By Wes Leigh
This is a work of wild fantasy intended solely for the
entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is
purely coincidental. This story involves romance and sex between adult men as
well as between men and teens and preteens, some incestual. If you are
uncomfortable with any of this, please choose another story. This story is the
property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains
all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.
Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact
me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty
archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/.
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Sar gloen va tel'
Rûn Ath tel' Shee Quessir, enialaith
ath Eladrin!
Family of Fey Elves seeks D&D 5e group.
Roleplay desired. Violent clashes with enemies a
plus.
Rick Altroterra,
719-111-2326
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I chuckled as I read
the notice posted on the bulletin board at the gaming shop. Not being fluent in
Elvish, I pulled up the fantasy language translator on my cell phone and typed
in the first line. Some of the words came back unknown but the gist of the
translation was "greetings from the land of the Fey Elves, home of the Eladrin."
Somebody must take their roleplaying seriously, but so do I, so they might be
my kind of people.
Sheri walked up
behind me and looked over my shoulder. "That could solve our problem."
I nodded and entered
the number into my phone. "I'll give him a call. See if they fit with our style
of play."
Sheri waved Mark
over. "Check it out, homie. Some new players to replace Crystal and Josh."
Mark frowned as he read
the notice. "No one can replace Crystal and Josh. Why would you even want to
try?"
Sheri punched Mark on
the shoulder. "Don't be an ass. You know what I mean. If we add new players, we
can keep going. Would you rather Caleb shut down our group completely?"
Mark shrugged. "We
could try that new game I've been reading about."
"What? Fantasy Train?"
"Yeah. Looks
interesting."
Sheri shook her head in
disgust, then turned to me. "Ignore him, Caleb. He knows you're the best DM in
town."
"He's the only Dungeon
Master in town," Mark grumped. "No one plays D&D anymore."
Sheri wrinkled her nose
at Mark. "It's making a comeback, and when more people find out how much fun it
is with Caleb as DM, everyone will want to play."
I appreciated Sheri's
enthusiastic endorsement, but Mark was right. Dungeons & Dragons wasn't as
popular now as it had been when I was in college—could that be three decades ago?—and there were far more people playing all the new
games, such as Mark's Fantasy Train. I'd stumbled into my current role as DM
when I met Sheri at the gaming shop last year. She was looking at the 5e
version of the D&D player's handbook. We got into a conversation about the
game, and I learned she'd never played but wanted to try. She and her
boyfriend, Mark Montano, were both interested, and she knew a young married couple,
Josh and Crystal Montgomery, who would join us. That's how I ended up running a
D&D campaign again, after years away from the game, and teaching four
college kids how much fun the game can be. It had been a wild year of slaying
orcs and skeletons, solving hideously complicated puzzles, and exploring
strange, new realms, but all the fun looked to be coming to an end, because Josh
and Crystal had finished their nursing degrees and had been offered jobs out of
state.
Sheri pursed her lips
and tapped the notice with her fingertip—painted a garish orange today, which
actually seemed to compliment her dark caramel skin. "Look at this, Caleb. They
sound like avid roleplayers—"
"They sound like
geeks," Mark interjected. "A family of geeks!"
Sheri pursed her lips
and stated, "You should call them, Caleb. I want to play D&D, not Fantastic
Trainwreck—"
"Fantasy Train!" Mark
interrupted.
"Fantasy Train
whatever," Sheri replied, rolling her eyes. "I love playing D&D with Caleb
and this gives us a chance to keep going. You want your stupid rogue to reach
20th level, don't you?"
Mark studied the notice
carefully. "Who pretends to speak Elvish? I don't want to play with a bunch of
weird kids who wear plastic elf ears and armor made from aluminum foil."
Sheri and I chuckled at
that comment, and I decided I needed to reassure Mark. "I'll call them tonight
and see what they're like. I promise I won't invite them if they're super
dorks."
"Whatever," Mark
muttered, wandering over to look at a rack of Warhammer models.
Sheri watched him go
and shook her head. Turning to me, she whispered, "Even if they're a little
strange, invite them to play. Mark will come around. He won't admit it, but he
loves the way you DM."
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"Hello. Rick Altroterra speaking."
"Hello, Rick. I'm Caleb Malcolm. I host a D&D group that
meets at Mountain High Games. We saw your notice on the bulletin board there,
and I'm calling to see if you're still looking for a group to join."
"Oh ... yes, actually. We are."
Rick and I chatted for a few minutes about what type of
D&D campaign they were interested in joining. He assured me they were down
for anything I had in mind, role play, dungeon grinding, or solving puzzles. He
also mentioned that his family had been playing for several years, so they were
experienced enough to jump in and start right away. No need to teach them the
mechanics of the game.
I was glad to hear that and suggested we create 12th
level characters for the three of them, to match the current members of the group.
He agreed, and we decided to meet at Mountain High Games the next night. "What
time do you want to meet up?" I asked.
"Seven o'clock good for you?"
"Sure is. See you there."
"Thar sehan," Rick replied.
When I didn't respond, Rick added, "Sorry about that. I forget that not
everyone speaks Elvish. Thar sehan means `good
journey'."
I chuckled. "Thar sehan.
See you tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, I chewed my lip. This could be
interesting. Hopefully, they wouldn't be too nerdy for Mark.
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I found a large table against a side wall of the gaming shop
and opened my D&D binder. Earlier that day, I had printed out three blank
character sheets, and I had my bag of dice and freshly sharpened pencils. The
front door chimed and in walked a man and three boys.
The man was slightly younger than me. He was slender,
dressed casually, and—to be perfectly honest—was drop-dead handsome. His hair
was curly and raven black (not salt and pepper like mine) and cut in a short,
fashionable style. His eyes were deep blue. And he didn't have elf ears, real
or plastic. That should satisfy grumpy Mark.
Walking in behind the man was a tall, muscular teen with the
same tight, black curls, cut even shorter than his dad's, and bright green
eyes. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a Colorado Cubbies jersey. Also, no
elf ears.
Following the two of them were a couple of boys.
One looked to be around thirteen, with lighter, wavier hair.
His eyes were amazing. One blue, one green. Hetero-something-or-other—what is
that called?—oh yeah, heterochromia. I'd never
actually met someone like that before.
The other boy might have been nine. He was short, thin, with
wispy blonde hair. His eyes were green, like his muscular big brother. And he
had pointed elf ears.
Damn. Well, at least it was just the one boy. The others
should pass Mark's inspection.
I waved at the man and he smiled. Nice teeth, I noticed. And
cute dimples.
He walked up to my table and held out his hand. "Caleb?" he
asked.
"In the flesh," I replied reaching out to shake his hand. His
skin was warm and soft, and I didn't want to let go. I shook my head to clear
out thoughts I didn't need to be thinking right at that moment and released his
hand. He studied my face for a moment, then grinned, making me worry that I had
just outed myself. He didn't seem to mind, but pulled out a chair, motioning
for his boys to sit down too.
"This is my oldest, Trace. He's seventeen and a junior at
Eisenhower Prep."
Trace reached out and shook my hand. His grip was solid,
almost painful. I couldn't be sure, but he seemed to be making a point with
that handshake.
"Nice to meet you, Trace."
Trace nodded, "Yeah, whatever."
Rick frowned at Trace's rudeness, but chose to ignore it. He
put his arm around the boy with one blue and one green eye and hugged him
gently. "This is Drew, my magical son."
Drew blushed and snuggled into his dad's side. His eyes
hypnotized me as he claimed, "That's true. I'm a shapeshifter. I turn into a
wolf at night and hunt on the mountains."
I nodded. "Ah, I see. So you'll
probably want to be a druid in our game?"
He shook his head. "Drew the Druid? I don't think so. I'll
be a sorcerer."
I chuckled and turned to Trace, the surly teen. "And what
kind of character will you be, Trace?"
He grunted. "Mountain dwarf. Barbarian." He glared at Drew,
daring him to comment.
Drew rolled his eyes and muttered, "Of course."
Rick, trying to steer the boys away from an impending
argument, said, "Trace always plays a barbarian. His last barbarian was a
half-orc."
"Half-dork," Drew giggled.
Rick squeezed Drew and whispered something in Drew's ear. Drew
frowned but turned to Trace and mumbled, "Sorry, Trace."
Trace glared at his little brother, promising with his eyes
that it wasn't over yet.
Rick sighed and placed one hand on the shoulder of the thin,
blonde boy. "This is my youngest. We call him Figment. He refuses to answer to
his real name—"
Figment looked up, his eyes frightened, silently pleading
with his father.
Rick patted Figment's shoulder to reassure him. "Figment is
ten, and as you can tell—" Rick reached up to adjust one of the plastic ears
Figment wore. "—he's actually an elf, so I've adopted him and let him live with
my family. We hope he'll stay with us a little longer. We've grown quite fond
of him."
Figment looked at me with those bright green eyes and smiled
bashfully.
"Hello, Figment. It's very nice to meet you," I said,
extending my hand. "I've never met an elf before, so this is a singular
pleasure."
Figment didn't take my hand. Instead, he moved over to stand
next to me and began touching each of the dice on the table, grouping them by
size first. Twenty-siders together. Then twelve-siders. Tens. Eights, Sixes,
and finally Fours. I noticed that he also arranged them within each group with
the darkest colors on the left, gradually transitioning to the lighter hues.
Rick softly mentioned, "Figment doesn't say much..."
"He doesn't say anything," Trace grumbled.
Drew glared at Trace and said, "He doesn't have to talk. We
know what he wants."
Rick shushed them both before another argument could start. "Figment
probably won't play the game, but I'm sure he'll watch and learn. Right,
buddy?"
Figment nodded and moved a bit closer to where I was
sitting.
"Maybe you can help me DM," I suggested. "I could use help
rolling the dice during the game. What do you say?"
Figment turned towards me. His face seemed to light up and
he grinned joyfully, then he nodded and put his arms around my neck, pulling us
together until our foreheads were touching. He backed away a tiny bit and
nodded. From only inches away, I stared into his eyes and fell in love. What a
sweet boy!
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Rick decided to play an elven paladin. He chose a green
knight subclass, so his focus would be on protecting the natural world from
evil. His armor would be tinted dark green and carved with leaves and birds, a
reminder of his duty to protect the wild places in the world. I gave him a
magical spear as his weapon and a shield that warned him whenever evil beings
were nearby.
Trace, as promised, rolled a mountain dwarf barbarian. He
chose to wear leather armor only and use a two-handed hammer as his weapon. Trace
said he wanted a Conan-style barbarian who refused to use magic items, so I
gave him a boost on his strength and dexterity stats to make up for his lack of
magical bonuses.
Drew chose to be a dragonkin sorcerer, whose source of
magical spells came from his draconic bloodline, thus avoiding the wild magic
surges that plagued other sorcerers. It was a good fit, and I could tell he'd
played a sorcerer before. He knew exactly what spells he wanted to start with,
and I decided to give him a minor magical staff to use as his weapon and as the
focus for his spellcasting.
Figment stayed at my side the entire time, watching as we
filled in the character sheets for his dad and brothers. When I opened my
Dungeon Master's manual to look up magical gear to give the new characters, he
read along with me. I wanted to give Drew a second item, but couldn't decide
which one. Figment pointed at a wand of magic missiles, looking sideways at me
and smiling. I put my arm around him, hugged him, and said, "Perfect!" He
smiled bigger and leaned into me, tucking his warm body against my side.
We finished up the character sheets, and I summarized the
world where we were adventuring. "You're in a land called Neverdawn.
Magic is rare here, so Trace's barbarian fits in perfectly." Trace grunted in
acknowledgement. I smiled and continued, "There was a terrible cataclysm
centuries ago that left the people of Neverdawn
struggling to fight their way back from the brink of destruction, and you are
part of a band of adventurers who are seeking the cause of the cataclysm, just
in case it might happen again." I winked at Drew.
He giggled and nodded. "We shall search until we uncover the
truth, and if it is a great magical power, I shall master it for my own use."
Trace mumbled under his breath, but Drew ignored his big
brother.
Rick smiled at me and nodded. He obviously approved of my
attempts to draw his boys into the campaign. "What do you guys think? Are we ready
to jump into Neverdawn?"
Both boys nodded. Figment leaned against my side, slowly
rearranging the dice on the table. I guess that meant he was ready too.
Rick shook my hand. "Thanks for bringing us into your group.
Would you like to come over and have hamburgers with us tomorrow night?"
Figment looked up from the dice, waiting eagerly for my
answer.
Chuckling, I replied, "Sure. It will give me a chance to
fill you in on what the campaign has been like so far and what kind of quests
we're currently completing."
"Great." He wrote down an address on a slip of paper and
handed it to me. "6-ish?"
"Works for me," I replied, shaking his hand, allowing myself
to be distracted once again by how soft and warm his skin was.
Drew waved at me. "Can't wait to blow stuff up with my
lightning bolts and breathe acid on their corpses."
Trace groaned, "Just as long as you don't fart acid, you
little dweeb."
"Trace!" Rick admonished.
"What?" Trace asked, frowning.
"Never mind," Rick replied, shaking his head. Glancing at me,
he apologized. "He's seventeen."
I grinned at Rick. "Enough said. I don't envy you." But that
wasn't true. I did envy him. He had three gorgeous boys, and as a gay man, I
had never had a family like his. It had been magical to have little Figment
tucked up against me for the last few hours, and I found both Trace and Drew
delightful in their own rascally ways.
Rick began steering Drew and Figment toward the door, with
Trace following close behind. Figment broke away and ran back to me, throwing
his arms around my waist and hugging me. I stroked his hair, loving the feeling
of this sweet child wrapped around me. He looked up and stared at me, silently
communicating a mixture of happiness and joy, before releasing his hold on me
and running back to take his father's hand. As they walked out the front door,
Figment turned around and waved bashfully.
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Trace opened the door when I knocked. He grunted a greeting
and opened the door, inviting me inside. The apartment was small, but neat and
well furnished. My first impression was that it had been decorated by a man
with simple, efficient style. Nothing extravagant, but dark, rich colors and a
few photos on the walls of mountains, forests, and such.
"Dad's on the patio," Trace said,
pointing.
"Hey, Caleb," Rick shouted, waving the spatula he held in
one hand. "Out here." He was standing next to a charcoal grill, smoke curling
around him as the burgers sizzled in the dancing flames.
I held up a bottle of wine I had purchased earlier. "Wasn't
sure what wine goes with hamburgers, so I went with a Cabernet Sauvignon."
Rick laughed. "Sounds good to me. Glad you didn't bring
beer. Don't tell anyone, but I can't stand the taste of Coors."
"What? You live in Colorado and you don't drink Coors," I
teased.
"I know, right? They'll probably kick me out when they
hear."
"Where should I put this?" I asked, holding up the wine.
"Trace, put the wine in the fridge for Caleb," Rick
requested.
"Sure, if I can have some when we eat."
Rick nodded. "I don't see why not. One glass."
"Two," Trace demanded.
"This isn't a negotiation," Rick replied, staring down his
oldest son.
"Fine," Trace grumbled, taking the bottle from me and
stomping off to the kitchen.
"I'll be so happy when he turns twenty and realizes I've
become a nicer, smarter dad."
"You think it will take that long?" I asked with a chuckle.
"Or I can kill him before he turns eighteen. I know the
other boys won't hold it against me."
I sniffed the smoke coming off the grill. "Mesquite
charcoal?" I asked.
Rick nodded. "Love the flavor it gives the meat. Oh shit!"
Flames were leaping higher, scorching the burgers. He grabbed a squirt bottle
off the table next to the grill and sprayed the coals to cool them down.
"You grill often?" I asked.
Rick nodded. "Every chance I get. Sometimes in the dead of
winter. The boys think I'm crazy, but I love the taste of grilled steaks,
chicken, you name it. You like grilled food?"
He looked up at me and smiled. His dimples brought back
memories. Of a man with a similar smile, dimpled cheeks, standing at a grill in
much the same way. Ryan had enjoyed cooking on the grill every chance he got,
and he'd been a damned fine cook. A good lover as well. Too bad he was a
supreme asshole in every other way.
How long had it been since Ryan had left me alone and
frustrated? I didn't want to think about Ryan or the way he'd left me for
another man. Better to let that chapter of my life close completely, never to
be opened again.
It was unfortunate that Rick reminded me of Ryan in so many
ways, and equally unfortunate that he was obviously not gay, having fathered
three sons, but perhaps he would be a good friend once I got to know him.
I snapped out of my reverie, recalling the question Rick had
asked me. "Oh, yeah. Love the taste of grilled food."
His smile faded a bit, as if he could tell where my mind had
been drifting. "These are almost done. Leaning in the door, he shouted, "Drew,
set the table. We eat in five."
I heard shouts from inside the apartment, then running feet.
He turned to me and said, "I made potato salad too. A pretty
basic meal."
"Sounds terrific."
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Rick handed me the platter with the burgers. I carried it
into tiny dining nook just off the kitchen and placed it in the middle of the
table.
Drew came in with forks and knives, adding them to the
plates on the table.
Figment followed with glasses. His elf ears were missing.
"Your ears are a bit ... shorter," I teased.
Figment placed the glasses on the table. His eyes twinkled,
and he ran out of the room, returning moments later with his elf ears in place.
He turned his head from side to side, showing me his ears.
"Much better," I said with a grin.
He smiled bashfully and pulled out a chair for me, motioning
for me to sit down. "Well, thank you, gentle sir," I said, scooting my chair in
with Figment's help.
He pulled out the chair next to me and slid into it, looking
up at me for approval.
Trace brought out a large bowl of potato salad and placed it
next to the burgers. Drew carried in a large platter filled with sliced
tomatoes, pickles, onions, and lettuce, arranging it next to the burgers and
bottles of condiments.
"Dig in, boys," Rick said, entering the room while working a
corkscrew into the top of the wine bottle.
I waited for Trace and Drew to fill their plates. I didn't
want to risk getting stabbed by a fork. Figment waited too, and when the older
boys had finished, he picked up the plate holding the hamburger buns and
offered it to me. I took a bun and placed it on my plate. Figment put one on
his plate too, then pulled the platter with the steaming burgers a little
closer, waiting for me to take mine first.
POP. Rick pulled the cork from the wine and sniffed the
stopper. "Ah, a wonderful vintage. Perfect for the occasion."
Drew giggled, but Trace picked up his glass and held it out
to be filled.
"Guests first," Rick admonished, walking around to my side
and leaning over to pour the sparkling red liquid into my glass.
Trace held up his glass again. Rick filled it halfway. Trace
raised both eyebrows, so Rick laughed and poured more.
Drew lifted his own glass, begging silently. Rick frowned,
but relented, pouring half a glass. Drew sipped the wine, shivered, and sipped
again. "Delightful, Father. I must agree. It is an exceptional vintage."
We all laughed, until Trace mumbled under his breath, "Mom
loved wine."
Rick cleared his throat and pushed the bowl of potato salad
in my direction. "Hope you like this recipe. It uses mayonnaise instead of
mustard. It's a traditional German recipe. I like it."
"I do too," Drew agreed. He slid the bowl closer, offering
me the spoon.
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On the sofa later that night, while the boys played video
games in their room, I sat with Rick and we talked as we finished off the wine.
"She died of cancer. Five years ago. I think Trace took it
the hardest. He became surly, angry, mean. Toward me and his brothers. Drew
accepted it, but I notice he tries to tell jokes to avoid breaking into tears. Figment
... well, when she died, he asked us to call him Figment, and that was the last thing
he said. He stopped talking completely, but he became violently angry if we
didn't call him Figment."
"It sounds like it was hard for all of you," I suggested.
He nodded. "I try my best. Being mom and dad to three
hurting boys is ..." His voice broke and he took several shuddering breaths.
"I can't imagine how difficult it's been for you," I softly
replied. "But from what I can tell, you're doing a fantastic job."
He sniffed and said, "Thanks. When it happened, I got the
boys involved in Dungeons & Dragons, as a way to distract them. It seemed
to work for a while. They loved the game. Trace took out his anger on the
creatures we fought. Drew lost himself in the magical side of the game. Figment
spent hours just reading the books. He never talked, never indicated he wanted
to join in, but he sat beside us during every game, watching and listening."
"It sounds like it helped them all. Did it help you?"
Rick shook his head. "Nothing helped me. I was just making
it day by day, doing what I had to do."
I slipped my hand onto his neck and squeezed gently.
He closed his eyes and began to relax. "I found that by
focusing on the boys, my own pain was manageable. When we moved here, I worried
that I wouldn't find a group. That's why I'm so grateful, Caleb." He turned to
face me and said, "Thank you."
Damn, this guy was breaking my heart. I smiled and said, "You're
welcome, Rick. I'll do what I can to help you and your boys. Maybe I can take
some of the load off your shoulders. They're pretty tense, you know."
"My shoulders?" He laughed softly. "That's not the only
thing that's hard." He blushed and we both laughed. "There just never seems to
be time to take care of ... my own needs."
I put both hands on his shoulders and began gently
massaging. "Then let's take care of these hard muscles right now."
He seemed to melt under my grip, sighing, "You forget how
wonderful it feels to be touched by another person. Damn, but that feels good."
He rolled his head and groaned.
I slid closer and dug my thumbs in a bit deeper. "We don't
know each other that well, but I'm willing to be a friend, someone you can vent
to, someone who'll listen and offer warm hugs."
He turned and looked at me. He seemed confused, unsure of
himself. He swallowed nervously, then tilted his head up slightly and moved
closer. I felt his breath on my face. His lips moved closer still and brushed
against mine.
I closed my eyes. Our lips connected and I swear I felt
electric tingles at the touch.
He pressed closer.
I sighed and pushed into him, kissing him gently, and I
realized it had been too long for me as well.
When he pulled back slightly, I opened my eyes. He was
looking at me, wistfully. "Is this okay with you?" he asked.
I nodded. "Definitely."
"Good," he said, smiling, and he leaned forward again,
kissing me harder, sliding his hand to the back of my neck and pulling me in.
I saw movement over his shoulder. Standing in the hallway,
watching us, was Figment. He seemed surprised at first, but then he smiled,
turned, and walked away.
`Oh, crap,' I thought, but then I was distracted by a very
tasty tongue snaking its way into my mouth.
The end of Chapter One of FIGMENT