FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Classless

The vast multiverse strives to bring order to the endless chaos of an existence brought on by competing imaginations and fickle free will. Game Masters create entire Planes on a whim and Players challenge those worlds to their limits. Rules and roles are placed on worlds and their Players to ensure a form of continuity. Every Player that enters a Plane must have a Class that they develop and pursue for the duration of their time within said Plane, completing Campaign after Campaign until such a time that they grow tired of their adopted persona and either roll a new character or move to a new Plane entirely to satisfy their insatiable, endless desires.

Though Players can choose their Classes, the structure and rules around these Classes are determined by the Game Master of that Plane. One Artificer from one Plane, for instance, may be incompatible with another. Players always have the option of multi-Classing but generally, when a Player picks a Class, they are locked into the Class for the duration of the Campaign or until they die and roll a new character.

Unless… of course, they so happen upon a particular store.

It is an unassuming establishment. Often not even discernible from any other place in the Plane. The facade always blends in with its surroundings and can be located anywhere from the middle of a bustling city basking in the light of a Bronze Sun, amongst the frozen ruins of an icy tundra to being found in the middle of a densely-packed forest. The one thing that remains consistent, however, is the little wooden sign with words emblazoned above the door that glows with a red light like smoldering coals.

A sign that says ‘Classless’.

If a Player were ever lucky enough to find this establishment, they will have a very unique opportunity to do something that would make any Game Master’s head hurt: change their Class.

This is more than just shifting from a ranger to a sorcerer. Visiting Classless will enable a Player to go from a ranger as defined by their native Plane to a sorcerer class from a different Plane. This essentially enables any lucky Player to bring in skills, abilities and magic that are not balanced or even considered in the currently realm. It poses a double-edged sword as some rules may not accommodate for the new class and therefore cannot be applied to the Player - perhaps a certain piece of equipment demands that the Player have a certain statistic but if the new Class does not even use that statistic, then they cannot wear that equipment. Alternatively, the new Class could do things that those on the Plane would never think possible.

Little wonder that finding Classless is both so coveted and rare.

Naturally, finding the place is just one challenge.

Classless often asks for the most obscure forms of payment for their services. One Player reported that his character lost the ability to sneeze. Another complained that his character lost the love he held for his childhood pet. A third cried that she had to surrender a year’s worth of hair growth.

This, of course, is assuming the Player can convince the proprietor to lend them his service.

That proprietor being the one and only, Grimmwulf Claster.

?

Grizzlefang

Snow drizzled in a gentle flurry through the dense, dark green trees. Drethleif Grizzlefang hunkered down amongst the dense foliage. Even though he had a large, thick bear-skin cloak wrapped around his shoulders with a hood, the chill in the air caused a shiver to run up his broad back. It did not help that he was mostly sparsely clothed with only a pair of furry leather boots, some leather bracers and a furry ‘kilt’ wrapped around his waist.

The Grizzlefang Clan liked to keep their warriors mobile.

Still, he despised how the aggressive cold had started to freeze the leather straps crossing his broad chest. The light fuzz of reddish-brown hair on his pectorals was sticking to the straps and every movement felt like a needle was being raked across his pale flesh. Flecks of snow constantly got caught in his dense beard that hung down from his chin to about his collarbone, braided into a single strand. His breath melted the snowflakes only for it to soak into his beard and then freeze all over again.

His eyelids drooped over his blue eyes. Sleep had been a luxury for the past week or so. Food was scarce and just this morning, they had lost Cullmarth to the Biting Cold. The Kingdom kept their patrols tight which meant that outcast Clans without a permanent home like the Grizzlefang were forced to drift between the heavily armored knights of the Kingdom and the more established Clans that scrounged for what resources were available.

The Grizzlefang had been forced into the Bladeleaf Woods which were dense enough to remain hidden. Moving camps every week or so still made the experience difficult. If Drethleif didn’t return with something in the next day or so, they would be forced to move again. That would mean marching on an empty stomach and likely more deaths. Clan Chieftain or no, ruling over a dead or starving people was not a legacy he wished to carry to his ancestors.

Thankfully, the Bladeleaf Woods was still used as a trade route from some of the cities beyond the chilly, gray mountains of Rimeroar’s Jaw. This winter was incredibly harsh and had been called the ‘Biting Cold’ simply because of the abnormally long blizzards spewing from Rimeroar’s Jaw like the ancient Ice Dragon whose corpse supposedly made up the mountain range was breathing down upon them. That meant that ambitious traders could make a profit by selling their wares to the northern cities who could not produce their own supplies.

One such caravan up through a snow-packed, uneven road. The fat oaf dressed in heavy furs and gilded clothing beneath worked his horses with a harsh whip and reins. Trunks and chests filled with his goods were stacked in his wagon while two other teamsters and their animals trailed behind. Given the cold and dangers, there were a few soldiers that followed them. Armed adventurers from the looks of them. A few others brought up the rear, appearing to be simple travelers.

Nothing the gathered Grizzlefang warriors couldn’t handle.

Drethleif narrowed his gaze. There were four adventurers. Two in light, leather armor. Smart. Heavy armor in this cold would be detrimental. Sweat would freeze in the joints. It offered little insulation. One was clearly a magic-user of some sort, clearly not used to the cold. The last was an archer and was the one that complained the loudest.

The mage would have to be the first to go.

He glanced over to his fellow clansmen and made a few gestures towards the one wielding the staff. A nod of confirmation cemented the plan.

Three seconds later…

… Drethleif jumped out from the underbrush, wielding his immense greataxe and unleashed a deafening roar. The snow swirled around him, possessed of its own will. As he charged, the flurry seemed to outline the image of an invisible warrior charging behind him.

The Grizzlefang ancestors were with him.

The surprise cause the caravan entirely off-guard especially since the fifteen or so Grizzlefang warriors immediately surrounded them and attacked. The mage had no time to react before Drethleif’s axe was buried halfway into his skull, immediately killing him.

An arrow stabbed his left shoulder. His cloak somewhat blunted the blow but the arrowhead still stung. Adrenaline pumped hot blood through his body and allowed him to ignore the pain for the moment. Some sense remained, however, and he broke the arrow shaft in half to limit the damage of moving. With the remaining half, he charged at the ranger who stared at him with wide-eyes. He tackled the man to the ground and jabbed the broken shaft right into the man’s arm. Nothing fatal - yet - but it would prevent him from using that bow of his. Just for good measure, he slammed the haft of his axe into the man’s face, immediately knocking him out.

The battle was over in less than a minute the traders and merchants surrendering.

“Take everything they have!” Grizzlefang roared. “Take their horses! Their clothes! Everything in their chests! Leave them with nothing!”

“You can’t!” pleaded one of the merchants. “We will die out here!”

“Your wellbeing is the least of my concerns,” snarled the chieftain.

Movement from the corner of his eye and he immediately whirled around, swinging his axe. He didn’t complete the swing and allowed the blade of his weapon just to kiss the cheek of the draconic traveler.

The man was about six and a half feet tall, just half-a-foot shorter than Drethleif himself. Many commented that the chieftain had giant blood in him given he appeared human but grew taller than most others of his race. This dragonkin, however, had an impressive build - muscular, lean. Cold, icy-blue eyes that were set against a field of black stared back against the chieftain. His scales were a mostly jet-black though his belly and the underside of his jaw were a bright yellow. A golden-blond mane ran down from between sharp, white horns. Little, bony spikes jutted from his jaw. Broad, webbed wings sprung from his back with little clawed hands jutting from the joint where the wing’s fingers sprouted from. Though his form was hidden beneath a long, leather cloak, Drethleif could tell the man was powerful. For a second, he feared that they had missed an adventurer amongst them.

“If you’re just going to take our belongings and leave us for dead, then at least let me tend to the wounded,” rumbled the dragon. Strangely enough, he had no fangs. His teeth were perfectly straight - almost human-like.

“What are you?” snarled Drethleif. “A priest?”

The dragon regarded him coldly and strode forward, purposefully cutting his cheek on the blade of Drethleif’s axe. The second that his flesh peeled away from the blade, however, the wound closed and healed without ever leaving a trace.

“Just another merchant and shopkeeper looking for the next business opportunity.” His cold eyes drifted to ranger bleeding out and unconscious at Drethleif’s feet. “Think of me as a trader of favors. I would consider it a favor to me if you let me go. Another if you let my compatriots leave here alive. Yet another favor if you let us go with all our belongings intact.”

The chieftain scoffed, his breath condensing in front of his face. “I would not have gone to the trouble of attacking your caravan had I wished to leave it empty handed.”

The dragon glanced past Drethleif at the rest of the merchants. “Then take me as a prisoner and one of the wagons. You would need the horses to carry it anyway.”

“And why would I take one of three when I could have all?”

There was a flicker of… something behind the dragon’s eyes but whatever it was, faded as quickly as it came.

“Because I can promise you much greater things for you and your clan than whatever is in this caravan if you let them go.”

The chieftain lowered his axe before hauling it over his shoulder. “What could you possibly offer me? A prayer from your god? Salvation in the afterlife?” He turned and spat on the ground, his spittle freezing upon contact with the ground. “My clan is starving. We have no home save for these woods. What could you possibly give me?”

The stranger regarded Drethleif for a long moment before tilting his head to the side, one elf-like ear canted backwards. “Take me to your encampment and I will see what I can do.”

Again, the chieftain huffed in derision. “You have nothing to bargain with save for empty promises.”

“I have fact,” replied the dragon sharply. “Check those chests. They have nothing in there save for inedible goods. What good will fine cloaks and clothing do your starving tribe? Jewels? Gold? You are not going to be trading with nearby villages. All the settlements this far north are snowed in and are hoarding what supplies they have. They’d be fools to trade their food for something as transient as coin and luxury.”

Drethleif scowled and one look at his fellow clansmen confirmed the dragon’s assertion. Apart from a few rations that would’ve lasted them the trip to the northern cities, there was nothing that would truly serve he Grizzlefangs. They could kill the horses for their meat but that would last them maybe a few more days. Given that they would be compelled to move camps soon, even less.

He had no choice.

“Fine,” growled Drethleif. “But I am taking the adventurers with us as collateral.” This strange merchant clearly cared for the people in the caravan and he needed some form of assurance to make sure whatever this ‘merchant of favors’ promised would be benefit the clan.

The dragon glanced past Drethleif and the dead mage.

“At least the ones that still live,” corrected the clansman.

He got a nod of acknowledgment from the draconis stranger with the strange eyes. “Allow me to treat the wounded. I won’t be long and I swear that should any patrols come, I will vouch for you.”

A suspicious offer and Drethleif was somewhat concerned that the man had outwardly mentioned Kingdom patrols like he knew something. The chieftain nodded, giving permission while glancing over to his troops to keep an eye out for any patrols. The Grizzlefang Clan was very tight-knit and a glance from their chieftain is often all that was needed to get them moving.

With the caravan and the perimeter guarded for now, Drethleif Grizzlefang watched his strange draconic hostage. The dragon knelt next to the bleeding archer. With practiced paws, the dragon pried the wooden haft of the broken arrow out of the man’s arm. Then he gathered some of the snow from the ground, shaping it into a ball. Magic sizzled through the air as the snow immediately melted but retained its spherical shape. Particles of dirt and grime siphoned out of the water, leaving it clear and pure. Satisfied, the dragon gently applied the orb of liquid against the ranger’s arm.

Much to the chieftain’s surprise, little splinters of wood were pulled out of the ranger’s arm and into the orb. Specks of blood trailed the pieces of wood but no actual blood seeped out from the wound itself. The dragon then pulled the sphere away and tossed it aside. Whatever magic held the orb in place vanished and the water turned into a soft haze of ice in midair.

“What is your name?” grunted Drethleif making a mental note that if this merchant claimed to have no name, he would immediately kill the man. Intelligent creatures without a name were always dangerous.

“Claster,” answered the dragon as he tore some of the ranger’s cloak to make a makeshift bandage. “Grimmwulf Claster.”

Still a heavy name but better than having no name whatsoever.

“From where do you hail?”

The moment the draconic merchant finished tying bandage against the ranger’s arm, he straightened and started heading for the other injured. “South. On the coastal town of Falymorah.”

That was very far south. On the cusp of the tropics. Why someone would abandon the warmth of the southern beaches for the frozen north was beyond him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Claster said. “Why travel this far north? Why subject myself to the Biting Cold? Well…” The dragon knelt down next to one of the warriors who was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. “… You have heard of the Winter to End All Winters, yes?”

“Who hasn’t?” grunted Drethleif, shrugging off the cold.

The Winter to End All Winters. The rumored end of the world. Supposedly, a period of endless winter would befall this world of Evrntyr. A marching white frost would descend from the north, covering everything in snow even the far deserts to the south. The Plane would freeze over and there would be no life left. Eventually it would thaw and somehow, new life would spring from the ruins of the old.

Scholars and priests would constantly claim that the multitude of ruins all around the world were from lost civilizations that had once tried to endure the Winter to End All Winters. There were even those amongst the Grizzlefang who believed the Biting Cold was a herald of the Winter.

“Suffice to say I wanted to see this Winter to End All Winters myself,” Grimmwulf said.

“Do you hope to stop it?” huffed Drethleif. “Are you a wizard seeking fame by being the one to stop something that the gods themselves have put into motion?”

“No. More like I’m a merchant seeing how this will affect my profits.”

The chieftain huffed as Grimmwulf moved from one patient to the other, making sure they were all healthy or at least would not die in the blistering cold. Once he was done, he patiently waited for Drethleif and his company to take what they had now claimed as their own - the one cart of goods and the three remaining adventurers. Those very same adventurers were tied up and thrown into the back of the wagon. Grimmwulf would walk beside Drethleif.

If the dragon so much put a scale out of line, Drethleif wanted first dibs on splitting him in two.

“We will send for you!” bellowed one of the merchants. “Rest assured, the moment we reach the safety of the Ferrumus, I will have the whole army come and rescue you!”

Grimmwulf waved back at the merchant, offering a gentle smile. “Thank you but no.”

That merchant’s face fell in confusion.

“I will uphold my end of the bargain. I will provide my services and then leave. No need for further bloodshed.”

Drethleif regarded the merchant curiously. “You are a strange man.”

Grimmwulf shrugged absently. “Is it strange to uphold your promises and not wish death? I think not. Now let us be on our way. I am sure that there are people in your encampment that are eager for your return.”

Snowy Roads

The encampment was naturally placed in the most defensible position the Grizzlefang could find. Positioned on a small, grassy clearing, there was a small rise that enabled lookouts to have a view of the surrounding forests. Nothing permanent was ever placed. Campfires and tents could easily be torn down. No walls defended the outskirts. The Grizzlefang needed to be constantly on the move primarily because they were still on the run from bigger Clans but also because food was so scarce that what the could forage in the immediate vicinity would be consumed within a few days. Their hunters and warriors could not afford to move too far from the camp given the harsh weather.

What few remained in the encampment celebrated their return. At the very least the two horses could provide some meat if they needed. The rations they had taken from the caravan wouldn’t fill any bellies but it could stave off hunger for a bit. If anything, the wagon would be of use whether it be as a mode of transport or kindling.

Grimmwulf cast his gaze around the encampment, keen eyes appraising every aspect of the camp. Though these Grizzlefang clansmen were big, burly and strong, it was clear that they were all malnourished and on their last legs. All of them were men as well.

“You have no women or children?” he asked.

The Grizzlefang Chieftain whom he had learned as called ‘Drethleif’ merely grunted. “We had. Once. But then our clan was attacked by the Bloodrock. They took our women. Killed our children.”

The draconic merchant turned his head towards the taller Drethleif, one eyebrow raised. “And left you alive?”

“The Bloodrock are renowned for their cruel sense of humor. They thought it would be funny if they would stumble upon our corpses one day. Either frozen and dead from hunger or having killed one another for the remaining scraps.”

A cruel sentence to live out. Likely left Drethleif and the Grizzlefang with little more than the clothes on their back. The fact that they had survived this long was any wonder especially with the oncoming Winter to End All Winters.

Grimm mentally grimaced at the wordy apocalypse. Then again, what could he expect from a Game Master who had styled himself to be an unassuming reptilian kobold with white scales and red eyes. Cheirigumancein the Winterbringer - just Cherry as Grimm had begun to call him - had paid the proprietor of the store known as Classless a visit a few weeks ago. As an interplanar merchant, it was just courtesy for the Plane’s owner and Game Master to advise him to major events or Campaigns that were going to happen. After all, if Cherry planned to cause fire and brimstone to rain down from the sky upon the city that Classless was currently housed upon without warning then Grimm might just be inclined not to open his door to the Winterbringer ever again.

No Game Master wanted that.

Classless offered an incentive to Players, an enticing allure of something more and a means to sample the games and rules of other Game Masters. Grimm offered an essential service. His door was open to every active Campaign.

In this case, Cherry had informed him that the current Campaign on the Plane of Evrntyr would end the current ‘cycle’. An all-consuming winter was coming that would soon wipe out all civilization if it could not be stopped by the plucky band of adventurers that were destined to push back the cold and bring back summer.

Or some other contrived plot line like that. Grimm had worked with Cherry for countless Campaigns - fourteen thousand as the little lizard wizard liked to boast - and Cherry just loved threatening his world with an endless winter. It was his gimmick.

Drethleif gave him a rough push from behind, ushering him towards the center of the camp. Some of the clansmen asked him why he had bothered to take any prisoners. More mouths to feed, after all. The chieftain gave them a few assurances but was firm with them. The other three adventurers were forced to accompany him. Drethleif had a large, heavy, wooden stake planted into the ground and then each of them tied to it.

Seeing as they were in the middle camp, escape would be unwise. Especially now that they didn’t have any weapons.

“Gods it’s cold,” rumbled one of the adventurers, a blonde-haired, baby-faced young man. Arguably the youngest of the group, Aldous Petrie IV was not some noble seeking adventure and fame. Grew up as a farmer and used his build to go adventuring while his three other brothers named Aldous maintained the farm.

To Grimmwulf, he was as plain as white bread.

The other human warrior snarled through his dense, brown beard. “I wish they hadn’t taken all of our clothes. My goddamn nipples are about to freeze off.” Raymond Horner had a slightly darker complexion than the sun-tanned Aldous. Came from years out on the sea as a sailor. He and Aldous were friends and they both started adventuring together.

Slightly more interesting than Aldous but still pretty vanilla.

Gunter Genny was the ranger Grimm had patched up. Quiet, reserved and the ranger that could also double as a rogue, Gunter was currently barely conscious. The wound he had suffered probably still hurt but the concussion he had received from Drethleif’s axe left him in a stupor.

Grimm didn’t know much about Gunter but from what he has seen in their week or so of travel, the man was similarly cliched.

Not that he really expected much from NPCs.

“Can’t believe we’re up here right as the Winter to End All Winters is bearing down on us,” grumbled Raymond, struggling against the thick, rope bindings. Each of them was stripped of their clothing save for a loin cloth. Even Grimm. Though, as a dragonkin, Grimmwulf had the advantage of being somewhat insulated against the cold.

Not to mention he had other advantages.

“Why did it have to be Winter…?” Grimm sighed to himself.

Of course he knew why. The owner and Game Master told him personally.

“Winter is a force of nature!” the Cherry would squeak, bouncing around in his bright blue robes with yellow snowflakes sewn into it. “It’s also a natural part of life. You can’t stop winter from coming. You might be able to delay it but you can’t fully stop it.”

Grimm honestly thought that was just Cherry trying to flaunt his power in front of his Players but that ultimately didn’t bother him. Whenever Cherry was in one of his moods to try end the world, Grimm would venture out of his store and see what he could pick up. Hardship often brought out the best and most unique things in people.

Naturally, the adventurers that he was accompanying were not the destined adventurers that were fated to stop Winter. They were just NPCs that did not have the backing of any Players. Still living, breathing, intelligent lifeforms but none of them had the immortal soul of a Player.

He felt sorry for that wizard that Drethleif had killed so easily.

No more than he felt sorry for the Grizzlefangs, though. Being sentenced to slowly die in the cold with only your wits and what you could scavenge to survive was cruel. A quick glance across the various clansmen identified them all as having been sorted to the Barbarian class of Cherry’s world. Each of them was of the Ancestral Guardian subclass. Most were fairly noble in terms of alignment. None were outwardly evil or cruel.

His assessment: boring.

While there was some novelty in the fact that these barbarians could offer protection to allies and increased defenses to themselves, the founder and sole proprietor of Classless had seen countless Players subvert expectations with unusual builds. A barbarian who protected his allies and was geared more towards being a tank was not something new.

But there was just something about Drethleif and piqued Grimm’s interest. He could smell something valuable here. His intuition was never wrong about these things. There was an opportunity here.

The moment that Drethleif walked back into view, he got to his feet and called for the chieftain. The hulk of a man gave him a withering gaze before heading over. Despite their bluster, the adventurers beside him all shrank away from Drethleif’s presence.

“What do you want, dragon?” growled the barbarian.

“I believe I know how I am going to repay you.”

A derisive snort came from the chieftain. “And how is that?”

“By giving you a kingdom.”

The adventurers gave him an incredulous look while Drethleif just looked amused.

“And how are you going to do that, little man.”

A curious moniker given that they were almost the same height and probably the same in terms of muscle mass.

“I have my ways. But it will require a level of trust.”

“Trust is the one thing you do not have from me. You already owe me multiple favors. Giving you my trust is yet another.”

Well played Drethleif Grizzlefang. “Three favors on my last count. Sparing me. Sparing the rest of the caravan and making off with only a fraction of the loot. Give me your trust for this project and I will consider it a sign of our ongoing partnership. No cost to your existing favors.”

“Don’t do it, Grimm!” barked Aldous. “You can’t offer this savage anything!”

He shot Aldous a warm smile and then shook his head. “Now, now. Opportunity takes many forms. What greater opportunity is there than planting the seed of a new kingdom?”

Drethleif threw his head back and let out a barking that had to be his form of laughter. “You are bold, dragon.” He stroked his snow-covered beard. “A kingdom, you say? Fine. Show me how you will give me a lasting kingdom.”

Grimm held out his restrained wrists.

“From there,” growled the barbarian.

Of course. It was too much to expect to be let free with little trust established.

“Very well. The first thing we will need is one simple thing.”

He held up a finger, smiling wolfishly.

“We need a pool.”

?

?

Liquid Health

Though Drethleif was hesitant to stay for any longer at their current encampment, the moment Grimmwulf had suggested they needed a pool of all things, his patience grew thin and he decided to indulge this self-important dragon merchant as soon as he could before moving on. Far from the rest of the encampment so as not to compromise their defenses, Drethleif had some of his men dig a large hole in the ground. It was somewhat difficult as he had chosen a location within the shadows of the trees so they had to avoid tree roots but they had managed to dig a hole big enough to fit one of them.

“Now what?” growled the chieftain. The adventurers remained at the camp while Drethleif held the ropes holding Grimmwulf. They were alone. The chieftain did not need any other warriors with him to guard one merchant.

Grimmwulf knelt down next to the pit. Though he was unused to reading draconic features, he was sure that this merchant was keeping his expression as still as possible to avoid giving away any secrets. Drethleif still did not trust the man.

The supposed merchant ran his paws along the edge of the dirty pit. “Hmmm… This is barely big enough to fit you.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course. If we are to rejuvenate you and your men, we would need something bigger but I suppose as a proof of concept, this will do.”

Drethleif inclined his head to the side. What did Claster mean by ‘rejuvenate’ him and his men. They were hungry and tired, yes, but how would a pool help with that.

Grimmwulf licked the tip of his fingertip and then pressed it against the edge of the pit. The dirty, wet mud that made up the edges of the pit suddenly turned into smooth a smooth, pinkish-stone separated into hard squares. The rough edges of the pool hardened into a firm circle looking so odd amidst the wilds of their surroundings.

The chieftain hissed immediately and reached over his shoulder for his axe.

Grimmwulf held up a paw. “Patience. I’m not done.”

With a snap of his fingers, the pool suddenly began filling up with crystal-clear water from the bottom.

“Magic!” hissed Drethleif.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You and I both know that if I wanted to escape and kill you, I would have done so by now.”

That was true. Even bound by ropes, Grimmwulf was fully capable of casting his spells. There was nothing stopping the draconic merchant from attacking him and wiping out the Grizzlefang Clan off the face of the Plane. That fear of seeing of facing his ancestors shamefully for failing the Clan stayed his hand… for now.

“Remove your clothing,” ordered Grimmwulf. “Then step into the bath.”

The chieftain stared at his hostage incredulously. “You must be joking.”

“And you must be hurting from that arrow wound. You still haven’t had it removed.”

Despite an hour or so since the battle, Drethleif had yet to fully treat the wound to his left shoulder. The arrow was still embedded in there. None of them were healers and there were more critical matters that needed his attention.

“And what will this bath do about it?” he snarled.

“It will heal you. You don’t have to remove your clothing if you don’t want to but it’ll just be more convenient.”

Drethleif huffed as he began unbuckling his cloak. “I’m keeping my axe.”

Grimmwulf did not seem bothered. “As you wish.”

The barbarian chieftain removed his bloody cloak and other clothing. There was a sound of light ripping when he peeled the leather straps off his chest as the frozen hairs were forcibly yanked from their follicles. Not once did he show any signs of weakness. The cold was as harsh as ever but he wouldn’t show anything to his prisoner.

Standing in all his naked glory, the huge barbarian stepped into the pool without hesitation. He was expecting the shock of freezing water. The shock came instead from the fact that the waters were warm and pleasing to the touch. Still, he did not sigh in relief even as he allowed himself to slide into the pool up to his nipples.

“This is… pleasant,” he admitted.

“As it should be,” answered Grimmwulf, moving beside the chieftain. The merchant dipped a paw into the waters, cupping them between his scaly hands, before pouring some of the water onto the chieftain’s injured shoulder.

There was no stinging sensation. No pain. Just the odd sensation of his muscles forcibly pushing the arrowhead and the splinters that came with it out of his flesh. He watched in fascination as the remnants of the wooden shaft and the metal arrowhead slipped out of his muscles before falling into the pool beneath. The flesh then began to close on its own.

“What magic is this?” he asked.

“A variety of spells and abilities,” answered Grimmwulf with a sly smile. “I combined a druid’s Conjure Water spell with a Cleric’s Bless and Heal to create what is effectively a healing potion bath.”

“So you are a druid and cleric hybrid?” Drethleif said, reaching down into the waters and rubbing it over his body. “Which god do you follow? The Goddess of Nature?”

Strange that despite claiming the use of arcane and divine magic, the chieftain did not detect any crackle of magic this time. When Grimmwulf was melting snow and extracting the splinters from the ranger, he did.

“I am a man of many talents,” answered Grimmwulf, cupping more of the water in his paws. He then poured it over Drethleif’s head. “But I am not bound to your traditional definition of classes. You could say I am… classless.”

The touch of the warm waters relaxed the chieftain’s mind and gave him a sense of calmness that he found both chilling and relaxing at the same time. A strange virility filled his veins. It was unlike when he charged into battle and the beat of his own footfalls and heartbeat was pumping into his ears. Every muscle in his body was pumped and taut, charged with lightning. Veins throbbed with every thump of his heart. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move. To do something. Anything.

However, he pushed down that urge and remained calm and still.

“What is it exactly that you sell?” he asked.

“A service.”

Another enigmatic answer that didn’t leave Drethleif with any sense of comfort. Let the merchant be as mysterious as he wanted. The less he had to deal with him the better. If the Clan’s survival did not depend on the supernatural and some form of miracle, he would not have even entertained this dragon’s attitude.

“There,” announced Grimmwulf. “You are healthy again.” The draconic straightened, dusting off his hands as much as he could. “Are you satisfied and do I have your trust?”

Drethleif pulled himself out of the pool. The minute the cold air brushed him, he was overwhelmed with the urge to jump back into the strangely warm waters. Still, he again resisted. He did become aware of his raging erection, however. Grimmwulf did not, from all appearances so he just turned back towards the merchant, sprouting his ‘natural sword’ for all to see.

“You have a measure of my trust.”

“Good.” The dragon folded his arms thoughtfully. “I have given some thought on how I will repay you. I have three favors I must repay. The first, I have already promised is a kingdom.” He raised a single finger. “Looking about your camp and judging from what little I know about you, I am willing to wager I will clear another part of my debt were I to ensure you would continue your family and clan. Am I correct?”

An astute observation. Though given what he had already told the merchant, that was not a difficult thing to deduce.

“That would indeed be a desirable form of recompense.”

Grimmwulf held up his second finger. “Great. That is two. As for the third favor… I am torn. Should I guarantee the destruction of your enemies, the Bloodrock Clan, was it? Or perhaps survival from the oncoming Winter to End All Winters?”

Drethleif scuffed at both possibilities. The Bloodrock Clan was many times the size of the hamstrung Grizzlefang and no matter how the merchant was worth, it would be impossible to guarantee their downfall. Then again, he had endured many winters before. Though this one was exceptionally harsh, he never believed any of them was the Winter to End All Winters. Summer would come again.

Still, if he was guaranteed a kingdom and progeny, what else could he ask for.

“Since you are in the business of granting wishes,” he chuckled. “How about granting me immortality?”

It was meant as a joke but Grimmwulf did not take it as such.

“Are you looking for practical immortality? Figurative?”

The chieftain was taken aback by the questions. “What?”

The dragon waved a clawed hand absently through the air like the topic was just so casual to him that it was barely worth mentioning. “Practical immortality would be if I were to offer you some form of ultra-fast cellular regeneration with a zero chance of corrupt replication. You would still get hurt but you will always regenerate. Figuratively, I could empower you to become a legend amongst legends. Maybe carve your name in the stars or something. While your mortal body would die, you’d be remembered throughout all time. There are many ways to go about it so you will have to be more specific.”

Drethleif shook his head incredulously. “I was not serious.”

He got an irritated look from the dragon. “Then what would you like for your third favor?”

“Make do on your first two first and then we can talk.”

Grimm crossed his arms and used one sharp claw to tap at his scaly arms, a look of calculation on his face. Drethleif took some pleasure in annoying the enigmatic merchant though he was smart enough to know that there were limits to how far he could push this man who was clearly capable of so much more merely selling and buying ‘favors’.

“Very well,” Grimm sighed after a long moment. “Are you married to the idea of making this location the site of your budding kingdom?”

Drethleif huffed, his breath condensing in front of him. The cold was returning so he quickly started donning his clothes and armor again. “I would much rather we find some place more defensive. Were it up to me, we would be marching before the sun sets to find somewhere else to set up camp. We have exhausted the resources here.”

A thoughtful noise came from the enigmatic, black-scaled merchant. “A successful kingdom prospers if its people are satisfied and happy. Resources here are already scarce and the Kingdom and other factions have claimed the majority of the surrounding land. Your only option at this point is to continue raiding and scraping by on what meager resources you can find.”

“Resources you bargained us to surrender.”

Grimmwulf nodded in understanding. “I have much thinking to do.”

“Think quickly, shopkeep. I will order a march soon.”

?

?

Communion

Drethleif brought Grimmwulf back to the encampment. After some clarification on the use of the healing pool, the chieftain told the rest of his little band to use the healing magic. Conjure Water was a very basic spell and was far from exhausting. Combining it with both Bless and Heal was complicated but not outside of the realms of possibility. Grimm made sure to cast the regenerative spells at higher qualities just to make sure that it would continue to provide healing properties. Originally, he had planned to bottle them and then give them to Drethleif as another means of earning trust but having it as a pool for the rest of the Grizzlefangs to use was just as good as an alternative. He would have to remind Drethleif that he would need to ‘recharge’ the pool at some point if it was to be constantly used.

It came as a surprise when Drethleif didn’t lead him back to where the other adventurers were crouched and shivering against one another. Instead, he was brought into the largest tent that sat right next to the makeshift watchtower at the top of the small knoll. The sun was already setting and with the harsh winter that had befallen them, it was a much darker and grayer sunset than normal.

“Stay here,” Drethleif said. “I will bring you some food.”

“Send them to your other prisoners,” answered Grimmwulf, squatting down at the center of the tent. There was some meager belongings beneath the dark canopy. A pack made from animal furs. Some trinkets and a bedroll made from hard-packed grass and some thin leathers. “They would need some form of warmth as well.”

The hirsute chieftain huffed. “Perhaps some of the men can find something to feed them.” A vicious smile appeared out from underneath his long beard. “They might even ‘warm’ them this evening.”

“I know you are considered barbarians,” Grimmwulf answered darkly, “but I never thought you would take that definition literally.”

“What do you know of me?”

Grimm straightened from where he sat. “In my line of work, I have been exposed to a wide variety of people. I have provided services to the most noble of knights, the most arrogant of kings, the most pious of priests and even the most despicable of monsters. I know a noble soul when I see one.”

Drethleif’s eyes narrowed at him but the beastly barbarian didn’t say anything.

“You haven’t resorted to cannibalism and still honor your ancestors. You know if you were to do anything that would displease them, your major source of power would be sapped from you. So you try to act in accordance to their tenets. That includes treating your prisoners with a degree of humanity.”

The chieftain growled at him… for all of a few seconds before turning around and marching away. Grimm let out a sigh of relief not because he was afraid of Drethleif’s wrath but, for the first time, he was finally alone and had some time to think. His situation was not inescapable. Should he want, he could free himself and the adventurers at a moment’s notice. Perhaps summon a snowstorm and mix it with some acid rain. Or he could maximize every stealth ability he possessed and free the adventurers are everyone slept.

However, he did not want this entire venture to have been for naught.

He needed to come out of this with something.

An idea began to form. An insane idea but one that held merit. The risk was immense but the payoff would be immeasurable.

“Alright,” he breathed to himself. “Let’s start with you all.” Closing his eyes briefly, he ran through his repository of abilities and spells. “Eyes of the Damned from a Necromancer.” As he opened his eyes again, his irises glowed an iridescence green. Ghostly figures looking like glowing, green mist shaped roughly like humanoids hovered in front of him. “Speak with the Dead from the divine class of spells. Mix that with Consult Spirits.” The air shimmered and the figures in front of him solidified a little more, their features and silhouettes becoming more and more defined. They were warriors. All of them bore some semblance of the Grizzlefangs.

Unsurprising since they were the ancestors of the Grizzlefangs.

“Mask Presence. Dampen Magic. Slow Time..”

The world around him turned gray. The howling of the winds quietened down. Snowflakes slowed as they descended to the ground. Drethleif’s strides towards the other prisoners became a crawl. No one suspected a thing.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Grimm told the barbarian ancestors.

“We have nothing to say to you, outsiders.” Though only one ancestor spirit spoke, he spoke with a voice that sounded like a thousand people were screaming all at once.

Grimm lifted an eyebrow. He wondered if the ancestors knew of his role but decided it was not important.

“Then you will listen,” he said. “Your clan is dying. You know they are not long for this world. If they do not starve, the Biting Cold will take them. Even were they to somehow find enough food to restore their strength, given that they are an all-male group, your line with eventually vanish into history.”

“They will find a way to propagate and restore the strength of the Grizzlefang Clan.”

“No. No they won’t.” Grimm lifted his muzzle towards them. “This winter is the Winter to End All Winters. I don’t know how much you know but trust me when I say I know that this is the endgame. The Grizzlefang Clan will die.”

The ancestors were quiet, unmoving. There was worry in their eyes, however.

“So I have this to propose,” continued Grimmwulf. “I have an idea of how to restore the Grizzlefang Clan and not only make them more powerful than ever. They will last beyond the Winter to End All Winters. But I will need your consent as it involves both you and this Clan.”

A moment of silence.

“We are listening.”

“As ancestral spirits, you can only watch and lend your aid to your clan when their warriors enter their rage. You cannot offer guidance. Likely, once, you had shamans who could commune with you but even then, the connection was tenuous at best. Am I right?”

“Our time on the mortal realm has ended. We entrust our Clan’s future with the present generation. We give our strength. Nothing more. How they use our strength is up to them.”

“That’s admirable but you and I both know that their strength is waning. You can scream and shout as much as you want but you will never offer the wisdom you garnered from years of living and being a spirit.”

“What are you proposing?”

Grimmwulf rose from his crouching position so that he could glare at the spirit eye-to-eye. “I want to strengthen the connection between you and the present Grizzlefangs. Empower their very flesh with your immense strength. You will be able to more easily commune with them. They will draw on your strength. Further, they will draw strength not only from food and resources but the spirit realm. This will enable them to last through the Winter while maintaining your culture.”

“What foul form of magic are you proposing?”

He shrugged absently. “Little bit of transformation, divination and conjuration. It’s an unorthodox way of using the spells but I think it will benefit both you and the Grizzlefangs.”

“And what do you get from this exchange? Your debt repaid?”

There, Grimmwulf smirked. “That is only part of it. I am a merchant after all and I wouldn’t be doing this if it didn’t benefit me.” The ancestor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you must know, I get a new class out of it.”

The spirits regarded him with confusion.

“Will probably still stay under the barbarian umbrella,” mused the black-scaled dragon. “A subclass though. I’m thinking of calling it a ‘Forebearer Barbarians’.”

“Your words mean nothing to us.”

Grimmwulf turned back to the ancestors with a smug look. “You don’t need to worry about it. Suffice to say that I do not intend to abandon Drethleif even after my debt is repaid. I need to know the results of my work. I want to see him at max level and what he and his people does with their powers. But for that, I need you to agree to being infused into their flesh and changing the course of your entire Clan.”

He held out a hand. “Will you do it? To save your Clan?”

The ancestors hovered there, quietly consulting with one another. Then the leading spirit reached over and held his hand tightly.

“We agree to these terms.”

“Excellent.”

He dropped all the spells around him. Color returned to the world and the howling winds of the winter returned. Grimm smiled quietly to himself as he pondered this development.

“That’s one down. One more to go.”

?

?

Leaf of Death

Drethleif returned to the tent just as darkness set in around the the camp. Torches were lit all over the encampment but in the dim of the winter, they were barely embers. His men were shivering in their camps. Many of them were huddled together in their tents for warmth. The imprisoned adventurers were given one of the remaining tents. It was sad that there were so few occupied tents and he was left with a level of fear and terror that he would no matter what this miracle merchant would do, there was no bringing back the Grizzlefang Clan.

These were worries that, as chieftain, he could never allow to show on his features. To the rest of his troops, he was a stoic leader who had a plan. What that plan was didn’t need their input. They just needed to execute it and he would lead them back to prosperity and stability. They trusted him implicitly.

And that scared him.

Part of him wished that Grimmwulf was busy with some arcane ritual in the short time he had seen to the adventurers. But he was instead surprised to find that the dragon merely sat cross-legged on the cold ground, a large tome in his hands.

“What are you doing?” grunted the chieftain.

“Research,” came the short, dismissive response.

Drethleif was not too fond of the dragon’s aloof attitude but he knew very well that whatever this man was capable of was beyond his comprehension. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this dragonkin was, in fact, a true dragon in a poor disguise. He had heard tales of how dragons were ferocious, intelligent creatures that could mastermind the downfall of entire empires and wield world-destroying magics. From what little he had learned from Grimmwulf, such a possibility was not too far off.

“Looking for ways to give me my kingdom?” grunted Drethleif, removing his cloak and tossing it over his small sack of belongings.

“That would be a happy consequence of my research, yes. But that is not the intention at this moment.”

“You don’t plan to kill my men and transform them into immortal undead under my command, do you?” The chieftain snorted derisively. “Because no matter how powerful the undead, even having an army of thirty barbarians would not be enough to cleave a kingdom into this wretched, frozen world.”

Grimmwulf snapped the book in his hands shut. “For what it is worth, I only provide my services to clientèle of a certain disposition. Evil, cruel or even noble individuals with malicious intent would not find welcome in my doors.”

Drethleif let out a dark chuckle as he shucked off his boots and began peeling off his armor. “And here I thought merchants could scarcely afford to be picky about whom they sell their wares to.”

“Most merchants have no sense of responsibility and accountability. They would not care if the plate they sold the a boy one day was somehow used to assassinate a king which would subsequently lead the kingdom into civil war. I would.”

He gave the merchant a puzzled look. “But how would you know?”

“Just trust me. I would know.”

More enigmatic answers that only quietly infuriated Drethleif. “Would you blame the blacksmith who forged the sword that slew a general? Would you blame the tree for the wood used to build the siege engines that would lay waste to a town? Would you blame the earth for the metal that was harvested from it if said metal was used to wave a war across the world?”

Grimmwulf regarded him with a mild surprise. “That is awfully philosophical of you. For a tribesman, you are strangely insightful.”

“My ancestors guide me,” answered Drethleif proudly. He lay down on the furs, naked save for his loincloth. “They guide us. Teach us. Knowledge passed from them make it way to the living. Unless you are banished from the clan, you join the ancestors in Hjollvalkard.”

“Hjollvalkard…” Grimmwulf mused softly to himself. “Hill of the Warriors.”

Drethleif was astounded at the dragon’s translation. Few knew or even spoke the ancient tongue yet Grimmwulf did so effortlessly like he had spoken with the ancestors themselves fluently.

“Interesting,” mused the merchant. “I did not know that your ancestors had a demiplane of their own. I was under the impression they hovered over you like ghosts.”

“They do not haunt us!” sneered Drethleif.

“Noted.”

The dismissive reply only infuriated the chieftain all the more but he decided not to pursue the topic. Instead, he wrapped the furs around his gargantuan form and left the merchant to freeze in the environs of the tent.

“I need my sleep. Do not wander off. The cold will freeze your wings off.”

He could feel Grimmwulf’s puzzled stare even before he saw it. “You are not concerned I would flee?”

“You are not the only one that has gleaned some insight, dragon. I know you are a man of honor. You made me a promise. You will not renege on it.” Drethleif rolled to his side so he was regarding the merchant. “Something tells me you are also not one of those puckish merchants who will find ways to sliver his way out of a deal by the barest of technicalities.”

The dark merchant huffed softly. “I appreciate the assessment. I am not without my fair share of… regretful transactions but I always aim to do what is right. Return customers and reputation make or break a business, after all.”

“Kindness rarely fetches a high price these days. You are more likely to be stripped bare and left to die than be paid for your charity.”

The draconic merchant lifted one, blonde eyebrow. “Be that as it may, I have nothing to prove to others. I mentioned that I provide a service. It is never a matter of money or wealth. Were I ever to perform an exchange I am not proud of, I would never be able to live with myself.”

Those words confused the chieftain. What kind of merchant would ‘provide a service’ without expecting payment. How did he even make a living? He doubted that he would find the answer if he asked directly so Drethleif decided to go about the questioning another way.

“How did you find yourself in the company of such a sorry group of adventurers and merchants? You seem capable enough to make the trip yourself.”

The dragon lifted a fist to his muzzle and let out a soft chuckle. “Flattering. However, I have learned a long time ago that the gift we call intelligence demands the company of others.” A strange distant look crossed the dragon’s features, his eyes directed out in the of the tent flaps at the brief glimpses of the gentle flurries beyond. “You can be the smartest, wisest man in the world but without someone to observe it, you are little more a single snowflake in a cold, unforgiving world.”

Drethleif lay on his back, a hearty chuckle rising from his chest. “It seems I am not the only one that is insightful.”

Grimmwulf took one more moment in his own world before turning back to the chieftain. “People can surprise us. Even those of us in the background.” The chieftain gave him a look to elaborate. “I am a merchant, chieftain. Little more than a stepping stone, a passing footnote in the adventures of greater men and women who alter the very course of history. It does not mean, however, that we are any less capable.”

“And you think I am beneath you?” asked Drethleif with an edge of hostility

“That is entirely up to you.”

The shadow of the dragon loomed over the chieftain as Grimmwulf padded over to him. For a brief instant, a strange feeling gripped Drethleif’s body; like he was standing on the edge of eternity, peering into the very cosmos itself. He stood on the summit of a mountain that was as tall as the universe and beneath him yawned the entire expanse of infinity. He teetered on the very edge of the mountain, his toes already over the lip of the summit, gripping onto the shaky ground. Everything in existence beckoned him to take the leap, to jump into the maw of creation.

Them Grimmwulf crouched down and the vision was gone.

“Everyone has the potential for greatness,” lectured the draconic being. “It is not matter of how strong one is or where one stands in the pecking order.” He lifted a clawed finger. “Rather, it is how one defines success and greatness that defines a man’s true power.”

“Is that so?” rumbled Drethleif, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Explain your reasoning.”

“Happily.” Grimmwulf crossed his legs, turning to face the tent flap so that his body was parallel to Drethleif. “A man who has achieved all of his life’s goals will always be far more powerful than one who is constantly ambitious and lusts for more. The mightiest king will always see daggers in the shadows and usurpers in every smile. But a simple farmer who has no worries in the world will never have anything to lose.”

“Not if I burn everything he owns and kills his family in front of his eyes.”

The dragon gave him a side-long glance before turning back to the snow flurry just barely encroaching into the tent. Drethleif fought the urge to shiver though he did curl the furs around his immense body a little more. Much to his chagrin, the fur blanket was not nearly large enough to cover his hulking body.

“Allow me to enunciate it in another way. There is a parable from a far off land. There were two men born on exactly the same day, same moment. One was born into wealth and riches while the other was a simple servant. They were born in the same castle. Both men grew to manhood alongside one another. The servant naturally knew of the future-king but the king did not know of the servant or was only peripherally aware of him.

“When the prince became king, he became obsessed with immortality. He wanted his rule to last forever. So the king spent his resources to ensure an immortal kingdom. At first, it was reasonable. He had a full life ahead of him, after all. But time continued its inevitable march, he grew more and more desperate. All the while, the servant remained by his side, aging much like him but seemingly oblivious to the encroaching doom that comes for us all.”

Grimmwulf held up one hand. “Though the king spent fortunes on his quest for immortality, his healthy continued to degrade. He extended his life unnaturally. He was alive for over two hundred years. Yet the servant remained by his side somehow still able to maintain his health and continue with his duties.

“Eventually, however, the king grew ill and nothing would save him from passing on into the afterlife. His desperation grew great and it was only then did he learn of the servant who had lived just as long as he had but had never partaken in the arcane rituals, terrors and made the sacrifices he had made. So he summoned the servant to him and demanded to know how he had lived for so long.”

“Is the servant Death Himself?” asked Drethleif with a yawn. “If so, then this parable’s meaning is lost on me for the delivery was obvious.”

Grimmwulf lifted a finger and wagged it. “On the contrary. When the king demanded to know how this servant had lived for so long, the servant merely shrugged and told him, ‘My King, there is nothing special in my daily ritual. I wake with the rooster’s crow, I bathe myself, I eat my meals and I go about my duties. I am forever grateful for everything you have provided me and I want nothing in my life. It is perhaps this reason that Death grew bored of me.’.”

Drethleif frowned at him and Grimmwulf smiled. “Grew bored?”

“Yes. The parable would eventually continue by saying that when the king insisted on keeping the servant alongside him at all times. When Death finally did come for him, the king demanded that he take the servant in his stead. After all, they have lived exactly the same amount of time. Why not trade one for the other. Death laughed at the offer and thanked the king for now he had actually made the claiming of the servant’s life worth the the effort for he could claim them both.

“The servant smiled at Death and embraced him and apologized for being such a bother and Death merely welcomed him. The king, proceeded to kick and scream, fighting with all his might not to be taken by Death but one cannot fight the inevitable. When the next dawn came, both men were found dead but where the king looked terrified, pale and stared at nothing with wide-eyed horror, the servant was peaceful and had a smile on his face.”

Grimmwulf held up a finger.

“For you see, the servant led a simple life. Some would argue a life that was truly not worth living. Death visited this man many times but found that claiming his life was simply not worth the effort. You could say he never did anything with the life he was given because he was constantly in service of others and never lived for himself but according to this parable, Death could not claim him because he had no life to begin with.”

Grimmwulf shrugged absently. “Scholars of the nation where this parable originates have argued that the servant was simply just so satisfied with his life that Death found no joy in claiming his life. This paints Death itself as a cruel and hungry entity that takes joy in devouring the lives of others but that anthropomorphizes what is essentially a natural occurrence. Regardless, I choose to interpret it another way.”

“And what’s that?” asked the chieftain, stifling a yawn.

The blonde-haired dragon nodded at the snow beyond the flaps. “Fighting the inevitable is pointless. The moment we define ourselves by the time we have left, we will find we fall into the gravity and influence of that inevitability. But when we turn inward and find our own purpose and success, unshackled by the perceptions of others, then even Death cannot claim us until we are ready to go with him.”

Drethleif let out another yawn and rolled onto his back. “A… novel notion. But one I would have to see to believe.”

His captive merchant was silent for a while and when he cracked open an eye at the dragon, he found a gentle smile on that scaly muzzle.

“Very well, then. I look forward to the day that I help you believe.”

The chieftain let out his own chuckle. “Your challenge is accepted, merchant. Should you fail, you will owe me another favor.”

“And if I succeed?”

“Name your price. Perhaps that is your third favor null and voice.”

Grimmwulf rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No. Should I succeed in convincing you of my thinking, the only thing I ask of you is that when death does come for you, you go with him graciously.”

Drethleif scoffed and closed his eyes again. “Given the Winter to end all Winters is supposedly upon us, you may not have to wait long. But I accept your terms. Now let me rest. My tongue grows cold with ever word I utter.”

The Grizzlefang Chieftain rolled away from Grimmwulf and within moments, a light snore emanated from him. The exhaustion of the day and the past few days hit him all at once and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

“Quite a fitting deal,” Grimmwulf said softly, opening his tome once more. “Especially for one known as the Leaf of Death.”

?

?

?

A Chieftain's Needs

Even though dawn had arrived, it was still dark and miserably gray. Grimm remained awake for the eight or so hours since Drethleif had fallen asleep. Game Masters never needed sleep anyway. The heavy snoring of Drethleif’s slumber was like the gentle ebb and flow of a raging sea to him, offering the perfect backdrop for his research. Most of his research was completed after scouring various handbooks, character builds, community threads and homebrew builds. There were still some things missing but he was sure he almost had the solution to his problem.

It was only as he finished another page on the large tome did he hear a peculiar sound. A wet, sort of… slapping. His ears perked and he glanced towards the slumbering chieftain. Or rather, formerly slumbering. When he saw the gentle gestures around the big barbarian’s crotch, his brow furrowed.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

There was a second of silence then an annoyed grunt.

“I see,” rumbled Drethleif, setting down his book. “If you would rather I leave you to your masturbation, I will take my leave.”

Drethleif hugged. “All that knowledge and etiquette and you could not even pretend for five minutes that you are not in my tent.”

The caused Grimm to bristle as he stood, sweeping up his book. “For what it’s worth, I am skilled in many things including ways that would have had you experienced an orgasm that would have had your toes curling hard enough to crush coals into diamonds.”

It was the barbarian’s turn to bristle and the chieftain rolled over to face him, sweeping aside the fur blanket to reveal the throbbing eight-inch erection emerging from a thick, brown-red bush.

“Then prove it.”

The request was far from the most subtle but at the same time, Grimm had many encounters that had far thinner premises for sex. An idea sprung to mind and he wondered if this was the final piece of the puzzle he needed for his grand design. It only took a moment of consideration before he padded over to the naked chieftain and knelt beside him.

With expert touch, he reached over to the man’s muscled flanks and gently brushed the back of his fingers against the taut skin. Drethleif shivered at his touch and growled threateningly.

“What do you think you are doing?” he snarled. “You missed my cock entirely.”

“Do not mistake this as a means of romance,” answered Grimmwulf sharply. “Though your penis may be the center of your focus and arousal, your entire body is still present. A proper touch here…” As he spoke, he brushed his fingers against Drethleif’s obliques, causing the chieftain to tense but a flush to touch his pale skin. “… and a gentle brush there…” His fingers glided across the man’s nipples, the ghostly touch stimulating the hairs on the barbarian’s chest. Those very same hairs suddenly stood erect and his nipple started to harden in arousal. “… and you will find yourself writhing in the throes of pleasure.”

A grunt was all he got in response.

Good.

Grimmwulf shuffled closer, now using both his hands to stimulate the chieftain’s body. His claws scraped across the skin but didn’t cause any lacerations or breaks, stimulating the nerves beneath. Unbeknownst to the barbarian chieftain, he channeled a succubus’ natural aphrodisiac through his claws while simultaneously using the tiny needles of a Stinging Jellyfish to deliver said aphrodisiac straight into Drethleif’s bloodstream. The effect caused Drethleif to start stroking his member viciously, his thoughts addled by the concoction and cheeks afire with desire.

He couldn’t let the chieftain cum so soon.

The mass of a Gelatinous Cube without the acidic properties infused with the Slow spell and the sweet, alluring smell of a Man-Eating Plant formed a slime that oozed from his lips and coated his tongue. He leaned towards the chieftain’s throbbing member and before Drethleif could viciously stroke his cock to orgasm, he ran his slime-covered tongue along the underside of the organ. A sweet smell filled the tent quickly and Drethleif became a little more relaxed, his fingers loosening their grip around his cock while simultaneously slowing the bursts of pleasure from it.

Just to be safe, the draconic merchant wrapped his lips entirely around the beating member, making sure to cover every inch of it in his gooey saliva. Drethleif bit back a moan, his hands digging into the furs beneath him and twisting them in the throes of pleasure.

Perfect.

It would have been easy to take advantage of the chieftain there and then. Control his mind. Force him to let them go. Devour his soul. Or maybe even wear his skin should he wish. All such things were withing Grimmwulf’s toolkit. However, as he mentioned, he was a merchant of honor and he had his code.

That said, he did allow use some of his control of the enormous barbarian as he gently pushed Drethleif’s legs open - something the chieftain would never have willingly done. A manly musk wafted into the dragon’s nostrils. The scent of a man who spent his days in the wilds and sweating from effort. As his lips drifting up and down the shaft, the chieftain’s thick pubic hairs brushed into his nostrils, carrying that scent into his system. There was much one could learn from a man’s odor and this was an entire encyclopedia on the Grizzlefang Chieftain.

With one hand, Grimmwulf reached up and gently cupped the chieftain’s heavy balls. Big and low-hanging even for an average human that was not blessed with the guidance of a Player. Having dealt predominantly with Players, Grimm had seen some ridiculous genitalia. He had some standards but he didn’t think Drethleif would mind some alterations that would heighten his masculinity.

The regenerative properties of a troll infused into the fast-acting venom of a viper and just a bit of size from a giant. All delivered with no discomfort through the tiny stingers of a Stinging Jellyfish that quickly covered his paws. For Drethleif, he experienced the strange sensation of his testicles straining against his sac as they grew, bulged and doubled… tripled in size. They quickly filled Grimm’s hands, jostling and oozing masculinity. Copious amounts of precum poured into the dragon’s muzzle as the growth quickly made its way into the chieftain’s prostate, creating a pressure against the man’s penis that only urged him to orgasm but with its progress being painfully slowed by Grimm’s enchanted saliva.

“Ancestors…!” moaned Drethleif, arching his hips into the air and right down Grimm’s throat.

Grimm swallowed every inch and allowed his throat to close around the shaft, squeezing more of the ooze from the uncut cock as much as possible. His eyes were fixated on the chieftain who was clearly enjoying himself.

Now it was time to move onto the next phase.

He slowly pulled his muzzle from the chieftain’s cock. Drethleif, cheeks a flush with pleasure, had enough will to stare at him and growl through his beard.

“Stopping now will invoke my ire,” warned the barbarian.

“I have no intention of stopping,” Grimm answered, straightening. “I just know that a man of your caliber would much prefer something a little exciting to do with your member than ravage my muzzle.”

Grimm swiftly removed his pants, knowing that removing his shirt with his wings would take a much longer time. It was there that Drethleif’s eyes widened as the dragon straddled his hips and brushed the throbbing member against the soft flap of skin over the vertical slit of his groin.

“You’re a female!?” blurted the chieftain.

Chuckling softly, Grimm rubbed his hips against the barbarian’s the ooze of precum lubricating his genital slit. “No. I am male. But for the sake of aerodynamics, my genitals are mostly internal. When I grow aroused, my testicles will swell and my own cock will emerge from my slit. But for now, you will find it…” He guided the tip of Drethleif’s cock into his slit, the warm embrace of his flesh causing the chieftain’s eyes to roll into the back of his head and the man to bite back a groan. “… more than satisfactory.”

Now properly positioned, Grimm leaned closer to the chieftain, allowing the barbarian to succumb to his arousal and start gyrating his hips. Inch by inch, the human’s member drove further and further into his slit. A concoction similar to the initial one that he had produced from his lips oozed out of his orifice, covering the chieftain’s member entirely and his balls, soaking the furs beneath them. As more and more of that member entered him, Grimm added another spell into the mix - Enlarge/Reduce - naturally going with Enlarge aspect.

A sound like cracking wood and thrashing vines filled the tent. Drethleif’s member stretched further, thickened wider and started to fill Grimm’s hole a little more. There was a moment of clarity in Drethleif’s eyes as he seemed to realize something strange was happening.

So Grimm pounced.

A severely reduced effect of the Stone Skin Spell alongside with a modified venom of a Violet Wandering Spider whose bite could cause an erection that could last for hours. He didn’t bother with any sort of subtle delivery. All he did was pinch the nipples of the chieftain every so slightly and the package was delivery. Drethleif’s eyes glazed over once more as his nipples became incredibly erect and engorged. This left his cock to grow again by another two inches, driving further into Grimm’s genital slit, without interruption.

The merchant dragon had to admit that he was enjoying the motions. Drethleif’s thrusts were becoming more authoritative. The barbarian chieftain even gripped his waist and for leverage as he plowed harder and harder into the dragon. Grimm’s tongue slipped out between his lips, oozing a thick, viscous liquid made of extract from Lust Devils and with just a little bit of essence from the amphibian Thraads that inhabited the Elemental Quadrant. The green fluid dripped all over Drethleif’s chest, causing a hot, prickling sensation where they touched that increased sensitivity and overwhelmed the senses. Grimm spread the fluid all over the chieftain’s chest, running his fingers over the light dusting of chest hair to make sure every inch of the broad, plate-like pectorals were covered. Drethleif grunted loudly with every inch he covered, the thrusts coaxing more of the aphrodisiac brew from the dragon’s slit.

His own arousal was growing. With each loud, heavy slap of the chieftain’s heavy balls against his rump, Grimmwulf’s balls balls began to swell. The relatively flat slit area began to bulge as the silhouette of his testicles against pressed up against the softer scales. At the same time, his own reptilian cock began to emerge, the pink tip pushing out and dripping his own precum onto the chieftain’s. Where it touched, tiny artificial microbes drilled their way into the chieftain’s pores, entering his bloodstream and immediately sacrificing themselves to rejuvenate the barbarian’s stamina. Whether he realized it or not, Drethleif was not experiencing any form of exhausting despite his body working in overdrive to breed the dragon atop him.

Even with his own cock emerging from his slit, there was plenty of room for Drethleif’s engorged member. Grimm made sure of it. Even with his own body reacting to the desire and lust of the chieftain, he still had the wisdom and intellect to continuously adjust his biology for the situation. The harder scales on his legs designed for protection softened and smoothened to prevent any form of abrasion against Drethleif’s bare body. The sweat that dripped from his body evaporated on contact with the frigid air, transforming into a heady scent that continued to drive the chieftain’s carnal desires. At the same time, his precum filled the air with a cloud of nanoparticles that, when inhaled by anyone else apart from him and the chieftain, would drive a subconscious thought. They were preprogrammed to keep anyone else away, giving the two privacy no matter how much noise they made

Speaking of privacy, Drethleif was quickly throwing aside any sense of modesty as his grunts grew louder and louder. Repelling people through scent was effective but Grimm couldn’t do much about the noise. Except for one thing.

He leaned down, curling his tail around Drethleif’s leg while pressing his body against the chieftain’s massive, heaving chest. His cock was pressed between them, sandwiched between the barbarian’s ripped abdominal muscles. At the same time, Drethleif’s cock pushed completely into him, a waterfall of lustful ooze dripping from his slit. Grimm pressed his lips against Drethleif’s and the barbarian chieftain eagerly grabbed the back of his head with one, beastly hand, pushing them together and driving his own tongue into the dragon’s muzzle. The chieftain was driving this dance.

Drethleif inadvertently suckled and consumed Grimm’s saliva; now a concoction of psychedelic mushroom extracts, hallucinatory venom and powerful medicines that would regulate the rest of the toxins to keep them from killing the chieftain. Drethleif’s eyes grew hazy and unclear but his rough handling was no from Grimm was no less enthusiastic. His other hand seized Grimm’s scaly rear with a powerful, possessive grip while his dominant thrusting claimed Grimm relentlessly.

Grimm loved every second of it.

His own cock was painfully erect and was grating against the barbarian’s abdominals, its tip sliding between Drethleif’s pectorals and being pulled back forcefully with each thrust. It was almost like he was fucking the chieftain in a way while being fucked at the same time. The dual pleasures of this blissful gave him a heady high. For a moment, he allowed himself to release the self-control he had mandated upon himself and gave in to the carnal, primal need to mate. He threw himself into the sex, to the aching of his cock and the wild thrusting of the chieftain.

He was thrown to his side, both of them rolling off the furs and onto the ground. A flurry of snow blasted in from the tent flaps but immediately melted before it even reached the steamy duo. Suddenly, Drethleif was atop of him, fucking him while their lips were still locked. The moment of sensuality was broken when he realized that, despite his size, Drethleif was not putting his entire weight upon him. There was enough to feel the powerful mass of the chieftain but not enough to crush him. Even though he was only slightly smaller in terms of height and muscle mass, he would still have felt the pressure of that weight.

This realization and analysis bought the brown-haired, shaggy barbarian respect… and ripped Grimm from his animalistic desires. He pulled the slowing spell from his slit juices and filled his saliva with more microbes that carried a single command: cum.

It only took Drethleif a few moments of suckling on Grimm’s saliva before the command took over. The chieftain thrust hard three times, each one growing in intensity before he gave one last powerful thrust, shoving every inch of his cock into Grimm while every muscle in his body tensed like petrified wood. Drethleif wanted to pull away, wanted to scream in orgasm but Grimm help him close, kept their lips locked. The chieftain’s roar rippled down the dragon’s throat, shaking the merchant from head to toe and triggering his own orgasm as he was a slave to the powerful warrior’s might.

Drethleif’s seed poured into his slit while his own cum blasted out of his cock and filled the valley that was Drethleif’s pectorals. They held onto one another as their bodies quaked and shook violently from their joint orgasm. With the increased mass of his testicles, Drethleif’s cum soon filled Grimm to capacity and the rest came spurting out of the dragon’s slit a second later. At the same time, Grimm’s own cum dripped out from between their joined bodies like mayonnaise between two slices of beef.

It was the harsh chill of the Winter to end all Winters that eased their petrified, heated bodies. Drethleif shivered and slowly extracted his lips from Grimm, some modicum of sentience returning to his blue eyes as he stared down at the dragon beneath him. Grimm had to admit, in the gray dawn, the barbarian chieftain certainly looked handsome.

Drethleif hovered over him for a good long minute, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Only when another breeze from outside brushed past their bare flesh did the chieftain roll off him, slowly extracting his still erect cock from Grimm’s slit. Just as a parting gift, the dragon tensed his slit so that the extraction felt like he was milking the barbarian for every last drop of cum. It worked because about halfway down the eleven-inch member, Drethleif shuddered and shot one last burst into him.

The barbarian rolled off him, laying spread-eagled on the ground beside him and his body heaving. They lay there for a few moments, ignoring even the blast of cold from the increasingly impatient Winter waiting for them outside.

“You were not lying,” huffed Drethleif. “You are… exceptional.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” answered Grimm smugly.

“If you would take this as your third favor, I would not oppose you.” As he said this, albeit jokingly, Drethleif straightened, taking a second to compose himself before moving to assemble his gear.

Grimm waved the comment away. “I would not be so callous. It was I who rose to your challenge. You still have a third unnamed favor.”

The chieftain gave him a grin from underneath his bushy, sweaty beard. “You make for a poor merchant if you continue to offer your services so brazenly.”

The dragon straightened, adjusting his cum-covered tunic and moved towards the chieftain. Still somewhat dazed and with the chemicals in the air still offering some degree of headiness, Drethleif could only watch as Grimm closed the gap between them… and then licked the edges of his beard, cleaning droplets of cum from the long, braided facial hair.

“Consider it a free sample of my true capabilities,” he answered coyly. “Now, why don’t you address your men? I am sure they are already wondering where you are.”

Drethleif grunted and dressed quickly. He didn’t bother cleaning off the saliva or cum on his bare chest. Within moments of stepping out into the cold, it would freeze over and be indistinguishable from frost. Then he was leaving the tent, no other words given to the mysterious merchant.

Grimmwulf watched him go, a smile on his muzzle. He then reached down towards his slit and still-erect cock, collecting some of the chieftain’s cum on a fingertip before bringing it to his lips. He suckled the fluids off his finger, swishing it between his cheeks before swallowing.

“Yes…” he mused to himself. “… this will do nicely.”

?

?

?

?

Forebearer

The camp was packed up quickly and the barbarians moved quickly alongside their barely dressed prisoners. Since they had begun late in the day due to certain ‘delays’, they had to march faster for shorter. Not that Drethleif really minded. The sex he had with Grimmwulf had been mind-blowing. Many times during the trek through the Bladeleaf Woods, he had to adjust himself or take an extra-long stride because he though back to that excruciatingly pleasurable session.

It made his cock ache and he had not felt like that in a long while. The stress of keeping the Grizzlefang alive and well had sapped him of much of his sexual desire. Perhaps it was because he was so sex-starved or because it was simply because it was fresh in his memory, but the touch of the dragonkin’s hands all over his body, the taste of the dragon’s saliva or the sensations of Grimm’s body against his was burned into his subconscious. He was far more aware of his own needs and even his cock and balls; like they were plants ready to bloom in the first sunrise after winter.

However, his responsibilities as chieftain allowed him to ignore those needs. At least for the moment. He genuinely looked forward to dragging the merchant back to his tent and fucking him from dusk until dawn.

Of course, even after they traveled for half a day through the underbrush with frozen leaves and barren branches that might as well have been knives made out of ice, there was still some hunting to do. He, alongside some of his hunters, scoured the area for some resources. They were lucky enough to find some hibernating animals but they were not nearly as plump due to this winter already lasting a few months. Still, meat was meat and the camp rejoiced that they would not have to be eating rations.

The surprise came, however, when he found that Grimmwulf had created a large pool.

“What have you done?” he demanded angrily.

The pool was located on the outskirts of their encampment; far enough for some privacy but with the steaming waters, it would be close enough to attract the keen patrolman. This pool was also a little more elaborate than the pit that had been his first experience with the healing bath. Rocks had been erected around the edge of the pool artfully and it was big enough to fit at least a dozen of Drethleif’s men. The waters were also strangely milkier than before; opaque and smelling… sweeter.

“Fulfilling a portion of my favors,” answered Grimmwulf, waving a hand over the waters and seemingly ‘seasoning’ it. Little sparkles dripped from his fingertips. The moment they touched the waters, a strange opalescent quality was added to the surface like it had just been tainted by oil. “I promised you a kingdom and guaranteed your lineage and Clan. In order to do that, I will perform a ritual on you.”

“A ritual?” grunted Drethleif. If the merchant had tied him up and forced him into the pool, he would have been suspicious but so far, he had no reason to doubt Grimmwulf Claster. Still, he was suspicious of magic in general and needed an explanation. “What will this ritual entail?”

“Simply put, a bath. And sex.”

A coy smile curled up the chieftain’s lips. “If you desires my cock, you merely had to ask. You needn’t concoct an elaborate excuse.”

Grimmwulf gave him a snort. “I admit the reasoning may be somewhat… contrived but I thought this would be pleasurable for both of us. A nice, warm bath, privacy…”

Drethleif was already stripping off his clothing. “Say no more.”

The chieftain slipped into the hot pool, sighing softly to himself as the healing magics of the waters soothed his aching muscles. Luckily, this time he had not been injured so he could enjoy the gentle touch of the waters without the itchiness that came from rapid healing.

The disturbance of the waters behind him signaled Grimmwulf joining him in the pool. The moment he turned around, the dragon’s hands were around his waist and their bodies pressed against one another. Now that he was away from the prying eyes of his men, he had no need to hold back the arousal he felt by being in this merchant’s presence. His cock was already halfway to being erect and sliding between the dragon’s legs before he even began to speak.

“Ancestors I’ve been aching for you all day,” he growled.

“Adorable,” answered Grimmwulf, gently pushing him backwards so that his broad back was pressed against the edge of the pool. The bordering rocks were warm just like the waters. “Do you trust me, Drethleif Grizzlefang?”

Without hesitation, the barbarian said, “Yes.”

There was a flicker of irritation in the dragon’s eyes. “I do not ask this lightly, Drethleif. What I will do will change the very course of the Grizzlefang’s destiny. It will guarantee you a kingdom and all the hardships that come with it but it will also be the first step to ensuring that you and your Clan will last even beyond the Winter of End All Winters.”

The merchant’s clawed hands reached up and gripped Drethleif’s cheeks. “So I ask again,” he said, leveling their gaze. “Do you trust me.”

“And I answer again,” replied the chieftain sternly. “Yes.”

There was some relief in Grimmwulf’s features as he drew closer to Grizzlefang, lifting his legs so that he was straddling the chieftain’s waist again. This time, Drethleif’s cock was perched right between the dragon’s bubbly cheeks, poking the underside of the long, muscular, serpentine tail.

“Good. Then let us begin.”

And just like that, their lips met once more. Drethleif eagerly suckled on Grimmwulf’s tongue, drawing in some of that nectar-like saliva that sent every part of his body quivering and shivering. Bathed in the warm waters of the pool, the entirety of his skin was instantly ablaze with a tingling sensation that seeped through every pore and reached down into his very bones, filling them with a fiery heat that pumped him with fiery desire and electric power.

He did not need much guidance for his raging hard-on to find Grimmwulf’s ass. The eager hole basically invited him in and that first inch that entered the dragon was like a key that finally clicked into place. Drethleif’s body was overcome by primal instincts. The basic need to breed and propagate overcame all other desires and he was fucking the dragon, desperate to push every inch of his member into the merchant and spill his seed. The overwhelming sensations that roiled throughout his entire body like a calamitous thunderstorm were secondary.

He needed to fuck.

“Ancestors…” he breathed, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Yes,” moaned Grimmwulf, turning his lips away. Drethleif took that moment to pounce on the dragon’s neck, suckling on the soft scales. “Call out to them! Cry out to your Ancestors!”

A strange request but one that Drethleif didn’t care enough to question.

“Grizzlefang ancestors…” he panted as he continued to plow into Grimmwulf. “Hear me… Witness me!”

“Yes…! Yes!”

“Bear witness!” he bellowed, his balls slapping hard against Grimmwulf’s ass under the healing waters. His powerful thrusting disturbed the calm waters of the pool, causing waves. The temperature even rose and the waters began to bubble and boil. “Ancestors! I am here!”

“Call to them,” panted Grimmwulf. “Call them to you!”

“Come to me, Ancestors!” bellowed Drethleif.

There was a peel of thunder, cracking through the howling blizzard. Drethleif’s blue eyes suddenly widened and his entire body straightened. He stared at the cloudy sky above him, seeing something invisible to the mortal eye. For him, the constant overcast of this relentless winter peeled away in a circular pattern to reveal a brilliant, starry night sky above. A smile of awe spread across his lips before his jaw dropped in surprise.

From the skies came down ethereal blue figures. Each one was built like one of them, a barbarian of the icy mountains. They bore great weapons but light gear. Warriors all. They descended floating down towards him with still features. For a second, he felt shame. Had his lustful cried invoked the wrath of his Ancestors? Were they coming down from Hjollvalkgard to punish him for cavorting with a dragonkin merchant?

But he could not stop.

Even in full view of his ancestors, he continued to fuck and plow Grimmwulf, his body aching for a release that was denied him. He quickly decided that if he could not stop himself from this shameful act, he would hasten it before he humiliated himself further in front of his ancient fore-bearers. So he fucked Grimmwulf harder and faster, his cheeks burning in embarrassment and desire while he grit his teeth with effort. Yet the limits of his orgasm seemed to remain perpetually out of reach.

Within moment the ancestors were upon him.

“Ancestors…” he whimpered.

One of the titans of his Clan reached out and for a second, fear gripped his heart. When the man clasped his shoulder, pain erupted from the contact like he was being burned by ancestral might.

“Listen well young chieftain of the Grizzlefangs,” intoned the ancestor. “We enter a new covenant with the living. A new order, a new means to survive this harsh winter and even harsher world.”

“What…?” he breathed.

“We of honored Hjollvalkgard burn our might into your flesh so that your strength may spread over this world.”

Drethleif howled in agony as the ancestor pushed his hand into his shoulder. Bright, blue runes glowed out from underneath his skin, pushing out of his skin and emitting an eerie, ethereal glow. At the same time, power surged throughout his entire body. A new strength like he had never felt before ballooned all over his body and caused his thrusts to grow more and more powerful. Unaware to him, the waters of the healing pool began to swirl around him and Grimmwulf, being drained straight into his body.

Then another ancestor came down, this time to his left. She too pushed her hands against his shoulder. Again, there was a powerful blast of searing energy that caused his entire body to convulse.

“We of Grizzlefang past manifest our protection so you may safeguard the future of our clan.”

More runes burned against his other shoulder, snaking down his arm and rocketing through his veins. The waters of the healing pool splashed and swirled around him like a maelstrom.

Two ethereal hands gripped the sides of his head, the searing pain forcing him to arch his back and look straight up into the features of a third and final ancestor.

“We who have passed on impart our wisdom upon you so that you may use it to lead future generations.”

Drethleif screamed as the ancestor’s fingers drove into his head. His eyes burned with an ethereal light. Eerie, blue flames burst from his irises, consuming his pupils entirely and bursting out of his eye sockets. The same ghostly light burst from deep within his throat as all three ancestors pushed themselves into his body, filling him with their otherworldly might and changing him.

His scream turned into a ferocious roar, shaking his teeth to their very roots. Enamel built over enamel, lengthening his teeth into ferocious fangs. The might of the Grizzlefang ancestors molded his features, pushing his nose out from his face from within, creating a short muzzle that his beard somehow still gripped onto. White fur sprouted from the corners of his nose even as said nose transformed into a large, black, triangular nub. This same fur erupted out from his fiery eyes, pushing his hairline back and driving his ears to the top of his head. The hands of his ancestors tugged at edges of his skull, pulling them into broad, rounded features that was two times the size of his original skull.

The ancestor that had gripped his head pushed his further into Drethleif. The added power seeped down the chieftain’s neck. Already large, corded muscles exploded and ballooned out to swallow a rapidly widening neck. Before his his throat could collapse under the weight of his immense skull, it thickened in all directions, causing his voice to drop down a whole octave. His traps swallowed his neck, offering a sort of natural armor from the sides and back.

At the same time, the ancestors to his sides plunged their arms into his. His shoulders became like blazing suns that were attached to him; burning intensely and radiating heat. Not knowing why, he let go of Grimmwulf’s ass and brought both his arms upwards, flexing them in a sight of might. The ancestors seemed pleased and drove further into his flesh, the runes coiling down his arms and ending in his wrists. All at once, their power surged through his muscles, inflating them and lengthening his bones to suit. Each bicep crackled and grew, the skin clearly splitting apart to form vicious, purple stretch marks before those very same marks were consumed by smooth, white fur. Veins crawled down his forearms like snakes, desperate to fill the increased mass with blood.

A crackling emanated from his fingers and he spread his palms wide. Black, leathery pads appeared across his fingertips and palms. Each nail blackened and sharpened into a vicious claw. The mass of his fingers tripled in size, reaching up to consume the claws before he closed his palms against into immense fists.

Another tremendous roar rose from his lips as the waters swirled and sloshed against him. His flesh was hungrily consuming the magical waters, fueling the transformation. As it roiled, it almost felt like the water was being sucked up into his pectorals as his chest ballooned out and spread. He could feel the edges of his beard tickling his rising pectorals and even twinge as the same white fur began sweeping across his chest. Beyond this fur was still a light dusting of brown-red chest hair.

He was compelled to thrust his chest outwards. Curling both his arms behind his head, he let out another shout, pushing his torso outwards. Thick, red hairs grew out form his armpits, standing out clear as day from the white fur that dominated the rest of his torso. The same white fur swept down his increasingly widening back. The hair on his head that had been pushed back swept down his spine, forming a mane-like growth that stopped halfway down before being compressed by his immense lats and disappearing into the valley of his spine.

His thrust of his chest coincided with a thrust of his hips. The ancestors drove deeper into him, filling him with their essence and strength all the more. His already hard abdominal muscles became eight immense plates of muscle and fur, his bellybutton disappearing into their folds. The waters of the healing pool now barely reached his navel but it was not just because his body was consuming the fluids. No, he felt the popping pleasure up and down his spine and legs as he grew taller. Even the immense Grimmwulf was starting to look much smaller compared to him.

The ancestor’s power coursed down his legs, forcing him to spread them wider. His things inflated out to each side, offering a canvas for the ancestors to draw more of their ancient runes along his quads. Similar runes danced across his waist, forming a sort of arcane belt that encircled his crotch. There was a flush of embarrassment as he felt the ancestors influence course through his genitals but when he realized that they were encouraging him, feeding his primal desire to breed and propagate, he realized this is what their words meant.

They wanted him to spread the Grizzlefang to secure its future but do so wisely.

“I hear you ancestors!” he roared, his cock erupting into a titanic sixteen inch beast. “I carry you will!”

Having accepted his goal and his new purpose, Drethleif’s balls inflated with the powerful, enchanted seed of the Grizzlefang ancestors. White fur covered them entirely, protecting them from the cold as a furry sheath built itself around his erect, raw, pink cock.

He roared and his cum exploded from his newly minted member, shooting Grimmwulf right off him and onto the hard floor of the now-empty pool. Drethleif threw his head back, letting out a tremendous roar as he shot his seed high into the air and let it rain down all over him in a celebration of his union with his ancestors.

The ethereal spirits of his ancestors were gone, now burning within his body. He could feel his connection to Hjollvalkgard and it was overwhelming. A pump of energy coursed throughout his body, too much for even his new ursine form to contain. That power was quickly transformed into more of his seed which was pushed out of his member in gallons. Not once did he grow tired even as he shot load after load and basked in the glory of the future of the Grizzlefangs.

The Grizzlefang Clan… the fire of the Forebearer Barbarians.

The New Clan

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the Grizzlefang Clan met them with a great degree of suspicion. They had heard the tremendous roars and cries of their chieftain as he transformed. None had come to his assistance but they all stood guard, protecting what little resources they had. The transformation had only taken a few minutes and without a leader, they had been paralyzed so Grimmwulf couldn’t really blame them. All of them, however, stood in awe as the enormous nine-foot tall ursine with snow-white fur and covered in glowing, blue runes with eyes that blazed with an otherworldly blue fire emerged from the trees and stood in front of them.

“Brothers!” boomed Drethleif. “The ancestors came to me! With Grimmwulf acting as their liaison, I have ascended!”

The barbarian clan stared in mute shock.

“Chieftain…” asked one of the older warriors; a man with white hair and a snowy beard. “What… what has happened to you?”

Drethleif grinned at the man. “The ancestors themselves came down from Hjollvalkgard! They imbued me with their power! I feel my connection with the Hill of Warriors!” He lifted a fist into the air. “They have entrusted me with a mission to continue our Clan!” He then beckoned to the man with one paw. “Come, Vulkar.” With the other, he cupped his balls, his cock emerging from his sheath. “Partake in the seed of the ancestors.”

Grimm would have approached this more subtly especially as the other barbarians immediately came to doubt the statement. However, whoever this Vulkar was, he was clearly trusting of their chieftain. Straightening and lowering the spear he held, the older barbarian stepped forward. Drethleif grew more and more erect with each of his tribeman’s steps.

“Chieftain,” began Vulkar, staring the towering bear right in the eye. With his cock fully erect, the six-foot tall barbarian did not even have to kneel to be at eye-level with Drethleif’s cock. “I trust you.” He swallowed loudly. “And I trust that if this were wrong, you would fight through it and tell me to run you through before you doomed our clan.”

To his credit, Drethleif was understanding of his tribesman’s doubt. “Rest easy, old friend. The ancestors are with you.”

Vulkar hadn’t let go of his spear but still closed his eyes and leaned towards the tip of Drethleif’s member. The other Grizzlefangs held their breath but made no sound while the older barbarian puckered his lips and took the smallest of sips of Drethleif’s precum.

That was all that was needed.

The old man’s eyes suddenly snapped back open, his irises shining a bright, ethereal blue from their original brown. A loud snap cut through the encampment as Vulkar’s hands bulged and he broke the spear he was holding. Now freed, the barbarian gripped Drethleif’s cock in both hands and eagerly began slurping up the juices offered like a baby hungry for his mother’s milk.

“I hear them!” cried Vulkar between loud, noisy slurps. “The Ancestors! They… they… They have come to bless me!”

Grimmwulf took that moment to quietly shuffle away from the oncoming scene of explosive growth. The other Grizzlefangs were far too preoccupied to notice him working his way around their encampment. Vulkar’s primal roar and the subsequent sound of flesh and bone growing only increased the barbarian’s interest in the scene and disinterest in him. The sound of leather snapping as the older barbarian burst out his armor masked the dragon’s quiet footfalls on the snow-packed ground.

He had made it to where the Aldous, Raymond and Gunter were perched without incident. The captive adventurers were still bound to a stake in the ground and mostly naked save for fur cloaks wrapped around them.

“What in the Gods’ name…?” breathed Aldous as Vulkar straightened, now a tremendous ursine with silver fur all over his body and nearly as big as the titanic chieftain. The two bears stared at one another with lusty grins on their faces. Even though their cocks were fresh from ejaculation, they were still erect and shamelessly rubbing one another’s members. Within seconds, their lips were meshing together and their moans were audible even from the back of the camp where Grimm now stood.

“The gods of this world had nothing to do with this,” Grimm said smugly. “This was the result of some druidic arts to create and purify water, divine magic to provide fuel and healing and some other spells to increase strength and promote growth. Coupled with some divination and even some necromancy to enable the Grizzlefang Ancestors to fuse with the very flesh of their living clansmen and just a pinch if diplomacy. After all, I can’t force either party to merge into one without both consent.”

“You did this!?” cried Raymond incredulously. “You created monsters!?”

His cry was drowned out as loud moans came from the other barbarians in the clan. Even though they were far from Vulkar and Drethleif, they were inexplicably drawn to one another. Their bodies became flush with need and before long, they were stripping each other and lips meshing in heated passion. Glowing runes quickly appeared all over their bodies and they began screaming for their ancestors as the transformation quickly over took them as well.

“They are not monsters. They are a new subclass of barbarian. The Forebearer Barbarians.” Grimm smiled smugly to himself. The two clasnmen closest to them - the two that were meant to guard the prisoners - were suddenly rolling on the ground, stripped of all clothing and glowing runes burning against their flesh. Muscles expanded rapidly and fur spread all over their bodies. “Of course I needed to implement a few nanomachines and a little bit of forms of magitek to enable the transformation to spread across the rest of the Grizzlefangs remotely. Converting the ancestors’ energies into electromagnetic waves was not easy but now, anyone that finds themselves in the presence of two or more mating Grizzlefang Forebearers and that the ancestors accept will be converted. The more Forebearers mating, the greater the signal.”

“This is madness!” cried Gunter. “What plague have you unleashed upon this world!?”

“Plague?” Grimm questioned. “My dear ranger, I have just created a race of people who can endure the harshest of winters. They can even survive the Winter to End All Winters for the simple fact that they draw their energies from Hjollvalkgard and their immortal ancestors. The Forebearers can still eat and drink to maintain their bodies but they can also draw on the ethereal energies of their pocket dimension formed from countless generations of their warrior ancestors to empower their bodies. So long as they continue to honor said ancestors, they will never go hungry.”

He glanced down at Gunter. “On that note, you three must have rather exceptional wills to have resisted the call of the Grizzlefang. A more direct approach will be required.”

The ranger pulled back away from him. “What!?”

Without warning, Grimm snapped the ropes holding back the kneeling Gunter, seized the back of the man’s head and threw him like a doll at the two mating ursine warriors in front of him. The thin ranger barely caught the attention of the two white-furred bears who were in the throes of lust but they did notice him. Savage grins crossed their features and they reached for a paralyzed and fearful Gunter.

“No! Gunter!” shouted Aldous.

Both bears shoved their cocks against Gunter’s face, their precum covering the ranger’s face within seconds. Gunter did all he could to avoid consuming the fluids but ingestion was not required. It was just more… pleasurable. Grimm had been sure to modify the prostates of the Forebearers to produce the magitek nanomachines that would enable the Grizzlefang Ancestors to assess, contact and possibly convert new recruits. Orgasm was not required as Gunter would soon find out.

“Oh Gods…” breathed the ranger, his eyes already glazing over and his irises burning with an ethereal, blue glow. “No… Ancestors! I see them! They are… they are magnificent!” A wide grin crossed the ranger’s features. “Yes… yes! I will join you! I will become Grizzlefang!”

Not surprising. Adventurers by and large were stronger than the average NPC even if they were not controlled by a Player. The Ancestors would have been foolish not to accept someone like Gunter into the ranks of their Clan. Grimm had to make sure that Player-controlled Adventurers would have a harder time being converted, however. He didn’t fancy getting complaints from either the Game Master or Players about how the supposed destined heroes were waylaid from their destiny by becoming horny albeit honorable bear-people.

“You monster!” roared Raymond at Grimm. The fighter’s shout was provided on the backdrop of Gunter’s churning form, the slim ranger jolting to the right as his left arm bulged out of his body, transforming into a huge, beastly limb that was nearly as tall as he was and covered in silky, white fur. Gunter used that very same limb to wrap a paw around one of the cocks offered to him, guiding it directly into his mouth and suckling on it like a baby to a mother’s teat.

“We are all monsters to someone,” Grimm said dismissively. He reached down, grabbing the restraints holding back Raymond. He tore them apart with a single yank and then seized the back of the human warrior’s neck. “Perhaps to many I will be considered a monster. Evil, even. However, to others still I will be a hero.”

Raymond reached back, trying to loosen the dragon’s grip on his neck while lashing out wildly with his legs. “Who would ever consider you a hero?”

Grimm dragged the struggling human effortless a little further down the encampment to where a group of five Grizzlefangs, now fully transformed were fondling one another, cheeks flushed with lust and their eyes emitting the same ethereal blue flames. “This world is caught in a constant cycle of near-death experiences thanks to the capricious will of its creator who seems to be obsessed with freezing people to death. Far be it for me to dictate the rules of a world. That is not within my power. But what is within my power is saving what few lives I can.”

He lifted Raymond so that they were at eye level but he made sure the fighter’s eyes were directed at the group of ursine warriors. “I have created a race of people who can endure the cold. People who need not sustain themselves on food or water as they can draw on the spiritual energies of their ancestors. They can last until the spring comes no matter how long the winter. Perhaps to you, I am a monster…” A dark grin crossed his features. “…but what are monsters but those wreathed in darkness hoping for the light?”

Then he threw Raymond into the group of Grizzlefangs. They quickly enclosed around the near-naked warrior. The fighter’s screams quickly turned into gurgles as the enormous animals poured their corruptive seed all over him. Grimmwulf turned away and headed to the last of the human warriors.

To his credit, Aldous was actually regarding the scene with a strange mix of horror and fascination in his eyes. Grimm smiled to himself. He had a feeling about this particular human.

“I designed them in a way that their physical touch is almost like having a conversation, you know.”

The blond man regarded him with wide eyes. Already, his irises were glowing a bright blue. The signal of the Grizzlefangs had called to him.

“Our identities are held together by our physical form. When we are robbed of it, over time, we start to lose ourselves in the ether. This is what happened to the clans and tribes whose souls have traveled to Hjollvalkgard.” The dragon lifted his muzzle looking to the sky. Aldous did the same. A quick shift of his perception and he could see the dark, grey cloud peeling apart and the one ancestor spirit descending from the starry expanse of the barbarian demiplane towards Aldous.

“In the barely defined planar realm of Hjollvalkgard, mortal souls get blended and meshed together, barely conscious but still communing with one another like they are in constant conversation. Minds are constantly open to one another. Souls blurring. Naturally, when these spirits come to the mortal realm and bind with the flesh of the Forebearers, they find themselves quite alone. They suddenly are no longer supported by their fellow souls.”

The ancestors touched Aldous and the fighter let out a triumphant cry. The erect cock he had been so desperately hiding beneath his fur cloak came bursting out, forcing him onto his rump against the ice. The huge fourteen-inch member throbbed and poured precum onto the snow.

“To avoid these souls going mad from loneliness, I opened a bridge between them and the host mortal that they are empowering. Forebearers have the direct benefit of their ancestors’ wisdom. But even this connection can be unsatisfactory to entities that have lived for eons without limitations to the information they can exchange.”

Aldous threw his head back, letting out a tremendous roar as his chest heaved, white fur bursting from his broadening pectorals and turning his nipples a jet-black to match the color of his transforming nose. He gripped the sides of his head, fingers transforming into enormous, furry paws that was quickly spreading over his skull.

“So I made one more adjustment,” Grimm lectured.

He smiled to himself as two other Grizzlefangs crawled over to Aldous. Their blazing, blue eyes shone with recognition and familiarity. One cupped the fighter’s cheeks gently, pulling him out from behind the barrier of his mutating fingers and into a tender kiss. The other immediately made for Aldous’ cock, suckling on it and bringing out the bear in the fighter. Gunter and Raymond were pulling Aldous into the Clan.

“Through mere touch, Forebearers are able to communicate with one another on a level that is beyond the limitations of language. Thoughts, emotions, concepts and feelings can be communicated through touch. This naturally causes the spirits that inhabit their flesh a level of excitement and that, subsequently, releases a great amount of pleasure throughout their system, compelling them to continue the cycle of close contact.”

He glanced back down towards Aldous, now a full bear and wrapped in the arms of his former adventuring party.

“I am eager to see what effect this has on the clan dynamics.”

With a satisfied smile, Grimm turned and headed back to where Drethleif was perched. The clan chieftain watched with great satisfaction as his entire clan succumbed to the Forebearer influence. All the while, Vulkar continued to suckle on his cock, fondling his enormous balls. Vulkar’s eyes were still ablaze with the otherworldly blue fire but Drethleif’s had ebbed to just his irises.

“You have made my clan strong,” rumbled the chieftain. “Is this one of your favors, merchant.”

“Partially,” Grimm answered with a slight tilt of his head. “I promise you a kingdom. With most territories in this area already claimed by other tribes and nations and resources dwindling due to the winter, it would be impossible to start a new kingdom. However, by enabling you and your people to draw strength from somewhere apart from the Material Plane, I have given you one of the foundations of a kingdom - resources.”

Drethleif reached down, cupping the back of Vulkar’s head as he thrust his cock into the older bear’s muzzle. “And what of the other foundations?”

“You have the land,” replied Gimm, spreading his arms and wings. “No one has claimed the Bladeleaf Woods and it is now yours. You are already capable of defending yourself. Now, you will just need the population and I have already given you a means to procure that with your new forms.”

The chieftain grunted. “I see. I watched you convert those adventurers to our clan. Your magic knows no bounds.”

“It is not mine. It was the will of your Ancestors. Make no mistake, had your Ancestors not wanted them, they would not have transformed.”

“I sense that. Yes.”

Drethleif grinned as he came, loud sloshing erupting from his cock and balls as he poured his seed into Vulkar. The older bear jerked his own thick meat rapidly as he swallowed his chieftain’s cum. Within moments, he too was erupting in a joyous burst of seed that send him sprawling back, exhausted. The fire in his eyes faded as well, leaving him with glowing irises but also still stunned from the euphoria he had experienced.

“You will have your kingdom yet,” said Grimm, bowing towards the chieftain. “Your Majesty.”

Drethleif threw his head back and let out a barking laugh.

“Tell me, merchant. Were I to mate with you, will my Ancestors claim you as part of my clan?”

Grimm returned a savage grin. “We will just have to find out, won’t we?”

No Winter Too Harsh

The warmth of spring graced the beautiful garden of Grizzlefang Palace with its gentle kiss. Drethleif stood in his private garden, still as hearty and powerful as he ever was but with his mane now completely gray and flecks of silver touching his muzzle. From his perch, he could see the expanse of his capital city - Rimeroar’s Bane. The warm, golden sun bathed the bustling city like a gentle, gilded curtain. It was a little past noon and the city of Forebearers was still as busy as ever.

Though his ursine people dominated the population, there were others from other races, other kingdoms and other tribes that walked the cobblestone streets.

He had a kingdom.

More than that, his lineage and legacy would continue forever more. This city and the kingdom he had built alongside his most trusted adviser, longtime friend and lover, Grimmwulf Claster, would last the test of time.

If it were not just because of how immense the city was and his people, it was for the play he and the Grizzlefang played in ending the Winter to End All Winters. He chuckled to himself at the memory of that small band of adventurers who stumbled onto their budding city all those years ago. He would have fucked them and converted them into Forebearers if Grimmwulf had not stopped him.

Back then, he had no idea why but Grimm had convinced him to give the adventurers shelter, equipment and resources. Grimm had given them some of his ‘services’, even building for them a crystal lance of some sort. Less than a few months later, when most of the world had been consumed by the blinding white blanket of winter, spring abruptly came. The adventurers returned weeks later, triumphant and reporting that they had once again put the ancient Rimeroar to sleep and ended the Winter to End All Winters.

And were it not for the help Drethleif had given and the shelter he had provided, they would have been dead before they saved the world. So he named the city Rimeroar’s Bane in memory of that fact.

He sighed quietly to himself, reflecting on everything that had happened up to this point. The building of his city. The attack of the Bloodrock Clan. The ‘diplomacy’ of the Kingdom. Each trial he had conquered alongside his Clan which only grew as more and more people became Forebearers to escape the Biting Cold. Even now, as winter just became another three-month cycle, people continued to become Forebearers.

But all things must come to an end.

“I think I am ready to go,” he said.

“You think, or you know?” asked Grimmwulf.

He looked to his left. There stood the immense dragonkin. Still looking the same as he had when they had first met. Drethleif had long decided not to ask about the merchant’s secrets. Even when the first gray hair appeared on his mane and Grimmwulf remained unchanged, he never asked. Nor did he ask for some secret to immortality as he final favor.

Grimm had given him a kingdom. Had ensured his legacy. At this point, he had nothing else to ask for.

“I know,” answered Drethleif. “I want to go.”

The dragon gave him a side-long glance. “You realize you still have many stories to tell. Many more things you can be involved in.” He canted an ear towards him. “Perhaps an heir to take up your mantle?”

The mighty chieftain chuckled and rested against the large, wooden chair he was perched upon. “Perhaps but I was never one to find too much comfort in being a father or ruling a country. My blood boils for adventure and excitement. While I could wage war for no other reason than to alleviate my boredom, my responsibilities to my people and honor prevent me from making something so reckless.”

“And leaving abruptly without a word is no less reckless?”

Again, Drethleif chuckled. “You and I both know you have been preparing for this eventuality, Grimm.” He reached over, gently holding the dragon’s hand. “Now tell me. What scheme have you concocted to ensure my country does not fall into disarray the moment I disappear?”

The dragon smirked as the mighty ursine chieftain kissed his knuckles as a sign of respect and affection.

“The minute you go, the skies will peel open. Hjollvalkgard will be visible above the city. Your Ancestors will descend upon your empty throne and begin a trial for the next Forebearer King.”

“Oh? And who will be the lucky cub?”

“A young street urchin. There will be mystery and intrigue as various lords from all over the world attempt to seize your throne but while attempting to protect a particular grating and insufferable prince as part of a paid mission, a plucky group of mercenaries will rescue this child who is barely reaching his twentieth year. They will protect him and on a whim, he will take the trial and succeed.”

Drethleif smiled faintly. “Plucking a young man from the dregs of society to take my throne.”

“It is cliched, yes, but I think it will be fitting for the next chapter of the Forebearers.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Drethleif gave his companion a smile and turned to his city one more time, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “May I confess something, Grimm?”

“Of course.”

“Answer me a question first. You fulfilled your promise to give me a kingdom and ensure my legacy a long time ago. But you never asked me what I would want for my third and final favor. Why?”

Grimmwulf smiled. “Because I already knew what you wanted.”

“And you did not act upon it?”

The black-scaled dragon gave him coy smile. “Because I knew I would not be able to grant it to you until this very moment.”

“Is that so? Then tell me, merchant, what is it that I want?”

Grimmwulf turned to look at the city, a gentle smile on his muzzle. “To follow me.” When Drethleif didn’t say anything, the merchant continued. “You have been afraid that when you utter your final favor and I grant it to you, I will depart and leave you. We will be apart and you will never see me again.”

The dragon turned to look at the chieftain, king and Forebearer with a smile. “Surely you would have gathered by now that I would not have endured the indignity of you presence for so long were I not invested in you.”

Drethleif snorted softly. “Invested. But not loved.”

“Do not be so dramatic. Of course I love you.”

The chieftain’s heart skipped a beat. “But you never said…”

“Did I have to?”

The bear frowned for a moment then shook his head. “No… I suppose you did not.” He sighed and ran a paw down his face. “Ah, even now you still have so much to teach me…”

“It comes from being who I am.”

“And who, exactly is that?”

Grimmwulf clapped the armrests of his chair and straightened. “No one.” Then he offered his hand towards the chieftain, a smile on his face. “Well, Your Majesty, shall we go?”

There was flurry of movement behind them and when Drethleif stood and turned, he found a strange creature standing a short distance away. The entity appeared like a rather well-build tiger-like humanoid only he was dressed in all black and possessed two, large, black wings sprouting from his back. A black, metal mask was plastered on his face, hiding his features.

“Who is he?” asked Drethleif.

“Death,” Grimmwulf answered. “You remember what I said all those years ago, right? If I ever succeeded in convincing you that the moment we define ourselves by what time we have left, we will fall into the gravity and influence of the inevitable. But…”

“… when we turn inward and find our own purpose and success, even death cannot claim us,” finished Drethleif. “I remember.”

“So…” Grimm said gently. “Have I succeeded?”

The chieftain smiled back at him. “You have.” His bright blue eyes turned towards the feline vision of death. “And I am ready to go. As agreed, Death has come for me and I will go graciously.”

He strode towards the deity but stopped just short of the feline. Then he turned back towards Grimm.

“Will I see you on the other side?”

The dragon nodded. “That was my third favor.”

There, Drethleif beamed then turned back towards his final destination…

… and disappeared.

…

N9 the Neutral sighed and reached up, removing the mask on his face to stare at the dragon in front of him.

“Really?” he said bluntly. “You know very well he’s going to be your Advocate and you still call me over here to make a big appearance as ‘Death’ for what?”

“Drama,” answered Grimmwulf, twisting a wrist into the air. “Come on, Connor. Lighten up. Drethleif was an amazing character, a brilliant barbarian and an amazingly hot lay.”

“And he’s now going to be an assistant in your shop while simultaneously being immortalized in all of existence as a new ‘subclass’,” said the tiger, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes. We all know how you work. I swear, the only one more conniving than you has got to be him.”

The No One of Death placed the mask back on his face. “Anyway, I’ve got places to be. You returning to your shop?”

Grimmwulf stretched and yawned, flapping his wings absently. “Yeah. I’ve got to get Drethleif settled in. Not to mention Cherry is probably royally pissed at me for disrupting his whole cosmology.”

N9 gave him a sour look. “I don’t blame you. That kid was literally stuck freezing this reality over and over to reset it. He needed a disruption.” He made finger guns with his paws and fired them off at Grimmwulf. “Creating a race of people who could endure the cold and basically last any winter he throws at them is genius. Either he stalls his campaigns for an indeterminate amount of time until your Forebearers run out of spiritual energy - which they never will - or he’s forced to rethink his entire strategy.”

Grimmwulf shrugged. “I made do with what I had to work with.”

“Just what I’d expect from S-Zero the Savior of Space.”

Path of the Forebearer Barbarian

There are a subset of barbarians who believe that the souls of the dead pass on to the plane of Hjollvalkgard - Hill of the Warrior - when they die. These souls continue to have a strong connection to the living world thanks to barbarians who take the Path of the Forebearer. Those who take this path become vessels and conduits for the souls who impart their wisdom and strength into the living barbarians, transforming their bodies into immense hybrids of spiritual and physical might.

?

These barbarians work in tandem with their spiritual guides to give themselves enhanced protection while simultaneously summoning their ancestors to fight for them. Forebearer barbarians are forever transformed by the power of their connection with the spiritual realm with their physical forms often being wrapped in glowing runes and their bodies becoming far more otherworldly in general.

?

Forebearer Form

Starting when you choose this path at 3rd level, your body will transform into a half-spirit, half-mortal form. Glowing runes will appear all over your body and when you rage, your eyes will glow as well.

Forebearers draw upon the spiritual realm for sustenance. As a bonus action, they can expend a rage point to heal 1d10 + Wisdom Modifier. This bonus increases at certain levels with it being upgraded to 2d10 at Level 6, 3d10 at level 10 and 4d10 at level 14.

Once per long rest, you may choose one damage type. Upon entering rage, you are immune to that damage type. This overwrites resistances that would be granted by rage otherwise.

?

Forebearer** ’s Guidance**

At 4th level, Forebearers are able to transmit their thoughts through mere touch. They are able to communicate a maximum of 25 words at 4th level through this method per short rest so long as they maintain contact. At 6th level, they can communicate 50 words and at 8th, 100 words. At 14th level, the word restriction is removed and they can speak to others through this method without needing to rest.

?

Guidance of the Forebearers

Beginning at 6th level, the Forebearer can choose either Spiritual Conduit or Embody Spirits. A Forebearer cannot have both.

Spiritual Conduit grants the Forebearer a +2 ability score to Wisdom and enables the Forebearer to add their Wisdom modifier to any attack rolls they make while raging.

When the Forebearer reaches certain levels in this class, the bonus is increased: +4 at 10th level and +6 at 14th level.

?

Embody Spirits

Beginning at 6th level, the Forebearer can choose either Spiritual Conduit or Embody Spirits. A Forebearer cannot have both.

Embody Spirit allows the Forebearer to transform into a bestial shape once per long rest. The bestial form gets a magical Bite and Claw attack as well as temporary hit points equal to half their current hit points. If their temporary hit points are reduced to zero while in this form, they revert back and their rage ends.

?

Summon Forebearer Spirit

At 10th level, the Forebearer gains the ability to manifest their spiritual partner on the battlefield once per long rest. The spirit appears as an ethereal replica of the Forebearer with all their equipment and appearance except that they are transparent. Forebearer spirits have half of the Forebearer’s hit points and cannot be healed by any means. They act as a second copy of the Forebearer, able to use all of their abilities and attacks and act after the Forebearer’s turn.

?

Forebearer** ’s Fury**

At 14th level, when a Forebearer enters rage, every creature within 30 feet that the Forebearer targets must roll a Wisdom Saving Throw versus DC 10 + the Forebearer’s Wisdom Modifier + Proficiency Bonus. Those who fail their saving throw are charmed until either the Forebearer is incapacitated or the Forebearer decides to end the effect. Charmed individuals regard the Forebearer as a friendly acquaintance and cannot attack the Forebearer. The Forebearer also had advantage to any ability check to interact socially with the creature.

?