>>5220450>>5220012>>5220010>>5219942Under cover of darkness and forest, you travel with Roth and your chimeras. The Dragonborn stays behind, of course, doted on and monitored for side-effects or complications by the Fleshweavers. He has settled into the comforts of kingship quite readily, even if he still flinches away from the chimerical procedures and medicines they provide. You reassure the big lug that all will be well and, seemingly trusting you implicitly, he takes comfort in this. The owlbear, and tentacle dog, though, you cannot leave—ESECIALLY the owlbear, who most of your kind are instinctively terrified to even approach. If it wasn’t for you and Alhazred, he would never be fed! As for Little Hirchsel… You simply like him much to leave behind. He seems to appreciate you, too, leaning into your chin scritches with obvious eagerness.
Alhazred, though, you leave behind. You imagine you could do something to alter his complexion with yours and Henzler’s ever-better mastery of biological alchemy… But then, he clearly lacks the unique spark that sets you apart from common Degenerates. He will only slow you down. He seems to understand this well enough, anyway… You think.
Alhazred isn’t the only matter you have second thoughts about. Throughout the entirety of your journey to the farmhouse, you constantly war with your conscience about the small soul inside of you. The better, more loyal part of you feels like a stupid, STUPID fool for even humouring the idea of breeding, let alone without getting a Superior One’s explicit permission and protection. What if youa re found out? What fi it all goes wrong?! As you camp in the woods with Roth, half-way to the farmhouse, you stare down at your abdomen—still flat and toned—and debate simply erasing the entity within you as if itw as never there.
‘Baby souls don’t have a lot of flavour,’ Irinnile laments. ‘But hey, meal’s a meal. Want me to take care of this?’
‘…’
‘Hotstuff?’
‘Not yet,’ you respond. ‘Let Henzler have a look at this…. Opportunity.’
You place your hands upon your abdomen almost automatically, instinctively. You feel a smile crease your face, just slightly. You wonder if your mother ever looked down at you like this.
‘Hormones are kicking in, huh?’ Irinnile notes.
You shush her.
“What are you doing?” Roth snaps. “The fire requires more fuel, Infiltrator!”
You roll your eyes, and go gather more firewood for your father’s unknowing father, surly old curmudgeon that he is.