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Now they find themselves lost when apart. \n\nA commission for [iconname]keroro623[/iconname]. You can find stories like these and more over on my [url=https://www.patreon.com/c/Ralanrwrites]Patreon[/url] and/or [url=https://subscribestar.adult/ralanr]Subscribestat[/url]. Your support is greatly appreciated!\n\nEnjoy!", "description_bbcode_parsed": "When we last left off, the trio had shattered.. Now they find themselves lost when apart.

A commission for \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tkeroro623\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tkeroro623\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
. You can find stories like these and more over on my Patreon and/or Subscribestat. Your support is greatly appreciated!

Enjoy!", "writing": "Barnabas never liked saying his blisters had blisters. Complaining about walking was considered in poor taste for career adventurers. Walking was, after all, their main method of transportation if everything else was exhausted. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t, since the journey was more fun than the destination. Often the dwarf found the destination part of adventuring boring. Now he kept thinking about his aching feet just to not drown himself in worry of their destination.\n\n\nIt’d been weeks since Bahralpha left them. Weeks they’ve scoured through the wintered lands searching town after town for any sign of her. He blamed himself for letting it last this long. She’d only gotten a day's trip before them. If he hadn’t been so furious with her to mistake her lack of noise for lack of grief they’d still be together. He imagined her by their side, snout deep in a map while contemplating their next quest. He’d smile, tell her to enjoy the view, and she’d tell him to be serious.\n\n\nHe couldn’t smile now. Even when Blenafee forced one in his direction.\n\n\nNeither bothered to look at the newest town’s name as they entered. It was the nearest from their last failed rumor, a break from the winter chill biting through their clothes. Along the muddy streets, Barnabas noticed terse glances at them. At Blenafee specifically. It couldn’t be helped. The further away from the cities they were, the more likely they’d meet folk who’s knowledge of goblins came from talk of traveling warbands or raiders. Talk of goblin adventurers was rare. Barnabas pulled his lover close, fearing that if not for his presence the goblin would be kicked out of town. Bahralpha no doubt knew the same. Guilt squeezed his heart as he imagined her trying to go through town as a lone kobold. \n\n\nGold bought them trust. The local tavern didn’t have furniture for short folk. Barnabas preferred it that way, easing the blisters of his feet as they hung. A frothy pint and hot bowl of porridge helped soothe the malaise. \n\n\n“I’ll ask around,” Blenafee said after just one spoonful of porridge and a gulp of ale. He liked to look for rumors as soon as they settled in. Blenafee had never been one to rest on his laurels where fun could still be had, he’d been more insistent since Bahralpha left. Always chasing rumors, listening for gossip, and asking for any sign of a cranky white-scaled kobold passing through. Knowing he’d be ignored, Barnabas didn’t tell him to stop and rest. Better to let his concern simmer than explode. Better to let Blenafee do what he needed instead of pushing him away by accident. \n\n\nHe shivered despite the raging hearth. Barnabas ordered two more ale’s from the serving woman. Then three when that wasn’t enough. They had gold to spare. Not to buy the farm Bahralpha suggested. They were well past that. \n\n\n“The world’s gone to shite these days,” said one drunkard on a table to his left. \n\n\n“‘Ere we go.” His companion spoke in a tone that begot an eye roll. \n\n\n“I’m serious.”\n\n\n“You’re drunk.”\n\n\n“No. I’ve only had one pint. I’ll need more than that to wobble, unlike your sister.”\n\n\nThe drunk snorted. “If you were anyone else I’d send you home bleeding. But then my sister would hound me.”\n\n\nThe drunks laughed. Barnabas resumed his meal. He had better things to do than listen to the ramblings of strangers. But something about the first man’s tone made the hairs on his back stand on end. He kept his ear high and ordered two more pints. \n\n\n“Can you tell me that man’s name?” He asked when she arrived.\n\n\n“Who?” She asked, frowning when he pointed to the pair. “Oh. That’s Finnigan and Rhode. They’re locals. Are they bothering you, master dwarf?” \n\n\nHer reverence almost made him spit out his drink. “No. No,” Barnabas lied. He could have found Blenafee, grabbed their things, and left for another town. Or have taken to a room early and hunted for details on Bahralpha in the morning. For reasons he dared not address Barnabas continued to listen.\n\n\nFinnigan went on, “My father used to tell me stories about his father’s adventuring days. Back when the only people going out and about were men with strong sword arms, a penchant for magic, or clever hands.”\n\n\n“Clever hands?” Rhode asked, “You mean with their own personal sausages?” \n\n\n“I’m talking thieves you fat git.” Finnigan’s face soured. “Trying to do the old guard honorable. No one wants to be remembered as a thief. That’s why they’re all called rogues now or some shite.”\n\n\n“So you say.”\n\n\n“No, so as anyone sitting in a dark corner with their hood up indoors. Being a thief invites trouble. Being a rogue is vague.”\n\n\nRhode sucker punched Finnigan’s shoulder hard enough to send ale sloshing about. “So what about your grandpappy’s adventuring days made it all right, huh? Back when they had thieves as heroes.”\n\n\n“Simple is ya oaf. It was people. People like you and me. Sometimes there was the occasional elf and dwarf, but they're a respectable folk. Ancient and wise. They were a…” Finnigan snapped his fingers three times, sounding out the word ‘minority’ cautiously at each syllable. “They weren’t common. It was a human’s career.”\n\n\n“Think halflings were there too.” \n\n\n“Oh bugger off,” Finnigan slammed the table. “Those wee runts can’t be adventurers. They don’t have the muscle for it. Just like the women.”\n\n\n“Finn, it’s been years. You can let go of Sally’s daughter kicking your ass in wrestling. No one cares anymore.” \n\n\n“It ain’t about that.” Finn jabbed his finger at Rhode’s chest, “It’s about how adventuring has been polluted. My father started to notice it back when tusked half-breeds started walking about instead of being killed at birth as mercy. Then there’s those poor devil-folk who think their curse ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Did you know they come in blue and green now? They should come in brown or white, without the horns and tails. And then there’s these two-legged dragon folk. People confuse them with lizardfolk. I ask you, why are we even making that distinction instead of killing them all on sight?”\n\n\n“‘Cause they help people, Finn.”\n\n\n“Right,” Finn laughed, “They help people. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time I see a goblin raiding my chicken pen. I killed my first goblin when I was barely a boy. Now I got to be careful if a goblin is some wild beast or some adventurer ‘liberating’ my chickens. Since when did we allow goblins to just walk into this village without a hassle?” He scoffed, leaning back into his chair with another swig of the pint, “Goblins, kobolds, what’s next? Literal fiends from the hells deciding they want to do good for coin?”\n\n\nWith clenched fists, Barnabas left his seat. He powered through wobbly steps with determined fury, bringing his fist down on the drunkard’s table. Finnigan and Rhode pulled back, eyes wide and faces pale at the dwarf’s presence. The first sound out of his mouth was not the furious takedown of these two inebriated common folk, but a loud belch that rocked the dwarf’s constitution.\n\n\n“Are…are you alright, master dwarf?” Rhode asked. \n\n\n“No.” Barnabas wiped his mouth, “I’m not alright. And if I have to keep hearing the two of you blather on then neither will either of you.”\n\n\nFinnigan shot a quick glance to his friend. “We…we meant no trouble, master dwarf.”\n\n\n“Barnabas.”\n\n\n“Pardon?” Finnigan raised his brow.\n\n\nA stubby finger thick as a sausage jabbed Finnigan’s thigh. “My name isn’t ‘Master Dwarf’. It’s Barnabas. B. A. R. N…abas.”\n\n\n“Oh. Of course, lord Ba-”\n\n\nHe brought Finnigan to his eye level by way of his shirt collar. “Not lord. Not master. Just Barnabas. I will not abide by honorifics from those so eager to badmouth those who put their lives on the line, regardless of their birth. What gives…” The dwarf paused, feeling a rumbling in his stomach that passed quickly. “What gives you the right to badmouth good men, women, and beyond?”\n\n\nFinnigan forced an anxious laugh and pulled himself free. “Mas…Barnabas. Surely you jest. Your people hate these monster races more than we do. There are legends of dwarven stubbornness in the face of these beasts. Ancient enmity against those who defile your holds. Orcs, goblins, kobolds…”\n\n\nAs a young dwarf, Barnabas’s favorite stories were of his berserker ancestors. Dwarves who, in desperate times, pushed through groups of enemies with nothing but wrath empowering them. He’d seen a few in action on his adventures, finding the sight a terror to behold but still envious of how they could protect others. When he asked them what it felt like, there were conflicting answers. The commonality between them was that there was a feeling. A click, switch, or twitch, that ignited their drive.\n\n\nHis insides went cold. Not cold like the winter winds. But cold as the searing pain of fire before it burned. Barnabas didn’t feel the ale spill over him when he flipped the table. He didn’t register the sudden screams of surprise, nor the impact of his knuckles against Finnigan’s face. He was numb. Methodically bashing the farmer’s face into a bloody mess with a shattered nose and scattered teeth darting the floorboards. Rhode tried to grab him but Barnabas’s lower center of mass made it impossible. The dwarf turned with a wide strike, punching the fat man’s knee to topple him. \n\n\nHe screamed. No. He was screaming. He’d been screaming since before Finnigan’s blood painted his knuckles. “You think my people are ones for grudges? If that were true then what’s your innocence? Did your grandfather never raid an abandoned dwarven tomb? Did he not steal from merchants? Did he not plunder ancient holds of treasures long taken by dragons? What puts you above goblins and kobolds? What makes you no better than a pest?!” \n\n\nFinnigan’s self-defense was lost in the wreckage of his broken jaw. Several hands pulled Barnabas off. He kicked out and thrashed, swearing he wasn’t done with, in his words, the racist bastard. It took Blenafee’s soft face to stop him, freezing the dwarf with his fist hovering over his lover's face. \n\n\n“Barnabas,” Blenafee spoke calmly like he would a wild beast. His hands were out for good measure. “It’s ok. I’m here.” The goblin took Barnabas’s thick hands into his own and pulled them into his chest. “Calm down. Please.”\n\n\nHe hurled. The last six or seven pints spilled from his mouth to the floor. In all their travels Barnabas never found human ale to be so powerful. Deep down he knew it wasn’t the ale. Blenafee knew it too by his softening features. \n\n\n“It’s my fault…” Barnabas whispered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the spittle coating his beard. “It’s my fault she’s gone. She could be hurt. Killed by some bumfuck farmer who can’t tell one kobold from another. I pushed her away.”\n\n\n“Shhh…” Blenafee whispered, letting the larger dwarf rest on his shoulder. “Shh…it’s ok. Just take it easy, alright? For me?” \n\n\nHis eyelids grew heavy. Blenafee’s words massaged his mind like blankets being folded over him on a cold day. Magic. Soothing bardic magic. The kind Blenafee used to help the dwarf sleep since Bahralpha left. Barnabas let Blenafee guide him to the floor, sinking into slumber. Better he sleep than cause a bar fight. \n\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\n\nBlenafee sighed with relief when Barnabas’s head sank into his thighs. He was getting worse. When one wore their heart on their sleeves it showed everyone when they were broken. He loved Barnabas’s lack of subtlety. In comparison, Bahralpha always had a wall around her. He’d prod at it, telling her she didn’t need it. He chuckled at the irony that he now understood why she had it when she was gone. If Blenafee went another night coaxing his lover to sleep with a subtle enchantment he’d go insane.\n\n\n“Your master nearly killed my sister’s husband!” A fat man shouted. Blenafee’s ears twitched but he said nothing. He looked upon the tavern with a smiling mask of apologies. \n\n\n“I’m sorry,” Blenafee bowed, “Barnabas and I have lost a companion recently. We’ve been looking for her. A white-scaled kobold. By chance have any of you seen her?” \n\n\n“I don’t care who your master is looking for.” Again Blenafee’s pointed ear twitched at the big man’s argument. He threw his weight over the goblin, hands in his friend’s blood pressed against his hips. “My best mate is bleeding. We’ll want compensation.” \n\n\n“Of course.” The goblin kept up his most submissive smile. Better to look soft and harmless as a goblin in civilization. Be cute and helpful. “If you’ll allow me, I can heal his wounds. I know several spells for the job.”\n\n\n“Throw in some gold.”\n\n\n“Is your friend’s life worth risking over a few coins?”\n\n\nThe big man cracked his knuckles. “Is your master’s?” \n\n\nBlenafee kept his smile but filled his glare with contempt. A trained bard knew never to let the mask slip. The audience needed to be immersed, to view the bard as an act and not as a person. One’s emotions broke that thin line. Blenafee had been through enough shows to know this, but he had limits. \n\n\nLuckily the big man was either too dense or too focused on his brother-in-law’s condition to notice. “It appears we’ve reached an impasse, my good man.” Blenafee wiped the specks of barf that dotted his sleeves. “You seem determined for compensation and we are unwilling to pay.”\n\n\n“I got some farm work if you can’t afford it.”\n\n\n“Unwilling,” Blenafee corrected, emphasizing each syllable with hidden derison. “We have more than enough gold. Perhaps enough to buy this whole establishment if that didn’t drain us dry. But you will not see a single coin from us.”\n\n\nMore locals stood up from their seats. Fists clenched, necks cracked, and beady eyes looked down on him. None carried swords, fashioning crude bludgeons out of their cups or picking up lone chairs. “Then we ought to toss you out to the winter winds.” \n\n\nIn a flash, the goblin drew his flute. “N-now, now,” he forced an awkward laugh. “There’s no need for trouble. Why don’t we all sit down and forget what happened?” The music of his flute propelled his words through each ear. Faces furrowed in anger softened. Some looked around in confusion. Others returned to their seats to order more drinks. Only the big man remained standing, bewildered at what happened. \n\n\n“He is not my master,” Blenafee said in a voice only the other man heard. “He is my lover and he’s in pain. I heard what your friend said about my kind and I will heal him regardless. And you will tell me of any kobolds that came through here or of anyone who may know. If you do not, well,” a wicked smile crossed his lips, “I can always play a tune to the sound of your screams.”\n\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\n\nBahralpha held her nose. Coastal towns were known to smell horrible, but she never expected the stink to persist in the colder months. The kobold tasted salt in the air from when she reached the gate. The drying fish wasn’t much further beyond. It’d been so distracting that she’d almost let her tail slip free from her cloak. Thankfully none of the guards noticed. \n\n\nIt was never easy traversing the surface world as a lone kobold. Even with the variety of adventurers wandering the lands, from bugbears to half-orcs, there was suspicion that any kobold on sight was connected to some greater threat. The scion of a dragon or a sign of a hidden kobold nest somewhere deep in their settlement. From her experience only the largest cities could support hidden kobold nests, so she rolled her eyes whenever the issue was brought up. \n\n\nBlenafee made things easier. He turned three suspicious inspections into one with a guard that always looked cheery at the end. Given the goblin’s talented tongue, she couldn’t blame him. When Barnabas joined their frisking days ended. In their suffocating absence, Bahralpha found it easier to cover herself in a heavy cloak, coil her tail around her waist, and pretend to be some cranky gnome. \n\n\nShe figured the disguise wasn’t needed past the front gate. Port towns were better known for housing travelers. Merchants and adventurers came in all sizes, shapes, and colors after all. So the moment she saw another kobold, a goblin, or something other than a human, dwarf, elf, or even anything orc-bred walking around in broad daylight she’d cast down her hood, stand upright, unfurl her tail so she could walk without the staff for balance, and clear her throat to wash out the cranky-old-gnome accent. In the worst case, she'd keep the disguise on when chartering a ship, sailing off, and finding a more accepting port town to start her new adventuring career. Or go find a tunnel to the Underdark. There was always a tunnel to the Underdark. \n\n\nBlenafee once told Bahralpha that she had what he called ‘Resting Bitch Face’. He told her this only once, as one look from her and an insinuating question afterward made him reevaluate his words carefully. The thought became more prominent as every expression that turned her way dropped any pretense of a smile and looked away while she trudged through the streets. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for her, most people looked to Barnabas first whenever they entered a town, then Blenafee when they realized he could talk with a level of sophistication unexpected from goblins. Often she lied to herself that people knew not to stare directly at her out of her presence alone. They knew deep down that Bahralpha was beyond their notice, like a queen who graced their pathways. \n\n\nThese past few weeks made her confront the harsh reality that she did scare people. Not in the way a dragon demands obedience through fear of their tyrannical might. More akin to a children’s monster that hid under beds or closets. The nuisance nightmare. Such a status was so far beneath her that she’d fly into a rage if not for her aching feet and growling stomach. \n\n\n“Why don’t we get something to eat?” Barnabas would say. She mimicked his tone under her breath, digging deep to copy the thick gutted, and hairy lug whose snores warded off wolves. \n\n\n“I could eat.” She mimicked Blenafee’s voice with a pitch higher than her own. He’d smile and look at Bahralpha, eyes like a puppy. No, she didn’t care for puppies. They are annoying little creatures. She couldn’t find a better word to describe the goblin’s expression. It almost always worked because she’d sigh while weighing the pros and cons of a tavern stop. Being the adult she’d have tracked their money. \n\n\nHer face soured at the sight of her coin pouch. “Not today.” She said to herself, inviting another ironic growl from her stomach. “Chart a ship. Find a new crew of pretty boys. Start a new harem.” The kobold repeated like a mantra. These needed to be less emotionally available. Trophy partners. The kind that looked good in leather collars and did her bidding without complaint, but not so loyal she’d be too attached to worry about their safety. Those were, regrettably, rare in the adventuring business on account of the required trust in others ultimately building close bonds for anyone but complete sociopaths. Maybe a brothel business would be better.\n\n\nBut then she’d need to share. The kobold grit her teeth. She hated sharing. \n\n\nBy the time Bahralpha arrived at the docks, she’d become accustomed to the smell of fish. Despite Blenafee taking care of the people-pleasing work, she knew how to find a captain. If there were no men in colorful uniforms then she’d just ask the biggest fellow where his captain was. The man in question had arms like tree trunks and a beard that, while shorter, looked thick enough to put Barnabas to shame. For a brief moment, she wondered how it’d feel between her legs, then snapped herself out of the trance. She’d need to find a brothel by her next payday. \n\n\n“Excuse me.” She spoke in a polite tone. The man did not respond. He didn’t even peer in her direction. Her inner voice screamed that this man should be on his knees in apology, but she brushed intrusive thoughts aside and spoke again. “Excuse me. I’d like to speak with the captain of your ship.”\n\n\nHe seemed shocked by her presence after a quick prodding from her staff. “Oh. Sorry there, little lass. Been lost in thought on my break. How can I help yee?”\n\n\n Bahralpha craned her head back at the title of ‘little lass’. His tone didn’t scream malice but she’d cast spells for worse. She cleared her throat and kept calm. “My name is Bahralpha. I would like to speak with your captain.”\n\n\n“Oh, I’m not the captain, Lass.”\n\n\nShe wore her puzzlement plain as day. “I…I know you’re not. I’m asking you to get him for me.” \n\n\n“What for, Lass?”\n\n\n“Bahralpha,” she corrected, tightening her hold on her staff. “And I wish to charter his vessel.”\n\n\n“Charter it? We’re not part of this town.”\n\n\nHer right eye twitched. “No, no. Charter as in hire. I wish to hire the captain and his crew to travel down the coast.”\n\n\n“We’re not heading down the coast next. We’re going across the open sea.”\n\n\n“Even better. Please, take me to him.” \n\n\n“Can’t.”\n\n\nHundreds of footsteps creaking along the wooden pier filled the pause between them. “Why not?” Bahralpha asked. She should have given up and looked for someone else, but her pride refused to surrender. \n\n\nHe shrugged, “He wouldn’t be feeling it.” \n\n\nBahralpha’s back started to hurt from hunching over. “What do you mean he wouldn’t be feeling it?” She asked through clenched teeth.\n\n\nThe sailor took a deep breath. “Well, the captain’s been going on and on about retiring. Says the sea life is a lonely one and he misses his wife. Apparently, he’s got a son just old enough to start sailing so he’s in a bit of a bind. Retire to spend time with his family, or spend a few more years sailing. Now you’d think that wouldn’t be an issue because spending time with his son is great, right? Wel,l the captain ain’t particularly sure the boy is his, as she got pregnant and had him while he was off on a voyage. Captain’s done this enough with other ladies to suspect it. Honestly, Lass, if–” The sailor never got to tell Bahralpha she should try another vessel, something she instantly regretted after her immediate reaction. But hearing him disregard her name a third time caused her patience to shatter like expensive porcelain tossed by a toddler. \n\n\n“Bahralpha!” \n\n\nThe sailor’s expression froze with a flash of light that exploded from her palm. Traces of ice littered the space behind him with chunks falling into the saltwater below. Normally Bahralpha would have enough control to realize what she’d done. Weeks of traveling alone, having to hide from paranoid humans, and struggling to sleep with doubts brought her right to the edge. This sailor’s benign words were just the light breeze needed to tip her over.\n\n\n“It is not Lass. It is Bahralpha! I shouldn’t need to say it more than once you salt-brained fish fucker!” \n\n\nJudging from the stares her voice carried farther than she expected. She glanced about, then looked to the icy block that had become the sailor. The weight of her actions slowly ground her down. \n\n\nHands were on her before she could voice an apology. The magic flowing through her next words turned her body into a cold winter breeze that weaved through the crowd. The white kobold reformed with her claws scraping stones, running for her life from the angry mob throwing stones in her direction. \n\n\nEvery spell flung drained her stamina. She held back the urge to lob a fireball behind her, knowing setting the town alight wouldn’t help her charter a vessel. Then again the idea of getting a ship sailed away quickly enough. If she didn’t just sneak aboard one and hide like a rat she’d need to find another port town to escape this accursed place. More walking, more months alone, more hiding. Bahralpha didn’t notice her tears until she hunkered deep in an alleyway behind a pile of crates. \n\n\n“I think she went this way.” One voice said with a loud whisper rather than a shout. Bahralpha clasped her snout shut and curled herself into a ball, hoping her ragged cloak would be mistaken for discarded garbage if it covered all of her. Two pairs of footsteps drew closer.\n\n\n“Are you sure?” Another voice asked, this one thick and oddly familiar.\n\n\n“I’m sure. What do you think happened?” \n\n\n“She probably got too uppity with a captain.”\n\n\nThe first voice smacked the second, “Barnabas, hold it back. We’re trying to–”\n\n\nBahralpha poked her head out before the first voice finished. Her eyes went wide like dinner plates at the sight of Barnabas and Blenafee. Both were in clothes ragged from traveling and mud-caked boots. They stopped dead, faces white in surprise before smiles widened their faces.\n\n\n“W-What…” Bahralpha’s throat went tight and her eyes blurred with tears. “What are you two doing here?” \n\n\nBarnabas clasped his arms tight around her. His tear-stained beard scratched her face. “Oh, thank the gods, you’re alright!” He praised. His hold on her might have put a stop to that if Blenafee hadn’t ushered him to free her. “Sorry. Sorry. We’ve been worried sick about you.”\n\n\nThe last time she saw the goblin he was covered in bandages and tucked beneath layers of blanket. Some bandages still cover his face, yellowing with time, but enough of his smile broke through to warm her heart. She hugged him like Barnabas hugged her, and refused to let go until her better judgment demanded it.\n\n\nCommon sense swiftly smacked her head. She pushed him away. “What are you doing here?” She hushed her shout, still clutching his shoulders tight in refusal to let go. “I left you both with enough money to retire. What in the hells made you think it was a good idea to follow me?” \n\n\n“Who said we were following you?” Barnabas answered with a smug grin before Blenafee could get a word in. \n\n\nShe growled. Last she’d seen him they were on the edge of tears and now the dwarf had the gall to tease her. “Was this your idea? Do you have some last words you need to get off your chest? I–”\n\n\n“Bahralpha,” Blenafee pushed his palm to her snout, “I love you, but you’re rattled and about to say something you don’t mean. We’d love to talk to you about why we’re here but first, we need to find someplace more private. We’ve already rented a private room in a tavern.”\n\n\nHaving been marching over dirt and sleeping in cramped spaces for so long, a private room sounded lovely. And Blenafee was right, the last spell and ensuing mob made her jittery. With a sigh she relented. “Please tell me there’s at least a bath.”\n\n\n“It’s a private one.” Barnabas stroked his beard, “Benefits of a suite.”\n\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\n\nWhen adventuring together Bahralpha considered the choice of a suite to be a waste of money. The big towns and cities that housed taverns with them had regular rooms big enough for their liking. As much as she liked to be worshiped as a queen the kobold needed to be fruitful. She had hoped Blenafee and Barnabas would have taken that to heart, so her expression upon seeing the wide open space bedecked with lavish furs, pelt carpets, and choice paintings was a mix of awe and judgment. \n\n\n“How much did this cost?” She finally asked. The two shrugged. “You are paying for this, right?” Her brow rose warily. \n\n\n“Desperate times call for desperate distractions.” Blenafee strummed one of the many instruments he carried. “It took some choice words but I’m paying for this place with performances.”\n\n\nBlenafee was a talented bard but even this was too much. “Seems like an uneven trade.”\n\n\n“Choice words,” Blenafee repeated. Leading her to the washroom the goblin bowed to take her grimy cloak and travel-worn clothes. \n\n\n“We definitely need to get you something new.” \n\n\n“Bath first,” Bahralpha mumbled. There was a fireplace underneath the tub. Barnabas stuffed it with wood. After three failed matches she shot a bolt of fire to ignite the mess. \n\n\n“I’d like some privacy for this.” Neither of them argued, leaving her to soak her aching legs in the warming water. Her aches vanished. She stayed until the fire died out. \n\n\nAfter drying herself with a simple spell the kobold, clad in a convenient bathrobe, walked out refreshed and relaxed. The sudden reminder of why she was there at the sight of her two lovers shattered that mood. \n\n\n“I suppose this is where I issue the apology, right?” She asked, climbing up a seat. It was still a human town so the chairs weren’t her size. “Or do you want an explanation?”\n\n\n“Both.” They said in unison. \n\n\n“I was scared,” she said after a pause. “Scared and hurt. We’ve been through dangers together, but none of us ever got hurt like that before. I tried to keep my mind off it, believing the healers in town would be enough. But when Barnabas assumed I was being calloused I…I feared he was right. I’m not the kind of woman to sit around and do nothing. I can’t just wait for a recovery. But that was all I could do. Wait and be useless. Wait and rely on others to fix a mistake I should have prevented. Seeing Barnabas at the bedside felt right like he belonged with you while I was just…”\n\n\nHer arms strained from hugging herself. She sniffed. The next words became unintelligible in a stream of tears. The other two hugged her close, forming a body blanket around her quivering form. She clutched them tight, not wanting to let either go. Nothing else needed to be said. \n\n\nAfter what felt like an eternity of their body heat, Blenafee spoke up. “Do you trust me?” he asked.\n\n\n“Of course I do.” Bahralpha forced a laugh. “I let you do all the talking.” \n\n\nAt that, he guided her toward the bed. They shared a kiss. His tongue was as delicate as she remembered. Skillful and soft, able to wrestle into her maw yet submit when the time was right. She didn’t notice her bathrobe had been stripped away and her arms bound behind her until the goblin let go.\n\n\n“What is–” Blenafee stopped her with a finger.\n\n\n“Do. You. Trust. Me?” He repeated. At her nod, the goblin lowered the kobold to her knees. He stripped away his fine clothes, letting his small green body gleam in the firelight. His soft hand directed her to the dainty erection raised between his legs. A small drop of precum fell to the floor.\n\n\n“Suck.” It was not a request but a command. Her inner voice told Bahralpha to challenge that. No one issued commands in this party except for her. But she trusted Blenafee in danger, so she needed to trust him in bed as well. If not, then what else could she do? So the kobold kissed his green cockhead. Her tongue lathered the tip, tasting the salty goo upon his urethra before sinking inch by inch until her nose touched the base. \n\n\nBlenafee told her enough about sucking cock to understand the basics. Lots of tongue work, some suction, no teeth, easy stuff. From the goblin’s stifled moan, she seemed to be working. Though in her defense, Blenafee’s cock was a rare source of his pleasure unless Barnabas was feeling excessively horny. \n\n\nHe seemed ready to release but pulled her away at the last second. She spat a glob of spit and saliva to the floor. “Afraid you’ll pop too early?” She asked. \n\n\nBlenafee shook his head. “No. Just giving Barnabas his turn.” \n\n\nThe dwarf hoisted her over his knee before she could respond. When her tail moved on instinct she realized it’d been tied to her, leaving her posterior open. The realization of why, much like Barnabas’s hand, struck her.\n\n\n“This is for leaving without saying goodbye.” The flat of his palm slapped her asscheeks. “This is for making us trek for weeks searching for you. This is for all those nights I couldn’t sleep because of what I said.”\n\n\nHe punctuated each point with a firm spank. Bahralpha grit her teeth, baring the pain and the odd tingly pleasure running between her legs. Barnabas had never been so forceful before, at least not to her. Neither of them have. The reversal was oddly pleasant—a break from the stress of command. \n\n\nWhen Barnabas finished turning her white ass pink he pushed her back over the bed. She felt his prick brace her cunt before comfort set in. The first push broke through, sinking in with heat rising from her nethers. The kobold huffed, biting into the sheets to ease herself at the dwarf’s patient thrusts. She’d always watched him fuck Blenafee, toying with herself at his gentle pistoning. She didn’t imagine enjoying it this much. She’d enjoy it more while holding his leash.\n\n\nTruth be told, there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind. As Barnabas sped up, thrusting with wet slaps of his cock into her cunt, the kobold couldn’t help but point out flaws. The bonds were too loose for her, her partner too gentle, and Blenafee saw fit to watch from the chair, casually stroking his green pecker. Her jaws dug deeper into the bed to stay silent, not wanting to ruin their fun. \n\n\nShe felt the rush of his seed well before her orgasm could ripple. With an exhausted sigh the dwarf pulled out, leaving her aching and wanting for more. Bahralpha opened up to shout, not to beg but demand he continue, and stopped when she saw the dwarf suckle her toes. \n\n\n“Of course,” Bahralpha rolled her eyes. “You can’t help it, can you?” \n\n\n“Can you blame him?” Blenafee giggled. “Kobold feet are–”\n\n\nShe lassoed a rope around his chest and pulled him over. Blenafee looked at her with his pretty face in scarlet shock. The kobold, stretching her free arms, smiled. “You’ve taught me how to escape tighter ties than this. Or were you just intentionally being sloppy?” \n\n\nThe goblin’s erection stiffened. She grinned. “Why don’t you join Barnabas down there? I could use a proper massage for all my walking.\"", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Barnabas never liked saying his blisters had blisters. Complaining about walking was considered in poor taste for career adventurers. Walking was, after all, their main method of transportation if everything else was exhausted. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t, since the journey was more fun than the destination. Often the dwarf found the destination part of adventuring boring. Now he kept thinking about his aching feet just to not drown himself in worry of their destination.


It’d been weeks since Bahralpha left them. Weeks they’ve scoured through the wintered lands searching town after town for any sign of her. He blamed himself for letting it last this long. She’d only gotten a day's trip before them. If he hadn’t been so furious with her to mistake her lack of noise for lack of grief they’d still be together. He imagined her by their side, snout deep in a map while contemplating their next quest. He’d smile, tell her to enjoy the view, and she’d tell him to be serious.


He couldn’t smile now. Even when Blenafee forced one in his direction.


Neither bothered to look at the newest town’s name as they entered. It was the nearest from their last failed rumor, a break from the winter chill biting through their clothes. Along the muddy streets, Barnabas noticed terse glances at them. At Blenafee specifically. It couldn’t be helped. The further away from the cities they were, the more likely they’d meet folk who’s knowledge of goblins came from talk of traveling warbands or raiders. Talk of goblin adventurers was rare. Barnabas pulled his lover close, fearing that if not for his presence the goblin would be kicked out of town. Bahralpha no doubt knew the same. Guilt squeezed his heart as he imagined her trying to go through town as a lone kobold.


Gold bought them trust. The local tavern didn’t have furniture for short folk. Barnabas preferred it that way, easing the blisters of his feet as they hung. A frothy pint and hot bowl of porridge helped soothe the malaise.


“I’ll ask around,” Blenafee said after just one spoonful of porridge and a gulp of ale. He liked to look for rumors as soon as they settled in. Blenafee had never been one to rest on his laurels where fun could still be had, he’d been more insistent since Bahralpha left. Always chasing rumors, listening for gossip, and asking for any sign of a cranky white-scaled kobold passing through. Knowing he’d be ignored, Barnabas didn’t tell him to stop and rest. Better to let his concern simmer than explode. Better to let Blenafee do what he needed instead of pushing him away by accident.


He shivered despite the raging hearth. Barnabas ordered two more ale’s from the serving woman. Then three when that wasn’t enough. They had gold to spare. Not to buy the farm Bahralpha suggested. They were well past that.


“The world’s gone to shite these days,” said one drunkard on a table to his left.


“‘Ere we go.” His companion spoke in a tone that begot an eye roll.


“I’m serious.”


“You’re drunk.”


“No. I’ve only had one pint. I’ll need more than that to wobble, unlike your sister.”


The drunk snorted. “If you were anyone else I’d send you home bleeding. But then my sister would hound me.”


The drunks laughed. Barnabas resumed his meal. He had better things to do than listen to the ramblings of strangers. But something about the first man’s tone made the hairs on his back stand on end. He kept his ear high and ordered two more pints.


“Can you tell me that man’s name?” He asked when she arrived.


“Who?” She asked, frowning when he pointed to the pair. “Oh. That’s Finnigan and Rhode. They’re locals. Are they bothering you, master dwarf?”


Her reverence almost made him spit out his drink. “No. No,” Barnabas lied. He could have found Blenafee, grabbed their things, and left for another town. Or have taken to a room early and hunted for details on Bahralpha in the morning. For reasons he dared not address Barnabas continued to listen.


Finnigan went on, “My father used to tell me stories about his father’s adventuring days. Back when the only people going out and about were men with strong sword arms, a penchant for magic, or clever hands.”


“Clever hands?” Rhode asked, “You mean with their own personal sausages?”


“I’m talking thieves you fat git.” Finnigan’s face soured. “Trying to do the old guard honorable. No one wants to be remembered as a thief. That’s why they’re all called rogues now or some shite.”


“So you say.”


“No, so as anyone sitting in a dark corner with their hood up indoors. Being a thief invites trouble. Being a rogue is vague.”


Rhode sucker punched Finnigan’s shoulder hard enough to send ale sloshing about. “So what about your grandpappy’s adventuring days made it all right, huh? Back when they had thieves as heroes.”


“Simple is ya oaf. It was people. People like you and me. Sometimes there was the occasional elf and dwarf, but they're a respectable folk. Ancient and wise. They were a…” Finnigan snapped his fingers three times, sounding out the word ‘minority’ cautiously at each syllable. “They weren’t common. It was a human’s career.”


“Think halflings were there too.”


“Oh bugger off,” Finnigan slammed the table. “Those wee runts can’t be adventurers. They don’t have the muscle for it. Just like the women.”


“Finn, it’s been years. You can let go of Sally’s daughter kicking your ass in wrestling. No one cares anymore.”


“It ain’t about that.” Finn jabbed his finger at Rhode’s chest, “It’s about how adventuring has been polluted. My father started to notice it back when tusked half-breeds started walking about instead of being killed at birth as mercy. Then there’s those poor devil-folk who think their curse ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Did you know they come in blue and green now? They should come in brown or white, without the horns and tails. And then there’s these two-legged dragon folk. People confuse them with lizardfolk. I ask you, why are we even making that distinction instead of killing them all on sight?”


“‘Cause they help people, Finn.”


“Right,” Finn laughed, “They help people. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time I see a goblin raiding my chicken pen. I killed my first goblin when I was barely a boy. Now I got to be careful if a goblin is some wild beast or some adventurer ‘liberating’ my chickens. Since when did we allow goblins to just walk into this village without a hassle?” He scoffed, leaning back into his chair with another swig of the pint, “Goblins, kobolds, what’s next? Literal fiends from the hells deciding they want to do good for coin?”


With clenched fists, Barnabas left his seat. He powered through wobbly steps with determined fury, bringing his fist down on the drunkard’s table. Finnigan and Rhode pulled back, eyes wide and faces pale at the dwarf’s presence. The first sound out of his mouth was not the furious takedown of these two inebriated common folk, but a loud belch that rocked the dwarf’s constitution.


“Are…are you alright, master dwarf?” Rhode asked.


“No.” Barnabas wiped his mouth, “I’m not alright. And if I have to keep hearing the two of you blather on then neither will either of you.”


Finnigan shot a quick glance to his friend. “We…we meant no trouble, master dwarf.”


“Barnabas.”


“Pardon?” Finnigan raised his brow.


A stubby finger thick as a sausage jabbed Finnigan’s thigh. “My name isn’t ‘Master Dwarf’. It’s Barnabas. B. A. R. N…abas.”


“Oh. Of course, lord Ba-”


He brought Finnigan to his eye level by way of his shirt collar. “Not lord. Not master. Just Barnabas. I will not abide by honorifics from those so eager to badmouth those who put their lives on the line, regardless of their birth. What gives…” The dwarf paused, feeling a rumbling in his stomach that passed quickly. “What gives you the right to badmouth good men, women, and beyond?”


Finnigan forced an anxious laugh and pulled himself free. “Mas…Barnabas. Surely you jest. Your people hate these monster races more than we do. There are legends of dwarven stubbornness in the face of these beasts. Ancient enmity against those who defile your holds. Orcs, goblins, kobolds…”


As a young dwarf, Barnabas’s favorite stories were of his berserker ancestors. Dwarves who, in desperate times, pushed through groups of enemies with nothing but wrath empowering them. He’d seen a few in action on his adventures, finding the sight a terror to behold but still envious of how they could protect others. When he asked them what it felt like, there were conflicting answers. The commonality between them was that there was a feeling. A click, switch, or twitch, that ignited their drive.


His insides went cold. Not cold like the winter winds. But cold as the searing pain of fire before it burned. Barnabas didn’t feel the ale spill over him when he flipped the table. He didn’t register the sudden screams of surprise, nor the impact of his knuckles against Finnigan’s face. He was numb. Methodically bashing the farmer’s face into a bloody mess with a shattered nose and scattered teeth darting the floorboards. Rhode tried to grab him but Barnabas’s lower center of mass made it impossible. The dwarf turned with a wide strike, punching the fat man’s knee to topple him.


He screamed. No. He was screaming. He’d been screaming since before Finnigan’s blood painted his knuckles. “You think my people are ones for grudges? If that were true then what’s your innocence? Did your grandfather never raid an abandoned dwarven tomb? Did he not steal from merchants? Did he not plunder ancient holds of treasures long taken by dragons? What puts you above goblins and kobolds? What makes you no better than a pest?!”


Finnigan’s self-defense was lost in the wreckage of his broken jaw. Several hands pulled Barnabas off. He kicked out and thrashed, swearing he wasn’t done with, in his words, the racist bastard. It took Blenafee’s soft face to stop him, freezing the dwarf with his fist hovering over his lover's face.


“Barnabas,” Blenafee spoke calmly like he would a wild beast. His hands were out for good measure. “It’s ok. I’m here.” The goblin took Barnabas’s thick hands into his own and pulled them into his chest. “Calm down. Please.”


He hurled. The last six or seven pints spilled from his mouth to the floor. In all their travels Barnabas never found human ale to be so powerful. Deep down he knew it wasn’t the ale. Blenafee knew it too by his softening features.


“It’s my fault…” Barnabas whispered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the spittle coating his beard. “It’s my fault she’s gone. She could be hurt. Killed by some bumfuck farmer who can’t tell one kobold from another. I pushed her away.”


“Shhh…” Blenafee whispered, letting the larger dwarf rest on his shoulder. “Shh…it’s ok. Just take it easy, alright? For me?”


His eyelids grew heavy. Blenafee’s words massaged his mind like blankets being folded over him on a cold day. Magic. Soothing bardic magic. The kind Blenafee used to help the dwarf sleep since Bahralpha left. Barnabas let Blenafee guide him to the floor, sinking into slumber. Better he sleep than cause a bar fight.




***




Blenafee sighed with relief when Barnabas’s head sank into his thighs. He was getting worse. When one wore their heart on their sleeves it showed everyone when they were broken. He loved Barnabas’s lack of subtlety. In comparison, Bahralpha always had a wall around her. He’d prod at it, telling her she didn’t need it. He chuckled at the irony that he now understood why she had it when she was gone. If Blenafee went another night coaxing his lover to sleep with a subtle enchantment he’d go insane.


“Your master nearly killed my sister’s husband!” A fat man shouted. Blenafee’s ears twitched but he said nothing. He looked upon the tavern with a smiling mask of apologies.


“I’m sorry,” Blenafee bowed, “Barnabas and I have lost a companion recently. We’ve been looking for her. A white-scaled kobold. By chance have any of you seen her?”


“I don’t care who your master is looking for.” Again Blenafee’s pointed ear twitched at the big man’s argument. He threw his weight over the goblin, hands in his friend’s blood pressed against his hips. “My best mate is bleeding. We’ll want compensation.”


“Of course.” The goblin kept up his most submissive smile. Better to look soft and harmless as a goblin in civilization. Be cute and helpful. “If you’ll allow me, I can heal his wounds. I know several spells for the job.”


“Throw in some gold.”


“Is your friend’s life worth risking over a few coins?”


The big man cracked his knuckles. “Is your master’s?”


Blenafee kept his smile but filled his glare with contempt. A trained bard knew never to let the mask slip. The audience needed to be immersed, to view the bard as an act and not as a person. One’s emotions broke that thin line. Blenafee had been through enough shows to know this, but he had limits.


Luckily the big man was either too dense or too focused on his brother-in-law’s condition to notice. “It appears we’ve reached an impasse, my good man.” Blenafee wiped the specks of barf that dotted his sleeves. “You seem determined for compensation and we are unwilling to pay.”


“I got some farm work if you can’t afford it.”


“Unwilling,” Blenafee corrected, emphasizing each syllable with hidden derison. “We have more than enough gold. Perhaps enough to buy this whole establishment if that didn’t drain us dry. But you will not see a single coin from us.”


More locals stood up from their seats. Fists clenched, necks cracked, and beady eyes looked down on him. None carried swords, fashioning crude bludgeons out of their cups or picking up lone chairs. “Then we ought to toss you out to the winter winds.”


In a flash, the goblin drew his flute. “N-now, now,” he forced an awkward laugh. “There’s no need for trouble. Why don’t we all sit down and forget what happened?” The music of his flute propelled his words through each ear. Faces furrowed in anger softened. Some looked around in confusion. Others returned to their seats to order more drinks. Only the big man remained standing, bewildered at what happened.


“He is not my master,” Blenafee said in a voice only the other man heard. “He is my lover and he’s in pain. I heard what your friend said about my kind and I will heal him regardless. And you will tell me of any kobolds that came through here or of anyone who may know. If you do not, well,” a wicked smile crossed his lips, “I can always play a tune to the sound of your screams.”




***




Bahralpha held her nose. Coastal towns were known to smell horrible, but she never expected the stink to persist in the colder months. The kobold tasted salt in the air from when she reached the gate. The drying fish wasn’t much further beyond. It’d been so distracting that she’d almost let her tail slip free from her cloak. Thankfully none of the guards noticed.


It was never easy traversing the surface world as a lone kobold. Even with the variety of adventurers wandering the lands, from bugbears to half-orcs, there was suspicion that any kobold on sight was connected to some greater threat. The scion of a dragon or a sign of a hidden kobold nest somewhere deep in their settlement. From her experience only the largest cities could support hidden kobold nests, so she rolled her eyes whenever the issue was brought up.


Blenafee made things easier. He turned three suspicious inspections into one with a guard that always looked cheery at the end. Given the goblin’s talented tongue, she couldn’t blame him. When Barnabas joined their frisking days ended. In their suffocating absence, Bahralpha found it easier to cover herself in a heavy cloak, coil her tail around her waist, and pretend to be some cranky gnome.  


She figured the disguise wasn’t needed past the front gate. Port towns were better known for housing travelers. Merchants and adventurers came in all sizes, shapes, and colors after all. So the moment she saw another kobold, a goblin, or something other than a human, dwarf, elf, or even anything orc-bred walking around in broad daylight she’d cast down her hood, stand upright, unfurl her tail so she could walk without the staff for balance, and clear her throat to wash out the cranky-old-gnome accent. In the worst case, she'd keep the disguise on when chartering a ship, sailing off, and finding a more accepting port town to start her new adventuring career. Or go find a tunnel to the Underdark. There was always a tunnel to the Underdark.


Blenafee once told Bahralpha that she had what he called ‘Resting Bitch Face’. He told her this only once, as one look from her and an insinuating question afterward made him reevaluate his words carefully. The thought became more prominent as every expression that turned her way dropped any pretense of a smile and looked away while she trudged through the streets. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for her, most people looked to Barnabas first whenever they entered a town, then Blenafee when they realized he could talk with a level of sophistication unexpected from goblins. Often she lied to herself that people knew not to stare directly at her out of her presence alone. They knew deep down that Bahralpha was beyond their notice, like a queen who graced their pathways.


These past few weeks made her confront the harsh reality that she did scare people. Not in the way a dragon demands obedience through fear of their tyrannical might. More akin to a children’s monster that hid under beds or closets. The nuisance nightmare. Such a status was so far beneath her that she’d fly into a rage if not for her aching feet and growling stomach.


“Why don’t we get something to eat?” Barnabas would say. She mimicked his tone under her breath, digging deep to copy the thick gutted, and hairy lug whose snores warded off wolves.


“I could eat.” She mimicked Blenafee’s voice with a pitch higher than her own. He’d smile and look at Bahralpha, eyes like a puppy. No, she didn’t care for puppies. They are annoying little creatures. She couldn’t find a better word to describe the goblin’s expression. It almost always worked because she’d sigh while weighing the pros and cons of a tavern stop. Being the adult she’d have tracked their money.


Her face soured at the sight of her coin pouch. “Not today.” She said to herself, inviting another ironic growl from her stomach. “Chart a ship. Find a new crew of pretty boys. Start a new harem.” The kobold repeated like a mantra. These needed to be less emotionally available. Trophy partners. The kind that looked good in leather collars and did her bidding without complaint, but not so loyal she’d be too attached to worry about their safety. Those were, regrettably, rare in the adventuring business on account of the required trust in others ultimately building close bonds for anyone but complete sociopaths. Maybe a brothel business would be better.


But then she’d need to share. The kobold grit her teeth. She hated sharing.


By the time Bahralpha arrived at the docks, she’d become accustomed to the smell of fish. Despite Blenafee taking care of the people-pleasing work, she knew how to find a captain. If there were no men in colorful uniforms then she’d just ask the biggest fellow where his captain was. The man in question had arms like tree trunks and a beard that, while shorter, looked thick enough to put Barnabas to shame. For a brief moment, she wondered how it’d feel between her legs, then snapped herself out of the trance. She’d need to find a brothel by her next payday.


“Excuse me.” She spoke in a polite tone. The man did not respond. He didn’t even peer in her direction. Her inner voice screamed that this man should be on his knees in apology, but she brushed intrusive thoughts aside and spoke again. “Excuse me. I’d like to speak with the captain of your ship.”


He seemed shocked by her presence after a quick prodding from her staff. “Oh. Sorry there, little lass. Been lost in thought on my break. How can I help yee?”


 Bahralpha craned her head back at the title of ‘little lass’. His tone didn’t scream malice but she’d cast spells for worse. She cleared her throat and kept calm. “My name is Bahralpha. I would like to speak with your captain.”


“Oh, I’m not the captain, Lass.”


She wore her puzzlement plain as day. “I…I know you’re not. I’m asking you to get him for me.”


“What for, Lass?”


“Bahralpha,” she corrected, tightening her hold on her staff. “And I wish to charter his vessel.”


“Charter it? We’re not part of this town.”


Her right eye twitched. “No, no. Charter as in hire. I wish to hire the captain and his crew to travel down the coast.”


“We’re not heading down the coast next. We’re going across the open sea.”


“Even better. Please, take me to him.”


“Can’t.”


Hundreds of footsteps creaking along the wooden pier filled the pause between them. “Why not?” Bahralpha asked. She should have given up and looked for someone else, but her pride refused to surrender.


He shrugged, “He wouldn’t be feeling it.”


Bahralpha’s back started to hurt from hunching over. “What do you mean he wouldn’t be feeling it?” She asked through clenched teeth.


The sailor took a deep breath. “Well, the captain’s been going on and on about retiring. Says the sea life is a lonely one and he misses his wife. Apparently, he’s got a son just old enough to start sailing so he’s in a bit of a bind. Retire to spend time with his family, or spend a few more years sailing. Now you’d think that wouldn’t be an issue because spending time with his son is great, right? Wel,l the captain ain’t particularly sure the boy is his, as she got pregnant and had him while he was off on a voyage. Captain’s done this enough with other ladies to suspect it. Honestly, Lass, if–” The sailor never got to tell Bahralpha she should try another vessel, something she instantly regretted after her immediate reaction. But hearing him disregard her name a third time caused her patience to shatter like expensive porcelain tossed by a toddler.


“Bahralpha!”


The sailor’s expression froze with a flash of light that exploded from her palm. Traces of ice littered the space behind him with chunks falling into the saltwater below. Normally Bahralpha would have enough control to realize what she’d done. Weeks of traveling alone, having to hide from paranoid humans, and struggling to sleep with doubts brought her right to the edge. This sailor’s benign words were just the light breeze needed to tip her over.


“It is not Lass. It is Bahralpha! I shouldn’t need to say it more than once you salt-brained fish fucker!”


Judging from the stares her voice carried farther than she expected. She glanced about, then looked to the icy block that had become the sailor. The weight of her actions slowly ground her down.


Hands were on her before she could voice an apology. The magic flowing through her next words turned her body into a cold winter breeze that weaved through the crowd. The white kobold reformed with her claws scraping stones, running for her life from the angry mob throwing stones in her direction.


Every spell flung drained her stamina. She held back the urge to lob a fireball behind her, knowing setting the town alight wouldn’t help her charter a vessel. Then again the idea of getting a ship sailed away quickly enough. If she didn’t just sneak aboard one and hide like a rat she’d need to find another port town to escape this accursed place. More walking, more months alone, more hiding. Bahralpha didn’t notice her tears until she hunkered deep in an alleyway behind a pile of crates.


“I think she went this way.” One voice said with a loud whisper rather than a shout. Bahralpha clasped her snout shut and curled herself into a ball, hoping her ragged cloak would be mistaken for discarded garbage if it covered all of her. Two pairs of footsteps drew closer.


“Are you sure?” Another voice asked, this one thick and oddly familiar.


“I’m sure. What do you think happened?”


“She probably got too uppity with a captain.”


The first voice smacked the second, “Barnabas, hold it back. We’re trying to–”


Bahralpha poked her head out before the first voice finished. Her eyes went wide like dinner plates at the sight of Barnabas and Blenafee. Both were in clothes ragged from traveling and mud-caked boots. They stopped dead, faces white in surprise before smiles widened their faces.


“W-What…” Bahralpha’s throat went tight and her eyes blurred with tears. “What are you two doing here?”


Barnabas clasped his arms tight around her. His tear-stained beard scratched her face. “Oh, thank the gods, you’re alright!” He praised. His hold on her might have put a stop to that if Blenafee hadn’t ushered him to free her. “Sorry. Sorry. We’ve been worried sick about you.”


The last time she saw the goblin he was covered in bandages and tucked beneath layers of blanket. Some bandages still cover his face, yellowing with time, but enough of his smile broke through to warm her heart. She hugged him like Barnabas hugged her, and refused to let go until her better judgment demanded it.


Common sense swiftly smacked her head. She pushed him away. “What are you doing here?” She hushed her shout, still clutching his shoulders tight in refusal to let go. “I left you both with enough money to retire. What in the hells made you think it was a good idea to follow me?”


“Who said we were following you?” Barnabas answered with a smug grin before Blenafee could get a word in.


She growled. Last she’d seen him they were on the edge of tears and now the dwarf had the gall to tease her. “Was this your idea? Do you have some last words you need to get off your chest? I–”


“Bahralpha,” Blenafee pushed his palm to her snout, “I love you, but you’re rattled and about to say something you don’t mean. We’d love to talk to you about why we’re here but first, we need to find someplace more private. We’ve already rented a private room in a tavern.”


Having been marching over dirt and sleeping in cramped spaces for so long, a private room sounded lovely. And Blenafee was right, the last spell and ensuing mob made her jittery. With a sigh she relented. “Please tell me there’s at least a bath.”


“It’s a private one.” Barnabas stroked his beard, “Benefits of a suite.”




***




When adventuring together Bahralpha considered the choice of a suite to be a waste of money. The big towns and cities that housed taverns with them had regular rooms big enough for their liking. As much as she liked to be worshiped as a queen the kobold needed to be fruitful. She had hoped Blenafee and Barnabas would have taken that to heart, so her expression upon seeing the wide open space bedecked with lavish furs, pelt carpets, and choice paintings was a mix of awe and judgment.


“How much did this cost?” She finally asked. The two shrugged. “You are paying for this, right?” Her brow rose warily.


“Desperate times call for desperate distractions.” Blenafee strummed one of the many instruments he carried. “It took some choice words but I’m paying for this place with performances.”


Blenafee was a talented bard but even this was too much. “Seems like an uneven trade.”


“Choice words,” Blenafee repeated. Leading her to the washroom the goblin bowed to take her grimy cloak and travel-worn clothes.


“We definitely need to get you something new.”


“Bath first,” Bahralpha mumbled. There was a fireplace underneath the tub. Barnabas stuffed it with wood. After three failed matches she shot a bolt of fire to ignite the mess.


“I’d like some privacy for this.” Neither of them argued, leaving her to soak her aching legs in the warming water. Her aches vanished. She stayed until the fire died out.


After drying herself with a simple spell the kobold, clad in a convenient bathrobe, walked out refreshed and relaxed. The sudden reminder of why she was there at the sight of her two lovers shattered that mood.


“I suppose this is where I issue the apology, right?” She asked, climbing up a seat. It was still a human town so the chairs weren’t her size. “Or do you want an explanation?”


“Both.” They said in unison.


“I was scared,” she said after a pause. “Scared and hurt. We’ve been through dangers together, but none of us ever got hurt like that before. I tried to keep my mind off it, believing the healers in town would be enough. But when Barnabas assumed I was being calloused I…I feared he was right. I’m not the kind of woman to sit around and do nothing. I can’t just wait for a recovery. But that was all I could do. Wait and be useless. Wait and rely on others to fix a mistake I should have prevented. Seeing Barnabas at the bedside felt right like he belonged with you while I was just…”


Her arms strained from hugging herself. She sniffed. The next words became unintelligible in a stream of tears. The other two hugged her close, forming a body blanket around her quivering form. She clutched them tight, not wanting to let either go. Nothing else needed to be said.


After what felt like an eternity of their body heat, Blenafee spoke up. “Do you trust me?” he asked.


“Of course I do.” Bahralpha forced a laugh. “I let you do all the talking.”


At that, he guided her toward the bed. They shared a kiss. His tongue was as delicate as she remembered. Skillful and soft, able to wrestle into her maw yet submit when the time was right. She didn’t notice her bathrobe had been stripped away and her arms bound behind her until the goblin let go.


“What is–” Blenafee stopped her with a finger.


“Do. You. Trust. Me?” He repeated. At her nod, the goblin lowered the kobold to her knees. He stripped away his fine clothes, letting his small green body gleam in the firelight. His soft hand directed her to the dainty erection raised between his legs. A small drop of precum fell to the floor.


“Suck.” It was not a request but a command. Her inner voice told Bahralpha to challenge that. No one issued commands in this party except for her. But she trusted Blenafee in danger, so she needed to trust him in bed as well. If not, then what else could she do? So the kobold kissed his green cockhead. Her tongue lathered the tip, tasting the salty goo upon his urethra before sinking inch by inch until her nose touched the base.


Blenafee told her enough about sucking cock to understand the basics. Lots of tongue work, some suction, no teeth, easy stuff. From the goblin’s stifled moan, she seemed to be working. Though in her defense, Blenafee’s cock was a rare source of his pleasure unless Barnabas was feeling excessively horny.


He seemed ready to release but pulled her away at the last second. She spat a glob of spit and saliva to the floor. “Afraid you’ll pop too early?” She asked.


Blenafee shook his head. “No. Just giving Barnabas his turn.”


The dwarf hoisted her over his knee before she could respond. When her tail moved on instinct she realized it’d been tied to her, leaving her posterior open. The realization of why, much like Barnabas’s hand, struck her.


“This is for leaving without saying goodbye.” The flat of his palm slapped her asscheeks. “This is for making us trek for weeks searching for you. This is for all those nights I couldn’t sleep because of what I said.”


He punctuated each point with a firm spank. Bahralpha grit her teeth, baring the pain and the odd tingly pleasure running between her legs. Barnabas had never been so forceful before, at least not to her. Neither of them have. The reversal was oddly pleasant—a break from the stress of command.


When Barnabas finished turning her white ass pink he pushed her back over the bed. She felt his prick brace her cunt before comfort set in. The first push broke through, sinking in with heat rising from her nethers. The kobold huffed, biting into the sheets to ease herself at the dwarf’s patient thrusts. She’d always watched him fuck Blenafee, toying with herself at his gentle pistoning. She didn’t imagine enjoying it this much. She’d enjoy it more while holding his leash.


Truth be told, there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind. As Barnabas sped up, thrusting with wet slaps of his cock into her cunt, the kobold couldn’t help but point out flaws. The bonds were too loose for her, her partner too gentle, and Blenafee saw fit to watch from the chair, casually stroking his green pecker. Her jaws dug deeper into the bed to stay silent, not wanting to ruin their fun.


She felt the rush of his seed well before her orgasm could ripple. With an exhausted sigh the dwarf pulled out, leaving her aching and wanting for more. Bahralpha opened up to shout, not to beg but demand he continue, and stopped when she saw the dwarf suckle her toes.


“Of course,” Bahralpha rolled her eyes. “You can’t help it, can you?”


“Can you blame him?” Blenafee giggled. “Kobold feet are–”


She lassoed a rope around his chest and pulled him over. Blenafee looked at her with his pretty face in scarlet shock. The kobold, stretching her free arms, smiled. “You’ve taught me how to escape tighter ties than this. Or were you just intentionally being sloppy?”


The goblin’s erection stiffened. She grinned. “Why don’t you join Barnabas down there? I could use a proper massage for all my walking."", "pools_count": 1, "title": "B Team: Reforged (Commission)", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/plain", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "165" }