>>5297449>>5297337>>5297333>>5297292>>5297129>>5297109>>5297013>>5296981>>5296973>>5296929>>5296909>>5296885>>5296855>>5296854The offering is tempting, and not just because of the body pressing against you—supple, strong where strength is desirable, pliable, willing—but also because of this worm-woman’s words, and what they promise. You… A natural king to an empire of descendants, loyal warriors in service of the Dark Gods! It has an appeal you cannot deny, even if the offspring in question would be insectoid. You are already a hybrid, after all. What is one more dilution of a polluted genepool?
But then… What of the Master Race? What of your status AMONG that race? If you were to be open about this, you would suffer excommunication, execution even! There are perhaps ways to spin this tale, to make it a boon to the Priesthood…. But there is no way to keep it under wraps indefinitely, and certainly not to continue to keep Glowie herself (or her brooding mother) a secret from the Reptilian leadership.
And what of your aspirations to Dragonhood? Does a dragon lay with bugs, with worms and other such foul and lowly creatures? Glowie is… Glowie. You enjoy her presence, and she has been a useful and loyal companion. You certainly desire alliance, just maybe not… ‘Alliance.’
“This is the feel of a Reptilian breeding implement?” Glowie whispers, squeezing you through clothing. “It is not what I expected. There are… Two?”
You shove her away, without hostility but with decisiveness. When he looks up at you curiously, and reaches out again, you take a step back.
“We… The others are not so far away, and we have a mission to attend to.”
Glowie tilts her head.
“I can delay brooding phase until the kobolds are dead. While I am laying and brooding, it is best that you be undistracted and able to focus on protection, anyway.”
“An alliance between our races is a good idea, but the rest…”
Glowie’s disappointment is palpable, and your frustration throbs between your legs, conflicted feelings made flesh.
“Let us... Return to the others,” you say, turning away.
You close your eyes and think about dragons until the ‘distraction’ dies down. Glowie offers no objections, and no further provocations. In silence, the two of you return to the rest of your retinue.
“Where were you two?” the Novice demands, and then her nose scrunches and her eyes narrow. “Why do you smell as if you are in rut?”
You do not answer, pushing her aside, to her hissing objections and muttered insults.
Glowie sits apart from you, appearing to be lost in thought. When you lean against the far wall, far from the others, she watches you with inscrutable expression, but makes no effort to join you.
