Chapter 22: DD2 Chapter 016 – Submission

 

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“Tell me, Arilla, do you know why the Old Epherian Empire fell?” Erebus purred, his too-smooth voice sending tingles running down Typhoeus’s spine as he tried and failed to focus on the food on his plate.

“Every Terythian knows why,” she said hesitantly, her hazel eyes darting to Typhoeus for reassurance before swiftly going back to Erebus. “The Mage Kings of old over-reached. They declared war on the Kingdom of Aber to the far east, while the majority of their armies were busy chasing the Elerium tribes across the open plains to the west. Rather than waiting to recall their soldiers while they built a large enough navy to cross the Eastern Gulf, they conscripted the unclassed from their heartlands and marched them east across the continent and through the Endless Forest, confident that their Titans would protect them from the horrors within. When the eastern army, or more specifically the Titans that accompanied it, never emerged from the woods, half the classer dynasties took their chance and rose up in revolt to declare independence.”

Arilla paused, looking nervously around the fine banquet hall, clearly uncomfortable as the lone human seated between the two dragons at the long table draped in flawless white silk. There was more than enough food in front of them to feed a large village, each morsel a perfectly crafted delicacy made by an iron-rank chef, a near-impossibility to find anywhere else in Creation. A small army of serving staff stood patiently against the walls, breathing softly as they waited for the next course to be served, each one of them interspersed between Erebus’s ever-silent Shade guards.

“Go on,” the Shadow Dragon commanded. 

“After the resulting civil war, all of the Mage Kings, with the exception of those in what is now Lintumia, had been killed. The border provinces broke away and the Eurychus dynasty had seized the Ivory Throne and the central territories.” Arilla concluded, surprising Typhoeus with the breadth of her education, something which he suspected she was more than a little embarrassed about by how she blushed crimson when the two dragons focused their considerable attention on her.

“She is quite impressive Typhoeus; I see why you favour her so,” Erebus said, talking past Arilla like she wasn’t even in the room. 

“It’s Typh now. I’m trying something new,” he said, correcting Erebus, and then, upon thinking better of it, correcting herself. It was a small change, but one she felt better for. In many ways she supposed that it was a long time coming, but as Arilla had so keenly pointed out, she was a shapeshifting dragon and could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

“Very well, Typh, it is then,” Erebus assented with a quirked eyebrow, “Now where was I?”

“You were about to tell us about how Arilla is wrong, and how it was the Elves that destroyed old Epheria,” Typh said, not bothering to conceal how she rolled her eyes.

“Right, the Elves,” Erebus confirmed.

“Elves?” Arilla asked.

“Yes. They argued hard for the extermination of your species after the Sundering. They hate you more than the Goblins do,” the Shadow Dragon explained, raising a large leg of some beast to his lips which then promptly disappeared. His draconic shadow on the walls chewed once, but the man before them didn’t.

“And they destroyed Epheria?” Arilla asked skeptically, her attention split between Erebus and his shadow.

“No, they didn’t. It’s against Council law for a member species to interfere with the lesser races outside of their claimed territory,” Typh declared, having no desire to indulge Erebus’s paranoia.

“Yes, it is. Just like how it is illegal for a Shadow Dragon to lay claim to a human city, or for a Sovereign to live amongst, prey on and kill humans outside of the Dragonspines,” Erebus smugly stated. “Laws are meaningless if there’s no attempt at enforcement.”

“...Fair point,” Typh begrudgingly admitted, squeezing her silverware for comfort as she tried not to think about the implications to what Erebus was saying. 

She knew a lot about Astresia from her inherited memories, but they were hardly complete and cut off—fortunately—prior to her conception. The things she was supposed to learn upon her formal introduction to society she had missed out on, another consequence to her unceremonious exile. If the Elder council was no longer enforcing the rules that they had laid down millenia ago, then that was a concerning revelation to say the least. 

“Over two hundred thousand people lived here before you,” Arilla said through clenched teeth, the intensity of her human’s anger surprising Typh. Her warrior’s knuckles were white with tension as she gripped at her knife and fork with enough barely contained emotion that they bent dramatically around her hands. 

“And now they don't,” Erebus shrugged, looking at her coldly with more amusement than anything else. “You should calm down, human. Have a drink or something. If you are going to get this worked up over every little mass killing then you’ll give yourself an aneurysm. We’ve had this argument about the Elves and Epheria before, and it tends to get heated,” Erebus explained, gesturing to a well-groomed servant who promptly rushed forwards with a silver tray containing a small assortment of bottled liquors.

“I’d really rather not,” Arilla said after a lingering glance at the offered alcohol and its bearer. The servant's eyes were downcast even before the refusal as sweat dripped liberally from his brow, the visceral fear wafting off of him doing much to stimulate Typh’s hunger as she tucked into her perfectly prepared meal.

“Arilla. Do as our host says,” Typh warned after a mouthful of something delicious. “You’re being rude.”

The two of them exchanged a significant glance, feelings of panic, concern and unbridled fury travelled down the link between their respective classes in a confusing mix of emotions. The intent behind it was hard for her to decipher, but ultimately it didn’t matter. Arilla’s refusal to back down in front of Erebus was a problem, a potentially fatal one that could be easily resolved if she just took a fucking sip of a drink and smiled pleasantly at the Old Dragon’s insane conspiracy stories rather than try to confront him over all of the people that he had killed.

She didn’t have time for this, so with a little magic Typh sent back down their link the word ‘Drink’. It wasn’t quite a command, nor was it really a suggestion, but whatever hesitancy Arilla had for imbibing the alcohol offered to her vanished and she selected a bottle seemingly at random and took a deep pull of the no-doubt exotic and expensive beverage. 

“What a good human," Erebus commented approvingly, before turning to Typh. “You have her well trained; what’s your secret? Mine practically faint whenever I talk to them.”

“I don’t eat people in front of her,” Typh responded honestly, feeling a slight pang of concern at how enthusiastically Arilla was complying with her instruction to drink. Then again, the high-pewter warrior had a high vitality score for her level and knew her own limits far better than Typh did.

“Oh, how boring! I was hoping you had a suggestion I could use,” Erebus laughed, the still breathing servants in the room stilling almost imperceptibly.

“Can we get back to your conspiracy theory instead? I’d like to get that over with while my meal is still hot,” she said, emphasizing her point by raising some unidentifiable braised meat to her lips, before pausing. “Erebus… is this human?”

“No. The human is on the platter with the candied figs,” the Shadow Dragon said nonchalantly, waving his hand in the air dismissively as Arilla retched. The warrior then firmly pushed her plate away from her and gestured to another servant to refill her glass. When the man moved back to his position he did so without the bottle of potent spirits. “...As I was saying, the Elves hate humanity—” 

“What exactly is an Elf?” Arilla interrupted, the barest hint of a slur in her voice.

“Basically the same as a human, although they tend to be a little slighter with pointed ears. As a species they have less than half the imagination of your kind, but make up for it by being at least twice as viscous,” Erebus explained, clearly less than pleased by the interruption. “After the Sundering, the Elves barely even qualified as a council race and looking so similar to humans, well, at the very least your kind’s continued ability to thrive is an unpleasant reminder to them for what they have lost.”

“You could say almost the same about every council race, especially the Dwarves, or the Orcs,” Typh argued. 

“Yes, but the Elves saw the Epherians’ Titans as a threat. Too close to the relics of the past by far, and they conspired to end the Empire before it could reach too high,” Erebus said sagely, to Typh’s unimpressed look of derision. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know it wouldn’t be too hard. A little glamour here and an elf looks identical to a short human. A few whispered words here and a bribe or two there, and suddenly Epheria was at war with the Aber. That’s what your human called them?”

“You don’t even know?” Arilla asked, aghast.

“Why would I, it's all so ...transient. If it wasn’t for the Elves' involvement, it would be far too pedestrian for me to even notice. Regardless, once they had their war, it wasn’t that hard to convince the Mage Kings to march their army through the Endless Forest. And once that happened the Elves made short work of them.”

“I don’t follow,” the warrior said.

“Weren’t you listening? Earlier Typh here clearly stated that it is illegal for a council race to interfere with their lessers outside of their territory. Once the Epherian army marched into the Forest they were fair game.”

“I—I I’m not sure I believe you,” Arilla said hesitantly.

“I wouldn’t. Claiming a city like Tralyra on the border between the human territories and the Dragonspines is one thing. Toppling a thriving Empire is another altogether. If the Elves did it, they would have been punished, and we would all know about that,” Typh explained.

“The council is weak. Has been for millenia,” Erebus said dismissively. “They wouldn’t punish the Elves for anything so subtly done because they can’t afford to lose their support.”

“The council is the most powerful organisation in Creation, they wouldn’t be—”

“You’re really out of the loop aren't you.” Erebus chuckled, interrupting Typh with a perfect smile.

“It’s why we're here. Enlighten us.”

“Us?” he answered, looking to Arilla with no small amount of amusement.

“Me. Enlighten me,” Typh corrected. 

Erebus looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Exiles aren’t informed of these things for a reason… but considering our history and how you resolved things for me in Cawic, I suppose I could bend the rules you're so fond of just this once,” Erebus said, smiling sweetly at Typh. “However it is very much unpalatable news that can wait for the morning. I would hate to ruin this lively chat of ours with tidings as grim as those I have to disclose.”

“After breakfast then?” Typh asked.

“Naturally,” Erebus smiled in response, his human eyes taking their time to traverse their way over her body while Arilla stared in quiet horror at the platter with the candied figs.

The evening meal dragged on for a long time before Erebus finally had enough. The older dragon had thankfully decided to forgo after dinner drinks as he led them through his mockery of a human dinner party, insisting on getting to know Arilla and her human perspective on things despite being in a room full of them, alive and dead. When they were released, Arilla was a jittery wreck, her reliance on alcohol to get through the evening obvious to all who cared to see it, which she suspected included just her. They were then separated and led off in different directions by Erebus’s staff. A part of her wanted to protest at having her guard taken away from her, but it was just another power play by the older dragon. Another minor breach of etiquette to show them both how powerless they were to resist major ones that she suspected would come with the morning.

The maid who led Typh down the long system of turning hallways and to her quarters was as meek as all the other humans she had encountered in Doomhold. The woman positively radiated fear so intensely that the dragon found herself forgetting about her most recent meal. As Typh gently caressed her rounded stomach while she eyed the maid hungrily, she was struck by the realisation that the person served with candied figs was the closest she had come to eating a human in months. It was like a hammer blow to the stomach that knocked the air out of her lungs, the surprise, the denial, the absolute truth of it. 

She had been domesticated.

Typh was so taken aback by this, that when she entered her guestroom to see four well muscled men—entertainer-tagged one and all—in various states of undress, that it took her brain an embarrassingly long time to catch up. She knew Erebus well enough to know exactly what they were there for, the provision of casual sex for his guests was so on brand for the deranged creature that she chastised herself for allowing herself to be surprised. 

On instinct she began to order them out of her room, but then like the follow up strike of the hammer that she never knew was coming, she remembered that Arilla didn’t want her. Her chastity served no one but herself. She was a dragon after all and she could do whatever she wanted. 

“You stay,” she said to the maid, before turning to address the men in the room. “We’re going to need some oil. Lots and lots of oil…”

There was something truly magical about having five sets of oiled hands rub every knotted and stiff muscle out of your body. With a strength score of 49 and the pressures of her role, the tension that Typh kept in her narrow shoulders was considerable. She was immensely thankful to the Great System that the entertainers had class skills that helped them bridge the gaps between what her body needed and what their well muscled hands could provide. She allowed herself to practically melt into her bed as Erebus’s servants worked her over with firm rubs and squeezes that merely highlighted the value of the non-combat classes, in her opinion.

There was a series of loud knocks at the door. Something which was entirely unexpected given the late hour and the potent warding that covered every inch of Erebus’s palace, that did a remarkably good job at blinding her skill-enhanced senses. Typh leant up on her chest, dislodging the firm hands along her bare shoulders as the door swung open, revealing Arilla standing there with her gifted sword slung over her back. The elegantly forged weapon went surprisingly well with the fine cottons that her chosen warrior was wearing.

“Everyone out,” Arilla ordered, every word dripping with menace. The staff, surprisingly, looked to Typh for confirmation, the evident threat that Arilla posed not doing much to sway them.

“I would listen to the lady with the big sword if I were you. You may leave.”

As soon as she said the words, they quickly fled, electing to make use of the discreet servants’ exit, rather than risk squeezing through the main door where Arilla currently stood, almost trembling with anger. At first Typh was worried; while she had a towel covering her front, the servants weren’t exactly wearing much in the way of clothing, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question that Arilla could get the wrong impression. Not that Arilla had anything to be mad about, she had made her claims over Typh’s body very clear.

“Why are you here, Arilla?” Typh asked, pulling the towel up to cover herself as she moved to sit upright on the edge of her loaned bed.

“I came here to see you, to see this.” Arilla slurred, gesturing at her haphazardly with an outstretched arm.

Typh’s face fell as she took in Arilla’s lack of coordination. Her warrior was drunk. Very, very drunk. There was no way this interaction was going to end well. Maybe if Typh could speak freely things would be different, but Erebus would no doubt be watching, and while she wasn’t strictly against an audience, she had already expressed too much concern for Arilla’s well-being at dinner for it to be safe to do so again here.

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“Well, congratulations. You’ve done it, now you should go to bed. To sleep it off,” she instructed.

“How could you sit there at the table with him like that? He’s a monster.”

“You know how I feel about you misusing that word,” Typh said calmly. “Why don’t we talk about this later? Tomorrow?”

“Maybe he’s not a Monster, but he has killed tens of thousands of people. How can you sit there and make small talk with him while he undresses you with his eyes?” Arilla asked pointedly.

“We’re not so different, Arilla. I’ve killed hundreds of people. So have you.”

“It’s different…” she slurred defensively.

“In terms of scale it's only two orders of magnitude.”

“It's different!”

“Why? Because you were hurt, and he was bored? Besides, who’s to say that I can’t be interested? I am my own dragon after all, and his hoard is rather impressive...” Typh trailed off, possibly not making the smartest choice with her words or tone, but the jealousy in Arilla’s was unexpectedly gratifying.

“You can’t, not when—not when I...”

“When what?”

Arilla looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she lurched forwards, unsteady on her feet, yet still surprisingly fast. Typh blinked and Arilla was on top of her. Her mouth against hers, a tongue hot and wet with alcohol pushing its way between her lips. 

Typh was all too aware of how thin the towel was that separated her naked body from Arilla’s fully clothed one, how her warrior’s calloused hands urgently roamed all over her body, completely disregarding her small veneer of modesty. She knew that she should stop Arilla, that it was too dangerous to let herself be that vulnerable in Erebus’s stronghold, but she didn’t care. This was everything she had wanted for months, everything she had dreamed of, for Arilla to choose her knowing full well what she was and yet…

There was that strong taste of alcohol on her warrior’s tongue. Rich and fragrant, Typh recognised the smoky salt and pepper flavour of the whisky, that, delicious as it was, felt unwelcome in her mouth. 

She tried to ignore it. To give in to the feel of her, if not the taste, to focus on Arilla’s strong hands on her hips as they pulled her close. How her warrior’s fingers travelled upwards, trailing along her ribs until they dimpled against her firm breasts, squeezing them hard how she liked it. In this at least, she was more successful.

An exhaled moan of satisfaction as Arilla encircled an erect nipple, a pleasurable quiver as it was rolled tight between a thumb and forefinger.

“You can’t like him! Not him. Not when you’re supposed to be mine,” Arilla whispered between her own painted breaths, her eyes as unfocused with lust as they were with alcohol—or perhaps that was just Typh being charitable.

“I’m not yours. I’m mine,” she moaned in response as Arilla moved her own mouth lower, sucking on her neck for a time, before she plucked Typh up from the edge of the bed, only to throw her back down into the centre.

“Don’t say that,” Arilla pleaded, clambering on top of her once more, the dragon pulling her close without reservation. 

“Don’t say what?” Typh asked, confused as she took her turn to explore Arilla’s body with her hands, her warrior’s small breasts easily encapsulated in her palms through her shirt. Her strong muscles, hard and unyielding as they pushed her down into the soft mattress.

“Act like you don’t want it,” Arilla clarified.

“I’m not, I mean I do, you know that,” she admitted, trying to make sense of Arilla’s demands.

“Good,” she said, before setting to work spreading Typh’s thighs open. An easily surmounted obstacle as the dragon eagerly opened herself up to her warrior with a passionate enthusiasm that was only slightly dampened by Arilla’s less-than-dexterous hands.

She was rough and clumsy. Arilla’s fingers invaded her far too quickly, but Typh had craved her touch for months now and she wasn’t about to risk ending it abruptly just because her partner wasn’t in the mood for the appropriate amount of foreplay.

The sex was still good even if it wasn’t great.

Typh clawed at Arilla’s back as she felt herself stretch to accommodate her. The stronger woman's fingers penetrated deep into her vagina, the palm of her hand rubbing hard against her clit as Typh moaned and grunted with every rhythmic thrust of Arilla’s arm.   

“Say it,” Arilla commanded, her intention clear.

“I needed this,” Typh uttered and was rewarded by Arilla’s hand driving harder into her. The indescribable feeling of being filled as she felt fingers move inside of her. The stirring sensation of all that pleasure mingled with a little bit of pain caused her to cry out and clutch at Arilla tighter, her muscles bunching as she rocked her hips against her.  

“I know,” she stated almost impassively, not stopping in her less-than-gentle ministrations, the frame of the large bed creaking ominously under the sustained pressure.

“Didn’t you? Want me?” Typh asked almost cautiously, looking up at Arilla, as she tried and failed to focus on her face, finding herself overcome by the intense stimulation. Arilla hesitated, her hand suddenly still as it momentarily rested slick against her vula. “Because I didn’t ask you to come here,” Typh continued, suddenly able to breathe much better for the brief reprieve.

“I do want you,” Arilla said, looking evasively to the side.

“Good, then don’t stop,” Typh replied, turning Arilla’s head down to resume sucking, this time against her nipples.

“I won’t, I just...” Arilla said haltingly, her breath enticingly hot against Typh’s breasts.

“Just what?”

“I’m not sure why I came here... but seeing you like that I—I couldn’t help myself...” she mumbled, her lips finally latching onto Typh’s nipple, her teeth grazing its tip while her hand moved once again inside of her. Waves of pleasure tumbled through Typh as the dragon arched her back and enjoyed being on the receiving end of Arilla’s attentions. 

“What is wrong with me?” Arilla asked softly, momentarily coming up for air, her tone at odds with the vigorous actions of her body.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Typh cooed softly, stroking Arilla’s hair as her warrior continued to fuck her.

“There is. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this. You eat people,” she said, sounding serious, yet still not stopping as she picked up the pace.

“There are worse things,” Typh groaned dismissively, unable to focus on the substance of the conversation that was feeling increasingly one sided. Again, she knew that she should care, but she was so very horny, and Arilla had stoked her lust extremely well even in her drunken state. Typh’s much-beloved human body was crying out for a release, for an orgasm that finally seemed to be approaching as Arilla continued to thrust into her harder and harder

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Arilla whispered, and then something changed. 

The sex that had always been hard and fast, rough even, crossed some ineffable line and stopped feeling good. It wasn’t that Typh’s arousal was lacking, physically or mentally, but the pleasure that had been radiating out of her vagina fled, the orgasm retreated, leaving behind a growing pain that seemed to be getting worse as Arilla kept ramming into her with seemingly ever increasing force.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me.”

“I thought you liked it rough?” 

“Not like this, now stop!” Typh demanded.

She did, because even drunk Arilla knew what was right and what was unforgivable.

“I’m sorry,” Arilla blurted out hastily, a look of guilt-ridden horror on her face as she pulled out and backed away from the bed.

“Arilla, wait!” Typh asked, reaching out for her, but it was too late, as the warrior had already turned and fled out of the room, her footsteps echoing out along the marble hall.

Typh hopped out of bed, grimacing at the bountiful fluids coating her legs. She found the discarded towel on the floor and hastily wrapped it tight around her chest, after using it to clean the worst off of her, but by the time she made it to the open doorway Arilla was long gone. Her warrior’s natural scent mingled with an unhealthy helping of guilt and self-loathing left an easy trail to follow, albeit one that led deeper into the bowels of Erebus’s palace.

She hesitated at the threshold, a hand over her chest as the unwelcome thought came to her clearly and fully manifested even if it was unwelcome.

How did Arilla find my room?

While their connection allowed for some concept of distance and direction, in Erebus’s palace the intricate warding confounded that tenuous link far more easily than it did Typh’s own tier 4 perception skill. The hallways themselves were a complex maze of twists and turns, yet Arilla had somehow found her way to Typh’s room without a guide, having never seen it before, drunk and perfectly timed to catch her naked and mid-massage.  

“I’m not sure why I came here…” Typh repeated, Arilla’s once innocent words suddenly taking on a far more sinister tone.

Typh knew in that moment that she was being played. Arilla yet again a casualty in someone’s efforts to fuck with her, although to what extent her warrior had been manipulated she could only begin to despair at. 

Rage blossomed in her chest.

Erebus had set these events in motion, although for what purpose she couldn’t begin to imagine. The capabilities of a tier 6 dragon were so far beyond her, that she knew she could never know his motivations for certain. Every instinct she had screamed at her that this was a trap, and that Arilla was the bait.

Typh took the first step anyway, and then the second, swiftly followed by the third and soon she found herself flying through the suspiciously empty halls. The air whipping past her face as she flew past portraits and artwork at a ballistic pace, uncaring of the eventual consequences of her actions so long as she found Arilla safe.

She just prayed that her human wouldn’t do anything stupid before she got there.

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