FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Reforged, Season 2

Part 1

comidacomida copyright 2022

Arthur still dreamed about Sabrina, but he'd long-since-stopped being caught up in it and mistaking them for reality. When he first started dreaming of his deceased "almost-wife" it had been in a romantic capacity, or sometimes sexual, or even just the mundane life they shared together, not in wedlock, and yet still together. Even though he still had the dreams, however, they had changed over time. Arthur still dreamed of a reality that could not be but, instead of his imagination creating a dream in which she was still alive and still loved him, he dreamed of something just as equally as unlikely.

The two sat in their cottage back in Hearthbridge; it felt like a lifetime past. The city hadn't been destroyed by summoned fiends, Sabrina was still alive, and the two of them were close-- no longer romantically, but close enough to be seated together holding hands. It was then that, like the other most recent dreams of Sabrina, that the absurdity of the situation reached the point that Arthur could no longer convince himself to continue the fantasy. Looking to him, Sabrina gazed into his eyes with tears in her own. She gave his hand a gentle, sympathetic squeeze as she spoke the words that she never would have in real life. "Arthur... I am SO sorry for what I put you through."

Most times he awoke as his mind refused to play along. Other times his own voice speaking an objection was enough to awaken him. That time, however, it was a startled scream which roused him from his slumber, followed by a terse, muffled exclamation from an indignant female voice. The berating statement was followed very quickly by a barking retort that was unmistakably Harold; it was also loud enough that it managed to remain clearly discernible through Arthur's closed door. "Well, if you have a problem with what me and my brother do in our room then you shouldn't look in on us next time, wench!"

Sighing, Arthur got out of bed; it was one of the finest ones he'd ever known-- far nicer than what he had back in his old hut. Wrapping a night robe about himself, the blacksmith opened the door and peered out into the hall. Sighing, he was not entirely surprised to see Harold standing just outside his own room, dressed in nothing but his fur; the Gnoll's penis was hanging freely from its sheath, semi-hard and dripping. Harold, for his part, was standing shamelessly, one paw on his hip and the other shaking in the direction of a chamber maid quickly making her getaway down the hall, mumbling to herself something about common courtesy and closing their door before they engage in such activities.

Ever the patient father, Arthur approached the situation calmly. "Harold... back into your room. Let's go."

More than just directing his son, the blacksmith led the indignant Gnoll back to the safety and privacy of a closed door. The room Harold shared with his little brother Lucas was, as usual, messy. Although the two had been relatively obedient and orderly back in Hearthbridge the road had changed them; both had become much more self-confident and much more casual when it came to completing chores-- the six week stay in the castle certainly hadn't done them any favors when it came to that last point. Arthur was more than willing to bring that up. "This room is a complete mess, boys."

Lucas, who was still laying on a reading desk finally slid off of it, a long streak of Gnoll semen leaking out of his tail hole once he was standing up. While Harold stood there, completely comfortable in nothing but his fur, the Kobold did his father the courtesy of putting on a robe very similar to the blacksmith's, albeit, much smaller. Lucas was also surprisingly receptive to the input. "Sorry, Dad... it's been a busy last few days." Gesturing to one corner of the room piled high with books and scrolls, the Kobold added "That's all MY mess. I'll clean it up today. I promise."

Glancing to the Gnoll, who was idly adjusting his testicles as he scratched his groin, Arthur leveled his 'dad tone'. "And the rest of this mess?"

Harold made his usual pouting face, lips folding down over his jowls as he scowled. "Come on, Dad... isn't that why the castle has servants?"

Despite being guests of Sir Wasker, Arthur wasn't about to test his host's hospitality. "Yes, Harold, but they serve Sir Wasker, not us. What have I told you about the responsibilities of a good guest?"

His middle son scowled deeper, but acknowledged the teachings. "Kord looks favorably upon those who serve their host even as they are served by their host."

Arthur nodded in satisfaction of his son's delivery of the saying, even if Harold had done so in a less-than-ideal tone. "Very good, Harold. Respectful guests do not wear out their welcome as quickly and are invited back for future visits."

Lucas had, in the meantime, gone to the cluttered corner, a snail-trail following him on the carpet. Arthur winced inwardly at the extra effort the cleaning staff would have to exert, but the blacksmith had to admit that his smallest son's attention to his studies was commendable, especially since they couldn't act until Lucas discovered what they needed to know. "Lucas... how goes the research?"

The Kobold was all smiles. "Better than good, Dad! I'm pretty sure I have it narrowed down to one of two barrows."

Over the course of the prior weeks, Arthur and his group had done well in making a name for themselves. The blacksmith was still plenty young but he'd never in his wildest dreams considered starting an adventuring party in his mid 30s and yet life seemed to have a different plan for him. During their stay in Draven or, more specifically Draven Castle, The Reforged had completed a number of jobs as approved by the Adventurer's Guild. The group of six had started to establish a reputation for themselves and, unlike back in Hearthbridge, the majority of people in Draven didn't mind humanoids-- except when they were rutting away heedless of their door being open to observers in the hall, apparently.

Arthur, as it turned out, was not the only one summoned to the room by the commotion. A deep voice calling from the hallway heralded Peter's arrival. "Father... is everything well? One of the chamber maids sounded--- oh."

The Minotaur was both the largest and eldest of Arthur's adopted sons and, as such, he tended to be simultaneously more well behaved and more responsible than Harold or Arthur. It didn't mean that Arthur loved his other sons any less, but he DID often rely on Peter's level head. That, and, for the past two months the Minotaur had been following the path of the Paladin, and was invaluable for helping to keep his brothers in line. Judging from the expression on Peter's muzzle, Arthur realized that he wouldn't need to explain anything to his eldest. "Good morning, Peter."

As anticipated, the Minotaur's first statement said it all. "This room is a mess."

With four of their party gathered, Arthur was almost ready to make their next plans... presuming they had any. Gesturing to the Kobold, the blacksmith stated "Lucas has a lead on the Ouroboros of Taj'Grir."

Peter's ears raised. "Truly? That is incredibly good news. Have we given any thought as to which contract we'll satisfy?"

Arthur heard at one time that adventurers occasionally had hard decisions to make, but he never presumed that, during their tenure in Draven that they would accept a mission which had three competing employers. Apparently, ever since a rumor of the Ouroboros being somewhere in the vicinity of the local lands, various parties expressed an interest. Since Reforged earned the right to compete for the contracts, that also meant that they could select their patron. Unfortunately, considering the ramifications of selecting any specific patron, it was not entirely a cut-and-dry decision... for most of the group, anyway.

Orvig, as usual, had no trouble presenting his council, which hadn't changed in the last three days Lucas had spent researching its possible locations. "We can always reserve the right to turn it over to Sir Wasker... he can provide us a finder's fee and then he will be able to decide where it goes."

Harold snorted. "Gold is great and everything, but we still have plenty of that. Besides-- it's not every day someone'll pay for some old relic with MAGIC ITEMS! I like the idea of handing it off to that collector off of Festival Square... it's not every day someone offers you a magic ring for payment!"

Lucas scowled. "The library will give us access to a collection of old magic scrolls! Do you have ANY idea how much good that could do for me? There's TONS of magic out there and I bet I could use em to cast even MORE spells! Sure, they may burn up after the mana infused into them is activated, but... come on: SPELLS!"

The Gnoll wasn't convinced that morning any more than he'd been the prior days. FINALLY pulling on some trousers, Harold rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure... at that rate we may as well retrieve it for the temple-- at least they'll give us an Amulet of Fire Resistance-- poor Peter could certainly benefit from it."

The Kobold took it as a personal attack. "Hey! If you guys weren't always in the way you wouldn't have to worry about a little bit of fur loss! My fireballs are--"

Peter's assertive voice, as usual, put an end to the argument. "Enough, you two... you're not a cub and hatchling so you can stop your bickering. Father will choose for us, as he always does. I trust in his wisdom."

Both the Gnoll and Kobold 'hrumph'ed and folded their arms across their chest, but Arthur knew it was mostly for show; despite how heated their disagreements could get they were brothers and, collectively, they were a family, and their love was unshakable. Looking to one of the newest members of their found-family, the blacksmith greeted Orvig; the Orc lingered in the doorway. "Did you sleep well, son?"

Even though Orvig Asler had been adopted and raised by Arthur's own lord, the past six weeks had erased any formality between them. The Orc had taken his family name and, as far as any of the party had to say in the matter, he was fully adopted just as much as any of the others. Nodding, Orvig leaned against the door frame. "I did, Father. Thank you. Peter's snoring has improved greatly."

While Harold and Lucas' sense of humor was obvious and bombastic, Orvig's was much more subtle, and only the faintest peak of a quirked lip and a little extra visible tusk revealed that the Orc was trying to get a raise out of Peter. The two of them, like Harold and Lucas, shared a room. Being the leader of the group (and head of the family), Arthur was the only one of their number to get a room all his own. The living arrangements seemed to work quite well, especially considering that Orvig and Peter were both knights, paladins, and well-kept while Harold the Ranger and Lucas the Sorcerer were--

Arthur's thoughts paused as what appeared to be a sticky bun fell from where it had apparently been stuck to the ceiling. Harold's ears swiveled to zero in on the offending pastry, but he had the presence of mind not to look in its direction. Lucas, on the other hand, had no such reservations, and even went out of his way to call attention to it, even pointing to where it had landed on the floor. "Oh! Look, Harold! It finally came down!"

Arthur didn't have to say a single word; Orvig beat him to it. "Lucas... Harold-- what were you doing that a sticky bun would end up attached to the ceiling?"

The Kobold grinned, maw full of needly sharp teeth as his extended index finger rotated to his hyena-like brother. "Harold said he wanted to show me how good he could juggle."

The Gnoll's scowl was withering. "And I was doing just FINE until you decided to stuff your greedy little talons down my--"

The comment was interrupted by the soft tapping of wood on wood; the final member of their party had arrived. Peering out from beneath his hood, Faelyn the Tabashi looked into the room., his bow resting against the door frame. The feline's eyes lingered on the pile of books in the corner. "We are all gathered. Does this mean we know where we're going?"

Lucas, as usual, had no sense of decency, and countered Harold's interrupted objection. "I just wanted to 'juggle' too."

Faelyn flicked an ear beneath his hood; the motion was barely visible against the cloth. "I take that as a 'no'."

Arthur realized that his visit to his sons' room, which had originally started as a 'teachable moment' had quickly become chaotic as the rest of the adventuring party joined them. Choosing to focus on the task at hand, he called for order. "Faelyn, don't linger in the doorway. Come inside. Orvig-- Peter: get some chairs and bring them here to the table. Harold... Lucas... come on over."

Moving to the largest horizontal surface in the room that wasn't the floor or bed, Arthur slapped the table with his hand. A series of "Yes, Father" echoed around the room. As the party gathered around the table, it was readily apparent that they were one chair short. Harold, who was still dressed in only some trousers, took a seat and patted on his thigh. "Hop on up, Lucas. You can sit in my lap."

Arthur quickly overrode the suggestion. "Lucas, you take my chair. I'll stand. Everyone find a chair."

Only once everyone was seated did the blacksmith begin the briefing, starting with the overview of thet ask at hand. "As you all know, Reforged was tasked with recovering an ancient relic called the Ouroboros of Taj'Grir. Based on what we've been told, it is a dinner-plate sized hoop shaped like two entwined serpents, one made from gold and the other silver creating a loop with each biting its own tail."

Lucas, who had been doing the vast majority of the research on the item, quickly took over the briefing. "The Ouroboros was created by a powerful Elf woman named Tajinji and is supposed to be able to amplify arcane power when worn a collar, but it's said to hold a horrible curse, and the last arcane magic user identified in the history books was driven insane... after destroying the whole countryside he was supposed to be protecting. Eventually he was put down by an order of druids."

Faelyn, the other 'scholar' of the group had also been doing his own research. "The Ouroboros of Taj'Grir was made by a Werebear druidess by the name of Grir with the aid of her lover, Tajinji, who later betrayed her. It was originally crafted from yew and willow, but, after the betrayal, Tajinji later transmuted it to be made of metal. The 'curse' is because the power of the Ouroboros was never meant to be used by casters of arcane magic."

Lucas stood up on the table indignantly, as if taking that story as a personal affront. "And turning it into the scholars at the library is perfect. They can keep it safe and we can get some scrolls in return!"

Harold snorted. "I still prefer the collector... you saw that guy's mansion: he'll lock it away somewhere and we'll get a magic ring out of the deal. Do you have any idea what I could do with invisibility?"

Peter, as in previous discussions was more than happy enough to champion the idea of giving the relic to the temple. "The priests will care for it well."

The Gnoll snickered next to the Minotaur, even giving him a light elbow. "You just like the idea of an amulet of fire resistance-- considering all the flame Lucas throws around I can respect that."

Leveling a gaze back at his brother, Peter said only "Behave." Harold scowled in response and, with a 'hrumph', folded his arms across his chest.

orvig, as before, brought up the obvious middle-ground answer. "I've said it before, Father: we always have the option of turning it into Sir Wasker. He'll provide us a finder's fee and do with it what should be done."

A very displeased feline growl rumbled softly from Faelyn. Arthur was actually surprised since the usually subdued Druid-in-training usually didn't express many strong opinions. "Is everything alright, Faelyn?"

The Tabashi glanced his way, paws wringing together in front of him on the table. "The Ouroboros of Taj'Grir is a woodland relic, formed by druidic magic for--"

Lucas interjected "Druidic AND Arcane... they made it together, you know."

Arthur patiently reminded his littlest son "Give Faelyn a chance to speak before you interrupt, Lucas."

The Kobold obediently acquiesced. "Sorry, Dad."

The blacksmith encouraged Faelyn to continue. "Go ahead."

Shooting a seething glance at Lucas, the Tabashi did. "The relic should be restored, and brought to a druidic circle."

Harold's ears went straight up, then fell flat. "You're kidding, right? I'm all for woodlands and nature, but this is an adventuring contract. We have several different employers who want it and, like Orvig says, if we can't decide on who to give it to we can at least get paid for retrieving it by handing it over to Sir Wesker. Going into the woods-- I mean... how do we--- do you even know where we can find some druids who would know what to do with it?"

The thought of such a direction was obviously so unappealing to Harold that the usually verbal Gnoll actually tripped over his words trying to express his objection. Arthur realized that they were going to dissolve into arguments if he didn't step in; it had happened almost daily since they first toyed with the idea of accepting the mission. "Alright. That's enough, everyone. We have to find it before we can worry about what to do with it."

The group once again acknowledged his word on the matter and everyone fell silent. Nothing was said for several moments until, once Arthur was sure that peace would prevail, he addressed Lucas. "So you think you have it narrowed down to one of two barrows?"

The Kobold nodded. "Yeah. There's one north of Draven, and the other to the south east. It's definitely one of those."

Faelyn didn't even hesitate, pulling a scroll out of the air when a purposeful gust of wind brought it to him. "The one to the south east. The moment he glanced at it, the Tabashi set it on the table, pointing to the sketched map on its surface. "I had it narrowed down to three, and all of mine are south of this place. This is the one."

Having reached some kind of consensus, the Kobold and Tabashi gathered together off amidst Lucas' mess of books, tomes and scrolls to compare notes while Arthur, Harold, Orvig and Peter continued the conversation. It was Orvig who led the talk at that point. "Once we know our destination I will be able to restock our supplies. Presuming you have a plan, Father, we can leave first thing in the morning tomorrow."

Peter's ears raised. "It is not even noon, Orvig... could we not leave today?"

Arthur shared a glance with Orvig; the blacksmith could tell that he and the Orc were of the same mind. When the Human nodded to his green-skinned 'son', the Knight spoke for both of them. "We have some cleaning to be done. Despite the prevalence of servants, I can imagine Father would not want us to leavae our rooms in such conditions and it appears that Lucas and Harold have made quite a mess."

Harold grinned wide, running the toes of a paw across the sticky, shimmering trail that Lucas had left along the carpet. "Guilty as charged."

* * * * *

True to Orvig's word, by nightfall the Orc had obtained sufficient supplies for over a week's worth of travel. The barrow they sought was less than three days away by foot, and, since they had the use of a wagon which would improve their speed, Arthur was confident that they were suitably stocked for the trip. The blacksmith had spent the day inspecting the group's weapons and armor; considering the majority of the weapons they had were magically enchanted, none required any maintenance. He double-checked armor and equipment, spending time at Draven's forge where he was welcomed by the local artisans. He wasn't alone and, as the rest of the craftsmen left for the night, Arthur stayed late, joined by the eldest of his sons.

Peter was dedicated to the art of blacks mithing and, even though he didn't have the finest technique for minute artistry that came so easily to Harold, no one in the Smith household, not even Arthur himself could get metal to give way and bend to a hammer in the way the Minotaur could. Working late into the evening, the two took great care to make certain that their equipment would be ready for the task ahead. By the time they were done with their work the sun had already set-- they were so busy with their craft that no torches or candles had been lit; the only light came from the fires of the forge.

Despite being at home with the heat, Peter was, nevertheless, covered in fur; Arthur had doffed his shirt, sticking with his trousers and apron, but Peter had reduced his clothing to just the apron and a loincloth. Thick streaks of ash and soot marred his pure white fur, much of which was plastered against his flesh due to the sweat and grime which gathered on him during their work. Arthur let the fire begin to die down and the powerful tinge of heated metal started to fade, at which point his son's heady, musky scent became all the more noticeable.

Plunging a spare cloth into the dousing bucket, Arthur began to wipe down his neck and shoulders while Peter finished securing the forge for the night; it wasn't their shop, which meant that it was all the more important that they respect it. The Minotaur's body odor became even more apparent when Peter joined him by the water; without a word, Arthur transferred the cloth to his son's hand before moving to where he'd set his shirt earlier in the day. "That will suffice for now, son... but you should really have a proper bath before bed."

Out of all of his sons, Peter had always been the most obedient when it came to bath time. That night was no exception. "Of course, Father. I wouldn't want to make a bad impression. Harold and Lucas always mention how much I smell after a work day and I know that most humans have... 'opinions' when it comes to my--"

Realizing how self-conscious his son was when it came to his differences, Arthur wasn't about to let him go down that line of thinking. Wrapping his arms as far around Peter's waist as they could encircle, the blacksmith gave his eldest son an enormous hug. "Enough of that, Peter. I'm not most humans, and you know I have never objected about your scent. You're a blacksmith, and blacksmiths sweat."

Letting out a happy sigh, Peter rotated in his father's grasp and returned the hug, going so far as to picking Arthur up to give him a firm squeeze. Once they'd exchanged embraces, Peter wrung out the cloth he'd borrowed and offered it back to his father. "Let me get my clothes and we can go back to the castle... I'm sure the servants will still have some water available for the bathing chamber."

Arthur was going to suggest the same so he had no reason to object. "I'm sure your brothers will have eaten by now. Once we get clean you are welcome to go see if the kitchen has anything for us while I check in to see how much progress Lucas and Faelyn have made with the map."

Peter offered a good-natured smile. "And to make sure that Harold hasn't gotten into any trouble?"

That had indeed been on Arthur's mind as well, but he wasn't going to bring it up. Leveling a fatherly stare at the Minotaur, the blacksmith reminded him "Harold is finding his own way, Peter. He may not follow the same path as you but he means well. I'm sure he's not gotten into any trouble."

His eldest son nodded his large head, walking out onto the street beside Arthur. "I know, Father... but sometimes I worry that he will make a poor decision which may cause harm to him or another."

The blacksmith nodded thoughtfully before reaching up to pat the Paladin on his shoulder. "Those are the kinds of thoughts that keep ME up at night, you know... You are still too young to worry about being a father, Peter, so you let ME worry about Harold, and you just keep focusing on your own studies."

The Minotaur nodded. "I will, father... but I'll also worry about Harold at the same time. And Lucas too."

Chuckling, Peter gave his son another side-hug. "I suppose I should expect as much... just so long as you're not spreading yourself too thin. I know you know that I appreciate your help keeping the peace, Son. You've always been happy to step in wherever I need you, but I also know that you take on a lot. You may have broad shoulders, Peter, but no one man can put an entire family on their back."

Their walk took them to the gatehouse of the castle and, as they talked, Peter began to slow down, stopping right outside the walls. "You do all the time, Father. You took in Harold and Lucas and me... and also Orvig and Faelyn now too. We're a family, which means we should be able to share the burden with you. You've put us first for the longest time-- it's alright to let us help now and again."

The blacksmith knew his son was right, but, at the same time, he wasn't sure he was ready for the shifting dynamic of power. They were growing up-- or GROWN, even, but they would always be his sons. Still, Arthur realized, they were a family AND an adventuring party; he needed to be able to trust them to make good decisions and, quite often, rely on them to keep him safe. If he wasn't willing to let them stand on their own then how could he trust them to be partners in critical moments. Relenting as much to his own thoughts as Peter's words, the blacksmith nodded. "You're right, Peter... in that case, I'll let you worry about Harold and Lucas, but you have to realize that I'll be worrying about you at the same time."

The Minotaur and Human walked through the castle gatehouse together, each with an arm around the other and a smile on their faces. Peter nodded to the two guardsmen watching the night time comings and goings, waiting until they had been left behind before leaning down to nuzzle Arthur atop his head. "Deal."