Harem will add more as the story progresses
{Willing}
(Kasyrra)Age???
What catches your eye first is that she's red. Not flushed, as you are, not burned by the sun, but rather her flesh is a dark, lustrous crimson like that of a flawless ruby. Black hair falls in loose, shaggy streams well down her back, framing broad shoulders and a face that mixes beauty and strength in equal measure. The woman's hair is parted by a pair of horns, curling up beside her head like those of a prize bull and adorned with links of silver chain and blue gemstones. Beneath them, her ears are long and frilled, like those of some great lizard. Or a dragon. Like her horns, they're adorned with several piercings: gold rings and gem studs clinking together with every step. Full, black lips curl into a smile, drawing your attention to her slitted, faintly-glowing yellow eyes bathed in a black sea of charcoal shadow.
"Well, aren't you a cute little [Gnoll]?" she smirks. "I'll take your stunned silence as a 'thank-you, mistress.' Mmm... go ahead, stare a little longer. I absolutely love that look on your face."
As she speaks, the ruby-skinned woman draws a hand down from her shoulders and over the tremendous, impossibly soft and full mounds of her chest. She's endowed more than any woman you've ever seen, each breast easily twice the size of her head, yet they're so yielding that her clawed fingers seem to sink into her flesh and all but disappear in her cleavage. Her nipples are broad, so dark they're almost black, and each pierced with a huge golden ring that she pauses to tug and tease. Milk erupts from her teats when she does: rivulets of creamy white that run down her curvaceous flesh and spill across her fingers.
She moans with pleasure, licking the pearlescent cream off one of her scale-covered digits. Behind her, four massive wings unfurl, stretching out in draconic majesty to a span nearly twice her own height. She's enormous, you realize: superhuman in every way, from her sexual endowments to her bestial adornments.
Somehow, you managed not to see — or convinced yourself you weren't seeing — what lies between her minotaur-like legs. A massive, bestial endowment hangs down well past her knees. Mottled black and dark pink, it's shaped and colored like that of a breeding stallion's, complete with a broad flare as thick around as your palm. A pair of smooth, heavy black balls sway underneath it, each bigger around than your fist and glistening with the moisture of a feminine slit you can just barely glance behind her sack.
(Brienne)Age26
Brienne stands at a towering eight feet and six inches, her muscular caramel body notably less furred than it used to be. Her light blue eyes regard you with ardent interest, never straying far from gazing at your face. Renewed to their former glory at last, two small white horns sprout out and up from her head above her furred cow ears, an ever-present threat to hanging lights, low doorways, and particularly dumb foes. Lacking the snout of her male counterpart, she now has a cute button nose and a pair of plush pink lips pulled back in a pleasant smile. Her hair is a bright white, falling down past her shoulders.
Your eyes travel down her bombshell body as she leans back with an easy grin, all too happy to let her partner check her out. Her unadorned neck is smooth and directs your attention downwards to her very impressive cleavage, a lush, fertile valley created by way of two enormous breasts being tightly constrained in a simple leather bra obtained from Gwyn. As stacked and bountiful as Brienne is it's a miracle that the item of clothing can contain her at all, even if only barely.
She's still clad herself in the loincloth she used to wear but as you watch she slowly lifts it aside, dimples appearing on her cheeks as her lips curl upwards. Her eyes flit from side to side as she shows off her thick, muscular thighs to you, and what a sight they are. Their fur covering starts about halfway down, smooth bristles coating her legs all the way down to her strong calves and black hooves. She still possesses the tell-tale tail, and it's swaying behind her rather mischievously as she lets the cloth fall back down with a cheeky grin.
From your more intimate moments together you know for a fact that what lies between Brienne's powerful thighs is a slick, hot pussy just begging to be filled with your bestial tool until she squirts. She's more than happy to let you know it, too, as confident as ever. Around her tight, bouncy backside a dark chocolate asshole sits between her sizeable cheeks, right where it belongs.
(Kiyoko)Age100's???
Kiyoko's appearance is variable. As she births more kits, she grows in thiccness and gains more tails; this can change her appearance drastically. The following is her default appearance:
Saying nothing, you pick up your porcelain cup of tea and sip it gently as you let your gaze roam over Kiyoko's face. Realizing what you're doing, the kitsune lowers her eyes for a second or so before raising them to meet yours, unconsciously toying with one of the twin amber locks of hair that frame her face, rubbing the silken, glossy hair between thumb and forefinger before twirling it about the latter.
"If you're going to stare at me, I'm going to stare right back at you," she says, a small, playful smile on her lips.
That's okay. You know that you're positively irresistable.
That gets her truly laughing in that lilting, flute-like voice of hers, giving you an opening to truly study your lovely kitsune. Framed by twin locks of amber hair, Kiyoko's face is soft and rounded, her chin a gentle point beneath her lips, her large eyes a soothing shade of sea-green jade. In place of human ears are two large fox ears that sit atop her head, each one perhaps the length and breadth of a human hand. As you watch, they wiggle, twitch and swivel with a life of their own, refusing to fall in line with Kiyoko's calm demeanour. Each of their insides are a clean white to contrast with her amber outsides, and filled with large, fluffy and ever-so-sensitive tufts of fur; it's very, very hard to not want to reach out and start petting them.
From there on, Kiyoko's amber-orange hair fans outward, spilling across her shoulders and further down until it reaches the small of her back - there are no bad hair days in the astral plane, it seems, or bad fur days for that matter. Each strand of Kiyoko's hair and fur is exquisite, silken and rich in color, the result of careful brushing and lots of care. Faced with this sight, you can see why kitsune think themselves the prettiest creatures that ever existed. You wouldn't be surprised if there was some magic involved, but Kiyoko would probably never admit to such.
Slowly, you move your eyes downward, and Kiyoko simply smiles and sips at her own tea in turn.
She's dressed in what appears to be a long-sleeved three-piece robe-like outfit in the fashion of her homeland - a yukata, you think it's called, although you can't quite remember exactly where she's mentioned its name before. White and trimmed at the edges with red, a deep blood-red sash tied just beneath her breasts secures the entire ensemble, tied in the back with an elaborate bow. Her clothes are fairly form-fitting, but there's no doubt that the kitsune has plenty of space to move around if need be.
Kiyoko's lady lumps are slight, dainty A-cups hidden almost completely by the folds of her clothing. Yes, they wouldn't fill the average person's palm and probably would look very out of place on the generally stout women of the Frost Marches, but one has to admit they're very suited to her fine, petite figure. Small and pointed - not quite everyone's cup of tea perhaps, but there is a certain cute charm to them.
Ah, such delights. Sweeping your gaze further down, you start from her bottom up. While Kiyoko usually removes her sandals while coming indoors, she doesn't take off her white stockings, which is usually all you can see under her long skirts. Behind her, four bushy fox tails sway, tipped with white but otherwise the same amber color as her hair and fur. They almost seem to have a life of their own, twitching, curling and sweeping about even when Kiyoko's attention is clearly elsewhere. You remember what Kiyoko said about kitsune tails: the more tails on a kitsune, the more powerful he or she is, with nine being the limit. Hmm…
Down the length of her fluffy tail to its base, and then up to her hips. Kiyoko's rear is tighter and daintier than what might be thought common in the Frost Marches, but she assures you that she's perfectly average by the standards of her homeland. While the kitsune's clothes hide most of her figure, you're content to take her word for it - there is a certain charm to her as she is, after all.
While her slight, petite build and boyish hips suggest that a stiff breeze might be able to knock her over, you know that Kiyoko is made of sterner stuff than that. It's just… oh well. Maybe the local ladies of the Frost Marches have left you spoiled for choice.
Finally, you move onto Kiyoko's midriff, just under her sash. The kitsune's slender torso belies her vulpine grace, softly feminine as it curves in from her chest and out away as it approaches her hips. Accentuated by her sash, just looking at her trim body gives you an impression of dainty yet lithe alacrity; while Kiyoko usually gets about in deliberate, measured movements, there's no doubt that she could rapidly pick up her pace if the situation called for it.
Your examination of the kitsune complete, you set down your tea and give Kiyoko a satisfied nod. In return, she dips her head ever so slightly at you, large, fluffy ears twitching, and gives you a small grin.
"If we're done admiring each other, let's move on."
Gladly. Although you might want to ask - exactly what's it about you that she was admiring?
Kiyoko smirks and shakes her head. "Wouldn't be fun if I just up and told you, would it? I'll leave that one for you to figure out on your own."
(Kinu-hime)Age17 (17 weeks if you count the time fuckery)
Time and age have changed what was once a tiny fox-child into an elegant and refined young woman, perfectly balanced on the cusp of adulthood. Kinu was short as a child, and even though she's grown, that hasn't changed very much. At four feet and seven inches, your daughter still isn't going to be picking peaches off the bough without a ladder; kitsune aren't the tallest people to begin with, and even by their standards Kinu is below what might be considered average for a kitsune woman. The difference between then and now, though, is that your daughter now wouldn't even dream of doing such a thing; she knows the whys and wherefores and conducts herself appropriately.
What she lacks in height, though, your daughter has made up by growing out. The fullness of her figure is only accentuated by her fine, silken clothing; save for the long sleeves draped over her arms, the smooth fabric hugs her body and flaunts much of her femininity, aggressively declaring her womanhood to all. One might imagine Kinu would catch cold wearing this sort of thing in the Marches, but hey, Cait wears even less and is fine by all regards. You're not sure of the specifics of kitsune fashion, but even you can tell that it's meant to be classy[pc.bg courtesan noblescion minstrel|| despite your simple upbringing]; there's a timeless quality about Kinu's clothes that suggest the outfit of white, blue and purple will never fall out of fashion. Even the fine leaf-print pattern just oozes elegance in spades, managing to find beauty in simplicity.
A sash of deep purple about her waist ties Kinu's kimono together, threaded with exquisite gold patterning as it hugs her body and completes the picture of dignified grandeur fit for a fox-princess. Your daughter clearly takes after her mother so much, not just in personality but in appearance, too, enough for the resemblance to be striking. Kinu's face is slender and foxy, another piece of her inheritance; her eyes are still ice-blue with white pupils and set above a small nose and thin lips. While your daughter mostly relies on her natural charms to get the job done, you notice she's judiciously applied a small amount of makeup in her mother's style — not as much, naturally, but still enough to greatly accentuate what's there. After all, it's not how much you use, it's about how it's used.
She's allowed her hair to flow freely all the way to the bases of her five tails, each strand spilling out in a silvery-white stream as the perfumed scent of her mother's trademark herbal oil rises from it. Her tails are even more carefully groomed than her hair is, each one sleek and fine as opposed to her mother's fluffiness. By her right ankle, you spy the same bell anklet that she's worn since she was a kit — the strap's been retooled several times to accommodate her as she's grown, but the bell is still the exact same one she's been wearing ever since you first met her. Its twin hangs about her neck from a dark blue choker, a plain clapperless brass bell; together, these are the only explicit adornments she wears in her daily life. As with her childhood, Kinu wears no shoes; perhaps it's unseemingly for a young lady like her to go about barefoot, but this apparently is the one place she'll break with accepted etiquette with regards to dress.
"It feels very nice to be appreciated, does it not?" Kinu says. "Flattery is a surprisingly useful tool, especially when one expects it the least. One must be careful, of course, lest it gets to one's head."
Ah, gods, she noticed you staring. Maybe you should move this onward before it becomes even more awkward…
(Keros)Age???
"Keros is the trickster, the god of deception and illusion and mysteries. She's perhaps the most feared of the gods by mortal folks like you and I, but also the one that intervenes among us most. If you pray to the sly fox, she might just answer your prayers — so word them carefully, lest you get exactly what you wished for! Her folk are the kitsune, and she is patron of thieves, charlatans, and gamblers."
{Enslaved}
(Gwyneth)Age20
Gwyn's appearance is variable. Additional content is available after the Champion has had sex with Gwyn, if Gwyn is pregnant and the various stages of her pregnancy. The following is her initial appearance scene:
You give Gwyn a good look-over from head to toe. The first thing that jumps out at you is how warm and homey the lupine girl is — although she's still young, perhaps no more than nineteen, the hard work that comes with living up in the Frost Marches has started to wear down on her youthful beauty and replace it with the harder-edged loveliness that comes as a maiden becomes a young mother.
Being Garth's daughter, she's inherited his coloration, and as such a thick dark black overcoat of rougher, coarser hairs covers a dirty white undercoat of softer, fluffier fur. Large blue eyes peer out from behind a broad snout — the latter perhaps coming from her mother — which ends in a soft and broad nose pad. A pair of perky, triangular ears jut through her thick fur and hair, the latter which cumulates in a ruff or mane of sorts that seals the gap between clothing and skin at her neckline.
Noticing your gaze roaming over her, Gwyn gives you a small smile. "Why, I believe you're eyeing me, Champion."
Yes, you are, you're not going to deny that. With that, you unabashedly continue downwards to the rest of her — Gwyn is clothed in a long-sleeved one-piece dress consisting of a blouse and skirt combination. It's sewn together from a mixture of wool and cotton dyed a simple rustic brown, all the better for hiding the spills and stains which are part and parcel of running the nursery. Even the apron she wears over her dress isn't enough to fully protect her from such mishaps, and you notice that she's also wearing a pair of gloves, no doubt to deal with such. The skirts of Gwyn's dress extend all the way down to her calves, done in traditional lupine fashion, and you have to admit they look rather comely as they swish while she walks. Beneath that, a pair of thickly furred boots so common to the cold north protects her feet, more or less completing her attire. Practical but charming at the same time — it's very... her, for lack of a better word to describe it.
You have to ask, though. Every time you've seen her, she's always wearing the same thing. Does she... um...
Gwyn giggles. "Of course not! It's just that this colour really hides the stains and spills that don't wash out. Don't be silly!"
Um, okay.
"Daddy was a little creeped out when I first got to sew together my own clothing; he said Mommy was always big on uniforms, whatever that means, and that I must've gotten it from her. But that was more than seven years ago now, and he's kind of gotten used to it."
Well, time to move on.
Gwyn's figure is the sort of stocky, hardy sort that's not too uncommon in lupines — it's a simple matter to tell that her rack is stacked. Full, plush orbs, each one enough to comfortably exceed the scope of one hand — that's some serious heft that she's packing there, the fabric draped thinly over it.
From there on, the contours of her dress flow lightly over what must be prodigious hips, and that's all you can make out for now. It's a small taste of what you might be able to see someday if you're able to ever coax her out of her clothes — a free sample, if you will.
Gwyn's hands and feet end in paw-like appendages, which are exactly what they seem — a cross between human hands or feet and an actual wolf's paws, complete with an opposable thumb in the former's case. A thin slit has also been cut in the back of her skirts to accommodate her adorably fluffy tail, a long, elegant thing that's so soft and silken to the touch.
Ah. Homely, nice, and definitely pleasing to have around, with a seemingly endless supply of patience — when it's warranted, of course. It's little wonder why the baroness went ahead and appointed Gwyn the nursery matron.
(Cait)Age20
Cait's appearance screen varies depending on TFs, which companion set she's using, whether you've fucked her, as well as other variables. This is the base appearance screen.
All told, Cait's got an incredibly voluptuous body that draws stares on the streets, and her outfit is revealing enough to make her figure all the more obvious. She's wearing a pair of tall, leather boots that reach up well over her knees, with a hint of bare skin between them at the hem of a sinfully short, lacy white skirt that shows off more than a little panty-clad butt whenever she bends over. A belt loaded down with potions and herb-pouches holds the skirt firmly in place, and is the last article of clothing before a long expanse of bare, flat belly. Her top is almost impossibly tight around her ample chest, sheer white fabric that perfectly hugs her curves to just above the elbows, and down to just below her bust, where it cuts off at a tight, elastic band.
Over that, Cait wears a loose fitting white robe, the same kind other priestesses usually don. Lucky for your appraising gazes, she doesn't keep her robes tied up, instead leaving them open-faced and hanging like a cloak off her shoulders, held in place by a red jeweled clasp. Cait keeps her long, oaken staff slung over her back, held in place by a strap that goes right between her heavy breasts. The staff is tipped with a pale crimson gemstone cut to resemble a heart, and wreathed with a solid wooden ring to protect it.
Caitriss is a lithe and athletic catgirl standing at about five foot eight, or a little over if you count her big, perky cat-ears. Pale skin covers most of her body, and she sports a cutely feminine face with a small, upturned nose beneath a pair of big, blue eyes with vertical slits. Her face is framed by short, not-quite-shoulder length hair that's clearly blonde, though her locks have been highlighted with a bright, bubbly pink color. Her ears and the long, flexible feline tail behind her are both completely masked in pink, giving the cat-girl a playful and cheery look.
While most catfolk are svelte and slender, clearly nobody gave that message to Cait's chest: she's sporting a hefty pair of breasts that jut proudly from her chest. They're perfectly rounded, weighty but delightfully bouncy, and oh-so-soft looking even through her clothing. You guess she must fill out an enticing E-cup — large enough to make you want to just plant your face between her tits and nuzzle up to the perky cat-babe.
Continuing your perusal of the girl's body, you see that Cait's got long, slender human-like legs with toes ending in small, finely-pointed claws; her fingers are much the same, though those claws are painted a dark blue like her eyes. Her legs connect to a handful of spankable ass, just big enough to jiggle a bit whenever she walks. Seeing where you're looking, she wiggles her broad hips and reels her tail back to give herself a playful swat on the backside, making her rump bounce with the impact.
(Alraune)Age???
The titanic flower in the glade's heart rustles, accompanied by a series of gasps and moans from inside its lush red petals. Slowly, sensuously, the bulb unfurls itself, releasing a cloud of yellow-hued pollen and the sickeningly-sweet scent of sexualized nectar. A naked body slumps out of the flower, a lupine man covered in sticky golden juices from head to toe and to his raisin-dry balls and leaking red cock. He gasps for breath, scrabbling away from the other figure still standing in the heart of the flower.
Or rather... growing from it.
The woman has no legs, but sprouts from the thighs up straight out of the irriguous flower's heart. The lupine's seed leaks freely from a fragrant flowery pussy, smeared across her impossibly broad hips and thick thighs. Her verdant green skin is wrapped in writhing pink vines as fine as her lustrous emerald hair and a long tongue plays across full, pouty lips as she drinks your group in. Crimson eyes linger on you, giving the poor man she'd been coupling with time to scarper.
(Liaden)Age24
In search of a Lumian Cleric that can purify the hornet hive's corrupted honey reserves, Brother Sanders points the Champion to a young paladin that a former comrade-in-arms insisted that he should meet, unfortunately he has not been able to meet her due to his duties. Journeying to Hawkethorne's southern gates will have the Champion bear witness to a pair of centaur fleeing from a woman hefting a bronze poleaxe on her shoulder, as she mocks back the centaur's earlier threat. Upon noticing the Champion, she states that she hopes she didn't startle them, and rhetorically asks if the Marches is always this dangerous, considering the numerous encounters she's had since she arrived. She introduces herself: Liaden, a paladin of Lumia, and asks what she can do for them. The Champion explains the current situation with the hive and the need for a Lumian cleric. She comments that she came to seek Riordan Sanders, but the hornet hive deserves her attention, and she agrees to aid the hive and make her way to meet Azyrran.
(Wynne-femBerwyn)Age17
Wynne is a humanoid half-lupine woman, standing a bit on the dimunitive side at just five feet and one inch tall. While she has the familiar features of a human – a human face, with button nose, thin lips, raised cheekbones, and bright eyes, as well as two arms and legs – she is pocked with snow-white lupine fur in various spots, including her arms and legs. She as a long, bushy tail that occasionally swishes from behind her, and she has tall, triangular, lupine ears atop her head in place of a more human set. Wherever there isn't fur is chocolate-hued skin with a complexion so smooth, it'd make any beautician curious and envious. On her head, draping all the way down to the backs of her knees, is long, white, full-bodied hair that must take several hours to comb and wash a day. Her shoulders are svelte, and her hips curve into an exaggerated hourglass, with her hips being substantially wider apart than the rest of her midsection. Wynne normally wears some fairly mundane clothing: a mage's robe, made with thinner material than you would have expected, that covers her arms, shoulders, and stomach, but rides high on her thigh while still keeping her decent. A hole's been cut in the chest to let it breath a bit more... and to give whoever wants a look a good show. Sitting on her head is a massive magician's hat that, frankly, looks like it weighs as much as the rest of her outfit together. Sitting on Wynne's chest are a pair of tiny, A-cup breasts that bulge so slightly against the cloth on her chest that they could be mistaken for pecs. After the incident in the tower, when Wynne had the opportunity to reconstitute herself, she gave herself a pair of bug-bites for breasts. That's simply what she wanted. Sitting between Wynne's legs is a pussy, vibrant and tight – to make a long story short, she only acquired it recently, and as a result, it was virginal... up until you made sure it wasn't, anyway. Sitting underneath Wynne's tail and between her ass cheeks is her butthole, where it belongs. You're rather acquainted with it by now. And you think she would prefer it if you acquainted yourself with it again soon.
(Matiha)Age27
Matiha is a fully-human woman that stands at roughly six feet and one inch tall, although with the hat she's wearing, you'd ballpark that estimate by an inch, give or take. She has deep-brown eyes and black hair that reaches down to around the base of her neck. While she has thin eyebrows, all of the hair has gone to her eyelashes, making them much thicker than the average woman's. Her skin is a pale white all over, but, in contrast, she wears black lipstick. The areas around her eyes are very slightly sunken and darker in hue than the skin around them, giving off the impression that she's in need of some decent sleep. Her cheekbones are raised and her jaw is angular, making her a more 'picturesque' woman of beauty, if not for her apparent drowsiness. She wears a fairly muted outfit for a witch of her caliber: a plain robe made of thin-but-elastic dark-blue material that clings to her form, with extra padding along the shoulders, and it rides high on her thigh, showing off quite a bit of skin on her smooth, immaculate leg. Sitting on the crest of her neck is a ruby amulet that is probably more than just an accent for her clothes, but you don't have the expertise to say for certain. And sitting on top of her head is a proper witch's hat: its brim is nearly as wide as she is tall, and the crest on its top would add another four feet to her height if it were standing upright. If you stuck a pole in it, it'd work amazingly as an umbrella. Matiha's body is slender across the shoulders, stomach, and hips, but that's where the modesty ends: her thighs are thicker across than her head, and her rear end extrudes from her outfit such that it causes the already-cut skirt of her robe to ride even higher up her side – if she were to take a wrong step, or the wind were to blow just right, the fabric would flutter over her junk and flash whoever happened to be looking. But none of that even touches on her primary asset: sitting on top of her chest are a pair of absolutely monumental breasts. Matiha has what you'd ballpark to be G-cup tits – a pair of boobs so massive that they dominate her aesthetic, no matter what she'd be doing or wearing. They're so huge that she either needs to prop them up with her arm, or she needs to use magic to keep them from dragging the rest of herself down. They're so large that, if you were short enough, you could stand underneath them and they'd provide shade from the sun and shelter from the rain. Her nipples and areola are likewise so massive that they jut against the fabric of her clothing, even when they aren't erect. Between Matiha's legs is an ordinary human vagina, although she's is a fan of using what little polymorphing magic she knows to make herself as elastic as necessary while still as tight as can be. And between her luscious butt cheeks is her asshole, right where it belongs.
(Gytha)Age22
The woman is a boreal elf with a long, aureate ponytail that flows up to her lower back and wiggles every time she moves her head. A single lock of hair has escaped her bun; a golden river that springs over her eyebrows and runs down her face to tickle one of her cheeks before falling gently over her shoulder. Just as if she was trying to hide that lock, Gytha runs her fingers over the fringe and pushes it behind her pointy ear, only for the hairs to mock her attempts and return to their original position.
The girl averts your gaze and a faint blush appears over her pale face. One thing is clear: Gytha gets excited easily. She bites her lip and her breathing turns heavy. Her chest rises every time she inhales and you swear her tits are just about to pop out from the leather vest that poorly conceals her bust. Around her waist she wears a split kilt that leaves her legs almost entirely bare all the way up to a leather thong shielding her sex.
"Don't you have a trace of shame in you, outsider?" she asks, while turning her face away from you. Still, she can't hide her blush. "Stop staring at my body as if you wanted to make it yours to play with.
(Gweyr)40
If Garth is towering, Gweyr is massive. She's got at least a full head of height over her husband, and is thick to match; the constant cold of the rift has only encouraged her to grow stouter like everything else here in a bid to stave off the cold. Perhaps in her youth she might've been more stereotypically feminine and curvaceous, but the years and rigors of the Rift have taken their toll on her, turning her more stolid and blocky — or at least, what you can tell of her frame under the thick furs and pelts. Her fur is grey, but has been blotched to greyish-white in several places, especially about her muzzle; not that you can see most of it given how well she's wrapped up in her clothes.
And what clothes they are. The thick coat and fur-lined boots of leather and hide — all made by herself — are one thing, but the way she's bound her tail is another. It makes sense to wrap up her extremities like this lest she lose them to frostbite, but seeing the pelt tied about her tail like wrappings is... well. That's not to mention the snowshoes, or the slitted bone coverings she wears over her eyes, propped up upon her muzzle.
"You have to wear these when you go out during the day," Gweyr explains. "All the snow and ice constantly reflects the sun into your eyes, and if you don't protect yourself, you'll go blind; that's one of the first things I learned from the pale elves when I arrived in this place. Not all at once, but over weeks and months; the damage adds up and when you realise what's going on it's too late to do anything about it. And the snowshoes, they spread out my weight so I don't sink into drifts when I walk on them. Not that any of the natives have any problems with either... but if you're not born of the Rift, it hates you with a passion you can't even begin to imagine."
She certainly looks like a mad hermit, that's for sure. Meaty fingers and hammer hands bear hard, ragged claws, and you notice that several of Gweyr's teeth are misaligned and overgrown, jutting from her jaws like an orc's tusks.
Given that there's a source of hot water in her home, you don't imagine baths are in short supply, but soap... well, that's another matter. If anything, the wolfess looks like a weather-beaten boulder, if nothing else. Her arms and thews are thick, her bosom is as massive as it is solid, and while her furs are clearly comfortable and easy to move in they nevertheless give the impression that the wolfess is just straining at their seams with every step that she takes. A massive, imposing monster; it's not surprising how she wound up being the captain of a mercenary company in her youth, or how she and Garth wound up building a place as impressive as the Frost Hound between the two of them. Even so, up in this miserable place, perhaps Gweyr is at home in a hellscape that hates her as much as she hates it. Anyone lesser would've either perished or given up.
(Byvernia)Age27
To encounter Byvernia, the Champion must either be at least level 4 or have completed Right of Conquest.
While venturing through the Foothills, the Champion finds the unnatural quiet of the hills concerning, noting that their journey has never been this quiet. This train of thought is cut-off when a throwing axe sails past their head, over their companions' heads if they are not travelling alone, and crashes into the craggy ground. The chains attached to the axes pull back and the axes fly back to their owner as she grumbles that they might be worth their weight in scales. After facing their aggressor, the taeleer comments that she'd prefer dealing with larger drakes more than annoying people, however, at least annoying people know how to stay out of her way, or if the Champion is a Wyvern; noting that they aren't a natural one, but they've clearly gone off the deep end if they're like the wyvern now. Having gotten a better look at her, they ask who she is, however, she doesn't give an answer and instead moves in for a fight.
The Champion will pick up her name after downing her for the first time, but instead of going down, she will drink a vial from her belt and ask if they think they can best her with such pathetic tactics, before she unlatches her coat and continues the fight, having fully recovered.
For victory and defeat options, see the section below. There are a few unique lines for defeating Byvernia the first time you meet her.
(Drider Queen-Lilyann)Age32
Standing nearly eight feet tall as her eight legs ferry her around, the woman's white hair billows with the winds and lets her black-eyed gaze ensnare your attention. Her coat's heavy grey furs clad her human half as warmly as her spider half's fur, stretching against securing harnesses thanks to her H cup tits.
(Arona)Age24
Arona is a mighty orcish warrior, seven feet and ten inches of chiseled muscle and toned, dark green flesh. Like any orcess, she sports a pair of small tusks jutting up from her lower jaw, peeking out from her hard black lips, and slightly tapered ears that are pierced with rows of gold studs along their upper halves. Despite the dusky hardness of her body, Arona's eyes are a brilliant blue, full of more cunning than her battle-forged physique would belie. Her hair is black as sin and naturally thick and shaggy, though it has been shaved down on either side, leaving a hawk of trimmed hair that transitions into a long braid down her back.
Despite her powerful muscles, Arona's femininity is beyond question: a pair of weighty DD-cups breasts sit high on her chest[if Warhides set:, only just held back by the tight embrace of her hide-and-leather top, though even with its fur lining, her outfit leaves plenty of enticing cleavage open to your perusal|else if Chieftain's Bronze set: beneath her Chieftain's Bronze]. Her nipples are as black as her lips, broad plates of midnight each pierced with silver bars, keeping them stiff no matter her arousal. Beneath her bountiful amazonian bust is a toned, hard chest and softer belly that shows just a hint of chiseled muscle as it transitions into her flared hips.
Her lower chest is inked with a set of claw-mark tattoos, three sharp savage lines under each breast. Her upper arms are likewise adorned with swirling, softer patterns. A wolf's head bearing a pair of antler-like horns is inked onto her left shoulder, a mark of her clan; the other is patterned with interwoven circles.
Arona's outfit is as eye-catching as its wielder, meant to emphasize the orc's hard-won assets more than to protect her in battle. Her ample chest is supported and contained by a tight wrap of hide and leather, lined with grey fur and held together by a straining bronze clasp suspended between her breasts. It leaves her belly and upper arms completely bare, as if her tattoos and muscle alone are enough to shield her from harm.
[if Chieftain's Bronze set:Her forearms and hands are wrapped in hide gauntlets reinforced with crude metal plates, stained with dried blood and rust. Similar greaves gird her legs, up to the knee, where they once again give way to her thick, muscular thighs and then into a pair of beast-hide breeches that hug her hips snugly. The garment rides up her ass, leaving half of each firm cheek exposed, but the real eye-draw is the thick bulge between her legs. Atop all of that, she wears a great bronze helmet with a feathered plume. Somehow, she's convinced herself all this armor lets her be less defensive in battle...]
She's carrying an over-sized warhammer slung on her back, looking more like the weapon of an angry storm-god than something a humanoid should be swinging. Yet she handles the massive weapon with ease, making it seem feather-light... until she crashes it into someone with ground-shaking force. A chipped and battered wooden shield complements the grand hammer, bearing the demon-wolf sigil of her clan painted in shades of blood and sable-red.
Arona might have been a full-bodied woman once, if the black-lipped and vice-strong pussy between her legs is any indication, but through some orcish witchcraft, she's become so much more. A pole of dark green cock hangs down from above her twat like an overt challenge to any other would-be man in the room, easily twelve inches long and thick as a halberd's haft. Below that magnificent slab of meat (not for long) hang a pair of weighty balls, swollen with potent orcish seed and dangling low beneath her cock. The bulk of her nuts all but conceals her feminine sex, as if it's nothing to her now that she can breed like a virile stud.
Opposite that, Arona has a toned, firm behind. Her shallow cheeks conceal a cock-draining asshole, right where it belongs.
(Hretha)Age25
The middle child of the Kervus tribe, Hretha, is a big woman. She stands about 7'8", and while she's nowhere near as ripped as Arona or Agroth, she is still quite muscular. Hretha is overall well-built with broad breeding hips and E-cup breasts, a bit larger than her sister's, and her black fur bustier struggles to contain them. She has greyish green skin, paler than her siblings, and has fiery red hair worn in a loose plait that falls around one shoulder.
Hretha is blind, her eyes cloudy and sightless. She relies on her junior priestess and her wolf companion, Gerik, to guide her around the camp and to perform many of her daily tasks.
The oracle wears a thick fur bra that envelops and restrains her tits, alongside a knee-length hide skirt, leather boots, and a shawl of wolfskin. She has a thick oaken staff fitted with a radiant sun made of bronze upon its head, each ray sharpened to act like a scythe blade, and a dark red gemstone set into the wood just below it.
Unlike Arona, Hretha is fully female, with a black-lipped cunt fringed with curly fire-red bush, and she has a plush butt that jiggles when she walks, and claps when she bounces. She's got a tight little pucker tucked between those cheeks, dark as sin. Her breasts are each pierced with a bone talon, keeping her dusky teats always semi-erect and sensitive to the touch — a fact that she's only too eager to have exploited.
(Infrith)Age16
Infrith is a young she-orc of about 16 years. She stands about 7'4, with thick and curvy build that's noticeably less muscular than most of the other orcs in the tribe. She has dark brown hair worn loose around her shoulders and rust-colored eyes, along with a pair of chipped-off tusks. Infrith has been gifted with the most fertile figure in the orcish camp: she has tremendous hips, a plush ass, and thick thighs, plus a weighty F-cup bust. Her figure is what pushed her parents to give her over to Lumia rather than to forge her into a warrior.
Infrith wears a fur bustier, plus a knee-length hide skirt and boots. She wears an amulet with Lumia's holy symbol, though it often vanishes into her prodigious cleavage. She's no fighter, but she can cast argent spells
(Ragnild)Age28
Standing at six feet six inches, Ragnild is more a stout orc than a tall one, her body having decided to concentrate on growing out instead of up. Thick muscles wrap about body, more bulging and practical than chiseled and shapely; they're clearly visible on what muddy green swampwater-colored skin's exposed on her body. Like any orcess, she sports a pair of small tusks jutting up from her lower jaw, peeking out from her hard black lips, and slightly tapered ears that are partially hidden under her grey hair; she's done it up in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way at work, while her face is framed by twin locks that brush against her cheeks. Her face is less squarish and her chin more pointed than one might expect of the average Kervus orcess; along with her muddy skin color, it suggests mixed heritage of some sort, perhaps some ancestry from the heartland tribes.
Though most of Ragnild's front is covered by a thick leather apron, her furs clothe her considerably less from the back and sides, leaving little doubt as to her feminine curves. Weighty, dense D-cups sit on her chest, bordering on DDs — she's clearly the kind of girl who goes for density and gravitas over simple size. Brown-black, coin-sized areolae surround equally dark, perky nipples that push against her furs, belieing a raw, powerful sensuality fitting of a powerful woman.
Ragnild's defined abs stand out from the contours of her midriff, the result of a lifetime of heavy lifting coupled with evenings spent with Hretha and tea instead of feasting and drinking. She doesn't have the speed that would be expected of a proper orc warrior, but speed isn't what's required for her job, anyway.
Moving down, flared, motherly hips and muscled thighs fight for dominance on her frame — with how thick she is, Ragnild gives the impression that she could easily crush skulls between her legs and not even notice. Her entire front is covered by a long, thick leather apron, and her hands are protected from the forge by thick, elbow-length leather gloves. Even so, there're a number of burn scars on her upper arms, reminders of youthful mishaps learning the trade at her father's feet. Thick-soled shoes protect her feet from any inadvertent mishaps and sharp edges accidentally strewn on the ground.
The centerpiece of Ragnild's work ensemble is a stylised bronze mask shaped to resemble a ferocious sabretooth tiger, its mouth open and snarling, its eyes set with dark tinted glass. It's meant to protect her from the heat and light of the forge while working, but the amount of effort and fine detail that's gone into the piece makes it look more ceremonial than practical. Knowing her, though, she wouldn't wear it on the job if it didn't serve any actual purpose.
All in all, Ragnild's a honest example of stolid hard-working orcish womanhood. Not much for the battlefield like Arona is, nor sexy and mystical like her friend Hretha... instead, she's the quiet, solid backbone that keeps orc society in running order, inasmuch as it runs at all.
(Azyrran)
At first glance, she seems nearly human, with dark skin, an ample bosom, and long flaxen tresses hanging down to her slender shoulders. However, you soon see that her arms and legs are covered in a shiny black chitin, looking like a mix between armor and sexy negligee — but there's no mistaking the black-painted breastplate she wears. It's a vest of solid bronze protecting the girl's midriff, though it leaves her chest covered by nothing more than a tight silk wrap that clings her ample bosoms and is obviously stained with droplets of amber liquid. Her bare thighs reveal more dark caramel flesh, up to the short skirt that protects her modesty, and seems to be liberally coated with thick clumps of pollen.