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Arthur threw his smithing hammer across the room as he roared at the top of his lungs "Damn it, woman! They're not MONSTERS!"

Sabrina, his on-again-off-again 'partner' wasn't affected in the least by his outburst; they had known one another for over a decade and, despite never making it official by giving their vows at the temple before the gods, he usually considered her his wife. Then again, there were plenty of days when they couldn't get along... usually, as far as Arthur was concerned, because of her. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't care what you THINK they are, Arthur... they AREN'T your children and they're hurting business!"

The man stood up, knocking his stool over as he slammed his hand down on the grinding stone he'd just started oiling. "If anyone has a problem with the boys then they aren't the kind of people I want to sell to. If all they see are monsters everywhere then I don't want them to have one of my weapons!"

She was just as unyielding as he. Grabbing her bag from the floor, Sabrina made her way to the door. "Call them what you want, you fool, but no matter how you raise them, they're still monsters!"

Arthur didn't bother saying anything more-- if she wanted to go then she could go; given time he had no doubt that she'd be back. She always came back, of course, and he wasn't about to be bullied into throwing out his 'children'. He'd willingly and openly taken a vow to see to the welfare of the three orphans and, in his mind it didn't matter that they weren't Humans as he was.

Grunting, the blacksmith straightened up, rubbing his lower back before he limped over to reclaim his thrown hammer. Despite being well received as the most prominent blacksmith in Hearthbridge, Arthur's life had not always been an easy one and his still relatively young body had plenty of wear and tear to prove it. The tan-skinned Human had a blacksmith's build to be sure, with corded muscle and a toned physique, but that made his lack of a usable leg all the more obvious.

It had been almost ten years since Arthur had spent time as a road warden-- ten years since he could walk normally thanks to a wound he received while protecting a refugee caravan. He had been part of a squad of six, but only three of them bothered to help the refugees; the other half of the group saw the same thing that Sabrina implied: monsters. In the end, both of the other militia men had given their lives and only Arthur survived, but when he was brought to the temple he discovered that his leg could not be healed.

Despite receiving that life-changing wound, Arthur considered himself blessed. Not only had the caravan survived, but he was given a greater opportunity to serve those in need; he had taken notice of a broken wagon among those that had been attacked and in that time he'd discovered that refugees weren't the only travelers-- the wagon held a young Minotaur calf, a Gnoll cub, and a single egg.

Grunting as he reached down to retrieve his hammer, Arthur heard the sound of the backdoor of the shop open and a small, high-pitched but still decidedly male voice called "Everything okay, Dad?"

Smiling, the blacksmith held out a hand and the small reptilian shape came the entire way in. Lucas, his youngest 'son' came immediately to his side and took hold of his arm, aiding him back to the stool. "Fine... fine my boy... Sabrina's up in arms again because one of the local Knights didn't want to give me an order for swords."

Lucas used his thin, whip-like tail to brush off the stool before settling Arthur down into it. The Kobold then took the hammer from his grasp and quickly gave it a once-over with a critical eye before using a claw to dig a small piece of thatch out of a groove. "Heh... you keep calling me 'boy', but I'm pretty sure I'm older than you by now... old man."

Despite being in his mid 30s and Lucas not quite being 10 the Kobold was right; Arthur's youngest son was actually middle-aged, but it didn't change a thing in the blacksmith's mind. The sound of the back door creaking open signaled another visitor. A black-furred paw with blunted black claws pushed it open and a hyena-like head peeked in. Based on the sour expression on Harold's muzzle it was obvious that the Gnoll had heard the prior explanation Arthur had provided. "She can go dunk her head, Dad... she should know by now your rules when it comes to who you serve."

Harold wasn't alone either. The Gnoll stepped into the workshop and, following right along behind him was the eldest of Arthur's adopted sons, and also the largest by far. Peter had to duck his head to fit in through the doorway, the minotaur's impressive horns still nicking the wooden frame. Despite being the largest of the three, Peter was also the most reserved and mindful. The Minotaur's voice, though calm and mellow, came out like a rumble of thunder. "Father serves her, of course... and always has."

It was a constant phrase that Arthur used when it came to Sabrina. He had loved her for the longest time but, as the years went by, he was starting to like her less and less. Regardless, he'd made the promise time and time again that she was an important part of his life and that his every decision would take her into account. Although he continued to feel ire at her stance when it came to Lucas, Harold, and Peter, he acknowledged the Minotaur's statement. "Exactly. I owe nothing to Sir Asler and if he has a problem with me then I don't have any intention of begging for his business."

Harold reached for one of the spare leather aprons on the numerous pegs at the door and slipped the leather neck strap over his head. The Gnoll cracked his knuckles before tying the waist straps around back behind him just above his tail before grabbing one of the spare hammers. Unlike Arthur, his middle son never bothered wearing gloves since his thick paw pads seemed to do just fine with the rough work of blacksmithing. "Yeah... Sir Asler can go suck some sour cabbage."

Arthur met Harold's gaze and shook his head; the Gnoll's smile faded away. The blacksmith accepted the hammer offered to him by Lucas before stating "It is one thing to disagree with a knight, Harold, but you must never speak poorly of one because--"

The Kobold quickly piped in "Because they already have enough reasons to hate monsters so we don't need to give them more."

The blacksmith flicked one of the Kobold's ear-like leathery sails; it was a sensitive place on Lucas' body and he responded with an almost dog-like yip. Arthur followed up the discipline with a correction "It has nothing to do with the fact that you are not humans, Lucas. The knights of the realm are lesser nobles and it is not good form to disrespect them."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Lucas made way for Arthur to return to the anvil and instead scurried over to the bellows, which he began to pump furiously; all of Arthur's sons had a role and a place in the workshop; it was one of many reasons he had given his business the name he had. Arthur and Sons had been a permanent fixture in Hearthbridge ever since. Truth be told, Arthur wouldn't have it any other way.

Without missing a beat Peter closed the door behind himself and went to tend the forge. The Minotaur grabbed a shovel in each of his huge hands and feeding the furnace easily three times as fast as Arthur could have managed. Although the human had offered to teach Peter how to work metal, the Minotaur continued to prefer simple manual labor; it made sense of course, considering what he had gone through as a calf.

As the oldest of the orphans, Peter was the only one of the three who actually remembered anything about the caravan. When Arthur had found him, the Minotaur was laying in front of the wagon that had been transporting him, a bandit choking him with the heft of a war hammer while the poor calf tried valiantly to get the man's weight off of his throat. Although Arthur had been able to get to him quickly enough to prevent any physical injury it had been apparent ever since that there had been damage done that went beyond the Minotaur's body.

Pushing the thoughts of the past from his mind, Arthur nodded to Harold and the Gnoll stuffed a sword blank into the forge, keeping it at the hottest part until it attained just the right temperature. After that he brought it to the anvil, keeping hold of it using the tongs in one paw while he readied his hammer with the other. Arthur and Harold took turns slamming their tools down on the red hot metal, working the sword blank out into the right shape while Lucas, who was done with the bellows, continued preparing the grindstone behind them.

It was early afternoon when Sabrina left which meant that the four of them had several good hours of work to put in. By the time they were done the heat in the workroom had attained the kind of temperature that Arthur had come to call his 'norm'. While most other humans would have found it far too hot, the blacksmith felt that it was just what his muscles needed to have to be at their best; having grown up at Arthur's side, his three sons were just as at-home with it as he.

Lucas was a Kobold, and did far better in warmer temperatures than cooler ones, which made the workshop his favorite place to be during cold weather like the light frost waiting for them outside. Harold's people, Arthur heard, were most often found among the prairie grasses far to the south where it never snowed and the Gnoll never showed any signs of objection to the heat aside from panting as he worked. Of all of his three sons, Arthur would have thought that Peter would have the most trouble with the forge considering his long, shaggy fur. Minotaurs, the blacksmith understood were more commonly from northern climates but if it bothered him at all Peter had never so much as hinted at discomfort.

Arthur sat back on his stool as he looked around at the progress in the workshop. With the help of his three sons, the blacksmith had managed to pound out four sword blanks and, assuming another inspection of them in the morning revealed that they had tempered well, they would be ready for sharpening. Taking in a deep breath, the blacksmith was pleased with what they'd accomplished. If the heat in the room was a tactile indication of their productivity then his nose filled with the olfactory proof.

Being a man of no small stature and having worked away the afternoon in the hot room Arthur had sweated profusely and his cotton shirt beneath his apron clung to his body, but his body odor was nothing compared to his sons. Peter was the most obvious out of them; his distinct scent was musky and earthy with more than the subtle hint of a stockyard without the acrid tingle of cow patties. Harold, who was closest to Arthur smelled almost just like wet dog, which made sense considering the Gnoll often salivated on his arms to stay cool in the face of the hot metal and forge.

Lucas was the most subtle of his sons in scent, so much so that his was drowned out by Arthur's own to his nose until the Kobold approached. As usual it was the smallest of his sons who helped him off the stool; only when he got that close did Arthur smell the Kobold's spicy body odor, a mix of pepper, cinnamon, and lime. The reptile took hold of his hand in both of his small talons. "Since Sabrina isn't here, I'll make dinner."

Harold put his hammer by the forge and slid his apron off then returned it to its peg by the door. He quickly slipped out of the door but not before calling over his shoulder "I'll warm some water for a bath."

The Gnoll had always been a fan of bathing after a long day of work which certainly made sense considering how horribly plastered his coarse fur would get after a turn at the forge. Peter, who was also usually prone to follow suit surprisingly elected to wait for Arthur and Lucas. Wrapping an arm around the blacksmith, the Minotaur asked softly "When do you think mother will be back?"

Peter was the only one of the three who had ever referred to Sabrina as 'mother'; she hated it. Of course, neither of the other two ever bothered trying, but the Minotaur only called her by her name when she was around. It was a point of contention between Arthur and Sabrina, mostly because he thought she should be more open to accepting his sons but the first time she slapped Peter when he said mother in her presence was also Peter's last.

Perhaps it was that bitter memory that made Arthur answer the way he chose. "I don't know, Peter... and, to be honest, I don't care."

He leaned more on the Minotaur as they stepped outside, the cold weather cutting into him deeply as the hot sweat on his body suddenly turned frigid when subjected to the wind. In addition to suddenly sharing body heat with his enormous eldest son, taking more weight off of Lucas meant the Kobold could wrap himself more closely to Arthur's leg. The lizard's serrated teeth began chattering immediately and he murmured "I hate winter..."

It was a short five-or-six steps until the three of them stepped into the house and the still-burning fire in the hearth provided a safe haven from the cold. Lucas detached himself and immediately made his way over to the fire; his shirt was off before he'd taken three steps and he managed to hop-skip-slither the next four or five as he squirmed out of his pants, first going to his knees before laying down on the wooden floor in nothing but a loincloth, tail happily sliding sinuously behind him repeatedly against the ground in slow s-motions.

It was a relaxing, quiet moment and Arthur enjoyed it as Peter led him to a seat at the small table situated in the middle of the room. Once the blacksmith settled into place the Minotaur moved to the large bench which served as his own chair. "I am worried for you, Father... Mother does this to you far too often."

A shout came from the side entrance "Even once is too often!"

Harold trudged into the home holding two buckets of water in each paw, and two more attached to either side of a long wooden bar balanced between his shoulder and his neck; it wouldn't be an easy thing for a human to do without hands for support but the Gnoll had a longer neck and more space to balance the wood. Lucas looked up from his place on the floor "I hope at least one of those is for the pot."

The Gnoll snorted, setting down the buckets in his paws first before unloading the bar. "One for the pot, one for you, two for Dad and two for me."

Peter had always been self-sufficient and hated either of his younger brothers doing anything for him. The Minotaur stood up and walked past Harold, taking the wooden rod from him. "I'll get mine."

Lucas hopped up from his place on the floor and ran to get the bucket, which was almost half his size. Slowly waddling with it back to the fire, he poured it into the cook pot. "I'm glad I don't go through four buckets of water to clean myself."

Harold let out a hyena-like chuckle, but he kept it muted as he began to strip. The young Gnoll was in his early teens in years, but compared to a human he would have been considered to be in his early twenties and his apprenticeship as a blacksmith had yielded distinct results. Harold's shoulders were broad he was muscular enough for it to be obvious even with all of the coarse fur all over his body. Spots decorated his back, arms, and legs, with his fur turning a slightly lighter color from under his chin down to his crotch.

Harold doffed his loincloth, revealing a thin, short furred sheath nestled within a small forest of longer wavy groin-fur from which a broad, black scrotum hug with two heavy orbs. He scratched that very fur and adjusted his sac before he collected his own two buckets and moved to the side portion of the room that had a cobblestone basin specifically for bathing. "Hey... short stuff... come on over and help me."

Arthur interjected "Harold...."

The Gnoll sighed through his nose and tried again. "Lucas... could you help me please?"

The Kobold finished emptying the bucket into the cauldron and used the hinged cooking arm to move it over the fire. "Sure... let me get my bucket and you can help me too."

Lucas pulled his loincloth free as he went from the fire to the buckets. Like his brother the Kobold had spent his life helping Arthur at the smithy but unlike the Gnoll Lucas' tasks usually involved precise activities and skilled motions so his body was lithe and wiry. The Kobold's scales were a dark reddish brown on most of his body but the line of broader, softer scales of his chest and abdomen were a brownish gold. A small ridge running from his nose down to the tip of his tail was a brighter yellow but the three colors together all seemed to match quite well.

When Lucas first hatched Arthur didn't know whether the Kobold was a male or female and, in fact, it took several years to know for sure, thus his hatchlinghood name was just "L", with an intent for his name to be Lucy if he turned out to be a girl. It wasn't until his sons started bathing together in their adolescence that the blacksmith learned the truth. He was shaken out of his reverie by Harold's heady murmur. "I didn't mean THAT kind of help..."

Looking back to his sons, Arthur wasn't all that surprised to see that the Kobold was brushing his wet talons along his brother's legs while his snout was buried up beneath the Gnoll's tail. Harold had both of his paws placed on the cobblestone walls and the first few slick inches of his member was peeking out of his sheath. Lucas offered another lick. "Does that mean you think I should stop?"

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. Considering they had no real outlets for such urges the blacksmith had long-since been at peace with their activities; the fact that Sabrina was out of the house made things that much less of a problem because she'd never taken a liking to their antics. A groan from Harold indicated that things were likely going to go far. "Oooohhhh, Kord's sweaty nuts.... NO! Keep going, L."

Peter came through the side door, shutting it behind him with a hoof. "Language, Harold. Don't blaspheme."

Rolling his eyes, the blacksmith just chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he let out a sigh. They were his sons, and he loved them dearly; it hurt him in ways he couldn't remedy that they were confined to his shop in a town that only ever mostly accepted them. He constantly had to remind himself that they had a good life and he had no reason to feel guilty about taking them into his home.

The Minotaur set his buckets by the cobblestone bathing area before slowly undressing. Peter's fur was a dark brown with hints of red that grew lighter toward his chest but never lost its almost-black quality except for a single 'star' of light brown at his sternum. Out of his three sons Peter was by far the largest, both in height and in width. Naturally inclined to strength, the Minotaur's time doing the most laborious work in the smithy meant that he was a wall of muscle and even his shaggy fur couldn't disguise that.

Rather than join his brothers, Peter made his way back to the table. Far beyond any sense of modesty within the family, the Minotaur's melon-sized testicles hung low, swaying side to side with each step. Peter walked around the table to stand behind Arthur. The blacksmiths sat up when he felt Peter's hands on his shoulders and exhaled deeply as his eldest began to gently massage his shoulders. Looking up and backwards toward the Minotaur, Arthur asked "I'm fine here, Peter... you can join your brothers if you like."

The Minotaur's fingers slowly slid down the blacksmith's chest and then hooked under the bottom of his shirt as Peter's large pink nose settled down next to his ear. The invitation was unmistakable. "Mother is not here for you, Father... you can join us too."

Arthur would have lied to himself if he were to say that he'd never thought about it. Truth be told, he had experimented a little when he'd been in the militia but, after starting his life with Sabrina he'd put that behind him. There were still moments when he was watching his sons 'having their fun' when his mind would wander and he would almost toy with the idea, but he never acted on it.

Both Harold and Lucas had overheard the invitation and they froze, their attention going to Peter and Arthur. The blacksmith didn't resist as the Minotaur pulled his shirt off of him, mind still awash with the significance of what was proposed. The bull's enormous hands hoisted him out of the chair and he could feel his eldest son's erection as Peter pulled him close for a hug from behind; Harold's ears were up and at attention, matching the Gnoll's suddenly very erect penis and the way Lucas licked his scaled lips told Arthur what his sons thought about the prospect.

Letting out a shaky breath, the blacksmith said only "Let's start with a bath... and see where it goes from there."

His suggestion was met with approval.