FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"This is a terrible idea," the orc said. His sinewy arms were crossed over his exposed, hairy chest. Black hair cascaded down his back. His bearded face twisted into a grimace. The head of the axe strapped to his back rapped against his backside as the group walked through the forest following the satyr who had promised the group sanctuary in the feywild. Around the three adventurers, the glade they traversed gradually began to shift into a more whimsical, uncanny version of itself. Plants began to grow in impossible configurations. Knotholes in trees became faces for but a flash before returning to normal. The air took on a pink sheen that seemed to fill the atmosphere with a twinge of magic.

"Relax," said his fox companion. He was leaner with leather gloves and a long trench coat with coat tails that billowed underneath his real tail. "A fey is bound to their word and he's a sealy. And he said we would be safe during our stay. We barely survived that little scrape with the banshee back on the road and I need a good long rest."

Kog, the orc, sneezed. The sound reverberated through the trees and seemed to elicit laughter from the foliage above. He grumbled, wiping his nose on his wrist. Looking ahead, he could see the copious amount of pollen in the air. Either the sneeze or the fragrant, musty air was rendering him light-headed.

"Zash, you can never be too careful," said the puma, Knock. The puma, strapped with bandoliers which, in turn, were strapped with spellbooks and potion vials, was on high alert as he berated the fox. "Kog is correct. We should be wary. The fey have You never know--"

"Come, come!" the satyr beckoned. His goat legs skipped through the improbably tall grass. "Don't dally, boys! We have a road of wonders ahead of us!"

The party's eyes were drawn forward as the leaves and grass began to shift colour. A wave of blue washed over the forest, then a wave of pink to match the atmosphere, followed by a soft shade of purple. They stepped over a set of bushes to find themselves in a clearing laden with multicoloured wildflowers. The three took wary glances at each other.

"What do you think?" said Knock.

The fox rubbed his right temple. "Now I'm not a magic man, Knock. But I think--and stay with me here--we might just have flowers on our hands. OoooOoooOOooo, spooky!"

"You're dragging your feet!" the satyr sang. He was far ahead of the trio, tap dancing through the flowerbed. As his hooves stomped on the delicate greenery, the flowers shot right back into place, unperturbed. All his reverie spurred up a cloud of pollen that shimmered in the moonlight. "You'll miss the party if you take too long!"

The orc, nose still backed up from this blasted pollen, put a hand on the chests of his companions and pushed them back. "I'll go first. Kill him if he tries something."

His vulpine companion flapped his fingers and thumb together to mock his serious statement while the puma nodded with understanding. Kog locked eyes with the satyr who bore that constant gentle grin across his face. He narrowed his eyes at the goat-legged trickster. Tentatively and without taking his eyes off him, the orc took a step with a sandaled foot into the flower field.

--

"Con save."

"Uh...that's a 3. Does a 3 do it?"

"Interesting."

"Wait, I have bonuses!"

"It won't matter."

--

In a concentrated stream, tendrils of pollen surged into the orc's nostrils. Sensing danger, he attempted to fan away the spores with his massive palms but with seeming sentience, the spores filtered through his fingers and poured into his nose and mouth. The orc recognized that trickery was afoot but for the life of him could not stop filling his lungs. He tried to step backward, but his limbs were going numb as if they'd fallen asleep. Speaking of falling, as more of his chest filled with spores, Kog felt a sense of weightlessness before his entire frame fell forward as weak as a kitten. His head felt just as full of spores as his body, a sloshy, heady sensation mixing in his brain.

With horror, he watched as the source of those spores approached him at a strangely glacial pace. He wasn't sure if it was fey magic or his own perception, but the fall seemed to go on for hours. The flowers seemed to spin towards him like a whirlpool he couldn't escape from. Swimming in a sea of pollen, he giggled as all the pretty petals changed colours and cascaded in the wind. That exhale brought a moment of clarity before he took another inhale without thinking. Once again, a rush of dopamine and ecstasy overtook him as he fell for eons and eons.

"Enjoy your rest, weary warrior! Pick your favourite and it's yours!" he heard the satyr's echo far off in the distance. Obeying the suggestion, his eyes locked onto a scarlet tulip which seemed to be growing before his very eyes. Said tulip warped and expanded until the petals became larger than the orc himself. An inviting aroma teased his nostrils and made the proud warrior groan in shameless arousal. The flower grew and grew and grew beneath him until it became as encouraged and alluring to the weary orc as a down bed from a high-class inn. "In you go!"

He wanted to reach out with his arms towards the soft petals, but they were so numb he wasn't sure if he had arms anymore. After another breath he wasn't sure what arms were. He giggled and realized how much his voice sounded like that of a tickled maiden's. That thought too passed after his face finally, mercifully nestled into the tulip's yellow pollen sack. Once he was inside, the petals closed around him, cutting him off from the outside world and his companions. Eyes lolling upward, the prone warrior watched as the walls of his new prison began to change colour. Like an aurora, he watched, high out of his mind, as the giant flower showed him visions of pleasure and hedonism. His battle was over, it whispered. The time for rest was earned.

A stamen slipped into his mouth. Pacified, the orc suckled upon the appendage without a care. Every part of him went numb except for what lay between his legs, which had become incredibly active. As sweet, delicious orange nectar began to flow from the stamen, his own nectar shot from his cock.

'Don't worry,' the plant seemed to promise, 'we'll have all that meat juice replaced by morning.'

The orc didn't understand the implications while riding this high. Nor did he notice that his green skin had become to turn hard and bark-like. Nor did he feel his eyes start to glaze over, his white sclera turning black. Nor did he recognize that his hair had begun to fall out and new follicles of grass were quickly taking its place. Nor did he wonder what the satyr had in store for his companions.

After all, the satyr promised they would be safe during their stay in the feywild. And he decided they required a very long vacation indeed.