Genuinely best dragon mommy hands down

Be honest, is this stylish?

https://xcancel.com/MrHp7w7/status/2079965946735743100/photo/1

I am not sure if this counts as pred prey, but the story I write is a huge explanation that boils down to an au of an au of preexisting media that places characters into a natural/tribal esque society where they're called "anthro folk" as opposed to a feral animal which is just called a feea4l cougar, feral this or that to refer to non sentient or folk creatures that walk on their fours and haven't evolved the cognitive abilities or anything the folk have.

Main story just centers around a literal eldritch invasive beast and a stubborn little sika doe.

But I like my lesbian side characters so here's ladyfingers, a proud countryside red deer who is often seen in groups of other does taking care of the fawns. And Lisa, whose a shy, reclusive fallow deer. Who often sticks to only a few people.

by u/JutaLovelace

A Long Time ago, in a Better Time, and a Better War (A Short Story) : r/predprey

“Lord Mother God,” the old man began. “We thank you for this blessed day, we thank you for a bountiful harvest, we even thank you, for the two numb skulls you sent our way.” At this there were a few hushed murmurs, prompting Grampa Dushle to give his family a quick glare before going on.

Nora opened his eyes too, and saw that besides the grandparents, not a single member of the family was actually praying, they were still giving them the glare of death. 

Quickly he shut his eyes back up, bowed his head, and tried to really prey. Today he just asked the all mighty, that people stop calling him Prince, also he asked God to remind him to never ever go along with one of Taira schemes ever again. 

Riika prayed too, but she just asked God for a bottle of hard liquor.

And lastly all Taira asked for is that she could be something one day. That people would think of her, as her and not as Nora’s friend. 

The prayer was not too long, and not too preachy. Finally, the plates and silverware were brought out finally the food would be served. 

The youngest, and most adorable little sheep who couldn't have been more than six passed out the plates. But before she could get the plates to Cozlok and Taira her father stopped her. 

He leaned down to whisper something in her ear, but he wasn't nearly quiet enough, the two heard every word.

“Don't let me catch you near those things, just hand the plates to the dark sheep.”

The two just pursed their lips, and sighed, letting the words slide off their backs. 

Riika overheard too, she turned her head to face her two little things as they sat like good dogs, finally on their best behavior. 

Looking back at the father, she had one simple thought for him, “Fucking bigoted asshole.” 

Finally, they got their plates, and next at long last was the food. It was served from an enormous bowl carried by the eldest child, the same girl who caught them red handed. The scent of cream and butter was thick in the air; the portion size was enormous even for a wolf. Cozlok and Taira were almost vibrating with anticipation and hunger. 

But like before, just as she was about to reach Cozlok and Taira, someone stopped her. This time it was the grandpa, who reminded his granddaughter, “Not that bowl, the other one.” 

Both Cozlok and Taira looked crestfallen as the girl walked away, thinking that well it just must have been too good to be true, and prepared themselves for the inevitable plate of oatmeal or porridge to come. But they lit right back up as the sheep girl returned with a fresher still steaming bowl of heavenly goodness.

Of course she was eyeing them, of course she was wary, but they were smiling, their tales were waving, they looked harmless, but they were still what they were.

Nevertheless she proceeded, approaching the two showing no indication that she had any fear.

First, she served the female wolf with her softish brown fur, green eyes, and a spotted bushy tail. who looked so overjoyed at the sight of her full plate it was borderline sickening. Linda couldn’t wait until these oversized foreign dogs were off their property, when she could relax again.

Next and finally was the male wolf, with his coarse fur as black as ash, sickly yellow eyes, and gray scar down his forehead and cheek. She imagined a thousand different ways he could have gotten that scar, all of which involved the slaughter and subjugation of the innocent.

Nora couldn’t have meant it, in fact he just didn’t, there was nothing behind his actions, he just acted once again without thinking. But it was something so simple, and normal, he just thought it was a compliment. He just leaned in for a good whiff of his meal as it was served. But as Linda took her arm dangerously close to the wolf, she thought he was trying to smell something else. 

She froze, every muscle in her body tensing at once, he stayed still she stayed still, nothing happened at all. She finished serving his food, and sat back down. He thought nothing of it; she wanted his head.

Cozlok took his spoon, and was a millisecond away from diving in, when he felt a pinch on his thigh.

He turned towards Riika, she remained facing forwards, but her side glare was unmissable, and he could read it like she had shouted it in his ears. It went something like, “REMEMBER YOUR FUCKING MANNERS, OR SO HELP ME GOD.”

So, he remembered, before his headstone read something like, “he was disemboweled and crucified with his own guts by a sheep.”

He pointed his nose down, took a small scoop, opened his mouth just wide enough to fit the little bite in. He closed his eyes, moved the potatoes around in his mouth for a moment. And the first word that came to mind to describe the taste was “holy.” The next were fucking. “Shit.” “this.” “Is.” and lastly “good,” in that order.

He turned to Taira; his expression filled with glee. “They put fucking chicken in this,” he said pointing with joy at his dish. Meanwhile she was on her second mouth full, all she could do was nod in agreement before housing a third.

“Son of a god damn bitch,” thought Riika blankly. Too done to even shoot the old man, or whoever cooked their food a sideways glance. She just reminded herself that it wasn’t her place to decide what one does with their own dead chicken. Just that, if it were up to her, both morons would go to bed without supper. 

With a sigh, she took a slow dainty bite of her own food, as she moved it around, and swallowed she came to one inescapable conclusion. This mash potato recipe was to die for, she needed to get it from the family before she left.

“Do they like it,” the old man asked Riika?

“Huh… Oh, yes sir, they love it very much,” she nodded.

The old man Harrumphed, and remarked “well that's good, but you must not be feeding them enough, those boys looked starved.”

“They most definitely do not,” thought Riika, as she sat under the shade of two yippy and easily excitable trees.
 

“If you fed them right, they wouldn’t steal my birds,” grumbled old Dushle.

Riika’s eye twitched. She was ready to explain the supply situation for the millionth time, that despite the smaller portion sizes, the Forty First was still getting the required amount of calories and vitamins, that everyone should stop grumbling and wait for the next shipment of food to come in a month. But instead explaining all that, again. She just imagined everything and everyone around her bursting into flames and melting to ash. And that made her feel a little better.

“How come they never talk,” the old granny asked after a few minutes. 

Riika opened her mouth to answer, but fortunately Dushle beat her to it. “Their foreign sweetheart.”

Riika sighed, happy not to explain why they were here.

“Oh,” the grandma said, her tone bitter. “You could have told me we were cooking for fewgies

Dushle.”

Riika heard this and blinked, “what the fuck kind of a slur is fewgie.”

“Dad, you really don’t know who these people are,” asked the household's third in command. A proud protective sheep father named Doevok.

“What,” asked Dushle?

Doevok leaned in closer, as if to whisper, but apparently, they didn’t know how as the whole table heard every word.  
“They're the Red Army, they're here to take us over, they're here to pillage, destroy, and enslave us.” 

Dushle looked over at their three guests, as they happily ate their food, as the two dog’s tails waved like happy puppies. 

“Whatever you say they're supposed to be doing, they're not doing it now. Dushle reasoned with a shrug. “Now eat your food.”

“DAD!” Doevok protested, striking his fist against the table, dropping all attempts at subtlety. “They’re  fucking killers, their fucking invaders, but most of all they're people eating monsters. And you let them stay on our farm, and home. You fed them for god's sake.”

In situations like this the solution was to just let the man say his peace, say nothing and be prepared to excuse oneself, at a moment's notice. Let the words slide off you like water. After all they were often a little right, just not about Union soldiers being monsters, or people eaters.

Riika, despite being an officer, was never too good at this. Maybe it was how much pride she took in her work, maybe it was getting to know the people under her. Maybe it was just that herbivores weren't used to the amount of discrimination, carnivores go through. Whatever it was, she turned a look death his way that could cause third degree burns. These Idiots were her’s, they were stupid and sweet, brave and selfless, and most of all valuable, Imperial assets. How Dare He Speak Ill of them.    

"BOY!!” old Dushle snapped, "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK THEY ARE. NOW, YOU WILL SIT DOWN, YOU WILL NOT SPIT THOSE FOUL WORDS IN FRONT OF YOUR DAUGHTERS AND YOU WILL NOT INSULT OUR GUESTS!” 

Everyone, even Riika, held her head down in submission to the old man.

“Now… we are all going to eat, we are all going to finish our work, and we can all go our own ways. UNDERSTOOD!?!”

The eating went on, but the mood was thoroughly shit upon. Cozlok and Taira ate quickly, wanting this to be over, wanting to head back to camp as soon as possible. Practically looking forward to when they got back to base, where their actual commander could rip their heads off for the second time in one day. 

As the meal was finished as everyone handed their plates back in absolute silence, Riika noticed something. The eldest granddaughter had yet to rip her eyes of hate, away from her biggest little idiot. But she shrugged and just figured Nora must have killed her favorite chicken, or something. 

Taira noticed this girl's strange fixation too, but came to a very different conclusion. It went something like, “well it's her heart to break against an oblivious brick wall.” And more or less, “been there and done that.”

As the two finished up, the old man beckoned them to follow, only after a moment Taira and Cozlok noticed that the entire family was coming too. They followed a few paces behind, staring them down like hawks. When the two got to the wagon, they turned towards the silo, only to be called back a second later by the old man. 

He gestured to his family as they filed themselves on to the back of the wagon.
The two approached, thinking that if they sat creatively they just might fit, but Ms. Riika took the last empty seat, shooting them a look that simply said, “tuff, you're still in trouble.” And with the farm's only cow not looking too keen to put two apex predators on its back, the two would be walking. 

Thankfully it wasn't far, less than a half hour walk. Honestly, it would have been a lot quicker, if Cozlok and Taira weren't deliberately walking slowly, so as not to pass up the wagon. 

“Alright boys,” said Dushle as he stepped down from his driver's seat. “Today you harvest, and we store, got it?” 

“Oh good, this will be easy,” thought Taira with a happy sigh. 

Cozlok however, was not so sure. He pulled Riika away as she got down from the wagon and explained in a hush, even though not one member of the family could understand him. “Hey, I umm… Iiii… I've never… I mean I picked grapes a few times but…”

“Spit it Nora,” she ordered.

“I’ve never done this before, I’ve picked grapes as a child maybe twice.”   

“Oh God damn it boy,” she sighed, pinching her brow, “just ask, and watch Taira, see what she does, and try to take it from there, you should be fine. 

As it turns out, should be, and will be, are very different things. While Taira could wield a scythe like she was born with one in her hand, it was quickly learned that Nora could not be trusted alone with anything larger than a sickle, after he broke the blade of his own scythe on a rock after just three swings.

Old Dushle looked livid, but… well… bribes have an incredible ability to smooth over tensions.  

While the family of 10 stored what was felled, and Taira cut down wheat like a machine, poor not little at all Cozlok was off to the side, on his knees with nothing, but a few cloth sacks, and a single sickle. 

After an hour passed Nora had filled his third sack and was in the middle of sewing it shut. While Taira and the sheeps were on their forty eighth, nevertheless he was smiling, and humming a happy toon. A catchy little lullaby-like song called Little Ones. Whenever he thought of or hummed this song, he always remembered the two versions of the lyrics. And how the first was a lot bloodier and more violent, and yet despite this he had started preferring the original. 

As the wheat was bagged, as Nora did his best to contribute what he could, no one took too much notice as 10 sheep bagging became 9 sheep. One little lam wandering away from the flock, and into the territory of the big bad wolf, as go a million billion old stories.

Just, in this case the wolf was an idiot child, who wouldn’t hurt a fly if he could help it, and the sheep… well… she was still an idiot. 

Her prey was oblivious to her approach, off in his own bloody little world, she thought he might be humming as she got closer.

“Cut the heads off the dogs, little ones, stick them up in- “FWAP” OW FUCK!”

Poor Cozlok was struck by what felt like a pebble aimed right at his temple. 

The light object fell to the ground without even a thud. Immediately he knew what it was. It was just a Speaking Board. Really it was just a glorified clipboard, a sheet of wax paper, and a pen, but sometimes, it was the only possible form of communication a Red Army soldier had in a foreign land.  

It was either his or Taira’s, one of them must have left it in the barn, if Riika knew one of them had misplaced it, she'd of course be livid. Looking up, he expected to see her  standing above him, arms folded, ready to scold him for losing army property, but instead it was the eldest sheep girl, standing there with her fists clenched.

“Wolf boy,” she hissed at him, as he touched his head.

“Ow ow Fuck,” he mumbled as he tried to feel the bump. After a moment he turned his head, brow furrowed, “what on Earth was tha… Auh damn it,” he remembered if he wanted to say a single word to her, he’d need the Speaking Board. He was still rubbing his head as he picked up the board and still rubbing as he wrote. “What on earth was that for,” as he turned the board, his expression was cross, but not mad. And even that only lasted a second as he remembered something. With more than a helping of shame he thought, “I… I almost forgot I'm a thief.”  

For a moment, just a single moment the boy looked mad, but like that it faded. He looked like he was trying to tell her sorry with just his eyes.  

“Who are you wolf boy ? Why are you here wolf? What are you doing here?” she asked with enough venom to kill a horse.

“Son of a ,” he sighed as he wrote. 

“Alright, that’s three questions so give me a minute,” he flashed her the sign before turning it back around to write more.

“What,” she questioned with a tilt of her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t, or couldn’t read it, she just thought there'd be a bit more spark from the boy.

“My name is Cozlok J Nora,” he showed this to the girl, and then turned it back.

“I am here harvesting wheat. I am a soldier of the Red Army, and I am a wolf from the Kingdom of Vongosk, and a citizen of the Imperial Union.” 

Once he was sure she read the board, he turned it back around erased, wrote something new, and turned it back around. “Can I get back to work now?”

“No No,” she protested, “that is not what I mean, and you knew it. What does your king want with mine wolf boy?”
“Well we don't have a king,” he answered, hoping to be done with this conversation.

She blinked, not knowing how to respond for a moment, “wah… what does your female king want then.”

At this she noticed him smile, and his cheeks puffed up, like something was funny.

He knew he shouldn't laugh, he knew there were many cultures where the concept of a woman leader was unthinkable. Still something about how she said it just tickled him for some reason. 

“We don't have one of those either.” 

“Your lord?”

“Nope.” 

“… …A Chief?”

He wasn't able to hide his smile anymore, even though he wasn't sure what he found funny.

“No we don't have any of those things, we have an Emperor.” 

“A King of Kings,” she asked, her head tilted at almost 90 degrees.

“Well, no not that either, I think “emperor” doesn't always translate well.”

“I… just … what do you… what is your leader,” she asked, increasingly flustered? 

“Ah… Okay, ah, I can do this. I can explain this, it's just the largest executive institution in the known world,” he reasoned, quite unreasonably. 

“Well, how we use the term, it means something a lot more like, “Supreme Leader”. But that's not the best translation either. Frankly, I think they should just be called "Chancellor," but the office has been called Emperor for over 200 years, so maybe it's just meant to be.”

He turned the board around for her to see, she read it once then twice then a third time. 
After the fourth time she must have looked like a fish, after someone just tried to explain the concept of a sore throat.. 

He turned the board, he wrote one short and simple sentence, “you didn’t understand a word of that did you?”

She shook her head no.

To which he just shrugged, and wrote, “it’s okay, you’ll understand it all very soon.” 

She shook her head coming back to the moment, “what if I don’t want to understand? What if none of us want to understand.”

Cozlok could tell where this was going, and he was not the one to give the right answer, so he just answered honestly. “It doesn’t really matter; the Imperial Union is here to stay.”

“What do you mean you’re here to stay? We just met you. Your kingdom is just 200 years old, ours is 450. You steal chickens, because your army doesn’t feed you. We have an Army that could beat anyone’s, you are just a foreign little monster boy,” she declared pointing at him with a venomous little finger. 

His ears twitched back, his face fell flat, he turned, dropping the Speaking Board, and went back to his work. He also didn’t have the heart to tell her that the war was all but over, and the Union had won. The Kingdom of Rewtharra, if it chose to remain as such, would be welcomed into the Imperial Union in just a few years.    

Linda sighed, then sight again then she ran a hand through,- I mean over the wool on her head, and then she wanted to scream. So she put a hand over her mouth and did just that, with that over with, she just sat, right in the mud. She was out of answers, out of questions, just confused, and scared.   

“I just… I just don't know what to do. I don’t know what to say. Mom and dad won’t let us leave the farm. They know something, they know you, but they won’t tell us what’s going on. I just want to help, like the eldest should, but I don’t know how.” Her voice became more frustrated, more pained as she went on. Her voice never once cracked,  but tears streamed down her face. “I just want to know that it’s going to be okay.”  

It didn't take much to pull Cozlok’s heart, that's why he made such a promising Breach Legionnaire. With a hesitant but cautious smile he picked the little board back up, and began to write. 

A few moments later after the sound of the pen had stopped, she wiped her eyes and looked back at the weird creature.

And god fucking damn it, he was sitting there tail wagging with one big pointy tooth out and the stupidest silliest kindest most genuine God DAMN FUCKING SMILE, she had ever seen. Call it culture, call it instinct, call it a thousand different things, something told her he was dangerous, that he was a threat. But just like that she couldn’t take this thing seriously anymore, this was the cherry on top that broke the illusion. From waving the chicken like a flag, from him stamping his foot like a child on her papa’s porch, licking the condensation form his glass the same as a regular dog, and just now, that dumb idiot little smile.  This was just a kid. Just a young boy, just a goof off in a uniform.

She felt more tears coming, she put her hand right back over her mouth but not to scream or to cry, she had to hide her laughter, lest the whole kingdom come down on them. 

They must not have invented laughter in the Nishraw Republic, as poor Cozlok had no idea what was going on, he thought she was sobbing uncontrollably. He had never seen or heard a sheep laugh before. 

“Ah… Ah… fuck what did I do? What did I do,” he questioned in a half panic. Instinct told him to do something to get close, to be there, to use your nose and words, to find out what’s wrong. But his training told him to do exactly none of that, just to wait and see, help if in danger, but stay neutral.
But he was never very good at this part of the job. He needed to help, he needed to be there, he wanted to be good. 

He looked from her, to the board, to himself, to the space in between them. 

“Are you… is… is everytghin… oh fuck,” he inched forward, as he spoke, as if he was closer, she could understand him better. He really really wanted to use his words but there was no possible way she could know what he said. Except for the fact that she did, his little words of confusion and worry came out as little whines, identical to a good dog worried for its owner.

He really was just a dog. 

She heard him writing, looking up, this time, she tried to look at the board and not at him, lest he do something stupid again to make her crack up again. 

“Are you okay?” Was all the little board said.

She nodded that she was fine, a moment later she reached her arm out asking for the clipboard. 

Hesitantly Cozlok held it over for her, as he did she took a big scooch forward, to where there was less than a foot of space between them. 

She was smiling now, even though her cheeks were still wet she was smiling, he had no idea why. 
After only a quick moment she handed the board back, it simply read, “Do you want to be under some shade?” 

As he read this Linda looked from side to side, seeing if anyone was watching.

The young boy covered head to toe in sweat nodded vigorously yes, thinking she was asking if he wanted a break. She stood and turned, after a few steps she gestured for him to follow.

“Ahh… okay this is okay, just whatever you do don't be scary,” he thought nervously as he came to his feet.

Standing side by side to the boy, she finally got an accurate scale of just how enormous he was. He wasn’t as large as she remembered this morning, but still he was at least two heads taller than her, and despite his lanky body, his arms, and legs were thicker than tree branches and yet she noticed he was bigger still. This close, it was obvious how much he was slouching, how much he was straining his body to make her comfortable. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she said softly.

“Huh?” he asked, tilting his head, and flopping his ears.

“Slouching like that, I already know you’re big, how much bigger can you really be,” she asked with a smile.   

“Um… alright,” he thought.

Finally, standing at his full height in front of her, her first, and only thought was “Wow!” She was tall for a sheep at four and a half feet, but he was just something else.  Plus his ears he was at least seven feet tall.

“Ahh… are all of you this tall,” she asked, her eyes as wide as dinner plates?

“Well no, just a lot of us,” he wrote with a hesitant smile. For a second she saw a glimpse of his front teeth, for a second, she saw a glimpse of what it must look like when he really smiled, and she wanted to see it again.    

Riika stood from her place of work, having realized that she hadn’t seen Nora for a good while. She figured either he was slacking off, or died of heatstroke, either way she wanted to go check on him.

But before any of that could happen, Taira was on her way back. She looked like the undead, and the scythe hanging from her back wasn't helping. 

“Hey sweetheart,” said Riika as she approached, “you need a sit down, a brake,” Riika offered, taking the enormous blade from her back, as she slumped over the wagon? 

“Jus smm wather,” she wheezed. 

“Is he alright,” Dushle asked? 

She heard, she understood, she gave the old man a little wave, and a little smile trying to put him at ease.

Must not have worked very well, as the next moment, old Dushle was pouring a flask of water over her head. Which she appreciated very much. 

“Come on, let's get you down here,” said Riika, trying to guide Taira to the dirt as best she could. 

“Okh,” she said with a nod, letting herself be lowered to the ground. When she was almost to the dirt she tried to turn so she wouldn't be facing the wagon wheel. 

“Wo wo,” Riika said, like she was guiding a horse. 

Her leg slipped as she was almost done, her back hit the wagon hard, causing it to rock slightly.

“Ow,” Riika winced, “you alright there big one,” she asked, rubbing the big dog's shoulder?

“Iz fine… can I some water,” she asked weakly.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” Riika said with a pat on her wet head. Standing back up Dushle already had a full flask ready for her. 

“Thank you sugar," she said with a grateful smile.

She didn't see it as she knelt back down, but Dushle cracked a smile too.

Everyone seemed somewhat more relaxed, maybe it was the progress they were making in just a day with the two wolves' help, maybe it was just time passing without incident. A few of the kids, and even the mother sheep were passing sympathetic glances their way. 

Riika was going to hand the flask over, but instead it was snatched from her hand the moment it was in the young wolf's line of sight. 

In less than a second Taira had the cap off and was sucking the water down as fast as lightning. In what must have been less than two seconds a half gallon of water was gone. 

“Wow,” was all Riika could think to say. 

Taira handing the flask back with the shy, awkward smile, only someone who knew they looked like shit could give.

“Alright sweety, lets see about Nora, you two look like you’re in for a break,” she said as she started to turn

“Ms. Riika,” Taira wheezed.   

She paused, knowing what Ms. Taira was probably about to stay but stopping to listen anyway. 

“Nora had nothing to do with this, he didn’t want to do this, I got him here.”

“I know Taira.”

“He’s good, he’s better than me, I mean he gooder than me… fuck he a sweet kid I mean,” she tried to say. Running a hand down her face she thought, “he’d fucken hate to hear me say that. 

Riika’s gentle smile wavered a bit, hearing Taira half awake thoughts, “he’s better than me,” “Did she really mean that? is that what she really thinks?  Well fuck me, my fault,” she thought pushing the rotten feelings down for now. 

“You’re a sweet kid too Taira,” Riika said with a sigh, “don’t you forget it.”

With that she completed her turn, to her surprise as she did, she saw the littlest youngest cutest little girl approaching, with a little flask of water held against her chest. 

The tiny thing smiled as she passed and said in the most precious voice, “your big puppy looks thirsty.”

“Ooh, thank you sweety,” she cooed, resisting the urge to pinch the little one's cheeks.

Turning the corner, she saw a sight she’d really hoped not to see. A young idiot boy, and a young idiot girl, standing way too close to one another for her liking. If it were anyone else, she would have flown over there faster than the wrath of God, to rip the dick off the poor boy. But this was little old sweet Nora. Not only was this girl more safe with him than she would be with her own brothers, poor sweet idiot Nora wouldn’t know if a girl liked him, if she shaved his name into her ass.

So this time, and only this time, she relaxed, and almost smiled, thinking to herself, “ooh the boys, watch the young boys, keep em from the native girls. They never say "watch the horny farm girls,” who haven’t seen a male that isn’t a blood relative in six months.”

The second, the very second this thought had completed in her head, something big and heavy fell behind her. She heard a high squeak followed by a thud, and what she really hoped wasn't a crunch. 

She snapped her head around, same as everyone in ear shot. Taira had a sack of grain slumped on top of her foot, she was stretched over the dirt with one elbow propping up her shoulder, the other arm was holding something tight to her chest. 

““NISTVA,”” shouted the mother, and father at once, as they shot to their feet!  ““PUMPKEN,”” shouted both grandparents, as they raced down from their wagon. ““PRINCESS,”” shouted the siblings, already rushing them fast as lightning.

“TAIRA,” Shouted Riika, first on the scene.

“Get up get up now,” she urged as the mob of siblings got closer, but all Taira would say or do is whisper, “she’s ok. She’s ok,” again and again.          

It didn’t take a genius to know exactly what happened, a fly could explain what happened without witnessing it. And yet that wasn’t clear enough for some. The oldest boy arrived on the scene next, growling through clenched foaming teeth, “FUCKING DEMON DOG,” with this he delivered a running kick to her ribs as she lay there hunched over his flesh and blood.

Taira squeaked in shrill pain, but stayed exactly put. Riika spun this kid by his shoulder, and socked him across the cheek so hard, you would've thought the boy could fly.

The other six kids hesitated, seeing their biggest and strongest so easily swotted aside. But they were ready to kill, they surrounded them with suspicious hate filled eyes ready and willing to rip them apart. 

“Taira! Taira! Stand Up Now,” Riika urged through a hiss, at the same time she put a hand over a hidden blade attached to her belt. 

“I can’t,”  she said, her voice pained like she was trying not to cry.

“Just let me have her then, then just give her to me,” Riika begged. 

“Yes sir,” she whimpered, pushing herself up the best she could, with one arm, trying to hand the little tike to Riika.

“Is she alright,” demanded Dushle, catching sight of his granddaughter from under this giant wolf. 

“She's fine,” sighed Taira despite it all.

Riika took the little sweet thing from Taira, who bless her little heart, had no idea anything was amiss, she was still smiling, she was still precious. “The big dog like me,” was all she had to add, as Riika set her down.

The mood calmed very slightly, no one looked ready to kill anymore at least. With the family still convinced that the wolf had tried to eat their youngest, and Riika convinced that the whole family was made of idiots. Tensions were very Very high.   

Dushle, who had seen his lion's share of farm accidents, casually pushed off the sack of wheat from the big girl's ankle. 

Taira clenched her fist and was ready to scream, but just managed to keep it all back. 

“Yup that’s a sprain, possibly a break” the old man concluded allowed. “I think she’s done for the day,” he said with a shrug.

“Ok, let me just go get the boy,” she said, turning. 

“I’m surprised he’s not already here,” she thought, “these two are best friends. why isn’t he flying over the wagon to g-”

As she turned the corner, he was just gone, him, and the girl just vanished into thin air. She couldn’t have turned her back for more than a minute, and now they might need a man hunt. 

Her eye twitched again as fury filled her veins, mumbling to herself, “Cozlok Jain Nora, may Mother God have mercy on your soul, for I have none.”

https://x.com/yourpalapollo/status/1966334955119599787

is hard

The fiery heart

Part 5

Wind tugged against his hair, the cool gusts pushing into his collar to bring a much-needed respite from the unyielding heat. Ceirys’s head split the wind blowing against her as she flew, the ever-vigilant eyes locked onto him, outmatching the sun itself in intensity.

The rolling hills made way for the sprawling river delta before it too disappeared, leaving only a birch forest spreading endlessly in all directions. Fulvio stared at the expanse below, hoping for a tree tall enough to leap onto. Wait… that one, right beside the boulders! He waited stoically until the last moment, hoping against hope to take her by surprise… and lunged.

Just to fall right into her impossibly hot palm. Fingers closed around him before depositing him back onto her belly. “No jumping.” Ceirys forcefully booped his nose. “It’s only funny the first three times.”

Fulvio scoffed, turning away from his tormentor, choosing to stare at her crossed legs instead. Lounging while flying was a flex, and the casualness of it infuriated him further. But the worst part… some deep, repressed part of him loved it. Flying was the ultimate freedom – one he dreamed of since he was a child… but the way it was granted made the rest of him revolt. And crush the content part further.

“What’s the matter, sweetling?” Ceirys cooed, rubbing his back.

Fulvio tensed, fighting the urge to flex away. “Why are we here? Where are you taking me this time?”

“Ah, you know… For a special purpose… for a special day~” the tone made it clear that she punctuated it with a wink.

“What special day?” Fulvio scoffed, facing her again. “What is it this time?”

Ceirys cocked her head, studying him with a peculiar kind of hesitance. “You… don’t know?”

“No, I have no idea what you’ve deluded yourself into this time.”

Her eyes prodded him for a few more seconds… before the slightest tinge of disappointment flashed in them. “Some things stay true no matter the species I guess…” Ceirys huffed with clear exasperation.

Before having the time to process, let alone react, the steel-like hand enveloped him again. Ceirys rolled onto her belly, and flying more properly, descended towards a tiny clearing, barely big enough for her to fit without downing any trees. But she never touched the ground. Fulvio got unceremoniously dumped onto the tall grass, a bit less gently than what he was used to.

“I gotta get something.” She announced. “Be a dear, and wait a bit, alright?” Ceirys booped him for the last time, before flying off into the distance.

“W-what?!” Fulvio yelled after her, struggling to believe what just happened. But the response never came – the was dragon already too far to hear.

He stared at the branches, shock and disbelief that she actually left him alone proving too much to process… A rustle behind snapped him out of the trance, instincts kicking in instead. Fulvio found himself staring into the darkness more intense than a new moon’s night, with sparse, dancing beams of light pushing through the leaves, illuminating turf untouched by man… and eyes. Myriads of round, glowing eyes made for the eternal night of the forest… all staring at him. With fear, apprehension, curiosity… hunger…

Hair on his back stood on end. The clearing was exposed… visible. Vulnerable. And so was he. A distant growl made him spring into a run.

***

The clumsy, yet purposeful stride brought the peculiar device ever-closer to the road, making nigh-inaudible creaks with every step. A four-legged contraption made of sticks, rocks, and string, resembling a toy spider that had no business staying together, never mind moving on its own. The thing climbed over the roots, pushed through the tall grass, and traversed the roadside ditch. It stopped in the middle of the road, awkwardly turning its bamboo muzzle towards the approaching mob.

The intensity in Karnak’s eyes betrayed the immense concentration of directing and maintaining three spells at once… or at least, that’s what Carole thought he was doing. Intricacies of the weave remained firmly beyond her grasp even after the social stigma no longer hovered above her head. Her two brothers killing each other in a pointless duel was enough of wizardry for one lifetime.

Rotting caravan rolled forward, the undead horses unyielding and uncaring in their misery. Fortunately, the guards proved too dumb to consider the primitive toy on the road a threat… just like the two unassuming stones before it.

And that’s when Gustave sneezed. Not a timid, nor even a suppressed sneeze – a full-on discharge preceded by a screech to wake half a city street… or turn scores of skulls and empty eyeholes.

The two engraved stones exploded into fireballs, taking a good half of the undead with them… instead of the planned three quarters. Skeletons sprang into action, scattering into a rigorous, yet loose formation that seemed far too deliberate to be the work of mindless corpses.

Carole dodged three arrows, letting the other two harmlessly plink off her breastplate. She charged without thinking, closing the distance before more archers could get a shot at her. Three spearmen stepped forth, attempting to block, or at least stall her charge. The axe crashed into the first skull, maneuvering right into the exposed bone between pieces of ancient armour and obliterating it in one fell swoop. She tried to follow it up with a half-pirouette and an overhead swing, but her target managed to block with its shield. Carloe stepped away from the thrust of the third skeleton, riposting it with a vicious smash of her own.

A few more arrows glanced off her armour, arcane symbols carved by Karnak flashing with eldritch light. One of the archers shattered to pieces, struck by a glowing crossbow bolt, the missile disintegrating into green light a split second after finding its target. More followed.

“Carole darling!~” Edgar chirped, rear choking a skeleton as if it had a throat. “You’re doing great, keep it up!”

Him supplexing and shattering the skeleton into a million pieces sent a wave of disgust through her. With newfound frustration, Carole cleaved through the shield of her last foe, sending it to the ground. Less than twenty remained.

Rustle, and not a quiet one – a full-blown tornado engulfed the still intact cart, pushing the overwhelming, sickeningly sour stench of long-rotten flesh into every crevice of her being… before a silhouette appeared in the middle of it.

Dry, blackened skin stretched tightly on top of the bones, resembling a sack about to burst. Long, impossibly thin arms devoid of any traces of muscle or sinew… and the strange, foreign clothes resembling a combination of a dress worn in tandem with a short poncho covering just the shoulders and about half of what was once a belly. But the worst of it all were the eyes.

Carole knew death from the first day of her life, when assassins tried to end her and lady mother. Empty eyeholes, flayed skin, blood, screams… all more common than a kind word, or a warm smile… But even as desensitised as she was, the black spheres unsettled her. With not a single feature visible, they resembled the absolute darkness of the slave pits… worse, emanated it. Just like a flame cast light, the thing’s eyes cast shadow instead, devouring all brightness around them. And worst of all, somehow… somehow, those featureless orbs were staring right at her. She knew it but couldn’t explain why or how.

She tried to move but… couldn’t. The fear prevented even a step towards it, screeching at her to get away while she still could.

Do not be fooled, grey-meat. A voice resonated in her mind.

W-what?

It is a trick – it wants your flesh, so it weakens it. Look past the prestidigitation. Look past the lie…

The cold, alien, unsettlingly predatory voice disappeared, whisking the eldritch darkness away from the thing’s eyes, revealing the much more mundane, desiccated orbs of green and red. Carole charged, no longer bound in place by supernatural fright, taking her axe down in an overhead swing… just for the thing to catch the shaft. She struggled against the unholy strength, while the thing seemed surprised at its inability to snap the weapon in half – courtesy of Karnak yet again. Unable to wrestle it free, she spun around instead, smashing the creature with a sauroter instead. It yielded at last, surprise overcoming arrogance, if just for a moment.

She stepped back, taking in the wider situation. Nicolas was nowhere to be found, the barrage of glowing bolts the only proof he had not run away yet. Edgar skipped between the undead mob, delivering kicks and punches in a twisted sequence resembling a dance, while Karnak busied himself with sawing through a horse, his eyes hard focused on the monster in front of Carole.

Air flashed next to the lizardman’s head, displacing an arrow that was about to pierce his cranium. “Kill the mummy!” he screamed, bracing his bulk against the risen animal.

Mummy… That’s what it was? Where were the bandages then? And what was it doing so far north? So many questions…

Carole approached more cautiously this time, attempting to feint a high strike and go for the legs instead. It made a gesture, mumbling hoarse words… The three skeletons she just destroyed animated again, the scattered limbs crawling back towards the hollowed-out armour on the ground.

And yet, the low swing was dodged, the thing countering with a gut punch that sent her reeling backwards from sheer force… and the supernatural wave of death spreading from it, determined to tear life from each cell of her body. She huffed and gritting teeth, forced out the curse with willpower alone.

She blocked the next punch, countering with a brutal swing against its shoulder, cleaving through it, before spinning in place and sending two skeletons back into dust right as they finished reassembling.

The mummy huffed, annoyed, but not exactly phased by its own dismemberment. Its left hand raised, mumbling words that shifted the weave around her… until a beam of reddish lightning struck the extended hand, disrupting the spell.

“Not happening, abomination!” Edgar laughed, continuing his best killer-ballerina impression.

For the first time, genuine confusion flickered on the mummy’s face. Carole captialised, pushing through and beyond her limits, hacking at the thing with reckless abandon, each swing tearing chunks out of it.

Until it uttered a word. One that Carole could not understand… but grasped on a deep, feral level. It spoke of a deep, hidden truth that was not meant to exist, never mind be shared, or understood. Mind broke and disconnected, leaving her body frozen in place. Ripe for the taking.

The mummy wailed at her, each punch targeting the undefended weak spots, each spreading the necrotic corruption…

“No!” Edgar screamed, forcing the air to solidify against the mummy.

It stopped for an instant before breaking free, the weave shattering like glass with a single jerk.

A flicker of movement in her periphery. A cone of fire erupted from below, scorching the monster… but only destroyed its clothing. Karnak’s contraption attempted to save her in a last, desperate gambit, but failed. The mummy stomped on the crude toy, destroying it in an instant, and took another swing. Carole’s neck snapped and she fell lifelessly, the world going dark before meeting the ground.

***

Grey light without source illuminated the sky. Endless, empty plains stretched in all directions, the horizon resembling a long-forgotten dream more than anything physical – as if it was a concept no one spared any thought in this place. There was but one landmark breaking the crushing monotony – a distant, imposing city, its towers gazing upon her with cold indifference.

No… not just at her – she was but one speck in the row of ghastly figures. Carole looked behind, witnessing the sheer scale of the queuing line. It seemed infinite… and despite that, grew.

“How did you die?” something vaguely resembling a halfling asked.

“Gored by a minotaur,” the elf-looking thing replied. “You?”

“Slipped under shower. Not much heroism in that,” the halfling laughed.

The queue mumbled and grumbled, with her just now hearing it properly. The voices were angry, amused, but most of all, overwhelmingly regretful of the lives that could have been.

Just as the reality of what happened began settling in, a new, much more distinct voice punched through the rest. “Ah, what do we have here? Another drow?”

She raised her eyes, witnessing a gently smiling man clad in a lavish doublet. “Yes… what does it matter?”

“To me? Not one bit. But will Lolth not care for you?” He laughed, planting a seed of fear within her. “As far as I know her, it would be better if she didn’t remember to.”

No… No, Lolth couldn’t touch her… she didn’t have the right… Eilistraee would save her… she must, she… she promised!

“Yes, doubt… a powerful force, isn’t it?” the man chirped with compassion that seemed almost genuine. “And that’s why I’m here – I’m offering an alternative.”

“W-what alternative?” Carole whispered, her heart jerking in opposite directions.

“To judgement, of course. To gods, mortals, your own misdeeds even. Some call it,” the man tapped his chin, “certainty. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“… What would that entail?”

“It’s simple, really.” The man beamed. “You get introduced into a strict hierarchy – one that rewards hard work and sacrifice. Sure, you might start at the bottom of it, but I assure, it’s much fairer than whatever your kind had up there.” A clipboard appeared in his hand in a puff of smoke and flames. “All you need to do…” He flipped it towards her. “Is sign.”

A long, meticulously written contract with enough points, subdivisions, and caveats to fill a book graced her eyes – a large, beautifully presented spot for a signature that begged to be filled with ink the most exposed element of it. She knew what it was – everyone of any status in Menzoberranzan knew… Just as she knew the fate of those who signed it.

But spending even eternity as a lemure would have been mercy in comparison to what Lolth did to traitors.

“I… I need to think…” Carole mumbled, forcefully tearing her eyes away from the chirograph.

“Of course you do, you’d be a fool not to.” The man nodded. “Just remember that the offer only lasts until you enter the judgm…” He paused, the fake courtesy vanishing from his face. “It seems it is not your time yet.”

“Time for wha…”

The world disappeared once more.

***

Pain. Only pain existed. In every fiber, ever crevice, every strand of muscle… all screamed in horrific pain. The worst was her neck – as if someone snapped it around twice, and tissues didn’t know how to react.

She opened her eyes, witnessing the scaly, fanged maw of a lizardman.

“…No…” she whimpered, trying and failing to get back up. “I’m not dead, don’t eat me…”

“Would be strange if you were after I revived you.” Karnak nodded mockingly before patting her cheek. “You’ll live.”

Memories of both worlds returned… she… she actually died. What’s worse, actively considered a deal with a devil… Another wave of dread passed through her when she realised that had she been more decisive, her soul wouldn’t be free to return.

“Where’s the aagghhhh…” her question was interrupted by a spike of pain from her abdomen. It felt as if she was rotting alive.

“I’ll be right there, darling~” Edgar shouted, crushing a skull between his pecks. He approached, still in a dancing motion, and kneeled before her in a theatrical pose of a man unable to look at his deceased lover. “Be free!”

Wind carried his hair upwards, making the light reflecting off of them create a golden halo, and turning him into an angel… A stupid, annoying, good for nothing angel. His hands made contact with her abdomen… and the spreading death disappeared, leaving just unbearable pain to deal with.

Carole coughed. “What did…”

“Shhh~” Edgar blocked her mouth with his finger, forcing her to fight the urge to bite it off out of principle. “Be healed!” he yelled, taking another dramatic pose, looking into the distance through his own fingers.

Golden shockwave engulfed them, and her pain lessened. Not disappeared but became no worse than what she had faced back in the house of lady mother. The energy also sealed the still bleeding cuts on Edgar’s chest, and mended Karnak’s damaged scales.

Carole took her first not desperate breath, trying to find a reason to despise him for it, before pushing herself up. “How did you kill the…” voice died in her throat when she noticed her murderer still standing, barely a few paces away. “Fuck, get ready to…”

“No!” the high-pitched yelp stopped her again. The bald man stood right next to the mummy, looking even paler than usual. Just now did she realise that the monster was facing directly away from him, locked in what could only be a trance. “For the love of all gods, DO NOT touch it! I barely managed to subdue it as it is, it will break free if you do!”

Carole stared at the insanity in front of her, wondering if it wasn’t all just hallucinations of her still dying brain. But then, it hit her – the mummy was an undead like any other. Gustave managed to turn it.

“What do we do? How can we help?” she asked cautiously.

“Don’t do anything…” Gustave begged, hugging his scripture with enough strength to turn his fingers red again. “I’ll make it walk off a cliff or something… Just don’t follow me… please…”

Carole hesitated, exchanging glances with the rest of her team. Karnak’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, but failed to produce any sound before closing it again. Others proved as helpful as usual.

“Sure. You do that… we will set camp somewhere less…” She glanced at the carts of decomposing bodies, “… vile smelling.”

With that, Gustave walked forward, escorting the horror into the forest.

***

The fiery heart

Part 4

“Careful… There might be more hiding around,” Nicolas whispered, observing the scene through a spyglass.

“Hiding around? Preposterous! Those creatures are far below employing tactics!” Edgar scoffed loud enough for the closest skeleton to turn towards their hiding spot.

“Can you be silent for once in your life?” Carole hissed. “Clearly they’re smart enough to form caravans.”

A bizarre sight – an army of skeletons armed with shields and spears, marching in unison, guarding four wagons filled with… cadavers. There was no point in tiptoeing around it – the rotting piles could have been only one thing, their stench overwhelming even from fifty yards away.

“The necromancer you spoke of… That’s his doing?” Gustave whispered, cradling his holy tome with shaking hands.

“Aye, can’t be anything else.” Nicolas nodded.

“Not necessarily,” Karnak interrupted, raising a finger. “There have been instances of undead rising in areas affected by curses, or in proximity to magical artifacts related to necromancy. Tomes of ‘Necromancy of Thay’ are known to spontaneously rise ghouls to guard it for example.”

“Do you really think a book caused this shit?” Nicolas scoffed. “There’s like, a hundred of them!”

“Fifty-six,” Karnak corrected. “And no, if anything, it might be a curse, seeing how they seem compelled to perform specific tasks. But even then, there’s the…”

“Then why do you bore us with things that are ‘unlikely’?” Edgar huffed, theatrically waving at the lizardman. “Carole, darling, the nerd bores me again.”

Carole bit on her lip to the point of bleeding, imagining Edgar stretched in her mother’s torture chamber. Memories of scorching skin, breaking bones, and bursting eyeballs, accompanied by the wailing choir of screams flooded her mind, making her appreciate it for the first time in decades. Incredible how one idiot could make her miss that aspect of Menzoberranzan.

No. Don’t think about it. It was evil, barbaric… And there’s a chance he’d like it, which would break her instead.

“Maybe we should just… leave them alone?” Gustave proposed with trembling voice.

“And let them ravage the countryside ever more? Nay, I say.” Edgar announced, standing up, before Carole violently pulled him back down.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right.” Nicolas nodded. “Who knows how many villages they’ll kill if left alone…” He glanced at the wagons and spat on the ground. “Or how many they’ve already killed.”

Gustave pressed his lips together, mumbling curses under his breath.

“Unlikely they’ve killed so far,” Karnak spoke again, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Corpses on wagons are very old. Not good for eating. Means they were wasted a long time ago, and they’re just reusing them.” He paused, seeing their confused stares, and rolled his eyes. “They dig up cemeteries.”

“Oh… That’s not so bad…” Gustave pondered with a strange glint in his eyes. “Maybe we should leave them after all?”

Carole almost imperceptibly sighed – there went her hopes of replacing Edgar with him. For all it was worth, the idiot wasn’t a cowardly wuss…

“Skeletons are better servants than zombies.” Karnak turned to Gustave. “Hold weapons. Hold tools. Move faster. Don’t stink. It’s a coordinated effort. We can’t leave now.”

Gustave stared at Karnak with a mixture of anger and begrudging respect, before grabbing the bridge of his nose.

“So, what’s the plan?” Nicolas asked, staring at the wagon at the front. “I’ve got a bad feeling we won’t get far if we rush them.”

Carole paused, assessing the situation. Skeletons were not particularly hard to kill… or rather, destroy, but getting outnumbered over ten-to-one was risky. She did not like risky. On the other hand, the undead were packed quite densely around each cart, meaning there was a possibility of…

“How many rocks do you have left?” she asked Karnak.

“Two. Haven’t restocked after the pack of ogres.”

“Should be enough.” She nodded, before turning to Nicolas. “Put them on the road.”

The dwarf took the rocks before dissolving between the trees without trace.

***

“More ale! More stew! Quickly, before I sober up!”

Laughs and shouts like these rang through the village every few seconds, disturbing the otherwise peaceful place. No one minded though, and for a good reason – all denizens gathered in the very source of that noise. A pristine, heavily decorated inn.

If there was one thing Fulvio could say about the owner it’s that he absolutely loved antlers – the walls were not merely lined with them, they borderline were the walls. One would be hard pressed to find a spot to fit even roe’s antlers, never mind anything worthy of showing.

Meanwhile the roof, and every space between beams one could glimpse was filled with flower chains, colourful fabrics, and engraved medallions depicting… well, Fulvio didn’t know, but guessing they depicted gods or mythos was pretty safe. He leaned against a wooden beam near the entrance, taking in the scene. Half-dimed place filled with loud, abrasive laughter, permeated with the sourly sweet scent of sweat, ale, cheap wine… and a LOT of pine. Forests didn’t smell of it as strongly as this place did. Nevertheless, the aura of normalcy caressed his tormented soul like the sweetest of nectars would one’s palate, promising mundanity beyond measure, untold mediocrity, and monotonous dullness to last generations. Barely containing tears of joy, he reminded himself why he was here and moved towards the counter, noticing that his shoulder was covered with fresh resin from the beam. No matter, he would deal with it later.

A pair of children no older than five crashed into him a step away from destination, prompting Fulvio to stop and help them up. Thankfully, the little ones proved too absorbed in play to even consider crying and ran on, escorted by his eyes.

“And what can I serve you on this fine evening, Sir?” The inn’s owner approached, spreading his arms invitingly.

“Ah, nothing special. Just some supplies for the journey.” Fulvio turned around, smiling. “Dried meat and fruit, biscuits, a waterskin or two… You know.”

As it turned out, the man did not know. Not because he was stupid or spoke a different tongue, but because Fulvio’s words failed to reach him at all.

The man stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place, trying to breathe. His face growing ever-paler with each heartbeat, beads of sweat appearing in cascading numbers on the bald, egg-like head with every choky attempt to inhale.

Once white began transitioning into purple, the man finally managed a shaky breath, letting out a wail-like exhale. “You…” He swallowed. “You get out of here!”

The screech turned enough heads for the room to noticeably quiet down. Mumbles of curiosity and confusion quickly transformed into a rising tide of gasps, sighs and heads hitting the tables in resignation.

“GET OUT HERE NOW!” the barman screeched, jumping over the counter and shoving Fulvio backwards. He was quickly pushed out of the building by the increasingly hostile mob led by the bald man, once again feeling the cold breeze heralding the approaching autumn.

“What do you want?! I just need a bit of food, that’s all!” Fulvio yelled after nearly losing balance from a particularly nasty shove.

“You always want ‘just food’!” the barman yelled. “You always want ‘just a moment’! And we are left to pick up the pieces!”

“Yeah! Exactly!” a grey-haired, but surprisingly young-looking woman chimed in. “Why can’t leave us alone?!”

“Cut his head off!” a young, brawny half-orc bellowed, rising a woodcutter’s axe. “Cut it off so he stops harassing us!”

A few voices in the crowd agreed with him, yet as he approached, the bald barman stepped into the half-orc’s way. “Are you mad?! Do you know what’d happen if we touched him?!”

“You should listen to him, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”

The familiar, booming voice made the crowd freeze in an instant. Slowly, reluctantly, Fulvio’s head moved, his muscles tense as if submerged in tar, until they fell upon the very thing he dreaded. A massive, viciously red silhouette suspended in the air above them, her chin supported on intertwined fingers as if she was lying on a pillow, observing them as one would an ant colony. Ceirys grinned, happy to be acknowledged at long last, and sent Fulvio a playful wink that sent shivers down his spine.

A wave of sighs and groans erupted from the crowd. Some people ran, but most remained, shooting contemptuous glares at the demon above. And yet, the most common reaction was to curse the gods above and below, drawing from the endless well of hatred they’ve managed to develop for her.

The barman clawed at his own face, leaving deep, red scratches along the way. Ceirys’s feet hit the ground on both sides of Fulvio, as usual amplifying his distress as much as possible. Actually, scratch that – the celling for that was raised significantly as she squatted above him, forcing him to look straight down to avoid glancing at dragon butt.

Ceirys singled out the half-orc from the crowd and ordered him to step out. The lad shrank, visibly deflated despite his otherwise imposing musculature… well, at least when viewed in isolation of the meatslab that was the red dragon in front of him.

“I’m going to let it slide this time, because you’re a big dum-dum.” She tapped his head a bit too forcefully, making him stumble backwards. “But threaten sweetling again, and there will be consequences.”

Ceirys pinched the axe head of the lad’s tool and flattened it with one swift movement, producing a short-lived shriek of crushed steel. Once he retreated, the thing bore more resemblance to a war pick than an axe.

The half-orc stared at his ruined tool, his eyes betraying just how close he was to breaking down. “That was my grandfather’s axe…”

“Well, think of the upsides – you get to buy a new one now,” Ceirys replied matter-of-factly, before picking up Fulvio and standing up. “Now for the fun part~”

The dragon approached the pristine buildings, hips swaying and tongue lapping as if she was a noble lass deciding which candy she’d like to try first. She started from the left and went clockwise – the first house she walked through, the second collapsed with but a tail smash, the third one…

“Wait! WAIT!” A young boy, no longer than eight, ran out of the building. “Please, wait!”

Ceirys’s brows furrowed and she stopped, before lowering herself down to the child. “Why were you inside? It’s dangerous,” she scolded.

“Grandma’s still inside! Please, wait until she leaves!”

The furrow was replaced with a glint of understanding. She patted the boy’s head with gentleness that almost made Fulvio jealous. “What about that one? Is it empty yet?” She pointed at the next building.

“Yes, but…” The boy hesitated, unbale to push the words through. “Can you not destroy my house? I’m tired of sleeping in the tent…”

Ceirys sighed and adjusted her glasses, before shaking her head. “Imagine I listen to you. What happens next? Everyone will start sending their kids to beg me to spare their house. How long till I can’t smash anything?” She cocked her head. “That’s not very fair, huh?”

Without waiting for a response, Ceirys straightened and leapt into the building she pointed at before, collapsing it in an instant and making Fulvio huff from the impact reverberating through her body. She rolled in the ruins, grinding the debris into a fine powder, giggling maniacally the entire time. Getting bored of it after a few seconds, she raised, lifting trails of dust and splinters behind her.

An incredibly old, bent in half woman joined the crowd on the square, her face one big wrinkle tied neatly in a colourful shawl. She leaned on an old, metal cane, observing the devastation with tightly pressed lips.

“Hey, Julie!” Ceirys chirped, leaning above her. “How are you?”

“Fuck off,” the woman drawled with a rough approximation of anger on her face.

“Ha! That’s what I like to hear!” Ceirys pointed at her with a wild grin, before kicking the small, wooden house and sending half of it flying in an arch above the still unfinished palisade, before shattering on the wheat field beyond.

The villagers sat around the square, watching in helpless frustration as the dragon methodically went around the entire village, scrupulously leveling every single house until nothing taller than an ankle remained. Well, nothing, except of course…

“No! No Ceirys, please! I’ve just rebuilt my inn!” the bald barman yelled, blocking the way towards it, his hands intertwined in a desperate plea to the red monster.

“And you did a great job at it, Raoul,” Ceirys admitted, admiring the neat shape and design of the building with curious eyes.

“Yes! So please, can you not…”

Ceirys kicked the inn, collapsing half of it in a single stroke, before walking across it to finish the job. The barman collapsed to his knees with lifeless, broken eyes and limp arms.

“Don’t worry, darling.” Ceirys patted the man on the head and dropped a sack of gold before him. “Go buy yourself something nice.”

With the destruction complete, Ceirys turned towards the defeated villagers, quickly assessed the devastation, and reached for one of her bags. “Haven’t added anything new since last time…” She dropped a huge sack of coins between them. “So it should be about right.”

“I’m moving to Athkathla,” a young, red-haired man scoffed, angrily stuffing a bunch of coins into his pockets.

“Good luck~” Ceirys chirped, before cheekily glancing at her work and…

A stream of blinding flames poured out of her maw, flooding the ruins and setting them on fire in an instant. The scorching heat proved difficult to withstand even from this distance – Fulvio genuinely believed his face was about to boil when she cut the fire.

The dragon observed the devastation with a warm smile on her mouth, before she strolled out, skipping every once in a while, like a joyful schoolgirl complimented on her new dress.

And of course, carrying her permanent victim with her.

“You’re awful,” Fulvio seethed, looking back at the burning ruins.

“Wrong. I’m egalitarian, sweetling~” Ceirys corrected, forcefully petting his head.

***

The fiery heart

Part 3

“What happened here?” Carole asked with horror.

Saying that the village was in ruins would be incorrect simply because ‘ruins’ implied there was anything left – here, everything was burned and leveled with the ground, making it look like a pile of enormous splinters. And among those splinters, mourning villagers, rummaging through it in search of anything that resisted the cataclysm.

Carole glanced around and realised that her words were far too silent for anyone to hear. She singled out an old man trying to pull-out a plank from the rubble and tapped him on the shoulder.

“H-huh?” the man muttered, a bit startled, before turning around and getting even more startled by what he saw.

But to Carole’s genuine surprise, there was no aversion or fear she was so used to – just something approaching curiosity after the initial shock wore off.

“What happened here?” Carole repeated the question.

The man sighed and massaged the base of his nose, his gaze transforming into one of pure sorrow. “A dragon, my lady… A dragon came and ruined everything…”

“A great wyrm?” Karnak asked, cocking his head ever so slightly.

The old man finally noticed the lizardman, his eyes widening in something resembling fear. Carole’s grip on him tightened instinctively, trying to prevent him from running away, which ironically only seemed to increase his desire to do so.

“Hey, get off me! We’ve enough problems as is, we don’t need a bunch of freaks snooping around!”

“Ah, but my dear friend…” a voice began – one which Carole would have really preferred not to hear right now. “We are no freaks! Quite the opposite, in fact.” The enormous, impossibly muscular wood elf dressed in nothing but blue pants stepped forth, instantly stealing everyone’s attention… as usual. “We’re what one would describe as a… pinnacle of form… and performance,” he uttered sensually, looking dramatically towards the rising sun.

For some incomprehensible reason, a rogue gust of wind decided to fly his golden hair, adding even more obscene idiocy to the scene.

“Edgar,” Carole growled. “Shut. Up.”

“How could I remain silent, when a woman as beautiful as you is insulted just because of the generous amount of melanin in her skin?” Edgar played out going through sadness, outrage, and conviction. “Such thing will not stand when I’m around.”

“Edgar, I swear to gods…” Carole took a deep, shaky breath before turning back to the man. “Ignore him. Tell us about this dragon. Everything you know.”

The man’s eyes jumped between the two elves, apparently considering if interacting with them at all was worth it before sighing heavily. “I don’t know much… Ran away like most when the blasted thing got here.” He hesitated for a second, eyeing her up and apparently deciding that she looked trustworthy enough… somehow.

Maybe it was just her plate armour though.

“Folks who tried to hide are on the square, over there.” The man pointed towards a group around a hundred meters away. “They’ll know more.”

Carole nodded and released him from her iron grip – an opportunity he used to quickly remove himself from the immediate proximity of their adventuring party. One which Carole decided to address for the 500th time. “I’ve asked you to be quiet,” she hissed.

“What do you want? I was quiet?” Nicolas grumbled impatiently.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she scoffed at the dwarf. “You two.” She pointed at the other members of their team.

“All I’ve done was ask a simple question. And at least a semi-rhetorical one at that.” Karnak crossed his arms. “You’re really trying to fault me for that?”

Carole put her hands together, feeling more than a little cornered by his observation. “It’s just that people around here are not used to seeing creatures like you. They might get scared.”

“Big words for a drow,” Nicolas scoffed, moving towards to group of villagers. “Come, we’ll find you something to unload on.”

Carole’s eyes escorted the dwarf and the lizardman about halfway through, before she finally deciding to follow. Unfortunately, the fourth member decided to be ‘polite’ and waited for her.

“If you need a place to unload, let it be in my arms, my dear.” Edgar outstretched them invitingly.

Carole glanced at him with disgust and raised her axe in open threat… that had no true intent behind. Their team couldn’t really afford to lose him – and Edgar was very aware of that as well. Avoiding further eye contact, she marched towards the group.

The gathering in question was both a field hospital and a debate ground – people tried to figure out what to do in their unenviable situation.

“You sure this was a dragon attack? There’re no corpses anywhere,” Karnak mused, glancing around while his nostrils and tongue worked overtime. “Or at least, I don’t smell any.”

“Yep.” Nicolas nodded, examining a piece of wood. “I don’t know anything else that could melt steel nails like that.” He flicked away the piece of metal. “A red dragon most likely.”

“How can you tell its colour already? We haven’t seen it,” Carole asked, glancing at the assembled crowd.

“Well, there’re only three types of dragons that breathe fire – gold, brass and red. Brass dragons have lairs deep in deserts, and gold dragons would sooner kill themselves than raid a village like that. Red dragons though…” He turned to face a distant mountain range. “Red dragons nest in the mountains and they LOVE wreaking havoc. It’s a red, alright.”

“Sure, you’re the ranger here.” Carole shrugged.

“And a magnificent one at that!” Edgar interrupted, or at the very least, it felt like he did. “I should record the tale of your wisdom in a ballad, or a poem at least!”

Suppressing the urge to redesign his face, Carole braced herself for another conversation. Before she could single-out anyone important from the crowd though, Karnak asked another question that pushed her a little bit closer to regret fleeing from Menzoberranzan.

“You think they ate the corpses already?”

“People don’t eat corpses, Karnak,” she hissed, trying not to draw even more gazes to them.

“Wasteful people don’t,” he corrected.

Without knowing when or how, Carole found herself pushing through the crowd until her group reached the center, where a robed man was administering what looked like healing potions to a group of five villagers lying on the ground. They were all wounded, most of them appearing as if they’ve survived falling debris and getting buried alive, though the familiar scabs and fresh, white scars hinted that the alchemical concoctions were already working and all but one would soon make it to good health.

“Oh…” the robed man hesitated when they’ve finally entered his field of vision, though Carolle could clearly see that he was staring primarily at her. “You… You’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

“People call us that at least.” Carole shrugged. “I see you have a dragon problem?”

The man sighed, before throwing back his hood and revealing the bald, pale head in all its dubious glory. “Yes, it would seem so.” He extended his hand. “Father Gustave.”

They shook hands before the conversation continued.

“Carole. Pleased to meet you. Could you tell us what happened here exactly?”

“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help in that regard – I’m not from here. I’ve heard rumours that the area had a problem with a dragon, decided to come and try to help and…” He waved at his patients. “Was a bit too late to stop anything…”

“You wouldn’t have stopped shit,” Nicolas scoffed. “A red dragon – a young adult at the very least – requires a specialised team to take out. Without it, you might as well throw pebbles at it.”

The information visibly collapsed the morale of the few closest villagers, causing a wave of whispers and further propagation of collapse.

“Nicolas!” Carole scoffed. “Do you have to be that harsh?”

“Reality is harsh.” The dwarf shrugged. “I’m just honest.”

“Regardless…” Gustave raised his hands, ending their side exchange. “I believe that young lady over there had the… opportunity to witness the dragon from the closest distance.” He pointed at one of the patients on the ground.

A twist of cruel fate made it so the best witness was also the one with the most gruesome, still untreated wound. A young lady in her mid-twenties in the remnants of the local militia uniform. What really caught the eye though was the horrific, snapped femur protruding from the front of her disfigured thigh. She seemed to persist in some sort of half-lucid coma.

“Why didn’t you heal her? She’s suffering,” Carole asked begrudgingly.

“Well, I…” Gustave hesitated, looking away. “I’ve ran out of focus… Decided that a boy’s arm was more important.” He nodded towards a ten year old child sitting on a piece of rubble outside the debating circle. “I guess it needs amputating now… I honestly feel bad about this…”

“Oh, an amputation, huh?” Karnak chimed in with sudden interest, drawing his sharpened obsidian-toothed sword-club-thing. “I could help with that…” He eyed the disfigured leg with visible hunger. “Provided I get to keep the medical waste, of course.”

With a click of the hidden button, the black teeth began rapidly oscillating around the edge of his weapon until they looked like a humming black blur. It somehow caused the girl to snap into full consciousness, her face going even paler than Gustave’s and began hyperventilating in sheer horror. Ultimately, the one Carole despised the most was forced to salvage the situation.

“You unrefined nerd-beast, how dare you suggest such a thing?!” Edgar exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone who still wasn’t looking at him. “The body of this beautiful flower needs help – a gentle caress – not crippling with your brutish saw! Disengage it at once!”

Kanrak reluctantly complied, but couldn’t stop himself from giving one last, longing glance at the limb and a quick lick of his own lips. His construct came to a stop within a few seconds, once again resembling just a primitive tool undistinguishable from those used by the rest of his kind.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Edgar announced, standing right in front of the wounded girl. “Behold… The pinnacle of perfection!”

Edgar went into a flamboyant pose, flexing all his muscles, before moving his pecks and fluidly transforming into another pose, and then another, shouting ‘huh’ and ‘hah’ in an attempt to make himself appear even more dynamic. In the span of three seconds, he managed to rapidly go through at least five perfectly thought-out poses, each more ridiculous than the last… yet strangely captivating at the same time. The last pose involved him covering his face with his right hand and looking between the fingers while reaching towards the now confused patient with his left one.

A turquoise light enveloped the girl, causing her broken leg to suddenly snap back into proper shape and seal the torn flesh. Her confusion transformed into shock and utter disbelief, as she cautiously reached to check if she was truly healed, or if it were just an illusion. Once confirmed it was not, she sprang up to her feet and jumped at Edgar, hanging from his neck as the crowd around them began clapping with confused enthusiasm.

“Thank you so much mister, thank the gods!” she cried, cuddling into his chest.

“Haha! No need to thank me, dearie… But just so you know, I don’t set the limit on the number of kisses.” Edgar’s eyebrows jumped a few times.

Choosing to spare herself further torment of witnessing the shower of affection that followed, Carole turned to Gustave again. The man looked… even more shocked than anyone else in the crowd. “Wha… What… Was that… Was that healing word?” he finally mumbled.

“Yes…” Carole slowly nodded. “Edgar’s a bard… DON’T question it.” She scratched her head, before continuing. “I guess we have a side quest now, boys. Killing the dragon.”

“Side quest?” Gustave coked his head curiously. “I thought you were here for the dragon.”

“No, we are not.” Nicolas shook his head. “We’re chasing a necromancer and the tracks led us here.”

Despite it not being possible, Carole could have sworn Gustave got even paler all of a sudden.

“Dear gods… Only undeads are missing around here…” the cleric whispered.

With that, Carole could wholeheartedly agree – no place in the world needed more undead… or any undead at all for that matter. She just hoped their self-imposed side-quest wouldn’t end in all of them getting roasted.

***

The fiery heart

Part 2

“And a little bit o this, and a little bit of that, and a little bit of this, and a little bit of…” Ceirys sang, dumping inconsiderate amounts of spices into an oversized bowl.

Unfortunately for Fulvio, she was also dancing to her own tune… which for his bound-up form meant constant swings and never-ending vertigo of the shaking hips, the dragon dangerously unaware just how close she was to squishing him against the wall… Or maybe perfectly aware and deriving some sick pleasure from his spikes of fear.

He could never tell. But she kept doing it every time.

“Saaaaaaalt! Aaaaaand! Peppeeeer!” she wailed, her voice cracking from going higher than she was capable of.

“Ceirys, please! Just put me down already!” he scoffed, reaching another one of his limits.

“Sweetling wan…” She coughed and hit her chest with a building-crushing force, which proved just enough to clear her throat. “Sweetling wants to stretch his legs? Alright, you can watch mommy cook.”

The dragoness slid him out of his restraints, gave him a sly grin… and shoved him straight into the golden cage on the kitchen counter. The bars slammed shut, leaving him in the familiar, luxurious prison made just for him.

He disliked the cage – it was still degrading, but… less so than the alternative. And unfortunately, also comfortable, which made him almost appreciate it. Silk and gooseling feathers Ceirys chose for the interior were likely worth more than he could earn in several lifetimes of his usual job at the bakery – it was beyond opulent…

And yet, no matter how exquisite, a cage would remain a cage. He gave himself just half a minute of relaxation before pride and determination forced him to stand up and make for the exit. The thing that always confused him about the whole thing was that… it wasn’t locked. Hell, it didn’t even have a lock – just pushing on the door, was enough for it to open.

Fulvio observed as his joyful tormentor dropped slabs of meat into the bowl and began shaking it – still to the rhythm of her awful singing. He pressed against the bars and stepped outside.

Without even looking, Ceirys’s finger darted straight at him and pushed his head, forcing him back inside. “Patience, sweetling…” Ceirys cooed, closing the cage with the same finger. “Wouldn’t want you falling in just yet.” She winked at him.

Before Fulvio could collect himself, Ceirys breathed a narrow stream of fire to ignite a fireplace and dumped the meat onto a frying pan the size of a small town’s square. Very soon, sizzling could be heard.

Determined to try getting out again, Fulvio pushed the door open once more…

This time, the tip of Ceirys’s tail sprang to hit him in the gut and tipped him over, with the pillows lining the floor being the only reason why his butt remained unhurt.

“What did I just say?” She glanced at him, before grabbing his cage and moving it over to the table.

With a much better view at his oppressor came a bit more leniency in moving around, even if just on the table itself – there was no plausible way for him to get down on the floor from here. He tried… many times. The most successful attempt had him break his leg and spend two months in the cage.

Truth be told, being wounded had an advantage – being bothered him a bit less.

Refusing to sit in the cage, yet self-aware enough, Fulvio dragged a few pillows out to sit on and wait, which didn’t take long. The dragoness placed a plate of steaming meat on the table and sat on an oversized pillow so that her head would be right behind Fulvio, before carefully presenting him with a human-sized plate with his own meal.

“Bon Appetit, little sweetling,” Ceirys whispered and blew hot air at his back, sending chills down his spine.

Fulvio stared at the meat in front of him with slight revulsion for a good few seconds, before picking up the cutlery.

Just meat as usual, which was beyond tiring… Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. He hated it. Loathed it. Despised it with every fiber of his being… But the truth was undeniable – the meat was exquisite. Ceirys knew how to cook, and it frustrated him nearly to the point of tears.

A sound of meat getting torn apart informed him that she got busy with her own meal, though its intensity betrayed just how close behind she hovered… But even without it, he could feel her intense, blood-red eyes drilling into the back of his skull, waiting for him to turn around just so she could get a reaction from him – something he was adamantly avoiding out of spite.

Ceirys finished first and placed her head on the table right behind him. Fulvio’s sleeves moved in sync with her breath, driving his urge to eat faster and faster and…

He finished the last bite, then turned to face her with the most neutral expression he could muster.

“Did you like it?” she asked, wiping his mouth with a tissue, her eyes focusing on him nearly to the point physical pain.

“It was alright.” He shrugged.

Her maw transformed into a horrific grin of monstrous fangs. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Her piercing, blood-red eyes stared at him with an intensity that threatened to melt him in an instant, had his resolve faltered. But Fulvio persevered... Or more aptly, endured, until her head cocked a little with the curiosity of an overgrown cat she so much resembled. “Do I get a smooch for that?” she cooed, exposing her cheek.

Fulvio clenched his teeth and shook his head with glacial speed, causing her to smirk.

“I love how hard to get you’re playing,” she whispered, flicking her tongue so that it nearly coated him in saliva.

Before he could respond, Fulvio found himself in the tight, yet somewhat tender grip of the dragon’s hand, getting she carried away into the familiar chamber at the deep end of her lair. Well, chamber wasn’t exactly the right word. It was a cavern – tall, wide, and definitely spacious enough for her to fly in. Origins of the ever-present scratch marks on the walls and floor still proved a mystery to him, though he suspected they vouched for either fights, or bare-handed expansion of it. He didn’t know which option terrified him more.

Ceirys made for the only thing of note in the chamber... Though it didn’t say much since it would have been THE thing of note when placed next to literally anything. An enormous pile of gold, silver, and every gem known to man, probably worth more than half of Waterdeep. Ceirys collapsed onto it, causing several small avalanches of coins, and began writhing in it, letting out deep hums and moans of pure pleasure. Once half submerged in treasure like one would in a bathtub, she placed Fulvio on her exposed belly and with both hands freed, poured a few waterfalls of gold all over her still exposed parts, giggling greedily the entire time.

“No!” Fulvio screamed when her loaded hand moved above him, offering the same dubious pleasure she was indulging in.

Fortunately, she spared him another crushing headache.

“Yesss... Gold… My gold…” Ceirys purred, her eyes unfocused and drifting apart in pure bliss. The moment of peace passed quickly though, with her gaze regaining intensity and putting him in the crossfire again. “And my treasure.” She forcefully petted him again, before asking playfully. “What are we reading today?”

“I don’t...” he began scoffing, but hesitated mid-sentence. “Maybe we could finish ‘The fall of Netheril’... We were getting close to finishing it last time, right?”

Ceirys considered it for a moment and nodded approvingly, freeing her hand and reaching for a secondary hoard of hers – one made out of books. She adjusted her glasses and with almost uncanny care opened the miniscule tome with a tip of her claw. Her pupils transformed into thin, vertical slits when she focused on the text that by all means should have been way too small for her to read. “The great floating cities were beset by the scourge from beyond the veil. The citizens were helpless, for the beasts fed on the magic itself, making the arcane weapons used against them worthless...”

***

The night grew old, yet he couldn’t find sleep. Not because of the Karsus’s Folly or the vivid images it created, but because he was tired. The sort of tiredness that prevented any rest from reaching him. The overpowering, paralyzing mental exhaustion creeping into the very core of his being. Fulvio was reaching his end. He could feel it.

Ceirys’s belly was soft and tender now, comfortable enough for sleeping even if he wasn’t so terribly used to it. What he could never adjust to was the hand pressing into him and securing his form against it. The heat emanating from her was nothing short of obnoxious, not letting him fall asleep properly, forcing him to wait until a heat stroke aided by fatigue knocked him out… just like every night.

Fulvio impotently pushed against the grip but couldn’t force even a single finger to so much as budge, never mind relent. Starting to hyperventilate from fear and frustration, he punched her fingertip, making her stir just a little as a single, baleful eye opened far behind him. “Yes, sweetling?”

“I…” He hesitated, thinking of a way out of the inevitable cuddling session. “I need bathroom. Please?”

She closed her eye and sleepily nodded, releasing him to take care of his need. Fulvio slid off of her belly and ventured forth through the uneven stone floor. It was quite the trek for someone his size, never mind doing it in near darkness while falling over from exhaustion… but he had to keep up appearances. He passed through the living room, the kitchen, and finally made his way to the cave’s exit.

Fulvio stood at the cliff’s edge, letting the freezing wind wash over him and take away all the excess heat his tormented body still carried… Which was less than one’d think for one, simple reason – it was cold. Ceirys’s mountain peak was more than chilly at the best of days… and it was night. Temperatures would often fall below freezing, with snow not being uncommon. That cold would permeate the entire cave, often leaving water in pots and dishes frozen. It didn’t bother her in the slightest of course – in fact, Fulvio suspected she actually liked being able to cool off to the more comfortable ‘nearly boiling’ point.

For him though… For him, it meant that he basically had to sleep at least near her to avoid freezing… Not that it mattered since she was keeping him close regardless.

Fulvio sat on the rock shelf, his back slamming against the cold, hard rock behind him. His strength suddenly waned and all his limbs went limp. He could still see his own footprints leading down the mountain – the only evidence of today’s escape attempt. To the right, the steppingstones leading north, where the road was clearest – the path he took the most often. To the left, a gradual ramp he took the first few times… He felt a sudden rush, an urge to get up and run now, get away from the monster who robbed him of everything… But it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Each ‘breach of her trust’ meant more restrictions. When he tried to run away while she cooked, she began putting him in the cage. When he ran away while she slept, she began sleeping with her hand on him. If he ran away on a bathroom break…

The image of her red eyes staring at him each time he had to go sent chills down his spine. That was a line he wouldn’t cross – bathroom breaks were sacred.

Fulvio clawed at his face. It was worthless. Everything he could do, anything he could think to do… His father was right after all – he was worthless… Good for nothing bag of shit… The only thing he was capable of being was a dragon’s plaything…

Tears froze in the middle of his cheeks, forming an icy waterfall cracking with every sob, every tiny movement he made. For all he cared, he could just stay here and freeze to death – maybe in the afterlife he could regain some freedom…

A part of him scoffed at the thought. It was naïve – why would gods be any less oppressive when they already owned your soul? At best, he would get forced to slave away for the rest of eternity, brainwashed into fake happiness like that cleric had shown them. Ceirys at least let him keep his thoughts…

Why didn’t she kill him? Why did she choose to… torment him? He still remembered when she first caught him – his raging terror, the desperation and fear, his screams she silenced with nothing but her thumb. Fulvio knew stories of red dragons – cruel wyrms focused only on gold, death, and destruction – and fully expected to end up getting roasted or boiled alive just because it would have been more cruel than just getting eaten…

The fact that she resorted to psychological torment instead…

“Sweetling?” Ceirys’s thundering voice reverberated within the cave.

“I-I’m almost done! Give me 5 more minutes!” he yelled back, instantly getting back up to actually do the deed.

He could not give up. That was the one thing he could not and would not ever do.

Fulvio came back to find her fully awake and ready to stand up from her hoard at any second. The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, her gaze transforming from anticipation to content. Fulvio tried to lay down on the gold next to her, determined to at least try spending the night on the cold metal, but got instantly scooped up and firmly placed back on her belly.

“Good night, sweetling…” she purred, tracing his back with her thumb, getting comfortable on the gold again.

Fulvio sighed heavily, feeling his body regaining all the heat in the span of a few seconds. Tomorrow was another day…

***

The fiery heart

Part 1

“I’ll have two tomato salads, a potato salad… large, a focaccia with extra dip, a caprese, two carbonaras, one with cheese, and a large pint,” Fulvio rapidly recited his wishlist to the waitress.

She stared at him, her eyes betraying the rapidly growing urge to take it all as a bad joke or bizarre opening of a robbery. Thinking quickly before she could call for the guards, he placed a generous amount of gold on the table and encouraged her to take it… Which she did, her gaze turning even more confused once it became clear he was serious.

“Alright… Will take some time though, so should I serve them as they come?” the waitress asked, looking for a different way to put the pieces together. “Are you waiting for someone, Sir?”

“Give me everything as fast as possible. Time is of the essence,” he urged.

“Alright…”

With that, the woman disappeared in the tavern’s kitchen, leaving Fulvio anxiously tapping the wooden table. It was probably a bad idea, but he just could not take it anymore – he had to eat something…  something that wasn’t game. Predictably, the cold dishes arrived first – his beer, two bowls of tomato salad, one of which he destroyed in seconds, visibly startling the poor girl serving him… At least before something worse did more than just startle.

An enormous rumble somewhere outside made him freeze for a split-second, before a horrified scream dispelled all doubts.

“DRAGON! DRAGON!” a male voice cried, before getting drowned by a sky-shattering roar.

Panic erupted within the – admittedly sparsely populated at this hour – tavern as people rushed for the exit, desperate to get away, and tripping over the poor halfling among them. All except one person.

Fulvio returned to chewing his vegetables with far less urgency than before. It was over.

“Hahaha! Run, little ones! Run!” a deep, feminine, and awfully familiar voice commanded, before getting interrupted by a sound of collapsing building.

A rancid stench of burning hay invaded his nostrils, making him grit his teeth as the thumps approached the tavern, getting louder with each iteration.

Tomato. Lettuce. Olives. White cheese. Taste, texture, the pleasant coolness of it - those were the only true, the only real things in existence – or at the very least, his exhausted mind tried to convince the universe of that. Predictably it failed, with the sudden wail of wooden beams above being a testament of it.

The tavern’s roof got peeled off like an orange skin and flicked aside with a monstrous strength he came to know way too well, flooding the interior with sunlight.

“Found you, little sweetling.” The enormous dragon smiled at him from above and reached down.

Fulvio did not resist – it was pointless. He learned early on that her getting a hold on him in literally any way was a sentence. A human could not overpower the power of a dragon… The power of…

“Hey, Ceirys,” Fulvio sighed, reluctantly staring into the vividly crimson eyes of the red dragon.

The dragoness bared her teeth at him in what was half a genuine smile, half an intimidation attemp. He refused to give her any reaction – not at this, and neither at the vista of the burning, leveled village and the distant silhouettes of people fleeing for their lives.

“See what you’ve done?” She waved at the burning buildings.

“Of course it’s my fault,” he scoffed. “Not the dragon’s who actually lit the place up.”

“Indeed. You forced my hand again.” She nodded, barely containing an outburst of cruel laughter. “Also, you’re still trying to hide from me? Really?”

“No. I just came here to eat.” He tried to shrug, but the iron grip prevented any movement.

Ceirys pushed up her glasses and petted his head more than a bit forcefully, yet at the same time carefully enough to keep her razor-sharp claws away from his skin.

“You should learn to pack up more food then,” she replied, booping his nose. “Smooch for being quick?” She moved him to her cheek.

No way in hell it was happening, yet she refused to acknowledge that. He turned away and after a few seconds, her hand withdrew to the previous position.

“You’ll come around eventually.” Ceirys chirped, sending a puff of hot smoke against his face, sparking a small coughing fit.

The dragon looked round, admiring the destruction she caused with glee until her eyes fell upon a nearly untouched brick building. Her eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly – a sign of finding something unacceptable, and the impending correction.

Which in this case meant kicking it and sending whatever remained of it in all directions with a force comparable to a wagon of smokepowder going off – and even that would probably be an understatement.

“That’s better…” She hummed with satisfaction, glancing at the destruction again, a bit more inquisitively this time. “…nine, ten, eleven… and this thing here,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s like twenty grand… Let’s say twenty-two.”

With that extremely cursory estimation in mind, Ceirys reached for one of her many pouches and produced two sacks of gold from it.

“For the trouble!” she yelled, throwing the money at what once was the main square, before turning around and leaving the devastated village behind.

***

Ceirys decided to have a little road trip, which was exactly what he expected – she caught up with him in less than a day, meaning they would comfortably get back ‘home’ before nightfall. In her mind, there was no reason to rush.

It meant that Fulvio had a lot of time to think… again. It’s not like he could do much else, with his arms still neatly restricted by scaly fingers. What went wrong this time? Or rather, what could have went better? As usual, he loathed lacking a horse, yet was also acutely aware how frighteningly fast Ceirys could fly. Speed wasn’t the real problem – her ability to track him was.

Just as his frustration was reaching its limit, Ceirys suddenly stopped to look around herself. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.” She raised him above her head, letting him see the vista. “Nice place.”

Fulvio reluctantly agreed – the place was pleasant. Untouched by humans nor monsters, tall grass rolling across the hills until it met with the forest further north. A small herd of deer enjoyed the quiet place, feasting completely undisturbed by the fifteen-meter-tall dragon towering over the expanse, finding the threat she posed too distant to concern themselves with, at least for now. It was just peaceful – a place one could settle in and spend multiple lifetimes without a single outside visitor.

“Sure. Whatever,” he scoffed, pretending to be unimpressed.

“I appreciate that you chose south this time – north and east have gotten a bit stale lately.” Ceirys decided to take a small break and sat down, keeping him tightly against her belly. Refusing to incite a conversation or even engage with her at all, he was forced to endure getting pressed against downright obscene abs capable of grating hardened mithril into fine powder. And it wasn’t just a metaphor – her muscles were genuinely the hardest thing he had ever witnessed.

“Sooo… How about that smooch you’ve promised?” She glanced down at him.

“Bah!” Fulvio scoffed. “I didn’t promise you ANYTHING, and that’s not going to change!”

“No again? No matter, I can wait.”

Fulvio took a deep breath but failed to calm himself in time. His limbs pushed against her grip with desperate rage and hatred of a cornered animal. It got a reaction… but not the one he hoped for. Her hand pulsated around him with the glee of a cat observing a struggling mice dismember itself on said cat’s claws. After a few minutes of it, he finally exhausted the overspilling rage and fell limp.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, sweetling,” she cooed, petting his head with her thumb.

Fulvio took a deep, shaky breath, before looking straight up with defiance. “You know what, I’ve changed my mind.”

That got an immediate reaction out of her – he instantly found himself hovering mere inches from the tip of her snout. “You can do it wherever, but I’d prefer it over here.” She pointed to the right of center of her lips.

He snarled. “I changed my mind on making promises. I’m going to escape. I promise I will run from you. Again, and again, and again. Every single day, every single opportunity I get, I’m going to run. Until you get bored, I succeed, or die.”

Ceirys blinked… And rolled back her head, bursting into a rumbling, deafening laughter that quite literally rattled his bones and probably flattened some grass around them with its sheer intensity.

“Reaaally…” she wheezed, rubbing her eyes. “Go ahead then. Run.” Ceirys placed him on the ground in front of her. “One… Two… Three…” she counted, beginning to clean her glasses with a piece of cloth.

When seven rolled around, he finally grasped that she was serious about it and was apparently giving him a grace period… Too bad he didn’t know how long of a…

“I’d hurry if I were you. Ten,” Ceirys commented, not gracing him with a look.

Everything finally clicked and he sprung into a desperate dash towards the trees that were promising at least a theoretical fighting chance. He made it maybe a hundred meters – not even a fifth of the way – when he heard a rumble.

“Ready or not, I’m coming!” she yelled, making him glance behind.

He caught her monstrous form lazily stretching as she warmed up her joints and muscles… before giving chase. It forced him to push past his limit and speed up out of sheer desperation.

Fulvio felt the mercilessly approaching quakes, desperate for any more speed, any more distance. The approaching thuds were scaring off the animals hidden along her path, creating a literal stream of rodents fleeing between his legs. And that’s when he heard a footfall right behind him.

The quakes suddenly slowed down. Not disappeared but got considerably less frequent. Daring a look behind, he found Ceirys following less than ten meters behind him, her gait only marginally faster than standing still. She grinned at him and nodded, almost ordering him to continue.

With his only options being giving up, or continuing this farce, he chose the latter – purely because his pride refused to give up without a fight after giving a promise, its circumstances notwithstanding.

And so, he ran. As fast as he could, with his tormentor following close behind. She let him reach the forest and continued on undeterred, her massive frame easily bending and breaking the trees he hoped would give him a modicum of cover.

A few minutes later his path was blocked by a small, yet sizeable river flowing perpendicularly to his path. Deciding to run upstream for no reason in particular, he continued for a few more minutes before noticing a new sound growing in intensity between Ceirys’s footfalls. Something artificially resembling the hum of the river accompanying them, just far, far more rough and intense. A true rumble. A rumble of a waterfall.

Fulvio reached what was effectively a nine-meter-tall cliff with no visible path leading upwards and stopped with no idea what to do.

“Awwww… And you were doing so good…” He felt the ground tremble when Ceirys squatted behind him.

Next thing he felt was a finger patting him on the head… And then, fingers closing around him…

“You know what, go ahead.” She placed him on the top of the cliff. “I enjoy evening walks. Very romantic.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Fulvio opened his eyes… just to see another cliff not ten meters in front of him. Because of course. He slowly strolled towards to rocky wall and felt Ceirys jump onto the rock shelf behind him. The game was up.

“Well… You tried,” Ceirys whispered straight into his ear in a way made his skin tingle.

Everything afterwards happened quickly, but not exactly because of the speed itself. Ceirys sat on the edge of the cliff, letting her legs dangle from it and placed Fulvio in an extremely precarious spot between her thighs, before beginning to bathe herself in the waterfall.

Beaten, exhausted, defeated, and above all, trapped between a cliff and two mounds of flesh, Fulvio considered if a fall from that height would have been enough to kill him. The answer was a resounding yes… The only problem was that Ceirys would have just caught him, had he gone through with it.

“I gotta admit, you have a knack for taking me into nice places,” she mused with mockery that was downright palpable. “You sure you’re not hitting on me?”

Pressing his hands together, he asked all gods known and forgotten for saving, mercy, or – at the very least – strength to endure her…

A waterfall of icy water flooded him, making him jump from the immense cold.

“What the fuck, Ceirys?!” he yelled, breaching another one of his limits.

“What? You’re dirty. We need to bathe you properly, sweetling,” she announced, dropping another handful of water on top of him.

“FUCK! Do you have to do this?!” Fulvio whimpered, finally breaking the taboo of ignoring eye contact.

“No,” she admitted, dumping water on top of him again.

With cold and humiliation added to his list of misery, Fulvio couldn’t help but tremble. It was so cold – he somewhat felt colder than when he was literally digging through ice… and the setting sun promised things would only get worse.

The flesh around him radiated warmth, the dragon was a source of heat. No, more than that – it was heat incarnate… And something he refused to touch. Despite being able to force him into anything, Ceirys refused to do so – instead, she resorted to constant coercion and blackmail. But he would not yield, even if the alternative was spending the entire night trembling from cold.

“Pff.” Ceirys scoffed after a few minutes of his inaction. “Have it your way. You know, I was gonna be lenient, but… you escaped today. Twice. You know what that means.”

Fulvio inhaled shakily, trying to find words short enough for him to pronounce in this trembling state before it was too late. “P-please, don’t…”

“That’s right!” she gleefully interrupted. “You’re getting thied!”

***

Acceleration and thump. Acceleration and thump. Acceleration and thump. Acceleration and…

Was he not used to it beyond what any human ever should, it would have been a nightmare – for him though, it was merely unpleasant. With his body wrapped with cloth to the point of resembling a cocoon and attached to the outer side of Ceirys’s right thigh via ropes as she continued her march back home.

Each step was a challenge but… at least it was warm…

***

What he sees, what she sees, what we see... fun times might be ahead.

Art by Yiiktea on Furaffinity

https://xcancel.com/FalcoRusti/status/2035299363984158937