! Quickly!" The chaos of the ongoing battle isn't that different from the scuffle you can cause at the The Blushing Bottom, aside from the fact that in place of armed undead thralls surrounding us, it's usually drunken patrons that got insulted or insulted you. Or it's just the third keg of piss-tasting ale you tend to order, much to Enya's dismay. Oh Enya? The black long haired doe, is your partner. The designated quick fuck as you first regarded him as when he flashed you those two pale moons that were his meaty, jiggly slices of beef that are his buttocks. Currently imbuing your tool of carnage and destruction (The one in your hands not between your legs silly), with oh so divine light and arcane power making it hum in your palm as it drives back the undead warriors from five centuries ago, undoing the foul spell that puppeteers their corporal forms. Not that you notice, it's far too empowering to stomp your bare foot into the ground, and with a courageous roar sweep your weapon against the first line of the dead approaching. Not that you can do much more with how these puny skeletal midgets (actually average-sized undead) get in the way. It's just enough time that the pillar of twisted, necrotic light grows into a glowing cyclon of swirling souls all flowing into a suit of old rusted armor which suddenly began to move. "MESSELINA'S TITS JUST SMACK THE NECROMANCER!" Uh oh. Enya lost his cool, the burst of light from his staff sends holy flame forth, sweeping across the lines of the dead clearing a way for you. Only for the dreaded undead champion to stand in your way. The necromancer cackles, while the ache in your wounds fades as Enya, grits his teeth, his pretty face with plush pink lips all but show hostility towards your shared foe. After all, you always fight together no? And this is just one of those days. * * * Gluckh-Glurckh-Gluck-Glurk Your hands get to enjoy the soft texture of his silky black hair as Enyo's back on his meatstick polishing duty, he'd gotten pretty good, he still gags in the mornings, but that's more because you just stink worse. The head of the decapitated undead knight is propped on the stone, right next to it the bone-crown that belonged to the necromancer you've struck down the moment his undead creation crumbled to bonedust with your strikes. Now, was time for celebration, a well-earned victory Enyo didn't even get to set up his bedroll before he got pulled by you right under the loincloth, warm soft cheek rubbing up against that warty smelly gnarly dick which still reeked of unwashed filth and cum-cheese. You could feel his breath panting against it like a dog, as his soft gentle hands tugged at your own calloused hand to fondle him too. He wants to play proud but he's such a slut for you, after all, who else to drain your balls everyday than the person that's also in charge of healing you and finding new well paying jobs? Besides you're usually too drunk to get to that in the first place. His tongue dances with grace of a southern snake slithering through the sand around your cock,polishing the tip, and pushing beneath the foreskin to scoop out any remnants of the previous mess before plunging itself deep down the urethra. It tickles, then burns in that oh so satisfying pressure. Or perhaps its the way his soft hands are fondling the sweaty heavy ballsack the size of two heads. He's rubbing them like dijinn's lamp with a wish for a big messy orgasm. Which whether you like it or not, is granted and Enyo pulls those pink lips off your cock, wanting to watch the explosion of your ugly filthy sperm push out in thick smelly ropes as the murky sloppy color looks fitting since it came from that grotesque ugly sausage the size of a man's forearm that's dangling between your legs. Thing is, the ropes fly out in an impressive arcs- With two of them splattering against the rusted helmet of the knight, the bone circlet of the necromancer just gets swept in the flood of cum, getting that signature "autograph" of yours, as Enyo gasps and soon curses to try and get the two artifacts saved from your stinky cum so they can be sold at the guild house for the much needed gold and silver. Just one of those days. *** Hello. And well, merry Christmas if you celebrate. A long-time lurker from few forums and sites finally bothering to stick his head out with a new account to get this fantasy fulfilled. A femboy healslut that's competent with a barbarian/amazon that's played by you, simple as. We can make them more competent and change the lighthearted tone to something more serious and vice versa. Only things I'd want is some meaty, combat scenes, and slutty, filthy sex after or before. Or even during combat if we put them in the tavern. Kink-wise I'll say I'm a switch so if you fellow internet person, be it male/female/trans are open to Enyo plowing your character's holes just as much as she plows him I'll be a happy person. Other than that, uhh romance, all sorts of sloppy blowjobs, foot fetish (though probably on your end with Enyo worshipping feet etc.) And filth! Yes, you heard that right, filthy kinks of all kinds. Maybe not ridiculous in scale, but a warty, smelly, smegma covered penis on your character would be a starting requirement. If it's really not up your alley I guess we can talk but you need to bring some good ideas to make it work. Uhh what else, mommy kinks, run of the mill vanilla stuff, futadom stuff's fun but as I said I'm a switch- And I guess that's it. Limits: Everything that falls under sites rules. I don't know every kink so if there's something you want to suggest let me know and I'll tell you how I feel about it. Unless it's against the rules or just is you know fucked up stuff thats illegal. Ew. No. Alright. Think that's all? Thanks. Byeeeee