FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In the prologue, our ten adventurers discovered a strange vial inscribed in an ancient language.

In Part I, Connor the barbarian sampled it, finding its effects made him an even more bullish fighter than before.

In Part II, Stefan the fighter drinks from the vial in desperation; he regains perhaps a little too much vitality, and a change of focus onto a bigger picture.

In Part III, Elwin the mage discovered a new source for the contents of the vial, and decided that he was very into hanging around what he considered the new, improved Connor.

In Part IV, Robin the cleric tried to bring order to the chaos that followed from when Elwin was abducted, only to add further chaos when he exploded into a great tentacled being.

Hence we come to...

Part V - Bravery

"Pull yourself together, man!" Sir Paul cursed himself, mailed fingers digging future bruises into the flesh of his young squire's wrist. He dared a glance back, reintroducing himself to the terror frozen on Brent's fluid-splattered face. An uncharitable, fiery anger filled him. He wanted to slap the boy, verbally or physically lash out at him. It may have been uncharitable, but it was at least not hypocritical: he was far more fervent with his own mental chastisement.

Sir Paul did not care for uselessness, and while he hated it in Brent he loathed it in himself. His tongue felt leaden and slow in his mouth, and his body still acted instinctively after witnessing the horror. Shock and fear made him do the most instinctive thing: run away. He told himself that they could regroup, that getting out of danger was an important step in defeating the evils that they had uncovered, but he could hear the hollowness in the words as he thought them. Sir Paul was just as frightened as Brent, and he despised his own cowardice."Please!" Brent rasped, "I can't... I can't run any more!" Sir Paul turned, seeing that the young man's face had turned a bright red, the fluid running over his face as he struggled to breathe. He could feel the trembles in Brent's arm even through the gauntlet, the spasms of a man who had used up all of his reserves.

Sir Paul felt the anger start to surface again, wanting to grab Brent and shake him, telling him that he was also tired - and he was running in armour - but there was worse things that could happen to them if they stopped. Whatever the creature was that had burst from the cleric Robin, or he had transformed into, could well be right on their heels.

However, he did pause, at least long enough to look around. They were well into the trees now, and the only sounds that he could here were the sounds of the birds and insects and wind creaking the branches and whistling through the twigs. "Perhaps it would be safe to stop now," he considered. "But only to catch our breaths. We need to find the others. Help me out of this armour, quickly! We need to be able to move quickly!"

Brent nodded, and set about loosening the straps and removing the armour piece by piece. It was one of the things he had been training him to do. Sir Paul did not know why he had been tasked with mentoring a fully-grown man in the ways of a fighter, well after an age where most squired became knights themselves. It seemed a fool's errand; Brent's skittish nature made him seem younger that others of his age. Most men grew out of that nervousness, but for whatever reason Brent had not. Sir Paul had had squires before; Brent was only competent at best in his duties, and under the most recent strain he had become a worthless lump.

Sir Paul stood, arms and legs outstretched, allowing the boy access to all parts of his body. Just thinking about it - Brent reaching into his crevices - stirred up Sir Paul's stubborn, unwanted feelings. Within the armour, he felt his manhood twitching. "Not the time!" he cursed himself.

"What did you say, sir?" Brent's voice piped up. Sir Paul hadn't realised that he had spoken loud enough for Brent to hear him. His eyes seemed drawn towards the goo on Brent's face, watching it ooze down into the corners of his mouth, disturbed by the rivulets of sweat. As a healthy man, who had spent almost all his time solely in the company of other men, he was acquainted with what the whitish fluid most probably was, even if the creature it had squirted out of was no longer human.

As a healthy man, Sir Paul's own body had certain desires. He felt like he was constantly struggling with himself, even after he had run straight into the arms of the faith he now served to try to rid himself of them. Having Brent sweaty, with his face dripping with creamy fluid was a familiar sight. Brent had uncovered Sir Paul's major flaw early in his service. It was one they both shared. The paladin had not taken advantage of his position, would not have even considered it, had Brent not made the clear first move on him. Sir Paul had woken to find the man's mouth on the early morning rigidity of his manhood.

"Nothing of import," Sir Paul dismissed. He swallowed, feeling a strange saltiness permeate through his mouth. "Just get me out quickly." He wriggled his thick fingers, freed from their metal confines. Sweat ran over his hands: most laymen never knew just how hot and confining it was to dress in full plate. He was just glad he had not been wearing his helmet at the time. He wriggled his lips. "My face itches."

"Mine does too, sir," Brent stated. He shifted from Sir Paul's side to stand in front of him. Brent's youthful eyes seemed to shine. "Perhaps it the... the stuff that the creature sprayed on us? Perhaps we should wipe it off?" He swiped his sleeve across his face, then paused. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't thinking. Do you want me to clean yours for you first?"

Sir Paul shook his head, one of the only easy movements he could do while in most of his armour. He snorted, blowing some that leaked down his nose and came within range of his nostrils. Just thinking about having the creature's fluids on his face seemed to make his mind slip towards other thoughts. "Just get this blasted stuff off, and be quick about it, boy!" He shuffled his legs about, his manhood stubbornly rising.

He didn't want to admit his growing lust to his squire, but Brent was certainly watchful of Sir Paul's manhood. Even after their shock. it would be unlike him to not notice. His hands would practically be on it anyway, as soon as he had removed the protective codpiece. Despite his reluctance, he needed to hurry him on, and Sir Paul knew of a good way to do it. "My... my body itches as well."

"Of course, sir." The twinkle in the eyes turned into a hungry gleam, and Brent went back to freeing Sir Paul's other hand. He moved with far more haste this time.

Sir Paul growled under his breath for a couple of seconds. He was irritated; he never liked admitting what he wanted to Brent when it came to his sexual feelings. Brent always seemed to notice anyway, always hovering and presenting himself, sometimes even before Sir Paul felt the first twitch in his cock. He hated admitting that he actually enjoyed being attended to in that way, of having Brent come to him and pleasure him - and sometimes himself as well, when he was sure Sir Paul wouldn't berate him over it - and then return to his normal duties. That's how it worked, though, and neither seemed all that interested in changing it. Eventually Sir Paul decided to manage the problem as best he could: he would have a discreet outlet for his lusts, while binding Brent to an oath that he would never go to anyone else like he had with him.

"Mmnh!" Sir Paul squirmed in the armour, his thickening cock brushing up against the front of the padded pants he wore underneath the metal. He was certain Brent was being deliberately slow, as though he was torturing him with his growing arousal. Sir Paul could see Brent doing that, the young man toying with the elder under the guise of obedience, waiting until he was in no position to turn away the attention. Even under these strange, terrifying circumstances - or perhaps because of them - Brent's own desires could be influencing his diligence.

That didn't seem to be the case; Sir Paul watched him, and the red in his face seemed to be there stubbornly. "Please forgive me, Sir Paul. I don't know why, I... I can't stop my hands from shaking, and my fingers don't seem to want to work right!"

"Grab firm onto your faith," Sir Paul requested. It wasn't what he wanted Brent to grab on to. He could feel his cock becoming fully erect, sliding around in the padded pants as it left a trail of sticky excitedness. It seemed to be all he could smell, too; that slug-like shiny trail he had seen many times in his breeches and running down his legs, usually dried by the time he woke up from the vividly erotic dreams he used to have until Brent came along. "Use it to take a moment, and calm yourself. You and I both know you can do this; you've done it many times now."

"Yes, sir!" That seemed to snap Brent out of it. He still seemed jittery, but his hands didn't shake so badly and he was actually able to remove the straps again. It helped Sir Paul to calm down as well; each piece of armour less was a literal and metaphorical weight off of him. Armour was good in a battle, but what they had dealt with required mobility.

Brent worked especially diligently to remove the armour around Sir Paul's groin. The paladin grunted as the armour came away. His erection bulged, obvious even through the padding. Brent forgot himself for the moment, eagerly tugging at the straps that held the padded pants up, but Sir Paul was able to growl him into moving his hands away, and attending to more of the remaining, heavier parts.

Sir Paul couldn't tell which of them was more disappointed: Brent, who reluctantly obeyed, or Sir Paul for having to give the order. He could feel his manhood throbbing. Perhaps, he thought, this was that same feeling that he had heard other soldiers had talked about, when after a battle the blood was stirred up that it led to stronger desires. "We don't have time to tend to these things!" he thought, although he still wondered if that were true. He had lost track of how long they had been running, and since they stopped he had listened for anything that might be approaching. Nothing seemed to have noticed them. Sir Paul knew that such feelings were stubborn, and it would only build up the longer they went on.

Sniffing the air, Sir Paul could smell nothing but his own sweaty, needy body, and Brent. The young man had an appealing scent to him that was all the more appealing when he was horny. He had not considered it much, but having Brent all to himself, controlling his lusts, made him smell better as far as Sir Paul was concerned.

"Just cut me out of the rest!" Sir Paul growled impatiently. He could feel his resolve weakening with every drooling throb. He knew he needed to be strong for Brent, as well as for himself. It was only the two of them. A tremor rumbled through him; he clenched his hands tighter, the knuckles bulging out.

He looked at Brent. "The boy's finally manning up," Sir Paul thought, with approval. Brent had been one of those eerily hairless young men that always made him feel uncomfortable. There was a difference, he'd noticed, between the faces of men who shaved and boys who didn't. His squire, finally, seemed to be showing some stubble. He'd hoped the adventure might help with that; given the rest of it was a complete disaster, he could take at least a little satisfaction from that. "Besides," he found himself thinking as Brent worked to keep the large metal plates that covered his chest from sliding off or landing on him, "it makes him more handsome..."

With his armour off, Sir Paul was able to attend to the rest. His fingers gripped tightly onto the oppressively sweaty, rust-lined under-shirt and peeled it off. Out bristled his thick, coarse body; dark brown hairs sprung every which way. It flapped about in the cool breeze, as his hands moved down towards his pants.

"Do you want me to help you with that, sir?" Brent's lust was obvious in his voice.

"I can manage," growled Sir Paul. He groaned a moment later, his erection, swollen and thick, bouncing in the air. The head glistened, strands of cloth sticking to it, which he wiped off hurriedly. He closed his eyes as he did so, shudders of arousal running through him. His buttocks wobbled as he shook his thick legs free of the rest of the fabric, standing nude in the forest.

Brent sounded disappointed, "If that is what you want." He turned away, fidgeting with his own clothes.

"What are you doing?" Sir Paul demanded.

"You didn't feel comfortable in your armour, sir." Brent explained, yanking off his leathers, his pale flesh covered with its own sweat. "I don't feel comfortable in mine, and it would not be fair for you to suffer the indignity of nakedness alone."

Sir Paul scowled. "Don't tell me how-"

Brent's eyes almost glowed as he sank to the ground, pulling on his boots as his pants hung around his ankles. "You say you brought me here under orders, but I think you brought me along so you wouldn't be tempted by one of the other men we travelled with. You knew I was safe, an outlet for your wandering cock."

Sir Paul's face burned. His fingernails felt oddly long as they pressed into the throbbing palms of his hands, but he did not pay that unusualness any mind. He was too occupied with Brent's surprising wilfulness - and the nakedness as, now free of pants and boots - he stood up, equally as aroused as he himself was. "I should-"

"There's a lot of things you should," Brent stated. Sir Paul was surprised at how bold he had become. Brent took a step forward, then another; there was barely any distance between them now. "Pin me down. Have your way with me. Maybe, finally, let me have my way with you. Surely you are curious about how it feels? How can you claim to stand for justice when you cannot even understand the feelings of the man you share beds with, when it pleases you?"

Sir Paul looked Brent in the face. He could see the young man was almost as surprised with his own boldness as Sir Paul was. He was so uncomfortably close as well. Sir Paul could smell everything; the scent of the fluids dripping from his cock - though perhaps they were his own, but he had just not understood that - and the growing muskiness of his slender, sweaty body as it got close enough to graze against his nipple for a brief moment. The feeling of arousal had become an incessant pounding, as though a vicious penned animal inside him was trying to free itself.

Something seemed to crack; Sir Paul growled, and with an excited yelp from Brent, the two tumbled over. Sir Paul pinned him to the grass, blades seeming to squirm out of the way. He could feel his body shaking; his horniness had overwhelmed him for a moment, goaded on by Brent's hungry expression. Had his squire's face always looked so sharp? He couldn't tell; his mouth was on Brent's lips, his legs jiggling as his clumsy, instinctive thrusts sent his erection drooling between them.

Sir Paul's hands planted themselves on the grass between Brent's arms. They had never done it outside, never done it like this before. All of their intercourse had been quiet, confined, dutiful; this was already messy, loud and grunting and they had barely gotten started. It made Sir Paul ache for the younger him who had missed out on it, and then feel anger and shame for having felt that way. His fingers felt strange, but he found he couldn't concentrate; not with Brent's tongue forcefully stabbing him in the face. He couldn't close his mouth, his jaw throbbing almost as much as his manhood was as his bristling buttocks pushed together. He knew he was thrusting into the air between them, and found himself unable to care.

Brent wasn't just lying there - his tongue was already proving that - but it struck Sir Paul as strange just how squirmy the young man's whole body was. It swayed his bobbing cock from side to side; bristles of hair grazed over both manhoods as they swung between them Sir Paul's larger warrior's body pressing Brent into the grass. Hands grasped onto his back, sharp nails digging into his flesh. Not that it hurt, but Sir Paul wasn't accustomed to the aggressiveness. He'd found his control over Brent to be arousing, and in a way it still was, but having him be a far more active, vigorous partner was keeping the thing that had been woken up very intrigued.

Their mouths fell apart. Sir Paul pushed himself up. He was fine now with whatever Brent had in mind for them. Trying to be cautious, he tried to keep an ear out for the approach of anyone, but it was hard to concentrate. His whole body seemed to throb and pulse with the heavy, fast pounding of his heart. Rubbing his shaft against Brent's prickly crotch felt immensely satisfying, the focus of relief for his dull ache that spread through his body.

Brent squirmed underneath him, Sir Paul felt Brent's strangely wet nose slide down the rounded shape of his chest, lips rubbing over him as he squirmed down to put Sir Paul's cock against his face. In a different configuration, this would have been their "safe" position, but the novelty made it almost new. Even the feeling of the tip of his shaft sliding into Brent's warm mouth, jamming up against the hard ridges on the roof of his mouth felt fresh. The warmth was the same, as was the saliva that drooled over his shaft, tasting him and ramping the rush of excitement washing through him as he panted.

Sir Paul slammed his toes into the dirt, feeling his feet sliding backwards. His legs were starting to cramp up from being in the same position. It had the advantage of giving more room for Brent, who took the opportunity to bob his head more vigorously. Hands grasped the base of his shaft and his sack, both feeling oddly heavy and thick. It was a good feeling; he kept his eyes closed, and ignored the sharp jabs of Brent's teeth scraping against the tender skin.

Brent broke off for a moment. Sir Paul heard his loud panting. The hand rubbing his shaft was rough, but even that was welcome. His body itched, the sweat drying on his irritated skin. He shifted his legs again. The ground was soft, and the balls of his feet felt heavy. He thought about how nice it was to be out of his boots, and how comfortable and enjoyable this all was. Vague concerns appeared, then disappeared as quickly as they intruded. He knew he should be listening out for the monsters, or for someone intruding on their sinful lovemaking. He sensed something was wrong with what he was doing; not the sinful part, although a small part of him worried about that. But Brent's attention to him dissolved everything in a mess of saliva and sexual fluids that even seemed to make his manhood feel bigger.

The hands cupping his balls tensed, something sharp squeezing against his sack. Again, it wasn't distracting enough to stop him from thrusting into Brent's eager mouth, his girth muffling the sounds of the sloppy, wet mumbles his squire was making underneath him. Sinking his thickening talons into the dirt, the sharp extensions to his fingers dug easily through the grass and the ground beneath it.

Brent's mouth stretched along Sir Paul's shaft, the lips and nose pushing deeper into his crotch. He felt the cold, wet touch of Brent's nostrils push into the thick brush around his privates, snuffling and snorting for air. Brent squirmed beneath him, hands moving away from Sir Paul's genitals after giving his cock one final slurp. He could hear panting; Sir Paul opened his eyes, blinking them compulsively.

He felt, then saw, Brent squirm out from under him. He emerged in a flash of red-tinged nakedness with a creamy streak down the middle. It was the fur bristling off of the young man, though they weren't the extent of his changes. His face had become a narrow muzzle, Brent's nose flecked with dark, expanding spots. Points had appeared on ears that stuck out from his head. His eyes glinted with flecks of gold that shone with lust. Curled claws stuck out of each finger.

As blinded by throbbing lust as Sir Paul was, he didn't notice any of the changes to Sir Paul with the correct level of horror. Brent didn't comment on the teeth, swollen together and beginning to jut out of the overstretched lips. He didn't express surprise at the claws, or the thickening to the hair that covered his body, nor that some of them had thickened to look more like feathers. He didn't quake over the musculature of his master's body that made him seem more natural on all fours. All that mattered was that they were both horny, and that Sir Paul had an erection that Brent wanted inside him.

Brent turned over onto the hands that looked increasingly like paws. He raised his rump into the air, creamy fur growing on his buttocks, framed with a lusty, rusty red. The ring of his whole was still pink, but it didn't matter as he twitched it in front of Sir Paul's increasingly beaked face. He turned his face with its vulpine cast towards him and let out a horny, inviting yelp. "Fuck me!" he pleaded.

Had he been uncorrupted, Sir Paul would have turned away immediately from the increasingly animalistic Brent, possibly even moving to draw his sword. Now, however, the only weapon he wanted to plunge into Brent now was his cock, itself already showing signs of change into that of the creature he was becoming. His own eyes glowed back, demonstrating approval. He lumbered over, wide paws stomping over the grass.

They had never done this before; it had seemed too unclean. Sir Paul had been sure there were ways around the physical uncleanliness, it was the religious side that turned him away. He knew of it, of course. He had thought of it, but had no practice with it. The only part that frustrated him now was the latter; he grunted in annoyance as he tried to figure out how to do it. As he tried to aim the tip of his cock as it buckled and bobbed beneath him, he felt it slide over Brent's growing fur, jabbing over the side of the leg, or his back. Sometimes it would get close, but miss slightly and instead push up against Brent's buttocks.

Sir Paul tried a number of times. Eventually he let out a terrifying shriek from the discolouring beak protruding out of what were once his lips. His nose had begun to shrunk back into his head, making his face seem even more owlish. He thrust again, feeling the tip of his cock touch something soft and hairless; he knew he was in the right spot and tried to copy that action exactly.

As he did, his body continued to emit creaks and groans. Bones stretched and twisted unnaturally. Muscles thickened and shifted, flowing around the changes to his skeleton that had first changed the shape of his body, but had also been expanding him. Around them were the pieces of his armour, none of which would have fit on the creature eagerly trying to gain traction to the raised hole of the smaller creature underneath.

Where Sir Paul was growing, Brent was shrinking, as if his thrusts were a leeching of Brent's body. Sir Paul's shaft came in contact with a new protruding appendage just above the buttocks, the flesh seeming to shift towards the side as the squire joined his paladin in a beastly stance. Dirt-covered paws pushed against the ground so that he could meet the thrusts of the larger creature.

Finally, Sir Paul's hip thrust and Brent's sphincter relaxation happened at the same time, and the animalistic cock emerging from the larger male's sheath plunged in. Brent let out an excited yelp; Sir Paul making his own screech of triumph. It became easier, for a while at least; Sir Paul felt Brent's warm insides wrap around his shaft.

It would not last; their respective size changes made further attempts at penetration impossible. Both creatures seemed annoyed by this. Both wanted satisfaction, but neither of them could give it to each other. They both sensed it as the change slowly soaked through their minds, washing away the remnants of the men they once were.

From underneath the owlbear, the fox bounded out, nose twitching. He turned back once before plunging through the forest. The owlbear screeched again, turning to take another direction.