Included kinks:
Futa, futa x futa, romantic, sex scene, mini-gts, size difference, growth appreciation, female muscle, size praise, excessive cumshot, character chapter, dirty talk, masturbation, public nudity
All characters are entirely fictional and all above the age of 18!
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Syn always loved addressing her men. She did so hundreds of times. Before and after each battle, every encampment and new contract. Within seconds she learnt everything she needed to know by the look in their faces. Never did she consider this skill a curse. Until now.
Everyone stared at the three futas like they were ghosts. Even the most hardened men, the sort who saw more blood and guts than a single lifetime deserved, wore nothing but shock on their faces.
In all fairness, no living soul in thousands of years heard what they were just being told.
Usually, an announcement like this would be made on top of a hastily constructed stage, so that everyone could see Syn. There was no longer any need for that with a woman of her gargantuan proportions, who had to stitch two dresses together into a tunic just to barely cover herself adequately.
That held even more truth with Fel next to her in all her full, nude beauty... and Lyanne? Rarely did anyone look this content with getting overlooked next to two literal giants.
Syn certainly shared her discomfort.
"I'm aware this is a lot to take in. If there are any answers for us to offer, we shall give them," Syn said and for the first time ever felt her hold over her men slip.
The lads remained frozen into place. Dwarves and humans alike. Submitting to that unrelenting silence. Until at last one brave green sleeve shining through leather bracers pierced through it.
"What's going to happen now?" Kalthorn asked and summoned a few more voices.
"We have yet to understand the full meaning of that prophecy," Syn said and turned towards Lyanne, silently pleading with her eyes to just ignore her for a bit longer. "For now, we can only say with certainty that all three of us are in this together."
The whispers grew to murmurs until words began to take shape and emerged from countless throats.
"Lyanne's gotta grow huge too?!" Brossim stood out the loudest, despite his dwarfish stature.
Syn granted the growling of hundreds of men a few seconds before she lifted her hand and proved she still held some authority.
"This isn't just about our growth. This is far greater than that. Than any of us," she said and gazed into the sea of faces. "We're being part of history, like it wasn't written in millennia. If today marks the day magic finally returned to our world, then why should it be one of fear?"
Syn took strength in seeing her lad's faces ease and their ears keen to listen.
"We all heard the legends. Great tales too grandiose to even dare to believe. This is the hour they rise from their pages. From mere stories, meant to inspire us, to ... maybe the dawn of a new age. You ask me what will happen next? I can't even fathom what tribulations await me, Fel and Lyanne, but I promise you, we won't tremble. Not today, not tomorrow and no matter where this journey might lead us three."
"Hold on! What do you mean with 'us three'?" one began.
"What about us?" another followed up.
"Are you saying you plan on leaving?" Gunjon demanded with urgency as he pushed himself before the first row, his gaze travelling between the three futas and certainly lingering the longest on Lyanne.
"There... might be answers we need to find somewhere else fir-" Syn began before a wave of discontent screamed back at her.
All her lads roared like one, even some of Karstjan's and Lundor's men joined in to let their anger be heard. Their pleads came as curses, as teary-eyed begging, some only in wordless growls, but with no less emotion. Nobody wanted to see any of the three futas leave. As much as this gesture was touching, Syn knew what needed to be done.
She raised her hand again and despite waiting for a solid minute never had to raise her voice.
"This is not the time for farewells. And neither will we slip away like thieves under the cloak of night. But we also won't make promises we don't know we can keep," Syn said with wide, strong gestures accompanying her words to hide that these words even got to her. "Nobody knows what the future holds, but we will adore every moment we share together, boys. And if that final day may come, I promise you, it won't be one of sadness for any of us. Until that day, I'm afraid you all have to endure the company of three obnoxiously over-sized lasses for a bit longer."
Humour was a valuable weapon in any skilled orator's arsenal, and one Syn loved swinging whenever the situation allowed it. And her men greatly appreciated it.
"For real, my lads," Syn said, feeling her words come harder than they used to. "Whatever might happen, always remember this: We wouldn't trade you for an army of thousands!"
The boys erupted in cheers at last.
"Not a single one of you drunken boys we would trade for the riches of Goldfurt itself!"
Her men's jubilations only rose louder and thundered through the valley like an avalanche.
"You're the best bunch of lads from here to the weeping mountains! From here to the iron peak!"
Armours were clattering, men crashing into men, hugs thrown around shoulders all before Syn. Her men's enthusiasm had always been infectious to Syn, who found herself caught up in the swelling euphoria as much as everyone else.
"No. Nobody ever called a better band their own! You're the 'one thousand golden brothers' to my 'Lady Lindhuine'!"
Syn failed to notice confusion spread among the merry shouts and deafening claps. The longer her colourful praise continued, the more her men surrendered to bewilderment. By the time, she set her boys on par with Kourtaran's kingsguard, in her opinion the highest praise any warrior could possibly receive, she stood alone among dumbfounded faces and very few knowing grins.
"Whaaat?" someone asked alone in the distance.
"Anyone got a clue what the boss is talking about?"
"Maybe she is having a stroke of something," a clearly dwarven voice blurt out.
"Call a doctor then!"
Syn merely laughed. The bards of old were up to something when they famously stated, 'know thy audience'.
"All I wanted to proclaim with all my heart is," she began and turned towards Fel and Lyanne. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say, we appreciate you more than you can even imagine, lads. So, unscrew the last few bottles, bring out the horns, today's feast is solely in your honour!"
Cheers conquered the camp once more. Most were probably not exactly sure why, but a gaggle of always jolly boys like them would never miss out on another opportunity to drink and eat with friends.
Syn eventually stepped forward to the first row who didn't join the celebrations.
"Poetic," Karstjan smiled, seemingly least fazed by standing over a foot and a half shorter than the half-elf. "Although, I'd wager the sentimentality of the moment was lost to some."
"Yeah." Syn smirked. "Think it would be better if I stick to human lords next time?"
"No," Karstjan laughed.
"Ooooh... so that's what you meant," Lundor gasped with wide eyes, while Gunjon also stroke his beard with newfound wisdom.
"Wits can be as sharp as blades sometimes, but also as dull as clubs if you don't know when to use them. Which I evidently don't," Syn joked and bowed to the great Ser despite towering over him with ease.
