FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Knight and The Muse

By Laz Briar

Even amongst the shaded halls of Zul-Zahal, the splintering heat of the Red East snaked its way within the stone corridors.

Yoris never got used to it. Upon his arrival, he had to relieve himself of the Solarian plated armor, lest be cooked alive like a holiday goose. Even then, the heat was unforgiving, unyielding. And the nights? They too were an anomaly, a dread cold often replacing the temperature of a sun scorned day. How the natives managed to conjure a life from this inhospitable stretch of scarlet sand amazed him.

Perhaps it was a mixture of old magics and aboriginal knowledge. As his guides lead him through the rectangular halls of the rectangular citadel, the mystic nature of the land and its people surrounded him. It was enough, at least, to distract him from the gentle hot bearing down on him.

Indeed, his attendants were dressed in brilliant robes of sapphire, while the halls were carved with luminous marks from times ancient. Floating stones fit with gleaming gems offered light, and guards stood watch in armors of brilliant gold hues.

Such melding of the arcane and muted objects was unheard of, at least in his homeland. Even the sand seemed to coil and transform at the will of the people, where walls and objects shifted as though made of water. And the natives, they were bizarre and enchanting as well. Men of dark complexion with dyed beards and colorful, singing insects dotted the trader's square. Serpent chimera with thick plates of scaled armor stood guard wielding blades of carved bone. Small, exotic vixens with tall ears danced with the sands and spun tales in coiling smoke.

Fascinating, all of it.

But he was not here for pleasure. Well, not anymore, at least. His time in the Red East was part diplomatic, part military. The great Ath-Kal-Katan, a massive serpent man with claims of divine blood, lord of Zul-Zahal, had called upon the Solarian forces to aid him in his fight against. . . well, what was it now? Yoris was so overwhelmed with names, they were starting to blend together.

The dead? That was as clear as he could put it. The Red East was ancient, according to citizens. Some believed it was the origin of all civilization, and that even Sol Solarius drew lineage here. Whatever the case, it also meant terrible, restless evils nested themselves in the oceans of red sand. The Sleepless Kings, that was the name. Old, ancient legions of the dying east who mastered unlife and demanded authority over all the living.

Suffice to say, Ath-Kal-Katan was having none of it. And so, Yoris found himself and a pocket of others commissioned to rend justice upon the Sleepless. Or at the least, one of their generals.

Again, he could not recall names too well. The heat was dizzying, and the soft, whispering language of his attendants lulled him, distracted him. It was so alien compared to the rowdy tavern talk of home. Ah, he wondered if Jenesse was serving her homemade honey brew, or if that fat titted mare from the southlands was about, selling her wares. . .

“The Katan shall honor you shortly, master Yoris."

Ah?

“Oh?"

He looked up. He hadn't even realized the robed attendants had lead him to the throne room, an enormous corridor large enough it could fit a house or two within it.

One of the attendants turned to him, bowing. “Yes. He has a great desire to award you personally, master Yoris."

“I see." Yoris bowed in respect.

He desired no honors or accolades, in truth. Yes, his blade did strike down the acolyte bent on bringing forth the will of the Silent, but it was not without aide. Lives of both east and west died to thwart the enemy, including a young squire under tutelage. It tinged the honor with a level of sadness, but Yoris would not decline. Those who fancied themselves divine probably didn't take too kind to that sort of thing.

The attendants lead him further into the throne room, until a great empty vassal – a stone seat thrice the size of even the largest man – lie before the Solarian knight.

“He is likely interested in a ravishing recount, master Yoris," said one of the attendants. “The great Katan has great love for tales of virtue and strength."

Yoris wiped sweat from his brow. “A story? I don't tell them well. Better for scribes and fancy letter-men. I just swing swords."

At once, both servitors turned to him, eyes leering through holes in their masks.

“Oh, but you must. No story is more true than from the wielder itself. A deed like this will forever live in the singing sands, master Yoris."

Yoris couldn't help but sense something behind the words. A threat, perhaps. Or fear?

“Huh. Don't have a choice then, eh?"

The attendants looked to each other. “You always have a choice," one said.

“Make sure it's the right one."

Well, Ath-Kal-Katan wasn't a lover of disappointment then. With a subdued nod, Yoris accepted and waited in the center, much to the delight of the robed servitors. It was quiet as they left, save for the ever-distant wind and creaking of Zul-Zahal. Damn, they could've at least given him some water.

The heat seemed to slow the seconds into agonizing, stretched lengths, because it felt eternity before new figures appeared. They emerged from behind the immense throne, serpentine guards, bearing luxurious armor dotted with gems of deep sapphire.

As more of them poured in, another figure materialized, a serpent woman with scales as dark as the night. Her eyes bore a ferocious green and she wore elaborate cloths with twirling marks etched along her sultry frame.

They came quietly, the woman taking place at the side of the throne, gazing out as though before a crowd. Only Yoris was in attendance, though. The quiet was soon broken as she began speaking in titles.

“His Eternal Eminence," she said in soft tones. “Katan of Zul-Zahal, of the Infinite Scales, blessed by Ebet, Len-Loz, Aphyitiir, Wielder of Skormek, Watcher of the Red East, Keeper of the Red East. . ."

Yoris blinked. The titles went on for a spell, and he found himself wishing it was some other great “hero" who was to be “rewarded." He wasn't good at stories, politics, or throne rooms. Bars and fox women on his lap, that was more his speed.

“. . . and heir to the Sun. He has blessed us with his presence this day."

Yoris muffled his sigh, waiting. There, at first, was another pregnant pause, and he wondered if this was part of the ritual too: obnoxious waiting.

Then, a gentle tremor rattled the floor. It came in tempos, soft thumps, growing louder and stronger. Footsteps.

Like something out of the tales of monster stories, the one they called Ath-Kal-Katan emerged, an immense contraption of armor, muscle, and scale.

Yoris, in his time, had born witness to astounding horrors, atrocities, brilliances, and wonderment. Giants with clubs made from men, a rain of golden arrows cast upon an enemy siege, a dragoness with tits larger than the whole of his upper body. But this. . . being was well beyond anything he could expect.

The Katan crept forward, eclipsing his guards and attendants with monstrous physique. His armor rippled with brilliant metals and colors while a terrifying, curved weapon rest on his side. His scales were as deep and luscious as the most flourishing forests, a sea of green clasped in bright golds.

There, on his head, lied a crown made to fit the shape of his serpent head, and upon this floated a small orb, a nexus of power or perhaps a jewel controlled by magical properties. He cast Yoris but one glance, then sat, and the weight of him sent a shockwave through the room.

Yoris didn't notice the heat anymore.

As the immense figure sat, his gaze affixed itself to Yoris. Studious and unending, unravelling the knight inch by inch. Ath's maw curled with a smile.

“I'm fascinated by the tales of the Knights of Solus. My conscripts bring me printings from your libraries, weaving journeys of men on horses, bearing colorful lances."

The voice cascaded over Yoris like oceans of warm oil, tinted with a cold, crisp hiss.

Ath folded his fingers together. “Is it true that a knight in blue armor stood against tides of ravagers in, oh, what was it called? The Midlands?"

Yoris didn't realize it was a question, abruptly digging through his mind for an answer.

“Ah, right. Yes. Boris the Blue-Foot. He sent a spear straight through the leader's skull, if I remember right."

Well, if he indeed remembered right, the story was a bit different. Boris was with an army and commanded the left century, and he only lanced a few ravagers if stories were correct, not the leader. But somehow, he didn't think an accurate portrayal interested the massive Ath.

“Uh, your Eminence," Yoris quickly added. This drew a chuckle from the Katal.

“Oh, fascinating. And is it true you have warriors with wings of fire? And your emperor wields a hammer of gold?"

Yoris nodded. “Aye."

He chanced a gentle correction. “The Empress Eternal has a hammer passed from Sol Solarius, or that's how the stories go. But they're stories, and I'm not much for em'."

He hoped this might deter the immense Ath from a lengthy recount, but it appeared to only further the massive serpent's interest.

“Yours is a kind beholden to a woman? What splendid oddities. The west with a gold sun never ceases to surprise me."

Yoris wasn't much for a friendly back and forth, especially not amidst the sweltering heat. So, he attempted to move things along.

“I was uh, told you wanted to hear what happened?"

Ath deflected. “I hear many things that happen, knight of Sola."

He leaned, still wearing the leviathan smile. “But you must mean the great deeds you were responsible for? At the helm of Izkireet?"

Yoris felt himself gripping the hilt of his sword, part in agitation and part anxiety. “Aye, your Eminience."

“Oh, I am indeed most curious."

Yoris huffed. He tried to think about how the bards back home might recount a tale, or stories by his grandfather. What did they focus on? Bah, he was never good at endless waxing. Still, if he didn't get it over with, he'd be trapped in the throne room til the moon rose.

So, Yoris did his best and began “weaving" a story about the events of Izkireet, where the mad followers of the Silent Kings were up to their ill-deeds. Most of it was straightforward, little in the way of embellishment or detail. Yoris found himself relaying events in a very matter-of-fact method, only discussing specifics.

“And what of the prophet?" Ath would ask midway through Yoris' “story."

Yoris blinked, losing his place. The prophet the Katan referred to was a man in ghoulish robes and a tall green helm, conducting a ritual to unleash hordes of the dead. Or something like that.

“He talked loud and moved a lot. Stuck a sword through his mouth and that shut him up."

For a moment, Yoris thought he heard thunder. Rather, it was the laughter of Ath.

“Indeed, indeed! What a brutish ending to a pompous lineage. If you had not silenced him, then you would die from listening to his restless babble. The Sleepless Kings are full of stories foul."

Yoris shrugged. “Looked that way."

He finished his tale, much in anti-climactic matter. It bore no grandiose heroes or men with blades of fire. No haughty speeches or deeds of nobility. Just an old knight, a few squires, and zealots draped in scarlet.

Ath-Kal-Katan, at least, looked sated.

“An event forever etched in the infinite sands. You, knight of Sola, have done a great thing for the Red East. Ebet shall forever bless your footsteps."

Yoris forced a smile. “Appreciate that, your eminence."

The Katan laughed. “Do you? Ah, but I hear the lie. Men do not find comfort in the quiet whispers of gods unseen. We are all only flesh, after all. So, Yoris of the Sola. I did not bring you here only to hear the brave deed myself. You are, of course, to be generously rewarded."

Yoris perked. Well, at least he was getting something, then. Back home the Solarian order might've given him an extended purse and an extra week for leave, but little else. Duty is constant, they say. But, the order certainly had nothing against gifts offered from grateful patrons.

“My vaults are endless and I hold artifacts older than the ages of kingdoms. I have weapons capable of conjuring storms. Mighty dune hounds with teeth harder than metal. Gems as large as a babe and worth the life of a king. What among these things could I grant you, mighty knight?"

Yoris might not have known much about weaving tales, but he could hear exaggeration pretty well. A good war dog wasn't so useful back home. Gems would just be confiscated by the clerics and sent to the bankers of the Empress. Same for legendary weapons, and even if a damn sword could make storms appear, the zealots would have him flayed for dragging something like that around.

“If I'm honest, your eminence, I could just use a good drink and a woman. And somewhere out of this bloody heat."

Ath's grin never faded, perhaps widening, if that were possible.

“Ahh, it is so? You are a creature of wine and cloth. How could I blame you? Entire legacies are written about creatures as beautiful as the stars. They say the first Katan went to war over a woman, you know."

Yoris didn't believe it but didn't care much either. “They're a mischievous bunch."

“So they are. A woman then? Ahh, quite easy to arrange, knight of Sola."

The knight didn't insist on it. Certainly, wasn't the worst of deals and the only one he could arguably take. Anything else would just find its way in service of the empire for the “greater good." Yes, he might get an earful from the prelates at home but, hardly anything to lose sleep over.

“An appreciated gift your eminence," he said, granting a short bow. The Katan dragged his head with a nod.

“I believe I have an servant well suited for you. My attendants will arrange a chamber for you tonight, and there your reward shall be delivered."

Sounded fine to Yoris. At this point a mug of home-brew ale would do him good; the heat could make one appreciate all the little things.

With this, Yoris took his leave. Ath-Kal-Katan had no further curiosities to settle and Yoris wasn't about to hint at anything else. Quietly, the robed attendants from before returned, leading him away, instructing him to return when the sun passed the horizon. There, he could enjoy his “comforts."

Since he had time to spare, Yoris spent the rest of the afternoon near the squares of Zul-Zahal. He ate some of the local foods – smoked fish imported from distant rivers sided with strange fruit and crisp insect legs. He watched men sell exotic weaponry and even had time to “talk" with the smoke dancers, meaning he watched the impish desert vixens wiggle their hips to the tune of fire.

When evening crept in, painting the sky with dark blues and reds, he returned to the capital, a bit more eagerly now. After watching half-nake girls for a while a man starts to think of things.

-*-

Familiar to his arrival, a robed servant greeted Yoris and took him to the chamber mentioned before. It was an entirely different path, however, and walls were lit with green-gem light, absent of any significant markings. The pair passed through gardens where water floated in spheres, rooms of red trees, and past tables where bloated men feasted on exotic meats.

Eventually, the two reached a great door of scarlet stone. At the servant's arrival, it slid open – yet without any visible mechanism or metallic lock. If the prospect of getting himself sword deep in a girl wasn't on his mind, Yoris might have the mental room to be stunned.

“Ath-Kal-Katan has spoken greatly of your deeds. Therefore, we, the greatest of his servants are at your disposal."

This was said as Yoris entered, noting the chamber was notably cooler. He huffed in relief, quickly unstrapping his sword and setting it aside.

“Could use whatever wine you've got on stock," he said, making his way in.

The chamber was circular, accented by a single, large bed shaped like an oval, with fetishes and statues adorning each corner while lights of various hues hung on the ceiling. Paintings of ladies etched in stone danced around the walls – vixens, dragons, minks, birds – all fair breasted and wide of hip. Suppose the room had the right idea.

The attendant bowed. “It will be done, master knight. We will return shortly with our finest, and, the fine lady."

Wordlessly, the robed figure left. Yoris was grateful, as the day left him fatigued in the conversational sense. It also allowed him to clean himself. He removed the hard leathers of his armor and stripped away the tunic, washing himself with flowery soap located in a bathing stall that was part of the chamber. Somehow, the water was also cool, granting him great relief in face of all the sweltering, endless heat.

Before the attendant arrived, Yoris also took a moment to think of home, and the followers who came with him. Good soldiers all, even the pious ones. And the squire. Young Petras, his name was? That was a boy with a good head on him. Kind and earnest. He brought much needed life into the cranky folds of the Solarian Knights, protected a lot of people. And now he was gone.

Yoris knelt, closing his eyes, thinking of home. He muttered a few prayers in honor of Solaria, the gold sun, the Empress Eternal, his family, his comrades in arms, the sisters of the medicae, the good land that brought food, the seasons, and every other damn thing he could think of.

Those were the things he swung his blade for, the things that put courage in the face of the living dead.

With a great breath, he took his brief moment to honor and mourn before settling on the bed, having put on a fresh set of clothes. The soft sheets embraced him like a pair of soft tits. Damn thing was the finest bed he'd ever lied on.

He must have fallen asleep because he barely heard the stone doors slide apart. Blinking, Yoris sat up, rubbing his eyes. Robed attendants in a pair of two entered, brilliant green robes shining against the room light.

One held a plate of gold which, on that, was a glass shape filled with liquid. Also upon it was some kind of device and a container of what looked like leaves.

The other servant held nothing, but instead shielded a shape.

“Master knight," the wine attendant said, entering. “From our vaults, we bring you the Ichor. Wine aged from berries and fruit only found in the rarest parts of the Red East."

Yoris nodded. “That'll do."

As the servitor moved to set the wine aside, the second approached.

“We did not forget the greatest of your prizes," said the attendant. The silhouette behind them drew closer.

“She is of the finest flock, a bloodline with lineage ties to the first Katan."

Yoris watched as the attendant stepped aside, allowing the figure to approach. Appearing was a woman of avian disposition, like that of a raven. Feathers of the deepest midnight covered her form, one as curved and generous as the finest tavern women back home. Indeed, her breasts perhaps eclipsed Yoris' own head, with hips fit for bearing a family or two. Lines of gold traveled around her frame, exotic jewelry to accent her frame, while her nethers and nips were hidden by thin trails of sapphire fabric.

The knight wasn't expecting a winged companion. In fact, the only ones he knew of were the high beasts of the holy courts, and their feathers were often blue or white.

She stepped forward with sultry grace, granting a soft bow, her breasts softly wobbling as she did.

“We hope she is to your liking, master knight."

Yoris scratched his chin. “Well, you've a name I suppose?"

The servants looked between each other, and even the avian woman appeared taken off guard. Her violet eyes widened, but she stood and nodded, hands folding together.

“Oh, yes. I am Zia, master knight," said the raven. Her voice was quiet, demure, like smoke above a whisper.

The servants rustled, cutting in.

“Is everything to your liking then?"

Yoris eyed the wine and the pair of tits. He nodded, waving them off.

“Aye, it's enough. Leave a man to his peace, won't you?"

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard one of the masked figures grumble. They bowed in unison.

“As you wish." Then, like cloaked wraiths, they left, the stone door sliding shut.

The woman, Zia, remained still, though her eyes were wide and curious. Yoris could never tell the age of chimera, being they were cloaked in fur or feather, but he had to assume she was rather young.

“I've a feeling those two wanted to watch," said Yoris, offering a dry chuckle. Zia only blinked.

He grunted. “It was a joke."

The raven's feather-tail twitched. “Oh. My apologies master knight, I know little of humor."

He shivered. “Yoris'll do. None of that master knight bollocks."

In response, the raven lowered her head, as though she was reprimanded. Something about her was stiff, precise. He could only wonder what type of life she led.

“It's fine, I'm not mad." He gestured to the wine. “Mind fetchin' that for me?"

Upon the request, Zia seemed to perk, and at once went to pick up the bottle. This allowed Yoris a moment to peek at her rump and hips. They swayed with a delicate dance, timid ripples rumbling the hefty cheeks as she strut to her task. With swift grace, she came to Yoris with the bottle and glass container, holding it meekly for the knight.

“Thanks. Won't be needin' that, though."

Yoris took the bottle and started with swift swig. The harsh, hot flavor of the aged wine met his tongue. Not bad all, like a flavored fire. Still, he felt he preferred the brew of his homestead.

Zia, at least, looked pleased. “It is to your liking ma. . . Yoris?"

Yoris finished his swig, wiping away the excess. He nodded. “Fine stuff, though I suppose it could be finer."

He wiggled it in front of Zia. “Fancy a draft?"

The raven chirped in surprise. “O-oh! No, n-no, sir knight. It would be inappropriate. No servant may have the fineries of their lord."

Yoris scoffed. Damn, the bird was stiff. And a girl wearing politeness and order wasn't likely to be much fun in the sheets either.

“Well, I ain't a lord, and I certainly don't care about what's appropriate. Have a draft, if you like. Takes the edge off."

Zia fiddled with the glass cup, uncertain.

“Have you even had a drink before?"

Her feathers drooped. “I. . . no. I am for dancing and entertaining, I do not imbibe."

Yoris shook his head. “Well that's no good. Gives you a right good buzz. Aye, a man could be haunted by demons and devils, but a casque a wine will quiet em' all."

Here, he took the glass and poured a small amount. The liquid was dark as blood, and smelled as harsh as it tasted. He offered it to the avian. She stared at the glass, still hesitant, as if some great heresy was about to be committed.

“If. . . I am discovered this way, I'll suffer the wrath of my keepers."

Yoris shook his head. “If anyone bothers me again tonight I'll feed them my boots."

Zia's innocent eyes widened again, and she took the glass, beak coming to the edge of the glass.

“I have always wondered," she said, taking a sip.

She coughed, a protest of chirps mixed as the harsh flavor stung her virgin tongue. Yoris chuckled.

“It's so strong!" she said, feathers wiggling. “It's. . . hot, like a flame!"

“Means it's good," said Yoris, taking another draft.

Despite her protests, Zia was not deterred. She took another sip, until downing the whole glass. Impressive.

“Is this what kings drink?" she said, a gentle flush coming to her midnight feathered cheeks. Yoris shrugged.

“King'll drink anything if it's in a goblet of gold."

This time, a quiet, timid giggle emerged from the raven girl. Yoris smirked, pouring a bit more for the girl.

“Fancy yourself a queen then, do ya?"

Zia looked away, blushing fully now, but her lies could not hide her thoughts.

“Oh, n-no, not I. I am only a servant, I am not a royal. And besides, the Katan name is for that of a lord. There are no queens in the Red East."

This procured a dry chuckle from the knight. “That so? Well where I come from, we've an Empress. A fox of noble blood who can split the heavens with light, or something like that."

Zia's winged arms seemed to flutter. Her beak parted with surprise, a gasp escaping her.

“Is. . . is this so, noble Yoris? I have only heard rumor about the strange things in the land of Solaria."

Yoris shrugged. “Aye, it's so. At least about the Empress part. Don't know about the rest."

Zia appeared intrigued, finishing the rest of her wine. It helped to soften her a bit, loosen her from whatever reservations a servant girl had.

“I am terribly curious," she said, eyes downcast. “I've heard many things."

Here, Yoris sucked down another gulp or two, halving the bottle. It was enough to grant him a gentle buzz, melt away the harshness of the day. He started to forget about the events of before. Instead, his attention drifted to. . . larger things.

“Might be that I could tell you more," he said. “O'course, I loosen up better with a pair o' tits in me hand."

Snapping back to attention, Zia remembered herself, and what she was here for. Her feathered cheeks flushed, even through the deep black, and she chirped.

“O-oh. Why, yes, sir Yoris. I am at your beck and call."

Yoris set aside the wine, pushing himself back into the bed. He wasn't much for servants, really. Never understood that – like lying with a mindless fish. But, if he could get the bird excited, she might show him a playful side he always prowled for in a lady.

“Not so interested in the beck and call part," he said, feeling quite randy now. With his back to pillows, he pat his lap.

“Why not help me out of this though, and maybe I'll wax you a tale or two."

He thought it humorous. Didn't he hate stories? Well, hardly mattered now. Perhaps it took a lass with haunches larger than his torso to make a bard of him.

Zia gazed at him with uncertainty, until she eyed the steady stiffness growing in the knight's trousers. A gentle 'ah' escaped her, as she set aside her glass, tail feathers wiggling.

“It is a good bargain," she said.

Like a switch, the avian lass dawned a demeanor more suited to her “skills." She sauntered to the knight, crawling atop the bed as her fat, heavy tits began to dance together with wiggling wobbles. Her nips glimmered against the colored lights of the room, her jewelry chiming like a lewd chorus. Soon, she was upon the knight, and her clawed hand came to brush against his groin.

Yoris grunted, watching as the palm began to fondle his stones, caress his length through the fabric.

“Oh, great knight, what a mighty blade you carry," said Zia, gripping the inches. In another scenario, Yoris might've rolled his eyes at the obvious pun-work, but when a girl with breasts big enough to smother you was working, you didn't complain.

Yoris was about to imply the girl might serve him with her pretty mouth, but realized a beak wasn't exactly what he wanted around his sensitive “blade."

“Such a great weapon needs caring, yes?" continued the avian, who looked up to him in servile fashion. He nodded.

“Aye, it's true."

Zia looked to grow more comfortable, giggling. Now, she removed the tethers from Yoris' legs, letting his malehood spring to life against the cool air. The bird was fascinated, eyeing it with renewed fancy, her sensual fingers rolling across it with determined strokes.

“I'm still curious about your lands, sir Yoris, so. . ."

Yoris wasn't sure what the avian meant, until she shifted where her plump breasts came to encompass his cock. His inches were embraced by the silky touch of her feathered front, and be damned if it wasn't a delightful sensation.

He groaned as her hands pressed the tits together, applying a tight, wonderful pressured. She wiggled her chest, assaulting his loins with a barrage of bounces, Yoris once more moaning in approval. He had to watch her work, see her innocent eyes stare up at him as she served his prick, those plump breasts dancing with wild bounces and jiggles.

“Nmm, s'pose I owe you a story then," said Yoris.

Damn, this would be hard.

Yoris hardly knew of any spellbinding tales, but he started to recount some things he heard about the great chapels of Sol Solarius. How they were guarded by vixens on wings of fire, or how the Pegasarri – noble guards of the Empress – struck enemies down with lances of gold.

As he attempted to explain, his own lance was getting a polish. Zia's beak parted, and her tongue rolled free, licking at the lip in slow strokes. She would dip to his stones, assaulting them with licks, until rising again, only to continue choking his shaft with her ample bosom.

“Don't have anything as fine as raven gals, though," he said, shoving his hips against her strokes.

Zia looked pleased. “Oh, what amazing things master Yoris! Will you tell me more? Please?"

Her tone was so innocent yet her actions the opposite. As if to encourage the knight further, she took his shaft and pressed the crown into her cheeks, stroking it along her visage. Perhaps it was the wine, but her acts took a sordid turn, as Zia flicked the flank against her face, outright battering herself with the fleshy spear.

Gentle moans escaped her, and Yoris groaned in unison. It was hard to hold back now – hell, he'd start making things up if this was the reward.

He waxed about great bird prophets who carried the armor of Sol Solarius, and how their dignity was that of royalty. Perhaps, even, their lineage was something close to a goddess. This only excited Zia, who reveled in the idea of royal avian ancestry. She wiggled Yoris' flank between her heft bust, striking the immense tits with his fleshy blade, sending a wobble of fleshy wiggles through them.

This was what he liked – a more playful, looser lady. She took his pleasure in her own hands – literally, massaging every inch of him with bosom and palm alike. And while her beak was a frightful thing near his sensitive loins, she only used her tongue to lick at its inches, procuring hums of approval from the knight.

As story ended though, she nuzzled his crown, in hopes to encourage more.

“Oh, brave Yoris, surely there is more to tell?"

He pet her feathered head, smirking, a free hand coming to squeeze and toss one of her frothy breasts.

“Nnm, not much a scribe, and I'm not exactly a library either."

A hint of disappointment washed over the servant's face, her eyes drooping. But, as if a more sensual thought entered her mind, she began to shift.

“There must be more. . . perhaps I simply need to be more 'encouraging'?"

Well, in truth, Yoris didn't know how many grand stories he really had. He was mostly paraphrasing from what his veterans told him, and half the time he didn't believe them.

But, perhaps Zia's position changed his tune. Lifting away from his flank with one last breast-squeeze, the raven girl threw her rump into view, tail feathers fluttering as she did. Her wide, plump haunches bounced with flesh jubilation, solid cheeks of midnight hinting at her hidden cleft. By gods, Yoris had seen a few fat bottomed mare wenches in his time, but this one. . .

She let her hips wiggle with soft sways, propping herself up on all fours, looking back to the knight with those same servile, innocent eyes.

“Hmm. . ."

Yoris eyed the perky cheeks and hidden snatch with a greedy gaze. The wine left a heated buzz in his brain and the motions of the raven girl were plenty enticing. Suppose he could think of a few more stories. . .

Removing the rest of his tunic, Yoris propped himself against the avian girl. His shaft was adequately aroused, glistening in the roomlight from the raven's attentions. He pressed his crown against the delicate nether lips, Zia rumbling with a chirping moan. He teased, the warmth of her inner lips suckling at him, Zia pushing herself back to embrace the exploring cock.

Yoris' hands came to the plump rump and squeeze, jostling the cheeks. Even through the feathers her flesh was supple and generous, enough to play with. Hell, you could balance a tray on her fat, full ass. As he did, he pushed himself, if only slightly, Zia shivering in response.

“Ah, well, a story."

The knight grunted, where Zia moaned.

“Well, there was a knight who went to a strange land, and there he met a beautiful girl. . ."

He slipped himself into the awaiting tunnel, the tight, warm pressure enveloping him. There was enough to allow ample space yet grip him with sensual warmth, Zia's slickness allowing for slippery entry.

He allowed himself a deep, low groan. Hadn't been with a lass this tight in a while. Zia flapped and chirped, bouncing against him, attempting to stroke the hilted shaft with her suckling nethers. Her tits wobbled with each motion and her feathers glistened against the colored lights, like a strange dream moving in unison with the knight.

“W-what else!" Zia yelped, cawing as Yoris began a steady assault of little thrusts.

Now truth be told Yoris was losing himself. A bit hard to focus when you were throwing yourself into the awaiting cunny of a servant girl.

“And she had tits larger than a man's head. . ." he managed, gripping her hips and slamming himself into the juicy folds. Each strike caused the avian lass to chirp and buckle, body bouncing with every motion.

“Gnn, well, she knew when to fuck harder!" he shot back, leaning over her to wrap an arm around the avian's waist. A hand snuck to squeeze and pinch at her bosom, fondling the nip and yanking at it to coax yet further cries from the excited raven.

Sensing the desire in his words, Zia did as instructed, wobbling her hips against the striking cock. This caused a violent chorus of fleshy smacks to echo around the stone room, outright causing the bed to quiver from their actions.

Eventually the knight had pummeled the squawking servant into the sheets, where her beak nibbled at the fabric as her juicy cunt spilled rivers of nectar.

“By the tits of the Empress!" Yoris yelled, feeling himself shake as an eruption of hot pleasure took over his crown. At once, a surge of white left him, an erupting orgasm bursting into the young folds of the quivering raven girl, flooding her tunnel with his masculine seed.

The pleasure consumed him, shaking his form as he hilted himself as deep as he could into Zia. She was happy to oblige the deluge of issue, gently bouncing her hips against the final thrusts, milking everything the fleshy spear had to offer.

Zia spread herself as the knight finished emptying himself into her, tail feathers ruffling until the motions began to subside. The wine had certainly done its work, loosening her considerably, her body a timid buzz of tipsy and afterglow.

“Oh. . . ah. . . t-that was the best story yet. . ."

Yoris took a breath, slowly pulling free from the raven, a thin mess of juice and seed accompanying him. He gave her rump another pat and squeeze, a newfound appreciation for the exotic servant filling him.

“The real ones always are," Yoris said, standing to get himself another draft of wine. “And the ones that keep going."

Still breathing, Zia cast the knight a shy glance, but understood. She went to her back, legs spread, pushing breasts together, as Yoris soon returned to her and found himself deep in the servant once again.

-*-

Much of the evening continued that way, with Yoris attempting a clumsy narrative as the two filled the night with words and thrusts. By night's end the wine was empty, the strange leaves ignored, and the bed a mess.

Yoris could sleep, and this time, his dreams were not of home. Instead, a world of red sand and dancing raven girls draped in gold jewelry.

When morning came, he chanced another favor from the great Katan. He declared he could return to Ath with more tales of great deeds and amazing heroes, but only if he had a muse. One that might help him recount words in his home of the golden sun.

Yoris never considered himself one for waxing a tale, but with Zia, he was starting to change his mind.