FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"I trust the little monsters about as far as I can throw them. Which, given their size, is actually pretty far ... maybe I'm being too generous."

It was a rather gloomy sort of day, a bank of low, grey clouds hugging close to the rolling hills that spread across the landscape, an early hint of the winter season that was not too far off. The wind carried an equally early chill with it, cutting through Aren's robes and darkening his mood even more. He didn't want to be here, in this miserable little outpost of a town, dealing with such a miserable little errand, but he still fully intended to make the most of the situation. His companion's attitude was not helping. "Enough, Valerian."

Valerian was the worst sort of companion to have on one of these diplomatic errands. Young and impetuous, more brawn than brains, but worst of all the youth was, in fact, the youngest son of King Cyprian and the nominal ruler of the western kingdoms, this miserable little town and the surrounding hills included. There were few things as annoying as an entitled young prince being involved in negotiations.

"What? Don't tell me that you trust them any more than I do," Valerian shot back with a sort of pout. "Besides, it's not as if anyone else can hear what I'm saying. They're not even here yet; look, their wagon is still headed this way."

Aren looked out over the balcony and at the sight of the horse-drawn wagon making its way along the road, passing a few outlying farmhouses on its way to what qualified as the village center. "You would do well to tame your tongue now, Valerian. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to arrange this meeting in the first place? Getting these beasts out of their holes is nigh impossible."

"I don't know why we even bother. If it were up to me, I'd simply order a whole battalion of my father's finest down there and take what is rightfully ours. That we are being forced to negotiate is an affront to my family's authority!"

"Valerian." Aren sighed quietly, shaking his head. He'd known the young man practically since birth, blessed with all the beauty of his mother but little of the political acumen of his father. It was probably for the best that, as the youngest, he was never really a contender for the throne, not qualified to run a court, no less a kingdom. "You know as well as I that attempts to enforce taxation of the mines has ended in failure every time."

The young man sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders. "If only because they've sent the wrong men to enforce it. Tax collectors and constables. It's a wonder any of them even made it back alive. My father should be sending warriors! Send me, and I'll teach those monsters a thing or two ..."

"You'd go down into the mines yourself?"

Valerian shrugged. "I'm not afraid," the young man said.

"Only because you don't understand the dangers. The mines are old, generations old, and so are the traps within. No, brute force does not work. Your father sent me to negotiate with them for a reason, Valerian. I expect you to keep quiet during these discussions, they require a delicate touch."

Again the prince shrugged, turning with a look of contempt on his face. "I don't do delicate touches," he said, stomping back inside the building.

Aren watched the young man, shaking his head. "Ah, if only you did," he whispered under his breath; for as socially unrefined and impulsive as the prince may have been, he made up for it in sheer physical attributes. Curled locks the color of honey framing a cherub's face, a chiseled and almost perfect gladiator's figure, the sort of thing that set many a woman's - and a man's - heart to flutter. Aren was a member of the royal court, a trusted personal advisor and friend to the king. Such a thing could never happen - it would be suicide, literally and figuratively - but it didn't discourage him from imagining just how nice a delicate touch from the young man might be ...

The sound of horses neighing caught his attention and pulled him out of his indiscreet reverie. The wagon had finally arrived, met at the entrance to the courtyard that surrounded the garrison where the meeting was to take place. Aren watched with a hawkish gaze as a pair of well armed guards approached the wagon and its driver, a simple looking man who appeared anxious to be on his way. A few words were exchanged, lost in the wind, but it wasn't the driver Aren was interested in sizing up.

The passengers dismounted the back of the wagon, one by one, five in all pouring from the back and landing on the ground, pacing around anxiously as the guards approached. Four were dressed relatively simply, in clothing befitting a miner, or so Aren thought, cobbled together from ragged scraps of cloth and well-worn leather. The fifth, undoubtedly their leader - or, at least, a representative appointed by their leader for the purposes of the negotiations - was dressed more luxuriously, swathed in a ochre cloak, silk by the way it flowed in the wind, inlaid with glimmering patterns. Even from this distance, Aren could make out a number of rings on his fingers and a brooch pinned to the front of his cloak.

The tallest stood no more than half his height, most hardly coming up to the waist of the two guards that approached. Their speech, also mostly lost to the wind, carried connotations of excitable yapping to Aren's ears as the strange, reptilian creatures conversed with the guards. Somewhat reluctantly, the four in simpler clothing surrendered their weapons - daggers and knives - although the apparent leader refused to hand over his staff. Aren wished he could hear the conversation. It would have served him well in learning at least a little about them before the negotiations began.

With the exception of haggling for a trinket or two at some stall in some bazaar, Aren had never negotiated with a kobold before. He knew about as much as anyone around could know about the reclusive little beasts, which was not enough to satisfy his needs going into a negotiation like this. Quietly he cursed the wind for robbing him of his opportunity for a little discreet surveillance, able to do little more than watch as the guards led them toward the compound.

Hugging his robe around him, Aren turned to go back inside as well, shutting the door behind him. Valerian was seated at a table, poking angrily at an apple; the young man was apparently not relishing this meeting, either. "Come, Valerian. We don't want to keep the negotiations waiting. Remember, let me do most of the talking." He did not wait for a response before stepping past, into the hall, and down toward the stairs.

The garrison was not the most elegant of locations for formal negotiations, but the small outpost town held no better accommodations. A mess hall on the lower level had been converted into a proper banquet hall, food and libations already prepared on the table for the guests. Aren remained standing as the kobolds filed their way into the hall, glancing about with a nervous, skeptical energy. It was about to begin.

"Welcome to Fort Westphal garrison," he announced, gesturing to the table with a flourish. "I trust that you did not have trouble finding the location?"

The lead kobold in the ochre cloak regarded him with something of a skeptical frown. "Your settlement is cold and uninviting."

Valerian, who had already taken a seat, frowned visibly and grunted as if he were about to respond, but Aren cut him off with a little wave of the hand. "Indeed it is. It is a shame we could not convene in a proper settlement. I hope that the food will be warm and delicious enough to make up for the weather."

"Perhaps," the kobold said, gesturing to its companions. One by one they clambered up on chairs that were not made for their size, choosing instead to stand on the chairs and lean up against the edge of the table to sample at the offerings.

Aren had hoped for a little more response from the kobolds, who seemed to be enjoying the food, if somewhat quietly. Taking a seat himself, he paused a moment to observe them, resting his hands on the table. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Aren Farfield, personal adviser to King Cyprian and authorized to speak for him in his absence. My companion is Prince Valerian, third son of Cyprian, steward of ..."

"Steward of the Western Provinces. We know who Prince Valerian is," the lead kobold said flatly, turning a pair of ruddy orange eyes on the young prince. "And why has the king sent his own flesh and blood in his stead? Are you here as a representative of your father? Are you here in your capacity as steward of these lands?"

Valerian looked caught off guard to be addressed directly like that, blinking in confusion. Before the young man could speak up, Aren interrupted smoothly. "Young Valerian is here as a demonstration of the King's good will and a representative of his family's commitment to peace and cooperation among the peoples of this land," he said, drawing attention back to him.

"Then the prince is not making decisions for his own inheritance?"

Aren smiled back at the creature, though he was growing fast irritated. He knew the kobolds were not trustworthy creatures, and he realized that this one was already trying to drive a wedge between himself and Valerian, to what end, he could not guess. "The king has authorized me to speak in his stead, but rest assured that Prince Valerian is an important part of these negotiations."

Valerian seemed mollified by the reaction, sitting back in his chair and nodding. The kobolds, who had briefly been on edge, also seemed to relax, turning their attention back to the food. The situation briefly defused, Aren reached for a flagon of water and doused his thirst before continuing. "Perhaps, as our guests, you would do us the honor of introducing yourselves, as well?"

The lead kobold sniffed at him a little derisively. "If you insist on these 'niceties' then I will oblige. I am Kerax; I will be speaking for the tribe. My brothers are here for my protection and no more, they will not have a voice in our transaction."

The kobold spoke with a clipped, almost disinterested voice, conveying the impression that he hardly deemed Aren worthy of acknowledgement. This, too, he realized was probably a tactic of the negotiation, trying to put him in a weaker position before they even began. He had also read that the kobolds were notorious for their lack of regard for other races, and that it may have been a display of genuine contempt. Either way, Aren was not about to let the attitude get under his skin, smiling coolly as he nodded. "Very well, Kerax. Perhaps you would prefer to skip the introductions and move right on to the negotiations, then?"

"It would suit me," the diminutive creature agreed, nodding. "The sooner we are finished here, the sooner we can leave this settlement."

"Very well," Aren repeated, nodding as he sat back in his seat. "We all know that the subject of dispute is taxation of the Westphal Mines. The kobold tribe currently operating the mines have not paid the required monthly taxation on valuable minerals and ores procured from the mines and offered for trade since the commencement of the reign of King Cyprian ..."

"We have never paid a tax. Not since Cyprian's father laid a claim on these hills sixty years ago. Why should we consider doing so, now?"

"The king has authorized me to make generous concessions to your tribe in exchange for your agreement to commence payment of taxes."

The kobold Kerax regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, idly fingering at some of the gaudy jewelry that he was wearing. "What are your generous concessions that you are willing to offer?"

Aren smiled cooly as he wove his fingers together over his chest. "We will cease the blockade of trade routes north to Markarian."

"Which you will no doubt happily impose your tariffs on," the kobold spat back.

"On the contrary. The king can assure you that your trade caravans may cross the borders unmolested. Your route to Markarian will be considered a duty free trade route."

"Even if we believed you would stand by your word," Kerax muttered with open contempt, "Your offer is an insulting one. Even you must know that a trade route to Markarian is worth far less than the taxes you would be imposing upon our labors."

Aren knew that, of course, even if he did not let on. Unwilling to let the kobold's abrupt and condescending behavior ruffle his feathers, he rested his hands on the table again and merely smiled. "Perhaps. What, then, might the tribe consider a concession worthy of your cooperation?"

"We will not pay a tax to satisfy the greed of a faraway king," Kerax said, pausing only momentarily. "However, we are willing to pay a tribute equal to the value of your proposed tax in exchange for a declaration from your king recognizing the sovereignty of my tribe over the Westphal Hills and its environs."

It was a preposterous proposal, but before Aren could respond there was a bit of an interruption; one or more of the unnamed kobolds and made a sound that resembled a muffled cackle, a sound which spread among the creatures until they were practically cackling, yapping excitedly at one another.

Aren tried his best not to look too unsettled at the abrupt outburst. It was rude and he was well within his rights to complain, but he realized that this, too, might be one of their negotiation tactics, an attempt to throw him off balance, so to speak. Real or feigned, however, Kerax looked visibly irritated and began barking at them in what must have been their native tongue, words that meant nothing to him but seemed to strike the yapping kobolds with a considerable amount of force as they fell silent.

A quick glance over at the prince showed that Valerian was staring at the gathered creatures with an obvious sense of irritation, though his features seemed to be clouded with some kind of confusion, the young man's brows furrowing deeply. Aren wished that he could take a moment to consult with the prince, finding himself concerned at the way he was brooding, arms folded and slumping down into his chair. Now would not be the time, however.

Sitting upright in his own seat, he turned again to face the kobolds, and more specifically Kerax. The outburst had been quieted and Aren waited a moment, giving them the opportunity to apologize for the disruption, but Kerax only stared back at him with dispassionate orange eyes. The create was not going to offer an apology at all. One of their tactics, Aren reasoned to himself, before sighing and speaking up. "You must understand that your proposal is not something that I can in good faith consider."

"Why not? You desire gold from my tribe. My tribe desires to conduct our affairs without interference from your king. What is wrong with our suggestion?"

Aren wanted to point out just how preposterous it was, but he knew that this was how negotiations worked. Both sides began with inflated demands, both sides would be outraged at how absurd the demands were, and eventually a middle ground would be found. But he would not succumb to the attempt to make him respond emotionally. "The mine falls within the sovereign territory of King Cyprian. The king will not concede his lands to others."

Kerax simply shrugged, fingering the staff that he had rested upon the table. "Our tribe has lived in these hills you call Westphal long before your King Cyprian was born. We do not recognize his claim to them."

The other kobolds seemed to have forgotten that they were present at an important negotiation, once again tending to their plates, eating noisily. The slurps and crunches of bone were beginning to fray Aren's nerves. "The King does not require your recognition of his sovereignty. His claims are backed by the nobility of his royal lineage, and the force of the royal army. Upon what do you back your own claims?"

It was more forceful a response than he meant, but Aren found it difficult to concentrate over the din of feasting kobolds. Kerax asked "Is that a threat to my people?" but he did not answer; a vulgar slurping sound again distracted him and set his nerves alight. They hadn't been so boisterous and disgusting when they had first arrived, he thought. Was this an intentional distraction?

Valerian continued to glower in his seat, arms folded, his mein a mixture of irritation, confusion, and ... why hadn't the prince said anything? Surely he would have something to say about the kobolds' suggestion that his inheritance be forfeit.

"Again I ask," the kobold Kerax said, raising his voice and tapping his staff on the table, "are you threatening my people? Do you mean to assail us with your 'royal army' if we do not consent to your tax?"

The force of the accusation caught Aren's attention, left him startled. "No," he said, more meekly than he ought to have. They were getting to him; they were getting under his skin. "Kerax, please, I ... your brethren's feasting is boisterous. They are making this negotiation difficult."

With an indignant frown, the kobold stared him down with rusty orange eyes. "Do we offend you, human?"

Aren inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. He could ill afford to get caught in these kinds of snares. If the kobold could paint him out to be unreasonable he might try to corner him into making greater concessions than he ought to. Yes, the filthy little creatures offended him, but he could not _say_that. He had to treat them as equals if he wanted this negotiation to work. "No, you misunderstand. It is just, our negotiations require a more ... respectful atmosphere."

"Then you ask them to leave."

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. He smiled; Aren was beginning to regain his composure. "Not at all. Will you not accompany us to the balcony? We may be seated there and continue our discussions while your brethren content themselves with our hospitality."

As if to accentuate his point, Aren stood himself up gracefully and gestured in the direction of the balcony. The feasting kobolds regarded him with a hint of skepticism, pausing in their eating, while Kerax himself seemed to be considering the offer with an absent drumming of his fingertips on his staff.

To his surprise, however, the first one to speak was Valerian, who had finally pushed himself up from his slouching position. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. You two go out there and negotiate. I'm going to stay here and watch these four." With a nod, he motioned toward the nameless kobolds.

"My prince?" Aren tilted his head and looked back at the young man with no small hint of consternation. "Are you certain?"

Valerian shrugged. "Yeah. You seem to have this under control. I'd rather stay and make sure these ones don't cause any trouble."

Aren wanted to protest, but held his tongue. Whatever his intentions were, Valerian had suddenly put him in a very awkward position. By essentially waiving his right to participate in the negotiations, or at least observe, he was communicating a certain disinterest to the kobolds, weakening their position. If Aren tried to argue the point, he would undermine the authority of the Prince, and by proxy the King. The young man had even managed to subtly insult them with his distrustful statement about causing trouble.

Kerax, if he had been insulted, showed no hint. The kobold was already in the process of slipping out of his own seat, his staff in tow, a rather dispassionate sort of look on his features. "Very well then."

The situation felt awkward. At least Aren thought that it _should_feel awkward, but in reality it seemed nothing if not mundane. The feasting kobolds had returned to their task, all but ignoring him. Kerax shuffled past, toward the exit, without so much as looking back, while Valerian had once more slumped in his seat, arms folding over his chest, that weird brooding expression falling over his face as he watched their guests.

Aren could only shake his head and follow and wonder what was going on.

The weather outside had not changed. The wind was still preternaturally cold, biting more like a winter chill than an autumn breeze, and the sun still failed to penetrate the glowering gray clouds overhead. He had presumed that the small reptilian creature would dislike the cold, but if Kerax was at all uncomfortable he didn't show it, making his way over to a low bench, clambering on, and laying his staff in his lap again before looking at him expectantly.

Avoiding his eyes, Aren leaned against the edge of the balcony and looked out over the gloomy landscape. "I must apologize again. I did not mean to threaten your people and insinuate we might send combatants. I wish only to impress upon you the validity of our claims."

"And what of our claim? That we have inhabited these hills since long before your people set foot on this land?"

Aren sidestepped the question; there was only folly in answering it. "You have made it clear that paying the full tax is not acceptable. Nor is ceding these lands to your tribe an option. Surely we can find a middle ground."

The kobold waited until he had turned to look at him before answering. "Perhaps. What do you suggest?"

"A reduced tax. We will develop a special reduced collections for ..."

Kerax cut him off with a little wave of the hand. "Our people have mined these hills for countless generations. We will not pay anyone for the privilege to continue doing so."

Resisting the urge to sigh, he nodded. "No tax? Very well. We can consider, rather than taxing you for mining privileges, allowing you free trade in the kingdom in exchange for paying a tariff ..."

"Allowing us free trade? Were it not for your unjust blockades we would be unconcerned with free trade in your kingdom," Kerax said with a hint of irritation. "You wish to plunder our gold. What will you give us in return for it? What is your concession?"

"What is your price? Surely there is something your tribe must desire."

"Autonomy. If we must pay a price for peace, then we shall, but we do not deign to have our lands ruled over by your kind."

Aren once again turned to look out over the balcony, and then squeezed his eyes shut. This kobold was not reacting the way he expected, he had not expected such intransigence. There was no way he could offer them what they were asking for. He wasn't in any position to start handing out tracts of land in exchange for tribute, and even if he had that authority he wasn't sure he would want to exercise it on behalf of such stubborn and irritating little beasts.

The wind bit at his cheek as he considered the problem, pulling his robes around himself more tightly to ward off the chill. The wind carried sounds with it, hints of distant voices, chattering, arguments, but he had no room to regard them over the internal clamor. "I cannot offer you autonomy. Not for any amount of tribute. I do not have the authority. Perhaps, if you were willing to send ambassadors to the King himself, you might negotiate such a thing. Perhaps. But I do not have that authority."

"I see." The kobold breathed a sigh behind him, and once again he turned to look at the creature, adorned in garish ochre that almost matched the rusty orange of his eyes. If Kerax was frustrated, he didn't show it much. "It would seem we are at an impasse, if you are unable to offer us what we need."

Aren was loathe to admit the possibility of defeat, the possibility that he had trekked to this miserable little outpost with no discernable resolution. Chilled wind with echoes of strife battered him again, and once more he pulled his clothing more tightly around him. "There must be something we can agree to. Something else you want. Even as a short term solution, some smaller exchange, some smaller compromise we can make until ... until we can come to a greater agreement ..."

His voice trailed off as he studied the kobold for some reaction, some indication that he might be getting through. Some hope for progress. Wily orange eyes studied him in return, narrowing. Kerax once again drummed fingertips on his staff, and Aren was briefly hopeful that he saw some flicker of thought, a possibility that this stubborn creature might be swayed into accepting some kind of agreement.

The wind abated, and with it the cold chill. Before the kobold had a chance to reply, however, Aren's ears again registered turmoil. Distant voices and murmurings. Something that sounded like a cry. He almost paid it no heed until there was a louder sound, much sharper, the sound of a dull clatter and then something shattering. The sound came from right behind him. Inside the building. Where he had left Valerian, alone with four of those creatures.

Shooting a brief but dire gaze at Kerax, who only regarded him with a curious stare, Aren wheeled around and ran back inside of the building, as quickly as his legs would carry him. "Prince Valerian! Valerian, is everything all right?"

It only took him a few moments to burst back into the room, terrified of what he might find when he got there. When he first looked into the room, he almost thought that his fears had come true. Dishes had been flung about haphazardly, some lying cracked and broken against the floor. There were bit of rent clothing strewn about, some of the rags that had belonged to the miners, while some of it was the finer clothing that belonged to the prince himself. Signs of a fight, at the very least, were evident everywhere.

The truth of the matter, however, was the farthest thing from the fears that Aren had envisioned, and the sight that met his eyes nearly caused his heart to stop.

Prince Valerian was there, on the table, as naked as the day he was born. The young man was on his hands and knees, at an angle that Aren could not help but to notice practically every last detail of his naked body from the musculature of his back to the supple curve of his behind that made him feel instantly weak in the knees.

He was not alone on the table. One of the little creatures was standing behind him, equally naked, and while the slight angle meant that Aren could not literally see what was going on it was not difficult for him to guess, the kobold's hips swinging in a rhythmic motion, bumping up against the prince's shapely behind, occasionally making a soft slapping sound. Another of the kobolds was standing in front of the young man, steadying itself by gripping Valerian's head, his fingers threading through those honey colored locks, guiding him in a regular bobbing motion. That, Aren saw quite as clear as day, slightly ruddy lips sliding up and down the creature's turgid erection.

After a moment of staring with his jaw slack, Aren shook some of the shock off and finally spoke up. "Prince Valerian! What is going on ... what are you doing?"

His tone was a twisted sort of cross of confusion, shock and more reproach than he had intended, but the prince seemed to notice. Almost languidly the young man opened his eyes and looked right at him, bright blue eyes fixated upon his own. There was no other response besides a muffled sort of groan, and Aren could have sworn that the corner of his mouth twisted in a sort of half-smile around the slickened member that filled it.

In a way it was a sort of strange perversion of a dream. More than once Aren had daydreamed about what the young man looked like beneath his clothing, more than once had mentally feasted upon the vision of the handsome young man lapping at his manhood, or at what that lovely backside would look like spread around him. Instead of him, however, it was these filthy little creatures, their tails thrashing avidly behind them, their voices yapping and squawking in their own strange calls of pleasure as they violated the prince.

A perversion of a dream, and a nightmare in and of itself, yet in spite of wanting to feel revulsion at the sight he felt betrayed by a stirring in his own loins. Discomfited, he raised his voice. "Valerian! This is ... this is ... this must stop! Immediately! All of you, stop this!" His command went unheeded. As if in defiance, Valerian looked away, closed his eyes, and reached up with one hand to wrap around the kobold's waist, pull him in closer, the little creature yelping eagerly as more of his flesh disappeared between what seemed like hungry, equally eager lips.

He became aware of movement at his side, and he turned to spy Kerax shuffling in aside him, leaning slightly on his staff. Though his tongue felt like it was catching in his throat, Aren turned his demands on the kobold. "This ... this is an outrage! I demand you make this stop. Now!"

"An outrage?" The kobold looked at him with a weird sort of half smile. "You would have me deny your prince pleasure? The boy is enjoying himself."

Aren wanted to deny that conclusion but he was not sure that he could. Glancing again at the lurid scene in front of him, his eyes spied the young prince's own manhood, firm and erect, bouncing and swaying beneath him in time to the rutting kobold's thrusts. Hungry, eager groans continued to sound from the young man's throat. He knew those sounds only too well. "No, no ... this must stop! The guards ... where are the guards? Guards! Come quickly!"

He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him, and when he did he was surprised to discover that there were more naked kobolds in the room in various stages of debauchery. He counted four, and his mind took a moment to remind him that there should have been only two. In his confusion he found himself staring at one pair, tucked away in one corner, rutting at strange angles that he realized that, among the piles of discarded clothing that had belonged to the miners, he spied the uniform of a guard. There, next to the pair, was the discarded shield and sword.

"What ... what is this?" He turned again, meaning to address Kerax but his eyes stalled over the display on the table. The kobold at Valerians' face had briefly fallen out, his saliva-slickened erection bobbing in front of the prince's mouth before the little creature shuffled forward a step or two, nudged the young man's head up a bit and slipped himself right between hungry lips again.

Though he knew he shouldn't be staring, Aren found it hard to help himself. As wrong as it was, it still called to some baser instinct, and he quickly grew erect under his own robes, a fact which would be blissfully hidden by that loose clothing. Then his eyes spied something that seemed odd, out of place. The young man's spine looked somehow too obvious, an odd bulge seemed to have formed up just above his hips there. In fact, it looked like some kind of weird, stunted tail.

Finally tearing his eyes away again, he looked at Kerax once again, the kobold idly fingering his staff. Suddenly a thought flared up in the back of his mind, a recollection that many kobolds were, in fact, skilled sorcerers. "You ... you did this. You've put him under some kind of spell ... you've put them all under some kind of spell."

The kobold merely shrugged. "That suggestion is, how would you say, an outrage."

"No, you ... that staff. You wouldn't give it up. Oh, gods." Almost involuntarily his eyes went back to the table, where Valerian's actions were becoming more overt, his svelte body writhing back against the rutting kobold, his lips drawing against the other's flesh more eagerly. But more than that, the young man seemed to be changing. He seemed somehow diminished, smaller, and that tail seemed to have grown. There were other changes, subtle, an odd stretch in his jaw, a suggestion of claws along his toes. Though his eyes could not spy anything happening in front of him other than the lewd rutting, he was certain that the prince was looking more and more ... kobold.

The changes were so subtle, so incremental that at every passing heartbeat he could spy no alteration, that from one moment to the next he looked to have been the same Valerian as before. He knew he should be more appalled, he should do more to stop it, but he still found it hard to look away, his erection still throbbed in his clothing. The illusion was allowing him to still see the same Valerian that he had privately lusted over for years, though the boy was looking less and less himself. "What are you doing to him?"

Before the kobold answered - or while, Aren wasn't entirely sure as everything was beginning to blur together in his confusion - Valerian opened his eyes and looked right at him again. Blue irises were beginning to show violet stains, and the young man's face had become distinctly elongated, jaw bulging forward in the beginnings of a snout-like protrusion. Yet the prince looked at him, right at him, and smiled again around the flesh in his maw. It was as if the young man was taunting him. Aren whispered voicelessly, "Why would you do this to me?"

Then he heard Kerax's response to his original question. "We are not doing anything to him that he does not desire/"

That had to be a lie. It had to be. But the way that kobold-Valerian was leering at him while his body bounced and swayed, the way those changing eyes stared right back at him seemed to say otherwise. Why the prince would betray him this way, he could not imagine. "No ... no. This has to stop," he croaked.

"Do you really want us to stop?"

Of course he did. What was happening was an abomination, and worse, a disaster that he could not even begin to imagine how to mitigate, how he would explain himself to the king. Yet, in spite of the stubby but growing tail that protruded from the young man's backside, in spite of the little ridge along his back, the pebbly, earth-toned scales that were pushing up through his skin like pustules it was still Valerian, the delicious youth that Aren had quietly lusted after for so many years. The slow change beguiled him, and though on one hand he saw an abomination, he still saw something that made his blood surge with heat, still left him turgid beneath his robes.

Aren found himself incapable of speech.

How long he stood there and watched, he could not be sure. Moments blurred together as he watched, transfixed, his eyes unable to tear themselves away from the sight of the prince's slow transformation. Locks of golden hair sloughed away from the youth's head, his budding tail grew while his body as a whole shrank down, forcing the kobold at his mouth to move and readjust again and again. Even when the last shreds of the prince's humanity were lost, and there was nothing left on the table other than a trio of kobolds engaged in the most lewd display, Aren could not look away, he could not see anything other than his beautiful prince, and could not dispel the heat in his loins.

Then it was done. Yips and squawks filled the air as the two kobolds finished in near unison, backs arching and tails swaying. Aren watched as Valerian's throat bulged and flexed, obviously swallowing gulletfuls of something. Then the pair on either side of the altered prince all but collapsed, leaning back and panting. Valerian's eyes still bored holes into his own. "Aren. What are you staring at?"

Aren's throat constricted and his tongue suddenly felt heavy and dry, refusing him the opportunity to answer. Some of the lust-induced mental fog lifted, and he suddenly felt as if he had been accused, as if he was now going to be made to answer for his inaction. Valerian did not wait for the answer that would not come, though, the kobold sitting up and twisting, letting his short legs dangle over the edge of the table. "You're staring at me, aren't you? You were staring at me ... the whole time ..."

Kobold-Valerian sneered at him before pushing off from the table, and Aren had to shift his gaze downward to follow, as if commanded, frozen in place while listening to the accusations. "But then, you've always stared at me, haven't you? You've always desired me, Aren, always dreamed of the day that you might see me naked. Dreamed of my caress, the sensation of your body up against my own. Then you had to stand there and watch, helpless, while two nameless kobolds finally got what you had always desired. It must have been terrible."

How Valerian had known that he could no guess. Aren was certain that he had never been obvious about his feelings toward the prince; he had always been cautious about not staring too much, too often. Had even that been enough to betray him? But still Valerian approached. "Mmm. Aren. Don't be so shy. My brothers have left me yet unsatisfied."

There was just enough time for him to look down and see that Valerian was, indeed, still quite erect before his view was blocked by the kobold's own arm as he reached forward, thrust his hand between the folds of Aren's robes and latched on to the man's own arousal without any hesitation. The sensation on his flesh was cool but not unpleasant; somewhere in the back of his mind, Aren thought he could remember reading somewhere that kobolds were cold blooded creatures.

That thought, however, was all but drowned out by the realization that Valerian was gripping him, and the rush of intense pleasure that it sent through his body.

Within a moment, Aren was naked. He couldn't be certain how it had happened - whether he had almost involuntarily shrugged his own robes off in response to the bold advance, Valerian had worked them off somehow, or some other force was at play - but he could hardly care less about such details. In a blur of motion and rushing heartbeats that thudded in his head, he could feel the diminutive reptilian shape moving in front of him, the cool, slick embrace of a tongue against his flesh, the brush of scales against his palms as he stroked them against Valerian's head.

Again, time seemed to pass without reckoning. Over the space of what could have been seconds or minutes the kobold nursed on his length, leaving him to gasp for air again and again, his voice reduced to nothing but groans. That tongue, the mouth around him was too good to be true; Valerian was all but an expert at what he was doing. Aren almost forgot whose mouth it was that was upon him.

It came to an abrupt stop just before he lost himself completely to the sensation, the cool kiss of dry air upon his slickened member rattling his mind a little and pulling him out of that reverie. Panting and gasping for air, he looked back down at Kobold-Valerian, violet-tinged eyes looking back at him over a lusty sort of sneer. "I still am left unsatisfied. On your knees."

Though Aren could hardly refuse a direct command from the prince in ordinary circumstances, now he could hardly even contemplate the possibility. Without any hesitation he dropped to his knees, briefly face to face with the prince, who seemed taller than Aren remembered only moments before. Valerian did not let him stop there, a scaled hand lifting, grasping him around the neck and urging him downward and forward, on his hands and knees. As he did so, his eyes briefly spied a pair of kobolds to the side, exhausted after a rut, slumped in one against another. They, too, seemed to have grown in his eyes.

Distantly, he realized that perhaps they had not grown, but he had shrunk.

The thought was a fleeting one, as he now found himself staring right at Kobold-Valerian's arousal, and for the first time he had a good look at it up close. Clearly inhuman, it tapered to a sharp tip where fluids beaded up and dripped off. It was a deep, ruddy sort of color, throbbing lightly with the pulse of the blood that lent it that shade. Inhuman, and in a way grotesque, but the glamor of Valerian's change still lingered on his mind; he was still swayed by the illusion of that slow, incremental transformation. It was still Valerian in front of him; he was still beautiful.

Hands wrapped around his head and pulled him in. Scales filled his vision, and the musky scent of the aroused kobold filled his nostrils before that dribbling tip pressed against his lips, forced its way inside. Aren had many a time tasted a young man's eager flesh against his tongue but this sensation was altogether different. Cool and damp of its own making, that throbbing member nestled neatly between his lips and left a sharp, tangy impression on his tongue. It drove his own pleasure upward once again, and Aren could hardly keep himself from pushing forward against Valerian, taking all of it into his mouth, till his lips kissed scales.

Then he drew a deep breath and sucked. With all the years of experience now sharpened by his excitement, Aren tended to that shaft like no other. Eager fingers reached forward and laced their way around a scaled thigh, pulling the kobold in against him, urging him to press deep into his throat. It was no different than what he had seen before; it could have been him there on that table, kneeling before a kobold, taking him so eagerly, unnnatural protrusions beginning to grow over his spine.

He could hear Valerian's voice, a groan tinged with higher notes, as the prince began to thrust his own hips, slaking his need against Aren's eager lips. Each thrust seemed to drive that flesh in deeper, deeper, swelling between his lips, forcing him to slacken his jaw a little more with each passing moment. Soon the tip nudged against the back of his throat, and then insisted, started to push its way deeper into the confines of his throat. Aren suppressed a gag and tried to take it all, swallowing at that eager, probing tip with a keening whine of his own.

Again, there was the distant realization that the cock in his maw was not growing, but his mouth was shrinking around it. Suddenly the kobold in front of him pulled back, withdrew from his mouth, and stepped away to the side. Panting and gasping, his vision briefly focused in on his hands, spying the subtle shift from finergnails to claws that capped his fingers. He was changing. Before he could think about it too long, he felt a nudge against a part of him he had never felt before, and, looking back over his shoulder, he could see the prince nudging up the beginnings of a tail that was forming at his backside to guide that throbbing erection beneath it.

Aren had enjoyed more than his fair share of young men over the years. He had long been in a position of power as a close advisor to the king, and even the king's uncle before him. Many young men of common birth knew their only way to rise above their ignoble bloodlines was to ingratiate themselves to the royal court, take positions as pages and errand-boys and other sorts of lower stations in hopes of moving up the ranks over time. They had only been too accommodating of Aren's tastes and affections, offering themselves up to satisfy his needs in hopes of gaining favor. It had worked, too; many a young man whose virgin backside had been broken in by Aren's proclivities had been promoted on to other stations within the court.

Still, for all the encounters over the years, he had never been the one to offer his own backside to another man; his was still virgin to such uses. That fear and uncertainty made his eagerness waver, almost caused the illusion to fade, but it was still Valerian there behind him. He did not protest as the prince positioned himself against his backside and, with a grunt, pushed forward.

Sensations like a fire blossomed beneath his burgeoning tail, and Aren had to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out in pain. Kobold-Valerian was not gentle with his needs, and forced himself into that tight and unyielding passage without any hesitation or pause, and for a brief moment Aren feared he might lose the strength in his legs, feared he migth be pushed too hard and collapse; indeed, his legs wavered and wobbled, and his head drooped heavily as another wave of fiery pain rushed through his loins.

Beneath that pain, though, was a subtle undercurrent of another sensation, suggestions of pleasure that raked him beneath the tail and quivering along his spine. Valerian had sheathed himself completely within those quivering muscles, and he was going to be stretched no further. The kobold that had mounted him so eagerly was now beginning to thrust, hips sawing back and forth, eager and anything but gentle, but each rough thrust made him feel more accustomed, more acclimated to that presence. Each thrust ameliorated the pain, accentuated the pleasure. It did not take long for the subtle suggestion of pleasure to blossom, overtake the fiery pain, and then extinguish it altogether.

Aren moaned plaintively as the pain vanished and all he felt was pleasure.

All the while he continued to be aware of the changes that were overcoming him. The suggestion of a tail at his backside thickened, lengthened and grew until it had to flop out of the way to his side to make room for the intrusion. His nose gave way to a snout that began to protrude in his vision - when he bothered to have his eyes open - and he knew, without a doubt, that he was shrinking. The cock in his backside felt like it was swelling, expanding, threatening to stretch him further and recall that fire, but instead all it did was stoke the heat of his own arousal.

The changes were slow and incremental like before, creating the illusion that they had always been there. That he had always had a tail, always had a reptilian snout; that they were supposed to be there. He was becoming a kobold, just like his sweet and handsome prince, just like Valerian rutting at his backside. Just like he was supposed to.

Valerian's rutting seemed only to grow in intensity and speed. Aren may have imagined a slow, luxurious session of lovemaking with the prince but the kobold was only going to give him brutal and raw debauchery. The pleasure that each rough, insistant thrust and slap against his backside filled him with erased any regret that he might have. This was pure, unadulterated bliss.

Then there was a voice at his side. Kerax, he recognized after a hazy moment of uncertainty. "You never answered me. Do you want us to stop?"

"No," he groaned huskily. There was no way he could want this to stop, it should have been evident in the straining bliss on his face, the way his voice came out in soft groans that began to be overlaid with more high pitched suggestions of a yipping sort of sound. It should have been obvious in the sight of his inhuman erection dangling between his legs, the way his tail twisted and writhed. It was a ridiculous question. "No ... more ... give me more ..."

In that he was thwarted. Without warning, Kobold-Valerian leaned in against him and let loose a shrill sort of yelping sound, hands on his hips and grasping him tight as the prince's body shook and shuddered. Aren knew what that meant, that the prince had lost himself to the moment and was now spilling his essence deep under his tail, releasing that pent up pleasure and frustration. He almost thought he could feel it spreading inside of him, along with the intense pleasure of knowing that Valerian had claimed him, made him his own.

But it was all over so fast. The kobold behind him gasped for air and slumped, leaving him aching for more. His own arousal still throbbed beneath him, demanding attention and release. It was all over too quickly, far too quickly, and he almost protested.

"Our tribe has claimed these lands for generations," Kerax murmured rather incongruously, Aren's eyes flicking up to look at him with a bit of confusion. "I have an ... alternate proposal for you."

Aren was still confused. A part of him remembered his task here, the negotiations. A part of him wondered how he might explain what had happened, how both he and the prince had been changed into kobolds, how he had submitted willingly to such debauchery. That part of him was just lucid enough for him to listen for the answer.

"The tribe sent me to reclaim these lands for our kind. And I intend to do so, no matter what it takes." The kobold flashed a toothy grin at him. "And so I have begun. With you and your prince and your guards. But still, there are many here who will require ... convincing. And you have not yet been satisfied yourself, my brother. I say this settlement will be _much_better without any pesky humans around. What do you say to helping make it so?"

A smile pricked at his own features as he realized what Kerax was suggesting. Valerian had since slumped backward and left him feeling suddenly bereft and empty, but his own arousal was still throbbing with need between his legs. And there were, after all, several settlers in the area left to persuade. He had no doubt that Valerian would be up for more fun another time, but for now, there were others to see to his needs. Standing with a little grin, Aren nodded. "I accept your proposal. Let's go, then, I believe we have a lot of work to do ..."