FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

‘More!’ and ‘Harder!’ were the only words of common I could understand in the muffled tide of moans emanating from the catboy beneath me. Which was okay, because I hardly needed the encouragement to keep ravaging that tight, softly furred tailhole of his and between the mattress and his masculinity his vocalisations were kept firmly in the realm of diamond-hard erotic instead of the grating squeaky-toy moans that the Shotahnese were infamous for.

“Oh gods, F-f-fuck meee-ow!”

I thrust balls deep, grinding against the easterner’s tangerine sized prostate, and rolled over taking the delightfully throwable cat with me. With my kitty now flat against my chest and staring at the ceiling his moans and cries grew louder. I pounded up into him, alternating between beating his prostate like it owed me money and trying to juice it like an orange every few thrusts. The cat writhed and mewled in breathless ecstasy. I could barely hold on to him, my left hand forming a claw to press his arching back down against my chest while my right drifted upwards from the pert fullness of his rear to play with the harem piercings that decorated his maleness. You could just hear the slutty catfolk’s eyes cross and roll up into his skull.

And with the noise he was making unmuffled by the mattress the rest of the guildhouse certainly did.

The cat suddenly drove down against my thrusts amid a cloud of unintelligible Shotahnese. I felt his balls draw in as a half-dry orgasm ripped through him and sent a few sputs of cum arcing into his chest fur. The silken tightening of the easterner's sweltering rump the cat’s release caused heralded the beginnings of my own.

I pulled the cat tight and grunted into his ear. “I’m close.”

“I-inside! Puh-, ahngh, p-please!” He begged, just barely retaining the wit to blurt the words in common.

And since he asked so sweetly who was I to deny him? A final flurry of hard thrusts and the catboy whined in abject pleasure, flooded with my seed. It wasn’t my first load of the night, that had disappeared into the cat’s skilled, enthusiastic maw before we’d even properly left the tavern, probably closer to second or third. Possibly fourth. Which was slightly worrying since I didn’t really remember them but definitely explained the wave of utter exhaustion that washed over me the moment I finished.

Our limp afterglow was interrupted by a meaty hand pounding on the wall next to us.

“Are you done in there?!” The occupant of the next room called through the wall. From the size of the thumps and the base of their voice they were large, a minotaur or dragonkin, perhaps one of the larger varieties of gnoll.

“Yeah.” I breathlessly cried back.

“Good. Now SHUT THE _ FUCK _ UP!!”

The sudden roar would have had me on the floor and the cat on the ceiling if we weren’t both so exhausted. Instead we both froze as accompanying cries of agreement and catcalls of admonishment came from every direction but the outside window.

Eventually the noise from outside calmed down leaving the two of us in silence. I looked at him and he looked at me. An uneasy half-smile was met with an awkward chuckle that quickly ended with us both dissolving into quiet laughter as we manoeuvred over to the side of the mattress not covered in juices.

I fell asleep with the catfolk curled up against me, purring like a V12.

---

I woke up to an open window, an empty bed, and a missing wallet.

God fucking damn it.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been robbed since coming to Edhel Othrond and certainly not since I’d immigrated to Generia in the first place. Crime is easier when the cops don’t have access to the gear and support they would on Earth and even more so when any vaguely shady magic shop will sell all sorts of wands, scrolls, and potions no questions asked and very few answered. It was, however, the first time a thief had gotten hold of my passcard.

The wallet was a relic, an attachment to my past that had no practical use this side of the UN’s portal compound, a good five hundred or so miles away as the griffon flies. My bank cards, driver’s licence, about fifty quid in notes and a fiver in shrapnel. All of it was absolutely useless to anyone but another human this side of the portal and certainly not worth the risk. But still, that damn cat had taken it. I won’t lie. I panicked. I tore that room apart because even though nothing of any practical or monetary value had been taken one rule is drilled into you from the moment you book your portal slot, no matter how long or short you wish to stay for:

Thou Shalt Not Lose Thine Damn Passcard.

The passcard was your ticket back through the portal to Earth. Lose it, for any reason at all, and you don’t get to go home. There are ways to prove you are who you say you are but the process takes forever. The castle town surrounding the ever growing portal fortress, jokingly called Startertown until the name stuck, is filled with poor sods that had been pickpocketed on holiday and now live out their days waiting to reach the front of the line.

But that wasn’t the reason I needed that card back. At least, not the main reason. It had my name on it. The one I was born with. As far as everyone else was concerned I was Arthur ‘Art’ Medryn, adventurer to my peers and nuisance to my superiors. And I am. My name is Art, everyone knows it’s a taken name, didn’t kill anyone for it or take my new life off a corpse. It’s pretty much expected of any human that settles down in Generia; a tradition that dates back to when various Generian royals and warlords would solve their problems by magically abducting humans off the street, juicing them up with blessings and items, and then pointing their shiny new Summoned Hero at whatever happened to be the problem of the day.

Eventually some king or whatever must have scooped up someone a little more genre savvy than usual that thought having their true name dangling about in the open might just be a teensy bit of a bad idea. And they were right. Partly. Name magic is powerful, rare, and expensive in time, effort, and lives. Not something that will work off a birth certificate. But it is an advantage and not one that any serious adventurer will just hand out to every two-bit vampire or wannabe lich. And now some random bloody catfolk had nicked it.

My mind wandered as I shifted furniture and belongings from one side of my room to another. I thought back to what I could remember of last night. The bar had been busy, but not so busy I couldn’t get a booth to myself. The specially darkened brooding corners hadn’t entirely filled with shady gambling or newbie rogues trying to look edgy yet and a tired adventurer still in a sweaty brigandine wasn’t much of a mark considering the wealth of the other patrons. The Sheaf and Sickle was hardly a slumland taproom and looking back last night’s bit of eastern spice had made a beeline straight for me.

The cat’s shy looks and sweet smile twisted into sly glances and a Cheshire grin in my memories. I’d been set up. It was a contract job, had to be. But who set it up? And why? It wasn’t like I didn’t have enemies but they were the ‘swords in daylight’ type, not ‘daggers in the dark’.

Well, at least it isn’t like it could get any worse right now?

There was a rapping at my chamber door, a polite tapping that I knew too well.

“Mr Medryn, may I come in?” Nev’s scratchy tone drifted through the door.

I sighed. The room was a tip, but there was no hope of hiding it now. “Enter.”

“I, uh, your presence has been requested at the senate annex, Mr Medryn, as soon as possible. I’m to escort you over.” Nevermore stumbled through his spiel. The raven spirit had been bound to the guild for centuries as a messenger and would serve for centuries more, but he’d never lost his nervousness and the twitchy energy that came with it. “Is all well, sir?”

“No Nev, it is not. Got robbed in my sleep. My own stupid fault for not buying a room in an inn.” I sighed, sticking my head out of the window as I closed it in a vague hope that the cat had been sloppy enough, or fucked silly enough, to leave a visible trace. No such luck.

“And now the old arsehole wants to see me. Like this day could get any better.” I pulled on an old tunic and yesterday’s trousers. “Come on then, let’s not keep the pointy-eared git waiting.”

---

The pointy-eared git had, in fact, not bothered waiting. Guildmaster As’hle was instead busy pontificating to a pack of eager teenage nobles about the finer points of chimera slaying that no one ever used. Mostly because the Scheissdrauf Method got the kill at the expense of far too many lives. Hopefully none of the inbred tosspots got it into their heads to buy a commission. Far to much of the work me and my fellow adventurers got these days was cleaning up the messes their sort left behind after their easily avoidable demise. That or playing Rich Kid Retrieval after their misadventures got them tied up and passed around an ogre camp or something.

“Asshole!” I cried out as I strode into the map room, ignoring the gaggle of near-Habsburgian nobles that sputtered entitled outrage as I passed. “You summoned?”

“Ah. Mr Medryn. So glad that you could eventually grace us with your presence.” The old elf sneered.

As’hle was more of a supremacist than the average elf, the chip on his shoulder over the use of human Summons large enough to hold all the salsa in Mexico. Of course, he would never countenance the risking of pure, precious elven lives to do their own dirty work. If he had his way human Summons would do the heavy lifting for elven commanders ready and waiting to take credit.

The snobby bastard wrinkled his nose as I drew closer. “Ugh, Medryn you smell like an eastern whorehouse.”

I spread my arms wide, deliberately wafting last night’s tunic crustily. “Well I wouldn’t know, so I defer to your obvious experience of such things.”

The entitled tittering at my dishevelment stopped cold. Even As’hle, who by now was more than used to my impudence, paused. Because of course they would. Elves are a bunch of pearl-clutching prudes and it’s a closely fought battle between that, their breathtaking hubris, and their earth-shattering hypocrisy as to which is their foulest trait.

“Not laughing now are we?” I said. It was always satisfying to see elves do their best landed fish impressions.

The first of them to regain his wits started towards me. “You impudent human wre-!”

The elf-brat spun a full circle under the force of my backhand before falling on his arse. The stain spreading across his tunic showing all who cared to look that I had indeed slapped the piss out of him. For all my usual breezy insolence I was in no mood for playing nice for the latest bud on some aristo’s family tumbleweed. Lord Pissbritches tried to rise on his hands and knees so I planted a boot between the git’s shoulder blades and drove him back down onto the marble.

His dumb little expendable buddies gasped in shock, but As’hle did nothing and said less. He hated me and I hated him, but the willingness to put young nobles back in their place was rare and afforded me some leeway. Even other summons feared the wrath of whatever family spawned them to varying, but still present, degrees. I was beyond caring.

“Lesson One: Pride and bloodline will not stop a bruise, let alone a blade. A gutter urchin can and will kill you if you give them reason and opportunity.” I pressed down on the noble’s back for emphasis, drawing a snivelling grunt of pain and another scandalised gasp from it’s minions. “Second Lesson: Humans were summoned for a reason, the same one that meant the Organised Kingdoms folded like a stack of laundry when the UN found out where all those people went. And thirdly…” I eased up slightly to address my audience of frightened inbreds. “All of you are third sons plus. How could I tell? Asshole here was teaching you the highest casualty method of monster slaying in existence. If you live? Great, you’re worth keeping. If not? No great loss. Do what you want with that information. Now get the fuck out.”

The elves looked between me and As’hle like I’d said that their fathers got railed by dwarfs once a week, then provided proof in glorious high definition. As’hle sighed and massaged his temples. “Do as the summon says.”

At a vague wave of the grandmaster’s hand the elves fled. I let the one under my boot struggle for a bit before letting it scrabble away with a boot to the ribs. It would likely be the last time in its life that it faced anything resembling consequences for its actions so I made the most of it. If you lived around elves for any amount of time you would too, no matter what you may tell yourself now. Pricks.

The vein in my forehead started to throb slower now there wasn’t so much aristo in the room. “What the fuck do you want with me this time, Asshole?”I asked with a long-suffering sigh.

The elf raised an overly long eyebrow. “For one I’d like you to stop mispronouncing my name. But that’s not why you’re here.”

“Get to the point. I have more important things to be getting on with.”

“Ah yes, your unfortunate break in. Maobau Xianluo, show yourself.”

A streak of dull red leather, green fabric, and smoky fur fell from its perch amongst the columns of the domed ceiling. The catfolk from last night, now clad again in the leathers and travelling garb of far-eastern Sho-Tah, barely had time to widen his emerald eyes before I pinned him to the floor with a thunderous cry.

“YOU!”

In the blink of an eye legs wrapped around my waist with a strength they hadn’t had last night and the world inverted. The cat was clearly trained in Shotahnese wuxia bullshit. Even with him in easy reach sat upon my chest my strikes hit nothing but air until he tired of playing with me and wrapped my fists in his travelling cloak then pinned them above my head.

“Me.” The cat said with a slight giggle, our faces close enough to kiss.

And then he did just that. A quick peck, enough to stun me in to silence and fairly chaste by most beings standards but of course it inflamed As’hle’s delicate elven sensibilities. We were pushed apart by a wave of force that sent us sliding to opposite ends of the chamber and imparted the classic awful greasiness that elves used to dissuade public displays of affection.

“Enough! The both of you! It is bad enough that I have to admit a beast and a Summon to this chamber. I will not have it defiled further!” The old elf snarled. Both of us got to our feet at roughly the same time.

“This cat…” I started.

“Is a thief, yes. I am aware. Maobau, your proof of competence.” As’hle snapped.

The eastern catfolk, apparently feeling the unique effects of elf separation magic for the first time, queasily withdrew a lead-sealed metal case from a hidden pocket. “Uuuugh, I got it. Oh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“NOT ON THE CARPET!” As’hle cried as the cat, Maobau, started to retch.

Fortunately for him Maobau made it to a window and heaved the last remnants of his breakfast onto whoever happened to be several dozen metres below. More fortunately for me he kept a tight grip on my passcard.

Maobau moaned, dabbing a handkerchief at his mouth once he’d finished ralphing up his stomach contents. “Ugh, what in the name of the Celestial Bureaucracy was that for?”

As’hle snorted contemptuously. “This is a house of refined strategy, beast, not of whores. You will show respect. And not defile it with your ruttings.”

“Ruttings? Wha…”

I snorted in contempt and muttered under my breath.“Elven ‘Pure and Noble’ bullshit.”

Maobau flicked an ear and turned like I’d just said it out loud. Cat’s hearing I guess.

“I don’t… Forget it, one human passcard belonging to one Arthur Medryn as requested. Can I have my quest approved now?” Maobau waved my passcard in front of the grandmaster.

“Now that you have proved yourself? Of course.” As’hle said with a dismissive flick of his hand. The moment he did Maobau lobbed my passcard back to me, which I immediately fumbled and nearly dropped.

Not even acknowledging what had happened As’hle turned to me with a smile of ever increasing smarminess. “Mr Medryn, after your years of exemplary service I, Guildmaster As’hle, in my most magnanimous beneficence, have decided to grant you your most heartfelt wish.”

“Guaranteed pay, conditions, and training that isn’t just seeing which newbies come back from fighting giant rats in a basement?” I quipped, knowing that what was about to come out of As’hle’s mouth would be nothing of the sort.

“Pah, no! This is the wish of all true adventurers! An epic quest to fight a rising evil! I have even taken the liberty of assembling a party.” As’hle’s smile turned self-satisfied and gloating.

“You have?! Already?” Maobau’s eyes widened and he visibly perked up. It was adorable. Or it would have been if I didn’t have a sinking feeling that the guildmaster was simply getting me out of his over-styled silver-blond hair.

“But of course, Mr Maobau, Mr Medryn is a fixture of our most humble guild. It would be remiss to not see him off without company.” Elf-git bowed mockingly though Maobau didn’t notice.

“What’s the job?” I asked in as level a tone as I could manage.

As’hle directed us over to his pride and joy. An enchanted map table that could show the entirety of Generia or magnify all the way down to certain streets depending on what was needed. It showed an unfamiliar region and I had at least a passing knowledge of the nations and regions of the West.

“Spac-Efiller? What makes the guild finally care what goes on over there?” I asked to myself. As’hle answered.

“Maobau here brings tidings from the East. One of you humans has turned Dark Lord. A fleshwarper by the name of Encelchaud d’Gen. His forces are spreading throughout the region.”

Joy. One of the first and most painful lessons a Summoner learned was that not all Summons are good. A Dark Lord was some little shit that decided that Generia was an afterlife or a dream where they could live out their twisted little Sauron fantasies without consequence. Which they could, just not without consequence. The UN had put down those in the West quickly and brutally suppressed any that rose outside the darker nations banner of protection. But that was the West. Spac-Efiller was a lawless no-man’s-land strip between the West and East where petty fiefdoms rose and fell like waves on the ocean and what law there was existed only at sword-point.

In that hellish libertarian thunderdome evils were forged to plague the world.

“D’Gen isn’t your garden variety fleshwarper either” Maobau piped up “Somehow he’s got a group of Nekomancers to help him.”

“Nekomancers?” I queried, looking up from the map to see a look of ugly disgust written across Maobau’s feline features.

“Shotahnese fleshwarpers, specialising in changing entire populations to their master’s tastes.” As’hle spat. “Their involvement is why I’m sending a quest at all. The elven form is sacred and this Encelchaud is twisting the local beasts into perversions of its most righteous shape.”

“He’s making monstergirls.” I murmured to myself as understanding dawned. The various species of Generia tended towards anthropomorphic if not outright monstrous. Most Dark Lords, being tasteless cretins, object to that for one bullshit reason or another. Monstergirls were their preferred way of stocking the inevitable harem if they lacked a domestic supply of elf-maids or felt like pushing the boat out and all at the low, low cost of subjecting a captive to an excruciating transformation that could easily be achieved by issuing an elf with socks and gloves.

“If that was all that bastard was doing. The women get elvenised, the men get feminised then elvenised, and anything left over or anyone that particularly pisses him off gets used as biomass.” Once again I had forgotten the catfolk’s hearing, Maobau responding venomously and leading me to wonder just what he’d seen to cram so much obvious hatred into such an adorable package.

“Biomass for what?”

“Not sure, nothing good. Probably something that makes conversion easier or more widespread.” Teeth bared in a snarl Maobau glared daggers at the magical map table like he could set the Dark Lord Encelchaud ablaze through sheer will.

With visible effort the cat forced his features back to neutrality and zoomed out to show more of the surrounding area. As’hle looked scandalised that a mere beast had dared make contact with his most treasured possession but a glare from me kept His Gittishness quiet.

“When I left d’Gen had taken these three villages in addition to his fort.” He tapped a claw on an outcropping overlooking the vast, featureless plains and unremarkable hills of Spac-Efiller. “By now? These five here have fallen at least.”

“Yes, yes, it is quite concerning.” As’hle cut across Maobau and shoved a thick envelope into my hands. “I have taken the liberty of assigning you your party members, Mr Medryn, I suggest that you and Mr Maobau gather them promptly and venture forth with haste.”

The elf hustled both of us over and out the door. “Your quest goals are also in the package Mr Medryn and I needn’t remind you that this contract is binding. Complete them, or don’t bother re-crossing the Don’givvafuk Mountains.”

The elf’s mocking, sadistic smile hung in the air long after he slammed the door. I was being sent past the Don’givvafuks?

That Bastard!

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