Rolled 5 + 4 (1d8 + 4)
>>5398440>>5398410>>5398382>>5398304>>5398226>>5398224>>5398205>>5398198“By the Dark Gods, you have… Grown!”
The faint internal glow of the worm-princess dims slightly further. You recall your own difficult childhood, whereby you once suffered the fate of the transformed outcast. Your pubescence only brought yet more ‘difference’, more ostracization, until finally you were large and imposing enough that even the Serpent Priestlings and high-born clan heirs dares not openly mock you… Well, save the Novice. Glowie’s transformation is more dramatic, but you think you understand her fear of rejection.
You hastily amend your faux pas: “You have grown STRONG. Evolved! I am impressed.”
You probingly approach and, when none of her unsettling segmented appendages lashes out at you, you part the curtain of silk and reach out to take Glowie’s strange hand in yours. The fingers are weirdly shaped, oddly proportioned, but still modeled after a Reptilian talon; compared to much of the rest of her body, thick and swollen, they are thin, gracile, almost delicate. Her fingers instinctively intertwine with yours, and she squeezes your hand with hers and meets your eyes nervously.
“You… Still like me?” Glowie asks, in that psychic vibrato.
“Of course,” you reply. “You are a dear friend, and the mother of my children.”
Glowie emits a small, surprisingly-cute chirping hum, accompanied by a strobing of her bioluminescence. Refracted through her gem-like, half-hardened shell, it is a rather pretty effect. You stand there with her, hands clasped, appreciating the light-show. Gradually, Glowie’s elongated and engorged body unfurls, and she presses her thorax and head segments closer to you, attempting to emulate your height and simulate standing by your side by holding much of her voluminous form in reserve, curled around the edge of the cave. Eventually, her trembling seems to calm, and she rests her head against your shoulder.
“You look different, too,” she notes, the vibration now quieter, and more intimate.
Ah, the new armour, and the haircut. You explain the situation, and tell her of the upcoming diplomatic mission.
“You look nice,” she chirps happily, nuzzling closer, seemingly savouring your warmth and scent. “My king…”
