The Fletching & Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities

The evening air off the Ustaloch bit with a damp chill, but Nott the Brave was sweating profusely.

They were making their way toward the southern edge of the Loch Ward, where the massive, newly constructed dark blue tent dominated the green. Long streamers of white and silver whipped frantically in the wind from the structure's peaks. But the cold did absolutely nothing to cool the molten, agonizing heat radiating from the goblin’s core.

Jester was practically using her as a walking stick. The bubbly blue tiefling, buzzing on wine and pure excitement, kept her arm draped heavily over Nott’s narrow shoulders, constantly pulling the stumbling goblin tight against her hip. It was absolute ****. The scent of Jester, a dizzying mix of spun sugar, lilac, and the undeniable, heavy warmth of a fertile woman; filled Nott’s lungs with every breath. Every time Jester giggled, her soft body vibrated against Nott’s side, sending violent shockwaves straight down to the massive, bound erection that absolutely refused to soften.

The thick leather bindings holding Nott’s curse flat against her belly were chafing with a brutal, burning friction. Her cock throbbed, a heavy, aching baton of flesh straining for release, and her overfull balls felt like they were dragging the rest of her body down with their sheer gravity. She was drunk, furious, and so ferociously aroused she could barely walk straight.

Up ahead, the flamboyant, horned tiefling they’d met that morning, Mollymauk, sauntered over to greet them.

"Oh hey Molly!" Beau called out, the monk taking a break from scowling for the last three blocks, her eyes darting between Jester’s possessive grip on the goblin and the path ahead.

"Oh, it's my favorites," Mollymauk purred, flashing a grin. "Hello."

"We came!" Jester cheered, giving Nott another suffocating, affectionate squeeze. "And we brought our tiny friend!"

"I'm so glad you all came to see the show," Molly said, giving a little theatrical bow that sent the trinkets on his horns jangling. "It's going to be great tonight."

Beside him stood Yasha. The massive barbarian woman stared down at them through the messy fall of her dark braids, her expression completely unreadable. "It's going to blow you away," she rumbled, her voice deadpan.

Mollymauk’s grin widened, “First show of a round is always the best! Without fail.”

Beau squinted past him at the mouth of the tent, where the line of townsfolk shuffled and chattered past, boots scuffing wet grass. “Where are the best seats?”

“Front,” he said,. “Right up close. Then you’re in it. If anything… unexpected happens, there’s nothing between you and whatever terrible mess the night decides to cough up.”

Beau’s scowl sharpened. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Molly sang, fluttering his fingers as if shooing away bad luck. “You’ll be fine.”

Yasha crossed her thick, muscular arms over her chest before their group, her pale eyes sweeping across their various armaments. "You can't go in with any weapons."

Jester gasped softly, immediately pulling Nott even closer, practically burying the goblin’s porcelain mask in the side of her generous breast. "Here's the thing," Jester argued sweetly. "Some of us have weapons that we don't want to pass away to other people. What if someone tries to grab my sweet little green bean in there?"

Sweet little green bean. Nott groaned internally, a wet flush of pre-cum leaking down her stomach. If Jester only knew the sheer size of the "bean" currently strapped to her belly.

"You can't see the show if you have a weapon on you," Yasha replied, immovable as a mountain.

"Right. And we really want to see the show," Jester countered. "But, you know, we are really good at security. Like, all of us are really strong. We could fight things that came up, too! So maybe it would be best if you don't take our weapons, and then we could help."

Beau stepped up, rolling her shoulders to show off the tight, wiry muscled lines of her arms. "Actually, we'll make you a good deal. You waive our entry fee, and if anyone needs to be kicked out, or any security needs to happen, we'll help you out."

"Like deputy bouncers?" Nott wheezed from under Jester’s arm.

"Like deputy bouncers," said Beau, flashing a smile at Nott. Then she looked Yasha up and down, a clear interest in her blue-gray eyes. "Have you ever wanted to be a boss? Like, in charge?"

"Well, see, funny thing about that," Yasha said slowly, her gaze lingering on Beau for a fraction of a second before moving on. "That's my job. I am in charge. So, no."

A large, well-groomed half-orc in carnival attire stepped out from the tent flap and clapped a heavy, greenish-grey mitt onto Beau’s shoulder. He had a huge broad chest, arms like carved beams, and the sort of perfectly coifed black hair and curled moustache that made him look absurdly polished for someone built like a wagon. Not like Fjord, all hard angles and quiet salt-air danger. This one was showier, warmer, the kind of handsome that looked like it belonged on a painted carnival sign. Nott’s eyes snagged on him for half a beat before her brain caught up. Gods, that is an unfair amount of half-orc. “I’m terribly sorry, but we’ve got it taken care of,” he said politely. “If you wish to pay entry, you can, but the rules are the rules. So sorry.” He stepped back to manage the line of eager patrons. “Now, do you wish to come in?”

Caleb exhaled a long, tired breath, shivering slightly in his worn coat. "Do they get stored in some sort of chest or something?"

"I’ll hold them for you." Yasha said. "And if you want, I can stand right next to you guys. You can keep your eye on me the whole time. I promise you I will give them back."

Caleb pulled his dagger from his belt and handed it over. Fjord, shrugging his broad but way less broad than this sexy half-orc’s, shoulders, reached over his back and unslung his massive falchion, passing it to the towering woman.

Nott was sweating profusely, intensely aroused from being pressed against Jester’s lush curves all afternoon, and the **** thrumming in her veins made her sloppy. It was not helping that the big mustached half-orc nearby kept striding around with those ridiculous huge meaty green pecs and those huge arms on display like the carnival had hired him specifically to ruin her concentration. She nervously handed Yasha her shortsword, but in the same motion, her nimble fingers slipped into her cloak, trying to sleight-of-hand her little crossbow into her back pocket.

Yasha’s eyes tracked the movement easily.

"No, no, no. Little girl," Yasha rumbled, holding out an expectant hand. "Give me that."

"But I am just a little girl!" Nott squeaked indignantly, her voice cracking. "This is a toy for little children!”

“....all right, fine, here." Defeated, she pulled the crossbow out and placed it in Yasha's palm.

Yasha didn't immediately step back. Instead, the utterly towering woman stared down at the trembling goblin, her beautiful mismatched greenish blue and purple eyes narrowing with a searching, considering look. Nott froze, her pulse hammering in her ears as she tried, and utterly failed to look like she wasn't hiding anything else.

"I'm going to have to pat you down," Yasha stated.

"Wait, what?" Beau snapped, stepping forward and crossing her arms defensively, her temper flaring. The monk was practically radiating jealous energy. "Why does she get a pat-down and the rest of us don't? I mean, I could be hiding all sorts of dangerous things!"

Yasha slowly blinked, looking Beau up and down. Beau was wearing her sleeveless blue jacket completely open over her chest, leaving her incredibly toned, bare midriff and the sharp lines of her abs completely exposed to the night air. There was literally nowhere on the monk's torso to hide a toothpick, let alone a blade. Fjord, Caleb, and Jester were similarly wearing clothes where their scabbards and holsters were blatantly obvious.

"You're good”. Yasha flatly told Beau’s bare abs then looked back at the shifty, twitchy goblin, who was wrapped in three layers of baggy, ragged, highly concealing cloaks. "Arms up."
Beau huffed and crossed her arms tighter, eyes flicking down to Yasha’s hands and then back to Nott like it physically pained her. “Cool. So she gets the full service. And I’m just supposed to stand here and… watch. Great. Love that. Absolutely love it.”

Nott raised her spindly green arms, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Yasha knelt down and her big hands began to pat down Nott's sides, thoroughly and efficiently. She checked the heavy woolen cloak, the tattered skirt, the belt. And then, her hand swept up between Nott’s thighs.

Suddenly, one of Nott's enormous, aching testicles completely filled Yasha's large palm.

The barbarian paused. Nott saw Yasha’s different colored eyes blink once behind her dark, war-painted face.

Oh Pelor. Yasha actually squeezed it slightly. It was a slow, deliberate flex of her fingers, as if unconsciously testing the impressive, heavy weight of the cursed orb. Then, her hand slid over and did the exact same thing to the second testicle, cupping the swollen sac for a second longer than was strictly professional before her brain finally seemed to catch up to what she was actually holding.

She let go smoothly, her face an absolute mask of stoic indifference as she stood back, apparently finished.

Nott completely stopped breathing. Her thief-brain entirely shorted out, leaving nothing but pure, feral goblin lust. Her dick gave a violent, heavy throb right against her belly, leaking a fresh, hot string of fluid. She didn't freak out. She touched the monster and didn't stab me or scream for the guards. Nott was so drunk, and suddenly so horny she thought her pointed ears were actually vibrating. Bad Nott! Bad, filthy goblin! But seeing all their weapons bundled in Yasha's massive arms, combined with the lingering, phantom heat of that incredible grope, gave Nott an idea. A terrible, wonderful, filthy idea.

Nott leaned over and violently tugged on Jester's skirt, pulling the tiefling down to her level. She leaned in, whispering directly into her ear: “Jester. Listen, listen. If she’s got all our shiny stabby things, I gotta get close. Like, close close. Up in her arms. Then when it gets dark and everyone’s clapping like idiots, I just… slip-snap, fingers in the belt, fingers in the straps, and boom, our stuff’s back. Easy.”

Jester's violet eyes went completely round. A delighted, wicked smile split her face. "Oh my gosh, Nott, that is so smart!" she whispered back loudly. “She won't suspect a sweet little goblin at all!”

"Shh!" Nott hissed, swatting at her. Then, Nott spun around, pointing a shaking green finger directly at the towering barbarian woman.

"Wait!" Nott cried out, pitching her voice into a frantic, reedy whine. "I can't walk in there! I'm just a fragile little girl! The crowd is too big, I'll get crushed beneath the boots of the riff-raff! I demand to be carried!"

I'm a genius. I'm getting our weapons back later, and right now I get to sink my face into those massive sexy tits and let her carry the weight of this fucking cock for the next hour. Do it, Nott!

Fjord raised an eyebrow, looking down at the small goblin. "What? Why?"

"For... oversight of our property! For security!" Nott lied shamelessly, crossing her arms and jutting out her chin.

Yasha just let out a very low, long sigh. But beneath the ash-paint on her face, there was a flicker of genuine amusement in her eyes.

She stepped forward, her hands reaching down, and simply scooped Nott up off the ground. She cradled Nott high against her chest, perfectly securing both the weapons and the little rogue in her arms.

Oh gods.

Nott was suddenly face-to-face with the sheer, unapologetic reality of Yasha's chest. She was being held so tightly that her porcelain mask was practically pillowed between the barbarian's massive, linen-covered breasts. Worse- or perhaps infinitely better, Nott's lower half was pressed incredibly tight against Yasha's taut stomach.

Nott's bindings were going to snap. The tent pole was at full, aching mast, squished agonizingly against the tall woman's abs. Nott squeaked and just froze like a possum, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air as her face was totally buried in barbarian tits. Her grand plan to secure the weapons completely vanished from her mind. There were only boobs now. It was the best and worst moment of her cursed life.

"I have the little one," Yasha announced, utterly deadpan. "And the weapons. Let's go.”

The heavy canvas flaps of the main tent parted, swallowing them into a stifling, chaotic world of heat, colored lantern light, and the excited murmurs of the crowd. The air smelled of sawdust, damp wool, lantern oil, and cheap perfume, but Nott barely registered any of it. Her entire universe had shrunk to the rhythmic, swaying stride of the towering barbarian carrying her.

Every step Yasha took was a fresh wave of exquisite ****. The barbarian’s iron-hard abs flexed and rolled directly against Nott’s bound, throbbing erection. The friction was maddening. Nott’s face was completely buried in Yasha’s massive breasts, the scent of feral sweat and leather intoxicating her drunk, hyper-aroused goblin brain. A high, reedy whimper vibrated in Nott’s throat, completely masked by the ambient noise, as a fresh pulse of slick leaked from her heavy crown, soaking into her tight linen wrappings.

They reached the front row. Beau immediately claimed a seat, scowling, while Jester bounced into the spot next to her, pulling Fjord and Caleb down beside them. Yasha took the seat on Beau's other side. But instead of dumping Nott onto the wooden bench, the barbarian simply sat down with the goblin still trapped securely in her lap with the bundle of confiscated weapons.

Oh gods, she’s keeping me here, Nott thought deliriously. The heavy, overfull slosh of her massive balls settled intimately against Yasha’s thick, muscular thighs. Nott was completely pinned, nursing a blazing, agonizing hard-on right in the middle of a crowded room.

The lanterns dimmed, casting the tent in dramatic, moody shadows. A hush rolled through the big top in ripples, the crowd’s earlier babble thinning to a low murmur and then to almost nothing at all. Somewhere above them, a fiddle began to play.

The sound seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, thin and eerie at first, like a wire being drawn through the dark. Heads tilted. People whispered and pointed. Then a shape descended from the canopy itself.

A brawny bald human drifted down on a rope by one foot, painted face pale in the lantern glow, his deep blue costume making him look like some impossible stage-spirit falling out of the dark. He played all the while, bow stroking slow and precise, until at the last instant he released the rope, dropped neatly to his feet, and turned in a smooth, theatrical circle.

From the performers’ flap, the ringmaster entered with both arms spread wide, tall hat in hand, every inch the ringmaster. He bowed low as the crowd answered with a scatter of applause, warm in places, hesitant in others.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Trostenwald,” he called, voice rich and carrying to every seam of canvas overhead, “I am Carnival Master Gustav Fletching, and allow me to welcome you to the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities.”

A few more hands joined in, though just as many people only watched with cautious interest. A few children giggled when he pointed toward them.

“I ask each and every one of you to grant us your imaginations this eve but a trifle bit of time, and allow us to reveal a realm of laughter, mystery, danger, and beauty. I see you’ve already met our shifting fool. Keep a wily eye for him. But first...” He swept one long arm toward the back of the tent. “A tale of two sisters of the Fey. Lost without form in the mazes of the underworld, where the body would break and despair devour, they found instead a teacher in a mystical serpent, and learned to bend with the maze that captured them… to slither their way back to the surface and reclaim their place in the world. May I present to you Mona and Yuli, the Knot Sisters.”

The Knot Sisters bounded onto the stage to a fresh ripple of rhythmic applause, mixed with whistles, murmurs, and the wary excitement reserved for impressive strangers. They were halfling twins, their petite, powerful bodies poured into skin-tight full bodysuits that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Serpentine makeup and glittering scales were affixed to their faces and arms, catching the lamplight as they moved.

Nott stared, panting heavily through her porcelain mask. They were halflings, what she used to be. But the goblin’s feral, ****-soaked brain felt no kinship, only a dark, twisted, predatory hunger. Twins. Sisters. The filthy taboo of it made Nott’s pulse pound in her pointed ears.

The acrobats began their impossible sculpture work around the central pole, one climbing the other’s shoulders, backs bending into shapes that made half the front row wince. Then their rigid forms melted into something fluid and uncanny. They folded over one another, tangled together, and began to spiral low around the pole like battling snakes. The hanging lights dimmed to a murky green-blue, turning the whole ring into an underworld cavern. One by one they used each other as ladder and support, wrapping thighs and arms around the thick wooden pillar to climb higher in a breathtaking, fevered ascent.

The way they gripped and slid against the pole sent a bolt of pure electricity straight to Nott’s groin. She imagined her own massive, veined pole replacing the wood, splitting them both, ruining that synchronized perfection with a flood of hot goblin cum.

She ground her hips backward into Yasha’s stomach, completely unable to stop herself. Yasha’s breath hitched audibly. A calloused hand settled firmly over Nott’s hip, ostensibly to keep her from sliding off, but the grip was searingly hot, fingers digging into Nott’s waist just inches from her aching root.

At the apex, the sisters caught each other and spun down in a blur, back to back, legs flared wide, twining around the pole like ribbons around a maypole before they tumbled to the sawdust with their arms lifted in triumph. The audience answered with claps, whistles, and a low swell of excited noise, though an undercurrent of uncertainty still ran through it.

Nott hardly heard them over the blood rushing in her ears.

Gustav emerged again as the sisters withdrew, The bald human now reappearing at the far entrance in black rather than blue, his tune turned ominous and low. The lanterns dimmed once more.

“In a flash, beyond the ash,” Gustav intoned, “the gods all went and gone. The darkness came to grasp, reclaim, and suffocate the dawn.”

A burst of flame answered him from the dark behind.

“But from that night, a burning light doth keep back shadow’s bane. The strength to fight will set alight the morning sun again. Ladies and gentlemen…” He stepped aside with a flourish. “I present to you Ornna the Fire Fairy.”

Then the drums shifted, beating a heavy, primal rhythm, and Orna stepped into the spotlight.

The human fire dancer was a vision of raw, smoldering heat. She had dark, gleaming skin and short, fiery red hair that whipped around her face. She wore a simple, flowing dress of gold and red that clung tightly to her full chest before flaring around her hips. In her hands she wielded a pair of metallic fans, both alight with roaring flame.

Orna spun, her hips swaying with a hypnotic, incredibly sexy rhythm, the fire trailing in brilliant arcs around her body. The heat washed over the front row, but it was nothing compared to the molten lust pooling in Nott’s groin. Every time the dancer arched her back to sweep the flaming fans overhead, the golden dress pulled taut across her breasts and the lush, jiggling curve of her ass. The flames made her look less like a woman and more like a warrior-goddess carving light into darkness with every turn.

Nott let out a muffled, pathetic squeak, her balls clenching painfully.

I want to wreck her, the goblin thought frantically, her pointed ears burning hot. I want to drag her under the seats, rip that pretty red dress open, and flood her with goblin seed.

Orna’s dance built with the fiddle’s frantic climb until she leapt, turned in a blazing barrel-roll, and came down in a victorious pose as the lights above flared bright and gold. Applause rolled through the tent, lively but uneven, with as much startled delight as wholehearted approval.

Nott barely managed not to whine aloud.