FSE

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My half of a trade with the highly talented Sovandar. If you have not already done so, you should check out some of his work (http://sovandar.sofurry.com) and immediately cure yourself of that shortcoming.

I know it's long, but I hope everyone enjoys nonetheless.

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"All right, so let's see. Bend, leading the group, stepped unknowingly over the tripwire that had been carefully hidden at the floor of the tunnel; Derrik, on the other hand, not only managed to trigger the tripwire, but managed to get his foot completely caught in it and tumbled forward, face-down and about as graceful as a lead duck. With his fat ass blocking the way, Sendrilla had no way of moving forward and trying to escape the trap. Quick thinking on the part of our group leader hauled Derrik's fat ass out of the way just in time to save him from being crushed to a pulp beneath the falling boulder. The boulder has completely blocked the tunnel, separating Sendrilla from the group, and another one has fallen several feet behind her, sealing her in to a compartment."

Marianne rolled her eyes back into her head as she breathed a little groan. "Ah, way to go, twinkle-toes. You've managed to be clumsy enough to get me trapped."

"Hey, come on. It's not like I meant to do it." To be certain, Gareth meant to do quite the opposite. He'd still been getting used to this whole tabletop role-playing thing, had only just begun to really feel comfortable with the rules, the pace of the play to let his guard down and start to enjoy himself. He certainly didn't want to feel like the wet towel whose inexperience or ineptitude was bringing the enjoyment of the others down.

It certainly wasn't intentional, he thought, as his muddy-brown eyes took another look at the clear acrylic icosahedron sitting on the table in front of him, proudly flaunting the number 1 at him in an accusatory fashion.

"Yeah, well, next time you go bumbling around and get someone trapped, make sure it's yourself, eh?" Marianne huffed another little sigh. As acerbic as her wit could be, she still managed to maintain a friendly edge to it; her tone made it clear that she was, in large part, just teasing with her less experienced friend. "Right, well, I suppose we should get on with it. Time for me to start looking for a way out."

Byron, the rather portly and hirsute young man who was playing the part of dungeon master, looked up with a slightly embarrassed expression. "Oh, well, I forgot to mention, it's pitch black inside the compartment, and it looks like Bend is the only one holding a torch. Sorry, but Sendrilla can't see a thing."

It was at that moment that irony chose to strike. Gareth, stealing the opportunity to sheepishly reach for his die, felt his fingers close around the green acrylic half a second before all of the lights in the apartment were extinguished, leaving the party very much in the dark. There was an initial yelp of surprise from all around him, and it was the inconvenienced Marianne who hauled a cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open, using it as an impromptu flashlight. "Cute, Byron."

Byron responded only with an innocent shrug. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one in charge of paying the electric bill."

"Relax, guys." David, the fourth member of the party - the one playing the cleric Bend, the leader of the party in the game - had pushed his chair back away from the table and stepped over to the window, pulling a corner of the curtain up. "It looks like the whole neighborhood is in the dark. Doesn't look like it's storming or anything ... was it supposed to storm tonight?"

"No," Gareth responded, wanting to feel like he was contributing in a positive fashion.

"Didn't think so. No idea how long it's gonna be out then ... looks like we might have to call it a night, then."

There was a general groan of dissatisfaction that rose up in the darkness, with Gareth lending his voice to the chorus of three that were protesting the notion. It was Byron, however, who wound up speaking up with any kind of alternative. "Well I have a novel idea. We have some candles around here, why not light 'em up and have us a good old fashioned candlelight role-play session here, eh? Think of the ambiance!"

Marianne snorted from across the table. "Again, I say, cute. You must have really pulled out all the stops for this one, By."

Gareth chuckled, a little nervously, as he again tried to make himself a part of the exchange. The four of them had been good friends for many years, from grade school all the way on through high school and to graduation the previous summer. In just about any other setting, Gareth would not feel so socially awkward; he would be every bit a part of the back-and-forth of jokes, the teasing comments, the raucous laughter. It had only been a couple of months, however, since the group had finally talked him in to trying something as geeky as tabletop RP. While he had been hooked, nearly instantly, he still felt insecure and uncertain, hearing his friends referring to their respective characters within the game in such a casual and comfortable fashion that he could not help but to feel like the outsider. Even among friends.

The chuckle was echoed by Byron, whether intentionally or otherwise. "Ha, ha. But seriously guys, what do you think? It's either pull out the candles and get on with the game, or we try to find some other way of wasting our Saturday night. Someone's got to know where the candles are."

While he knew full well where the candles were, he was too slow to respond. David, already on his feet, pulled his own cell phone out to use as a light and made his way over to the kitchen. "All right, I'll get 'em. Just no more theatrics, eh?"

There was a general mutter of agreement from around the table, and David went about poking through a few drawers and cupboards in search of the candles and matches. Gareth focused his attention on the others who remained at the table, trying to watch them the best he could in the darkness. Marianne, who had been the first to pull a cell phone out for light, had managed to get herself distracted with the task of texting, perhaps updating her Facebook account with lurid details of the power loss, or some other distraction. Byron had pulled his own phone out by then to use as a light, peering at his notebook and occasionally glancing upward to make sure that there were no wayward eyes glancing and trying to steal a peek at what was yet to come.

Yet he found himself sitting there at the table with a relatively dumb expression. Glancing down at the small collection of dice in front of them, he pushed them around and tried to remember what each of them was for, when they would all come in to use. It only took him a moment to run through the instructions in his head : the d6, d8 and d10 mostly used for damage rolls, and then there was the pesky d20 to decide just about everything else. To his dismay he saw that the 1 was still sitting on top like an accusation. With a scowl he knocked it over so he didn't have to see it.

With a sigh he looked up, and then his mood brightened as David was returning to the table with a couple of candles, already lit. "Sorry guys, all I could find were these scented candles ..."

"Mmm. Cinnamon," Marianne commented with a little grin. "Not sure how that's gonna fit in with the whole, ah, how did you put it, Byron? Ambiance?"

"Whatever. Let's just see about getting this going" the dungeon master said with a scowl of his own, peering up over his notes and watching impatiently, before he chose to simply resume the game without asking if everyone else was ready. "So, yes. Sendrila is trapped in a compartment in the dark, the other two are now cut off from her, as well as being cut off from the entrance to the tunnels. Ahead, the tunnel seems to widen once again so that a party could travel without going one at a time, but it is too dark to see. Your move."

Again it was Marianne who spoke up first, this time with a little extra sarcasm to her voice. "Considering I'm blind and trapped, looks like I have to leave it up to these two."

"We've got to get her out of there," Gareth said in a rare bout of taking the initiative. He realized that the situation was his doing, and this was his chance to rectify it. There was a reason he chose to play as a barbarian, and perhaps this was it. "I'm going to get her out of there, no matter what it takes. I will lift the boulder right out of the way."

"It's too heavy," Byron said with a sniffle.

The answer came a bit too quickly for his taste, and it stung Gareth like a rebuke. "Don't I at least get a roll to try?"

His heavyset friend shook his head, giving him a dour expression that looked somehow even more dour in the candlelight. "It's a ten foot boulder, it probably weighs like, six tons. Sorry, you just don't have the strength to move it."

Gareth frowned, as the answer came back like yet another rebuke. He didn't have to be reminded that a ten-foot boulder was incredibly heavy, but he reasoned that a barbarian was an incredibly powerful sort of person, particularly when they had a good motivation. He could not think of a better motivation than rescuing a friend who was put in harms way by his own fault. The situation was making him strangely angry, when he hit upon a thought. "Oh! Well, given the situation, I fly in to a rage. Then I try and move the boulder."

Byron's expression didn't change. Instead, he merely shook his head. "Sorry, Gareth, that's not going to work. The boulders are just too big to move with any kind of regular human strength. The attempt fails, and Derrik is now fatigued. Anyone else?" Gareth wanted to fume at that, but he was in no place to argue; instead, he merely folded his arms over his chest.

David, who had finally settled back in to his seat, furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure there's much good a cleric can ... ah, wait. I cast Light upon the boulder."

At that Byron nodded, with a faint look of satisfaction on his face. "All right, very good. The boulder is illuminated as effectively as a torch, including all of the compartment Sendrilla is trapped in. She can now see quite well."

"Good one," Marianne said, sitting upright and smiling now that she was effectively back in the game. Gareth frowned, feeling a bit one-upped, even though he knew that was not the intent. "All right then. I inspect the inside of the compartment. Specifically looking for anything that might reset the trap."

"Perception check," Byron said, and she responded by flicking her own 20 sided die onto the table. It clattered about noisily before landing on an 11, and he paused to consult his notes before speaking up. "All right. The boulders on each side have come from rough-hewn holes in the ceiling of the tunnel, but there is nothing there except empty space. There is a rectangular crack in the ceiling overhead, obviously not natural, and it appears the stone inside may be moveable."

At that she snapped her fingers. "Bingo. I'll push the stone out of the way, using my bow to reach, if I have to."

The dungeon master nodded again, obviously finding the action mundane enough not to require a roll. "The stone turns out to be quite thin and light. Nudging it with the bow causes it to fall away to the floor and break into two. Beyond is what appears to be a narrow shaft leading upward into the darkness, vertically, and obviously impossible to climb. Immediately Sendrilla is hit with a blast of cold, dank air that had been sitting in the shaft overhead. It has a rotten, putrid odor to it."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "Poison ... I've got to hold my breath ..."

David spoke up immediately. "I cast Detect Poison on the air seeping into the compartment."

Byron shook his head. "Sorry, the boulder blocking the way is too thick. You can't detect the poison through there. Ah, and, Sendrilla. We'll need to see a roll for that. D20." Grudgingly, Marianne tossed her die again, coming up with an eight. Byron nodded. "All right, Sendrilla is holding her breath and resisting the toxin for the time being, but is otherwise incapacitated while she holds her breath. Come on guys. Your move."

Gareth had been looking back and forth wildly for the whole exchange, growing nervous. He knew that it was his own fault, he had been the one to precipitate the disaster and he felt responsible for rectifying it, yet he had no idea what he could do. "What should we do? Can I try smashing the boulder?"

"Don't think you have anything that could do it," David said, furrowing his brows. "You're not wielding a hammer or anything like that."

"What about you, then? You're a spellcaster ... there's got to be some kind of spell you could cast, break it open, get her out of there?"

David still shook his head, even as Byron continued counting down, probably to determine how long Marianne's character would hold out against the poison. "No, it's not like that. I'm a cleric, it's mostly holy spells, you know? I mean, if I were higher level, I could cast Earthquake ... but that'd be suicide down here. I just don't think ..."

Shaking his head, Gareth interrupted. "Well, there must be something. Look around for a lever or something? Some way to unset the trap? Something on this side of the boulder?"

Bryon cleared his throat. "Ahem. No, sorry guys, time up. Sendrilla is no longer able to hold her breath, and is overcome by the toxin. As soon as she passes out, you begin to hear quiet scraping noises that appear to be coming from above the tunnel, and then within the compartment she is trapped in. There is a scurrying sound from beyond the boulder, as well as muffled voices that you cannot understand. Finally, all goes silent beyond the boulder."

"So what now, then? Am I out of the game?" It was Marianne, who was sitting upright and looking irritated.

Their dungeon master nodded grimly. "For now, at least."

"Aww, come on," Gareth protested, frowning as well. "You shouldn't have to punish Marianne for some stupid mistake that I made ... we only just got started tonight, too, that's not very fair to her ... we should be able to redo it ..."

Marianne responded with a grunt. "Chill, dude, it's just a game. That's the way it goes."

"But ..."

"No buts," Byron intoned, scowling across the table. "We've gone over this, Gareth. We all agree ahead of time that there's no do-overs, that we just take what happens and accept it. That's part of the game. But, if it makes you feel any better, Sendrilla isn't dead. You'll have a chance to do something about it ..."

Gareth blinked. "So ... she's been taken?"

This time it was David who spoke up. "Relax, Gar. He can't really tell us, that'd be cheating. We just have to find out ourselves. It looks like we can't go back, so there's only one thing to do from here, and that is to go forward. Why don't we have you go on ahead this time though, eh? That way I'm in a better position to clean up any messes that you make ..."

"Hey," he protested. "That wasn't called for."

"I'm kidding," David said good-naturedly, reaching over and giving him a poke in the side. "But seriously, you go ahead this time. I have a sneaking suspicion that we're gonna want someone a little more robust taking the lead. You can take a lot more damage than me, after all."

Breathing a little sigh, Gareth relaxed back in his seat and nodded. "All right then. Forward it is."

"Okay. Derrik and Bend take off deeper into the tunnel, in hopes of finding another way to get help to their friend. The pair have charged forward into a wide-open space in the darkness without looking ahead to see what was going on. Unfortunately you are no longer alone in the tunnel. Several pairs of eyes are visible in the darkness ahead, beyond the range of your torch to really make out. The creatures hidden in the darkness are armed with some kind of sling and have lobbed a stone in your direction. Derrik, since you are in the lead, you have a chance to dodge or at least block the missile. This is a reflex check - d20."

Gareth nodded as he scooped up the acrylic die in his left hand, feeling it roll around in his palm. This, at least, was going to be his opportunity, his chance to redeem himself. A good roll here would mean that their attackers would lose the upper hand, lose the element of surprise. With a rather serious look on his face he lobbed the die toward the center of the table, watching it clatter around until it came to a rest.

"Natural one," Byron said dully. The die had stopped with the same singular 1 staring him in the face.

"Oh come on ..."

With a frown, the dungeon master took a look at his notes and sighed. "All right. Derrik attempts to twist out of the way but instead manages just the opposite, throwing himself into the path of the missile. Instead of clattering uselessly off his shield, it smashes directly into his shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon and stagger back in against Bend, leaving them both unable to react immediately to the attack. Out of the darkness, they are quickly surrounded by six kobolds armed with slings and spears, pointed threateningly in their direction."

David groaned at that, closing his eyes. "Fuck, kobolds. I should have known."

"Kobolds?" Gareth tried to remember reading about this one, but his mind was coming up blank.

"Small reptilian creatures, vaguely resembling ... say, humanoid dragons. Just over two feet tall, wearing all manner of rags and scrap for clothing. Six of them have surrounded both and are now threatening them, but do not immediately attack. One of them, of a markedly darker coloration, speaks in fluent Common. 'You have trespassed on our den. Explain yourselves, or die.'" Byron paused to level his dirty-blue eyes, strange and uniquely colored, right back at Gareth, as if challenging him to make the first move.

"Just figures," Gareth said, reaching for his miscreant of a die. As his hand wrapped around the acrylic his shoulder picked that very moment to pop, rather painfully, enough so that he jerked reflexively back and yelped out a pained "Ouch!"

David frowned in his direction. "What was that all about?"

Rubbing his shoulder to try to ward off some of the pain, he returned the irritated look with an annoyed look of his own. "My shoulder popped," he said, a little more harshly than he intended to, before he sat back in his seat and sighed. "You're the party leader, Dave. Why don't you tell the little, uh, kobolds what we are doing in their den."

"Uh-uh. You got us in to this mess, you're going to talk us out of it."

"But," he said, protesting. "I don't know anything about these guys ..."

David shrugged. "No better way than to live and learn. Now come on, talk us out of it."

Gareth breathed in deeply, still rubbing at his shoulder. It felt unusually sore for just a little pop like that, and he wondered if he hadn't nearly dislocated it somehow, and thankful he hadn't. How would he have lived that down, dislocating his shoulder picking up a stupid plastic die? Plunking it down in front of him in irritated fashion, he breathed in once again, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "All right. Ahem. 'We mean no trespass, we have merely become lost here while in search of our friend, who has become lost. Perhaps you have seen her?'"

Byron flipped a page over in his notebook. "'You lie,' the lead kobold says, his voice high-pitched and raspy as he shoots a doubtful look in Derrik's direction. 'You have invaded our home in search of treasure, not in search of your friend. You have only just lost her to our own trap. She is now our prisoner.'"

He imagined the ire that the proud barbarian would feel in his chest at hearing that revelation, and he, too, felt it welling up in his chest. "'It was you who set that trap? Fiendish creatures! I should knock all of your heads off where you stand!'"

"The grouped kobolds begin to snicker, quiet little yipping sounds echoing in the cavern. 'With what weapon? It seems you've fallen on your behind and dropped your sword, foolish barbarian!' The leader sneers while the other gathered kobolds break out in excited laughter, their little frames beginning to jump and squirm at the insult."

"'With my bare hands, if I must!'" Gareth felt himself really getting into character, raising a balled fist and shaking it for dramatic effect. "'I swear, if you have harmed a hair on her head ...'"

Byron left a little pause to look over at David, who merely signaled for the exchange to go on. "'She is unharmed. For now,' the lead kobold replies, flashing a wicked little grin."

"The bastard." It was breathed quietly, almost as if an afterthought, and if anyone noticed he didn't realize it. He was really getting into this thing, now that he was getting the hang of it, now that he was allowed to run with his imagination; not held to any kinds of rules or regulations, not beholden to some stupid dice to determine what he would do next, what he would say next. Under his hand was that godawful twenty-sided die that had gotten him into this situation. At least it was powerless to make the situation any worse for him now. "'Now you listen here, kobold. When I said that she had better be unharmed, I mean it. I don't care if I have to strangle you personally, if she's harmed I'll see to it you suffer the consequences. What I suggest you do in the meantime is make sure she is returned to us. Immediately.'"

There was a brief moment of silence, and Gareth realized that his friends were all looking at him a little more intently. Perhaps they had been caught off guard by his sudden boldness; the thought made him smile. Clearing his throat, Byron sat back and spoke up once again. "Derrik's show of force has caused the gathered kobolds to step back a few paces, and look considerably less threatening than they were before. The lead kobold, looking a little hesitant as well as anxious, finally replies. 'No, I will not respond to your threats. You have trespassed here, and if you want her back you are going to have to pay for it. What is her life worth to you, barbarian? What will you trade for your friend?'"

Feeling a little uncertain, he turned to David. "Wait, now what? Are we supposed to barter for her freedom?"

"It's what it sounds like to me." David looked a bit more interested than he had before, a little more attentive to what was going on, but was still clearly willing to sit back and let Gareth take the lead in this one.

"Well, what should we offer them?"

Again, David shrugged. "What do you have to give them."

Gareth paused to think about it a moment. "Gold ... I have gold. I could offer him gold." When his friend and gaming partner merely nodded his agreement with the idea, Gareth turned to look back to Byron, feeling confident once again. This was his decision to make; he was still in control of where things were going. With a sure smile, he spoke up. "'Very well, kobold fiend. We will exchange one hundred pieces of gold with you, and be on our way.'"

Byron regarded him with a quirk of his eyebrow; Mairanne, who had been more or less quietly pecking away at her phone, leaned her head back and groaned. "Going cheap, eh? Very well, but the kobolds will need some convincing. Let's see how convincing you can be. D20."

All the confidence he had built up vanished in a heartbeat. Suddenly the hard corners of the die felt sharp in his grip. "Wait ... what? Roll the die?"

"Yes," Byron said, with a little nod.

Gareth wanted to scream. Once again the fate of the game was coming down to him and his stupid twenty-sided die. Still, he reasoned, it couldn't be all bad. A single bad roll was a fluke; two was nothing more than an unlucky coincidence. The chances of a disastrous outcome three times in a row were remote. Cringing, he plucked the die up from the edge of the table and gave it a feeble toss.

The translucent polyhedron tumbled and clattered against the tabletop, rolling right to the center before it came to a stop. Once again, impossibly, the single, straight stroke of the digit pointed at him like an accusation. One. Covering his face with his hands, Gareth groaned. "Oh come on ..."

"What? One hundred pieces of gold? This is an insult!" Byron was beginning to speak more in character as well, lending a raspy, somewhat squeaky timbre to his voice, mimicking what he no doubt thought the kobolds should sound like. "You have insulted your companion by valuing her at so little. You have insulted me by thinking I would even consider such a thing, and you have insulted my clan by daring to intrude and treat us like fools. For such an insult you deserve nothing more than death. Attack!"

Somewhat reluctantly, Gareth reached forward to retrieve the offending die, knowing full well that he would need it again for this encounter, and probably manage to botch the hell out if it again. At least he would have some chance to roll the other dice, perhaps redeem himself somewhat, and not depend on that stupid, apparently cursed, implement. Yet as he reached forward, his hands could not find the die. In fact, he did not even feel them come against the table. Confused, he leaned his head forward and opened his eyes.

His first thought was that they didn't look anything like humanoid dragons, at all. They looked more like miniature lizardmen, or better still, little reptilian dwarf crocodiles or something like that, no taller than his waist - and mostly shorter even than that. Angry, toothy grins regarded him with beady little eyes, each of them armed with a spear or a dagger or some other implement that looked almost absurdly small. In a strange fashion, he thought the kobolds might even look cute, if it weren't for the tattered scraps of clothing or the murderous grins on their snouts.

Then, before the absurdity of the situation could register in his mind, a new sensation suddenly came to the fore : pain. The nearest little beast yapped excitedly as he thrust his spear forward, and Gareth, confused beyond all reasoning, merely stood there dumbly as the spear jabbed clean through his calf muscle. Bellowing in a weird combination of pain and fear and confusion, Gareth found himself suddenly hopping on one leg, his arms flailing around as he reached down and instinctively tried to pluck the weapon out of his leg, bleeding profusely all the while. The rest of the kobolds jumped back at the bellow, flashing fearful expressions before the were emboldened by the sight of blood. With a frightful chatter they raised their weapons and descended upon him.

"Quickly! Cover your eyes!" David's voice boomed behind him with startling clarity and command, and Gareth found himself unable to resist. Hands flew up to his face and covered his eyes, and no sooner had he done so than he was aware of an intense light so brilliant that it forced its way between his fingers, through the lids of his eyes, and almost left him seeing spots.

He could hear pained squeals and yips echoing around him, as well as the sound of weapons clattering against the ground. There was a cacophony of claws against stone, a disorganized skittering against the walls of the cavern that receded into the distance, followed quickly by the last echoes of light footfalls before they were swallowed up in the silence. Then the brilliance faded.

"Dammit, Derrik. Are your feet made of lead? You could have gotten us killed, standing around like that." Again it was David's voice, angered yet still concerned at the same time. "Look, they've run you clean through. At least he didn't get you anywhere vital ... it looks like I can clean this up pretty easily. We're fortunate it wasn't a poisoned spear, or worse."

Gareth was still unable to speak, struck dumb by the bizarre chain of events. When he had regained enough of himself to look down at the spear protruding from his calf he gasped at the sight. Without so much as a second thought, he reached down and grabbed at it, tearing it clean from his flesh, and igniting a new wave of searing pain that knocked him flat on his back.

"Idiot! What are you trying to do?" He heard David's voice grow annoyed once again, and as he lie on his back, trying to regain his senses, he could feel his friend reaching for his leg. Gareth winced in pain for a moment at the sensation, but then was immediately struck by a strange warmth that seemed to radiate out into his calf, immediately dulling the pain. "This should only take a moment, but do us both a favor, and keep your eyes open for trouble. It won't be long before they return, and probably with reinforcements."

"Dave ... what's going on?" His head was swimming and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the nausea.

"You tell me. And ... Dave? What's this, some colorful new curse?"

It was only then he finally opened his eyes and took a look at his friend, and realized that he did not look anything like he ought to. Sure, his eyes were still the same dark green, he still had the same short-cropped black hair that had been his fashion since childhood, and he still had that little patch of hair on his chin that passed for a goatee. Rather, it was his attire that caught Gareth completely off guard. In place of the t-shirt and baggy jeans, he looked like he was geared for Halloween - he was decked in a close fitting, off-white robe that went down just past his knees, tied around the waist with a little cord. Hung about his shoulders was a slightly ragged blue cloak, fringed along the bottom in gold trim, and resting atop his head was an ornate circlet that looked completely out of place.

Gareth could only respond with a blink, until he shook his head. "What ... what the hell are you wearing?"

His friend only shot him a confused look, furrowing his eyebrows. "You weren't hit in the head, were you? I don't sense that you've been hurt there ..."

"No," Gareth said, though suddenly he did find that he felt strangely dizzy. Leaning his head forward and closing his eyes again, he breathed in a confused little sigh. "I just ... wait, Dave, wait. What the hell is going on here?"

"If the spear had some kind of poison it is beyond me; I sense no ill in your mind, but you are acting strangely. Derrik, we cannot afford to sit here and wait. The kobolds will only be held at bay for so long with little tricks like that, and it would be best if we weren't sitting on the floor trying to discern that which is beyond sight." David rose abruptly, peering on down the tunnel, jabbing a torch ahead of him as if to pierce the darkness.

The kobolds. Gareth remembered them, remembered their beady little eyes as they bore down upon him, the murderous little expressions they all wore. But he remembered more than that; the image in his mind wasn't quite right. No, the kobolds were a device that Byron had conjured up. The kobolds ... that was how Sendrilla had been capture ... Marianne had been taken out of the game.

"The game," he muttered softly, shaking the fog from his head as he once again looked around. It looked exactly how he would have imagined the scene that Byron had set up, the dark, narrow tunnel full of peril and promise of danger ahead. Exactly how he imagined it. Standing up so quickly that he felt dizzy, he found himself gasping for air. "The game! David, what ... what the hell is going on?"

David turned back and frowned at him again. "Please, enough of the obscure curse words. I sense movement ahead. The kobolds approach. Ready your weapon."

Gareth looked down at the broadsword that was lying on the ground at his feet, something that looked far too real. A part of him insisted that he lean over and pick it up. If the kobolds were coming back he would need it to defend himself, and he sure wouldn't want to be caught here flat-footed and unarmed. At the same time, he wondered where his dice had gone, even the accursed twenty-sided die. He would need that when the kobolds returned, as well. With growing confusion, he stared down at his hands, hands that were his but not, more heavily calloused than they ought to be, grimy, dirty, and crisscrossed with scars. What the hell was going on?

He looked to David to ask him again, but the look on his friend's face defused the question before it could be asked. The young man was staring into the blackness ahead of them, a look of intense concentration upon his face before his eyes began to widen. Then, suddenly, he wheeled around and looked right back at Gareth with an intense and somewhat frightening glance. "A sorcerer! They have a sorcerer ... a powerful one! Beware! Get behind my staff!"

Dumbfounded, he watched as David lifted the staff - Gareth had not even noticed him carrying it in his left hand - holding it out in front of him as if to ward off some unseen enemy. A little spark of light in the distance caught his eye, barely a flash that was immediately swallowed back up by the gloom of the tunnel.

Then it hit him, like a silent explosion sweeping forward in a cold wave from where that spark had been, smacking him in the chest with a force powerful enough to sweep him off his feet. Gareth felt his breath torn from him as he sailed backward, arms flailing in the air before him for a second or two before he crashed into the wall of the tunnel behind him. It didn't hurt, exactly, even though he knew the impact should have been a tremendous crushing sensation. Instead, his entire world went black and silent. He knew he wasn't dead, as he could still feel the tingling in his fingertips, could still feel the heft of the earth against his body as he collapsed on to it.

How long he lie there on the ground, he had no idea, but slowly the sensation began to return to him. First it was a faint buzzing that echoed in his ears, creeping upon him and growing louder and louder, as the little glimmer of light began to bleed into the corners of his vision. Blurred and flickering shapes slowly resolved themselves into an image of David hovering over him, wearing a concerned look. The buzzing in his ears coalesced slowly into the sound of a coherent voice.

"Fool! You could have been killed ..."

Gareth coughed as pain suddenly began to register, from his head to his toe. He ached just about everywhere he could think to ache, and somehow that made him realize that he was not dead; he was not even seriously injured. "Oh ... oh gods ... what happened?"

"You didn't listen to me, that's what happened," came the sharp response filled more with concern than anger. "I can 't do anything to protect you when you're standing around like a buffoon."

He blinked a little, shaking his head once again. "My head hurts ... feels fuzzy," he complained, sitting upright and reaching up to touch his fingers against his temple. He could swear that it was physically throbbing beneath his touch. "I'm so confused ... I don't know what the hell is going on ... this isn't right at all." The most frightening thing, he realized, was that he wasn't even sure why things weren't right at all. Being in a dark tunnel was certainly not right, but that wasn't the extent of it. He wasn't sure what he was doing here at all, how he had gotten there, and why David was with him.

Where were the others? Marianne and Byron? Where was the game? "What ... what is going on?"

His eyes popped open and he was startled to find himself mere inches away from his friend, who was kneeling in front of him and continuing to look at him in a worried fashion. "Look, we're safe for now ... well, safe as being stuck in a tunnel is. I was able to keep the sorcerer at bay, but the idiot managed to cause a cave-in. I hope he crushed himself ... but anyway. We're going to have to find a way out of here."

"No," he protested, shaking his head. If there had been some kind of cave-in, Byron would have mentioned it. It was his game, after all, he was running it; the only one who had been trapped was poor Marianne. She was depending upon him and he kept rolling that damned one. "No, I mean ... what are we doing here? This ... where are the others? Where is Byron?" He didn't even bother asking the most obvious question : how the hell was he managing to hallucinate something so vivid?

"Byron? I don't understand ... oh, Derrik ... I've tried my best to heal you but if they've done something to your mind, I'll kill them ... wring their scrawny little necks myself ..."

Gareth was about to protest once again, particularly when David used his character's name like that, but just as he opened his mouth to speak he realized that his friend's eyes were beginning to tear up. "Jesus, Dave, are you ... are you crying?"

Never in the many years he had been friends with David had he seen the other so much as shed a tear, so the image of seeing his eyes moisten up was extraordinarily unsettling. He could only watch slack-jawed as his friend nodded feebly, reaching up and wiping the back of his hand against his face, leaving a muddy streak behind. "Yeah, I ... look, I'm sorry, it's just ... seeing you lying on the ground ... I thought I was going to lose you ..."

"What?" It made absolutely no sense to Gareth. None of it made any sense - seeing his friend dressed up like some kind of Tolkien fanboy, seeing him brought to tears, seeing him here in this strange and dingy place. Hell, being here in this tunnel made no sense. But then, neither did the strange notion in his head that he should be picking up his dice and throwing them, tossing them around to see what might happen next. This was not the kind of place to be playing dice games. The only thing he should be throwing about was his sword.

What the hell?

"Derrik, please, just ... I couldn't stand the thought ... oh, damn it all," his friend said in exasperation, before he leaned in abruptly, closing the distance between them. Without so much as a warning, he pressed his lips right up against Gareth's.

The impact was as sure and solid as if he had just been clubbed across the face. Gareth could do nothing but sit there, frozen solid, feeling his friend's lips pressed warm and firm against his for several seconds, long enough to feel the way his friend trembled against him, long enough to feel the warmth of his breath against his own skin, before David finally pulled back and just stared at him with big, green eyes.

Gareth felt like he should be picking his jaw up off the floor. "What ... what did you just do ..."

"I ... I'm sorry. I know it's been a long time, but ... I just ..."

"Did you ... did you really just ..." Gareth continued to stare blankly, feeling his jaw slack and hanging, staring at his friend in abject disbelief. Just when he thought that things could not become stranger, just when he thought that his world had become as confusing as possible, his friend had just up and kissed him, right there in the middle of this cavern. "I can't believe you just did that ..."

David leaned further back and paled. Even in the dim torchlight, it was obvious the man was blanching several shades. "I ... look, I know how things have been, but ... oh, Derrik, it's just that ... in spite of it all, I still, well, you know ..."

He shook his head vigorously at that, screwing his face up in confusion and something approaching anger. "No, I don't know! None of this makes sense! None of this should be happening? And you ... you ... what the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," his friend repeated, shaking visibly in the light as his eyes went wider. "Oh, oh god ... are you and, you and Sendrilla ... oh, god, I should have seen that, I'm so sorry ..."

"No!" Gareth almost shouted at the idea, shaking his head. "Good god, no, we aren't anything. She's just my friend. Sendrilla is ..." he paused, frowning again as another strange wave of confusion crossed his mind. Wasn't her name Marianne? She was depending on him to do something. To get her back in the game. "Isn't ... she ... but we're not anything but friends ..."

"Then what is it? Is it just the time? I mean ... god, I'm sorry, I should have known better ..."

He shook his head again and grunted. "No, it's not the time. It's just that it's ... the whole thing is ... you can't do that, you can't kiss me, it's ..." Wrong, he thought to himself, yet somehow could not say it. It was wrong, wasn't it? So much that was going on around him was terribly, terribly wrong. He shouldn't be here, trapped in a cave. He shouldn't be worrying about dice. Everything about this situation was wrong.

Everything but the kiss. With a weird fog clouding his mind, Gareth turned to look his friend right in the eyes again, right in those big, frightened green eyes. Those beautiful eyes. He'd never thought that before, had he? He'd never looked at his friend with an adjective like that ... never conjured up the idea that the man was anything approaching attractive. He was, after all, a male. Yet that didn't seem to matter, either. The face he was staring into, the wounded, worried, emotional face was gorgeous.

What the hell is going on?

He worked his jaw a little, feeling it grind about as if the words he was trying to get out of his throat were caught, as if he could feel them physically between his teeth. "Bend?" Hadn't he meant to say David? What the hell had he meant to say?

"I'm right here, Derrik," came the soft reply.

Derrik? It was odd how a made-up name, one that he had simply jotted down on the top of a character sheet, could feel comfortable in his ears. He didn't know what was coming over him as he reached forward, cupping his hand against his friend's cheek. He felt like a man possessed - no, not possessed. He was still in command of his faculties, yet they felt like someone else's faculties. Someone else's desires. Unthinking, unerring, he slid his fingers back, through his friend's hair, curling them around his head and pulling him in closer. He closed his eyes at the last second, tilting his head in and pressing his lips to the quivering, waiting lips of his friend.

Again the contact was like a physical shock that ran through his body, but this time he did not withdraw from it. Instead, he let it run through his body, coursing through him with a rough, unsteady shiver. The firm pressure on his lips, the soft and insistent warmth of his friend's lips against his own, did not feel wrong. It felt strangely familiar, as if it were something he were comfortable with, something he knew intimately well. Without thinking, he pulled his other hand up and pulled his friend into an embrace.

He could hear the soft, quivering moan that the other young man breathed as his arms, too, came about, and the two were suddenly hugging each other tight, holding close. With his eyes closed, he could concentrate on the rest of the sensations; the way those lips felt pressed to his, the sensation of hands stroking his back. Soon he found his lips parting, as if by instinct, his tongue sneaking out to brush against his friend's skin, tasting him, reaching forward with his teeth to nip and nibble on the man's lower lip, pull it into his own mouth, deepen the kiss.

What the hell is going on?

Almost reluctantly he pulled back. Alarm bells were going off in the back of his head; something was not right with this situation. Every fiber of his body resisted the urge to pull back, but something in his head demanded to stop, demanded to speak. "Wait ... wait ... what are we doing?"

"Does it matter?" There was a strained tone to his friend's voice, a kind of hungry whimper hidden behind his words. "We're together ..."

"No," he said, in a soft and uncertain whisper. There was more going on here than he could see, more going on than was obvious. There was something he was supposed to be doing. Shouldn't he be rolling his dice again? Shouldn't he be waiting to hear what the results of his fateful cast was, what would become of them? What about Marianne? "Sendrilla ... we ... she needs us ..."

"We can't ... we can't help her now, Derrik ... but we still have each other ... it's been so long, Derrik, so long ... let's ... just ..."

Then warm lips were upon his own, and he could not resist. He reacted by leaning in and returning the kiss, redoubling his efforts, breathing a low sigh as he did. It made no sense - it was ridiculous, it was stupid. Sitting here in a caved-in tunnel, making out with his friend - making out with another man - while people waited on him, depended on him. It was stupid, yet he could not stop. He was flooded with the need for this moment, the need to hold his friend in close. His arms wrapped tightly about the other's body, pulling him in chest to chest, as his lips parted and he let his tongue in to brush against Dave's lips again, wetting them, tasting them. What the hell was he doing?

He was doing what he wanted. What he needed. He closed his eyes and poured himself into the kiss.

"What the hell?"

David's voice was strange and incongruous. He shouldn't be able to talk like that, not while their lips were locked together. What the hell was going on?

"Hey, dude. Gareth. What the hell are you doing?"

Startled, he opened his eyes. Everything seemed strangely bright, far too bright for the circumstances, and for a second he had to squint. Then he realized there were eyes upon him, and not just David's. The dull blues of Byron's eyes were regarding him with a strangely detached look, while Marianne was shooting him an odd, quizzical stare.

He was sitting at the table, back in the apartment. Torchlight had given way to candlelight. The scent of cinnamon smacked him in the face. Startled, he glanced down and realized he had his hand on top of David's, resting on it, as if he were trying to hold hands. With a startled gasp, he pulled his hand back and in to his lap.

David merely laughed. "Dude, if you think your dice are cursed or something, and you wanna use mine, that's fine. All you gotta do is ask."

Gareth blinked in raw confusion. His friends gathered around the table all laughed heartily, immediately breaking the tension in the air, but he was still confused. What the hell was going on?

"All right, all right, I know we're all a bit amazed at Gareth's ability to roll four consecutive ones, but let's get on with the game. Let's see, ah yes. Here we go. Bend has succeeded in casting Dispel Magic, and the effect wears off. Derrik is finally able to recover his senses. Several moments are lost while the party recovers, but the rockfall ahead holds fast." Byron paused to look up again, his eyes going back and forth between David and Gareth. "Now what are you going to do?"

He still felt paralyzed, in a way, unable to think correctly or move. Part of his mind was still back in the cave, remembering the feeling of lips on his own. In an unsettling way, he realized that he still found David to be unnaturally attractive, something he had never experienced before, but was now experiencing in full force. In all his memory, he could never recall even giving another man a second look, yet he somehow knew that if David made a pass at him, even here in front of the others, he'd have happily resumed the embrace.

What the hell is going on?

David, on the other hand, merely chuckled. "Looks like our barbarian is still a bit out of it. I suppose I will have to have a better look at the rockfall ahead, and see if there's any way that we can get through."

Gareth lost track of the conversation at that point, only vaguely aware of the perception check that was being made, only partially catching Byron's description of some of the rocks being loose enough to wiggle and perhaps even move out of the way. He had never in his life experienced anything so vivid, so real, and he didn't know what to make of it.

Looking down, he realized that his hand that had not been touching David's was still partially cupped around a die. Moving his hand out of the way, he stared down at the villainous one digit that stood out once again. Had he rolled another one? Byron had said something about four, but he could only recall having rolled three of them. What were the chances of three? What were the chances of four?

What were the chances of him having some kind of weird break from reality in which he not only imagined himself physically living out the details of the game, but indulging in some kind of weird homosexual fantasy where he was making out with his best friend?

"Guys," he finally said, speaking up in a raspy voice. He must have spoken too quietly, as the conversation went on ahead without him; something about Bend using his staff to pry some of the rocks out of the way and begin to expose a clearing that lead on in to the passageway ahead. Shaking off a little uncertainty, he spoke up again, this time with a bit more conviction. "Hey. Guys."

It did the trick, as the other three stopped what they were doing and looked at him expectantly. Gareth reached up and brushed a bead of sweat from his brow. He realized he was shaking. "I ... I'm not feeling too good, guys. I ... think I'm going to have to call it a night."

"Aww, come on ... we just started," Byron responded, frowning.

Before he could react, Marianne spoke up, a little more pointedly. "Oh no you don't. I'm not going to spend an entire week waiting till the next session so I can get my ass back in to this game. You're going to keep playing till I am free."

He shook his head at that. It felt like his head was beginning to throb, again, and he reached up to massage his temples, closing his eyes for a moment. "No, really, I ... I'm not feeling good at all. I think I should go lie down or something. I'm really sorry but ... I'm gonna have to call it ..."

There was a general groan of discontent. Opening his eyes again to protest, he found himself looking right at David. Looking right at his big, green eyes, and found himself struck powerless as his friend spoke. "Aww, come on, man. You do kind of owe her that. I'm sure you can compromise though ... give it a go for half an hour, if we haven't rescued her by then, you can go to bed."

He wanted to say no, he had to say no, yet he could not. He couldn't resist those green eyes. Cursing himself inwardly, he tried to tear his gaze away. Why was he suddenly so damned attracted to the man? It made no sense. It was stupid. It was wrong, or at least, it should have been wrong. "I ... suppose I can ..."

"That's the spirit," David said, grinning and clapping him on the back. "Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. Working on clearing out this rubble so that we can continue onward."

From that point on, Gareth was only halfway aware of what was going on in the game. He retained enough interest - and enough presence of mind - to follow the discussion as the rockfall was rather quickly cleared away, to the point that they could both advance on in the cave. His bad streak of luck had been enough that David was, once again, taking the lead with the group, and Byron even seemed to be making a conscious effort to eliminate the need for him to make any kind of important rolls. Marianne had even decided to loan him her dice, with the explanation that she was not using them at the time and he may as well make the most of them while he could. While it was all done in friendliness and an attempt to have a good time, he simply could not shake the feeling that they were doing it to keep him out of the game as much as possible, to keep him from bungling things any worse than he had already.

Still, that wasn't what bothered him the most. It was the way that David kept looking at him; or, more accurately, the way he kept looking at David. He was pretty sure that his friend had yet to notice the way that he tried to get a good look at those pretty green eyes, the way that he reacted with a little tension when that gaze was upon him, or the way that he looked away bashfully after staring. It didn't seem right, it didn't seem normal. It was one thing to fall head over heels for some girl on first sight, but Dave was someone he had known for years, he had been close to since childhood, and had never given him a second look. Hell, he'd never even looked at another guy like that at all, and the fact that he was suddenly lusting after another man made his stomach turn in knots. He knew that he should find the idea repulsive, even though he did not.

Tonight, though, tonight he could not stop looking, could not stop lusting. He had a perverse notion stuck in his head that if David asked him to come to the bedroom - alone - he would do so without resisting.

Willing to do that. With his best friend, no less.

What the hell is going on?

"Yo, space cadet. You gonna answer?"

He realized that the question was directed at him. Blinking in confusion, he looked around the table, his three friends once again looking at him in a quizzical fashion. "Answer?"

Byron, fortunately, chose to spare him the need to ask any further. "Bend and Derrik have made it through several meters of the tunnels without incident. They have finally come to a wider part of the tunnel where it opens up into a large underground cavern. It is small enough to see all sides, and other than the entrance they have arrived at, there is only one other obvious exit, and it is guarded by two kobolds. They have not yet seen you. Bend has performed a careful scan of the area but has spotted nothing other than the exit guarded by the two kobolds. It's your turn."

Gareth's throat suddenly felt dry. Why did he have to make the decision? "What do you think I should do?"

"Don't ask me. Gotta do something, Gar." David merely shrugged at him.

"I could ... I could charge them," he said, trying to think it through in his head. "I might take them by surprise, and there's only two. I might have more luck if I step out and engage them, but at the same time they might run and alert the others ..."

"Pick something."

He closed his eyes and covered his face with a hand, breathing in deeply. Here it was again - his chance to screw up. "All right, no charging. I'll step out in to the opening with my weapon drawn, but let them make the first move."

"Guess I'll follow right behind. Just in case." David grinned, grimly.

Byron nodded and cleared his throat. "Okay. Derrik steps out in to the clearing, weapon drawn, with Bend following behind. The kobolds are instantly alerted to their presence thanks to the torch that Bend carries, and immediately draw their own weapons, but they do not attack. They do not retreat or otherwise sound any alarm, but merely await the approach of the party.

"Derrik is the first to arrive at the center of the cavern. When he takes another step, his foot lands directly upon a marking that has been inscribed into the floor. It is a Symbol of Sleep ..."

David sighed and cursed under his breath. "Fucking kobolds ..."

Byron grunted at the interruption. "You're going to have to both make a Will throw here to see if you are effected by the trap. Derrik is at ground zero, so he will need to go first."

Gareth's eyes widened as he looked down at the dice in front of them. He knew which one he had to pick up and use, but he still felt frozen in place. It wasn't until Byron spoke up again, a bit forcefully, saying "D20" that he reached for the die, unsteadily, choosing the one that Marianne had loaned him. Peering up again, he realized that he must have looked somehow frightened. She laughed quietly and shook her head at him.

"It's just a game."

Then why the hell do I feel like I'm going out of my mind?

"Of course," he said, dryly, trying not to shake as he picked the die up and squeezed it in his fist. He looked at his own, left sitting on the table with the number 20 left showing - obstinately for good luck - as he clenched his jaw and let the plastic die fall.

It sounded so loud as it struck the wood of the table. Thud! He watched with a panicky expression as it caught on one corner and bounced back up in to the air, wheeling about wildly and flashing numbers up at him quicker than he could keep track of before it fell back to the table.

Thud! It bounced again, not so high, before it came crashing back down to the table. Thud!

Gareth didn't realize that he was holding his breath as he watched the die begin to skitter around on the top of the table, rapidly changing the number on top. 12. 4. 17. 2. 6. 11. Then, against all odds, it caught on a little divot in the wood and briefly stood up on one corner, wheeling around like a top, before it finally teetered back over one side and came to a rest. Instinctively, he closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to see it happen.

Thud!

"Hey ... you awake yet?"

His head suddenly felt like it was pounding, a headache that literally came out of nowhere. Gasping, he opened his eyes and realized that he was, again, no longer looking at the table; he had somehow wound up on his back and was staring up at the vague suggestions of firelight dancing against the darkened ceiling overhead. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of David's face, looking down at him with a concerned expression.

He also realized that his friend was wearing that circlet again. "Oh ... god," he groaned, clapping a palm over his forehead as he forced himself to sit up. "What ... what happened?"

"The kobolds laid a trap for us back there. Nothing we could have done about it, it was damned near impossible to see in the darkness back there. Symbol of Sleep, and a pretty damned powerful one. I don't really know how long we've been out."

Gareth opened his eyes again. His vision was crisscrossed by lines, briefly confusing him, before he realized that the lines were actually steel bars placed at even intervals. Reaching forward on instinct, he grabbed hold of them and pulled; they held fast. "We're trapped."

His friend breathed a heavy sigh. "Yeah. I am guessing they brought us here after we'd been knocked out cold. I think there's some kind of large assembly hall nearby or something, I can keep hearing a lot of voices, but other than the occasional guard, we're pretty much being ignored. They've taken everything. Weapons, all of our gold, our belongings. The only thing left is the clothes on our back."

"That's something," Gareth conceded, before screwing his face up in confusion. "Wait ... wait ... what the hell am I talking about ... I want to know what the hell is going on. How did I get here?"

"I ... I told you, the kobolds ..."

He shook his head, turning around to shoot a withering look over at his friend. "No, enough of that. None of this is real, it can't be real. Is this Byron's doing? Where the hell is the table? What the hell is going on?" He stood up, clutching the bars that held him in their prison, shaking as hard as he could. "Byron! Byron, I don't care if I rolled a fucking zero. How the hell did you do this?"

"Who ... who is Byron? Derrik, what are you talking about?"

"Byron. He's the damned dungeon master, he did this." It was the only thing that made any kind of logical sense; the man was running the game. He had to be responsible for what was happening, this had to be a situation of his conjuring. How he did it, he had no idea, but it was the only thing that made sense. "Dammit, Byron!"

He felt a gentle, wary touch on his shoulder. "Derrik, relax. You're probably still a bit confused after waking up from the spell ..."

"No," he protested, wheeling around and smacking his friend's hand away from his shoulder. The cleric shot him a worried, confused, and slightly hurt look but otherwise stood his ground; Gareth, on the other hand, felt his blood beginning to boil. He demanded answers. "Look, I've about had it to here with this damned game, and I'm about ready to quit. So you can stop it with the Derrik nonsense. That's not my name. My name is ..."

Unexpectedly, he found himself suddenly choking on his words. His friend gazed back at him with those beautiful green eyes in a way that made his voice catch in his throat; the way the firelight flickered off his chiseled features was unnecessary alluring. It was making him lose track of what he was going to say. "Your name ... is ... what?"

"My name's ..." again he felt himself unable to continue speaking. He had to tear his eyes away from his friend's face to get his heart to stop thudding in his chest, to get the strange swell of emotions to stop. This wasn't right; he had known the man for years, and this sort of thing had not happened before. Was not supposed to happen. So why was it happening? And why ... why couldn't he remember his damned name? "It's Derrik ... not Derrik ... my name is ..."

He couldn't remember. Derrik was the only thing coming to his mind, and he knew that was wrong, but he could not think of anything else. When he felt his friend's hand on his shoulder once again, he couldn't help but to let out a little shuddering gasp. Why couldn't he remember?

"Take it easy, Derrik. We'll get through this, just ... just stay calm."

He turned around to say something, but found his gaze once again caught by those beautiful green eyes. What was so beautiful about them? Why was he so captivated? He couldn't bring himself to look away, couldn't bring himself to say what it was he wanted to say, for it had slipped his mind. "Dammit ..."

The cleric sighed a little and patted his shoulder. "I know it looks kind of bleak, but remember, we've been through worse, we've gotten into more frightening situations, and come out okay. I'm sure we'll think of a way out of this one, we just have to keep our eyes open ..."

"No ... no, that's not it." He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head droop forward. He didn't care about being stuck, didn't care about the fact that they were trapped in a cage deep underground. None of that was right, but at least it made sense, at least he could wrap his mind around the reality of cold steel bars and heavy, unyielding stone. But the fact that he was now fighting a growing urge to reach out and clutch his friend, pull him in close, kiss him hard and release all the pent up passion ... made no sense at all. "It makes no sense ... please, make it stop, make it stop ..."

"Make what stop? Please, you have to tell me what is wrong ..."

His eyes snapped open again, and he reached out to suddenly grasp his friend by both shoulders. "These feelings ... I'm so confused ... why are you so beautiful? What are you doing to me? Please, please make it stop. Why do I want you so badly?"

He could see the ruddy flush in his friend's cheeks before he spoke up. "Derrik ... look, I'm flattered, but I don't think this is the time or place ..."

"But why?" He shook his friend without meaning to do so, his grip was beginning to quiver and become unsteady. He felt his head beginning to grow uncertain, a slight dizziness creeping up on him, and he tried to close his eyes to ward it off. "Where is this coming from ... it makes no sense, I just ... I don't get it ..."

"Well, you know," came the halting answer. "It's ... it's a matter of history. I mean, you remember, I'm sure you remember ... but it's been so long, I don't really know why ... look, Derrik, it's complicated ..."

Complicated. The entire situation felt complicated to him, seemed hopelessly complicated in his mind. Dozens of questions ran through his head, demanding answers that were not there, answers that perhaps didn't even exist, but there was one thing that was not complicated to him, one thing that felt very simple : the way he felt. It was an emotion that did not require any clarification, did necessitate any further discussion, and did not brook any further questioning. His eyes opened again, and he found himself looking right back into those beautiful green eyes.

No, the urge was very simple indeed. He didn't even feel his arms moving as he reached out and clutched his friend, pulled him in against his own chest; he wasn't quite sure how he had wound up with his lips pressing firm and tight against Bend's, his breath catching in his chest as he was caught up in that tight, needy embrace.

The urgency was deeper, more insistent than the time before. Suddenly he was holding his friend against the back of their cell, pressing him against the wall and grinding against his hip, letting his hands wander along the cleric's side. A quiet, rattling groan in his friend's chest told him that he was doing the right thing, gave him permission to continue. He felt his hands sliding over Bend's waist and tugging on the cord that held the robe tight to his torso, loosening it enough that he could then slide his hands inside, brushing his palms against smooth, warm skin.

A groan escaped his own throat, the sound muffled by the depth of the kiss that he was still lost in. His tongue was eagerly sliding around in his friend's mouth, kissing him hard and deep and with all the passion he could muster. Derrik was aware that he was already becoming very hard, feeling his swelling member grinding against his friend's hip through his clothing, even then feeling so good pressed in between them. Hungrily he pulled the cleric's robes open a bit more so his hands could slide down over the man's backside, the smooth, soft skin gliding easily against his rougher, calloused palms.

He still had no idea where the feelings were coming from. He had never so much as imagined doing this with another man before, yet his hands moved with all of the confidence and surety that only experience could grant. He was reaching down, down, slipping his fingers between his friend's thighs and giving him a squeeze, feeling his fingertips brushing against the younger male's scrotum, causing him to breathe a shuddering little groan of his own. He was pulling his friend against him now to grind on him more directly, he could feel his friend's own erection through the cloth, grinding a bumping against his.

Nothing so confusing or strange had ever felt so damned good.

Bend pulled away from the kiss with a little gasp, groaning under his breath. "Derrik ... ooh, Derrik, what are we doing ..."

"I need you." He spoke the answer without so much as a second thought, or even a first thought, the words simply rolling off his tongue without any forethought. "I want you."

If the cleric was of a differing opinion, he gave no sign. The slightly smaller man rather launched himself forward and began to attack Derrik's armor, deft fingers working at the various clasps and belts and ties to work the pieces off, one by one. The cleric was not the only one who was eagerly removing his partner's clothing, as Derrik had reached up to undo the flowing cloak that his friend wore, letting it flutter to the ground in a pile. It all went by in such a blur, so quickly that he really could not keep track of what was going on, was hardly conscious of the movements of his fingers as they found themselves dancing over freshly bared skin.

Then he was naked; they were both naked, their clothing having been left in forgotten piles around their ankles and on the floor. He held still for a moment, long enough to steal a lustful glance over his friend's body before him. Bend was not as powerfully built as he was, but was in peak physical condition all the same; the young man's body was slender but toned, his musculature visible enough to leave more than a vague suggestion of his abs showing through his stomach, the chiseled shape of his chest. Further down his erection was visible, standing proudly out from his groin, thick and throbbing with a dab of moisture already starting to gather at his tip; a suggestion of its scent barely hanging on the air.

He was fairly certain he had never seen another man in the nude, not fully aroused like that, and certainly not so close to him. He was also fairly certain that he should not find it half as attractive as he was, not half as arousing, yet he knew without a doubt that this is what he wanted. Reaching forward, he gripped his friend by the hips, sliding his fingers around over his shapely backside, and pulled him in close. The sensation of heated, aroused flesh against his own, pressing and grinding, was electric. He could not keep from breathing a low, lusty groan.

He was not the only one groaning softly. "Derrik ... ooh, I need you too ..."

The name still sounded strange, foreign in his ears, but the need in that voice was clear, as clear as the need that was growing sharply in his own loins. The solution seemed clear to him, as without thinking he gripped his friend by the hips and turned him around, wrapping his arms around that slender frame and pulling him in up against him. The fit was almost perfect, as the new position had forced his arousal up and pressed firmly against his stomach, with the cleft in Bend's rump nestling his member just right.

With a soft groan, he let himself grind against his friend's backside. He was a little taller, just tall enough to lean over and get a look at his own front, the arousal that was throbbing helplessly there. He reached down with one hand and grabbed at it firmly, pausing to feel the girth in his grip before he began to stroke on it slowly, eliciting a deep, needy groan from the smaller male. "Yes ... yes, that feels so good ..."

It was at that point that he noticed something strange, something out of place, an odd smudge on his friend's abdomen that hadn't been there before. With his other hand he reached to wipe it off, but found that instead of wiping the smudge from his friend's stomach he only managed to spread it on to his own fingers. As he tried again, he realized that it was no smudge at all; somehow, Bend had grown a small patch of what looked to be scales, and in trying to rub it off, the effect had simply transferred to his fingertips.

Even more surprising was how it felt - the sensation of his fingertips rubbing against the slightly bumpy surface was unexpectedly good. Bend agreed, as well, or so it seemed; the cleric groaned loudly in response. "Oh ... stop, stop teasing me ... you know what you want, give it to me ..."

He did know what he wanted. The strange discovery was forgotten, and he was drawn immediately back in to the moment. He knew what he wanted so clearly that he could practically see a vision of it happening in his mind, he could easily envision his friend leaning over, using the bars of their prison to hold himself up, while his shapely backside pressed in against his groin, concealing his manhood as it slipped eagerly, deeply within him, over and over again, sating that need that was becoming palpable on his tongue

He knew without a doubt what he needed. Even as he pulled himself back and began to nudge Bend forward, letting his arousal droop a little and begin to point more at his intended target, he felt that strange sensation in the back of his mind. He was about to sate himself upon his best friend, about to feel the sexual embrace of another for the first time, yet he also knew what he was doing; he had done this before. How was it possible that he, a virgin, would know so instinctively what he was doing ... had the experience ... knew by memory what was he was doing?

What the hell is going on?

Ultimately, it did not matter. He knew what he wanted. Reaching down, he took hold of his member and nudged it against his friend's backside, right against his entrance, and groaned loudly. He knew what he wanted.

"Gack ... filthy, weak-minded humans ..."

The voice behind him caught him so off guard that he nearly fell as he whipped his head around. Just beyond their cage, standing high up on a wooden crate so that it could look down upon them both, stood the little reptilian creature. Barely two feet tall, covered in dusky colored scales, bedecked in a robe that looked as if it had started life too large for such a creature and merely cut short to fit, stood what had to be the kobold sorcerer they had encountered before. The little creature leered down at him, wearing a strange little expression like a smirk.

"Foul beasts," he spat out, instantly angered at the intrusion - strangely he found himself more upset that he had been interrupted at that particular moment, that his release had been delayed, rather than being upset over the fact that they had been imprisoned. Ignoring his conquest for the moment, he turned around and shook his fist angrily, in spite of the fact that he was quite naked.

"Beasts? Beasts?" The kobold hopped down from the crate, scampering up to the side of the prison and rattling the bars with a rudimentary looking staff that he bore. The little creature spoke surprisingly clear Common, with only a hint of a strange, high-pitched whimpering inflection. "You call me beast, yet I am not the one caught in the middle of a rut."

His temper flaring, Derrik launched himself forward, fully intending to reach beyond the bars and grab hold of the little beast, wring its neck, strangle the very life out of it. How dare it not only interrupt him but then go on to mock him? He was too slow, however, as the kobold leaped backward with a nervous, jittery laughter and a sharp little yapping cry that brought a handful of his compatriots out from the shadows, their beady little red eyes all but laughing at him.

"Humans, they think so highly of themselves ... even now you lust to wrap your hands around my neck and squeeze, you think yourself so big and strong, don't you? That's what you would like, wouldn't you?" The kobold stepped a little closer again, just out of arm's reach, prodding that little staff in his direction. "Or perhaps it is something else you lust after ... something more alluring you'd like to get your hands on, more than your ... friend, there ..."

The thought made his stomach twist in revulsion - there was nothing alluring about the foul little creatures, at all. He turned around to look at Bend, still naked and quivering, caught up in some kind of strange sexual confusion that left him looking needy and disoriented. It occurred to him that he should not find his friend alluring, either, yet ... yet he was so delicious ... if only he could get the kobolds to leave. "Release us!"

A round of high-pitched laughter went up among the gathered kobolds. "Release you? Why, so you can frolick naked in our homes? I'm not surprised, arrogant creatures such as yourselves would make such demands ... come trespassing in our den, causing havoc, insulting us with laughable offers ..."

When the kobold mentioned insulting offers, something clicked in his mind. He remembered something else they were doing ... some other goal they had in mind. Someone they had to rescue. Marianne! "Where is she? Where is ... is ..." He paused, stumbling mentally over her name. "Sendrilla. Where is Sendrilla."

"Oh, now you remember her! And why do you want her? Is your friend there not enough to satisfy you?"

Again the kobolds laughed and giggled in their high-pitched, raucous manner that grated on his ears. Growling, he reached between the bars to clutch and claw at them, but they were still too far away. "If you've harmed her in any way, I'll kill you all."

In a surprising show of speed and agility, the little sorcerer kobold whipped his staff around and struck him firmly on the back of his hand, cracking against his knuckles and forcing him to withdraw in pain. Again the creature leered at him, flashing a weird kind of toothy smile at him. "I am sure you would like to, and I am sure you think yourself capable," the kobold said, voice taking on a bit of a hiss. "But you think too much of yourself. You are at my mercy, human, and the mercy of my clan. You are naked and bound before me; what power do you have over us?"

"Let me out of this cage, and I'll show you," he said, clenching his teeth and feeling himself wanting to growl again, but that would only serve to make the kobold's point. He was the one who was acting bestial.

A round of excited chatter went up among the kobolds then, apparently in their native draconic tongue, leaving him none the wiser. The sorcerer, however, held his hand up to silence them all as his grin became broad and wicked. "Perhaps we will give you that chance to show us," it said with an excited little yip to its voice. "But I think your friend there is already coming to the conclusion that you are not as, mmm, desirable as you thin k you are."

In confusion he turned to look, and found that Bend had indeed moved from where he had left him. The cleric, every bit as naked as he was, had wandered up to the front of the enclosure and was holding on to the bars with one hand, the other hand now down at his crotch and eagerly stroking on the erection that he still bore. More upsetting, however, was the fact that the man had his eyes trained directly on the kobolds that had arrayed themselves in front of them, an intensely hungry and desirous look on his face, those big, beautiful green eyes trained on the little beasts with unmasked lust.

"Bend ..."

The cleric gave no response, did not even flinch as if he had heard a sound, and instead kept his eyes hungrily on the kobolds. "Your friend seems to have wisely decided on something ... superior to his tastes," the sorcerer said lowly, flicking a quick gesture of the wrist that had four of the kobolds approach the cage on cue. Two of them moved to where Derrik was standing and immediately brandished their spears in his direction, while the other two moved toward the door, the entrance to their enclosure. It was opened, slowly, while one of them leaned in and muttered something in his harsh, unintelligible language. Nodding, Bend stepped forward, following the kobolds out of the cage.

"Bend ..." he repeated his friends name, but the cleric did not so much as turn to look at him. He merely watched in confusion as the kobolds led him to a spot several feet away from the enclosure before coming to a stop. Another harsh command was made, and his friend dropped first to his knees, and then to all fours.

Even on his hands and knees, he was practically as tall as the kobolds. He could only watch with a strange mix of fascination and horror as his friend crawled against the rocky floor of the tunnel to the nearest kobold, wearing a strange and disjointed smile. The kobold responded with a word of that strange language before reaching forward and running its scaly, clawed hand over the cleric's head in a fashion that was unnervingly gentle and affectionate. Then the creature reached down and tugged the ragged scraps of clothing that it wore, letting them fall from its body and bare itself every bit as naked as Bend.

The kobold was unassuming, naked. Small, pebbly scales covered its entire body from head to toe in mottled earthy tones. Again it reached forward to brush its hand over the cleric's cheek, breathing a sound that might have passed for a little coo. Bend's attention seemed fixed, however, on the creature's midsection, right between the thighs. There was nothing there to see, nothing other than the faint suggestion of a break the scales, a slit running vertically between its legs. Perhaps it was a female.

The strange mix of fascination and horror suddenly trended to the horrific as he watched his friend smile again, lick his lips, and lean in to start brushing his tongue hungrily over that spot between the kobold's legs, an even, steady lapping motion up and down. The little creature responded with a sound like a stuttering yelp, its eyes closed and its reptilian snout tilting up and backward. Even across the barrier of language and unfamiliar physiology, the expression of unabashed pleasure was unmistakeable.

Derrik gasped under his breath, clutching at the bars in front of him and watching with his eyes wide. He wanted to cry out, wanted to shout to his friend, as him what he was doing, what had come over him, but was for the moment paralyzed. He could not move a muscle as he watched Bend's eyes flutter closed, the young man tilting his head a little to ply the creature's scales with a series of soft kisses between eager sessions of licking. By now the kobold was resting both its hands on the cleric's head, as if to steady itself, its short little tail beginning to flail behind it while its hips started to rock and gyrate.

It soon became obvious that the creature was not female at all. As the cleric's head moved to bathe different parts of its thighs with kisses, Derrik was able to catch little glimpses of something protruding out of that vent, what he would soon realize was nothing less than the creature's little reptilian penis. When maybe half an inch was prodding its way out from that break in the scales, Bend leaned in and kissed at it directly, wrapped his lips around it. The contraction of his throat muscles made it obvious that he was beginning to suck on the creature like a straw. The kobold again let off a little yelp of pleasure.

The sight made his head throb, made him dizzy with revulsion, yet he could not stop watching. His friend was on his hands and knees, head buried in the creature's lap; his friend was eagerly sucking off a kobold. Even from here he could hear the low groan of need beginning to resonate from Bend's chest, as one of his own hands went up to caress and stroke at the reptile's thigh, sending it into a little spat of convulsions and jittery yelps of pleasure. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention; the second kobold, already disrobed and aroused by the sight, no better than a few inches worth of its own erection standing free from its hiding place, was at the cleric's backside, hands on his hips and making a show of breathing in his scent.

What followed was almost comical in a twisted sense. The second kobold abruptly pulled itself up, climbing atop the cleric's hindquarter. Gripping the man's sides, the little creature had dug its hindtalons into his thighs, leaving divots where it was clutching on for balance, positioning itself so that it's erection was no longer visible but its location was obvious. Soon its hips were beginning to buck and gyrate slowly, the look on its face becoming distant as it sought its target.

Like a ton of bricks, the full realization of what he was witnessing forced him out of his strange, horrified trance. Tugging on the bars of his cage as if they might give way, he suddenly found himself yelling. "Dave! Dave, look out, it's going to ... what are you doing ... oh my god ..."

As soon as he had said it he wondered why, the strange name ringing false in his ears, regardless of how natural it felt against his tongue. He was not allowed to ponder his own confusion for long, as a shrilly, gleeful yipping sound filled his ears. The kobold that had climbed atop his friend was now hugging its body flush to the man's backside, its hips beginning to piston in and out in a lust driven craze. Bend himself had begun to moan more audibly, and was even beginning to roll lightly on his hips, his own arousal hanging from his hips, throbbing needfully as he leaked against the floor. The kobolds were having their way with his friend, but it was worse; the cleric seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.

"No ... stop ..."

With a snicker, the sorcerer reminded him of its presence. "Stop? Why would you ask them to stop?"

Blinking in confusion, he turned his eyes once more to the kobold in front of him, feeling the rage beginning to build again. "You're violating him! Stop!"

"Hardly," the kobold responded with a little sneer. "We're only giving him what he wants."

At some point while he had been entranced by the sight of his friend's violation, the kobolds had locked his cage again; the guards who had held him at bay with spears were nowhere to be seen. "That's not what he wants," he spat out angrily, reaching out between the bars once more in an attempt to clutch at the sorcerer. "Stop it now!"

Once again he was rebuked with a smack of the kobold's staff that made his hand throb in pain. "Not what he wants? Look again, and tell me, this is not what he wants."

Without meaning to, he obeyed the suggestion, looking once more to where his friend was upon all fours. There was some truth to the kobold's statement, as he watched Bend hungrily suckling upon the kobold standing in front of him, his hips continuing to buck and gyrate in response to the rapid hammering that he was receiving from behind. As he watched, a third kobold was on its back, sliding in underneath him until its long reptilian snout could reach his dangling member and take the full length within its maw. The cleric responded with a groan of heightened proportions. He looked to be lost in the throes of pleasure.

A snap of the sorcerer's fingers brought his attention away, but had another effect. The two kobolds who had been guarding him emerged from the shadows and immediately began pushing on the heavy crates, letting them slowly grind against the ground until they were pushed in the way; he could no longer see his friend. He could still hear the sounds, the eager slapping of scales upon flesh, the uninhibited groans that were only muffled by the hungry suckling. Somehow, being bereft of the sight made him intensely angry. "No! You're doing something to him ... you're controlling his mind!"

"Perhaps," the kobold said, leaning in to sneer at him once again, grinning a grin full of pointed little teeth. "Or perhaps you are merely jealous."

"What?" He nearly spat the response out, it was so ridiculous.

"You are jealous. You wanted your friend for yourself, but you could not have him. He was given the choice, you or the kobolds, and he chose. He knew what he wanted, and that infuriates you."

Again Derrik spat in anger, baring his teeth. It couldn't be true; it was just far too absurd. There was no way Bend could be attracted to these little beasts, these foul little creatures. They had nothing that he did not have, and in fact had less. Weaker, smaller, stupider. They had nothing on him. "That's ridiculous, he would never choose that. He wouldn't want your kind - you're lying." He was lying, he had to be.

In a surprisingly human gesture, the kobold merely shrugged. "Why is it so hard for you to accept that you are simply not enough for him? You think yourself so strong and powerful, so desirable, yet you were rejected. He made his choice, knowing the real pleasure he could be having. Besides," the creature paused, gesturing downward. "He is not the only one enjoying what is happening."

Derrik looked down in anger, but found the source of his righteous ire suddenly cut off. Without realizing it, at some point he had reached down, grabbed hold of his own erection and had begun to stroke it; even now, he had his fingers wrapped around himself and was idly tugging on himself. Anxiously he tore his hand away from his member, staring at it in accusation, as if it had betrayed him, when again he saw the collection of dusky scales that had formed there, all but forgotten before. They had grown now, and had covered half of his palm as well as his thumb and first two fingers, the tips of which seemed to already be growing claw-like protrusions.

With a gasp he looked down at his manhood only to see that it, too, was changed. It had grown more slender, more pointed, and had taken on a darker hue. All of his pubic hair had fallen out, much if it already replaced by pebbly scales that were gathered around the base of his manhood, leaving the suggestion of a vertical line beginning to form. His scrotum had even seemed to shrunk, held in close and tight against his groin. Wide eyed-and shaking, he touched his manhood again and felt a little shock run trough him.

What the hell ... is going on ...

A laugh behind him made him turn on his heel. To his surprise, the sorcerer had somehow made its way into the cell with him. The door was hanging open; it must have slipped in quietly. More to his surprise, however, the kobold was beginning to disrobe, removing the makeshift cloak with a wicked grin. "Yes, yes ... perhaps he is not the only one to see what he wants ..."

Derrik wanted to shake his head. Of course that was not what he wanted - that was absolutely absurd. He wanted to escape, he wanted to rescue his friend. He wanted to rescue both of his friends. Perhaps this was his chance, the opportunity he was looking for. Suddenly he had the upper hand. Leaping forward, he clutched the sorcerer by the neck and threw him backward, catching him off guard.

With a sudden fury he clamped down on the creature's neck, holding it to the ground as it squawked and flailed beneath him. He had finally gotten the upper hand, and refused to let the opportunity slip away. The kobold was powerless against him now, and soon he would choke the very life out of it. He would be able to rescue Bend. He would make everything right. The sudden swell of power that he felt was like a rush through his body; it was potent enough to make his erection throb between his legs.

Or was it something else? His eyes wandered downward of their own accord and briefly looked over the little creature's chest heaving beneath him, covered in handsome little scales of ebony flecked with crimson. Handsome? They weren't so different than the ones he had seen covering his own hand, spilling over his crotch around his tapering erection. He wanted to get another look at it, but as his eyes continued wandering downward he could not help but to pause at the cleft in the creature's groin, the cloaca already swollen with the hint of a penis nudging its way out. So the sorcerer was male, too.

Male, and gorgeous. In the same strange, fascinating way that David's big, green eyes had caught him, the sight of the male kobold's slender, scaled figure beneath him was something that he could not tear his eyes away from. He began to wonder who David was, and why he remembered those eyes. Why he wanted to kiss so badly.

Why he wanted to taste. Why?

The why was not as important as the how. It would be so easy now, all he had to do was lean in, all he had to do was bend his neck a little. Then his lips were there, just an inch or so away, close enough to smell the sharp, pungent musk, close enough to feel the heat radiating upward from that cleft in those scales. All he would have to do was let his tongue stray out a little, close the gap, just nudge the tip of it right against the tapered shaft that was peeking its way up at him, growing, beginning to glisten with a suggestion of excitement.

Unbidden, his tongue made the connection.

The taste was salty and slightly pungent on his tongue, but it was more than that. It somehow tasted right, something that he had to get a better taste of. Unthinking, Derrik leaned in the rest of the way, gave the protruding tip a little kiss, and then sealed his lips around it. It was not much, hardly the size of his pinky finger just between his lips, but he gave it a kiss and a gentle little suck, summoning more of that length forward.

A part of his mind reminded him that he now had a kobold's cock stuffed in his mouth, but he wasn't sure why that was important. All he knew is that he suddenly had the urgent need to suck on it, pull on it, get a taste of as much of it as he could. His vision was now filled with dark colored scales that heaved beneath him, beautiful, handsome scales, yet they proved a distraction. Closing his eyes, he focused on the task at hand, massaging the flesh that was now between his lips, running his tongue against it as it protruded into his mouth, lapping up the little beads of musky moisture that it left behind.

Was this what he had come down into the kobolds' den for?

Soon something was changing, the shaft in his mouth was beginning to grow, beginning to swell. At first it was subtle, but then it became undeniable, the flesh in his mouth soon expanding beyond the thickness of a mere finger, and soon beginning to press and jab against the back of his throat, making him begin to choke. He could have sworn that his mouth itself was beginning to stretch to accommodate the length, so that he could keep his lips firmly on the kobold's groin while not choking on the tip that was threatening to nudge its way right into his throat ...

Again the absurdity of the situation smacked against the back of his conscious mind. Here he was, kneeling in front of a kobold who had trapped him, berated him, forced him to watch while his friend was ravished. Here he was, with a rapidly swelling member tucked in his mouth. He should be disgusted, he knew he should feel disgusted, and with a grunt he pushed himself off and back. Gasping, his eyes closed, breathing freely, he was able to think a little more clearly. The taste of that flesh on his tongue was less intoxicating in afterthought. His eyes snapped open as he looked at the darkness overhead.

What the hell ...

"Come now, you can't deny what you want, you can't deny your own hunger ..." The kobold's voice was strangely changed, sounding more resonant and seductive in his ears. Derrik turned, ready to deliver a verbal lashing, or perhaps resume his attack - he had been strangling the kobold, he had the upper hand, hadn't he? The sight in front of his eyes was stunning, enough to silence his tongue. The kobold sorcerer was no longer a writhing little creature, but was now every bit as large as he was, sitting up and flashing him what he could only describe as a seductive grin. How had the kobold grown like that?

The sight of the male as large as him was strangely erotic. He could no longer keep his eyes away from the reptilian's groin, eyeballing the thick, throbbing cock that was every bit as large as his own flesh now. Something about the way it jutted out from his swollen cloaca caused the heat in his own loins to fire up in a way it hadn't before. His eyes wandered down the shape of that break in the scales, where it terminated nearer the tail. He knew what was hidden there, how tight and hot it must be. Where his mind had been flooded before with images of Bend's shapely ass around him, he could now imagine his changed erection piercing the kobold's hidden anus, filling him, pumping heatedly into him.

He couldn't help but to glance at his own erection then, his eyes widening at the sight of it. It no longer looked human. Pointed at the tip and flaring out to a little ridge, it was slender and knobby all the way down to a wider base that pushed his own cloacal scales open. His scrotum was gone, having retreated fully into him, leaving nothing than a scaled vent in its place, the scales having spilled further along to coat the entirety of his groin and down the inside of his thighs. He never would have thought the lack of visible testicles on his own body could be so damned arousing.

Suddenly the sorcerer was there, close to him, close enough that he could feel the creature's breath against his skin. "Ah, you see, now you begin to see ... why your friend chose us ... to be with us ... to be us ..."

The statement didn't make a lot of sense to him. Be with us? Be us? In a daze he looked over his hands; his right hand had further transformed, his ring and little fingers having shrunk and withered, looking more and more vestigial while the other fingers thickened and grew more pronounced, the claws at their tips more obvious. The scales were beginning to spill down his arm there, too, down to his elbow now, while his left hand remained unchanged. A glance down at his knees showed they seemed to be bending the wrong way. With some fear in his voice, he looked up once again at the kobold in front of him. "What are you ... what have you done to me?"

Before he could answer, Derrik realized that the kobold had not grown to his own size, but rather, he had been shrunk down so that he now stood no more than two and a half feet tall, perhaps less. That realization - along with the realization that he was now staring out over a slightly distended muzzle that was beginning to grow scales of its own - made him gasp and repeat himself. "What have you done ..."

"Only what you want," came the whispered, low response.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not this ... not what I want ..."

The kobold's demeanor was strangely reassuring, almost gentle and caring as he reached out and stroked a claw against Derrik's cheek. "Oh but it is ... you know it in side of you. You see the changes and know how they feel. You know it is better. You are not fighting it ... you choose this ..."

That was ridiculous. Shaking his head, he stared up into the kobold's eyes and found himself frozen in place. The eyes ... they looked somehow familiar ... and the creature in front of him somehow impossibly arousing. "No ... not what I want ..." he stopped, chewing on the words mentally, feeling a little dizzy. It wasn't what he wanted, was it? He could feel the odd way the cool air of the tunnel felt against the scales, so very nice ... he could remember the way it looked to see his maleness hanging from his cloaca. He did want it ... didn't he? Was that what he wanted?

When he spoke again, a quiet little yapping sound preceded his voice as he shuddered. "No," he repeated, his mind once again flooding with images of his flesh sinking deep into a waiting cloaca. "No ... want you ..."

"Of course," came the quiet, confident answer. Of course. It was true, it was what he really wanted, right now, more than anything he wanted that kobold close to him, scale against scale. Before he could reach out, before he could take hold of his prize he felt an insistent pressure upon his chest. The sorcerer was upon him, pushing him back, pushing him down to the ground. Derrik could not resist as he found himself falling to his back, looking up anxiously at the dark-scaled kobold who knelt between his knees. He found himself immobile as the male grasped him by the ankles, briefly realizing that it was not his knees but his ankles that were bending strangely - before they were pulled up and rested on the male's shoulders. He was aware of the short length of tail that was slowly beginning to lengthen out to his side.

Then it made sense. The image in his mind of eager manhood spearing deep into a cloaca ... the colors were wrong. It wasn't his flesh that was being sated. His eyes widened as he beheld the scene unfolding right before him, the sorcerer's eager, throbbing flesh being pressed against his scales, piercing his cloaca and forcing it open, sliding down and back to find that smaller, tighter entrance ...

An inhuman screeching sound, rife with tension and excitement and wanton pleasure, echoed against the walls around him. It took a moment before he realized that the sound had been uttered from his own, still elongating snout, followed by a low, rattling groan that shook his chest. The kobold atop him was eager and lusty, and drove his manhood deep within him in a single, swift thrust, spearing his flesh open for the first time. A wave of pain and panic preceded the little ripples of pleasure that followed, his skin tingling with the sensation of being stretched open, or perhaps thanks to the progression of scales that spilled down his shoulders and overtook his chest.

The kobold sorcerer spoke, but he had devolved to whispering in the unfamiliar syllables of his native tongue, leaving Derrik none the wiser as to what he was saying. Translation proved unnecessary as the male shifted his position around a little, resting on his knees more comfortably, gripping Derrik's calves in his scaled hands, massaging them gently with his claws. Without warning his hips began to gyrate and buck, pulling his throbbing erection halfway out before hilting anew, each time forcing itself in deeper, forcing him open wider, forcing the sensation more completely onto his body.

This had to be it. This is why he was here. Pain rapidly gave way to mounting pressure as the insistent grind of that organ deep inside of him began to impinge upon nerves that he never knew existed, touching undiscovered places in ways that he had not imagined. His moans became little grunts and squeals of abject pleasure as the kobold closed his eyes and drove himself in again and again, giving him what he wanted, giving him what he craved. Running on nothing but pure instinct, he reached down and clutched at his own erection, squeezing on it, tugging it lightly. The rub of scales against that tender flesh was a new kind of bliss, a pleasure that again rippled through his body, waves of pleasure that translated into instinctive clenching of his backside, tightening himself around that invading thickness, and only serving to heighten the pleasure.

He was no longer human, and he knew it. He opened his eyes to look along his body in a slightly detached fashion, gazing at his modest tail that had finally finished growing and was now snaking around of its own accord, gliding and grinding against his lover's legs. His snout had grown outward and long, matching that of the male above him, if slightly larger in size and slightly lighter in color. He did not have to look at his hands to know they had been changed, for he could feel the reptilian touch on his own cock, could feel his clawtips catching lightly along his lover's scales as he caressed his side.

Above him, the male sorcerer was quickly giving himself over to the urgent pairing. Quiet growls sounded over him, almost threatening, but his ears could tell the difference; the only threat in that voice was the threat of impending climax. The male leaned over, close enough to nip roughly at his neck, and he could feel the sharp little teeth plucking at the edges the scales on his throat, delightful little pinpricks that made him shudder. It must have been some sight, two kobolds lost in the throes of a rut.

Two kobolds. The sorcerer, and himself. The sorcerer was a kobold, and so was he. The thought rang in his head briefly as he mouthed the words : I am a kobold. This was it. This is why he was here; this was the treasure he was seeking. To find this new body, to find this gift, to feel this pleasure. I am a kobold ...

The thought alone was enough to push him beyond his limit. He threw his head back and cried out a low, lusty squeal, shuddering as the force of his climax crashed against him. One last tug on his cock was all it took, and suddenly he was exploding against his lover, the first wave of his climax powerful enough to smack against the sorcerer's chest with a wet slap, the second following close behind and eagerly painting his bellyscales. Derrik whined as he rode out the waves of pleasure, clenching down hard and tight, quivering against the shaft buried deep inside of him. The pressure must have been too much for the smaller male to bear, for half a heartbeat later, he too was squealing with wanton pleasure, arching his back and burying that tool deep inside where it pulsed and throbbed, delivering thick gouts of his potent semen deep within Derrik's cloaca. The sensation of being filled was delicious; were he not already in the throes of orgasm, it likely would have sent him there.

Moments passed leaving him in a sex-induced stupor, lying panting on the ground and swimming in the sensations that still reverberated up and down his body. At some point, the smaller male pulled back, withdrawing, leaving him feeling empty yet satisfied at the same time. When he spoke, he still used his native draconic tongue, but this time it was intelligible. "Oh, yes ... you will serve me well ... ah, your name. Give me your name."

His name seemed so trivial, so unimportant, so very far away. His mind was trying to deal with other things at the moment, trying to remember how he had gotten here, trying to remember how he had earned this opportunity to share, to serve. "My name ... ah ... Gar ..." He shook his head. What kind of name was Gareth? It was no better than the other name on the tip of his tongue, but Derrik was no proper name either. Where was he coming up with that? Why couldn't he remember his own name? "My name ... it is ... mmmm ..."

"Rukh. Your name shall be Rukh." The sorcerer nodded down to him with a satisfied smile. "You will serve me well, Rukh.

He smiled at that. Yes, it was a good, sensible name, but more than that, he would serve well indeed. It sure beat ... whatever it was he had done before. Something to do with dice. Some kind of gambler?

"Come now, Rukh. It is time for you to meet your new brethren; they will be pleased to meet their new clan-mate."

He paused, looking at the sorcerer's eyes, and wondering. They looked so familiar, with their dirty-blue color, so much different than the other kobolds he had met. It didn't matter; he would have plenty of time to wonder on that later. Picking up a few scraps of the oversized clothing that he found about himself, he tied a few around himself loosely to preserve what little of his modesty remained. Yes. There would be much time for thought later.

His loins still throbbed lightly with the encounter, and as he strode out of the cage to follow after, he found them to be strangely wobbly, as if they did not want to work, as if he were unused to walking on them. He almost stumbled as he made his way around some large, heavy crates, having to catch himself on the side to keep from falling over.

There were four more kobolds there, all of them splayed out on the floor and looking rather pleased with themselves. The scent of semen was strong on the air, and as he turned the corner, they all looked up to grin at him. It had been more than obvious what they had been up to.

"Come," the sorcerer said on his way past, gesturing to the others. "There will be enough time for fun and games, later. Our new brothers must be introduced to the clan; come."

The four kobolds all got to their feet to follow, one of them lagging behind lightly, wearing a slightly hazy, confused look. Rukh thought that he looked oddly familiar, as if they had met before; he almost thought that he could come up with the kobold's name. He was also quite handsome. Perhaps he would be able to introduce himself in full, later. Rukh smiled wickedly at the thought.

That, and all of the others. There were so many of them, he had no doubt; already, he could hear dozens, if not dozens of dozens, of voices up ahead, echoing off the various walls and murmuring up to where they were at. The four kobolds followed after their leader, and Rukh followed shortly behind them. There were so many to meet, so many to become familiar with.

He couldn't really remember how he had gotten here, except for the fact that he had been looking for something, something important. While he couldn't quite be sure who had set him on this path, why they had sent him here, or what it was they wanted him to do, he could be quite sure of one thing at least. He had found exactly what it was he was looking for.

Ah, yes. It really was hard to beat being a kobold.