The Forgotten Helms
Saga 1: Picnic

Caution: This Dungeons and Dragons Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Humor, Light Bond, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Petting,

Desc: Dungeons and Dragons Sex Story: Saga 1: Picnic - These are parodies created while I was playing the Dungeons & Dragons© Forgotten Realms© game, "Baldur's Gate". It is not necessary to have played the game nor to have read any of the Forgotten Realms books to read these stories, but if you have, you might occasionally catch a veiled reference or a subtle pun or a blatant error. While the stories are set in the Short Coast region of the Land of the Forgotten Helms, I haven't limited myself to the Forgotten Realms or any of the D&D© worlds for source material. I steal- excuse me, I 'recycle' ideas

It began on a warm spring day in the Halfling town of Greybeard, located at the southwestern end of the Forest of Trees, which is the unimaginative, redundant type of name one would expect from a bunch of short, undersized midgets. Gryphon Lehrer, ostensible second-in-command of Anton Burger's Knights of the Merkin, stood guard over the picnic basket and bulging wineskin poised atop the stoop railing at the now-closed door to the house. Inside, Miss Robyn Teatmounds and her father discussed his date with her. Although the sensitivity of dwarven ears is no match to elvish ears, he had no trouble following the conversation since it was being held at full volume by both parties, and anyone who knows half of anything about halflings knows that half the town was therefore privy to that conversation. It seems the good Mister Humper Teatmounds did NOT want his ONLY daughter going to a woodland PICNIC, especially one at NIXIE SPRING GLADE, and MOST especially with a stranger HIS age, given HER age, and especially NOT with a battle-scarred dwarf ARMED to the TEETH!

When he heard that, Gryphon removed the steel combat fangs from his mouth and stowed them in a belt pouch between his axe and his long sword. He probably wouldn't need them anyway since they weren't going to be that close to Snapping Turtle Swamp of Gamera. Just as he wouldn't need his mail shirt which was too heavy to wear over his healing but still-tender wounds and was with the other Knights of the Merkin in the Greybeard Inn.

He smoothed his black beard and mustache and decided to pretend he'd heard nothing when they emerged. He began picking bits of dirt, leaves, and dried blood flakes off his mace and dagger handles and his arrow quiver, dropping them on the spotless white stoop.

The door flew open. Miss Robyn was red with fury, from the top of her brow, where the red of her face made a nice contrast with that of her hair, down to the exposed tops of the creamy-smooth orbs that personified her family name. Those succulent globes were the second thing that drew Gryphon's attention to her at the Greybeard Inn. The first was the way in which she was winning a sausage-eating contest: shoving them whole down her throat. It was love at first sight.

"Time to go," she said, snatching the basket off the railing and storming down the two steps to the pavestone walk leading to the street. When the good Mister Humper Teatmounds blustered into the doorway, thundering like a summer storm in the Beyond Reach, and started to threaten Gryphon, she whirled and said, "Not a WORD to him or I'll tell Mother about you-know-what! I MEAN it!"

The good Mister Humper threw up his hands, turned, and slammed the door from the inside.

In a whirl of long blue skirts that were patterned with tiny multicolored flowers Miss Robyn turned on a pavestone and glared up at the dwarf rooted to the stoop. "WELL?"

The dwarf spread his hands and ducked his head in a shrug. "I'm coming."

Miss Robyn glared at the door and whispered, "Not yet. But you will be." They were almost out of the town before she calmed down and Gryphon decided maybe it wasn't a mistake after all. By the time they reached the Greybeard Inn on the southwestern edge of town she was clinging to his arm and making big, soft, green eyes at him, breathing deeply. Her white linen top was cut so low and drawn so tight across the front of her bounteous bosoms that they threatened to pop out with each inhale. Gryphon offered sincere-at-the-moment promises to several miscellaneous gods that they would, but not before they were out of sight from town.

A low whistle caught his ears. He reluctantly removed his eyes from her bosom and glanced up to find the source. It was the party's thief/magician, Mistress Darra Ravenclaw, violet eyes sparkling in a second-story window of the Inn. She made a "naughty-naughty" sign to him. He reached back as if to scratch his neck and made the Naughty Sign to her. Darra laughed and stepped back, her midnight blue-black, second-skin leather suit disappearing in the gloom of the interior.

"Your father seems upset with our picnic," said Gryphon, returning his ears to Miss Robyn's words and his eyes to what Parquierre, the party's mage, called her "bosomic affectations." She was a cute little thing, and "little" was the primary requirement. The dwarf refused to have anything to do with females larger than he was-not counting, of course, the times Mistress Darra had mercy fucked him, or the time Mistress Jeanette gave him head in order to save him from death at the hands of Gonad the Barbarian. Not that Gryphon considered the latter to be sex, of course.

After "my size or shorter," Gryphon's requirements were "younger than me," which is impossible to determine when comparing dwarves with elves or halflings or humans since they have different lifespans and maturation ages, "reasonably attractive," and he could be very flexible on what was reasonable, and "buxom," again a flexible requirement.

Miss Robyn was four inches shorter and definitely younger than Gryphon, both in actual and in relative-lifespan years, though she was obviously past puberty-at whatever age that was for a halfling maiden. "Attractive" required no flexibility for Miss Robyn. She was round-faced, bright-eyed, apple-cheeked, and pretty as a fox kit. She had a charming, easy-going laugh when she wasn't screaming at her father. And I've already mentioned her bountiful bosomic affectations.

Oh. Uh, yes, I am Parquierre, and no, I wasn't there. But I am the official historian for the Knights of the Merkin. This story has been pieced together from events related to me by the parties involved and by the use of a special Divination spell known only to me. If you are also a mage, I regret that I cannot share it with you.

Miss Robyn sighed heavily and kicked at a small stone as she shifted the picnic basket's handle from her left hand to the crook of the elbow. "He wants that I will marry Rupert Goldthrift, the banker's son, who will own his father's business in a few years" she said in a high, sing-song voice as delicate as butterfly wings. "He talked Rupert into proposing to me."

Gryphon hesitated. He didn't mind a romantic assignation with the halfling's lad's fiancèe, but if he had to kill the fellow in a duel of honor afterward, it might ruin his chances of enjoying Miss Robyn's charms the next time he visited this town. "And what did you say."

Miss Robyn glared ahead, the color returning to her cheeks, neck, and ample mammic charms in a rush of anger. "I was cross-stitching in our parlor one afternoon when Rupert called. Father ushered him in and closed the door on his way out. Rupert dropped to one knee in front of me. I told him that I was wearing hard, pointed-toe shoes under my long dress and that if he asked what I thought he was about to ask, I'd take one kick and ruin my father's desire for grandchildren. He was so flustered that he forgot we Halflings don't wear shoes, but he did see the wisdom in my position and remembered something he'd left unfinished at the bank."

Gryphon laughed, quenching the fire of anger in Miss Robyn's face. She smiled at the dwarf and held up her right hand with her thumb and index fingertips a couple of inches apart. "This is all that nixie-dick has when he's ready for action," she said with a demure giggle. "I'd probably have to kick twice to find it."

They had reached the fork in the road just beyond the edge of town. Miss Robyn slid her arm under the unstrung bow slung across Gryphon's back, around his side and waist, and pulled, guiding him to the left fork, which was the winding path he'd intended to take. He said nothing, not even a scream when pain stabbed through the knitting rib, because he didn't want to give Miss Robyn an excuse to move away. Gryphon already knew that the right fork led to nothing as idyllic sounding as Nixie Spring Glade. It was the way by which we had entered the town, having carved our way through rogue bands of marauding gnolls as we crossed Snapping Turtle Swamp of Gamera.

"So tell me about this Nixie Spring Glade," Gryphon said.

"Nixie Spring Glade? Oh, it's a nice place. Many couples go there." She placed light emphasis on couples and batted her lovely eyes at the armed dwarf, causing him to begin the assemblage of a different weapon inside his breeks. "It's a magic place around The Fount of Love. Nixies gathered there for celebrations hundreds of years before we halflings moved into the area. They left after losing the War of Harmonic Succession, whatever that was." She sighed and shook her head. "There's always some war or another going on all the time out here, and I don't see how anyone can keep track of them."

Gryphon's eyes brightened. "The Fount of Love? What's that?"

Miss Robyn glanced over her shoulder. The trees now screened them from the town. She smiled, and a thrill fluttered down through her body and settled in the moist, overheated juncture of her thighs. She inhaled as deeply as she could, and her top slid down over the forward slope of those high, firm extrusions of feminine delight.

And caught on her erect nipples. She glanced down. A faint sound from back of her throat was venting frustration. Her head rose, but the dwarf's didn't. The tip of his tongue was barely protruding from the corner of his mouth. A faint sound from the back of his throat was less frustration and more longing. A second faint sound from the back of her throat was less frustration and more triumph.

"The Fount of Love is a rejuvenating fountain. It gets rid of those nasty old tired feelings and invigorates you with fresh strength and endurance so that you can continue anything you were doing," she said, her sing-song voice putting slight emphasis on anything while the arm around his waist slipped and her hand slowly fingercrawled down his belly. "It works so quickly and is so powerful that just one sip is enough to keep you going for two or three hours, and after that, all you need is another sip!"

Gryphon's throat allowed another fugitive moan of longing to escape. Miss Robyn's hand continued its slow descent, and her fingers began a walking motion, as if they were pulling her palm down his belly in its slow slide. Another moan of longing, this almost a whimper.

The halfling maiden giggled and continued. "In the long ago, before the elves left the Short Coast, someone carved an enchanted statue of a dryad from a massive block of stone and placed it over the small spring that bubbled up from the ground. It's a actually just a common spring. The water is enchanted by the statue. The water loses its effect as soon as it touches the ground, so you have to catch it in the air. And the statue's magic also creates a grassy circle with no trees for about twenty paces around it."

The dwarf's eyes remained locked on the two dark-pink half-moons rising above the horizon of her top. "Uh-a dryad? And-and it keeps the trees back?"

"Yes," she said, inhaling deeply, but again with no success. "Old Master Fundus-he's Greybeard's resident loremaster and sage-thinks it was intended as either a cruel joke or an insult to the dryads. But the trees are much thicker than this around the edge of the circle." She waved a hand to indicate the trees crowded along the meandering path, but Gryphon's eyes didn't move from the top still held in place by her erect nipples. "They form sancta-well, a sanctum is sort of like a private tavern booth. Two couples," again spoken with a slight emphasis, "can be in sancta ten feet apart and not know anyone else is around."


His question went unasked. Miss Robyn yelped and jumped aside, yanking back her arm in a manner that caused the bow to strike him sharply in the back of his skull. Well, Mistress Darra had warned him to wear his helmet, but he thought she'd meant the one for his other head.

"GODDAMNIT!" she screamed, looking at the trickle of blood oozing from her wrist. "Don't you have a sheath or something for that fucking thing?"

Startled, Gryphon looked down at his weapons belt. A hint of red coated a small part of the upper forward edge of his axe. Lucille, which was the name of the axe, had come with a blade guard, but he'd never used it because he didn't want to be slowed down in combat. Plus he thought it wouldn't be appropriate to restrain her. In combat he and Lucille, a gift from the Beebe King, made beautiful music together and the guard would be as a mute to her voice. But for a piece of tasty halfling maiden and the wineskin she carried, Gryphon was willing to strike Lucille dumb.

"Uh, yes. I do. Just a moment. Uh, would you like me to bandage that for you?"

As he wrestled the obstinate leather guard into place, Miss Robyn calmed down and assessed her situation. It was barely a scratch but was still oozing. "Mould your adversities into opportunities" was a halfling proverb she understood. She unhooked the edge of her top from her nipples and let the cloth pull back along the underside of her firm, outthrust opalescent orbs until it was against her ribcage. She held her injured wrist in front of those delightful delicacies and said in her sweet sing-song, "Yes, please. If you don't mind."

The dwarf wasn't looking. The blade guard landed at his feet and the axe blade rose above his shoulder. Without looking back he signalled with his left hand for her to stay as he crept slowly forward, his eyes scanning back and forth along the trees to their right before vanishing into them.

Miss Robyn gawked in wide-eyed frustration. Never before had she been left her standing in the middle of the trail with her hot, milky-smooth orbs cooling in the breeze. Frustration began to turn to anger when the dwarf finally reappeared as silently as an arriving ghost backing out of the trees. He picked up the blade guard and turned to say something but was struck silent by the hot, pink cones pointed at him.

Gryphon swallowed three times before he could say, "Uh-I thought I heard leather armor creaking and metal clanking the-uh-way it does on gnolls. Uh-I'll bandage your wrist now."

Knights of the Merkin are never without bandages, an item as necessary to survival as food, wine, and weapons. As he tied the ends of the dressing over the seeping wound, she stepped forward, and the back of his hand began brushing against the silky skin of her succulent sapphic sweetmeats.

When the bandage was secure, he lowered her injured arm with his left hand while the fingers of his right swept around the side and up the satiny-smooth globe to caress it with his fingertips. They moved downward while his thumbtip pressed against the underside and then slid upward until it joined the fingertips in plucking at the ripe berry of her nipple. Her half-lidded eyes glazed as her lips parted and moved toward his. She allowed her injured hand to be guided to the bulge in his leather breeks. His breath was hot on her lips. His tweaking of her nipple alone had nearly brought her to orgasm. Her hand was just beginning to take the measure of his weapon of lust...

... and she was alone. She opened her eyes and focused. Axe at the ready, the dwarf was silently disappearing into the trees again, his left hand signalling for her to remain in place.

"FUCK!" Miss Robyn said with feeling as her small, hairy foot stamped the blade guard into the hard-packed trail.

When Gryphon finally emerged from the trees to signal that he'd found nothing, Miss Robyn was digging into the basket for a substitute sausage. She stopped and forced a smile of happiness. Technically it was a smile of relief, but she forced it into a "glad to see you" smile instead of a "glad to see your erection hasn't subsided" smile. "We should get to the Glade," she said, hoping that he'd stop imagining things once she was counter-thrusting under him.

"Should I take the basket now?" he asked, though his eyes were focused at two spots located higher than the basket as he bent to pick up the blade guard.

She inhaled deeply and grinned a shy grin that was almost convincingly naive. "No, thank you, I'll manage. You could carry these for me."

In a nonce they were again off down the trail, the basket handle in the crook of her left arm, her right arm around his waist but carefully distanced from his weapons. Gryphon had his arms about her so that each hand was supporting the weight of an ample upper amphora of lactic ambrosia.

"So tell me about yourselves," she said, hoping to distract him from imagining sounds in the woods. "If you are knights, why don't you have horses?"

"It's an honorary tittle. Title! Riley, the Beebe King, bestowed it upon us when we saved the virtue of his daughter, Princess Donna, the Primadonna. Traitors loyal to Elvis, the King of Rollen Rock, had captured her from her father's valley kingdom and spirited her away to Rollen Rock. We were passing through Beebe when he advertised for adventurers immediately."

"Immediately?" Miss Robyn asked when he paused and his eyes wandered to their right. He returned his attention to the tasks in his hands.

"Yes. The posters said, 'It's now or never.' It seems there was a prophecy that the Kingdom of Beebe would survive catastrophe if the daughter of the King Riley was a virgin on her wedding day, but he failed to mention that one little fact until after we returned with her. When we asked about the urgency, King Riley ordered, 'Ask me no questions, ' so we left immediately for Rollen Rock. We found the Princess tied to a bed in the Heartbreak Hotel with the Elvis, the King of Rollen Rock. He looked like a teddy bear standing there beside the bed in nothing but a pair of blue suede shoes and an erection, but the way he fought, he was a devil in disguise. He had given her a slow but very powerful aphrodisiac and had waited for three days for it to take full effect. We evaded the guards surrounding the hotel, thanks to cloaks of invisibility and the help our mages, and surprised him as he was about to mount her. When we appeared out of thin air, he was all shook up, but unfortunately his sword-the metal one, not the fleshy one-was in reach. 'Get out!' he screamed. 'I got a woman!' As if that were reason enough for us to leave!"

Gryphon looked at the bounty of taut teats in his hands and shrugged. "Maybe it was. Anyway, he fought us until he had a window at his back. Then he called for a halt, saluted Princess Donna, and said, "That's all right, Mama," and dove out the window. Fortunately for him some innocent peasants broke his fall, and he suffered only a broken leg."

Again his eyes started to wander to the side. Miss Robyn's hand moved to his love lance and squeezed gently. "And then?" she asked, her voice husky with lust.

The dwarf groaned in anticipation at her touch and continued. "When we returned with the Princess, King Riley gave us our honorary titles and the triangular shields that some of us carry. Did you know they are the exact proportions and shade of brown as the Princess' merkin?"

Miss Robyn looked up into the dwarf's eyes. His hands were caressing her bountiful breasts in such a exciting and stimulating manner that she was beginning to have trouble talking, as if the glaze coating her eyes were spreading to her tongue. "And-mmmm-how would you know it's-huuuunh-exact?"

"Because Elvis had given her that powerful aphrodisiac. We had to leave her bound, which made Father Lardas happy except that he said the amateurs didn't know how to tie up a woman, until she was safely back inside the borders of Beebe. There we made camp for the night and untied her. She showed her appreciation by shedding her clothing and saying, "Love me tender," and let all six of us despoil her virtue for the next three days. She invited us to return any time for more despoilment, but, sadly, Beebe fell to an invasion led by the King of Rollen Rock a few months later. The bloody war is over, and there is peace in the valley, but the thrill is gone. She was crying in the chapel when a ballista shot caused it to collapse upon her. But that was a long time ago, and a great distance to the east."

"All six of you? Huuuunh! All six?" Miss Robyn had been considering additional picnics with Anton Berger, Father Lardas, and myself, but she hadn't considered Mistresses Jeanette and Darra. The dwarf's busy fingers on her sensitive nipples had brought her close to release again, and suddenly the idea of the two female elves despoiling her virtue became exceptionally exciting. So exciting that she reached the summit of preorgasmic arousal there in the middle of the trail.

And found herself stranded alone at that summit, frustrated as she watched the dwarf, axe at the ready, signalling for her to stay put while he again vanished into the trees.

"DOUBLE FUCK!" she screamed at the heavens and bent to grasp the hem of her skirts.

Eventually Gryphon Lehrer crept backward onto the trail and slid his axe into the carrying loop. He turned as he spoke. "Still nothing, but I know I heard a gnoll's..."

Miss Robyn's hands snatched him forward by his beard and the strap of his quiver, pulling his face down the few inches necessary for his bulging eyes to meet her glaring ones. "Look, you dick-brained little shit!" she screamed. "I didn't come here to stand in the middle of this goddamned trail and fingerfuck myself! If you don't want to do it, I can go back to Greybeard and find someone else to solve my problem! Look at this!"

She bent to grasp the hem of her blue skirt and lifted. Short but well-proportioned legs like white jade rose in stately majesty above hairy feet to a neat red merkin remarkably similar to Princess Donna's in all aspects but color. The lower end of Miss Robyn's fiery merkin was saturated, and her thighs glistened below their juncture.

"Aren't you aware that when a halfling woman gets aroused, the only thing that can stop her quim from flowing like an incoming tide is not this..." her hand dropped the skirt and shot up to thrust a sweetly pungent, juicy finger before his eyes, "... which provides only temporary relief, but one of these..." her hand dropped to grab the carnal lance upright in his breeks, "which gives true satisfaction? Now the fountain is a hundred more yards thataway, and you're either going to be diddling my goddamned brains out in the next five minutes, or I'm going back to town and find somebody who's interested in me and not in imaginary noises! I'll even give myself to nixie-dick Rupert if he's all that's available!

In an instant the red left her face and a broad, cherubic smile appeared. "Shall we go on?"

Miss Robyn led him onward at a faster pace, impressed by the size of the breeks-encased princess despoiler still gripped in her dainty tight fist. Gryphon attempted to find some way to grasp one of her succulent white orbs and had almost succeeded when she stopped at a twenty-foot wide, six-foot high thicket. He encased an orb with each hand and began massaging each nipple between two extended fingers. While she sighed in contentment he glanced about. The trail branched left and right around the thicket, and from beyond its middle came the sound of splashing water. She jerked the dwarf around to face her, puckered her slightly open mouth up toward him, and closed her eyes in anticipation.

Gryphon's head turned instead to the odd sound beyond the thicket. He removed his hands from their overheated perches and motioned for Miss Robyn to stay put. He plucked the battle axe from his weapons belt with the other hand and slid into the tangle of leaves and stems.

The attractive young halfling's round face gave the heavens her best "Not again!" plea, but the gods ignored it as they are wont to do. She started to complain about this latest interruption at the very edge of their destination. The glare he fired over his shoulder choked her words as effectively as Mistress Jeanette's garotte.

Gryphon peered into the clearing and saw him. The dwarf knew all of the elvish races of the continent: the Cold, the Warm, the Lunar, the dark Brow, and even the mysterious Water Elves who lived in the Abie Sea. This tall, thin, alienly attired male was something new. His sickly green pallor hinted that perhaps he'd been poisoned by one of the many vile creatures lurking in the Snapping Turtle Swamp of Gamera, just past the forest edge.

Gryphon shuddered. The Knights of the Merkin, bloodied and exhausted from constant battle, had fought their way across that swamp six days earlier. Father Lardas had needed all of his remaining healing magics to save the dwarven fighter's life when some unseen creature, hidden in a small muddy pool, plunged fangs through his boot. This was the first day he'd felt capable of leaving the quiet rooms of Greybeard Inn with female companionship. Which reminded him...

He backed from the thicket and turned to motion Miss Robyn forward, hoping she might recognize the strange elf. He saw the swirl of her blue skirts as she stamped around a bend in the trail back to Greybeard, her white top again encasing her globular mammic charms. The lunch basket was upside down on a flame ant hill. She had kept his blanket and-his heart wailed with anguish-the wineskin. "Drat!" he whispered.

Gryphon stroked his black beard, sagged his shoulders, and crept back into the thicket. "Double drat!" It was good wine.

The stranger hadn't moved. He was manipulating some device in his hand.

A gnoll, its spear leveled, rushed from the far side of the clearing, bearing down on the strange elf's back with incredible speed. Gryphon shouted a warning and the elf spun on one heel, his free hand pulling a peculiar, box-like wand the size of that hand from his belt. With an odd whistle a rod of cold fire hit the beast just six paces from the elf, blazing a foot-wide hole in the creature's chest. The elf twisted to avoid the spear, and the gnoll fell dead at his feet.

So. The elf was some kind of mage. Gryphon had never seen, or even heard of, such a wand. He would mention it to the Parquierre and Darra if he could not get the stranger to accompany him back to the Greybeard Inn.

The elf mage knelt and examined the grotesque dead beast, particularly its long, powerful legs. "Fascinating," he murmured. He then rose and turned to Gryphon, who was marching into the clearing. "Tell me," the elf mage said in a strong, pleasant voice as he returned the wand to his belt, "what world is this?"

"Aber-Cadaver. We call it just Cadaver," Gryphon said, unconcerned with the strange question and the failure to express gratitude. Anybody who travels with Parquierre quickly becomes used to the bizarre ways of mages was his erroneous mindset that I have been unsuccessful in changing. He added, "Well met, stranger! I am Gryphon Lehrer of Recht'l Defilade, adventurer with Anton Burger's Knights of the Merkin across the continent of Stormrune, who currently seek fun and profit in this region of the Land of the Forgotten Helms. Who might you be and from where?"

The elf mage looked at him without emotion for a moment, glanced at the axe, and raised an eyebrow. "You would not know of it. It is quite some distance from here. I thank you for warning me about this..." He indicated the dead creature and raised one eyebrow.

"Gnoll," Gryphon said.

"Gnoll. You saved my life and have my gratitude. I do not belong here and must leave immediately."

He made what might have been an obscene gesture, but, considering the elf mage's parting words, Gryphon decided it was a salute. Gryphon gave the elf mage a salute of his closed right fist to his left shoulder and turned away, hoping to catch-what was her name? Miss Robyn-along the trail and entice her to rejoin him. Or at least recover the wineskin.

The elf mage pulled another strange device from his belt. It chittered like stirges. Gryphon froze in his tracks, crouched, and looked about, thinking the peculiar mage was now summoning stirges to attack him. But the elf mage had put the thing to his mouth and was speaking:

"One to beam up. It seems Mister Scott's engines are still imbalanced. He has delivered us to the wrong universe again."

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