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

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Finding love is never easy. Finding love is especially tricky when you never leave your lair and...
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Chapter One - Confirmed Bachelor For A Century And Now It's A Problem
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    • ZerbanDaGreat

    ZerbanDaGreat

    Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S
    Pronouns
    They/them
    Finding love is never easy. Finding love is especially tricky when you never leave your lair and are in fact quite happy to spend most of your days lounging on your hoard, occasionally rolling over to scratch at a particularly troublesome itch with the tip of an enchanted sword. Finding love, quite frankly, sounds like a lot of work for a very unappealing payoff. Whenever your mother or your various aunts sent you message after message updating you on the love-lives of your two-dozen siblings and a few dozen more cousins you studiously ignored them, gave the trembling tiny heralds a good scare every so often so they'd know you weren't to be disturbed outside of dire circumstances - you know, about the usual regarding messages from your family. But now dire circumstances have indeed come.

    After a straight year of bombarding you with updates about the various eligible bachelorettes within flying distance complete with increasingly urgent nudges to at least go talk to them you're sure to hit it off with them immediately or you could always kidnap a princess my little scaly darling then you can have your pick of the lot and on and on and on finally you put your foot down. You told your mother and her endless cavalcade of sisters that you have absolutely no interest in the feminine sex so she's never getting grandchildren out of you.

    Her most recent herald just told you she's flying over this weekend to help you choose a male mate.

    You want to die but, sadly, you made sure to throw out all the dragonslaying weapons in your hoard a few decades ago.

    Long story short, you're in an utterly foul mood. It's got you all antsy, tail lashing this way and that, talons angrily kneading the floor of your lair so hard you've gouged great big man-sized trenches in it already, you'll be burrowing in a minute if you keep this up. You've got to do something to break this funk, something you actually enjoy, at least to clear your head in preparation for dealing with mother come Saturday (or, knowing her, anywhere between Friday night and Sunday morning because she will arrive exactly when it fucking pleases her and no other time).

    You take one last look around your lair, which is;

    [ ] A cave hidden deep within a horrible fetid swamp, thickly blanketed with mist, concealing all manner of sucking pits and hiding beasties. The stench of swampgas is more comforting than the finest perfume.
    [ ] A rocky spire connected to a peninsula by a single weather-worn landbridge, surrounded on all sides by seas that endlessly churn and clash against the rocks. When the winter storms come through lightning strikes the tip of your lair constantly and the effect is absolutely marvellous.
    [ ] A den deep in the heart of a forest of trees so tall and mighty that they dwarf even you. For miles and miles around it's nothing but untouched greenery full of magic and monsters, all the game you could ever want, and the occasional tasty lumberjack as a treat.
    [ ] A mighty volcano, active and oozing lava at all hours of the day. Flesh-searingly hot lava baths do absolute wonders for your scales and the unusually large amount of obsidian just lying around really spruces the place up. In your off-time you've been slowly sculpting the mountainside to look like a moaning skull that weeps lava.
    [ ] A mountain at the roof of the world, so cold that it snows even in summer, your lair sculpted from glacial ice that catches the light just so. Perfect for keeping all the prey you've caught but don't really feel like eating yet chilled to perfection, and you derive a certain simplistic joy from fucking around with a day's fresh powder snow.

    and ponder what it is you'll do with what is conceivably the last free time you'll have in... ugh quite a while. No no, don't think about that. That's a problem for future-you. You are a dragon and you live in the now, and right now you want to;

    [ ] Hunt something big and filling. The thrill of the chase, the triumph of a good catch, the pleasant full feeling of a good meal. Plus the schadenfreude of potentially stealing some poor mortal sap's quarry.
    [ ] Terrorise the local settlement into a nice meaty tithe. It's funny watching all the tiny little people run around screaming and falling over themselves and bumping into things and each other scrambling to appease you. Maybe demolish a few things so they know you mean business.
    [ ] Go raid the next country over and acquire some choice loot to expand your hoard a little bit. You can really cut loose there, and it's not like they can mount up an army to come kill you when they'd have to start a war to do it. It's endlessly fun picturing them getting helplessly frustrated about it.
    [ ] Just go fly around for a bit. Stretch your wings, catch some sun, see what there is to see within flying distance of your lair. Maybe something new's sprung up or been unearthed in the past couple years that's worth your attention.
    [ ] Shapeshift into one of your mortal guises and head into town. It's quite fun in a voyeuristic sort of way to be among the unsuspecting populace, trying out all the things they use to fill in the days of their short, banal lives. Plus it's the only way you can get any damn conversation these days.
    Note: This thread contains infrequent scenes of non-explicit sexual content. All relevant passages will be spoiler-tagged for ease of browsing, and threadmarks containing them marked with an '[M]'.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 28, 2018 at 4:34 PM, finished with 64 posts and 49 votes.
    • [X] Shapeshift into one of your mortal guises and head into town. It's quite fun in a voyeuristic sort of way to be among the unsuspecting populace, trying out all the things they use to fill in the days of their short, banal lives. Plus it's the only way you can get any damn conversation these days.
      [X] Go raid the next country over and acquire some choice loot to expand your hoard a little bit. You can really cut loose there, and it's not like they can mount up an army to come kill you when they'd have to start a war to do it. It's endlessly fun picturing them getting helplessly frustrated about it.
      [X] A rocky spire connected to a peninsula by a single weather-worn landbridge, surrounded on all sides by seas that endlessly churn and clash against the rocks. When the winter storms come through lightning strikes the tip of your lair constantly and the effect is absolutely marvellous.
      [X] A den deep in the heart of a forest of trees so tall and mighty that they dwarf even you. For miles and miles around it's nothing but untouched greenery full of magic and monsters, all the game you could ever want, and the occasional tasty lumberjack as a treat.
      [X] A mountain at the roof of the world, so cold that it snows even in summer, your lair sculpted fromglacial ice that catches the light just so. Perfect for keeping all the prey you've caught but don't reallyfeel like eating yet chilled to perfection, and you derive a certain simplistic joy from fucking aroundwith a day's fresh powder snow.
      [X] A mighty volcano, active and oozing lava at all hours of the day. Flesh-searingly hot lava baths do absolute wonders for your scales and the unusually large amount of obsidian just lying around really spruces the place up. In your off-time you've been slowly sculpting the mountainside to look like a moaning skull that weeps lava.
      [X] Hunt something big and filling. The thrill of the chase, the triumph of a good catch, the pleasant full feeling of a good meal. Plus the schadenfreude of potentially stealing some poor mortal sap's quarry.
      [X] Just go fly around for a bit. Stretch your wings, catch some sun, see what there is to see within flying distance of your lair. Maybe something new's sprung up or been unearthed in the past couple years that's worth your attention.
      [X] A cave hidden deep within a horrible fetid swamp, thickly blanketed with mist, concealing all manner of sucking pits and hiding beasties. The stench of swamp gas is more comforting than the finest perfume.
      [X] Terrorise the local settlement into a nice meaty tithe. It's funny watching all the tiny little people run around screaming and falling over themselves and bumping into things and each other scrambling to appease you. Maybe demolish a few things so they know you mean business.
      [X] Shapeshift into one of your mortal guises and head into town. It's quite fun in a voyeuristic sort of way to be among the unsuspecting populace, trying out all the things they use to fill in the days of their short, banal lives. Plus it's the only way you can get any damn conversation these days.
      [x] A den deep in the heart of a forest of trees so tall and mighty that they dwarf even you. For miles and miles around it's nothing but untouched greenery full of magic and monsters, all the game you could ever want, and the occasional tasty lumberjack as a treat. ​
    Click to expand...
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 28, 2018 at 9:49 PM, finished with 70 posts and 53 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 4:37 PM, finished with 544 posts and 35 votes.
    • [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
    Click to expand...
     
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    • Eldingar's Boyfriend Bestiary
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    • Eldingar's Boyfriend Bestiary


    ((art courtesy of @Camellia))

    Name: Makram
    Species: Djinn (Ifrit)
    Likes: Gold (so that's something in common) and teasing me (>:[). Being the most important person in the room somehow.
    Dislikes: Clothing, apparently. And wizards (good on him). Not being the centre of attention.
    Notes: Burst out of a lamp I might've gotten on sale a couple decades ago. Horrible monstrous bastard that made me blow up my treasure pile with my breath, but he granted my first wish so I suppose I can stomach keeping him around until I work out what I want for the other two.

    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Name: Jun-ho, The Dancing Flame That Scorches The Sun
    Species: Eastern Dragon
    Likes: Swimming/the water, Abzu's familiar blob
    Dislikes: Gold (the absolute madman), fish
    Notes: Mother's trying to set me up with him because he's exotic and he'll look impressive if I show up to Nana Illvithri's 1,000th with him. At least he looks about as miserable about this as I am.

    Wait that's not a good thing.

    In any case he seems kind of evasive about his past and what things are like in his homeland. Curious about how things work here though. Knock on wood things actually went pretty okay when we talked over drinks.

    (Extremely long)

    (( art by Voidshards ))

    Name: Belial
    Species: Demon (Incubus)
    Likes: Push-ups and bicep curls apparently. And fucking. And romance, surprisingly enough.
    Dislikes: His contract terms forcing him to stay here apparently. A likely story.
    Notes: For an incubus of his... 'experience' he seems pretty bad at it. Just my luck - an incubus finally shows up and it's a rubbish one about thirty years too late while I'm hung over. And he's sleeping in my dreams rent-free!

    Okay so... maybe he's actually quite good at his job. And sweet. And dreamy. And a bit romantic. Dammit.

    Okay so maybe he's also very mature and supportive and comforting and dammit he's a complete sweetheart and now I cringe every time I reread my initial reaction. I'm sure if someone wanted to be insufferable they'd tell me this is a lesson in not judging books by their covers but my rebuttal would be that I'm a dragon and what you see is very much what you get with dragons.

    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Name: Issachar
    Species: Human (probably)
    Likes: Manners, being mysterious, religious discussion, learning new things about the world
    Dislikes: Being all 'impolite' (square)
    Notes: Some weirdo lightning farmer who says he got a vision and that I've got a 'destiny'. I don't know how much I believe but I do believe he wants to manipulate me, which means I can manipulate him right back.

    Says he's from the Sultanate and was at least apprenticed to some kind of nondenominational priest-scholar whose teachings he still carries on.

    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Name: Abzu
    Species: uhhh...
    Likes: Wizard things like research and riddles
    Dislikes: Being told their wizard riddles suck and are dumb
    Notes: Mute, communicates solely through sign language. Apparently amnesiac and waiting in the vain hope that their missing master isn't actually dead. Possibly more mysterious even than Issachar. Very friendly and enthusiastic.

    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Name: Lyrros
    Species: Ellllllllf?
    Likes: Drama and making a good first impression, showing off in general
    Dislikes: Shirts

    Notes: Hubba-hubba.

    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Name: Datu
    Species: Aquean
    Likes: Adventuring, showing off, throwing his spear around, tattoos clearly
    Dislikes: His sister, shirts

    Notes: It's not l needed him to save me, s-stupid...
    Name: Takara (if that's their real name)
    Species: Some kind of shapeshifter but the fox-like form seems like the real one?
    Likes: Stealing, lying, manipulating, causing mischief and chaos
    Dislikes: Being honest about basically anything

    Notes: Things could have gone so much simpler...


    Consider, If You Will, The Quality Of His Wiggles by @Camellia


    Incubus Beta Design by @Camellia


    Incubus Final Design by @Camellia


    Makram's Mad You Took So Long To Pick Him You Learned His Name From Jun-ho, by @Camellia


    The Wrong Kind Of Hotdog, by @Camellia


    He's Not Fat He's Trying His Best, by @Camellia




    A Bunny Goes Mad With Power, by @Camellia


    Baseless Fan Speculation Because Issachar Is A Normal Meat Person, by @Camellia


    >tfw people are paying more attention to the gooperson than you, by @Camellia

    The Ace Of Hearts, by @Camellia


    In Stores Now! by @TheOneMoiderah


    Totally Not A Vampire Beta, by @Camellia
     
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    • Chapter Two - All I Want To Do Is Go For A Walk And Flash My Vast Wealth, Is That So Wrong?
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    • First thing's first, a quick little pick-me-up to get you in the mood for a day on the town. You lift yourself off your hoard, jewelled chalices and endless streams of golden coins jangling and rattling together so pleasingly as your shifting weight sends them cascading down the pile. A few more strops of your talons on the bare stone floor for good measure, armoured tail smacking carelessly against either wall as you shake the kinks out of it before you start your climb.

    You make it out into the light via a convenient you-sized hole in the towering stone spire - it's a little bit tighter of a fit than it used to be, you could always widen it but you've been putting it off as long as you can. Around and around and around the narrowing circumference of the spire you go as you rise, talons like boarding-hooks biting deep into age-old stone that already bears its fair share of identical marks. Stormclouds rumble and roll above, the pleasing scent of rain and thunder soon to come heavy on the air. You sit back on your hind legs at the summit and slowly stretch up, wings like great leathery sails slowly spreading as you close your eyes and await the moment.

    KRA-KOOOMMM. Lightning strikes, the jagged bolt forking in two as it strikes the tips of your crystalline horns. Blue-white sparks popping off the surface like firecrackers as the molten charge thrums across your skull, splits into myriad subchannels that spread across your azure scales like a fine mesh. The thin membranes of your wings come alive in blazing geometric designs, trapping the lightning in a work of art that only you are privy to as the sharp, metallic scent of post-strike air floods your flared nostrils. You take a moment to cast your gaze across your lands as the rolling thunder echoes away into the distance, idly shaking your wings 'dry' to vent a few excess booming aftershocks. The seas are lovely this time of day, grey as iron and churning themselves white against the rocks, whipped up into towering peaks and plummeting valleys by the wind. Off in the distance yet more brilliant bolts strike the sea, splitting the sky with blazing glory for a single perfect instant. If you could only catch them all... but that sounds like a lot of work, and you like the very tall tip of your lair.

    To the north lies a natural bridge of weather-worn stone, one last tenuous connecting tissue tying you to the mainland. Beyond that, mostly forests and plains, a peninsula that steadily widens as it goes to meet the mainland. And beyond that, over the horizon? Your favourite haunt, nestled somewhere you might fly straight over (like you've done more times than you'll ever admit) if you didn't know where and how to look. A place where you can hopefully forget all about what a miserable nightmare your weekend is looking to become.

    You take wing from your high perch, gliding gracefully down from the tip of the spire as you focus your energies. You shrink down mid-flight, proportions adjusting, your entire bone structure smoothly shifting as you hit your 'draconic humanoid' form and blow right past it. Wings bearing you aloft just those few moments more even as they shrink away completely into your shoulder blades, you hit the ground walking and keep on doing so as the rest of your disguise magically forms around you. Just a simple thing you threw together over an afternoon for now, some traveller in a ratty old cloak that won't get looked at too hard as you come wandering in from the wilderness. The real guise is for later.

    It's a bit of a walk without wings, but you're used to being two-legged and ground-bound by this point and you appreciate the time alone with your thoughts. It's bracing really, in exactly the sort of way that'll make it reeeeeeally satisfying when you get back to your hoard and flop down to sleep. You pass a few lightning farms on the way in, great obelisks of silver and copper that call down the lion's share of the storm's fury, trapping the snarling bolts in specially-prepared casks for shipment up to the city. You'd be angrier that they're taking your lightning, but you made sure to burn down every farm they tried to build within a few miles of your spire until they got the message, so as far as you're concerned you're square. Still, you salivate a little as you picture hurling the sad little workers with their goggles and their overalls aside like flotsam as you snatch up all the lightning casks you can carry and abscond into the wilderness.

    Maybe on the way back. If you've been a very good boy.

    Söfnun is like an iceburg someone pressed down on hard with their foot until even less of it was visible above the surface. It's practically invisible tucked away in its cove, protected from storms by high cliffs and higher trees, accessible by land by only a few densely-trafficked highways but patronised by practically every single ship from fishing dinghy to grandest trading vessel in need of a stop-over. Every voyage is an adventure but the mortals keep doing it, day in day out, because those spices won't transport their own damn selves the length and breadth of four different nations now will they? And if they follow these routes they stop over in Söfnun, and so the city's thrived. You'd like to brag about seeing it rise from a fishing hamlet but honestly it's been big ever since you were old enough to claim your lair, all you can say is that you got to see it get a little bit bigger and wealthier. Which you had a hand in too, of course.

    It's about as loud as the storm itself once you're inside, so many different voices calling out in as many languages and a couple insane mixtures of them besides. Always with the crowds as they jostle and sidle into what little space is available, walking the narrow paths over and around the carved canals and channels in the exhaustively-shaped cove. What once might've looked like a dingy damp quarry is now a vibrant city, half-underground and half open-air, more traditional preserved architecture seamlessly giving way to brass-filigree-overload of the Sultanate Quarter or the steel and glass of more modern Plutocracy aesthetic sensibilities or the gilded marble of the Republic enclave. Everywhere so many people with so many different silly dreams in their heads and things to buy or sell that they probably wouldn't notice even if you changed shapes in the middle of the street. But you don't because that would be silly. You make like a robber or an enthusiast for sex in adventurous places and do it in an alleyway.

    You emerge in your merchant prince guise, tall and regal with the flowing shoulder-length hair and full beard to match, plus blue eyes so vibrant and piercing you should need a license for them. You crook your arm beneath your half-cape, boots softly splashing in the thin film of rain beneath your heels as you stride forward in search of one of your stooges. You are accosted by one in three paces.

    "I apologise Lord Elding, I didn't hear you had returned," he says, scurrying along at your side. Did he teleport in or was he just spawned fully-formed from thin air to serve you? Much of a muchness really, they rotate in and out with such frequency it's completely impossible to keep track of them all.

    "I was at my estate, of course. In need of some rest and recuperation. Particularly lean year we just had I hear," you reply, your accent naturally dropping into a sort of flattened-out yet still cultured arrangement from every continent.

    "Of course sir, it must have been an incredible strain for you sir."

    "And how are the books looking today?"

    "Very good sir absolutely nothing to concern yourself with sir."

    "Excellent!"

    You take six more strides, and the stooge keeps following you. You halt.

    "... leave," you prompt him. He nods furiously and vanishes back into the crowd, gone in an instant if you cared to look for him. Instead you simply stare out across the hustle and bustle, into the middle distance, and ponder. Mortals really are a submissive lot. You've gone entire years with little more than mail correspondence to prove that you're still alive and yet the merchant house continues to send you free money. It's insane.

    Right, now that that taxing bookkeeping is squared away, you can really have some fun. Söfnun can be quite the adult playground if you know all the right nooks and crannies to check, and you happen to have spent quite a while checking out nooks and crannies. Plus you're extremely rich and in need of something to numb the pain, two qualities in the face of which precious few doors will not open. So you set out planning to

    [ ] Hit the bar and get very drunk. You get to complain about your problems that ordinarily nobody would care about, and even if your lips loosen enough to start telling everyone you're a dragon nobody will believe you.
    [ ] Scope out if any adventuring parties have washed in recently looking to get shirty and fuck with them. It's usually best to defuse such situations before they can waddle up to your front door like comically-ticking time-bombs. Or better yet, turn them around and watch them blow someone else up.
    [ ] Fuck with another dragon. Spread some rumours, whether true or not, about various treasures and weaknesses possessed by So-and-so of the Blazing Fang squirrelled away in Icepick Mountain. It makes for fun stories, and you always get a nice little chortle out of hearing someone else's hoard has been diminished.
    [ ] Gamble your heart out. If you win, you get an unearned rush of accomplishment and expand your hoard even more. If you don't, it's not like it's really your money anyway!
    [ ] Assume a rowdier guise and seek out a fight-pit. You're in the mood to punch somebody and it's just not the same if you do it while blind drunk.
    [ ] Do some shopping. Every time you're here on other business you forget and then by the time you remember you're back home and you can't be bothered to make another trip so you put it off for another day and it's just a nightmare. And you really need more spices. You may be a many-ton scaly lightning-breathing magical predator that hunts live game but you're not an animal.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 29, 2018 at 9:15 PM, finished with 135 posts and 60 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 30, 2018 at 12:06 AM, finished with 135 posts and 60 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 30, 2018 at 10:34 PM, finished with 196 posts and 46 votes.
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    • Chapter Three - I'm Stimulating The Economy And Supporting Small Businesses
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    • Spending money is, you would argue, the best thing ever. And sure that might earn you some odd sideways looks from other dragons but you stand by it. The best part of having a respectable hoard is that you don't even have to bother taking inventory (although you do, painstakingly, coin by coin, every night) when you see something you want you just take it and handle the cost later. The only question is haggling, which you pride yourself at being very good at too. The best kind of spending is an investment of course, and the idea of using money to buy even more money is what made makes dragons such powerhouses of industry. Or turns you into one but when a Plutocrat scales up they normally just write it off as a sabbatical and return with even more business acumen and even less morals than before.

    You head for the markets, here meaning both the various smaller markets that spring up seemingly at random all over Söfnun as chaotically yet regularly as the tides themselves and The Markets with big important capitals, the covered bazaar teeming with exotic esoterica from every corner of the map and beyond. It's below the waterline, the only place it'd fit by the time plans were finalised and construction was a sure thing. It's like its own second city under the city, any lingering rock in the way quarried out and used to line the walls, rune-rimmed floor-to-ceiling windows gazing out into the waters of the cove itself as curious fish bonk against the shimmering translucent barrier, mouths flapping gormlessly. You think it got expanded last year, peeking out past the cove itself like the tip of an extended tongue to catch a falling flake of snow. Getting a little adventurous, but more space means more trade means more sweet, sweet money.

    The waters outside might be cold and blue-green but inside it's all warm orange tones, smokeless fires flickering away in brass braziers and crystal domes, fluorescent bulbs set in the stone glowing with the power of leashed lightning - a trivial use of such a precious resource some might say, but in your opinion there's a certain something-something to its light that warms you deeper than any other. Probably because it's something you literally absorb but mortals seem to like it too. In any case you set to work making rounds of the stalls and shopfronts, all crammed together and jostling for space and attention as the rich and middle class all rub shoulders seeking out the best deal. Thankfully you have status - and you're a dragon in disguise which comes with a few perks - so you're easily able to elbow your way through the worst of the crowding and make it to your favourite stores in record time. They all know your name of course, are all eager to make you special-special discounts if you'll buy more, if you'll set up some deals, have your people call their people, on and on and on. You put up with it and get your essentials, saying you'll be entertaining family at your remote country home very soon - the technical truth is always the easiest lie, and the barely-concealed distaste that slips through sets the merchants all aflutter with sympathy. You order meat and salt and spices by the wagonload each, order for them to be parked at the usual spot outside of town to be picked up by 'your own men' later, you even get adventurous and order some fruit like you'll ever get around to eating that. Dragonfruit sound nice. Very appropriate.

    You do a few circuits just to give yourself the best chance of spying something interesting, and what should you find but a brand new stall off in the corner selling all manner of dusty knicknacks. Often charlatans but the whole point of being a dragon is having a sense for true value, and with every step you take towards the stall the faint heat-haze sensation of magic grows stronger. The merchant is no merchant, you realise as you draw up in front of it, but an automaton. Something of Sultanate make, a sectioned and segmented mannequin made of brass and crystal wrapped in a second-rate but well-made enough kaftan. It looks up as you approach, gemstone eyes brightening.

    "Ah!" it says, its voice metallic and echoing slightly, calm and measured as anything. "Can I interest you in any of the wares on display?"

    "You aren't just minding the place?" you ask, only half-interested.

    "Indeed. I am authorised to conduct transactions in my owner's place," it replies. "Would you like me to describe the items on display? Are you paying cash, or do you have a line of credit?"

    "Bill it to House Elding," you mutter, soon completely ignoring the construct as you scoop up and inspect each item in turn. It wisely falls silent and waits for you to finish.

    [ ] A rugged brass tube inlaid with clear crystal, sealed despite your idle attempts to crack it open. The automaton explains that it cannot be opened prior to purchase for the obvious reason that it's a map and looking basically constitutes borrowing. You doubt it's lying, and you can certainly smell magic in the contents.
    [ ] A detached blued steel gauntlet with individual articulated fingers - very impractical, very expensive, very in. There's a ruby set in the back and, upon closer inspection, a series of small blades set in inside of the wrist. Possibly some kind of blood magic focus. Possibly some kind of elaborate automatic-suicide-glove.
    [ ] A silver-hafted trident with a head carved from living coral. The automaton helpfully explains that it is said to command the loyalty of fish. You're surprised one of the actual fishermen that lives around here hasn't snatched it up already.
    [ ] Haftani's Pouch of Infinite Spices. By speaking its name, the user is able to extract the spice they wish to use on their bland, bland meal a pinch at a time. Good for ten pinches a day, refreshing once exposed to the light of a new sunrise. You are again very surprised someone hasn't already bought this.
    [ ] A corked, flawlessly glazed ceramic jug exquisitely decorated in an intricate pattern of pouring, flowing liquids. The automaton explains that it can spontaneously produce one liquid of choice per day, magically pouring forth said liquid up to a certain volume before abruptly shutting off again. The limit varies depending on the liquid.

    "Any liquid?" you ask.

    "Any liquid," the construct confirms.

    "Even mayonnaise?"

    "Mayonnaise is not a-"

    The jug rumbles ominously, nearly shaking itself off the edge of the table. You prod it back to safety.

    "Ah. The jug disagrees," the construct observes. "However, now that the item is filled with potentially gallons of high-pressure mayonnaise, I politely request that you buy it so as to avoid potential difficulties with future customers."

    You think on it carefully. It is indeed a curious and eclectic mix of items, one that requires careful-

    Actually you're rich and you want everything so you buy the lot.

    You sign over the required funds (with a warning from the construct to open the jug outdoors) and stow your delightful baubles away in a fine leather bag. You immediately retrieve the map case, cracking it open with unrestrained glee and unrolling the aged vellum scroll inside as you climb the stairs back to surface level. It's a magic map alright, depicting the known world and a little ways beyond it - island chains in the infinite ocean, points of interest in the infinite desert, valleys and caverns in the infinite mountain ranges, that sort of thing. Usually the Beyond changes once someone's observed it and come back, but maybe those rules don't apply when you have a magic map. And a magic compass you observe, holding it up to the light. Where normally one would simply be illustrated there lies a hole cut in the map in which a tiny scarlet spear freely spins, suspended in empty air. Only it doesn't seem to be pointing north at all.

    Hm. You slow to a stop, shuffling to the side and out of the main thoroughfare so as you ponder the map more carefully. There are locations marked already by glittering motes of golden light, circling seven locations in all across the continent. One of them is right here in Söfnun. Another is... back at your lair? Is it pointing to other treasures? That only makes the most sense, doesn't it? A magic map would point to treasures of remarkable value, and the non-north-pointing compass must point directly at them! Delightfully draconic, Eldingar. You've given yourself riches to chase for a good long-

    Fuck, your mother's still coming. And she could be here by anywhere between tomorrow or a few days.

    And you have a wagon full of shopping that's going to be waiting for you under a tree and a jar full of mayonnaise in your bag.

    The map crinkles as you tighten your grip, lips pursed deep in thought. You... could head straight home and try and make sure everything's spick and span for mother when she arrives. Or... or... you could blow her off and go look for treasure. Surely there's no way a self-respecting dragon matriarch could be that upset with her wayward progeny if he came back with something very shiny and expensive?

    Hm. No, she could find a way.

    Hm. Mrgh.

    [ ] Return home immediately. Take the magical doodads on hand, take your wagon full of supplies, and fly back to your lair.
    --[ ] Use the extra time to clean up exhaustively. Leave her as little to criticise as possible. For every inch you give her she can and will take a mile.
    --[ ] Use the extra time to try and figure out which particular item in your hoard the map is pointing towards. Its light-spot isn't any bigger than the others so you reason it must be just the one thing too.

    [ ] Linger in Söfnun a little longer and search for whatever it is the map is pointing you towards here. You won't have any extra time at home to prepare but you won't be late either.

    [ ] Make arrangements for your shopping to be delivered in a few days instead and take flight in search of one of the other five treasures. You will almost certainly be late for your meeting with mother, but treasure definitely outranks her.
    --[ ] Somewhere deep in the forests, looks to be some kind of country estate you've never heard of. That kind of place always has some kind of family heirloom or inheritance buried in a secret room in the crypt.
    --[ ] Southeast, a remote mountainside tower. You think you've heard of this one, at least in passing. A wizard used to own it, but he suddenly disappeared. Swallowed up by an experiment probably. All sorts of magical knicknacks and stupid baubles, those wizards. No sense of right or wrong.
    --[ ] A small island off the southeast coast of the Republic. It'll be a bit of a flight, but as far as you can tell it's some kind of lost city half-reclaimed by the waves. You're not afraid of a little water, unlike some dragons.
    --[ ] Now this one's random, it just looks like some arbitrary point along one of the roads that crosses the Arosa-Plutocracy border. No history behind this one, but you won't have to leave the country at least.
    --[ ] The Plutocracy capital, where every merchant company has a castle that scrapes the sky and anything can be bought and sold. No way. That's the clear other end of the continent and your greed does not outweigh your laziness that badly.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 30, 2018 at 9:21 PM, finished with 195 posts and 45 votes.
    • [X] Return home immediately. Take the magical doodads on hand, take your wagon full of supplies, and fly back to your lair.
      [x] Linger in Söfnun a little longer and search for whatever it is the map is pointing you towards here. You won't have any extra time at home to prepare but you won't be late either.
      --[X] Use the extra time to try and figure out which particular item in your hoard the map is pointing towards. Its light-spot isn't any bigger than the others so you reason it must be just the one thing too.
      --[X] Use the extra time to clean up exhaustively. Leave her as little to criticise as possible. For every inch you give her she can and will take a mile.
      --[X] Use the extra time to try and figure out which particular item in your hoard the map is pointing towards. Its light-spot isn't any bigger than the others so you reason it must be just the one thing too.
      [X] Southeast, a remote mountainside tower. You think you've heard of this one, at least in passing. A wizard used to own it, but he suddenly disappeared. Swallowed up by an experiment probably. All sorts of magical knicknacks and stupid baubles, those wizards. No sense of right or wrong.
      [X] Leave a note explaining that you're going to be late due to work treasure hunting. Best to get your ass covering excuses in place first.
      [X] Do some shopping. Every time you're here on other business you forget and then by the time you remember you're back home and you can't be bothered to make another trip so you put it off for another day and it's just a nightmare. And you really need more spices. You may be a many-ton scaly lightning-breathing magical predator that hunts live game but you're not an animal.
      [X] Make arrangements for your shopping to be delivered in a few days instead and take flight in search of one of the other five treasures. You will almost certainly be late for your meeting with mother, but treasure definitely outranks her.
      --[X] A small island off the southeast coast of the Republic. It'll be a bit of a flight, but as far as you can tell it's some kind of lost city half-reclaimed by the waves. You're not afraid of a little water, unlike some dragons.
      [x] Return home immediately
      -[x] Refrigerate that mayo right away. Then and only then clean exhaustively
      [X] Use the extra time to try and figure out which particular item in your hoard the map is pointing towards. Its light-spot isn't any bigger than the others so you reason it must be just the one thing too.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on Apr 30, 2018 at 10:37 PM, finished with 196 posts and 46 votes.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 3, 2018 at 2:26 AM, finished with 395 posts and 51 votes.
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    • Chapter Four - I Went On A Treasure-Hunt In My Own House And This Is Not What I Expected
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    • Mmmmnnnrrrrgggghhhhhh. No, no you can't really leap off to go searching the continent for whatever treasures this map is pointing to. Nor can you really justify staying in Söfnun and double-checking every nook and cranny in search of you-don't-even-know-what-it-is. You've got shopping to take home and a cave to prepare for when -ugh- mother arrives. You roll the map back up into its tube and stuff it in the bag with the other magic trinkets, fuming. They say that sometimes grumpy enough people look like they have their own personal stormclouds but for you that can actually be true, so you double-time it back out of the city before your frustration becomes more visible than it already is.

    The guards at the gate greet you by name with well-wishes for your weekend plans. Acting enthused for them is a truly heroic feat of willpower, but you manage it all the same, and soon enough you're retracing your steps through the winding ravine pass that brings landbound trade to and from Söfnun. Halfway along you smoothly switch back into your ratty traveller guise as you come around a bend, all at once going from something to be gawked at jealously to just another body on the road, perhaps turned away at the gates and off in search of fortune elsewhere. You turn left at the fork and head down the road less travelled, growing more antsy by the second to be on two legs, until finally you reach the delivery point. There beneath the gnarled old tree that never seems to fully rot nor spring to life again lie two covered wagons full of the provisions you ordered, reliable as clockwork. More actually, clocks are fiddly and easy to break and you've never been able to put up with having one in your hoard for long.

    It feels like a nice, long, languid stretch to shift back into your true form, massive skeins of muscle flexing beneath azure scales, tail carelessly smacking an ancient tree hard enough to shake half the leaves from its boughs. You pinch the strap of your bag delicately between two talontips and poke it into one of the wagons for safekeeping, then scoop the both of them up as easily as toys and take flight. The great downbeat of your wings shakes many more leaves loose, a visible ring of dust expanding from your take-off point as you sail into the stormy skies and set a course home.

    You make sure to fly over one of the lightning farms to steal a strike before it lands. It's more to assert dominance than anything else but isn't that as good a reason to do something as anything? Crackling arcs of power bring the light back into your wings and sink deep into your massive frame, going some ways to lift the foul mood that suddenly descended. You're almost content as you swoop back down to meet your familiar spire, worming your forelegs through the opening and carefully dropping the wagons somewhere secure before you properly squirm through yourself. There. You were in and out before you could give mother a chance to show up unannounced, and you even remembered to buy everything you needed!

    ... you should've- shit you should've bought wine, she loves mortal wine. You could've got her the special kind, a bottle unearthed from the Beyond with the label in the language nobody knows. A suckup move to be sure but flattery gets you everywhere in dragon circles and- ugh no, no, you're not going out on a second trip you have committed now and besides it'd look strange for Lord Elding to suddenly pop back in for a bottle of wine like some commoner when he could send people for it but you don't have people because you don't have a country estate to have it delivered to and-

    You flomp down flat on your back on top of your gold, loose coins rising all at once like glittering, jingling dust in your wake. A crown topples down the slope of the hoard and goes rolling off towards the wall, slowly losing momentum, tipping over and swerving into a melodiously-ringing spiral. You stare straight up at the ceiling, limbs all askew.

    The weekend is going to be awful. Just a complete trainwreck. And not the fun kind of trainwreck where two trains just plough straight into each other head-on which has sadly never actually happened outside of your imagination. The kind where some magical beastie's gnawed on a section of track too badly and it hasn't been reported in time so one wheel leaves the rail and the whole thing just kind of slowly, inexorably, flops over on its side and lies still because its mother was right and it really wouldn't ever amount to anything.

    Thunder rumbles in the distance, the distant crash of waves on the jagged rocks below your lofty rainreaved perch a somewhat soothing white noise. Somewhere in your lair water slowly drip-drip-drips, not on your gold but nearby. That'll probably be a problem too. And why? Honestly in your book every lair needs a bit of dankness to be a proper dragon lair.

    You should start cleaning up. You don't know how or where or to what ultimate end but it's a Thing you should Do because otherwise what else can you do with your time? So you roll off your gold in slow-motion, every degree of rotation an enormous effort, letting out a single long, low groan as do. One eternity later you're back on all fours. Right. Right, time to get to work. Pack everything away and sort through it all and probably dust the cave while you're at it and find something to plug that leak and do something about all the talon-marks where you just stropped away and-

    Flomp you go again, forelegs crossing and buckling as your heavy, angular jaw lands on them with a thump. You're very good at performative misery at this point, you imagine there's some invisible audience watching your every move and feeling your every thought. 'Feel bad for me', you tell that invisible audience up in the nosebleeds. 'Oh woe is me for I am sad and the little people should shut up and let me talk about it at great length.'

    And as you lie there in misery and torment fit for the greatest of bardic tragedies, you're in the perfect position to spy the strap of your knicknack-bag hanging free of one of the wagons. Hm... there was that one marked spot right here in your cavern. And if the attached compass doesn't point north, then surely it points to the closest of the treasures, right? It only makes sense!

    You push yourself up and forward, shifting as you go. You lose most of your mass but not your draconic glory, simply arching up to a bipedal yet digitigrade stance, wrapping your wings around your scaly shoulders like a cloak finer than any money could buy - maps were not made to be operated by scaly quadrupeds the size of a building. You retrieve the bag and rifle through its contents, claws wrapping around the protective tube, and retrieve it without bumping the deadly mayonnaise-fountain-in-waiting. Twist off the cap, shake the vellum roll free, unfurl it and take a look- yes! The compass is pointing through you, straight at the treasure-pile, and continues to do so even as you perform all manner of contortions that would otherwise make it point elsewhere. You have a lead!

    You approach the pile and drop to one knee, electric-blue gaze flicking between the map and the gold and back again. How should you be doing this? Well... you can pretty safely discount the actual gold pieces. No one of them is truly unique among the pile (you've checked, twice), and they're more there as filler to look nice. Neutral colour in the bouquet that is any respectable hoard. No, you should definitely just check all the larger pieces first. If you weigh down the map with some little stones and bring whatever you dig free over to check if the needle moves, that should serve your needs just fine!

    And so you set to work.

    Before you know it it's nightfall but you get to look at all your treasure again so honestly you're having the time of your life.

    Twelve magic swords (magic weaponmakers really do prefer swords don't they?). Magic axe. Couple of magic daggers. Magic helmet. Magic circlet. Magic chainmail shirt. Magic ring. A few magic necklaces and a smattering of other assorted jewellery. An entire suit of fullplate made of magically-reinforced gold that you assemble piece-by-piece over the course of your searches, sinking arm-deep in the gold and rummaging around grasping for bigger bits among the chaff. A few sceptres, lots of crowns (you run off to grab the one that rolled away earlier), a rubber dragon bath-toy you forgot was even in there-

    Aha. At last you've drawn the item that the compass responds to, following it no matter where you hold it.

    What you clutch in your claws is not the bath-toy but in fact a lamp. A lamp that you're certain you already knew was magical when you threw it on the pile, but as with all items you find rather than buy you never really bothered to figure out what it does. Just being Magic is enough. Or shiny. Regardless when you take a closer look at the lamp, hooking it onto one clawtip and holding it aloft at eye level, you find plenty to see. It's arguably more of a lantern, a hexagonal thing that tapers to a point at the bottom and rounds off in a dome at the top where the chain it now dangles from is attached. Similar to Sultanate work, what with all the intricate brass sculpting, but a connoisseur of fine arts such as yourself can pick out all the subtleties that set it apart. Where the Sultanate prefer finely-detailed meshes with plenty of curves, this is more on the angular side, preferring sharp right or forty-five-degree angles much like your wing markings. There's an air of brutalism about it but almost subversive, as if finding the beauty in the ugly harshness of the shapes. Is this from the Beyond? Did you just not notice before you threw it on the pile?

    The glass is enchanted to be unbreakable of course (it'd have to be if it survived this long near the bottom of the pile), but it's so smoky and tinted you can hardly see a thing inside. Hm... perfect place to hide something small yet valuable. Perhaps an even rarer and more precious artefact from a bygone age? Hidden away who-knows-how-long, only to be discovered by yours truly with the aid of a magic map? Ohoho you're practically -no not practically, literally- salivating at the prospect, cobalt-blue tongue flickering past your fangs to catch the words bits of drool before they fall from your jaws.


    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Carefully, carefully, you pinch the latch between two clawtips and open it with a minor application of force.

    The lamp explodes open with a rushing torrent of pure golden fire that sends you sprawling flat on your back with a startled "wah!", flinging the offending object clear across your lair in retaliation. It sketches a brilliant blazing arc of aurelian flame like a comet-tail, twisting and coiling and spiralling through the air until it's almost a little blazing tornado. The lamp, finally empty, lands with a loud clang and bounces twice but you barely even notice. All you can do is watch as the fire coalesces into... a person.

    The figure's reclining in mid-air, carelessly slouched across a near-horizontal bed of glittering golden sand that occasionally flickers with tongues of flame. Perhaps at first glance the ignorant could mistake it for an ordinary man, but even then not for long. He's perfectly formed in every way, flawless sun-dark skin stretched taut over planes of muscle so carefully toned they seem almost purposefully shaped rather than naturally earned. He might be about as tall as you were he deigning to set his bare feet on the same cold stone as you, his dark brown hair streaked with gold carelessly slicked back but for a few almost deliberately-chosen strands that hang forward, drawing the eye. His own half-lidded eyes are like pools of molten gold, literally glowing with power and unearthly light. And speaking of molten gold... he's covered in it. It's as if he put on every last piece of his finest jewellery and simply walked through a furnace, letting it melt and dribble down the planes and contours of his body and cool where it lay. Bonding it to his skin like rippling, gleaming tattoos of precious metal. Bands of it around his arms, his wrists, his calves, his ankles, half-liquid piercings at his ears and chest, his throat is practically solid gold. His fingers and toes, perhaps backed in decorative nail-guards once, are now lustrous gold claws that seem to dance with sparks of the fire he could so easily command to rise again. The only actual clothing he's wearing is a a pure white skirt that barely comes to the knee. It's a good thing he's lying perpendicular to you or you'd be seeing even more.

    "So," he says languidly, checking his nails rather than deign to look at you. "Who dares release me from my lamp after all these years?"

    You've heard about these. Never had cause to seek one out yourself but there's nobody that doesn't at least know the basic story of djinn in bottles and lamps. You can do a little better than those fools - you know this is an ifrit, an ancient and capriciously powerful entity. Almost as impressive as a dragon even.

    And this one is extremely distracting, it's getting hard to think straight.

    [ ] Ask him where he's from. You've heard plenty of rumours about where various stripes of djinn come from but you've never had a chance to ask one yourself.
    [ ] Ask what he plans to do if releasing him from his lamp is "who dares" territory. If he thinks he can intimidate a dragon he's got another thing coming.
    [ ] Ask why he'd be showing up on a magic map you bought in an underground market, and why he'd be lumped in with six other destinations besides.
    [ ] Ask if you can get your three wishes now.
    [ ] Ask him to leave because you really should get to cleaning up and Mother will have Questions if she finds this scantily-clad ifrit in your den.
    [ ] Ask him to please put on a shirt. Maybe some pants too.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 1, 2018 at 11:03 AM, finished with 238 posts and 29 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 2, 2018 at 1:59 AM, finished with 312 posts and 56 votes.
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    • Chapter Five - My Name Is Eldingar, I'm 107 Years Old, And My Life Is An Endless Nightmare
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    • "C-can you leave?" you ask.

    The ifrit freezes. Even the cloud of dust he's lounging on seems to stop dead. Slowly, slowly, he turns his head towards you properly and just Looks at you.

    "Beg pardon?"

    "Or get back in the lamp for a second, it doesn't much matter which," you add hastily, salvaging as much dignity as you can manage in a short span of time.

    "I'm- who puts a djinn back in the lamp?" the ifrit asks, lofty airs, if not broken, then visibly cracked with sheer bewilderment. "Ten thousand years I've been in that lamp and you want to stuff me back in because I'm inconvenient? Piss off."

    "I'm expecting company soon!" you protest. "It's possibly the most important meeting of my life and I really can't afford to be dealing with all-" you gesture vaguely at the ifrit's scantily-clad form with a claw "-this when she arrives."

    "Oho~?" The ifrit half-rolls over, lying centrefold with his cheek in his hand. "I see how it is. Can't let the date see anything that might get her asking questions."

    "What? Eugh, no! It's my mother!" you exclaim.

    "Then you don't want her to see you with the likes of me," the ifrit counters with a smug, catlike smirk.


    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Which is about when you realise all you've done is hand this gold fetishist even more power over you than he started out with. If you had any sweat glands in this form they'd be working overtime - as it is you rather feel like you've swallowed a couple entire species of butterflies while your thoughts smash against the sides of your skull and each other like drunk pigeons.

    "I- you stop that!" you blurt out, jabbing an accusatory talon in the ifrit's direction. "I will not welcome my mother into my lair with some... some gilded tart floating around in the background inspiring a bunch of awkward questions!"

    "Mm, true. Only room for one of those in a place like this."

    There's a moment of perfect silence as you work out what the ifrit said. He slowly arches one eyebrow, drumming golden talons against his cheek with a smirk.

    You shoot lightning at him immediately.

    It's as natural as breathing. You just open your mouth as if to roar, flexing one set of muscles instead of another, and a sizzling bolt of blinding blue-white electricity erupts from your jaws like a tongue of flame. Your horns glow as you release the power, the angular glyphs on your wings blazing bright as you flare them out wide. The ifrit spins in mid-air, the golden sands reshaping into more of a 'seat' to sit him upright as he flexes his claws to defend himself. Thick sheets of roiling golden fire raise up out of nowhere, bearing the brunt of your fury as the combined light dances madly across the walls of your cave. You run out of 'breath', your lungs burning with the effort, the charge petering out. The lightning fades and the ifrit lets down his wall, as smugly unconcerned as he was when he started.

    Your nostrils flare wide as you suck in a deep breath to replace the one you lost.

    "Strange," the ifrit comments, slowly scanning your lair as he speaks. "From the way you live, I'd have thought you'd be tripping over yourself to show me off."

    You shoot lightning at him but even harder. This time you spread your arms wide, crooked at the elbow and talons curled, tipping your head back as if to fire at the wall above his head. Leashed lightning crackles across your body like a thousand glowing, leaping worms, arcing between your talons and horns, a trio of beams coalescing into a single growing orb of ball lightning equidistant between them all that erupts a moment later. A migraine-ache throbs in the back of your mind at the lost charge, but this time what the ifrit faces is less of a beam and more of a cannon. You'd like to see him block this with a piddly little firewall.

    He snaps his fingers and vanishes in a puff of golden dust and flame.

    You forgot he was hovering in front of your hoard at the time.

    Your own breath hits the pile of gold and everything comes apart. Lightning flashes, thunder booms in the confined space, and it goes up as if someone planted a bomb at the very heart of it. Every single piece goes flying off in a different direction, gleaming golden shrapnel pelting your scaly hide like hailstones. The jingle of coin and crown and jewels and precious magic items bouncing off the walls alone is enough to be earsplitting. You just stand there, frozen solid, wide-eyed, unable to breathe as your precious hoard is spread across every inch of your lair, coins rolling into every nook and cranny. And the heart of it all, the clump that took your breath directly - a sad, steaming, slagged pile of half-molten gold.

    You clap your hands over your horned scalp, fall to your knees, and make a noise somewhere between a mewl, a sob and a squeak, so high-pitched even you can barely hear it. This isn't real. None of this is real. It's just a bad dream, one of your usual fantasies about bringing home some magic items turned into a fucking feverish nightmare. There's no way this could have happened literally right before your mother is supposed to show up because that would just... just be unfair. That's not just bad luck that's deliberate, calculated malice from a higher power.

    The ifrit sucks air in through his teeth. "Well... I honestly can't say you make the place look any worse," he remarks. "The lump of scorched metal and failure could make for a lovely modern art installation."

    You rise with a hellish screech of fury, not so much shifting back into your true form as bursting free of the bonds of your halfway humanoid one with brute strength. Everything's already fucking ruined so fuck it, fuck it, fuck EVERYTHING! You bring both forelegs down in a mighty slam that shakes the spire, launches the loose treasure up into the air again only to fall like gleaming rain, letting out a literally thunderous roar that rattles the gold and shakes dust from the ceiling. You lay about yourself with your claws with reckless abandon, raking ever-deeper gouges in every stony surface within reach as the ifrit evades you again and again, sweeping your tail around like a colossal whip. Something cracks and splinters - the wagons of food, fuck it, fuck it, that's just typical for today! You pick up the one closest to you and throw it at the ifrit just because it's there, and it shatters impressively in a spray of salt and spice.

    It's not like everything can get double-ruined. In a way it actually feels better to make it worse.

    It feels like an hour of mad fury goes by until finally you settle back down on all fours, huffing and panting, massive lungs working like a great set of bellows within your chest. The ifrit, nowhere near winded, at least has the courtesy to stand on the same ground as you.

    "Got that out of your system?" he asks.

    "No," you growl.

    "Why so afraid of what Mummy will think?"

    You narrow your eyes to slits. Before this day is done you are going to hurt this little upstart who dared needle a dragon. But he has magic of his own, feeble charlatan's tricks they may clearly be. You need something else, something to catch him off guard and wipe that smile off his stupid smug perfect face. You scan the room around you, searching for some item or another that escaped the collateral damage.

    And lying beside wooden wreckage, miraculously unbroken by the rampage, is the magic jug you bought in Söfnun.

    You reach for it in an explosion of movement, shifting down as you do. It's weird and disorienting to physically shrink even as you reach out for something but the moment passes and your claws wrap around the earthenware jug, snatching it securely up against your side. Aimed like a cannon at the ifrit.

    "A-ha!" you shout triumphantly as you tear the cork free with your other hand.

    It comes out with a sad little 'pop' and a waft of eggy scent, barely a dribble of mayonnaise sadly dripping down onto your foot-talons. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop as even the ifrit needs a second to come up with a witty comment about that.

    "Is- is that really the kind of thing you collect for your hoard?" he asks, the pity in his voice only half-mocking.

    This doesn't make any sense. You saw the way the jug rumbled and shook, you felt the weight of it, you heard what the automaton said and you doubt it had the mental faculties to lie about it for an upsell. What went wrong? The only thing that changed is-

    is that you've been up past midnight searching your hoard for the lamp. It's a new day, the contents must have refreshed while you were busy. Which means...

    "Water," you snarl with a wicked grin. And water jets from the jug with such force that you have to brace before you lose your grip on it.

    "Wh-SHIT-"

    The ifrit holds up his hands to defend himself, but the high-pressure geyser crashes into him like a fist before he even has a chance. You hear him smack into the cave wall behind, hear him burbling and spluttering as every attempt to breathe or shout only gets water down his throat. His arms and legs are faintly visible, flailing madly for some sort of purchase. The jet goes on so long even you start to get a little concerned, but at long last it tapers off, slowly tracing a line back across the cave floor to your feet, and drying up entirely.

    The ifrit slowly peels away from the wall and lands face-first among the coins and water with a wet splat.

    You set your trusty jug down and stride over to the ifrit, burning with righteous fury and cruel, cathartic triumph. He's still groggy and weak when you reach him, coughing up water even as it steams off his body. You roughly turn him over, sink down and put a knee to his chest as you wrap your claws around his throat.

    "Ssssssssssso," you hiss, baring your many fangs as your leer down at him. "Have any more smart comments? I truly am dying to hear a couple more."

    A few moments of silence as no doubt the ifrit wracks his brain trying to think of a couple, trying to save face. You let him. It doesn't matter any more. He's already ruined everything. There is no possible way things could get any worse.

    There's a soft, subtle noise from without the lair. The kind of noise that only those already familiar with what it is would be able to recognise. It's the rush of wind around something that's much too heavy, much too all-around massive, to be able to fly the way it does. And then the muted impact, the thuds in quadruplicate, and the sound of talons hooking into stone as your mother alights on the side of your spire.

    "Eldingar!" she calls, her voice just as bassy and booming as yours if not moreso. "Remind me where the entrance is, I won't spend all morning crawling around this spire looking for a hole big enough to squeeze in through."

    You're in hell. You died and you went to hell and now this is what the rest of eternity is going to be for you. Replaying this moment, this exact moment, until your mind extinguishes itself to escape the pain.

    "I've got one," the ifrit chokes around your claws. "The only way... this would look any worse for you... is if you did blast me with mayonnaise."

    And somehow, it got worse.

    Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shi- wait. Wait djinn are supposed to grant wishes! You let them out of the lamp and they give you three, that's what everyone says! The ifrit must've just been mouthing off at you for the sake of it, or to make you too angry to remember, or because you weren't letting him complete his duty, or something, honestly it's a fucking long-shot but a literal miracle is what you need right now so you'll try anything at this point.

    [ ] "I wish for you to turn into a sexy dragon and pretend to be my mate until Mother leaves!"
    [ ] "I wish for you to clean up my cave!"
    [ ] "I wish for you to doub- trip- quadruple my hoard!"
    [ ] "I wish for wine! The good stuff, enough for a dragon!"
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 2, 2018 at 6:21 PM, finished with 383 posts and 46 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 2, 2018 at 10:07 PM, finished with 393 posts and 49 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 3, 2018 at 9:10 AM, finished with 401 posts and 53 votes.
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    • Chapter Six - When Life Is A Disaster, Drink Until The Rubble's Blurry
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    • "I wish for wine!" you blurt out. "The good stuff, enough for a dragon!"

    The ifrit's brow furrows, golden eyes flicking all around at what tiny slices of the devastation he can glimpse. "Really?"

    "You haven't met my mother," you reply, eyes wide.

    The ifrit shoots you a deeply concerned look, then gives a helpless shrug. He raises one steaming hand and snaps his fingers once more, vanishing from your grip in a puff of gold dust. You remain still, knee on the sodden stone where his chest once was, anxiously twiddling your talons in his once-throatal-region as you wait for your wish to be granted.

    "Eldingar!" Mother calls again, making you jerk to your feet like a startled goat. "I do hope you're not avoiding me!"

    "N-no mother!" you call back, one hand cupped against your snout. "Just putting a few finishing touches on things!"

    "There's no need to rush spring-cleaning at the last minute," she replies, her voice slowly travelling around the spire as she searches for the entrance, talons tap-tapping against the thick rock walls. "Frankly I'm amazed to find you up at this hour, I expected to have to wake you."

    "(yes thank you for that, mother)" you hiss to yourself, casting another anxious look around the shambles your entire life has become and beginning to kick yourself for wishing for something as stupid as wine.

    "What was that, my darling?" came her voice once more, closer and closer like some predator in the night.

    "Nothing!" you answer quickly, gesticulating insanely at everything within reach because at least that makes you feel slightly better. "It's the uh- the south-facing slope! High up, work your way down!"

    "I did tell you to knock a proper entrance through one of these walls," Mother lectures you as she clambers around the outside of your tower like a gargantuan, scaly bat. "How are you going to entice a tasty adventuring party into your parlour when you don't even have a front door? Do you expect them to spelunk their way in?"

    "I suppose I hadn't considered that, Mother," you answer, for once not voicing your entirely reasonable misgivings with the concept of stealing treasure from adventurers you've eaten when it's a lot quicker and easier to just buy them with all your free merchant-money without any of the requisite electrical burns or tooth-marks because that might extend your lifespan one more precious second for the ifrit to return.

    You can actually hear Mother's eyes narrow suspiciously as she pauses briefly, a wingspan or two from the entrance. "I hope you aren't just saying everything you think I want to hear hoping I'll forget about our correspondence," she says. "Flattery will get you nowhere, young man."

    "D-do you want me to argue with you!?" you exclaim, clutching at either side of your skull.

    "No, but that never seems to stop you," she replies with a sniff. You want to throttle something but, sadly, the ifrit has not returned. Instead all you can do is stand awkwardly still like prey, frozen in a predator's sights and hoping against hope it'll simply get bored and leave. But while your mother is easy to bore she will never leave until it damn well suits her and as the sound of her tapping talons draws closer and closer to the mouth of your cave you attempt to make some sort of peace with your life but instead all you can do is picture all the various ways she might react up to and including eating you or throwing herself off the cliff but soon you won't need imagination at all because you can see her wrap her foreclaws around the edge as she leans over to peek inside-

    Fwumpf. All around you dozens upon dozens upon dozens of iron-banded wooden barrels materialise out of thin air in puffs of glittering golden dust. So crowded for space and stacked so high that you realise, just as Mother sticks her neck down the hole to cast a critical eye, it almost completely blocks your cave from view. She glares suspiciously at the vineyard markings, and you spare an anxious glance in kind to determine that yes, they are the good stuff. Red wine from a vineyard on the slopes of a volcano, somewhere south you think. You whip your head right back around to meet Mother's gaze and flash her a wide, toothy, not-at-all-terrified grin of innocence and pleasure at her company.

    "... bring up a barrel," she says. "We'll discuss this outside."

    And with that she's gone and you can breathe again, if only for a moment. Part of you wants to thank the ifrit for saving you. Part of you's going to stay angry because it's his fucking fault in the first place. A third part of you just appreciates he stacked the barrels in such a way that Mother couldn't be bothered climbing in and elbowing it all out of the way. If this is happening outside then there's still a chance, however slight. Maybe you can survive this after all.

    ... okay so you're still aching inside about the gold and you're probably going to cry deeply about that tonight but who would you be without the ability to repress emotions around Mother? You turn, finding a pair of golden goblets still rattling into position, the dust of the djinn's teleportation fading from view. Still not enough to get off the hook, you think to yourself vengefully as you scoop them up in one hand and get the barrel they were resting on under your other arm.

    It's a wonderful stormy morning out, no surprise then that Mother was willing to have this discussion outside. The early morning light is the colour of steel, barely forcing its way through the overcast sky. The waters far below the cliff's edge are dull as dishwater, so opaque that it's hard to believe they could even support life. A chill wind sweeps across the high perch, the grass bending before it, but mere wind means nothing to a dragon. You glide down to earth and set down gently, shaking off your wings and folding them around your shoulders like a cloak as you approach Mother. She's shifted down to bipedal form, for ease of drinking if nothing else, and still she towers a full head and shoulders above you - no surprise given she's got about three centuries on you too. She's a slightly paler royal blue compared to you, her horns immaculately-cared-for and shaped into many-pointed crystal spires fit to be featured in a museum.

    And then you notice she's not alone and stop dead.

    The dragon standing beside her looks uncomfortable and completely out of place for a multitude of reasons. His scales are such a bright flame-orange that he pops absurdly to the eye when compared to Mother beside him and the overcast grey all around, his chest and belly creamy-white. He's not from around here, that much is obvious. He's more sinuous, more serpentine, overall longer from snout to tailtip compared to you and without any wings you can see. You guess that if he shifted up to full size he could coil around your entire spire and bite his own tail, although you see no reason why he would, that's just silly. It's difficult to see in this light, but his scales even seem to have an iridescent sheen to them. Also he has an impressive mane of golden hair flowing from behind his coral antlers and down his long neck and matching moustache which you think looks absolutely silly on a dragon even though you're also intensely jealous. He glances at you askance with one emerald-green eye but otherwise looks to Mother for what he's supposed to be doing.

    Mother shoots you a pointed look and you jolt back to life again, setting the barrel down in the grass and prying the lid free with your claws. The dark red surface of the wine ripples slightly in the breeze as you carefully scoop both goblets full. You offer Mother one. She takes both.

    "... so is this-?" you start. Mother raises one talon to shush you and drinks down the entire contents of the first goblet in a single, sustained pull. You simply arch your brow ridges and wait it out. At last she finishes with a soft sigh of satisfaction.

    "One area where you have taste. Now," she gestures to the eastern dragon with the now-empty goblet. "This is Jun-ho, The Dancing Flame That Scorches The Sun. Jun-Ho this is my son Eldingar, The Azure Bolt That Spears The Sky."

    You grunt in greeting. He grunts in reply.

    "Match made in heaven the pair of you," Mother remarks drily, sipping at the second goblet. "Now, Jun-Ho here has come a very long way to reach our shores and he's rather in the market for, shall we say a local guide. I, fortuitously, happen to have a son in need of a mate with little better to do with his time. So who better to teach our exotic friend our ways?"

    You grimace. "I'm not a tour guide, mother."

    "Then what are you, besides a layabout?"

    "A very important merchant prince and pillar of the community!" you protest.

    "You make money squatting next to one of the richest trading ports on the northwest coast, you will forgive me if this doesn't speak to sparkling business acumen in the eyes of the family." She takes another hearty sip from her backup goblet, tongue flickering out to catch a few stray drops on her lips. "My grandmother will be celebrating her 1,000th birthday at the end of the year and I expect you to come. With your mate."

    "N-nana Illvithri's birthday!?" you repeat, eyes wide as dinnerplates. "But the entire clan will be there!"

    "Mhm," she says bluntly.

    "... b-but that's only in six months!" you splutter.

    "And you have had fifty years to find someone," Mother retorts. "If you won't give me grandchildren the least you could do is not embarrass me at the seasonal game-night with this... eternal stasis you've chosen for yourself."

    You shoot her a Look of utter disbelief, flicking your eyes pointedly at the other dragon she brought explicitly for you to hook up with that she's now demeaning you right in front of. She ignores you. You glance at Jun-ho for some small measure of solidarity. He studiously avoids your gaze.


    (( art by @Camellia ))

    "... c-can't I just-"

    "No, Eldingar." Mother drains the last of her second goblet, hooks them both around the talons of one hand and tosses them over her shoulder. "I have put up with you and your excuses for too many decades. It's high time you received a short, sharp push or you'll wind alone on that little treasure-pile until you're a wyrm yourself. Now - will my son be attending that party?"

    [ ] Say you'll attend that party alone, like you have every right to. But you won't because nobody in this world is brave enough for that.
    [ ] Meekly agree to court Jun-ho in preparation for the party, so as not to embarrass her. M-maybe it won't be so bad? It's not like he's all that comfortable with it either.
    [ ] Lie quickly that you've found someone else. Non-dragon mates are allowed, you remember seeing a couple without too many hushed whispers.
    [ ] Bring up the treasure map you bought at the market that pointed you to a djinn. You'll use your sixth months to find everything it points to and then you'll have the greatest hoard in all the clan and nobody will dare talk about shame, she'll see, they'll all see.
    [ ] Say you won't attend at all if that's going to be her attitude. Literally just thinking about doing that terrifies you to your core.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 2:24 AM, finished with 472 posts and 47 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 2:57 AM, finished with 476 posts and 49 votes.
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    • Chapter Seven - All This In Only Six Months!? I'd Cry But That's Wasting Precious Time
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    • "... yes," you say eventually, your gaze dropping by a few degrees.

    "With...?" she prompts you one more time.

    "... with Jun-Ho," you add dutifully, crossing your arms so tight it's like you're trying to hug yourself in half.

    "Finally we can agree on something. Put the lid back on, no need to water it down if it rains."

    Your brow ridges meet in the middle as you wonder at your mother's priorities, but you snap the wooden disc back into place on top of the barrel all the same. Mother arches her neck, drumming her claws against the underside of her chin as she looks over your head at your spire contemplatively. Oh no. You hate it when she Thinks.

    "While you're in such an agreeable mood we really should talk about your lair. Don't act like I didn't notice it's as much of a sty as it always is." You want to break into nervous, hysterical giggles but you don't because that would be a very bad look. "This is as good an excuse as any for you to finally rectify that. Your lovely Jun-ho is not just some mortal 'booty call' you tell you're leaving to buy tobacco then change guises and start a new identity, the clan and I expect you to be properly cohabiting by the time we all gather. It'll be no trouble at all - just knock a proper entryway through, re-surface everything you scratched up like some cat in heat, expand to a second cavern for Jun-ho, provide accommodation more suitable to his native climate-"

    "Mother I'm a dragon not a contractor!" you exclaim in protest.

    "And you take living under a rock rather more literally than the rest of us," she counters. "Do you think most dragons are content with your living conditions? How do you think they go about changing them? Money is for hiring people, darling. A nice Plutocracy team might run up the bill a little but they're good at what they do and good at shutting up while they do it. Workers can speak a damn word of Draconic too."

    "Mother!" you exclaim again.

    "What?" she sniffs. "Honestly if they can handle sneaking over the border in droves and crowding six families to an apartment what's learning a little of the primordial tongue of dragons on the side?"

    You want to point out that the gift of tongues means expecting your labourers and cronies to only speak Draconic to you is utterly unnecessary, but Mother already has plenty of unnecessary things in her life (such as you) so you doubt it'll quite land the way you want it to.

    "The point being that you mustn't fret at the thought of a little renovation," she goes on. "If you run into any trouble, just know that I'll be right around the corner."

    Your stomach freezes solid and sinks down somewhere around your knees. "Beg pardon?"

    "Oh yes. It's very important to me that you succeed," she explains sweetly in much the same way a flytrap is sweet. "And so, at great expense, I've arranged for my own lair to be watched and guarded by some trusted help and found my own accommodations riiiight over there in Söfnun." She indicates the direction with a claw, and even over the horizon she might as well be pointing right next to your spire. "If you ever need anything, I'll only be an hour's flight away."

    "That's... great...!" you reply, as if someone just drove a warhammer between your legs and you're channelling every drop of willpower you have not to show it. Already your mind is filling with nightmarish visions of trying to relax and unwind or gods forbid try to court Jun-ho the only way you know how by showing him the sights and running smack-dab into whatever mortal guise Mother's chosen. Oh gods what if she's taken over a rival merchant house? What if she tries to economically destroy you to teach you a lesson about business and finances!?

    "I'll be checking in regularly to take stock of your progress," she says, as if she didn't just pry open your chest and take a shit inside you. She glances at Jun-ho, who has been finding the featureless horizon to his left staggeringly interesting the entire conversation. She glances back at you, no doubt looking about ready to burst. "You boys enjoy yourselves~!"

    She makes to kick off and into the sky, but pauses at the last moment. Slowly reaching out and picking up the barrel of wine you brought out for her.

    "I'm keeping this."


    (( art by @Camellia ))

    And with that she takes flight, launching herself from the grassy clifftop with a great downbeat of her wings and shifting up into her true form as she goes, so massive and mighty it's no wonder she was so disinclined to try cramming herself inside your lair and discovering the full extent of the tattered ruins your life has become. She settles into a comfortable glide and slowly recedes into the distance, gone but for the vast shadow she still casts over everything you once called yours.

    Leaving you alone with this foreign dragon you're supposed to court.

    Who you just met.

    With your mother making all the first impressions for you.

    And you having no idea how to talk to other dragons, let alone one from another continent.

    The wind kicks up, bending the grass flat against the clifftop beneath your feet as it moans softly in anguish at how badly this is already going. It plucks at Jun-ho's flowing golden hair and he awkwardly rakes it back behind his horns, out of his eyes. You imagine that this place must be fucking miserable to a non-lightning dragon.

    "... so..." you say at last. "Do you... like... gold?"

    Jun-ho shrugs. "Not really."

    Shit it's worse than you could've imagined.

    "Is it... warmer, where you're from?"

    "Yeah."

    You make a deeply pained expression. If he's as miserable about all this as you the least he could do is ask a few painfully stilted questions of his own.

    "How did you... get here?"

    "Boat."

    Okay you'll admit that was a stupid one, none but the most stubborn would make a trip that long on wingpower alone. Granted you don't know how he flies with none, maybe he just sort of wibbles through the air. It's probably offensive to say that's a funny mental image. You're really bad at this.

    "How did my mother-"

    "Look can we not?" he snaps, finally turning his head to look at you after so many agonising minutes of nothing. "Yeah I don't like this any more than you do and yeah I don't really want to move in with you minute one so let's just... not? For like a day?"

    "Hey, I get it. I do. Sorry."

    You still wonder what must be going on on his end and where the hell Mother found him that she could set this up against his wishes but, like he said, puzzle to solve for another time and you have no confidence that you can pry without fucking up and offending him. Best thing to do now is ignore the elephant in the room and distract him with some meaningless bullshit. Thankfully that's your speciality.

    Also the longer he spends away from your lair the better because aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-

    [ ] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
    --[ ] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
    --[ ] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.

    [ ] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
    --[ ] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
    --[ ] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.

    [ ] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 2:49 PM, finished with 525 posts and 28 votes.
    • [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 2:58 PM, finished with 530 posts and 31 votes.
    • [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 8:51 PM, finished with 553 posts and 43 votes.
    • [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 11:29 PM, finished with 555 posts and 45 votes.
    • [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
    Click to expand...

    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 4, 2018 at 11:40 PM, finished with 555 posts and 45 votes.
    • [X] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
      [X] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
      --[X] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
      [X] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
      --[X] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.
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    • Chapter Eight - When Has Drinking With Strangers Ever Led To Regrets?
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    • You look around you and realise for the first time in a very long string of grey, rainy, stormy days you have absolutely no desire to be outside. And with the weather clearly getting to Jun-ho the way it does you during a dry spell when your lightning has the time to all just bleeeeeeed away like sweat the next course of action seems semi-obvious.

    "Okay so," you say, before you can lose your nerve, "you hate this just as much as I do."

    "N-no!" he protests weakly. You just keep looking at him. "... yeah," he finishes, sheepishly averting his gaze.

    "Well! That's something we have in common already!"

    Jun-ho raises one claw, mouth opening as he tries to come up with a counter-argument. Pauses. And then puts his claw right back down again.

    "So let's get drunk as skunks on the rest of the wine in my cave and complain about what endless nightmares our lives are!" you proclaim proudly, adding a "Yaaaaaaaayyyyy!" and jazz-hands. "... and if Mother's gonna see fit to mash us together like a pair of toy soldiers for half a year the least we can do is get to know each other."

    Jun-ho scritches the back of his neck, talons kneading and twisting through the flowing golden hair as he thinks it through. You don't blame him for needing to take a second, in his position you'd probably be more likely to leap into the air and leave immediately. Instead he just shrugs helplessly, palms up almost at shoulder-level.

    "Okay?"

    "GREAT!" The way you see it you've got about ten, maybe twenty minutes before everything hits you again and you're no good to anyone. Best capitalise on the time you have while you can! So you unfurl your wings properly and prepare to take to the skies, leading Jun-ho to the entrance.

    "What about the cups you brought out for your mother?" he asks, pointing at them where they lie in the grass. "Are you just gonna leave them?"

    You pause mid-flap and think about it.

    "After she's slobbered all over them we'd probably get diseases," you say. "Leave 'em, I have more. (I think.)"

    You kick off properly and flap your way up to the cave mouth, alighting atop the lip at the corner to make sure Jun-ho knows where to go, and out of curiosity so you can turn and watch how he flies to follow you. He doesn't disappoint - he has to return to his true form to do it, and what follows is an oddly mesmerising serpentine undulation that carries him straight through the thin air like a swimming snake or eel or very long fish. It's almost hypnotic in its rhythm just in the short time you have to watch it, and then like that he's vanishing into the cave. You can practically hear the schloop of the cave sucking the weird noodle-dragon down into its depths. You hop in after him, flaring out your wings for the last metre or so to cushion your fall as you land next to his bipedal form. He's craning his neck to see the top of the wall of wine-barrels that saved your life from Mother just a few moments ago.

    "I guess you... really like wine?" he asks.

    "And you don't like gold apparently so this is gonna be a lot less of an issue than it should be!" you reply with a distinctly hysterical undertone to your voice as you decide to get it all over with out of the gate and give the base of the wall a short, sharp kick. You hear the wine inside rumble and ripple, the wood groan and creak, a section of the mighty alcoholic fortification wavering and swaying. Finally giving up the ghost and toppling ponderously, steel-banded barrels bouncing with strangely sonorous sounds and rolling away to various corners of your cave.

    "Uh," says Jun-ho.

    It's just the way you remember it and will likely remember it in all of your nightmares from this day forth. The whole thing coated in a single irregular layer of coins, one side dominated by the horrible molten, fused lump of lightning-scorched gold that was once the heart of your treasurepile. Salt and spices and other provisions strewn about the place among the wreckage of the once-wagons that held them. The bag of baubles you bought at Söfnun yesterday is intact, and you spy at least a couple of the bigger items scattered around untouched or only lightly damaged, but all in all you've still lost the majority of your life's work.

    "Do you... want to talk about it?" the eastern dragon asks, concerned.

    "Not much to tell I just got in a fight with a djinn!" you say far too jauntily because if you let it set in that's when the demons come. "Find a nice bit of rubble or two, I'll get us a barrel and some cups."

    "O-okay..." he says, eyeing you as he clearly conjures up all sorts of alternative reasons for your cave to be in this state that don't involve mysterious invisible djinn battles, but refrains from actually speaking them aloud. He finds two roughly chair-sized pieces of rubble while you bring the goblets and wine barrels - one to actually drink from and the other to stand up between the two of you like an end-table. You scoop your cup full first and, after a second's hesitation, Jun-ho follows suit.

    "So..." he says.

    "So," you concur.

    "So... d'you know how this," he gestures in a broad fashion with his cup, "All this is supposed to go?"

    "Kkkkkind of?" You take some very deep pulls from your goblet, ever your mother's son, and rack your brain for anything useful. "I mean I kind of passively heard about matchmaking while I was still living with Mother but I don't remember any times when it was this set up."

    "Ah." Jun-ho takes some hearty swigs to match you and refills his cup. "Then just tell me everything you do. More context can't hurt, right?"

    "Mhm." You empty and refill yours in turn. You have to admit the ifrit did a pretty good job actually, this wine is good. You wonder where he ran off to. Maybe too tired to torment you any more for the day? Perhaps he'll be back to break up this mandated courtship. Wouldn't that be nice. "Well whenever you pick someone you're wanting to form something long-term with the aunties think it over - and the aunties always know."

    "Magic?" he asks.

    "Most comprehensive and wide-reaching spy network in any nation and beyond," you reply wide-eyed. "They will know."

    He looks distinctly uncomfortable, and just the barest hint interested in why you'd know so personally, but you blow past it immediately thanks to hysteric energy and wine. "So they evaluate your partner and kind of weigh up the cost-benefit ratio there, whether it's in grandchildren or in money or in power and influence et cetera et cetera. It's rare that they don't find something useful honestly, think the only flat-out rejections are when there's a scale colour mismatch."

    "Scale colour?" Jun-ho repeats as you top yourself off. "Doesn't that seem a bit...?"

    "Oh no it's a..." you gesture vaguely, taking another sip while you think. You snap your claws. "Biological. Thing. Like say, me I'm a blue dragon so my element is lightning. I don't just breathe lightning I absorb it from storms and it's kind of like another food for me- do you have this where you come from?"

    "Oh, no I wasn't very uh... deep into the local dragon scene," Jun-ho replies awkwardly.

    "Yeah well neither am I, so that's another thing we have in common," you say sardonically. "Uh... right scale colour. I eat lightning and I breathe lightning and I'm immune to lightning. Simple enough yeah?" He nods. You take another sip. "So I marry a... red dragon lady. Red dragons are immune to heat and tend to find volcanos to live in so they can chew on some magma to fuel their fire. Youuuuu breathe fire right? Just asking since you seem more on the orange side."

    He breathes out a tongue of iridescent flame, which a moment later bursts blue as the alcohol fumes catch light. His eyes go wide as he slaps his free claw over the end of his snout, as if catching a burp. You just snort.

    "Fire it is!"

    He gives a little laugh of his own, taking his hand away from his mouth.

    "So yeah, say I married her and we had children. They're not gonna be purple dragons, it doesn't work like that. Or..." your brow furrows, "I think maybe sometimes it does but it's really super rare? But maybe the guy who told me was fucking with me. Point is more commonly it's like... half would be blue, half would be red, and out of all them like a third would get some kinda health problem. Like not being completely immune to one of our elements so they'd hurt themselves trying to eat it or produce a horrible nightmare-mixture of our breaths if they tried to breathe an element, so on and so forth."

    "Well that sounds... bad," Jun-ho says insightfully, goblet already half empty - how many are you at? You haven't really been keeping count but maybe he is, who knows.

    "Mm. But hey, we're gay, so that's one problem solved!"

    There's a pregnant pause.

    The two of you drunkenly snort in unison. You take his cup and refill both.

    "So it's only dragons with other scale colours?" Jun-ho asks. "What if you fell in love with a mortal?"

    "Yeah that's fine." You pause. "I mean hey it's not always 'falling in love' but yeah if it's a mortal it's still okay. All sorts of stuff you can control through a mortal if you don't feel like doing it yourself in disguise, and you can still have half-dragon kids."

    Jun-ho cocks his head and makes a face as he clearly tries to picture what a half-dragon kid would look like.

    "Uhhhh..." you consider his unasked question, setting your near-empty cup down and counting off your talons. "Grow up at the regular rate for their mortal parent, I think they just look like 'em too by default but maybe they're weird hybrids, then as they grow up they learn the innate tricks. Main difference is they can only look like the one normal mortal guise or like forms we're using now, 'least unless they scale up."

    " 'Scale up'?" Jun-ho asks, leaning over the barrel-table as he refills his cup. "What's- what's this 'scale up'?"

    "D'you not have that where you're from?"

    The mustachioed dragon shakes his head.

    "Uuhhhh how to explain it..." you knock back the rest of your cup and worry the golden stem back and forth between your claws. "Basically a mortal can turn into a dragon if they're greedy enough."

    Jun-ho blinks blankly at you.

    "I mean, yeah. We're greedy. It's kind of our Thing. Building up treasure-hoards and adding to them over the course of the years and decades and centuries is just kind of this overwhelming need. Like, metaphysically or something. So all throughout the land when someone's too greedy and too miserly, if they push enough people away and covet enough, eventually they'll just wake up one day on a pile of all they've gained a full-fledged dragon."

    "So it's... a punishment, here? To become a dragon?"

    Now it's your turn to shoot him a blank look. The question takes a second to worm its way through your thickening head. "I mean... I guess?" you answer eventually. "In technical terms yeah it's a curse and sometimes scale-ups get those broken for whatever reason but..." you shrug. "I dunno. I'm like this and I always have been. Just seems pretty normal to me."

    There's a long silence cut only by the gentle gurgle of wine flowing into cups. You're having to reach pretty far into the barrel at this point. You don't know what face Jun-ho is making because you're busy staring into the middle distance and trying to remember who it was in the Söfnun fighting pits that got the simultaneous knock-out with the one that always chained his right arm behind his back. And remembering what day it is. And-

    "Oh right!" you say suddenly, lurching a little as you lean over the barrel-table. You prop yourself up on your elbow, sipping from the goblet in your moderately swaying other hand. "IIiii haaaave... a magic treasure-map. That points me to treasure. With a magic compass."

    "Wow," Jun-ho says insightfully.

    "Yeeeeah," you reply. "S'what pointed me to that motherfucker piece of shit the ifrit what... blew up all my gold the prick but he grants wishes so I got that going for me." You take another long drag from your cup. "And there's still six other markers on that map so I'm gonna... gonna go find all that treasure and replace what I lost 'cause Mother might Actually Kill Me if she finds out I blew up all my gold."

    "I thought you said the ifrit-"

    "And I thought I said shaddup!" you jab a talon at him accusingly. "An- anyway the more gold I have the nicer the aunties'll be at Nana Illvithri's birthday -or kill me less painfully I guess- so I'm gonna go fffind it all and you can come with me if you want 'cause it's something to do I guess y'don't have to I mean we can do what you wanna do too it's not like every day nothing but treasure-hunting."

    "Right, right, right, right," he agrees, nodding repeatedly. "But... you aren't worried I'd try'n steal it? We only just met?"

    "Uhh... mean you could," you say, brow ridges furrowing as the idea actually properly occurs to you. "But then Mother would know and the aunties would know and basically they'd hunt you down like a dog and kill you 'cause dragons don't steal from dragons without getting fucked."

    Jun-ho drinks the rest of his cup very very quickly and you match him like the world's shortest drinking game.

    "So can you do the disguise thing?" you ask out of the blue.

    Jun-ho blinks. "The... disguise thing?"

    "Yeah! You know, like-" you shift down into your Lord Elding guise, bearded and tanned and long-haired and pointy-eared "-this!"

    "Ooooh! Oh yeah I can do that!" Jun-ho looks down at the barrel and concentrates as hard as he can. Suddenly, all at once, with an audible poof and a wave of dry heat he's covered in a thin layer of scarlet fur and literal flickering flames. He's an upright dog-man of the same size and proportion as his old form, long and lean and lanky. Bright emerald-green eyes still glowing beneath coral antlers.

    You snort. "What's that?"

    "A bulgae!" he says defensively. "They're plenty common where I come from!"

    "... oh yeah," you say stupidly, "mean just looks like a dog someone lit on fire I guess..."

    "Yeah well they're called 'bulgae' and they're majestic and beautiful," Jun-ho adds weirdly vehemently.

    "And you forgot your horns," you point out.

    He pats them with his free hand. "Aw shit. Well-" he looks up at you "-well you forgot your eyes!"

    "No I'm pretty sure I have eyes still."

    You pause. Then carefully tap at your face just in case.

    "no no no you have eyes I mean your eyes," he explains helpfully, waggling his claws at his own. "They're really bright blue and I've never seen a normal person with that shade."

    "Oh." You look down into the rippling surface of the wine in your goblet and see that he's right. "Ohhhhh..."

    "S'okay!" Jun-ho comforts you, pat-pat-patting your shoulder rather harder than you think he's intending. "You tried! And that's what counts! S'long as you keep trying!"

    "Yeah yeah yeah-" you reach into the barrel for another cupful, only to find yourself scraping the bottom of it. You pause, scraping it a few more times just to make sure there's not more hiding under this weird wood-y blockage you've unexpectedly bumped into. "-oh. Need more."

    "I'll get-" Jun-ho starts, pushing himself off his rock.

    "Nno-nono, you, you stay," you order him, wagging your hand at him authoritatively. "Stay. Stay. Guest. I-" you press your hand to your chest "-I go. Get more booze."

    Jun-ho nods in acknowledgement of these sage words. You slowly push yourself upright, claws flat on the lid of the unopened barrel beneath. You turn and- wait. The barrel table has wine in it too. Why not just use the- no that... that means it's wine and not table any more. You want it to stay table. Only one table and lots more wine. You turn away, content that you're a clever boy for catching that so quickly, and wander off in pursuit of one of the many that rolled away when you kicked down the winewall.

    "Heeeere drinky drinky drinky..." you murmur to yourself. "Daddy needs you to stay happy because his life is a nightmare~"

    And then at some point you think you blink too long and decide that a nap would be really nice right about now.

    You sit up on a soft four-poster bed wrapped in silk sheets, draped in gauzy curtains on three sides. The light of either sunrise or sunset filters gently through the window, catching the incense smoke that curls up from almost every available surface and bathing the lush bedroom in a soft, hazy pink glow. The scent is almost overpowering, like a dozen rich perfumes all mixed up into a single heady cocktail that hangs heavily in the air. A fire flickers behind a brass grate at the other end of the room, casting a slight dancing orange light across the massive Sultanate rug lying before it. You can even hear music, sitars you think, gently strumming from somewhere beyond the room and filtering through in such a manner that it seems to surround you.

    "Mmm... something the matter?"

    You turn and look. Jun-ho is lying next to you, posed just so with the silk sheets coquettishly wrapped around his naked, scaly body. He's looking up at you like you just got done having the most passionate sex of your lives and he's angling for another go before breakfast, one hand on your arm.

    "Uh..." you take another look around the room "... lots, actually."

    "Why, what is it?"

    You blink, sluggish thoughts connecting behind your eyes. "Because... because for starters this seems awfully fast."

    " 'Fast'? Eldingar, we've been together for two years," Jun-ho says, somewhat concerned. "Are you still confused from the dream you had?"

    For just a moment that seems a little plausible. And then it doesn't in the slightest so you furrow your brow ridges, plucking at the silk sheets with your claws. Predictably, they tear almost immediately.

    "And I'd never be caught dead in this... weird... soft... fluffy thing mortals call beds," you go on, so offended at the concept that your thoughts manage to get a little clearer. "Let alone in this form with you! We'd tear these to shreds nightly, it'd just be impossible! Where's my cave? Where's my treasure? Why aren't I lying on a giant pile of gold? I mean the incense, the music, the sexy posing... what's really going on here?"

    There's a long, pregnant pause as Jun-ho simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

    "... is this a dre-?"

    Which is when you wake up with a disgusting, deep, apnea-skronk that frightens even you. You're flat on your back, staring straight up at the ceiling of your spire, a thin sheet of gold coins beneath you and very little idea how you got there. Albeit you do know that your head is aching like you're running on no lightning at all and your mouth feels like someone scrubbed it with a ferret and also there's someone snoring nearby. You crane your neck to look - oh, it's just Jun-ho, slumped over the table-barrel and drooling, one arm crooked over his eyes and the other dangling free beside it. At least he's back in his draconic form so he's not... setting the barrel on fire.


    (( art by @Camellia ))

    Your head rocks back and you squint up at the ceiling in confusion, trying to puzzle out what exactly is going on in your weird head right now.

    At which point you realise that you and Jun-ho aren't alone in your cave. You can hear someone pacing back and forth off to your right somewhere, their footfalls making a weird noise you can't quite place. They're muttering something to themselves, clearly so wrapped up in whatever it is (and you so groggy and wasted that you've barely moved) that they don't actually know you're awake yet. Definitely not the ifrit, you can tell that much at least. For starters, he seems more the hover-lounging than walking type.

    You're not even worried, strictly speaking, just confused and annoyed. And looking to deal with whatever the hell this is quickly so you can go off and freshen up with a bolt or six because fuck the pain is literally pulsing behind your eye.

    [ ] Ask who the hell this person is and what they're doing in your cave. You're in no mood to be anything but blunt.
    [ ] Keep playing at being asleep and sharpen your ears for whatever they're muttering. Get some info on the down-low, and this way you can rest your eyes and stay horizontal which sounds really appealing right now.
    [ ] Wake up Jun-ho to back you up, leap into action and attack whoever it is so you can make them give you some answers. Hung-over anger will give you the strength you need, and this way at least they can't escape.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 5, 2018 at 7:57 PM, finished with 627 posts and 44 votes.
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    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 6, 2018 at 3:27 AM, finished with 641 posts and 50 votes.
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    • Chapter Nine - Oh Dreamweaver, Why Are You So Bad At Your Job?
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    • Well you'll never be able to do this if you wait to feel up for it. You'll just have to move all of a sudden before your body has time to warn your brain that this is a terrible idea and no dragon should be alive after consuming so much alcohol. Ready? Of course not but that's the idea. One-

    You sit bolt upright in one explosive movement, burning every last scrap of energy you have left as your body lurches to keep up with you. You swing around to face the footsteps, eyes opening out of synch as you slur out an incredibly accusatory "Bitch-!"

    And then stop. The footsteps stop all at once too as their owner freezes dead on the spot, caught red-handed with no idea how to handle this.

    It's a he and he is... not what you expected. That is to say you didn't expect to have yet another uninvited guest in your cave but you still didn't expect this. He's not human, that much is painfully clear - his skin is bright scarlet, his eyes like luminous crimson rings in the pools of ink that are his sclera. Polished ebony horns sweep back from his brow, over long, silky, raven-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. His ears are pointed, fangs just barely visible between parted pitch-black lips. He's got the brawn of a pit-fighter, clearly something he's worked hard on, but he hasn't quite worked hard enough - his stomach is blurred with just a bit too much fat, more a solid slightly rounded slab than any kind of ab definition, like he's crossed his physical peak and now all the working out is a holding pattern first and a cure second. He seems a tad too tall for his build, but as your eyes travel down past the elegantly-embroidered gold and purple loincloth and flash of slender arrowhead-tipped tail behind his hip you see why. It's like he jumped into a thigh-high puddle of tar at some point and it half-dried before it could slough off, clinging and staining the skin in thick ropes and tendrils. His feet are more like yours than anything else, saurian things with curved black talons and an armoured look to the tar-like substance, overdeveloped dewclaw-looking things growing from the heels keeping him pushed up on the balls of his feet like... well, heels. His hands are similar, dunked in liquid darkness from the elbow down, a few tendrils clinging to the biceps, his fingers wicked talons. Kind of like yours, so he's got that going for him at least.

    "... whuhdafuck?" you say insightfully.

    The demon-man looks left, and he looks right. He seems to judge that trying to dart away would just further wake the already confused, hung over, annoyed and grumpy dragon he has the full attention of and decides to own it. He squares up and clasps his claws together.

    "Uh... hello," he says. "I'll be your incubus for this evening. I apologise for the-"

    Your eyes lose focus, your brow furrowing as you make a few more very concerning apnea-noises and you think you'll pass out again if you don't focus very very very hard. Your face of pure concentration probably just looks constipated.

    "... a-are you ok?" he asks.

    "M'finewhatsittoyou!" you snap back. Smacking your temple as if to clear all the fog out and shaking your head wildly. You cough, hack, clear your throat. "What's- what're- why's an incubus' out-of-work dad in my cave?"

    The incubus blinks a few times. He takes a minute to answer, glancing down and swallowing before he does. "Well... he's here on a job. The only job he could get. On short notice I mean," he adds. He grimaces, exhaling twin jets of breath through his nose so hot they steam. "And I already fucked it up so hey good going everyone throw a party."

    "Did my mother send you!?" you ask accusingly, leaping to the most logical conclusion immediately.

    "Wh- no- who?" the incubus double-takes, eyebrows practically meeting in the middle. "I mean... is she a mage?"

    You stare at him blankly for a bit. "... I actually know shockingly little about what she does in her spare time," you say at last. "Probably something horrible. Like eat babies. Or poison wells. Or forget my birthday."

    The incubus looks extremely concerned about something but you're not really sure what so you just wait for him to say something. He catches himself and stumbles to a start again. "I really don't know anything about your mother beyond really basic details. I'm just here because I'm an incubus and... well this is my job. And nobody else was available for it." He unlaces his claws and gestures vaguely with one hand. "Incubi uh, seduce people. And succubi and the ones in-between or neither that is. It's what we do. They said down in the infernal plane you just got into a relationship so I came up to uh... get in on that action I suppose?"

    You look back at Jun-ho. He's still snoring, worming and worrying his face deeper into the barrel's embrace. You look back at the incubus.

    "Us?" you ask. "Already?"

    The incubus shrugs helplessly. "Not every day you get a chance to siphon lust off a dragon. Just how it works."

    You shoot him another long, blank stare.

    "Then can you... get out of my cave now?" you ask. "Thanks but buh-bye. It's full."

    "I can't... actually do that," he replies, scratching the back of his neck. "It kind of works on a contract system - I can't leave until I've seduced you."

    "Well then appeal it!" you exclaim.

    "I can't!" he shoots right back, "That doesn't work that way either!"

    "Your system sucks!"

    "Yes! Yes it does!"

    "Reduced to passive-aggressive pressure and begging, have we? My my but standards have lowered since my time~"

    You and the incubus turn in unison as a third yet familiar voice joins the fray. And there he is, real as anything and bold as brass. The ifrit, only technically more dressed than the incubus, reclining seductively on a hovering couch of glittering golden sand. He tilts his head back slightly, looking down the line of his perfect nose at the incubus, cheek propped up in one golden-clawed hand.

    "An ifrit, huh," the incubus says, audibly keeping a neutral tone. "Didn't know you were already... spoken for?"

    "He is," the ifrit says as if he owns the place, glancing over at you. "Really now, dragon, do you need yet another freeloader?"

    You gesticulate angrily up at the ifrit with one hand because you need the other right down with you on the cave floor to keep you from toppling over. "First of all! A) there is no 'we'! There's just 'I'! I because I own this place and I get to decide who stays and who goes and it was full of my treasure that you blew up, and B) Jun-ho is here because of an actual thing we're doing! You're the freeloader! The first one! The only 'another' freeloader here is him because you came first! It skips over Jun-ho!"

    The ifrit slowly arches one eyebrow, staring down at you with a silent look of 'oh, worm?' "Freeloader, am I? And... who was it, pray tell, that saved your life from your horrid mother by finding all that wine? That wine you've been busy scoffing like water?"

    You know the answer but you don't want to say it so you're just silently angry for a while. You leave it a good fifteen seconds before you finally answer with a quiet, grumpy "(you)".

    "I see," the ifrit says, with another one of those insufferable smirks of his. "And who has two wishes yet to be granted~?"

    "... (me)" you admit again. But he made you blow up your gold and you reserve the right to hold a grudge against him forever for that, the tosser. From his face you're pretty sure that A) he knows and B) he's perfectly fine with that. He slowly rotates his hovering sand-recliner to shoot the incubus another smug look.

    "Look, I'm-" the incubus shrugs again. "I don't know what you want from me. By rights I should be running off to keep giving you wet dreams until you give in or something but I'm sure they'd all go just as bad as the first, but it's not like I can go home so it doesn't matter where I go."

    "Why does everyone want to keep moving in with me!?" you complain to nothing and no one in particular, cradling your pulsing head. "Everything was better when it was quiet! Ugh, (learn incubi are actually real and they only show up right when I don't want one)," you mutter angrily. You raise your head and voice in equal measure. "Incubus guy. Whatever. Give me one good reason why I should let you stay."

    Another long silence, punctuated by a heavy, alcoholic snore. Jun-ho's impressive set of lungs draws every eye in the cave.

    "... relationship advice," the incubus says at last. "Let me hang around at least in the general area and I'll teach you everything I know about guys."

    "Mm, and after you did such a bang-up job of it yes?" the ifrit comments.

    "You pipe down," the incubus snaps, jabbing a talon at the hovering golden djinn. "You think a fully-realised intractable charm-dream is easy? You think an incubus can't seduce someone by talking? No, I can do that."

    "And you probably try to seduce me at the end?" you ask.

    The incubus replies with a 'well what can you do?' sort of shrug.

    The snoring stops at last. Jun-ho sits upright with a deep breath in through his nose, blinking blearily as he glances between you and the incubus and the ifrit and back again. You turn your head to meet his gaze properly and the two of you are silent for a few long, long seconds.

    "Mmmonsterpeople in your cave?" he asks insightfully.

    "Yeah," you reply sagely.

    "Oh. Cool." And like that he slumps forward onto the barrel again, the snoring resuming right where it left off. The spirits of various stripes hanging around like bad smells mostly just blink in surprise.

    "... ugh. Y'know what? Fine." You cradle your aching head and just nod. "Fine, just fine. Incubus guy, fuck off and find somewhere to stay. Ifrit, you fuck off too." A pause. "Wait no, first guy, incubus, don't fuck off."

    "Mm?"

    "You're the dream person right?" you ask, gesticulating angrily at your head. "Can you put a person to sleep?"

    "Every time he opens his mouth I wager," the ifrit comments.

    "You shut up I'm still angry at you!" you snap at him with an accusatory point. You swing your extended index talon around to point at the incubus instead. "You. Magic people to sleep. Yes or no."

    "Y-yes?" the incubus replies, clearly still coming to terms with whatever weird living situation it is you have here that he's contractually obligated to sink waist-deep into.

    "Good. Sleep me."

    With a moment's hesitation the incubus sweeps his hand in your direction, and sleep claims your more-than-willing body once more. You slump down, your head striking the cave floor with an audible THONK, and lie still as your snoring joins Jun-ho's own. You sleep deeply, peacefully, and dreamlessly.

    You awaken to find your cave awash with the muted steely-grey light of morning. You're still on the floor right where you landed, not that sleeping on bare rock really matters to a dragon, and of your other mandatory cave-mates there is no sign. Jun-ho's moved at least, the table-barrel set off to the side again with the two chalices set down neatly side-to-side on top. Maybe he's outside taking a look around, going on a quick fly to clear his head. Ifrit and that incubus guy are who knows where, but you doubt it'd be some great effort getting them to come if you called. If you wanted to. Not that you do.

    And, most importantly of all, you have silence. You have solitude. You have tranquillity. Who knows when you'll have it next after this wondrous stormy grey morning? Ahhh to be a solitary bachelor once more...

    ... but your mother is terrible and so is dragon society so much as you'd like to you can't just laze around and do nothing. You'll have to do something. The only question is what.

    [ ] Go find Jun-ho and spend a little more time with him. Last time seemed to go pretty well! You know a bit more about each other -him about you far more than the reverse- and the wine probably broke down some barriers!
    [ ] Go find the ifrit. He's a dumb stupid asshole idiot that ruined your life, but he's still got two wishes in the pocket and that's worth putting up with him. You can check out the limitations on it, see what problems you can solve.
    [ ] Go find the incubus. Make him work for bothering you out of the blue, stupid contract or no. Besides, you're in such desperate need for romantic conversation help that an incubus may just be your last resort.
    [ ] Stay inside and get to work cleaning up the goldsplosion in earnest. Seeing it all strewn about like this hurts your heart. The least you can do is make it look slightly less awful, and the gold-counting should be soothing.
    Adhoc vote count started by ZerbanDaGreat on May 6, 2018 at 2:06 PM, finished with 698 posts and 45 votes.
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