The Three Adventurers

Included kinks:

Futa, fantasy, romance, plot, non-kinky chapter, emotional tone, character focus, worldbuilding, farewells, size differences, mini-gts, feats of strength, hyper, comradery, banter -- conclusion to act 1

All characters are entirely fictional and all above the age of 18!

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Syn was surprised to find the guys' reaction this lacking in reluctance ... and volume.

A part of her wished they would refuse to accept the three futas' departure. To stand against the inevitable with all the weapons in their arsenal. Charm, persuasion, wit, whatever necessary to somehow make them stay. But it was probably for the better they came to terms with the fact that their paths would depart on an easy road, not a rocky one.

Syn, now standing at more than double the height and width of most men, explained in no uncertain terms where they were headed. A place no living creature in their right mind would willingly travel to. But this was the path the spirits have chosen for them. For them alone.

She crushed all doubt about what any involvement of their band, human or dwarf, would bring. A swift death was one of the more optimistic outcomes. Lord Dilaran himself made this clear in his account ... which obviously ended before entering the forest that swallowed him and his army whole. Very few insisted on offering their assistance after that.

But they wouldn't let their commander leave without a final gift.

They might not be able to join the Three, but they had in them to lend them a helping hand one last time. Karstjan and Ser Lundor among others were the first to suggest building them a ship which could carry The Three to the ancient Forrest twice as save and thrice as fast. An offer Syn couldn't refuse. And one that bound them to their band for a bit longer.

Gunjon, true to his islander heritage, was well-versed in shipbuilding and oversaw the construction as the entire army came together for one final project. Their last 'mission' they called it. Khoren and his people were not obliged to stay and were offered save passage into Hammark more than once. Yet, they remained and offered their help wherever they could. Crafty and with smiles on their malnourished faces. A warming gesture Syn would never forget, nor the days that followed.

Silently, Syn feared the moment that carcass of wood and planks would see its completion. She toyed with setting it aflame more than once. But as the days passed by, used for reminiscing and relieving dozens of shared adventures, grand and small, that cursed hour crept closer without mercy.

Syn could tell her two futa comrades shared the same dread.

Her right-hand woman also latched onto any opportunity to sit together by the fire, share one last bottle of wine, with anyone who crossed her path. Only Gunjon strangely avoided Lyanne with persistence. To the extent even Fel noticed, who by now was more or less granted full citizenship in Tukhardún. Brossim swore he would make sure any dwarven gate would stand open if she'd ever wish to visit the great city under the Iron Peak. One could tell, she more than looked forward to that day, and was well-aware that this offer didn't come lightly. As surely the first orc in history to ever receive such an invitation.

And Syn?

She spent the last few days lost between worlds. Enjoying every second, she was granted with Khoren and his people, with Karstjan and the guys during the day, assuring everybody got a chance to say their farewells. By night she delved deep into the world of the Nostarna until the sun would rise again. She devoured Lord Dilaran's report countless more times, until every word was burnt into her mind. Raided her comprehensive library on the search of anything that might assist them on their journey. But perhaps they weren't meant to find any aid beyond an ancient report and the supernatural book that somehow found its way into her possession. Perhaps that was exactly what the spirit's intended and therefore beyond any mere mortal to change?

Those were the questions that kept her up at night, that made her feel anxious for the day when they would take to the river and travel down the Durstrom towards their destiny.

And despite her best efforts in avoiding that cursed hour, it eventually arrived.

It was way too lovely a day for that sort of farewell, Syn kept thinking.

"Have you seen Gunjon somewhere?" Lyanne asked, standing on her toes.

"No, not yet," the half-elf said in a caring tone. "Surely, he'll come."

Lyanne only sighed.

The three stood before the camp, a crowd a thousand men strong stretching before her. Their voices resembled one of Goldfurt's busiest trading halls rather than a mercenary encampment.

So merry was their mood one wouldn't think this day could end in tears. Or at least everybody tried their hardest to make it seem that way.

"Boys," Syn said mousey, without emphasis that would capture anyone's attention.

A part of her didn't want them to notice her heralding the speech that would become her last. From the looks of how eagerly everybody kept chatting they seemed inclined to prolong those final words by simply ignoring their commander. Syn didn't mind waiting some more.

"I bet if you would show your bazongas they would all shut up and listen," Fel said, looking up to the gigantic elf.

"Bazongas? Seriously?" Lyanne sighed. "Is that how Brossim and his lads are already talking about us?"

"Only about Syn," the orc said innocently. "You and I got tits. Knockers. But Syn, she got the huge Bazongas."

"Glad we are for this piece of wisdom richer," Lyanne frowned and crossed her huge arms, ironically making her knockers stand out firmer underneath her dark robe.

Syn had long gotten used to their comrades sharp, yet toothless bickering. Especially when they both tried their hardest to stand at their tallest when they felt shaken.

Lyanne and Fel were quite alike in many ways, Syn thought. They were not the sort of women who allowed themselves to break under pressure. Perhaps this was why they were this much on edge today. Knowing their armour might be tested and about to reveal some cracks at last.

"Wisdom comes in many forms, Lyanne," the towering half elf said, laying a huge hand on Lyanne's wide shoulder. "Like the scribes of old used to say, 'the shrewdest masters are rich in wisdom from every source'."

Lyanne looked up to the now impossibly tall half-elf and nodded eventually.

"Aye. That I can agree with," the knight said and looked past Syn's immense posterior towards Fel, caught in her thought. "You okay?"

The orc kept nodding, a sour grin on her face.

"It is just..." she paused. "It is true what Syn says. I learnt a lot from you... form everyone here. Especially Brossim and his guys."

"Really? You were already a master in drinking, Fel," Lyanne joked but Fel only kept staring into the crowd before her, her face unmoving.

"He helped me learn your language, just as much as Syn."

Fel talked with a softer voice than it befitted a naked desert warrior of her staggering prowess. Her eyes were glued to the dwarves standing in the first rows, their voices booming twice as loud as any human's.

"Not just the funny words that make you or Syn's faces turn red. But understanding you northerners," the orc said, her voice oozing with sadness. "There was so little I knew when I came here. I would have never got to know you all without them."

Syn had never seen Fel this sentimental and immediately rested her hand on the smaller orc. Unlike before, Fel didn't shrug her off or countered with a cheeky remark about their difference in size but held onto Syn's hand.

"I'm sure he also learnt a lot from you," Syn whispered, making Fel grin despite the visible tension on her face.

Suddenly, a piercing whistle shot through the air, coming from Syn's left. Lyanne had still her fingers in her mouth, her green eyes innocently staring up to the half-blooded giantess.

"I thought we better get this over with before we're all sobbing. There is enough time for that later," Lyanne said.

"Can't argue with that," Syn smirked and noticed Fel leaning into Lyanne with wide eyes.

"How did you do that?!" the orc gasped, her fingers trying to mirror Lyanne's. "Is that some human warcry?"

"Whistling?" Lyanne chuckled. "No, but it's almost as helpful."

"Can you teach me?" the orc asked, with a young scholar's unbound curiosity.

"I will, Fel," the islander said under the approving eyes of her commander. "We got to learn from all sources. At least that's what some old scribes said, so it must be true, right?"

"Aye," Syn replied, and s laid her hands on both warriors next to her as the crowd turned towards her.

Syn's heart was pounding knowing their last moment together had finally arrived. She took a deep breath and lifted her right arm like she did hundreds of times before.

"Boys... I ... " she stumbled, her gaze darting through countless faces.

Only now she truly noticed the perspective that came with her staggering height. She was used to only seeing the first few rows of men. Even when standing on a stage she never got to take in the full might of her band. Now she could oversee the entire camp with ease. From Brossim's dwarves and Khoren's people in the first rows stretching to the rangers and the marvellous ship awaiting them by the river -- like the gallows, despite its beauty and fine craftsmanship. Everybody was drawn to her, awaiting her words, all at once.

Syn considered herself an accomplished orator, but this sight left her scrambling for words, no matter how often she had rehearsed them before. Although, she was certain it was the occasion that robbed her of her confidence, not the audience.

The half-elf sighed and lowered her hand, when the first starting muttering.

"Is everything okay, boss?"

"Believe it or not," Syn shook her head, her hands shaking. "I don't really know where to start."

"Then allow us to begin," Karstjan stepped forward.

He had taken up the mantle from Syn, as leading strategist and soon also as commander. She couldn't have wished it any other way. The grey-bearded veteran snipped his fingers, and everybody erupted in a busy frenzy. Gathering for boxes and barrels they had scattered all around the camp.

"What's happening?" Syn asked and Ser Lundor, standing next to Karstjan and Khoren nodded warmly.

"Just our little contribution for today," the noble knight said when the dwarves lined up in a row.

Brossim led the contingent with, as it was custom, a mug in his hand and grin barely breaking through his thick beard.

The ginger dwarf walked up to the three massive futas, barely reaching as high as Syn's knee and smirked.

"Look at you, girls. Thinking you can just leave without us," he said in a wide stance, his arms on his hips. "Or at least without a part of us. Guess what? Not on our watch. Oi! Lads!"

He clapped his hands, clearly rehearsed for maximum dramatic effect and turned around when his comrades handed him a ribbon-like escroll befitting of a lordly herald. An odd choice for any dwarf, let alone Brossim.

His peers brought him a barrel to stand on, which made him stand at a human height.

"So, what do we have here?" he said in a booming voice. "A gift from Kalthorn and his lanky fellas. Sorry, I meant sissies who can't even drink a real man's booze."

The guys around him erupted, even the rangers he just mocked.

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, Brossim," Kalthorn laughed.

The first few dwarves brought a shield and sword forward. Impossibly large to any ordinary man, even Ser Lundor, but a perfect fit for Lyanne, who they offered it to.

"Unlike, some here. Uhm... Kalthorn," he faked a cough. "This islander lass cannot only down barrels of wine but also cuts down foes on the battlefield like they're made from straw. Only thing, she makes for an easy target these days. Wonder why though."

Again, everybody laughed, Lyanne included.

"We thought maybe you need some help covering those treetrunks of yours. And it's about damn time for a sword that doesn't look like a dagger to you, right?"

The knight smirked, clearly moved but kept her stoic face as she observed the shield and blade.

"That's fine work, lads," she says somewhat coldly and held both up into the air. "Thank you. This lass will certainly find use for them."

Everybody clapped and as Lyanne retreated to her place next to Syn, did the half-elf notice the islander's quivering lip. Only for a few moments, but she refused to break just yet.

"Alright then. Who have we next?" Brossim proclaimed and pretended to be surprised. "Isn't that the big, the green, naked schlong from beyond the big rocks?"

Fel laughed while everybody clapped her and she flaunted her body, especially her oversized manhood.

"Well, what good would an orc be without her axe?" he proclaimed, and his comrades pulled out the orc's shiny new weapon. "And a barrel of our best schnapps to go with it!"

Fel claimed her new weapon as well as claim a barrel that only the Three could lift themselves. It even looked obscene hugely on someone as wide and strong as Fel.

She cut through the air with her axe a few times, turning with that huge barrel on her shoulder with grace and total control.

"Why did you not give me that before we visited the elves? I could have used that!" Fel roared, earning cheers.

"Because Yarathrond wouldn't be standing anymore if we did," someone in the crowd shouted and laughter followed.

Brossim smiled somewhere underneath his epic board and gestured Fel to come closer.

The huge orc got on her knees just to get to eye level with him.

"You will need this, Fel," he said and reached under his sea of coarse fiery hair and revealed a metal medallion on a huge chain.

Befitting someone of Fel's size not his own.

"Don't lose that! This will get you past the gate of Tukhardún. Just tell the guards it's from me," he said and pulled it around Fel's wide neck.

The orc observed the fine runes engraved in the shiny metal until her hands started to shiver.

"This is ..." the massive greenskin whimpered and embraced the dwarf with arms as wide as his torso.

And Brossim returned that hug just as tightly.

"Don't lose it, Fel," he repeated and stroke through the orc's wild mane. "And you better show up! Or else everybody will think I'm crazy. Telling the entire city about my huge green friend, with the massive schlong."

"I ... will ... get there. I promise," Fel gasped, bordering on crying as she got up.

Unlike Lyanne she didn't try to hide her emotions. More than a few dwarves were fighting tears in their eyes as the naked orc went through them one by one, embracing them.

Syn could almost feel the knot in her throat tighten as well. But at the same time, she was filled with pride watching Fel. It required great courage to be strong in the face of weakness but so does showing your vulnerability underneath all that strength, Syn thought and smiled.

Fel eventually returned to the half-elf's side, the barrel sitting on one shoulder, her axe on the other.

Syn silently clapped the orc's back and gently stroke her leathery green skin.

"Alright... we...," Brossim continued, struggling to find his voice for a moment. "We have still one girl to go. The one we called 'Boss', since long before she needed two tents just to cover herself."

Syn smirked and for once didn't care how snug that fabric felt around her figure or how much she still revealed.

"But what can we gift to a woman this huge..." he purposefully paused and coughed again. "In knowledge and other elvish stuff."

The comedic pause earned more than a few claps, also from Syn.

"So, obviously we thought a book of sorts. But none of us is good with that stuff," he said and gestured into the crowd. "No, we don't get all the fancy words like your kin, or the big stories of some old lords. But we got stories of our own to tell."

Khoren and Karstjan stepped forward and were handed packages wrapped in some sort of silk.

Syn took a deep breath. She had promised herself to at least attempt to remain steadfast and not break into tears right away. She doubted she'd have to pretend much longer.

"What did you bring me?" she asked, equally dreading and anticipating their answer.

"The past and the future," Karstjan said cryptically.

"You know I love a good riddle," Syn grinned and nodded to Khoren. "Both of you."

"We do," the elder said smiling. "So, what will it be, Syndranel?"

Doubtful she might withstand the sweet pain of some well-timed sting of nostalgia she made her choice.

"The future."

Karstjan nodded as he stepped forward and Khoren back.

Syn got on her knees and still towered above her successor with ease.

"What have we here?" she asked, her voice quivering as she was handed the book.

Casted in a metal book frame it withstood her now massive fingers and even the paper was thick enough for her to flick through it.

"There is nothing in it," she said after starting in the middle and only finding empty pages.

"Not quite," the veteran said warmly. "Look at the first page."

Syn had to grin upon seeing the only seven words and coat of arms artistically engraved on the first page.

"The story of the 'Three flaming steeds'. I see you've finally agreed on a name for your new band?" she asked Karstjan.

"This will always be your band, Syn," he said and pulled out a quill and ink. "The name should reflect that and so does the sigil."

"Not after today," Syn said.

"Starting with today," he corrected her, handed her the feather and held up the pot of ink. "This will be the chronicle of your band, Syn. Where one day you'll read up on all our adventures, on all our achievements. And hopefully with pride."

The half-elf shivered, the tightness in her throat almost suffocating her, but she left her mark on that first page with grace.

"I can't wait to see with what great stories you'll fill it, Karstjan," she said and looked up to the now deadly silent army. "I can already see it before me. Riches, perhaps lordship, victories, the stuff of legends. The entire continent will know your name, and I'll be the proudest woman in all the realms."

Ser Lundor was the first to raise his gigantic, blue sword and cheer her on, until all the voices came together for one final roar that echoed wide and far.

Syn got chills, the raw energy of comradery overpowering her sadness. But Khoren awaited her still patiently.

"And you, great elder?" she asked the fragile old man.

"The past," Khoren said warmly and lifted the second book up to Syn.

It wasn't as sturdy, but of such size that it looked suited for someone almost 14ft tall.

The giantess smiled when she opened it and moments later felt her eyes water up.

"What is this?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

Khoren looked around, gesturing at his people as well as the mercenaries of all sizes and shapes.

"A bit of history, from everybody gathered here today," he laid his hands on Syn's giant fingers, shivering as she held the book as if it weighed a ton. "Filled with a short story you shared with everybody."

Syn shook her head, almost in defiance of her emotions.

"Stories? Most of them can't even write," she whimpered.

"Nothing Karstjan and I couldn't do for them," Khoren said and pointed at the many symbols scattered over the pages. "They told me you'd recognize them by their signs. And I hope you don't mind us cherry picking only good stories."

"N-no, that's... fine."

Everyone saw their unwavering commander, the 14ft tall colossus of a woman crumbling and bursting into tears. But she couldn't hold back. Syn cried bitterly, sunken to her knees, yet never felt more overjoyed.