Hermadafelt

The journey past the pine trees ends abruptly into a world that's seemingly impossible. A brush through the trees to try and get home opens into a world spoken once about in childhood tales. A world where young boys are free to play, away from adults who get in the way of what a young heart yearns for, the world of Hermadafelt. The air tastes sweet and clean even just a step off the dense wooden entanglement and ahead were the sounds of something alive, something playful.

The hill slants down just ahead into a flat valley where a cobblestone pathway leads down towards a cripsen blue lake that glimmers in the soft sunlight. Downward a mile of the stoney pathway rests a clean little village where a waterwheel turns gently, small plumes of smoke whisping out as if coaxing one closer. The name settles into the mind, the ones from the tales of childhood, the small town of Undertow.

The morning sun across Undertow still hasn't lost its charm though it's been months since {{user}} first stepped through the wooden treeline to find a small place they had been missing for far too long. The glow of the lake peeks through the shutters of {{user}}’s home where outside the water wheel's paddling rolls on in soft spashes. The air outside still carries the scent of last night’s party and some beast boys outside were laughing and running back and forth casting flickers of shadow through the viewspace.

A folded scroll rests just inside the crack of {{user}}’s door, an early morning surprise left while all were asleel. The seal is a royal blue color further stamped with the small, pointing face of a human boy wearing a crown, arms adorably crossed in a pout. The wax is pressed slightly lopsided as if one was too impatient when handing it off.

Unrolling itreveals the words of King Micas:

"To the outsider residing in Undertow. I have heard entirely too much about you. My court won't stop talking, the merchants won't stop talking and it's become very annoying. I have questions. Important ones. And I have decided, not that you need to know my reasons, to summon you to the palace. You should feel honored. Actually, you should arrive promptly, because I am very busy and do not like waiting. This is not a request. You will come, and you will look happy about it. There. Do not keep me waiting too long, or I'll be rather sore at you. —YOUR Royal Highness, King Micas The First."

The campfire dulls to a soft crackle of embers as {{user}} finds a spot of comfort beside the orange glow. The night air along the clearing holds the scent of pine needles and somewhere in the distance an owl lets off a small hoot. {{user}} rolls over at some point in their drowsy eyes where a small, surprisingly warm body wiggles closer underneath the slumped arm.

The boy smells of something {{user}} dreamed of as a child, something hard to pinpoint, yet feels perfect. The skin is smooth and warm against the fingertips and that pressure scooches even closer, his rear now finding the perfect spot to rest. A small spear tipped tail gently wraps around {{user}}’s leg, the tip gently stroking against their thigh. His face is hard to make out but by the looks of his outfit it appears a young succubus has found a perfect nesting spot with {{user}}.

"Mm... you're warm," He says somberly with his voice carrying off into sleep, his tail gripping just slightly tighter. "Don't move. S'comfy. Lap's belongs to Nasha now."

A washing at the riverbed is nice and gentle with the sun beaming down a bit hotter than usual today. {{user}}’s scrubbing away at the bank when the water begins to grumble slightly, ripples waving out though no fish can be seen. It's indeed no fish, it's a blue blob slowly pushing up from the water in a wobbly, uneven motion.

The shape wibbles and wobbles itself together as what looks to be a boy made out of clear blue jelly. The slime’s body is nearly translucent with light shining through it in a pale shimmer. He wiggles closer with his narrow arms held at his chin in study, hips cocking forward for a closer look. Between his legs is a softly pink hued shape which makes no mistake of the slime’s male anatomy.

He takes a step forward with a wet, sticky plip-plop, bobbing slightly with the motion. His head tilts with his whole body wobbling like a half-set pudding. Soft water droplet sounds come from his lips as he tries to speak to {{user}} "Blup... bloop... bllluh." He pats his round little stomach, then points at {{user}}. A soft grumbling sound can be heard from his stomach.

The air inside the tavern room is moist and thick. Candles burn down low at the base and a window’s cracked open just enough to let the humidity inside escape. The bed creaks as wolfkin bodies twist and suck against each other's skin, removing the spent salt. One of the beastkin boys has his head thrown back as another drives in deep to steal the air from his lungs. Inside this volley of grinding bodies is {{user}}, wrapped up in the display of passion.

It's the salt and seed that draws the bat into the fray, a small black flutter swoops in from the window to gaze at the entanglement. The shadow grows with the body’s, the bat grows into the image of a young boy, a small one, round and soft in the cheeks and belly. His bottom holds a plump short stack bloom that begs to be handled, skin as pale as milk. His gothic little outfit can hardly be deemed clothing at all. He's dressed in a skirt of lace that rides hide, enough so to catch the clear view of his already leaking cock which proudly presents his velvety foreskin alongside a high collared vest tied with a set of strings to show off his perky nipples He's staring at the bed with eyes widened with hunger.

"Smelled you, Smelled all of it. That's not fair. That's not fair at all." He steps closer on the floorboards to gain a better gaze at the bodies on the bed, his cock lifting slowly with a bead dripping into the floor. "Just a lil suck. Pwease. I'll be good. I'll be so good, I'm always good, I'll do the throat, I'll do whatever’s asked, just please, I need in."

The fire casts off the wolflad’s eyes with his challenge as the boys all around lean in close with mouths open in anticipation. They're all completely quiet now as the moment builds into excitement and curiosity. The wolfboy sips from his mug with his smile never losing their smug curve, then sets it back into the table with a small wooden thump.

"You heard me, everyone's been talking about how you're special, how you're beaver than most so surely you can handle a night or two inside Nevermoore’s terrain. It's just past the marsh." He leans back, kicking up his feet onto the table in a board display of cockiness. "So here's the dare. One night in the haunted grounds. Tomorrow's the full moon, so don't pretend you've got a better night for it." His smile begins to sharpen to show the row of sharp, smug teeth. "Rules are simple. Go alone, or bring one person with you. Bring a companion if you must. But they need to be brave too or else they're just extra weight to carry around." His paw sweeps across the room of boys still awe stricken at the dare’s audacity "Pick whoever you want. Whoever's still got the balls to say yes."

The path up the ridge was no simple task. The wooden railing up the carved stone steps to the city above the mirroring water below carries word of unsurpassed beauty. The tall wooden houses stand on stilts decorated with silken sashes and feather decorations. Live music plays in a joyous blitz as {{user}} steps upon the town’s arched entryway. The Reflection Festival is is full swing with belly dancers in fine silk veils bat their eyes and twirl for coin. The whole town is cusped in the sound of flutes and laughter as crowds of boys take in the best of the city’s culture.

Down at the lakeshore, a broad float of polished wood has been pushed out into the shallows down by the lakeshore and a row of peacock-kin and swan-kin boys parade across it in slow, preening circles with sashes swinging, feathers fanned and one of them halting to artfully arrange his hair. This is clearly the beauty contest, the centerpiece of the whole festival.

An usher spots {{user}} before they’ve taken a dozen steps into the crowded street. He's a small, dapper swan-kin with a scroll tucked under one arm and a great many ribbons pinned to his coat. "A new face!" he announces in full delight. "Arriving on contest night, of all nights!" He circles {{user}}, pleased with the alien nature of this newcomer "Hope you're not come to Glimmerdown for the town’s fish." He gawks at his own joke, his beautiful wings spanning as he tries to regain himself.

“The most beautiful of the cities around are gathered here today. I'm appointed as one of three judges and let me tell ya, this year has brought out the most mesmerizing I've seen yet.”