The lost temple of shar'hradar
From Metabods
by Charvolth
The warm summer mid-day sun beat hard on the mud and stone buildings of the village. The few that were out were local women fetching water from the well. The air was moist and heavy, a rain might be approaching, but the clear sky indicated that relief would not come for hours. But there was something else hanging over the town, a dark mood that hanged over everything.
Tension hanged over the normally cheerful crowds of ‘the Writhing Dragon’. The tension that pervaded the inn was a far cry more pleasant then what infected the rest of the town, the rest of Sha’Harada was far darker. Everyone feared what would happen in the autumn, as news traveled fast, as it often does in small farming communities. Three larger interior farms were attacked last week, the raiders bypassed the fortified farming collectives at the edges of the town’s claimed lands. This week a cattle caravan was attacked as it tried to drive the cattle to the markets of Sharanar. The twin sons of a local merchant, considering themselves something of adventurers, tried to find the source of the troubles, they disappeared in the hills south of town. Their parents, quite distraught have offered a reward for either news of their death, or their safe return.
‘The Writhing Dragon’ was doing slightly better then the other inn in town, Geshra’s, mainly thanks to the silk merchants who made it to town from Sharanar, and because of their proclivities, preferred the atmosphere of ‘The Writhing Dragon’, or more specifically the staff of ‘The Writhing Dragon’.
Ferrada made his way to a table balancing a serving tray laden with fresh apricots and wine. He was a tall lad of 6’4, broad shouldered and well built, a sturdy 230 lbs. His curly blue-black hair was at shoulder length ant tied in back with a strip of leather, his violet eyes were sensuous and fiery, a vision of Kemetish male beauty. He had seen 19 summers, his dark sun baked skin was still smooth, his features delicately sculpted. In the summer heat, all he wore was a gauze cotton loin cloth and sandals with a belt to hold on the loin cloth.
When he reached the table, one of only two occupied, it was to deliver some fruit and wine to a short round man with a bald head, red, full cheeks, and a waxed mustache, his skin almost as dark as Ferrada’s. He was dressed in silk breeches, sandals, and a light silk shirt, left open to show his many gold chains.
As Ferrada pored the wine, a soft, ring covered hand reached under Ferradah’s loincloth, “My dear, why hide such wonderfully tasty bits, I’m sure you taste far sweeter then the apricots you brought me?” the round man said with a laugh.
“Because, then we would not buy apricots from the farmers, who then turn around and spend their money in here.” Ferrada said with a slight laugh.
“Imagine, the serving boy giving a merchant a lesson on economics, you are precious. But tell me dear boy, how much to know the pleasures of those fine loins?” the round man then asked.
“For you, three gold pieces, I normally charge five.” Ferrada said with a mischievous grin.
The round man almost choked on an apricot he was gnawing on, “In Hervasha’s name lad, you must not get much business.”
“No, but then I think I’m worth it.” Ferrada said with an arrogant smile as he returned to the kitchen.
A few minutes later the peace of the inn was broken, when another entered, “Innkeeper, some wine, my throat is parched raw!”
He was a huge man, a staggering 7’2 in height, his large feet hitting the floor boards caused a slight creak, he was over four hundred lbs. of muscle, and he showed it. With the exception of his soft leather boots, all he wore was a heavy leather belt, a few straps to brandish a collection of mighty blades and his worn shield. Also on his huge broad back rested a worn backpack. His skin was stretched tight over his massively built frame, his muscles delineated from sweat, veins throbbed in his arms, legs, chest and loins. His complexion was tanned, but lighter then the inhabitants of Sha’Harada, though he spoke Shevarish well enough, his thick accent told that he was from more northern climes. What held the crowds’ attention the most was the massive un-cut stalk that dangled between his massive thighs, even limp it went half way down his long, powerful legs, and his smooth sack looked to contain a pair of jugs the size of grapefruits.
He looked young, seeing no more then twenty summers, his face was incredibly handsome with full lips, a well defined nose, a handsome jaw line. His rich blonde hair cut short, and spiked with lye. Both of his ears pierced with a trio of short gold loops, along with his right brow. His eyes were a burning gray that seemed electrified with wild life.
The huge man reached into a belt pouch, pulled out a gold coin, and placed it on the bar, the barkeep and owner of ‘The Writhing Dragon’, Arval son of Shelnin was a tall middle-aged man of slightly less then forty summers. His smooth, beardless face just showing the lines of age, his curly neck length blue-black hair showed a light peppering of gray, and classical nose showed that in his youth he was easily just as handsome as Ferrada.
The barkeep bit the coin, it was soft enough, he placed a jug of wine on the bar. The huge man promptly seized it and downed its contents in a few gulps before Arvalda could get a mug, a bit of the rich purple liquid dowsed his huge chest.
“Many thanks” the huge man said then placed another coin on the bar, “A rack of meat, and some more of that wine.” He then added.
“Of course sir” the barkeep replied, his voice tinged with fear.
The huge man then took a seat at a table, took off his pack and the shouldered blades. Ferrada watched from the kitchen, while Arvalda prepared the large man’s food.
“Why not give the barbarian a jug of water, I don’t want to give him more wine till he gets some food in him, his is a violent race, and worse when they’re drunk.” Arval said with a sigh.
“Yes master” Ferrada replied.
Ferrada grabbed a brass jug, filled it with some water recently fetched from the well, placed it on a tray with a clay cup and brought it to the table where the huge man sat.
“Some water sir, while you await your food?” Ferrada said as he approached the table.
“My are you not a fair sight,” the huge man said as he swiped the jug from the serving tray, and re-enacted his gulping of the wine. Water dribbled onto his massive chest, and flowed down the contours and valleys of his magnificent body. Ferrada could not help but lick his lips.
“That was refreshing lad, many thanks.” The huge man said, then noticed Ferrada staring,
“Ah, you like what you see lad, you’re not the first.” The huge man said with an arrogant smirk.
“I have never seen a man like you before, you are so large.” Ferrada said nervously.
“I am from southern Broltharria, I am Havrik son of Ulfdan of the Marshcat Clan.” The huge man said as he looked over Ferrada.
“You are a barbarian.” Ferrada said in wonder.
“Watch how you use that word boy, I may not have known the soft life of city-folk, but I have seen enough savagery from so-called civilized nations to make me wonder about such labels.” Havrik said with a dark tone.
“I mean no insult sir, all I have heard of the northern countries is what we hear from passing merchants.” Ferradah said defensively.
“Then I am not offended.” Havrik said with a low laugh.
Suddenly Havrik grasped Ferrada, by the base of his back and pulled him closer, the serving tray crashed onto the table. Havrik reached around and felt Ferrada’s hard, round bubble ass under his loin cloth, one of the barbarians fingers slid into Ferrada’s bunghole.
“You took that easily enough, tell me boy, when was the last time you were fucked?
“This morning” Ferrada groaned, his cock was getting hard and started to tent his loincloth.
“Well, much to my delight it seems your hole is still ‘salved’.” Hardrik said, the boy’s ass was as clean as a whistle from recently applied ‘cleansing salve’.
Ferrada’s ass was still thoroughly greased, Hardrik quickly rose to full erection, his cock was massive, hard it almost reached his mountainous pecs, the fat purple head looked like it was throbbing. The massive beast was two feet long and had a diameter of six inches, thick and round, veins throbbing.
Hardrik yanked off Ferradah’s loin cloth, freeing the lad’s own cock, now a swollen fourteen inches long and 3.5 inches wide, his balls the size of lemons. Hardrik pulled the lad closer, and quickly impaled him on his massive stalk. Defying the laws of space and distance, the beast slides in all the way.
This phenomenon was one of the great mysteries, only when it comes to sex, and certain magiks are the rules regarding space and distance side tracked, or ‘not enforced’. Most priests assume it to be merely the will of the gods and leave it at that.
Hardrik was soon thrusting with powerful, piston force into Ferrada, the lad’s own fourteen inch brute was throbbing, smacking loudly in between the valleys of his six hard abdominal muscles. The other three inhabitants in the inn watch with awed eyes, the fat merchant is drooling seeing the beautiful lad so thoroughly ravaged by the massive barbarian. The other two inhabitants enjoy the display, but also take note of the barbarian’s magnificent physique.
Ferrada barely lasts a few minutes from this awesome thrusting before he unleashes his load. Ten, twelve long thick ropes erupt from his stalk, one actually splatters against the inn’s ceiling. The barbarian barely notices and continues his brutal thrusting, for four more minutes before he erupts. The barbarian unleashes a fierce roar as his loins go wild, long hard thrusts accompany massive jets of thick spew deep into Ferrada, only to spurt out as Hardrik eases out, only to thrust in again.
Hardrik spends almost as much time in orgasm as he took to reach it. So long in fact that Ferrada unleashes a second load that was just as grand as the first. When the torrent finally ends, “Many thanks lad, I’ve not had a good fuck in days.” Hardrik said with a groan.
“It is I who should thank you, such a dong would satiate the gods.” Ferrada said as he lean back, bracing against Hardrik’s massive thighs.
Suddenly Hardrik is struck with inspiration, not bothering to ease out of the sweaty boy, he spins him around, and now Ferrada’s broad sculpted back, and hard round sculpted ass face the might Broltharrian warrior.
Slowly Ferrada then begins swaying his hips back and forth, moving his stomach like he is dancing. Hardrik lets out a groan of pleasure, the beat being kept by Ferradah’s still hard cock beating against his stomach.
While Hardrik sits and relaxes, and Ferrada works his charms, the two other occupants approach the huge barbarian. One was tall, almost seven feet in height, his skin darker then the barbarian’s, but slightly lighter then the town’s inhabitants. He was very muscular, weighing in at a solid 340 lbs., his apparel, or lack of, showing off his awesome physique consisted of a black leather thong, black vest, boots, a belt, plus a few blades and his pack. His almond shaped red eyes, long pointed ears, silky midnight black hair, elegant and beautiful facial features screamed his dark elvin heritage. The most shocking aspect of the elf’s physique was the bulge that his black leather thong tried to contain, even wadded up Hardrik could tell the elf could easily match his own massive endowment.
The other was native to these parts, dark sun baked skin and blue black hair that contrasted beautifully with his electric blue eyes. His features were more refined and handsome then even Farrada’s, his curled blue black hair was shaved on the sides, but had a mid back length tail tied in back. He stood a solid 6’6 and was also very muscular, weighing just over 300lbs., but he had a litheness to his movement and a grace that told he was far more built for stealth then fighting. He wore a brown, worn leather loin cloth and a brown leather vest laden with pockets, his own waist sported a belt for sheathing a pair of fine blades, his legs also sported bands for dagger sheaths.
“Master Brolgothian, might we have a word with you?” the elf said in far finer Shevarish then Hardrik’s.
“Speak Eldar, I can talk and fuck at the same time.” Hardrik replied in his own brutal rendering of the local tongue.
“I surmise that your presence here has to do with the reward for the retrieval of the missing merchant’s children?” the elf then asked.
“It might, what of it?” Hardrik said as he started to increase his pelvic thrusting.
“I am Felvaennan of the House of Gershael, my partner Ildrash and I would most welcome a strong sword arm.
“I might be interested, I take it we split the reward three ways.” Hardrik said as he soon had Ferradah screaming in ecstasy.
Ferrada erupted again a minute later, the spectacle of his orgasm holding everyone’s attention. This time Hardrik followed Ferrada a minute later and unleashed another massive load of his own.
Finally finished cumming, Hardrik eases Ferrada off of his cock. The lad eases up, barely able to stand, cum is still dribbling out of his well fucked ass, and will continue for some time to come.
“Master Broltharrian, you are sated already?” Felvaennan said with an amused smirk.
“Far from it, but we have business to discuss, the reward for finding the whelps is enough to keep me in wine, food and flesh for a week even if we split it.” Hardrik replied, and seeming to prove his point, a long spurt of precum shot out of his still hard cock.
