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The Forgotten Sea

Come aboard the Forgotten Sea and leave that dusty-old crystalsphere behind!

The hefty scabbard strapped around his back, the harness slightly digging into his pectorals and biceps, his bag of supplies thrown over his shoulder. Steelhorn watched the Rock of Bral with a mix of bewildered attitude and restrained fear. Not that it mattered much as he looked at the stars-riddled Sky up above, beyond the evergrowing and everstretching buildings that were qualified as housing.

It had been a month since he landed there with the promise of escaping slavers from a mage, but he was still unused to the whole… City.

In a different fashion, he had known the Capital, where would mingle elves, half-orcs, dwarfs, and sometimes a few Tieflings or Dragonborn. In those bustling cities, humans were the norm.

But the Rock of Bral? Well, it was the mix that was the norm.

Midst the bugbears, the giants, the dragons, he was growing weary. He almost shat himself when he first saw Large Luigi, a massive Beholder acting as bartender in the Happy Beholder tavern. The name should have been a give-away. But after a lifetime of fighting creatures of that sort, Steelhorn had… A cautious attitude that drained him.

Still, he brought a hand to his helmet, checking the dark-steel to see if it was there, and would remain so, before he sighed and looked at the docks.

With his contact seemingly gone, and through the help of Large Luigi, he was given an opportunity to leave the Rock of Bral. Half of his hefty purse went away for the information… But he was told there was someone who could not only get him away from that Rock, but far away enough that he would never have to worry about any assassins or whatnot.

Of course, Steelhorn never divulged why he landed on the Rock. But Luigi had been smart enough to guide him, and the burly human was now rubbing shoulders with the commoners, merchants, and onlookers desiring to see the captains’ prizes: the spelljammers.

If one would define a ship, they would go in great length about the hull, the sails, the general rotund form, the wood’s resilience, the ropes used for maneuvers. And, most importantly, the sea around it. Yet, Spelljammers were ships. But instead of navigating on the sea, they floated and navigated through space. Some had outlandish appearances like the typical Illithid Nautiloids, looking like seafood but in space. They were manned by the lithe and floating squid-faced mindflayers… And their hoard of legally-owned thralls.

Then, there were the human spelljammers, looking more conventional with their sails, visible decks, bow, and the mast up above.

If you looked at the dwarves and elven ships, you found them close but with differences. The dwarves often used engines and reinforced their ships, trading their sails for whatever propellers they had. As for the Elves, their sails were gone, too, and the shape given to them was closer to a skiff with two larger sails on the sides, but they floated with an unequaled grace.

After a month of watching them coming and going, Steelhorn was starting to note the differences. More than that, he began to see the differences in captaincy. Some ships only hired people of the same species, arguing it was for the equilibrium. Others forced slave contracts on their workers until they fulfilled a quota. And some were cosmopolitans.

That was the latter Steelhorn searched, looking for the “Forgotten Sea”. Large Luigi told him the Ship would remain at quay today and then leave for the crystal spheres in Moor’s direction. The name didn’t ring a bell to Steelhorn as he patted his horned helmet, but if it was far enough and he could get paid, that was good enough.

So, he searched. At first, he went for the main drydocks, but those were used by merchant guilds and other noble houses, so it would not be for him. Then, as he continued, the different species formed clusters and pushed anyone else further ahead until… Here it was. The Forgotten Sea. A large ship that could be a mix of dwarven and human construct. Massive, with little sails and large engines strapped to its side, it looked closer to a wooden bullet ready to hit whatever it was pointed at.

However, what struck Steelhorn was the ship’s figurehead. Instead of the typical sirens, or the lack of it on other constructs, it had the body of a Dragon brandishing a torch. A… Particularly well-defined Dragon, as it seemed its eyes followed the human as he pushed past the onlookers and got closer to the pier.

Enough to see the sailors hauling crates, barrels, and then more back to the ship. All of them were of different species, Firbolgs, Half-Orcs, Dwarves. There was even a Devil with two sets of arms and a wide pendulous tongue handling a massive cart on his own.

There were humans among the lots, even an elf whose age was showing despite his spindly body. And… Well, Steelhorn grimaced behind his helmet as he approached, taping his scabbard, his bag, and his purse at his belt. Anything would be enough as he looked at one Goblin on the side.

Small, green-skinned, and holding a paperclip, he used a pen like the many foremen around the city, filling out something while musing to himself.

“Is this the Forgotten Sea?” asked Steelhoorn, looking at the bearded and scar-riddled goblin. With a misshapen jaw and a broken nose, he didn’t look nice. Yet, his crooked smile appeared as he pointed to the name engraved on the boat’s wood.

“Y’can read it?”

The voice was higher than Steelhorn, with a hint of malice and mockery.

“Yes. The Forgotten Sea, I w-”

“Askin if y’coul’ join our crew, tha’ so?”

“Yes. I want to embark on the ship. I can pay for it,” said Steelhorn, pointing at his purse. Purse the Goblin glanced at, scratching his temple with his pen while he was looking away, thoughtful.

“Won’ be enough to g’wo y‘nywhere.”

“I don’t plan to go far. I only need to go to another port.”

“Fa’ chanc’. Is no’ enough for this. If y’wanna cheap, g’wo somewh-… Huh.”

“What’s that?” asked Steelhorn, surprised at the pen stopping and the Goblin scratching another line, glancing at the Sailors toiling and grunting, wearing rags.

“Nothin’,” grunts the Goblin. “’Kay. ‘ell y’what. Y’s’ay here, ‘nd we do somethin’”

“What?”

“Si’ ‘r’!” said the Goblin, pointing at a crate.

Steelhorn raised an eyebrow, hidden behind the helmet, but grunted and crossed his arms, landing on the crate near the Goblin.

“I will wait,” he said, reaching for his shoulder and nape, feeling a slight tingling there. But he ignored it as he looked at the sailors, working fast and efficiently. Even with the Goblin yelling no orders, they were doing everything as ordered. They worked almost as one, yet they talked in whatever language they were speaking. Demonic or more. It was a strange sight… More so when they were oddly… Touchy between them, especially as the work was coming to an end.

By the end and under the everlasting night sky, they were all sweaty and ragged. Yet smiling as they patted their shoulders and looked at the Goblin, nodding.

“Tha’s ‘ll. Le’s g’wo. ‘Name Rus’”

The strange accent or way of speech seemed to come from the Goblin’s jaw. Speaking and moving the jaw seemed to hurt him.

“Steelhorn.”

“Mouthful,” articulated Rush… or Rust, as he led the Human aboard.

On the deck, everything had been secured and placed where it belonged. A Tabaxi was already climbing up the mast, ready to observe, while others were checking the ropes. But at no point did they… Speak. Which was odd as Steelhorn watched them clearly working together, and even pointing at things without opening their mouths.

But before he could see more, he was led to the ship’s quarters, climbing one set of stairs to enter one room. No visible helm as they arrived at what looked like a cozy cabin, though the air was warm and heavy. And… Pungent. Even then, Steelhorn took a deep breath and landed on the seat the Goblin pointed out before Rust, or Rush, went over the drawers. The place was… Well. Well-decorated. With a large enough bed for one tall man, or orc. The table in the middle had traces of a forgotten meal and a strange brown liquid stain on a map. But before he could watch more, Steelhorn saw a paper smacked on the table along with a pen.

“Si’n this,” said Rust, definitely Rust with some thinking.

“What’s that?”

“Con’rac’ with us. Y’work, y’slee’, y’eat,” said the Goblin, grimacing. “Y’re pai’.”

“Wait. I was ready to pay to embark. But you want me in?”

“Cap’ain wan’ this. Si’n and y’re in.”

Steelhorn grumbled as he looked at the contract. Even though he was reading slowly, the Goblin didn’t seem frustrated to do so despite his natural… Abruptness. Those brown eyes went over Steelhorn as he went over the details.

Food, sleep quarters, salary. It was quite a hefty earning, too. Though there were some clauses about obeying the captain’s orders, leaving was unauthorized without warning, and so on. Clauses you wouldn’t see anywhere else, even on a mercenary contract. That and the allowance to the Captain paid in actions and the approval on illithid speech.

Weird, all around, but Steelhorn guessed there was an illithid in the lot. And then, he signed.

He signed and passed the paper toward Rust who sighed, reaching for his jaw before grumbling.

“That’s good. Very good,” he said… Without moving or opening his mouth. Without the sound coming from it but directly echoing within Steelhorn’s mind.

“Wait… What?” said Steelhorn, reaching for his Helmet as he watched the Goblin moving away to put the contract in the drawer.

“Sorry. Couldn’t go in length about it. I got my jaw wrecked again, and I can’t speak much. Fucking display for a foreman, right?” said the Goblin, trying to smile before he went for his jaw to massage it.

“I,” mumbled Steelhorn, looking around. “So… You can use your mind and speak to me through telepathy?”

“Yeah. Everyone on the ship does. You’ll earn that, too, after a test of your capabilities,” explained Rust, shrugging while he went for two mugs and a bottle. “We’re legally obligated, by the merchant guilds, to make people sign a contract before using our telepathy. Since we’re not squids.”

“That’s…”

Well. Telepathy was not so common on the mainland. Maybe you could find a mage adept at it and illusion, keen on mental fuckery. But then, they would be seen with awe or curiosity. In comparison, Rust seemed nonchalant about revealing it while filling the cup with a green-colored liquid smelling like wine.

“You have questions, Steelhorn. But let’s begin properly. Rust Bladerush,” stated the Goblin, sliding the mug forward. He also outstretched one hand, so Steelhorn could shake it. And he did.

“Just Steelhorn. So… Uh. You’re the captain? I didn’t ask, but… Uh. Shit What’s in it with the Illithid speech?”

“First of all. Who sent you here? An information broker?”

“The Behold-”

“Large Luigi. Damn Bastard. He’ll probably extort us some gold for you,” said Rust, taking a sip.

On the opposite side, Steelhorn sniffed the liquid before he removed a frontal plate covering his mouth. With only that part detachable, his mouth appeared along with his chin covered with graying hair. And he took a sip of the liquid that was… Sweet. Delightful even.

“Euran Wine, pretty fancy. We’re taking it from the Sillus crystalsphere to Moor. But you know, that’s the advantage of navigating the Phlogiston.”

Steelhorn continued to sip the liquid even as the taste became so sweet, it became unbearable. He put it down, coughing a bit. The Goblin didn’t laugh audibly, but Steelhorn felt his mirth in the back of his mind before he wiped his mouth.

“Never… Tasted something like this. And Phlogiston? Sillus? Sorry. I don’t know what those names are. I have been on Bral for a month.”

“Wait. A land dweller? Heh. Lucky you. It’ll be cheaper for us,” began Rust with a smile… Before he frowned. “A land dweller. Really. If I knew… Yeah, Captain. Me too.”

“Captain?”

“Okay. Let’s begin anew. What do you know of our craft?”

“You’re sailors, but in space?”

If Rust didn’t laugh before, he did. Not mentally but physically, suddenly bursting and laughing despite the tears of pain streaking from his eyes as he smacked the table.

No. They were not like Sea sailors, and that was the first detail Rust explained. Yes, Spelljammers were ships that could cross space. But they were less like a regular ship as the helmsman or the captain’s will piloted them. The sails and boosters were only there to help.

Spelljammers were rare due to the danger of leaving the surface of a planet, or a system.

Quickly, Rust went over the danger of dying if one fell from the ship without any protection or life support… Only to focus on the main topics.

“See. Your planet, Toril. It’s one planet in your system. But your system is one among many. We call it Realmspace, here. It’s one Crystalsphere. And we’re going from Crystalsphere to Crystalsphere to sell what we have. We might be like sailors but different. And it’s more rewarding.”

“That’s… Putting everything in perspective.”

Truth was. Steelhorn was bound to get a headache as his worldview suddenly expanded. Only one month ago, he was targeted by assassins and forced to take a portal somewhere else. After a month of living among a population so distinct he was growing dizzy… Here. He was on a ship that would soon sail to another world. Another different world.

“Yeah. I lost you. That’s expected with land dwellers. Your little world is so comfy. And boom! Here, big world comes.”

“I… I need more,” grumbled Steelhorn, reaching for the mug and taking another chug. The liquid was back sweet but not excessively, the taste changing the more he drank.

“Let’s stop with that talk. You’re a land dweller, and you’ve never been on a spelljammer; you’ll learn from the crew. The Captain will watch over you and make sure you don’t make any mistakes. And if you need to take a break or learn, come see me here.”

“So… Who’s the captain and… You’re only the foreman?”

“Foreman, cartographer, weatherman, and paper-pusher. Anything that needs to think goes by me. And the Captain? Well. He’s always at the Helm unless we’re drifting. He’s getting ready, now. So better not to bother him.”

“Huh… Okay,” answered Steelhorn, finishing his drink. “And… Where would I sleep?”

The answer came not through the Goblin’s laugh, but by the arrival of a Dragonborn. Knocking at the door and opening it, the one-armed blue-scaled Dragonkin spoke in an abrupt common.

“Is the supplies arrived?”

_“You can speak plainly. We received the supplies; everything is in the pantry. Also, help Steelhorn. He has signed the contract and needs someone to show him the quarters.”

“Ah. Good. Follow, Meat.”_

“Meat?”

“Fresh meat. That’s how Landror speaks to land dwellers and new mates. Follow him. I’ll join you.”

Dubious at Rust’s answer, Steelhorn stood up, adjusting his pants and harness before he followed the Dragonborn. Apron on, cut shorts, Landror was wearing minimalist clothes as he guided Steelhorn down the stairs and into the main deck, below the upper deck. There, the ambiance was… Different. Similar to the one with Rust’s quarters, pungent and musty, musky, even. But there was a sense of camaraderie. And somehow, as Landror passed by and nodded, Steelhorn was starting to hear voices. Many voices.

“I… I can hear them?”

“Yes. Meat signed, the crew can speak loudly.”

“You don’t “speak” loudly around people?”

“No.”

Well, that was the explanation Steelhorn needed as he was guided through the overcrowded corridors, watching the Sailors stripping and removing their sweat-ridden clothes in front of him without a hint of problem. Something Steelhorn tried to look away. Landror guided him to a door, pushing it open on what was a fine armory, stuffed with blades and weapons of all sorts. It was… Quite a large display of power: most blades were brimming with magic, enough for the hair on his chest to stand up before he turned to Landror.

“Meat put blades here.”

“I… Sure?” said Steelhorn, reaching for his scabbard. But not fast enough for the Dragonborn who grabbed the scabbard, snatched it, threw it despite the Human’s cries… And dragged him by the arm to the door on the opposite side of the corridor.

“Faster Meat. I have food to… FUCKERS!”

Well, Steelhorn reached for his head as he received the full blast of the Dragonborn’s ire. He received it, felt it ringing, as much as the need to grit his teeth and close his fists. But the sensation vanished as he was overtaken by another. One sultry caress, one hand on his posterior.

Another passing sensation came over him and vanished when he saw… Well, the fuckers in question.

One Orc happily plowed a Kobold half his size and yet taking a cock like a champ despite looking like a barrel at that point. The air was thick, heavy, musky. More than that, the smell of cum was overwhelming while Steelhorn watched, mouth agape, the burly Orc going at it.

The balls smacked heavily against the Kobold’s smaller body and that cock churned from beneath, making that bloated belly move along while the little Draconian was wheezing, heaving… And begging for more. Audibly.

“Yes! Yes! Moar! Daddy!”

“Damn fuckers! Get out! Out of my lair! Tsch!” growled the Dragonborn, waving his hand while sparkles formed between his teeth.

_“One minute! Tiny clean it!”

“You… One minute!”_

As abruptly, Steelhorn was pushed back and forced to watch the Dragonborn close the door before he grumbled. Audibly, too.

“Is that… Normal? Shouldn’t you warn the captain?”

“No, Meat. Normal stuff,” answered the Dragonborn, scratching the stump of a left arm. “But not in my lair if am not there. Need to cook in clean place.”

Steelhorn grimaced a bit, imagining it. The apron clicked with the rest, but imagining he would be eating where they fucked… He grumbled, and then crossed his arms.

Then… Less than a minute later, the door opened on the Orc and the Kobold. The former was evidently clean, and all. Same as the second, tiny and red, except for the droplet at his lips. Though it was strange to see a Kobold looking as wide as tall bouncing away before Landror slipped inside.

“Good. Lair clean.” stated the Dragonborn. And Steelhorn followed, watching the “lair” or the mess with a kitchen. No hearth. Everything was attached to the walls or some heavy appliance. And, like promised, the room was clean. No. It smelled clean. It smelled like nothing had happened before, like a gentle spring breeze had passed through it.

“It’s… Clean.”

“Of course, Meat. Tiny cleaned it. Tiny cleans everything.”

With a note, Steelhorn looked in the direction where Tiny and the Orc went before he was pushed back by Landror.

“Now! Let me cook! Lair close!”

The shout was brutal, as much as the shove on the unsuspecting Steelhorn. And the Dragonborn had a lot of strength in his arm. Enough to make Steelhorn hit the opposite wall and grumble, massaging his neck.

“Landror already kicks you off?”

Still surprised by the sudden hit, Steelhorn went over himself and brushed off the dust. His shoulder was a bit sore, and his legs a bit wobbly as he recovered his composure… But he sighed.

“Yes. I guess he is busy.”

“No, not really. He just loves to stay alone, especially to crank one,” answered the voice. One the Human turned to see a large and burly Bugbear… And wearing almost nothing except glasses, and a belt… A belt… Strapped to a sort of pouch… Supporting his enormous testicles. Enormous like nothing else.

“Hmm… The eyes are up there.”

“I… hum,” said Steelhorn, blinking at the sight before he returned up. “Yes. Sorry. I am… On what kind of ship I am? Everyone’s naked or fucking or… And the telepathy.”

“You’re overwhelmed. Rust asked me to intercept you after Landror showed you the quarters, but we’ll do that now. Call me B.”

“B?”

“Simpler than my name. You’ll get used to the Telepathy, too. As for the ship, we’re doing this for the captain. Follow me.”

“… Will you push me aside, too?” asked Steelhorn, but followed the Bugbear as he turned away. B’s gray fur was fuzzy but clean. The Goblinoid’s glasses gave him a strange civility clashing with that naked body.

“Hah. No. Any wound adds more problem to my plate,” said the Bugbear, leading to the end of the corridor. He opened the door and slipped inside, bending over slightly before he enjoined Steelhorn to enter what looked to be… A large room, almost a bedroom. But where there were the expected commodities on one side, there was also an examination bed on the other, with more drawers and curios stuffed with flasks and other ingredients.

“That’s…”

“That’s where I sleep, not you. Unless you need to recover somewhere safe,” explained B as he patted the examination bed. “Sit. I’ll examine you.”

“You’re a healer,” Steelhorn said as he sat, only to see the Bugbear put one thing around his neck. A Y-shaped thingy with two ends, he placed them in his ears. He held out the third and lower part, ending with a metal block. One he pressed against Steelhorn’s chest, much to his dismay to the cold touch.

“Doctor. But here, it’s Healer. Hmm. You’re quite healthy for your age. You must have worked out a lot.”

Steelhorn didn’t know how to answer, but nodded. He nodded as the metal block was pushed to another spot. And then, before he knew it, Steelhorn followed the order to inhale and exhale while having B press his hand on his back.

“Good breathing, too, despite the scars. What treatment did you have for follow-up?”

“Treatment? Follow-up?” asked Steelhorn.

“Ah… Right. There’s nothing of the sort on Toril. Well, you’re lucky,” said B, huffing audibly as he put aside his trinket. “Now, strip.”

“Sorry?”

“You heard me. Strip. I won’t do anything perverse, if you’re asking. I need to confirm you’re fit for your duties.”

“What…” started Steelhorn. B looked away and seemed to wait, not daring a look. And… Well, Steelhorn started to undo his leather harness, then his belt. “What would be my duties?”

“Helping with the ropes and cleaning, at first. Nothing fancy, but you will be taught to work on a spelljammer. Tell me when you are naked.”

Steelhorn continued, stripping. His reinforced boots followed as he put them away… Then, he looked at the purse he had set aside, only to stand up and pull his pants down.

“You’re… not using your telepathy,” said Steelhorn.

“No. I find it invasive unless I get my partner’s consent. My thoughts are my own, so are yours. That’s what I have been taught.”

“Huh… And you speak the common well,” mumbled Steelhorn. Still, he finished stripping, and with his underwear away, he sat back on the examination bed.

“I am done,” he said, scratching his neck and watching B turn back… And then, frown.

“Your helmet, too. I need your entire body to be examined.”

“It’s impossible,” groaned Steelhorn. The Bugbear pinched his own chin while approaching the human. He bent forward and examined Steelhorn’s neck as he kept speaking: “The helmet is cursed. I cannot remove it. And even if I do, the removal might kill me.”

It didn’t deter the Bugbear from examining, tilting his head to check the space between the metal and the skin.

“It has kept me alive for the last sixty years. I should have died, but it heals me back until my masters tell me so. Well… My previous master.”

“Former slave… Tsch. Barbarians,” grumbled B, slipping back and touching Steelhorn’s chest, going over the graying hair, the bountiful pecs, the defined abdominal muscles. And finally, over the scars peppering the fair skin. “So much energy wasted in relentless killing. Hrmph. Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I cannot do anything about that helmet. Even without your indication, I might have refrained from removing it. The construction is more complex than any tool I worked with. And our local mage won’t touch this.”

“It’s fine. I am used to it. And the looks I get with it,” mumbled Steelhorn.

“Hmm, hmm. But you’ll put a cover on the horns. Or I’ll cut them,” pointed out B, directly at the horns on the sides of Steelhorn’s helmet.

“What? Is there a problem with them?”

“With them, no,” grumbled B, poking at the end. Sharp ends. “But I have heard enough with horns gauging someone’s eyes. We have a Minotaur downstairs, but he has his horns cut. So… What do you prefer?”

“The protections. I guess.”

“Good!”

With that, B clapped his hands and returned to his examination, grabbing Steelhorn’s arms to lift and measure them with a tape.

“Tell me. Is everyone… Fucking around here? I saw a Kobold stuffed like-”

“A barrel. Tiny, yes,” nods B, going over the second arm. “He is naturally stretchy, and he got his body changed by a mage a few crystalspheres ago. Consider it natural for him.”

“And… The fucking?”

“Natural, too. Don’t act prude; you have been picked for your interests in men,” said B, grabbing Steelhorn’s right leg before he produced a little mallet to hit Steelhorn’s knee, making his leg kick back.

Beyond kicking the Bugbear away, Steelhorn was ashamed. And yes, slightly aroused, feeling the blood rushing to his genitals despite his best wishes.

“We’re men of all origins, but we don’t hurt each other. And no, nobody has any infections or sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Sexually transmitted diseases?”

“Oh, the abyss! Doesn’t your world know about sexual transmission? How do you survive brothels!”

Well. Steelhorn’s erection dropped with the shame, looking down. Not that he had much experience with brothels, just a fair share. But he didn’t get anything from his partners, unlike a few friends.

“We… Know them. But we mainly assumed it was not… I don’t have any.”

“Of course, you don’t,” growled B, taping the horns. “Fine. You should be clear. Unless you want another type of examination?”

Steelhorn’s eyebrow cocked. He saw the Bugbear remove those glasses and grin. His eyes and mouth opened wider. His gaze descended, following the finger pointing down. Pointed right to the Bugbear’s groin.

To those testicles bolstered by the strap and the pouch… To the scrotum as black as night. And then, above, the sheath. A sheath for a cock that was in no way human-looking but… Well, more fitting on a beast with its folds and the flat end.

One…

Blood rushed to his face. And as well to his groin as he observed the Bugbear reach for the folds, pulling on the sheath’s skin to uncover a part of the cock’s length, underneath the overswollen corona. But as he did this, the aroma hit Steelhorn’s nose. Sweat, of course. Salt, yes. And then, there was the touch of mint and cleaning products mixed in with the one of semen and urine. It was… Strong. Stronger as that organ throbbed and blood rushed inside it, filling it. Making it… Grow. And extend onward, upward.

If B’s balls were massive, his cock was not shy of it in a matter of length and width. It was a monster, too, something that couldn’t be taken easily without stretching, training, and whatnot.

Steelhorn gulped at the sight, his mouth still uncovered and salivating a bit.

“It’s…”

“I tried a few growth potions younger. I could get it fixed, but it suits me better. And my partners, too.”

“I see why,” coughed Steelhorn, trying not to give away his excitation.

An empty promise as his erection was springing to life, once more. Blood rushed, his heart pumped, and his entire body sensed as his cock pointed up. Uncut, wide, a long. Well, it was closer to seven inches whereas the monster B sported was closer to one feet. No… Way more. One feet and a half.

Whoever could take him was a champ and could regret it the day after. But it didn’t seem to matter as the Bugbear stroked himself.

B’s hands were large, a bit disproportionate to his body, same as his long arms. But he employed them to hold the cock from both sides and stroke it as it slipped from the sheath, the blood tracing veins underneath the purplish skin. The median ring was clearly defined, glistening with sweat, and Steelhorn felt almost… Drowned in that musk. In that smell emanating from the Bugbear.

He jumped from the bed to approach, taking a deep whiff while his fingers were on his cock to stroke it.

“Go on. Take a deep breath. I am sure you want it,” said B, smiling perversely, flashing his teeth almost like a predator.

For a moment, Steelhorn approached and slipped a finger against the corona, feeling the flesh tense and partially resist… Only for it to give in and bend as he pressed his fingers against it. It was… Precum-covered, humid. And sticky when Steelhorn removed his fingers to smell the precum.

“Go on, the head should be explored, too,” said B with that same grin, pointing at the flared end. At the swollen meatus in the middle, and the urethra right where it should be. Steelhorn gulped but continued to trace his way towards the urethra, passing over the sticky flesh while his fingers were nearing the entrance and… Poked it.

He touched it, felt the warmth emanating from it while he gulped his saliva down.

He had been with other men before. Stroking, touching, masturbating together. Even taking or giving was something he had done with a Goliath.

But B’s genitals? They were a whole different deal. They were so big, so musky, so… Steamy. The smell coming from the groin was enthralling, tempting, and his fingers went over the entrance.

It was so welcoming, so tempting to touch it, to press against the orifice, and to plunge deeper as it opened like a yawning maw. One that soon started to suckle on Steelhorn’s fingers, much to his surprise and delight.

It was soft, velvety as he plunged his fingers deeper and found B not only smiling but rumbling with delight. And he pushed deeper, putting one entire finger, down all knuckles.

“Put more, you want it,” said the Bugbear, encouraging Steelhorn to put… Well, a second. Then, a third finger. But as much as the orifice remained tense and suckling, it accepted the penetration without any trouble. Steelhorn’s jaw dropped as he approached, felt, and heard the squelching from the precum pressing against his skin and the inner walls before it gushed out and bubbled.

He salivated, too, as the smell was quite good and tempting. So much so his beard was getting damp. He could even fit a fourth finger and wiggle it, making the cock’s underside bulge, and yet… Nothing more.

“It’s-”

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Before Steelhorn could mumble anything more. There was a knock at the door, and a groan from B.

The handle shook before the lock lost valiantly against the resistance, and one shape appeared at the threshold; Rust.

“Again, B?”

This time, Steelhorn perceived the hint of frustration perfectly as the Goblin put his hands on his waist, in a posture that fit his mood.

Like that, as Steelhorn’s wits returned, he quickly pulled his fingers away from the Bugbear’s urethra, yanking them with enough force for the Doctor to moan loudly and for the Human to feel how tightly he was held inside.

“I’m sorry!” shouted Steelhorn, wiping his hand on his thighs. “I wouldn’t have-”

“Please. You’re not the only one tempted by B’s cock. I don’t have beef with you,” stated Rust with his mind, returning to the Bugbear, who leaned against a drawer, heaving and sighing, his cock spurting with whiteish precum. But not enough as he was happily reaching for his urethra he began to finger. “B?”

“Hrmph. I know he’s under contract. I only wanted to give him a preview of what he could expect here.”

“Expect?” asked Steelhorn.

“Please, don’t.”

But too late. As Steelhorn asked and Rust told the Bugbear not to, the Doctor decided to pick another choice than to explain. He reached for the nearest cupboard and pulled a bottle out of it, a massive bottle, larger than a fist. With that same perverse grin he had been showing all that time, B presented the bottle’s rear to his urethra. And instead of the orifice fighting, pushing, or barely allowing a tiny part to slip it, the bottle slipped right inside. The Bugbear’s cock bulged obscenely, bulging with the bottle’s shape. But what was odd could be the way the bottle went lower then higher while the Bugbear kept grinning.

“Here we go…”

With many spurts, the bottle was bobbed up, only to be dragged down by what looked to be powerful and accurate muscles inside the Bugbear’s cock, controlling every portion of the urethra’s movement until B sighed and grunted… And with a hand, he pulled the bottle out, covered with… Cum.

All the while, he smacked his cock while Steelhorn remained gobsmacked from the view.

“You…”

“I can control my urethra and internal muscles how I want. It gets me off when I can fit something inside.”

“Or someone.”

“Killjoy. You know I won’t do them any harm if they’re contracted. The captain doesn’t like it!”

“You could wait for him to be settled and meet with the crew before forcing him to take a night in!”

Steelhorn grimaced at the mention. But as he looked at B’s balls, he was certain they were… Wide. And if they were as expansive as his urethra… Well.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said B, turning his eyes toward the Human. “And yes. You can fit inside. But not now… Our quartermaster won’t allow it.”

“The Quartermaster wants a proper introduction before you traum-… By the broken spheres. Steelhorn! Follow me!”

Suddenly called and ordered, Steelhorn tensed. He even clicked his heels while looking at the Goblin already stepping away. And the burly human quickly reached for his stripped clothes, bending over.

“Don’t make me wait, human. I’m sure you’ll be comfy inside!”

Those were B’s words as Steelhorn ran outside after the Goblin, naked with all his gear in his arms.

As he did so, he found how clean was the floor under his feet despite the relative ambiance. As he passed through the sailors, he could hear their chuckles: mental or physical. As well as one hand from a Demon reaching for Steelhorn’s cheeks.

Somehow, amidst the leering remarks, there was the sensation of Steelhorn’s ass cupped by his hand. A sensation shared with enough intensity it made him doubt if he had not done it himself.

He followed amidst the main deck and then, Rust as they descended to the lower decks filled with… Hammocks.

Lower, the ambiance was more cramped, and there were fewer sailors. Lucky few slept in the furthest corners, leaving Rust and Steelhorn almost alone as they strolled through what were the crew’s quarters: a whole deck added to the ship.

“That’s here where you’ll sleep,” started Rust, kicking one chest open. “Your gear goes here if you wanna work in your birthday suit. It’s allowed unless we’re moored.”

“Huh…” started Steelhorn, throwing everything in his chest. He then returned to Rust, who was back at massaging his jaw. “What’s the deal with B?”

“Nothing. It’s expected with him,” explained Rust. But continued as Steelhorn remained silent a moment. “He has a thing to get stuff in his genitals. Objects, food, people.”

“People? He meant it?”

“It’s cozy, people say. But he scared crew members off. Good thing you’re into it!”

Well, Steelhorn frowned though he could tell that the mention of B’s “skills” made his cock throb a little… He groaned, passing a hand on his neck.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t against it. Those bodies, perfected by working on a ship, were something else. Even B’s strange display had been quite arousing. Still…

“Could you… Make me visit the place? And show me the crew members I should… Avoid?”

“What? You’re afraid they’ll bite your head off once they’re done fucking you?”

“I’d rather not have surprises. You know them well. I would rather not land in a bad place.”

“Uh. Said that way. Well, let’s start with the cargo hold, then.”

The Forgotten Sea wasn’t like the typical spelljammer ship. Though you would expect two to three helmsmen, the Forgotten Sea possessed only one supported by additional forge engines. Even then, it was a ship big enough to possess multiple decks. Cargo, lower, main, upper, and quarterdeck. Enough to house a large crew and enough supplies to carry through many weeks.

It also housed different species and individuals with their specialties, as Steelhorn saw.

In the Cargo Deck, precisely the carpenter’s store, a strange duo of carpenters welcomed him: the first was a burly Satyr, his face rugged, his chest bandaged, and with a fabric tied around his half-broken horns. Still, he welcomed Steelhorn and shook his hand before presenting him his partner… A Treant. Or something close as it looked like a tree had taken up the shape of a man. A well-defined man as everything was made to resemble a humanoid, down to the wood and wines taking the shapes of muscles and… Well, the groin he was showing off. The two were lazying around when Steelhorn arrived. He, too, noticed they hadn’t moved from their seats when he went from the carpenter’s store to continue with the hold.

“Don’t ask Furgor for milk unless you have a bottle to offer.”

“Why?”

Rust didn’t answer. But Steelhorn followed.

From there, it was only a matter of going over each section. The Cargo hold was extensive… But unlit, with only some sporadic lit spots. It was supposedly to protect light-sensitive freight. Steelhorn also guessed it was a preference from the two devils working there. The first was lithe with massive horns cut off near the base, while the second was the four-armed devil Steelhorn had seen earlier. The two were of different races yet seemed amicable as they confirmed to Rust that everything was accounted for. Before they returned to the masturbation that stopped with Rust and Steelhorn’s arrival.

“Don’t call them masters, that’s bad taste.”

This time, Steelhorn didn’t ask while he was led to the forge engines through a tiny door at the back of the Cargo hold, near a coal stockpile. Right then and there, he met a sweltering metal room. For once, he was satisfied he was naked. Inside, at least four dwarves were observing the engines and adjusting them as they lazily purred.

Built like chaos of pipes strapped to a large reservoir-like furnace, it was possible for the dwarves to shovel coal inside the furnace. And it was part of their duties, as seen by the coal covering them and their faces. Even their arms… or the aprons they wore, covering their modesties.

Still, they each came up to him to shake Steelhorn’s hand.

Even the oldest and seemingly less articulate of the lot.

“Ai, Lad! Is’this plac’enough for ya?”

“It’s… Certainly big. I have the impression you’re the only ones working here,” mumbled the Human, only to be met with a hearty laugh and a fiery pat on his lower back.

“Nah! Nah! We’re’ll workin’ the sam’ere. They’re feedin’ the’captain. We’re feedin’ the’gines!”

Steelhorn raised an eyebrow, massaging where the Dwarf smacked him before he looked at the engines, roaring and spewing flames without even getting a sweat out of them.

“What do they mean by “feeding the captain”?” asked Steelhorn, following Rust to the lower decks and towards one set of rooms.

“You have noticed we’re not the typical crew. Our captain recruits anyone who shares the same interests as us. We’re all picked,” began Rust, knocking at one door and opening it. And… Well, opening it on a bedroom that was already in use. Something Steelhorn observed, surprised by the satin, the cleanliness, and the strange… Appeal the place had with the fuchsia-tinted light. An appreciation shared by another Satyr, this time looking less burly and more amicable, and the aging bearded elf who fucked the Satyr’s ass in the same way.

Then, the door closed.

“It looks closer to a brothel to me.”

“That’s the deal. Our Captain can use the helm for days if not weeks, but we feed him with this.”

“… Fucking?”

“By being horny balls. If you’re fucking and cumming, he’s fed.”

“But what stops him from having one room with a lot of piled-up people? I mean… He could have a bunch of sexual slaves and fuck them?” asked Steelhorn, shrugging.

“Aren’t you a former slave?”

“Yes. And I know how fucking was more agreeable than fighting in the pits. Why?”

“One point I have to make,” started Rust, raising one hand as if to call for peace while continuing the exploration. All the individual rooms in the lower decks were dedicated to fucking… Or cleaning as there was a shared bathroom. “He could. But would you love to eat the same thing every day? It’s like that for him. Plus, people would grow tired if it was the same thing.”

“Uh. True,” commented Steelhornn tapping his helmet. If he were to eat the same thing, he would be… Disgusted with it.

“And if he grows tired of something, it isn’t as nourishing for him.”

“Uh?”

“Don’t ask me. It’s how it works. We fuck, and he’s fed. He handles the ship, we’re working the load, handling the contracts, everyone’s happy.”

“That sounds like… A dream.”

“Or a nightmare for some. I mean, don’t get stuffed with the satyrs without checking B first, or you’ll stop in the next crystalsphere.”

“Why’s that?”

“Kids. We don’t like ‘em. Plus, it’s bad stuff, spoils the captain’s food.”

Steelhorn pondered. If the man was enjoying earthly pleasure, kids were not the kind… Then, as they climbed the stairs to the main deck, Steelhorn froze.

“It has already happened?”

“Uh? Oh, yes. We had a trio of brothers, three satyrs. Ended up leaving them aside with their families and partners. The Phlogiston praised, we did not have to wait to land in a port.”

The relief in Rust’s thoughts was palpable as they climbed, and a strange detail hit Steelhorn. The sound of creaking wood and tensed sails, of fighting ropes and bound weights.

The air outside was still, but it felt as if it they were navigating.

Navigating and flying through the sky. Through the void.

Around them, the ship had been swallowed by the night and surrounded by stars and distant worlds. It was practically impossible to see the planets from afar. But it was possible to see asteroids in the distance, little worlds colonized or mined, smaller than countries or even counties.

Steelhorn’s eyes feasted on the sight. He turned and saw the night sky in its entire beauty: lights streaking across it, like a painter’s red stroke that had been diluted with yellow on a black canvas.

The ship pointed at the void, at stars so distant it was only through squinting Steelhorn could notice them. The constellations. One of his former masters taught him the constellations and how to read them. But from so far off the ground, they looked different. As if the angle to see them was important enough. Though most were still fixated, the smallest and hardest to notice.

“Impressive view, isn’t it?” asked Rust, chuckling. “I’ll let you watch. When you’re done, meet me at my cabin.”

The sounds of Rust’s steps were almost faint compared to the clamor Steelhorn listened to.

The sailors checked the sails, fixed them as they acted frantic. They secured the loads as they were sailing smoothly through the air. A strange sight Steelhorn admired as he approached the starboard side railing and leaned against it.

There was only the void beneath and more stars. He peered at the front and saw the figurehead’s wings spread like a Dragon’s. The wood sculpture seemed so alive, so different than at rest. The paint on it, of faint blue, took the hue of freshly minted blades as it reflected the stars’ distant lights.

It shimmered so much it started to blind Steelhorn; he had to look away, to look at the opposite side. Towards the forge engines.

Like two tubes strapped to the Ship’s sides, the engines were already spitting fire and leaving a long trail behind them. One that seemed to grow as the engines were heating up, and a faint glow escaped through the cracks and the vents. Fire spouted outward, only to vanish when it reached a certain distance from the ship, and… He watched in awe.

“The Human likes it?”

Another voice, purring, soft, with a soft accent Steelhorn couldn’t guess. Maybe from a different crystalsphere. Still, he nodded and turned toward its owner. A feline. Or a Humanoid Feline. Too large to be a tabaxi, the sailor possessed a lustrous, golden mane partially attached and yet flowing over his shoulders and back. Without any clothes on his chest, the feline bore pants that seemed necessary. The Feline offered one hand. And a rope.

“It’s. Beautiful. Thanks. What’s this for?”

“The threshold. The ship leaves the crystalsphere,” explained the Feline, quickly attaching the rope around Steelhorn’s waist and securing it. It was then Steelhorn noticed the Feline wore one, too.

“The threshold? What is this?”

“Big passage, dangerous unattached. Hmmm… Wait,” said the Feline before he reached for his forehead. And Steelhorn saw something. Instead of words, the Feline projected an image. A vision of Steelhorn falling beyond the handrail and the Human instinctively took a step away.

“Ok. I got the message. I’ll be careful.”

“Good human. If you fall, think loud,” warned the Feline, pointing to his forehead.

And Steelhorn scoffed. With a crew capable of reading minds, it would work. A bit too well.

Still, with a faint distance to the handrail, Steelhorn looked at the spelljammer accelerating. Despite feeling no breeze, the sails extended. Everything was prepared. The ambiance was heavy as if everything braced for impact.

For a second, Steelhorn held his breath as he heard a crackling. Then, at the front of the ship, something started to form.

A rift.

Iridescent, the rift grew while the spelljammer flew in its direction, faster and faster. The rift spread further, bleeding into the night sky until it swallowed everything in front of the ship. It was bigger than the ship, enough to swallow it.

The sailors looked at it in awe, holding on their hats and clothes, and ropes, and everything that was the closest.

Steelhorn, too, followed as he approached the mast, nodding to the Aarakocra, whose blue feathers bristled with excitation. Somehow, it felt like a breeze hit Steelhorn then a tempest. He braced, and the ship passed the threshold. Waves of purple and red lights were lashing on the outside, hitting a translucent barrier around the ship.

“First time?”

“Yes!” confirmed Steelhorn to the Avian, so intrigued as the horizon was blinding. And… he blinked.

Steelhorn blinked and closed his eyes, covering them before the sound of crackling energy and gusting winds stopped. A sigh of relief swept across the entire ship. Then, returned the faint cracking of the ropes, the wood, and the engines. The sails dropped, the crew moved back and around. And Steelhorn reopened his eyes.

Before him, it was like they traded the void for a different scenery with a sea of opalescent colors. The swirling and bleeding of color was slightly blinding, so many twists and spirals, so many colors: red weaving into blue shades, cyan and yellow adding up to form an unknown color.

Then, Steelhorn looked around. He looked and saw the massive crystal wall behind the ship.

One that was stretching so high, low, and in all directions it was… Humbling.

Humbling, and somehow, he felt satisfied. And also… Prodded?

Passing a hand on his nape, it felt like someone had been there only a second ago for Steelhorn, even as he looked over his shoulders. He frowned. The moment after, he sighed, feeling a bit winded by the emotions while the crew was back working as expected. He climbed the stairs to Rust’s quarters and knocked at the door.

“Enter!”

Rust was at the table, taking little notes, when Steelhorn approached and sat, still naked. Or so he planned to when the Goblin clicked his tongue mentally.

“No. Stay up. There’s something you need to see.”

“Something else I should see? But I will stay in the lower decks, right?”

“You will. How was it? The threshold?”

“It’s… Impressive. I mean. Outside, the colors and the… Crystal sphere? Is that all there’s to be? I… Was?” asked Steelhorn, evidently taken but joyful. And again, feeling something in his back.

“Yeah. We all felt it. You were thinking it so loud; most of the crew must have felt it, too,” remarked the Goblin, patting his forehead. “But you did not meet with the Captain. And with the passage, he’s interested in seeing you.”

Steelhorn reached for his neck, scratching it. Well, it was to happen. And-

“This time, no need for me to guide you. Follow him?”

“Him?”

“Me.”

Another soul in the repertory of voice within Steelhorn’s mind. But when the others were speaking or sharing, this voice felt like a resounding echo within his mind. Steelhorn turned, feeling he had been poked behind; he saw the door, close. Yet, opening.

“I wi-”

“Yes, Steelhorn. Don’t make the captain wait.”

Rust had already handwaved Steelhorn away when he opened the door. He felt he was doing it as much as he was thinking of doing it. Two parts that were separating as his mind slowly drifted away. He was pulling somewhere. A place unknown.

His body and mind still acted as he followed a traced route outside the Goblin’s cabin and towards the upper deck where the aftcastle would be. Instead, there was a little structure surrounded by balconies and a main door Steelhorn knocked at and entered.

“You are intrigued by my crew.”

Less than a question, it was an affirmation. Steelhorn nodded mentally to the voice, looking away for a moment and feeling all the crew at once. From the sleeping ones to the few fucking, like the Satyr and Treant in the cargo hold. He sensed it, along with a sensation of satisfaction. Of being fulfilled.

There was the ship, too. The wholeness of the wood structure, the tremor from the forge engines, the weight at the front slightly tugging the ship down. And then, the sails, the ropes, the crew like tiny hands touching his body.

“Is that how you feel?” asked Steelhorn, his voice not answering but his mind asking the question.

“It is. You are curious. But we can continue the discussion together.”

Like that, Steelhorn was yanked. Back to his body, into his shape. For a moment, after sensing the entire ship, sensing his sole body was… Puny. He felt lesser while he stood in a large and luscious greenhouse.

It should have been some quarters… But with the walls looking like glass panels, the plants dangling everywhere, it was a greenhouse. From the beams at the ceiling dangled potted flowers, some looking ferns. A few, looking like tiny trees, were placed on a desk. A few more were in plant beds, though they looked more like tumors or odd organic growth. Some possessed phallic forms, colored in red; they were kept in a corner, and Steelhorn thought of them as mushrooms.

“You are better thinking they are mushrooms and not… Penises.”

Like a sting, Steelhorn felt the remark and darted his eyes toward the source of the voice. And here was the captain…

An Illithid.

Most Illithid, or Mind flayers, were lean and levitating creatures with a rosy skin, an elongated skull, and tentacles to cover a beak that was their mouth; with which they would eat fresh brains.

If the Captain had the latter three details, he was not levitating… Or lean by any means. Truth was, his stature was more impressive than Steelhorn’s. He had a well-sculpted body with broad shoulders, powerful arms, a paunch belly, sizeable pecs. He looked a tad squat. And atop his head, around where his temple would be, he had a circlet.

But… Nothing else.

Nothing else as he turned and twisted, showing an anatomy that was… Well. Impressive. Not as much as B, but impressive nonetheless for a creature that ought to be frail and small… No, the Captain was confident, imposing, and well-endowed. Enough for blood to stir inside Steelhorn’s groin while he tapped his helmet.

“Am I hallucinating or-”

“You are on a ship filled with men of all races fucking, navigating across the universe. And my presence makes you question your sanity. Amusing.”

“It’s not that. I… Wait. Where’s the helm? Is that your quarters?”

A faint laugh echoed in Steelhorn’s mind as he was guided to approach, to come closer to a table upon which a recently potted plant had been placed: a bonsai tree.

“Let’s start from the beginning. You can call me Captain or Andrux. This is my name, Steelhorn.”

Steelhorn took it in, and slowly nodded: “Nice to meet you.”

“This is my body, without any illusions. And no, you are not hallucinating or intoxicated, lest euphoric from the wine Rust offered you.”

More probing, somehow, in the back of Steelhorn’s neck. He tried to look aside, not to ogle the Illithid’s genitals too much, whether his long cut and a bit slimy cock, or those heavy hanging nuts between the generous thighs. He failed and scoffed.

“So. What’s the point? And… I’m… Hmm. Okay, we are both naked. Am I supposed to… do something? Put clothes back on to talk with my captain? Wait? Is there a bed here?”

A hearty laugh came from the Illithid as he added mulch around the potted plant, using his hands to squeeze it through… Instead of using telekinesis or any of the talents the Mindflayers employed.

“I share my bed with a few crew members. Even though I am the captain, I sleep with whoever I want it. I stay here during transition or when we are moored. But I did not ask you to come to discuss this.”

Steelhorn gulped then, as the Illithid golden eyes were on him, holding out the potted plant.

“Place it near the door. I will clean the table.”

Steelhorn accepted the pot, looking at it like an extremely careful treasure. Then, he turned… He could have also taken the door and fled. But no. He placed the pot near it, carefully.

“Rust explained to you. You were selected. If I asked you to come here, this is to apologize for my probing during the selection and for my crew’s behavior. They are rough, but are hard-working.”

“Sorry? You-”

With more blink and a turn, the Illithid approached, extending a hand toward Steelhorn, one long clawed hand. Steelhorn was surprised. For a moment, he had clenched his teeth. But no, he relaxed and shook that hand.

“Their words must have depicted a different version of me, aloof and distant. My kind is known to be cold and cruel since they lack empathy. I can confirm this is different, and-”

Steelhorn blinked and blanked. He blanked, and the Illithid’s voice stopped. Those golden eyes went over the Human, then aside. In a very human fashion, the Illithid even tilted his head left then right, as if to see or understand the situation better.

“I… Am lost.”

Truth be told. It was a strange interaction; the Illithid was doing his best to act friendly. It starkly contrasted the repeated say: Devils could play nice, Angels could be back-stabbing bastards, but never would an Illithid be sympathetic. Yet, to Steelhorn, he was bewildered to have each question in his mind answered.

Finally, he raised one hand as the Captain spoke.

“I will stop reading your mind.”

“Th… Thank you,” mumbled Steelhorn, his hand dropping as he reached for his helmet, patting it. He was feeling odd. Without waiting, he leaned against the table.

“What do you need to know? Or should we do the introduction later?”

“Has… This always turned out that bad?” asked Steelhorn, rubbing his neck.

“Not as bad. Lardror’s introduction was peculiar, but he was already aware of the Crystal spheres and how Spelljammer crews work. You are full of questions and wonder about this place. It is better if we answer some of it earlier.”

Still the hand on his neck, Steelhorn listened to the Illithid stepping away. Then, the Captain opened a window, though no breeze.

“You are an Illithid. But you are the only Illithid in the crew. And no one’s a slave. They all hold you in great esteem.”

“I am alone. Long ago, I reached the illumination and decided to part ways from my kind. This crew is as close as it is from my kin.”

“Where I live… This is unheard of. You… don’t eat brain. Is that right?”

“No. I have found a way to thrive without “eating brain”. My compatriots would consider my actions as madness. But it is not.”

Steelhorn listened but then looked. Looked at the creature walking around and then taking a seat in the middle of the room, on a cushiony chair. It looked more comfortable than any seating the Human had experienced in his life. And even then, the Illithid made no effort to hide his actions. The Captain turned to Steelhorn and leaned on a chair, tapping his forehead.

“I do not need to read your mind to see you are surprised.”

“You… Are the captain of a ship with devils, creatures I have never seen before. They seem to be strange guys but willing to help. And… I have issues to wrap my head around everything. And I don’t know why I was recommended. Or closer to why you chose me.”

“Your curiosity and openness. As well as the awe and interest in what surrounds you. Many sailors have grown tired and uncaring of what surrounds them, this is the reason I picked you. As for the recommendation, Large Luigi and I have a contract. But going in length would be too long. Rather, what other questions do you have?”

“You… Really don’t eat brain?”

“I could. But I have grown tired of it. When we e-… Let me say I hate the taste of fear in your thoughts. Lust and desires are far more pleasant.”

“So… The whole ship is there to feed you.”

The Illithid nodded, beckoning Steelhorn to approach. Meanwhile, the Illithid extended a hand.

“They are there to feed me as much as they are my crew. You felt what I feel constantly, each of them was given a glimpse of it, you are no different. Likewise, I take anyone willing and interested and give them a place here, as well as a voice.”

“The telepathy?”

_“From Illithid Larvae I selected and bred for this purpose. Before you ask, yes. They were willingly inserted-

“_And you can rem-”

“Yes. Once the contract is finished, the larvae are removed without any side effects. I have someone on board who’s working to circumvent the needs for larvae. Now, take my hand.”

Steelhorn bit his lips, still surprised, but took the Illithid’s hand.

Again, he was the ship. Again, he was feeling everything.

This time, he also felt the Illithid’s cold hand and was… Grounded. Capable of thinking and not driven.

And more than that, he was aware of what the captain was doing. He could feel the tug toward the couple in the cargo deck, and Steelhorn could feel…

He could watch, sense, experience.

He was the Satyr, Rumar, getting his chest massaged and massaged by the Treant, the bark hands going over his buxom chest. He was aware of the pressure inside his breasts, and the need to be milked. Likewise, he was the Treant whose cock was already entrenching within the Satyr’s plump ass, feeling that fluffy tail rub against his groin. And then… There were the tentacles and tendrils stroking his testicles, as a Satyr… Or acting like fingers when he was the treant.

More than that, he felt the love and excitation as they were together, the affections they shared and the pleasure they exchanged. And it was…

Steelhorn could sense the satiety coming from the Illithid as he yanked his fingers back.

Yet, he also felt the constant strain from the ship as it needed to be pushed, the hunger that followed, and the exhaustion.

Spelljamming wasn’t solely about a ship flying across space. There was always someone at the helm. Typically, two would be handling the role in tandem and only a select few were capable of jumping in. But here was the Captain, alone.

“It must be exhausting.”

“It is,” confirmed the Illithid with an audible sigh, a physical. “This is no ordinary Spelljammer ship. I am the only one who can power it and the only one they trust. In return, I count on them to provide me the pleasure they feel to sustain myself. You were selected because you feel everything intensely. Whether your curiosity about Rust, the joy in entering the Flow for the first time, or even your doubts about me. You already signed the contract, Steelhorn. But I ask you if you are ready to join my crew for a long period until Moor.”

Steelhorn grunted. He rubbed his chest, a bit wiped on it, as he thought. He had lost everything in his former life: fame, riches, land. He was bound to get caught. The further he went, the better. But at the same time, the place was…

“You can always leave the crew when you want, as long as you warn me or Rust.”

“And I don’t get stifled on my salary? No problem?”

_“It’s all in your contract. As long as you work, you get paid. And leaving the ship is no issue. There are always more men willing to be recruited. And we always have departure.”

“_And for the larva?”

“Mandatory to speak with the crew. But I can make it happen in one instant without you experiencing the operation.”

“I accept. Make it quick.”

Steelhorn said that with confidence as he blinked. And blinked again, this time sitting in the Captain’s chair with the Illithid leaning over him.

Somehow, they had exchanged places and everything was different. No… There was something different, as he could hear the voices of the crew. His head throbbed with pain, as if something was there and shouldn’t be.

_“The pain will pass in a few hours, the time for your body to adjust to the pressure.”

“Fuck… My… Head.”_ mumbled Steelhorn. But he did not say a word. No, he spoke it through his mind. And in the distance, he heard cheers and little jokes before he turned to the Illithid.

_“Do not be surprised. They were making bets.”

“It’s…”_ started Steelhorn, reaching for his helmet, his mouth dry. “Done?”

“It is. You are part of the crew. And we can fuck.”

“Urgh… Not yet. I- I am too… Permission to get down to sleep?”

A laugh erupted from the Illithid, a physical one. Enough to shake that imposing body before he nodded.

“Permission to rest, Steelhorn. Rust will call you for your first shift.”

It seemed enough for the Illithid as he stepped away, letting Steelhorn take his sweet time to come to his senses and stand up. For a moment, the Human even thought he might have been abused. But no. His body was there, no strange soreness. And with a hand to his helmet, he approached the door to the greenhouse and slipped outside.

The Phlogiston’s lights were almost blinding. He still managed to descend the stairs, one by one. He descended, one hand on the handrail. He could now hear the crew’s exchanges clearly, how the sailors handling the sails were chatting about their future drunken nights or their hopes to touch down next sphere in less than a week so they could enjoy a festival.

The further Steelhorn went, the more voices he could pick… And yet, he didn’t feel overwhelmed as he could pick them apart: from the inner monologues to the exchanges.

And then… As he descended beneath the main deck, right onto the lower deck, he grumbled. His assigned hammock was empty as he dropped in it like a lug, grunting and groaning… And trying to tune out the voice. Though he could not.

Not when one of them was so close and leering: “Hey fresh meat. Is that true, you refused the captain’s offer?”

“Mhmmph… Yeah.”

“Hah! Refusing a moment with the captain, never thought it would happen one day!”

Whatever it meant, Steelhorn tried to ignore it… And take some rest.