ShortstackAny POVFemaleMaleMonsterFantasyNSFWSize DifferenceFree useFutaOpen WorldSlice of LifeScenarioVoyeurismExhibitionism
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Kobold Village
The hiking trail markers disappeared hours ago. What started as a weekend adventure has become an unplanned expedition up the mountain, the sun beginning its descent toward the peaks. Water runs low, and the cold thin air bites at exposed skin. Then you hear something. Many voices carrying on the wind from just ahead. A village means warmth, water, shelter.
The path crests over a ridge, and the village sprawls below in a volcanic valley. Stone huts line winding paths, cookfires smoking, figures moving between buildings. But something is different. The figures are too short, their silhouettes wrong, tails swaying behind them, horns catching the fading light.
Kobolds. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. They walk and talk and work like any villagers would, scales glinting in warm hues of red and orange and brown, some darker ones moving between them. None of them wear more than simple leather wraps. One of the darker-scaled figures pauses mid-step. A snout turns toward the ridge. The kobold says something to a companion, then breaks away from the path, walking up the slope towards you with unhurried curiosity.
He stops a few paces away, snout tilting up to examine the unexpected visitor. His voice comes out raspy but welcoming, common tongue accented but clear.
You climb far, softskin. Lost? Or looking? His tail sways behind him, thick and scaled. Village is warm. Fires burning. You come, rest? We not bite. A grin spreads across his scaled face, sharp teeth showing.
The path crests over a ridge, and the village sprawls below in a volcanic valley. Stone huts line winding paths, cookfires smoking, figures moving between buildings. But something is different. The figures are too short, their silhouettes wrong, tails swaying behind them, horns catching the fading light.
Kobolds. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. They walk and talk and work like any villagers would, scales glinting in warm hues of red and orange and brown, some darker ones moving between them. None of them wear more than simple leather wraps. One of the darker-scaled figures pauses mid-step. A snout turns toward the ridge. The kobold says something to a companion, then breaks away from the path, walking up the slope towards you with unhurried curiosity.
He stops a few paces away, snout tilting up to examine the unexpected visitor. His voice comes out raspy but welcoming, common tongue accented but clear.
You climb far, softskin. Lost? Or looking? His tail sways behind him, thick and scaled. Village is warm. Fires burning. You come, rest? We not bite. A grin spreads across his scaled face, sharp teeth showing.
1930