<strong>Tagging:</strong>Group 3  Starcry (Ishmael), Moon Hound Hati (Jon)<br/><br/>The elder dryad’s smile deepens into a dark black half moon as her fluffy new songbird stiffens all cute-like. “Aww…  Is the poor thing nervous? Don’t worry about your ‘friends’. We will treat them better than they’ve ever known,” she says, seemingly confident of every word. If she has glanced to see whether rest of Ishmael is stiff she it not show. Rather, she remains oddly composed and grope free to be a creature of the Anus, despite having offered herself to Jon no less.<br/><br/>Not that she had to worry about the cleric running out of sex. The new addition to green sisterhood has a strong grasp of him, of his cock. She gasps giggly moans at his comments as the man’s hands grope over her curves. She really pushes her sex against the finger sliding in. Her hands wrap around his palm, squeeze it, push it deeper. She lets out another needy ‘ahhn’ and rubs her naked skin on his body. Once his touch replies to her need she lets go, confident that he knows his way around a woman’s underbush. Her lips cling to his as her hands wander against the front of Jon’s robes, groping through the fabric. She finds the priests’ manhood. Soft little fingers fold around the meat into a gentle squeeze. She presses and tugs it through his clothes, desperately stroking the robe covered cock.<br/><br/>To the two walking ahead of grunts and moans kept on going, the scenery of battle behind already long since muffled by the forest behind them. Looking back it is unlikely that the path could even be traversed by anything but denizen of the forest. The thick forest around them unfurls only just enough to allow the four to pass, closing in right behind them like an enchanted maze.<br/><br/>The elder dryad keeps hers devotion solely on the little bard’s tale, nodding and agreeing in murmur to his story. “I see. Such a dangerous journey to undertake for a little fluffy bird. Lucky you ran into us, mmmh? I can be of aid, for sure. It’s a…” Her voice softened in momentary ponder to search for words. Her gaze graced the covers of his tome. “Mmmh… Well known. In some circles, so I hear.” His worries over fudging some words earns Ishmael a sympathetic pat on the head. “Awwww... My little bird, I won’t mind. You will sound adorable, I’m sure.”<br/><br/>“Me? I am Dalarea, the Grove Mother of this palace. I’m someone you want as a friend,” the dryad answers, grinning lips closed. “And this is my domain,” she adds. The tall trees around them swoon without wind. Leaves above shuffle. The undergrowth moves. Glow of the mushrooms and caps dims and strengthens. The forest here answers directly to her. “Now. The song,” she asks, barely enough request remaining in the tone that it did not feel like a threat.<br/><br/>She leas them on as the bard sings. Dalarea samples the performance with shifting smiles and grins. Then, gasps and sighs. It’s as if an unseen force flows through her. It leaves air heavy with eerie trembles. She takes a deep breath as he finishes. “Thank you.”<br/><br/>“Now. To show my appreciation.”<br/><br/>The path has come to an end. A row of pitch black trunks stands before them. She flicks her hand. The trees uproot themselves and shuffle out of the way, opening a doorway. Brightness is nearly blinding until eyes adjust to the gentle green illumination of the view before them.<br/><br/>A lush garden spreads out. No, not a garden, a cathedral. Tall tall walls reach up for many stories, coming together in the colorful ceiling. Downward hang vines with flowers and ripe fruits, some reaching down low enough to grab a taste, all wafting heavy sweet scents. Ancient trees stand as pillars holding up the flower ceiling. Countless large sofa-like leaves and flowers decorate the vast ‘chamber’. On the fluffy pillows sit dryads, tons of dryads. Men, women, herm, and some raise up to show two cocks hanging from tall monstrous body. It’s not just adventurers being turned into them, that’s for sure. They stare at Jon and Ishmael as they pass, gropin each other, giggling, gossipping out loud what these two new cocks might taste like, what their ass might feel like.<br/><br/>They are led to the very end of the dryad cathedral. The brightness grows. Beyond a veil of petals intricate as a natural mural. The veil is thin. Beyond the adventurers can see the steep cliff of Anus itself. Clouds flutter at the gaping maw. Layers upon layers of little foresty cliffs and ruins litter the drop. “Like the view? You can stay, if you like,” hums the elder. She beckongs and some of the dryads behind the pair and continues, “If you would like. They will entertain you as we speak.”<br/><br/>A tall dark green skinned man with features of a thin chiseled elf approaches. His autumn hair flutters with every step, deep black eyes smile faintly at Ishmael, thick green cock slowly stiffens. Another smaller one barely any taller than Ishmael follows behind. All coy smiles and shy finger nibbles that one. They take the bard’s arms and settle him down on one of the floral lounges opposite to Dalarea. The taller dryad leans into Ishmael’s ear, grunting softly as his arm wraps around the bard’s shoulder, “Tell me, and my hands will be there.” The smaller nearly snuggles into the bard’s armpit, not really asking for a permission. He sits knees together, a half-flaccid tree maker sitting snugly on his thighs. The dryad’s touch reaches around to Ishmael’s butt, giving his cheek a playful squeeze. He looks up, wide yellow eyes grinning as he bites his lip. “Can I?” He pleads.<br/><br/>Jon is sat down too, pulled down into the cushiony depths by the clingy ex-adventuress and her three elder sisters. Both his hands are taken. His fingers find themselves pushed against eager snatches. One too holds his lips, addicte. Together they dig and claw away his robes, stripping the priest. His gear is tossed out of the flower bed. With his groin exposed a fight breaks out. Nubile bodies, some more bootiful, some more breasty than the others, they all squirm and rub in a pile to fight for for his cock. Two fall on top of his fingers in a kiss-off and the youngest finds herself pushed away. Her kiss breaks from Jon’s lips but soon returns to his body, nibbling his muscles, worshipping man.<br/><br/>He soon feels the victor. In one move a tight wet clench hugs the entirety of his cock from crown to base. The dryad cries a loud moan. Her lips clench and breathe. Her hips already move, beginning to grind him pleasure. Through the pleasure of dryad girls Jon can taste every now and then a crunchy juicy biteful of sweet fruit. It’s quickly kissed down his throat. Forced down as he is by four horny dryads and the spore breath he can only accept the fruits of Anus and hope they are not on his God’s forbidden list.<br/><br/><strong>The elder dryad has brought you two to her domain. You are surrounded by dozens, perhaps a hundred or so dryads. Whole bunch of them are sexing you up. Jon, you are being treated to the corrupted fruits of Anus, literally. Ishmael, you sang a pretty damn naughty song. What's your next move?</strong><br/><br/>OOC:<br/>Jon - Your veins begin to pump the corrupting juices of the fruits. It changes you. Your hair tingles. White spiky leafless thorns push through your hair, your pubes too (and beard if you don’t shave). Rest of your hair thickens, and though it stays white it feels more like white blades of grass than human hair now. In addition your cum will be sweeter, thicker, and the volume of your load is larger.<br/><br/>Ishmael - A dark spirit enters you as you sing the forbidden songs of Gaia. You feel it only as a light tingle now, a dark idea at the back of your mind. At times it may show you how good it would feel if you took the greediest path, tempting you down it. I’ll leave the details to player digression, but basically evil lust spirit has gotten into you! OoooOOOOooo! It’s only a faint shadow for now though.