Dragon Harem Quest - Or: Saying You Were Gay Wasn't The Conversation-Ender You Hoped For

You look up at them both like they've grown extra heads. " 'Bed'? What is this 'bed' business? No, I will stay the night right here with all of my new treasure!"

Lyrros glances at you. Even in your current state you can see how the thought crosses his mind, that brief quizzical flash answered with 'oh yes dragons do sleep on gold don't they'. He turns instead to Issachar. "Then follow me, brave adventurer, and I will show you to your quarters."

And with that he swishes his cape around him once more and flounces his way up the stairs. Honestly you can't not fuck him. But you're feeling sleepy at present and you only just met him and Issachar needs to sleep too so you should really wait a bit longer before asking, no matter how romantic it would be to lay with him in the throes of passion on all your brand new gold, your conquest making a bed for your conquest-

You really need some sleep you are losing inhibitions fast. You blame Belial, that seems about right. You find yourself alone at last, Issachar clearly having said goodnight to you and left while your attention was elsewhere, so you finally extricate yourself from the rubble of Lyrros' exquisitely-padded sarcophagus-bed and make your own. You do a circuit of the secret crypt, crawling on your belly, both arms splayed out wide to sweep it all into an even bigger pile, tail trailing behind you to catch the straggling coins. Once you have it all nice and collected in a larger pile at the back of the room you take a running start and dive into the side of it, arms extended like an arrow. Shink goes the mound of coins over your scales as you bury yourself halfway in and burrow the rest of the way, squirming under until only the tip of your snout and tail are peeking out either end. The weight of wealth is warmer and more comforting than any blanket made by mortal hands, and with a shamelessly contented sigh you find yourself falling asleep almost immediately.

Your sleep is so deep and restful that you don't even see Belial, if his powers stretch that far. You awaken feeling completely refreshed, not so much as a twinge left anywhere in your body. You stretch out with a happy yawn, straining every muscle as a few little waterfalls of coins roll off your back and limbs.

And see a ghost standing over you.

"WAH"

You spring up from the pile, coin jingling and rattling as it scatters in all directions. Your wings flap madly, leaving you to lurch awkwardly back and land flat on your ass as the ghost pursues. It's the Lord Éamon you saw in the dining room, it has to be, his features still obscured by grave-fog but you swear he's more defined now, his eyes blazing with unearthly light as-

"Begone, spectre!" Lyrros appears out of nowhere beside you, banishing the ghost with a swipe of his cape. The roiling shadow at the hem blasts it apart, turning it to little more than mist that burns away in the candlelight or fades into the floor. You freeze, a bit in surprise, but mostly in overwhelming shame that a ghost was enough to frighten- startle, startle you, they're completely different things.

"My apologies. The spirits of the house can get... sassy." He extends one gloved hand down to you. "Might you accompany me to the dining room? Your companion awaits us there."

'Do me right here on the money', the part of your brain Belial woke up says. "That sounds great," you say out loud, taking the offered hand. You weigh plenty even in bipedal form thanks to all the armoured scales but he hoists you up as easily as anything - like you needed any reminder of Lyrros' impossible strength. He leads the way up the stairs and you follow, a part of you thankful for the cape because otherwise it would be very distracting to walk behind him. The mansion halls have changed only subtly with the dawn, barely any natural light managing to claw its way inside at the best of times, but something about Lyrros' presence does nudge the atmospheric dial somewhat. It's as if there's an aura of safety around him, a little bubble of predator's deterrent that makes the lesser ghosts and ghouls of the cursed estate know better than to show their faces.

You arrive to find Issachar not in the dining room itself, but in an adjoining room you didn't notice before. The sounds of cooking filter through the ajar door, and as if by magic he immediately sticks his head through to greet you.

"Good morning!" he says. "I think the mansion unlocked more doors once we defeated Lyrros - the pantry's still stocked. There's another key in there too but I think we're all good for puzzles at the moment."

"A wise decision," you reply.

All three of you turn to look at Lord Éamon's plate at the head of the table, leftover from the solved puzzle and still as fresh as it was last night. All three of you turn back and silently agree to ignore it.

"Anyway, I was just going to fix myself something but there's time to add more if you'd like anything," he adds. "Eldingar?"

"Gods yes I'm starving, give me everything you've got."

He just looks at you. Two and a half seconds later the key clunks home in the mental lock.

"... 'please'," you add sheepishly.

"Of course! And you, Lyrros? Do you uh..." everyone in the room automatically completes that to 'eat food' in their heads but Issachar decides to be more diplomatic out loud "... have any dietary requirements?"

"I have no need for sustenance." Lyrros pulls a chair out from the table and takes a seat with a buttery-smooth half-pirouette, crossing one leg over the other and slouching artfully with barely an inch of his back actually resting on the chair back. "The curse sustains me, as it has already for a hundred long years in solitude. The night itself is my bread and wine."

"Alllright, just us then." Issachar ducks back into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. For a time the only sound is the muted sizzling that manages to filter through the cracks. Lyrros just stares off meaningfully into the middle distance, you gratefully take the opportunity to admire him, and he gratefully takes the opportunity to be admired. Symbiosis in action.

You almost don't notice the time fly by before Issachar returns with a pair of sumptuous breakfast plates, sending yours sliding down the table towards you with an expert flick of his wrist before sitting down with his own. Yours looks like it was made with an entire shelf from the Douglas pantry and it's hard to put your gratitude into words. Your tongue practically unspools from your jaws, salivating madly at the sight of so much meat - primarily pork, you realise to the taste - and some egg for good measure. You dig in immediately, devouring the cooked offering with all the terrible hunger and fury that a dragon possesses, only narrowly keeping yourself from licking the plate clean. You glance up at Issachar's progress on the breakfast front, and glance again at what's on his plate. He's kept it light and sweet, just a thick, fluffy piece of egg-bread with honey and strawberries. Carnivore that you are, you're still filled with an indescribable stomach-lust at the sight of it.

"Not a 'meat in the morning' kind of person?" you ask.

"Mm. It was primarily the pork kept in breakfast-ready cuts and the rest probably wasn't lawful either so I just didn't bother. I trust you like it though?"

"Of course, but... why not the pork?" You pause, brow ridges furrowing slightly. "Another religious thing?"

"Because pigs are omnivorous scavengers and can easily become carriers for disease by eating carrion or refuse, and where I come from the ecosystem wasn't conducive to raising them in bulk to begin with." He glances up at you with a slight smile, another piece of bread on his fork. "So yes, religious reasons."

"Ah." You awkwardly rake at the scales behind your ear with your talons for lack of anything else to do.

"No need to get all sheepish over asking questions," he chuckles.

"I am not 'sheepish'!" you protest. He grins wider, but lets you off the hook. You grumble vaguely under your breath and take a few more picks at your greatly diminished breakfast plate, glancing over at Lyrros as you do so. Just in time to catch him staring longingly at your plate. He snaps his head around and stares at something else the moment he realises you've caught him looking.

"... do you want s-"

"Hm? What?" he answers immediately. "No I am afraid I must decline, this cursed body of mine rejects all forms of nourishment but the most wicked and vile."

Gods he's so fucking dreamy. His style, his grace, his bearing, everything about it is just flawless. You catch Issachar shooting the two of you a dubious look. You glare at him until he goes back to his dumb egg-bread, concealing a smile.

"Tell me more about this curse," you say, eager to move the conversation along. "The puzzles involved the Douglas family a lot but we didn't see any trace of you while getting in. Why were you the final opponent?"

"I was not born like this, of course." Lyrros swings around in his seat to face you, cape billowing behind him as he drapes one toned arm over the back of the chair and rests the other on the table. "I was but a humble travelling musician of phenomenal skill and class, without a home or a country, making my way in the world on the quality of my art. I drifted between patrons as their tastes changed and they grew tired of my work, when who should I find but an emissary from this estate, welcoming me here with promises of riches and comfort? Little did I know that it was an exquisitely-baited trap."

He lifts his hand, drawing back the curtain of his raven-black hair to expose the crook of his neck. There you spy a bite-mark, two deep needle-like punctures surrounded by lesser but still-bestial fang-marks. It's so deeply scarred it's as if the wound were salted, the tissue twisted and blackened.

"He drained me dry and poured his own tainted blood in through the wound to replace what he had drunk," Lyrros goes on. "Maddened by whatever had first turned him into the monster he was and killed the rest of his family he turned me into the likes of him, a creature of shadow living an immortal half-life. His brand-new 'son'. He knew that in my transformed state I would be wholly dependant upon him, and subservient to his will."

"But then what happened?" you ask, on the edge of your seat. "How did you escape?"

Lyrros smiles, baring his fangs. "He sorely underestimated my ability to whip up a mob. If only he were more familiar with my body of work." He lets his hair fall back over the bite mark, drumming his gloved claws on the tabletop to emphasise the points in his story. "I feigned submission until he permitted me to venture beyond the castle grounds and journeyed far and wide, visiting every town and village in the area to tell them the truth of what Lord Éamon was. I found my transformation had only heightened by natural abilities, and soon enough I had a veritable army of enraged peasants at my beck and call - torches, pitchforks, true classic material. Together we stormed the gates and butchered my captor's lesser familiars by the score, and I left him nailed to the desk with a sword in his study while the mob burned his ancient home down around him."

"But then how are we here?" you ask. "Obviously the curse reasserted itself somehow."

"Indeed," Lyrros says solemnly. "Not a moment after the victorious mob crossed the threshold to return to their homes and families, the final stage of the curse took hold. The mansion rebuilt itself from little more than cinders as pristine as the day it was constructed. I realised then that the curse that had initially claimed Éamon was still alive - and perhaps so was he, in some diminished and tortured state - and I lacked the means to break it for good. It was then that I chose to consign myself to my fate as the mansion's prisoner and warden, its unknown watchman at the border between darkness and light."

He looks significantly off into the middle distance, waiting for your next interjection.

"... honestly even with the ghosts I'd still love to have this place as my lair," you admit. "It's extremely dragony."

Lyrros' lips contort like an S. "Be that as it may, for the two of you to brave the trials set before you, reach my crypt and defeat me, it must be a sign that the need for my long vigil has reached its end."

Issachar makes a dubious face around the last forkful of his breakfast. You furrow your brow, thinking through the logistics of the return trip.

"Leaving is one thing, but I can't take both of you back to the spire," you say. "It was difficult enough trying to take off and land with just Issachar, I can't imagine how I'd manage with both foreclaws full."

"Worry not," says Lyrros. "I will take the slow path to your lair - I have the means to travel quickly on my own, and there is a great deal of how this world has changed I would like to see before I make any further arrangements."

"Fair. Although that doesn't answer what we'll be doing about the gold," Issachar says. "Did you have a plan in case we really did find money or...?"

"Never you mind about the gold transport situation," you say with a dismissive wave of your claws. "I have it well under control. Lyrros, my spire is northeast of here, beyond the outskirts of Söfnun - if you don't know it then anyone you ask along the way certainly will. You may visit when you have travelled to your satisfaction. In the meantime, I should get to work shifting what I assume to be Lord Éamon's money and not yours."

"Indeed, throw it all in a wishing well if you like," he says with a dismissive wave of his claws. "Your offer is generous, and I eagerly await our next meeting in a few days' time."

You go to leave the table and return to the hidden vault when you remember your plate. "What ah... what do we do about plates and cutlery here?" you ask.

"Violently throw them at something, the time-reversal curse will put them back clean," Lyrros replies simply.

"... huh."

You experimentally smash your plate into a million pieces on the floor beside you. Just as he said the pieces reassemble themselves immediately, the now spotless porcelain dish swooping back into the cabinet you got it from.

"Saves on cleaning," you say.

"I think I'll just do mine the old-fashioned way," Issachar says.

"How pedestrian," Lyrros remarks. "Are you so beneath a little amusement that-" SMASH

Lyrros jumps as shards of porcelain spray all over his legs and boots. Issachar's perfectly-aimed plate-throw reverses before your eyes, flying across the table and slotting neatly in the cabinet on top of yours.

"You're right," he says. "That is fun."

Lyrros whirls his cape around himself and sweeps away in a dignified fashion. You make plans to meet Issachar in the courtyard outside and go your separate ways, he to busy himself for a little while, you to handle the gold. You're scrubbing your hands together in glee as you descend the stairs again, and you're certain your eyes are literally glowing as you lay them upon the massed pile of wealth you made last night. You're still twiddling your talons as you round the broken sarcophagus and advance upon it like a gazelle with its leg broken, unable to keep yourself from drooling.

It takes you a long time to handle the situation, longer still to make it back out to the courtyard. You carefully sidle through the double doors and balloon out into your quadrupedal true form the instant you have the clearance for it, lumbering along the too-small footpath towards where Issachar and Lyrros await you.

"Where's the gold?" the former asks.

"I handled it," you reply. "Lyrros, you're sure you can navigate well enough on your own?"

"As I said, I made a handsome living as a wandering musician before my curse," he replies. "Even with my local knowledge a century out of date, I would be too ashamed to show my face again were I incapable of finding my way to you."

"That's what I like to hear. Off you go then, have your fun."

Lyrros turns to leave, his entire body shifting and flowing like black smoke as he changes into something an entirely different. In the space of a single step he's become a silver-white wolf streaked with black markings, bounding for the closed gate at a full gallop. He leaps, turning briefly to mist in the moments of contact, and then he's through, scampering off down the remnants of the ancient road and lost to the shadows of the forest. Issachar scratches his jaw speculatively as he watches the strange being go.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" he says.

"Shoot," you reply, offering one foreclaw for when he's ready to set out. He wanders into your grasp almost immediately, keeping his arms high and clear as you gingerly close talons the size of entire spears around his torso.

"What's your plan?" he asks. "The way I hear it you were a lot more resistant to having others at your lair. Now here you are giving Lyrros directions unprompted. What do you want out of this particular scavenger hunt?"

"I..." You pause, halfway to takeoff, holding Issachar a short ways off the ground. You look over at him with one brilliant azure-blue eye, big as a window to a mortal like him. "I'm still figuring that out."

"Hah, fair enough." He settles back in your grip, ready for takeoff. You hesitate a few moments more, looking at him as thoughts sluggishly crawl around inside your skull. What's his plan in all this, you want to ask. He's not manipulating you as much as you expected and it's starting to make you suspicious. Could he have been lying about the initial lie to boot? You part your jaws again, thinking, if only for a moment, to just ask him. You shut them again. Wrong time, wrong place. Don't spoil a good thing. You take off and go soaring through the canopy-cover, retracing your flaps to the spire you call home.

You return to find that the contractors have been back. They put the door in for starters, a heavy steel-banded slab of a thing, wood so thick and high-grade even another dragon's fire would take a minute to cut through it. Opens inward of course, perfect for you to just semi-gently headbutt it open and wriggle your way inside. You set Issachar down outside and do just that, clomping your way into the lair to find the others right there waiting for you. Makram appears to be entertaining Jun-ho with some kind of game, magically projecting a grid of brightly-coloured gems from his lamp that Jun-ho is swapping back and forth to try and create nicely-matching rows. To your visceral horror, doing so only makes them explode. To your surprise, Jun-ho is having the time of his life all the same. Yet another sign of extreme deviancy as a dragon. Further away by the cavern wall you spy Belial sitting with Abzu, having some manner of polite conversation while the diminutive wizard examines the incubus with endless fascination.

"Ahh, there you are," Makram says, turning his cloud to face you. "How was the outing? Find any more loose boyfriends?"

"Yep. His name is Lyrros and he'll be visiting in a few days," you reply, lumbering past him and towards your hoard. He pulls a face but says no more.

"Oh! Hi Eldingar!" Jun-ho says brightly, his game forgotten, and fading, as he skips forward to keep pace with you. "You found someone else, you said? What's he like? It's been really nice getting to know everyone so apparently that map had really great taste in guys!"

"Just... one moment please Jun-ho," you say, raising a closed foreclaw to stifle a dangerous '(urp)'. "I'll be right with you all in a moment."

"Oh, alright!"

You amble ponderously onward, movements bordering on exaggeratedly slow and careful, as the others all gradually fall in behind you. You pause beside your hoard, sadly diminished as it is - but not for long. You set your stance and...

"(rhh... h-... hhhrrrr-....) hhhrrkk... HHHEEUUUUGGHHHH"

Regurgitate the new treasure straight onto the pile.

"What in Ormazd's fucking name are you doing?" Makram exclaims.

You cut off the stream of gold with a dry "hhhak" and curl your neck around to look at him. He's hardly alone in his visceral reaction - Issachar is wide-eyed, Belial just has a long-suffering look on his face and Jun-ho has both claws clapped over his snout to try and stifle his sympathetic retches. Abzu, conversely, is holding up a pair of signs; [That's incredible!] [Do you have a second stomach for gold!?]

"This is a proud draconic tradition!" you protest. "How do you think dragons got all that wealth back to their hoards before the days of these ask-no-questions Plutocracy teams willing to work for dragons with discretion?"

"(don't feel so good)" Jun-ho murmurs, somehow losing colour in his scales.

"Watch on with pride, Jun-ho! This is your-BLEEUUUUUGHHHH-legacy as a member of dragonkind!" you exclaim, another stomach upheaval sending more gold and gems tumbling out of your maw. Abzu races over fearlessly, leaning in to experimentally poke and prod at the freshly-regurgitated wealth.

[It's not even wet!] they sign. [I think it's even freshly polished!] [Your stomach is amazing!]

"Well... yes?" you say, momentarily stymied. "What use would being able to carry gold in your stomach be if it comes out all slimy and disgusting?"

[Point!] [Can I feed you stuff and record what happens when you throw it back up?]

"Maybe later." You turn back to look at the others. "The point is-"

"Hello, sir!" Ilyana says, having just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the lair right behind the other four, green cloak and leather armour and all save her bow. They all whirl to face her in surprise. She just waves at them. "Hi. Ilyana al-Mullaqati, co-own the local Adventurer's Guild." Her gaze returns to you. "So your expedition seems to be coming along fine, no problems there yet, but that's not why I came."

"Can you not see I'm-BLLEEUUUUGGGHHHHH-busy!?" you thunder, violently throwing up a spray of coins. Then, a moment later, you hack up an entire kite shield.

"... yyyyyes," she replies. Her expression lasts only a second but there's an entire treasure trove of things to read into it before she's smiling and bright again. "A certain highly distinguished and influential woman new to Söfnun came to the lodge and registered an official job request to take a message to this spire, and that I send only my best. And, well, I have a feeling that you already know this woman."

"Quite well," you say icily.

"So I came myself - call it a professional courtesy." She unclasps the satchel hanging from her hip and retrieves the small, wrapped scroll within. "I didn't read it, of course. She said it was for your eyes only."

"Of course she did." With a great deal of reluctance you force yourself to shift down to bipedal form, coughing out one last gold coin minted a hundred years ago and tossing it over your shoulder onto the pile.

"Please never do that again," Issachar says. "For all our sakes."

"(mumblegrumblecan'tevenstandsomenaturalbiologicalfunctions)" you grumble under your breath as you walk somewhat slowly over to Ilyana, taking the offered scroll and slicing through the seal with your thumb-talon. You unfurl the little thing, clasping it carefully between your clawtips, angling it to the light so you can read it.

'Eldingar



You roll it back up tightly and stare dead ahead at nothing, jaw tightly clenched.

"What is it?" Jun-ho asks.

"Mother," you reply.

"Uh-oh." He learns quick.

You glance at Ilyana. "Why are you still here?" you snap.

"To take your reply back," she replies, unoffended by your outburst. "Even if that should be that you aren't here."

Mrgh. Grrrgghhhh. Mother.

[ ] Play along. Go see her like she asked and lie through your teeth telling her courting Jun-ho - and only Jun-ho - is coming along fine.
--[ ] Actually bring Jun-ho with you.
--[ ] Spare him.
[ ] Avoid her as long as possible. Send Ilyana back with the semi-truth that you're extremely busy travelling the world with your betrothed looking for enough gold to build a hoard worthy of the two of you and conducting renovations from afar.
[ ] Tell her the truth. Go see her like she asked, but tell her that you're assembling a veritable harem of prospective boyfriends rather than just courting Jun-ho.
[ ] Invite her over. You feel confident with how things have been progressing. So confident, in fact, that you want to rub her nose into it. Show her the new digs and all the new wealth and boyfriends you've accumulated.
[ ] Tell her to fuck off already because your life is none of her business. Ohhhhh but if only that were a real option.