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Pathfinding: An Adult Choose Your Own Adventure

Eighty-sixth Entry

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Vote Tallies

1 - Scouting - 7

2 - Diplomacy - 0

3 - Research - 12 - the clear winner!

• with imp y/n - 5/3

4 - Surgical Strike - 0

5 - Attack! - 0

6 - Claim the Land - 0

7 - Rally the Levies - 0

Additional Votes

Feel free to make additional scene suggestions within the context of the present line of the plot.

Vote Options in progress

* More Hanaro sex scenes (Rufus and Urtan primarily)

* Rael/Erlend romance, Erlend character development

Author Notes

Ah, good to hand the reins of command over to you, the readers, once more. Still, it's very nice to have all those scenes folks wanted to see written up and shared. They were fun while they lasted, certainly, but, really, it's time to get back to proper playtime.

Looks like research was the clear winner. It also looks as though we are clinically insane: we're releasing a known demon in the hope that she'll help us! That does give us a nifty 85% chance of success, though. Guess we'll see how that works out, won't we? >:)

If possible, I'll try to squeeze in the runner-up, scouting. If it just doesn't work out, scouting will remain a vote option for next time.

Pathfinding Eighty-sixth Entry

Another long, boring night. The orc hadn't even earned a name yet, so there wasn't really much use in arguing the order to go out on guard duty, not with so many larger, stronger, more powerful orcs out there. Ones with names.

In human society, the most dangerous period of a young human's life was childhood. If a human could make it past puberty, they'd probably live into their seventies, barring complications like especially noxious plagues, wars, and accidents. For an orc, however, the reverse was true: hardy as they were from birth, most orcs survived through childhood. However, once they hit puberty, the raging hormones that churned within them spurred every orcish male to acts of violence and carnage as soon as possible. Thus, most orcs died, not in their younger years, but once they were old enough to bear arms, whereupon they would promptly get themselves killed in some conflict, either with other orcs, or non-orcs - the exact method of death wasn't terribly important, so long as the orc in question died fighting, preferably after forcing their seed into a female - species wasn't typically that important, since orcs were notorious for their ability to interbreed with almost anything, and their sperm was known to survive for up to three months inside a female, ready to impregnate the first ova to appear. Should an orc somehow survive a conflict, that orc received a name, and just having a name meant you were worthy of respect and prestige and breeding rights among your tribe, with hardy orc women, rather than the weak females of other races.

Hormones raging inside of him, the young orc fumed and fretted, his green knuckles almost white on the spear by his side. He was so worked up, he wasn't really much use at paying attention to his surroundings. If the orcish male had been paying attention, he would likely have noticed that he wasn't the only guard on duty suffering from the forced discipline of guard duty. Most of the orcs were birthed from the gelatinous central mass of the Warlord's spawnling, spat out right at the point of young adulthood, when they were ready for their first fights. Their entire lives had been composed of training for war, encouraged by the promise of the fresh, fertile pussies of the soft folk that made their homes in this fair land. And now...now they waited, and they watched, and they stewed.

At least, they were stewing, until a whiff of something hit their sensitive, snoutlike nostrils. It was a scent all the young orcs on that side of the Warlord's camp recognized immediately, by instinct alone: the scent of a female.

Loincloths and codpieces almost immediately bulging, the orcs left their posts at a run, not bothering to call out to each other or to their superiors behind the gates. The lure of sex was too much for these hormone-riven males, and it only grew more heated, more desperate, as they heard the sound of singing, soft and lilting and beautiful. Though an orc couldn't give two figs about beauty, the promise carried by that song, a slower and more melodious version of a bawdy tavern drinking song, was enough to fire their loins, stoking their lust to a fever's pitch.

There she was! Just past a slight rise in the flat plains where the Warlord had made her camp, only barely out of sight of the camp itself, was a shining, star-kissed figure. Shapely, feminine, perfect, she sparkled against the background of the night sky. She was dancing there, the effect strange and yet no less alluring for the four dainty paws with which she danced, her hands stroking over her sleek, naked upper body, her long, bushy tail flicking to and fro, giving the onlooking orcs the most tantalizing of glimpses of the gates of heaven.

With a mighty bellow, the first orc raised his voice high, and was soon joined by his fellows. They would show this wench the _true_power of orcs! Yet, even as the greenskinned brutes closed on the four-legged foxling, surrounding her, their breath hot as they tore at their clothes and armor, scattering it on the grass all around, her expression never changed, those flashing green eyes never wavering, never losing their promise of erotic ecstasy.

Hints and promises, of course, meant nothing to an orc, and immediately the first orc seized the base of the foxtaur vixen's tail, jerking it roughly upward, before shoving his muzzle beneath. A single whiff was all he needed to know the story: the female was already pregnant! Rather than discouraging the orcs, however, as the first snarled the word out to his brethren in arms, it only enflamed them all the more. Coming from a species where multiple births were common, and often by multiple fathers, learning that a female had a baby inside of her only made other orcs even more maddened with the desire to fill her with their own as well!

Wasting no more time, the orc jammed his fat, uncut green cock into the vixen's down-lined quim, grunting like a wild boar as he hunched over her, pounding her slick pussy with all his might, making her wail loudly. Not in pain, however, as other females might have done, but in pleasure - the vixen had been slick and wet and ready for penetrating long before the orcs ever arrived. It was a good thing, too: the moment the first orc's hips started slapping the vixen's dainty backside, her tailbase clenched tightly in one meaty hand, the other greenskins closed in with a shared cry of lust-fuelled eagerness.

Bare breasts were soon mauled by rough hands, squeezed and squashed and pinched and pulled until the nipples were distended and tingling terribly. The vixen's sweater puppies were so sensitive, in fact, that when first one and then another orc bit down on them, she wailed, squirting out copious juices around the meaty green shaft already stuffing her quim. The orc grunting behind her gave a loud bellow almost immediately afterward, squirting a copious load into her white-furred sex.

Now the orcs started to advance in earnest. Squealing loudly, the vixen's tight pink tailhole was the next target, skewered and spread so very widely by a brutal orcish shaft, and soon joined by another cock in her cunny, that in turn was joined by a second. If her tailhole hadn't already been thoroughly oiled, and her slit especially slick before the orcs had appeared, the vixentaur might have been seriously injured. As it was, her cries were soon cut off by another cock as her head was dragged down, and a cruel shaft forced brutally to the back of her throat. A third joined the two already in her pussy, while another cock jammed into both tailhole and mouth, and brutal hands squashed her breasts together, forming a tight channel for still another thrusting orcprick. The savage, tribal males were all over her! Lifted off the ground by the force of their pumping hips, the vixentaur kicked and struggled feebly, desperate, muffled mewling just barely escaping her crammed, delicate muzzle, tears streaming down her cheeks as she battled through her instinct to gag, to clench, to in any way resist the untamed lusts of these relentless monster-men. Instead, she reached out, wrapping her hands around two more rampant shafts nearby, waiting their turns, and started pumping her black-furred fingers nice and fast.

Made for seeding females as swiftly as possible, a race of well-designed sexual predators, young and strong and healthy, besides heedless of the needs of their partner, the orcs started to cum within mere minutes. One after another bellowed loudly, making sure to put the first squirt inside the squirming vixen's body, before pulling out, shooting the rest of their thick loads over her deep red fur, staining it white. The two pummeling her backside made sure to coat her tail as well, until it stuck to her lower back, and her rump was matted down with semen. Her face was blasted again and again, while her breasts and belly were well-coated by the one that had been raping her breasts. Only the three in the foxtaur female's quim didn't pull out - they made very sure to hold themselves in nice and deep as, one by one, they squirted their loads almost straight into her womb. While bukkake was considered a fine way to mark a ravished female as property of the tribe, it was considered wasteful - perhaps the only sort of waste an orc recognized - to not spend every last drop of cum possible inside a female's sex.

Lying on her side, breathing heavily, her tongue lolling out as she panted and gasped for breath, Shara was only vaguely aware of rough hands grabbing her dainty, black-furred paws, and her equally dainty wrists, lifting them up, tying them to a stout spear's haft. All she could consciously form in her mind right then was a sense of deep and lasting gratitude that she couldn't have any more babies inside her than the ones Cassidy had planted the night before...and that the orcs hadn't had a shaman among their number, one who could have made her bear even more offspring with the twisted mating magic of his degraded people. She'd heard tales of women who'd been worked upon by such spellcasters, their bellies bloated, forced to squirt out orcbrats every day like some queen ant.

But at the camp of the Warlord, there was a spawnling...and if it had its way with her, she'd be in at least as bad a position.

Moments later, however, the orcs starting to lift the spear's length onto their shoulders fell, pierced by many arrows. Swift, darting forms rushed through the high grass around the nameless orcs, and they fell, more arrows flying from all directions, or so it seemed to the dazed greenskins. In a matter of minutes, they were all dead, dead without even a cry for help.

"It's about time you got here," Shara got out with a cough as Cassidy came up to her, Wicker and Jean, Cassidy's smooth-skinned bunny-eared son by Leta, following close behind. Behind them, wood elves, swift and silent and deadly, made their presences known as well, dragging the orcs off into the grass, to hide their bodies, ensuring no evidence remained. Cassidy and his two younger followers helped Shara unsteadily to her feet.

"The mission was a success," Cassidy said with a gentle smile, before leaning in, and kissing the vixen full on the lips...then pulling away, making a face. "Ick - orcbreath."

"If I wasn't the one who thought of this plan," Shara said, feigning a haughty attitude, "I'd be expecting quite a lot out of you when I get you back home. Hmm," then she rubbed her chin, her expression one of devious wickedness that only foxes can do properly, "but as I think about it, I suppose you are to blame, after all. So that means I'll be squeezing you for every last drop of repayment I can get."

"Whatever you say, dear," replied Cassidy with a light smirk, before helping Shara back toward the treeline, the foxtaur female more than a little wobbly on her feet.

[60% chance of success in scouting - rolled 26 - success!]

*

"Everything," said Rufus as he swept his large paws across the map, filled in by Cassidy's intelligence. "From Avalon City to the far side of the Warlord's camp. We know where everything is...and yet we know almost nothing about the Warlord herself...or her spawnling."

Rufus was standing before a large table in his tent, just as he supposed the leaders of this joint venture were standing in the command tent, restless that night, unable to catch more than a few snatches of sleep before he was up again, pacing the floor. Adel rested on a bed of soft pillows and furs, Urtan, Urta, and Hanaro by her side, all of them cuddled together as they observed the Alpha wolfen's nervous energy, some with worry, others with amusement.

"I've done my best," said Lesage, her face flushed with embarrassment as she curled her wings around her body. "Ryg has too. And everybody. Even Adel was helping us look..."

"Looking isn't enough," growled Rufus softly, stepping forward to cup the angelteen's chin, a naughty, toothy grin spreading across his face as he considered the winged girl, who he'd insisted be naked while she was in his tent. "I think you need a little...motivation."

"W-wait!" exclaimed Lesage, before squealing as she was easily bent over Rufus' knee, while he seated himself on a stool next to the map table. "Wait! I can get results! I just need a little more...eeeee!"

The squeals of the wriggling angelgirl were especially delicious, as the powerful, grey-furred male brought down his open palm on her pert bum again and again, turning her delicate skin a bright, glowing red in almost no time at all. Her tight-clasped, hairless cunny lips followed suit not long after, until they were throbbing and so-very-sensitive from his savage attentions.

"There is another option," said Adel, standing to rest her hands on Rufus' shoulders, though she made no effort to stop him as she admired the way his fingers were now working their way in and out of Lesage's clenching little cunny, still as tight as any mortal virgin's, the digits coming back slick with the angel's glistening juices. "We could always release the imp from the summoning sphere."

"That's mad!" exclaimed Lesage, looking up into Adel's blue eyes. "A succubus imp can't be trusted! It's twisted and perverse and lewd and mmmph!"

"Not a bad idea," Rufus commented as he casually forced his cock into Lesage's pretty mouth, promptly plugging off any further protests. "Go get the sphere, Adel. I would, but," he smirked down at the suckling face of the angel in his lap, "I'm a little busy right now."

"Of course," answered Adel, before soon returning with the small crystal sphere, setting it on the table.

"Guess it's simple enough to work," Rufus said with a shrug, reaching his other hand over to rest on top of the sphere. "Just touch it like so, and concentrate a little..."

"Ah!" came a soft cry, as quite suddenly a smooth, red-skinned little figure appeared on the table's surface, her back arched, her tiny bat wings spread, breasts thrusting outward. "Oooh," cooed the minute female creature, licking its lips with a forked tongue, its hands caressing their way down its perfectly-sculpted body. "It's so good to be free again!" Then she looked up at Rufus, smiling broadly, showing off the tiny fangs in her mouth. "How may I serve you, oh my master?" Seeing Lesage's wings sticking up over the edge of the table, the little imp stepped forward, her eyes growing huge, her inner thighs growing almost immediately soaked at the sight of an angel being degraded so, forced to suckle the hard shaft of a barbarian lordling. "I hope it has to do with helping you discipline your slave!" she added eagerly.

"I want to know about the Warlord," said Rufus, never missing a beat as he continued to roughly pump Lesage's head up and down, his tail lashing behind him on the stool. "And her spawnling. Everything you know, I want to know. Everything you can find out, I want to know that as well."

"Oh," answered the imp with a pout. "Well...all right. I guess I can help with that, too."

[85% chance of research success - rolled a 20 - success!]

Path Choices

Eventually, we need to make three successful rolls against either Diplomacy or Attack before we can win. We are allowed to switch between the two options. Of course, considering the prevalence of "bad end" scenarios out there, losing isn't necessarily a bad thing. Well, at least not for us, the audience.

1) Diplomacy - Adel and Rufus can still approach the Warlord with diplomatic intentions. It's hard to convince a successful conqueror to make peace, but not necessarily impossible by any means. The Coutraman Confederacy, where much of the Warlord's mayhem has taken place, is especially known for accepting new city-states, especially ones with big armies. Right now, armed with our new knowledge, our chances of success are 30% if we want to negotiate.

2) Surgical Strike - Cut then down! But...carefully. Knowing what we do about the forces we face, our chances of success have improved to 55% - still tough, but better than average. While this doesn't count as a full attack that works against the number of total successes we need to win, it does greatly increase our chances of success on an Attach! roll.

3) Attack! - 40% is the new chance of success we're sitting on after finding out more about our foe.

4) Claim the Land - Thanks to the research and scouting we've done, our chance of success to prepare the land for our advantage has increased to 60% - mostly thanks to the scouting, honestly, though Ryg has been looking into magical studies for us. And this will be a magical claiming, as well as a physical one.

5) Rally the Levies - We still have a 60% chance of getting the humans or halflings in the area on our side, with a hidden bonus on rallying the halflings. They're not traditional military folks, but that doesn't mean they're useless by any means. No, not by any means at all.