Open Chronicles Lunch | The Empire

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene

This is how all the little ones should enjoy themselves.

---

​

When Aivrid took the time and effort to disguise himself, it was usually not for pleasure. No, being in the body of a small humanoid was more often uncomfortable for him. He felt confined in such a vessel. Without the comfortable weight of his scales, the slight shake of the earth when he stepped, how was he supposed to feel happy in such a form? And yet that dragon matriarch, Kerathari, had been correct -- there was one thing that surprised him about the little ones, something so essential to life that he had not even considered it.

Food.

As a dragon, a beast, a hunter, Aivrid had never eaten the little ones' food. Perhaps he'd scooped some up when he swallowed a little fishing boat whole, or when he'd eaten a farmer's storehouse, but his taste buds weren't quite the same. Aivrid ate to survive. The little ones, they ate to survive as well, but they also ate to enjoy. It was so much different from how he'd been raised. A good different, for once.

Thus, when he arrived back in Kherkhana he'd had the chefs whip up an enormous feast, one fit for a dragon. Still, Aivrid had no plans to eat as a dragon; he arrived at the shaded palace terrace that had been prepared for his meal as a little human. And so his midday meal began, and for once he was truly enjoying his food.

"Delicious," the man groaned, savouring his bite of fruit. Heavenly, if he'd ever tasted it. "How come you are not always eating? So many starving out there. Of course, with my stomach, I can spend weeks without eating, but you need to eat every day. How come you do not eat more?" He questioned the others who'd joined him for his feast. "If I were like this all the time, I'd almost always be eating."

 

[Fieravene]

Glad to enjoy a reprieve from the sun, Fiera had already indulged herself with a full glass of wine and a full platter of appetizers presently displayed across the main table.

"Well," Fiera offered as she bit an olive off a skewer, "it pays to watch one's figure, isn't that right Lady Medja?"

The novelty of a dragon now participating at their scale had not quite yet worn off. She watched him with enthusiasm, pointed ears pricked as he dug in to the fruit first, "Aivrid you have missed out - here, let me help you..." the dark elf demonstrated by picking up a fresh skewer, spearing several pieces of fruit, and then dipping them in melted chocolate, "this, you must try it like this."

 

[Medja]

Kherkhana was not a familiar place to Medja, nor had it been a place she'd ever expected to find herself. Not before Gerra conquered it, anyhow. Yet here she was on a hot afternoon enjoying lunch with a dragon and a dark elf...in Kherkhana. What a strange day this was.

"it pays to watch one's figure, isn't that right Lady Medja?"

"It certainly does." She concurred. Keeping herself in this shape over the course of several centuries was the result of hard work and proper dieting, and she was proud of her physique. "You may be able to take whatever shape you choose, Master Aivrid, but we have to work to look good."

The courtier idly sipped a glass of wine and studied the dragon's human form. It marked her as odd that he had been so particular about his chosen guise. Did he have an idea of what people found attractive?

"Madame Fieravene has it correct, Master Aivrid. If one is to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, one should do so properly." She stated with a quick glance and smile towards the she elf.

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene

Pleasures of the flesh.

---

​

"Watch one's figure?" Aivrid looked puzzled. Compared to his normal form, the expressions he were currently making were as clear as day. Most could only guess what expressions a dragon was making. Humans were much easier to read. It seemed as if the dragon had forgotten that. Today, he was an open book.

Of course, he had good reason to be confused by the statement. He'd never watched his figure. Of course, he was no glutton; the greed of a dragon did not extend to food. Still, he tried his best to consider the idea. "So you try to stay... thin. Yes, that's right. Because you believe it to make you more attractive to others, yes?" It made some sense. There were always certain qualities one looked for in a mate. Long claws, great horns, enormous size. He supposed he shouldn't expect the little ones to understand the greater beauty of a dragon. But perhaps he could try to understand them.

He gave a nod to Fieravene as he took what she offered; the chocolate sweetened the fruits even further. Aivrid had never tasted anything like it. "Divine," he said, kissing his fingers. Aivrid took a few moments to regard his companions for this meal. Yes, it was clear they avoided eating more than was required. They were likely attractive by human standards. "Mm, yes, I can see it now." It made him wonder...

"Is this form attractive?" He looked at the back of his hands, for whatever reason. In truth he'd picked the form of one of the first humans he'd ever met. To him, it was the base standard.

 

[Fieravene]

The dark elf watched the dragon-bound-human with avid fascination, slowly sinking back into the cushions of her seat by Medja, wine at hand. Her jaw had gone slack at an apparent lack of words, short for the wonder of curiosity that her current company provided.

"So you try to stay... thin. Yes, that's right. Because you believe it to make you more attractive to others, yes?"

"That's...certainly a part of it," she broke from her stare to take a sidelong glance at Medja, what could have been construed as a salacious side-eye, before taking a sip of her wine.

"Ohh -" she rolled the flavor over her tongue, head tilting to one side, "then in a land of many dangers, being light of foot and spry has its advantages. Otherwise you just..." Fiera gestured lazily with a hand, "keep another of rotund stature about. As the saying goes, you need only run faster than the slowest person in the party."

"Is this form attractive?"

Aaaand there came that smile again, shirking into something wry, "For certain the outfit needs to go, but the rest of you can stay all night."

 

[Medja]

Medja observed the events unfolding in front of her in silent curiosity. On one hand, as the dragon devoured the chocolate covered fruit, she found herself wondering if it was possible to get such a legendary beast drunk while polymorphed into human form. On the other, she caught the look from Fiera and suddenly felt very devilish. She subtly bit the corner of her bottom lip in acknowledgment.

"There is certainly more to an attractive form than simply being thin, dear Aivrid." She idly traced the outline of her body with her free hand. "The right curves can take you miles."

"For certain the outfit needs to go, but the rest of you can stay all night."

The sorceress smirked. Fiera certainly was quite a bit more bold than Medja usually was, but the adventurer knew what she wanted. Medja respected that. She took another sip of her wine; something told her this was going to be a long night.

"A shared opinion, Fieravene." She simpered in agreement.

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene

Fascinating. Human anatomy still holds surprises.

---

​

The polymorphing process had never been perfect. Aivrid had spent a long time studying, researching, honing the spell until it worked well enough to fool even their most accomplished doctors. Still, the body he inhabited now was not completely familiar; he did not have the same control over it that he had over his true form. It came with the property, he supposed.

"The gluttons are rather easy to hunt, aren't they," the dragon mused. "Wise words, Fieravene. Those who cannot keep up are left behind." He'd only ever seen said rotund ones in cities, oddly enough. Among the orcs, such people were nonexistent. A weakness, perhaps, unique to humans. He could not blame them. Their sense of taste was quite fascinating.

Alas, he'd never found himself in a situation quite like this one before, in any form. The dragon felt the weak little body of his react in an odd way. His eyes slowly shifted between the two women, the true meaning of their words not entirely lost on him. "Mm... yes, these... curves, as you say, I suppose it is an advantage. It shows you are healthy. Among dragons, such traits are ideal for future brood mothers," he noted. His eyes followed with Medja's direction. As their comments continued, his gaze fell onto his own body. This was rather confusing to him.

He realized they likely expected a response. The man quickly found himself a seat and crossed his legs, replying in a pensive manner. "I'm not entirely sure what you're implying, but to be completely honest I never understood why you little ones felt the need to wear clothes. They're so..." He raised his right arm, looking at the sleeve of the garb he wore. He waved it around a bit. "Confining, wouldn't you say?"

 

[Fieravene]

"My kind are not marked for their curves," Fiera offered listlessly, eating another olive. Indeed where Medja was a lady of figure, the elf cut a starkly angular and willowy silhouette. "Fast metabolisms and a peckish diet, terrible for producing ample bosoms and bottoms," red eyes traipsed openly across Medja's decolletage as if in admiration, "but it does work wonders for our vitality."

She reached for the pitcher of wine, refilling her own and Medja's glass before offering to top off Aivrid's glass.

"We lack the color and frills you dragons use to attract mates and denote status. Most races have remarkably dull complexion, so we chose fancy pieces of cloth and material to tell each other who we are with decoration to add value."

By that alone, Fiera's wardrobe said very little of herself. Black. Everything was black and plain and clearly worn in over many years of many adventures. Nearly all her skin was covered save her face. Medja, on the other hand ...

 

[Medja]

"Among dragons, such traits are ideal for future brood mothers,"

"Ha! I would wager that is why most of our men value such traits as well." She mused.

The courtier received the new glass graciously, lifting it in thanks to Fiera. Her less-than-subtle glances were not lost on Medja, who returned them in kind. The sorceress had an eye for the elegant, and Fieravene struck many of the proper chords.

"You are far too modest, dear." She declared, taking another sip and plucking a berry from the table. She eyed the woman closely and let the fruit rest on her lips for perhaps a few moments too long before sliding it the rest of the way into her mouth. "In both your self-image and your attire. Practicality is all well and good, but you really should let me take you shopping in Ragash sometime."

"Confining, wouldn't you say?"

A mischievous smirk crossed her lips. The dragon's lack of social cues could likely be...exploited for a bit of fun.
"If you find them uncomfortable, then simply be rid of them," She shot a sly glance at the dark elf, capitalizing on her chosen explanation. "I am certain Fieravene and I would not mind. They are for decoration, after all."

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene

I wish I still had my sense of smell. I'm missing something here.

---

​

"Clearly your body is telling you to eat more," Aivrid advised Fieravene. Vitality was important -- if one was healthy, their brood most certainly would be as well. It was important to show such features to potential mates. As a dragon, of course, everyone he met needed to be a potential mate to ensure the survival of their species. Considering how the humans bred, it was not a problem for them. They had more leeway to choose their mates.

The transformed dragon had a long take of his glass of wine, only to have more put in. Logic followed that he should drink more. It was quite delicious. "This drink... what is it called, again? It's wonderful. I should have some prepared, I think I could enjoy this in my true form," he said, staring at his glass. The alcohol had yet to reach his mind, truly, but the effects were slowly beginning to show. A slight tinge of red overcame his features.

"So impractical, to need more than oneself to go about one's business. Clearly just another reason as to why dragons have always been a superior species." He ignored the fact that his company was most certainly not dragons. "Of course, there are not enough of us to need a true distinction between us. We are all dragons. No kings or queens or rich or poor. Well, there were kings and queens, in the past. And the size of one's hoard can determine much..." He scratched his head, getting to his feet for whatever reason as he drew again from his glass. "It's been far too long since we had a king. I should go do that. After I'm done with all this of course," he said, wandering over to the banquet and plucking some leafy greens to munch on as he listened to Medja's advice.

"Quite right. They really are unnecessary... instead, you should just wear armor all the time. Again, impractical that you must wear it, but it's just one of those things you lot need to do, don't you?" He shook his head. "Ridiculous. Clothes." Aivrid looked at the other two as he began to take off his robe. "Why do you wear them in private, too? Seems like only a courting thing, public, whatnot. I'd lose them as soon as I got home, I'd say... mm, right, you need to cover your reproductive organs and whatnot as well. Impractical, I tell you."

 

[Fieravene]

"Wine," Fiera filled in, a cool, pleased expression slowly filtering across her face as she watched the dragon-man wind himself up, "...made from grapes..." she added beneath her breath in another sip from her glass, kicking her boots up to perch off the corner of the table and easing back into the pillows. One arm lifted to rest along the top of the cushions, looping casually around Medja where her fingers idly tickled in the Courtier's hair.

As the elf listened her smile slowly broadened, her head began to cant toward Medja. Aivrid spun into a rambling diatribe of draconic reagents and Fiera leaned to whisper into Medja's ear, "The red in his cheeks really brings out his eyes, don't you think?"

She looped her fingers through long ebony locks, soft like silk, and took another long drink of her wine as the dragon discarded his robe. The elf nodded in agreement to the idea of clothes coming off, "I would walk around naked everywhere I went if I thought I could get away with it. Nudey is beauty, is it not? The dragons have it right. More wine!"

 

[Medja]

Just as planned. It seemed that alcohol did have an effect on a polymorphed dragon. Good to know. Aivrid's rant was certainly humorous, but suddenly a much more titillating sensation caught her attention as she felt Fiera's hand slip around her shoulder and into her hair. The wine in her own system only served to amplify the feeling and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. No sooner had the ministrations began that she found herself leaning weightily into her elven companion.

The red in his cheeks really brings out his eyes, don't you think?"

The words danced across her ear and made her shiver, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. A tipsy giggle was the only response she could manage, her normal composure quickly coming undone. She reopened them to the sight of a much more liberated Aivrid. Draconic magic certainly let him craft a well put together body...

"I would walk around naked everywhere I went if I thought I could get away with it. Nudey is beauty, is it not? The dragons have it right. More wine!"

Medja agreed with Fiera's exclamation, finishing off another glass of the intoxicating libation. Gods, she couldn't remember the last time she felt this comfortable.
"'Nudey is beauty?' Is that how the saying goes?" The sorceress felt her inhibitions slipping away even as she spoke. She had been uptight enough for one lifetime; time for a little fun. "Mmm, then let us embrace beauty, shall we?"

Starting at her extremities, Medja's wraps began to unfurl as though they had a life of their own. Like dozens of cloth serpents, the loose ends began to relieve the courtier of her various accessories and accoutrements. Slowly but steadily before the eyes of dark elf and dragon both Medja became less clothed and more surrounded by a whirlwind of loose wraps, until at last she bore all, caramel skin free in the open air. She allowed herself to come to a tantalizing, restful pose, still leaning upon Fieravene as her magic whisked her wraps, clothes, and jewelry into a neat pile nearby. Afterwards she simply looked up at the dark elf and offered a coy giggle.

"Your turn."

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene

Come again?

---

​

"Mm, yes, naked, that's what you call it. Dragons are always right." Aivrid's clothes fell and stayed wrapped around his feet, forcing his steps to become smaller as he took another draw of wine. He waddled over to the banquet again, scooping up the cooked thigh of a bird. Chicken, he believed? He held the piece of meat in front of his face, staring at it for a few moments. "This chicken died naked. But not really. It had feathers, like I have scales. Again, silly humans... and elves... and dwarves... without natural armor, or even fur... I should come up for a word for them all, shouldn't I? It's not right to always call you little ones. I mean, I'm your size right now!" He chomped down on the meat, his teeth breaking the bones. He ended up spitting the bones out when he realized they were uncomfortable in his throat.

He wandered over to his seat again, plopping himself down. His head laid back, and he stared at the canopy. It seemed that the sun had moved; it was no longer midday. Aivrid sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Concentrate... what was going on? His mind was clouded. An enemy? No, worse. Companionship.

Well, maybe it wasn't so bad. The man found himself back on his feet again, wandering once more to the banquet table. He walked down it, selecting a pastry and biting into it, mumbling under his breath about the various possibilities for a name for the smaller races that encompassed them all. Bipeds, perhaps? Sapient bipeds, maybe. His mind wandered again, to what he'd mentioned before. King of the dragons. He could do whatever he wanted. And yet in that moment no bloodlust filled him. Only the other kind. "Fools. The other dragons just don't get it. I must have more children! Fill the world with my progeny such that they are wise and strong like me. They will understand."

The man turned around, looking over at the... display, the two women were putting on. His brow furrowed as he stared at them, before finally he turned and ambled over to his seat again, falling into the cushions. "What was I going on about?" He asked aloud, to no one in particular. There'd been something he'd been meaning to do... probably eat. Aivrid would likely be at the banquet table again in a few moments.

 

[Urzog Mhartoc]

"Sir you mustn't. This is for Master Aivrid!" A Kherkhanan butler attempted to stop Urzog from joining the feast he had heard rumblings about when he entered town.

"The Mhartocs are a well respected clan. Aivrid will be assured that he and any entourage will be treated well upon entering Bhathairk." Urzog dismissed the butler as he continued forward. Despite trading with it, the common tongue was still strange to him. He far preferred the more guttural orcish language. It was easy to hide meaning in the trade tongue, but difficult to hide the tone of a roar.

"Sir I must insist you leave. Master Aivrid is already entertaining guests." The servant declared. Was Urzog not a guest? Then why did he hear of the feast? Surely he was not to be offended by hearing of a banquet and being forced to stay away from it.

"Are you challenging me?" Urzog asked the servant. If the servant truly wished him away from the feast, perhaps he had a personal quarrel with the orc. It seemed unlikely, but the people of the sands had been strange in his experience.

"By Annuk, good heavens no." The Servant visibly recoiled at Urzog's suggestion. This was however, the wrong way to deal with orc, who took the lack of challenge as an invitation to go to the feast. Despite the servant's pleas Urzog continued on, until he opened the doors into the banquet chamber. Looking around he spotted the bare bodies of Medja and Aivrid, and quickly closed the door.

"I understand your concerns now." Urzog said to the servant, who breathed a sigh of relief until he found himself was holding Urzog's steel armor and hide coverings. "Please store these until the feast is done." Urzog said, and then took a few coins from his purse. He tried to put them in the servants hands, but seeing how he struggled with Urzog's armor, decided to put them in his pocket instead.

Urzog then opened the door and entered the feast, all manner of clothing removed. Fieravene and company would see a well built orc with various scars and tribal tattoos adorning his body. Remembering that the servant had referred to Aivrid as 'he' Urzog looked over at the dragon masquerading as a human and gave a short bow.

"Thank you for your hospitality." Urzog said, and then began drinking wine.

 

[Fieravene]

The dark elf's expression had slowly melted into something of pleasant non-sobriety. Languidly sunken into the cushions with her feet up and her wine glass full, she watched as all manner of layers and linens spilled to the floor. If this was what it meant to enjoy the fineries of an empire, perhaps she could reconsider that offer to join the court. Here: a dragon's mortal coil shimmied against its material confines. There: a courtier's dignity unraveled like loose yarn from a spool.

Beautiful flesh abound, wine aplenty, food for days.

She was going to get fat and subdued and presently she did not care.

"Your turn."

Fieravene had a naked Courtier and a rambling, naked would-be dragon King. What a day.

"Mm," the elf smirked, fingers finding those long, ebony strands again, "so many buttons and buckles. Some extra hands would be welcome." She held the woman's gaze with her own heady red, an ear pricking at the dragon's musings, "Your progeny," Fiera replied, fingers now tickling along Medja's jaw, "and your need to populate the world. Tell me, are you as virile in this form as you are in your-"

And then a naked orc walked in and suddenly the party really felt to be started.

Fiera's eyebrows raised upwards into her hairline, eyes blinking in startled amusement as she openly took the orc's bare self in, "natural... form... Hello there...who might you be?"

 

[Medja]

Under any ordinary circumstances, the intrusion of this nude greenskin would've resulted in Medja violently tossing him out of the room in a manner that he was highly unlikely to live through. Today, however, she was quite drunk and had just been prompted to undress a beautiful dark elf. This, coupled with the orc's apparent etiquette, meant that she decidedly did not care. The orc was dressed for the occasion, at the very least.

"Does it matter?" Medja asked, fingers nimbly prying away button after button from Fiera's ensemble, smooth hands working to massage the tender flesh beneath as she worked the clothing from the she-elf's form. "The more the merrier, they say."

For the moment it seemed their new guest only wished to enjoy the food, anyways, and there was far more than enough for the three of them. In the mean time, Medja had removed most of the leather armor from Fiera and was busy deftly unlacing the strings of her top. One by one they fell away, until finally the entirety of her upper half was laid bare.

The courtier's hands immediately began exploring the blue-grey skin that lay beneath, paying special heed to the woman's neck and shoulders. Years of experience from long ago came flooding back to Medja as she caressed Fiera...she had half a mind to call up her old dancing skills as well.

"Halfway there, my dear...shall I work off the bottoms, as well?" She needled bawdily, pressing herself against the woman. "Or perhaps you'd like Aivrid to take care of that portion for you?"

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene Urzog Mhartoc

Well, that's certainly something.

---

​

Aivrid was back at the banquet table for probably the tenth time when another creature wandered into his parlor. It wasn't as if there had been any door to lock; Aivrid had assumed the servants wouldn't come in, considering he'd said he wished not to be bothered. Still, this little banquet of his was meant to be open to representatives and friends of the Empire, though none until now had arrived; perhaps they'd been intimidated by the dragon. Odd, as not showing up was equally likely to draw his annoyance.

The man turned and looked at the orc, squinting at him. He was big and green and naked. Aivrid seemed to consider the orc's presence for a while, then in all seriousness said: "You look like you're here for business." He subsequently began to waddle over to his couch, his pants and robe still trailing at his feet. "Help yourself," he said to the newcomer, gesturing lazily with his glass of wine towards the feast. After that, he fell back onto the couch, somehow managing not to spill his drink.

"So virile, mm. Yes. Must populate the world with dragons," he mumbled. His gaze turned to the two women, and he stared for a while as he tried again to figure out what he was doing here. Eating? Right. Something like that.

 

[Urzog Mhartoc]

The orc nodded at the not-dragon's blessing, and began partaking in the fruits, meats, and wines that had been prepared.

"I am Urzog of the Mhartoc clan." Urzog declared at Fieravene's question. "I have come to Amol Kalit to capture and tame an antlion, at the behest of a client. They are fearsome mounts that any creature will fear and respect." Urzog bellowed, obviously excited about his craft. Nothing gave him more pleasure than breaking in and riding the most fearsome of beasts. Except of course, wrestling with the most fearsome of shield maidens. Urzog glanced over he saw Medja unraveling the dark elf's clothes, revealing the warrior's lithe upper body as Aivrid spoke of his virility.

It was that kind of party hunh?

Urzog had been a part of feasts like this before, during the fertility festivals in Bhathairk. Urzog reminded himself to ask the hosts preference before courting either women, it would be most impolite to infringe on his choice.

"To what shall we toast?" Urzog asked, raising a glass. "The good health of our comrades? The glory of battles to come? Or to the prosperity of our lineage?"

 

[Fieravene]

"Mmmm," the elf murred under the Courtier's hands, a prime and pleased half-smirk bleeding into the sound. Fi took a gander over Medja's dainty shoulders at their draconic host, still feeding himself, still mumbling, quite drunk.

"I daresay the intricacies of a mortal's wardrobe have escaped him..." and he also seemed to be rather enthralled with discovering the many wonderful qualities of cooked, seasoned, and prepared foods. How could she possibly take him away from such an experience? Besides, she had an order of dessert practically gift-wrapped in her lap and she wasn't about to turn it away.

"Please, continue," and down went the rest of her wine along with the rest of her clothing.

 

[Medja]

"To what shall we toast?"

"To good company and good times, I propose." Medja answered, obliging Fiera and beginning to work off the woman's bottoms buckle by buckle. More wine at this point was probably a bad idea, but fuck it. She was fully nude and undressing another woman in front of a dragon and some totally random orc, what bad could a little more alcohol do at this point?

"You know, Aivrid," She called from between the dark elf's now bare legs. "You're missing out on an exotic experience we 'little ones' very rarely partake in. Food is available anytime. Perhaps you'd care to join us on the cushions?"

Pants, boots, and leg armor off at last. She didn't really care whether or not the shifted dragon joined them or not, but even drunk it was too much fun not to tease him. Regardless, she now had a gorgeous, completely naked, and willing she-elf in front of her, who was looking both very delicious and very vulnerable...and thus she began kissing Fiera's legs and finding her way slowly upwards.

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene Urzog Mhartoc

But... the food...

---

​

His lineage... well, he didn't know much about that, did he? If he had children, he most certainly didn't know their whereabouts. If he did have children... well, that was probably for the best, wasn't it. Perhaps they were plotting to slay him. He would be proud if that were the case. It meant he had picked the correct mate, and that his progeny was as strong and intelligent as he.

"To good company, good times, and good food," he offered, raising his in the air. That was how one was supposed to toast, right? He wasn't entirely familiar with the idea. Wine was very good, but he'd never had it before now, and he'd certainly not drunk anything with other people before now. Maybe blood.

Aivrid sat up and tilted his glass back, its contents spilling onto his face, only mostly in his mouth. It tasted terrible. Who'd convinced him to drink this? Right, Medja and Fieravene had been filling his cup this entire meal. Suddenly his stomach felt much more heavy, as if the little body he'd created for himself had reached its capacity. It was time to empty out a bit -- he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked onto the elf and the human, for a moment they shone a dark purple as he approached.

The man reached the couch they were on, violently grabbing the back and leaning over... before throwing up onto the floor behind the couch. It took a few moments, but eventually he slumped onto the couch and licked his lips. "That's disgusting," he muttered, studying his surroundings as if they'd all suddenly been illuminated again. He focused on the orc for a moment. "Where are you from, sorry?"

Next, the two women beside him. What were they doing? They couldn't breed together. They probably needed help. "Do you need help?" He asked.

 

[Urzog Mhartoc]

"I hail from the city of Bhathairk." Urzog told the not-dragon, neglecting to bring focus to the man's recent expulsions. Urzog would not hold the poor constitution of the man against him. After all, he wasn't built with the fortitude that orcs were. No sense in going after a man if nature provided him his curse.

"Should you ever find yourself there, look for the Mhartoc clan. I will ensure that you are provided with feasts of meat, wine, and good company." Urzog offered, aiming to provide a strong thanks to the man's hospitality.

The drunken-not-dragon then turned his attention to the two women entranced in one another's embrace. Urzog figured now was as good a time as any to ask the host's preferences. He leaned in and brought his tusks to the side of Aivrid and whispered.

"It is customary in my culture that the host have first choice, whether it be of the company or the kill. Should you desire time with one of these fine women, let me know and I shall honor your wishes."

It was a whisper, but orcs were not well known for their whispers. Perhaps Fieravene or Medja heard him. Urzog would not mind. He saw no shame in desiring either of them.

 

[Fieravene]

"You know, Aivrid," She called from between the dark elf's now bare legs. "You're missing out on an exotic experience we 'little ones' very rarely partake in.

Fiera promptly snorted into her wine glass, drowning the words speak for yourself with more wine. She didn't bother toasting - the others had managed just fine on their own. Completely cozy in mounting inebriation, the elf watched the Courtier with drooped eyelids and a gaze like a mellowed coal fire. Considering her current situation, she felt about as pleased as the black cat getting a belly rub.

Aivrid's bit of purging was subsequently ignored for the much more appealing sight of Medja's bronzed skin mingling with her charcoal flesh. The possibilities of their chiaroscuro art bubbled in her mind, a veritable masterpiece she would happily spend hours of the evening on.

"Do you need help?"

"Help no," Fiera replied glibly, her saccharine smile broadening as she turned to look at the (not) man, "participation, yes." A smokey hand slapped a copious grab of Aivrid's bare thigh, pointed brows lifting with obvious meaning. She batted a glance at the orc with a grin, "All hands on deck darling."

 

[Aivrid]

Tag: Medja Fieravene Urzog Mhartoc

Well then.

---

​

"Hmm? Oh, choice?" He looked at Urzog, a confused expression crossing his face. He still had no real idea what was going on with those two... no, wait, he did. Even in his human form, he could practically smell the lust they were exuding. Obviously it was affecting Aivrid's weak human body; blood rushed to his... nether regions. It was a mildly unpleasant feeling.

And then, Fieravene had the audacity to... touch him.

On the thigh? That was close to... oh. OH.

Aivrid stared at the dark elf for several moments. In truth he had not recognized these signs; considering how different it was with dragons. He hadn't really thought about how the little ones did it. Most of his experiences were extremely... clear-cut. This was new. Maybe a good new? Who knew. He was drunk.

With a firm grab of Fieravene's wrist, Aivrid got to work.

 

[Medja]

This was certainly not like any of the previous...events that Medja had participated in. Those usually involved a good half dozen of the finest men and women available all worshiping her simultaneously. 'Servicing' was not usually Medja's speed. Yet, as she placed herself in position to do so, she was oddly enraptured. Perhaps giving could be as enjoyable as receiving. The feeling of Fiera's hands running through her hair as she worked was a reward all its own.

Oh, and it seemed that Aivrid finally figured out what was happening. Medja could hardly wait to see if he was capable of figuring out how to put that handsome human body to work. Now all that remained was the orc. Oh, right, the orc. A little voice somewhere in the courtier's drunken mind hoped she wouldn't regret this later...

For now, it was time to let loose and have a good time.