Chapter 87: DD3 Chapter 033 – Homecoming

The iron rankers returned from their revelry bloodied and hungover. More than a few of them carried the subtle tones of fouler substances on their breath, but they were all on time so Typh wasn’t inclined to enquire any further. The dragon herself had enjoyed her first truly restful night's sleep in weeks. The sex following her talk with Arilla had been great, but the intimacy that came after was much better. Orgasms and quivering lips were all well and good, but there came a point when Typh just wanted to be held. Fortunately, Arilla was adept at that too.

When it was finally time for them to go, their entourage made their way to the lawn in front of Lord Dolieis’s palace where Typh quickly shrugged off her clothes and transformed. She stretched out her wings and walked small circles over the carefully manicured grass, while Arilla ran an appreciative hand over Typh’s thick, golden scales. It was the closest thing to sensual pleasure she’d experienced as a dragon. She surprised herself further by leaning her hulking body into the caress and letting out a low contented rumble. 

With her perception skills, it was hard not to notice the crowd of onlookers watching on with a mixture of scandalised curiosity. Typh didn’t know whether to be mortified or not, but their public display felt profoundly right. Normally, she hated the deep bassy sound of her draconic voice, but as she felt the pressure of Arilla’s strong hands against her body, this time she found that she didn’t care. 

It didn’t take too long for the thick rigging to be draped over her scales and then securely fastened in place. Getting it past her wings and spines was tricky, but after nine days of consecutive flights, her accompanying adventurers were well-practised aerial veterans by now. Once it was on, the iron-rankers began tying their bags to her sides before finding a space for themselves along the length of her ridged spine. With the netting’s aid, they were all relatively secure for their coming flight, but there was still an element of nerves; for a handful of hours, a few tight knots and the grip they could make with their hands were all that separated them from a very dramatic fall.

It wasn’t a long flight back to Helion. If they were to make the same journey, walking along the Old Roads, they could expect it to take the better part of two weeks. An iron-rank warrior, ranger, or rogue could easily cut that in half, but they’d be travelling without their mages and healers who’d normally struggle to shave off more than a day with their tepid physical stats. By wing, they’d all be back in Helion within a matter of hours. Carrying so many people was a tight fit, and it lacked the comfort that Arilla and Typh normally shared on their private flights. While the dragon had the strength score to carry all twenty-one of them, humans were a lot larger than kobolds and she physically lacked the space for them to stretch out.

A small crowd had gathered to see them off. A mixture of Lord Doelien’s noble kin, household staff, and several notables from the city. They stared up at her in muted fear and flinched back when she took off with a powerful beat of her wings. 

With so many adventurers on her back, it wasn’t the smoothest takeoff. She would have preferred a flat plain to run along, but she quickly solved the problem of the iron rankers’ weight with a burst of golden mana. Once she was airborne their physical mass quickly became a non-issue, and then she was soaring above Dolieis and on her way back to Helion.

It was an uneventful flight, and by mid-afternoon the tall walls of Terythia’s capital came into view. Just seeing it caused an uncomfortable tugging feeling from deep within her chest.

“I never get tired of seeing that. Do you?” Arilla asked.

“No,” Typh said, agreeing with her king’s sentiment, albeit likely for differing reasons.   

The tall walls of their home loomed against the horizon, jutting out of the surrounding grassland like a fortified bastion against the spring growth. A literal horde of people approached the city on foot from the east, pooling around its walls as they waited to enter through its thick gates at a steady, unbroken trickle. Even from afar the sounds of construction overwhelmed everything else. New houses, new schools, but arguably far more important a new wall and barracks twice as large as the ones Helion already possessed. 

The land surrounding her city was being cleared at a record pace. To not only create space for all the new constructions but to allow for the vital farmland to sustain Helion’s erupting population. She was still bringing in nonhuman recruits from the Dragonspines—along with weapons and supplies—by river barge leaving from Rhelea. And despite the spread of class stones, Helion still attracted adventurous youths from every rural community and city in the country, but all of that went unnoticed beneath the unending flood of desperate refugees.

She didn’t need the rangers on her back to point out how many of them lacked shoes or food. How many had haunted expressions, or festering wounds. They were just the first, and Helion would have to grow to accommodate them all.

She felt the tugging in her chest pull harder, and it didn’t feel like the relief of finally coming home.

It felt like responsibility.

*** 

Despite the cumbersome weight on her back, Typh touched down gently in front of the manor she’d claimed for herself. Once the adventurers had disembarked and retrieved their belongings, she took on her preferred form and was quickly greeted by a flock of attendants who helped clothe her in a suitably elegant dress. 

When she was decent, the small army secretaries who had been hovering around the periphery finally lost their patience and approached. Missives from the academy, various nonhuman factions, and the city’s construction teams—those working above and below—were by far the most urgent amongst the many rolls of parchment that were thrust towards her. The long list of minor crises that seemed to be an inherent part of running a large city had merely built up in her absence. Now, all of those issues required her attention. Thanks to her administrators like Halith, most things simply needed her seal of approval, but after nine days away from Helion, there was still a lot to get through.

Typh delighted in telling the mass of frenzied secretaries that they could all go to depths. If an issue had waited nine days, it could wait for a few more.

After a nod from Arilla, the adventurers Typh had carried all scattered—likely off to follow up last night’s hedonism with more of the same. They were swiftly replaced by an entirely human entourage whose armour was embossed in the red and white of the Terythian flag. They swarmed around Arilla at the same time as Typh’s more familiar retinue formed up around her. The two groups of soldiers briefly mingled and it was almost amicable. Arilla grimaced at all the pomp and ceremony, but she offered no explanation for their presence. It was almost kingly.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Typh asked.

 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” Arilla said. The pair looked at each other for several long moments while a series of impassioned nothings were said. Eventually, they settled on sharing a kiss. As Typh leant into her lover’s embrace, she noticed that she was getting increasingly comfortable locking lips whilst surrounded by attentive classers. Crowds of humans had once scared her, but here she was melting in her partner’s arms. “I should go. I need an update from the siege grounds before the meeting tomorrow.”

“Yes. Go play war. I also have an important meeting to rush off to,” Typh said, taking a step away from her king.

“Really? Didn’t you just tell everyone waiting on you to essentially go fuck themselves?” Arilla asked.

“I did… but what I’ve got next is a surprise—so away with you,” Typh said, making a shooing motion with her hands.

The king bowed mockingly low as she left, and her soldiers gathered around her as she casually walked to the stables where her insufferable horse was no doubt waiting for her. Typh took one long look at the collection of predominantly nonhuman classers standing around her and smiled. 

With a twist of will, she pushed mana into her skills and left the ground. Gravity’s chains slipped off of her as [Conqueror’s Reservoir] pulled her up into the sky. With no reason to hold back, the air ripped around her as she rapidly gained altitude, arcing through the clouds. Her guards startled as she left them behind, but she’d already decided that her next meeting required a more intimate touch.

***

The bell jingled twice as Typh opened the door. Despite her efforts to tame it, her hair was still a mess from her hasty flight. She was extremely self-conscious of her appearance as she entered the shop, and she had to remind herself of all the different ways she’d grown since her last visit. Like before the dressmaker's was a riot of colours and barely constrained energy. Well-structured garments hung from rails next to bolts of dyed fabric both exotic and mundane. It was a larger store than the last one, yet if anything, dresses were crammed in even tighter in a wider variety of styles. 

The shop floor was immaculately tidy, with not a single item out of place. A solitary stick of incense smouldered in a corner, augmenting the relaxing aura emitted by the store's owner. When Typh looked for her, the dragon found her eye being drawn into the display’s gradient colour scheme that saw vibrant red dresses gently transition through a rainbow of colours as she shifted her focus from left to right. Deep blue seemed to be as dark as the fabrics went, with greys and blacks being conspicuously absent from the wares on display.

“One moment!” a voice called out from the back, and Typh spent that moment walking through the narrow aisles in search of something that appealed to her tastes. There was a lot. The styles in Helion had changed drastically in recent months to reflect the changing populace. While many of the new arrivals were destitute, there were countless opportunities in the booming city, and coin was easily earned. Typh’s influence on the local fashion scene was easily noticeable, as low-cut sundresses, padded bras, and ball gowns had all gained a significant rise in popularity. Counter to her, the various peoples from the east had brought with them a taste for tight-fitting silks and flowing sarongs that grew increasingly impractical as the quality of the material improved.

“I’m sorry about that. We had a new shipment of silks from Tolis this morning, and I was just taking a moment to check the bolts. You can never be too careful with—” the cheerful woman who ran the shop froze, her words dying on her painted lips as she locked eyes with Typh.

“Madame Vanje,” the dragon said.

“Lord Sovereign,” the tailor whimpered, before quickly falling into an elegant curtsy.

“Relax,” Typh commanded. “There’s no need for that. I’m here to collect an order.”

“You are? I… I would have remembered if you had visited my humble shop,” Madame Vanje said.

“I had someone else leave the order. It’s under the name ‘Torrens,’ ” Typh explained.

“Oh… that order,” Madame Vanje said with a frown. “That one was a very irregular request. I explained to the woman who left it that they’d have been better off going to an armorsmith. I’m good, but actual metals are not my area of expertise.”

“I know, but I chose you regardless. Besides, you were pewter when I met you, and now you're not. Forgive me if I wanted to see what you could do with a real challenge,” Typh said.

“Those levels were poor compensation for surviving Rhelea,” Madame Vanje said stiffly. “I’d much rather have the friends and clients that I lost than the System’s ‘thanks,’ ”

“You still fought, I can’t imagine that many other tailors did.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Maybe I would.” Typh conceded with a laugh. “The order—did you finish it?”

“I did. Although, it will need alterations if it's to fit you,” Madame Vanje said.

“The woman I sent gave you my measurements—”

“And I thought she was being vain! Gods’ know how few people look like you do. I made it for her, not for the measurements she provided. Next time, skip the subterfuge and just come for a fitting. You can still send your people to collect it!”

“I’m very busy.”

“As am I! I’m the finest dressmaker in Terythia, don’t you know?” Madame Vanje said, and Typh raised an eyebrow at that. “I am! Now enough questioning my skills, into the back with you! We’ll get you out of that travesty you call a dress and into something worthy of you!”

“I like this—” 

“The fabric is cheap, the cut is all wrong, and if you get me started on the stitching I’ll never stop. Now, you said you were busy, so move that ass of yours and let’s get to work!”

Typh tried to protest, but within the walls of the dressmaker’s shop Madame Vanje was a force of nature and the dragon knew better than to resist. Soon she found herself balanced precariously on a stool, with her dress crumpled on the floor nearby while the tailor paced around her tutting.

“Are you really supposed to express so much obvious disdain about your clients' bodies?” Typh asked. “I seem to recall you being a lot nicer to me last time.”

“Last time you were a doe-eyed girl with that reprobate of a rogue. Now, however, we both know better,” Madame Vanje said. “Ordinarily, I would never comment on a client’s body, but you’re different. That skin of yours is as much a piece of art as one of my dresses. You made it, and so its craftsmanship is up for critique.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Typh said. “How would you react if I critiqued one of your dresses in front of you?”

“Poorly... Now, why haven’t you added scales, or better yet a tail to your appearance? You’re not exactly pretending to be human anymore, and if you had just a few draconic features, it would pose such a delightful challenge to your tailor.” 

“I like the feel of skin, and besides, my skill doesn’t work like that,” Typh said.

“Pity. Just a light covering along your spine would do wonders to accentuate your shoulders. A tail would not only distract from that monstrosity you call an ass, but it would also help you stand upright given how top-heavy you are. Personally, I think claws are a must. They would just look fabulous on you, and they would really turn your nail polish of the day into a statement piece.”

“I’ll… take it under consideration,” Typh said, unsure if she was regretting coming to the tailor’s shop. “Now, if you’re done staring at me in my underwear can you please show me the dress that I’ve already paid for?”

“Very well... But an artist should learn to take criticism better,” Madame Vanje pouted, before moving to a wall-length wardrobe set against the far side of the room. The door slid open on oiled tracks and revealed a row of garment bags. The tailor took her time retrieving the dress Typh had commissioned. Her difficulty with getting it off the rack may have had something to do with its prodigious weight. “You really should have gone to an armoursmith for this.”

“You’ve said that before,” Typh commented.

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“And I’ll say it again. I’m a dressmaker, not an armourer,” Madame Vanje said.

“Are you trying to manage my expectations? Because I can smell the metals in it.”

“Really? How interesting, all I can smell is… cinnamon?” Madame Vanje asked and Typh immediately flushed as she tried to stand up straighter. “You’d best put this on before my arms give out, then I’ll adjust it as best as I can.”

“Will it hold together?”

“I’ve stitched steel before, this was no trouble,” the tailor said flippantly. “And don’t worry, I used the thread your woman provided.”

“This is a lot stronger than just steel. Gold and platinum make a very hard, very interesting alloy,” Typh purred as she looked at the dress held up in front of her.

It was an elegant floor-length gown, with a slit down one side from the hip allowing for a decent range of motion. The ebony drider silk threaded through each one of the metal scales in turn, and the overlapping pattern did a good job at mimicking dragonscale. The expensive alloy fell short of the real thing, but the detailed feathering on each scale was awe-inspiring. More importantly, each thumb-sized scale counted in the System’s eyes as a separate entity and could be individually imbued by [Conqueror’s Reservoir], letting the entire garment hold a truly obscene amount of mana. The gold and platinum alloy had a slightly lower mana capacity than pure gold, but its increased hardness made it far more stable. In short, it was a nice dress—a little too conservative with its neckline for Typh’s liking—but it was very, very practical.

“It’s perfect,” she said breathlessly, trying not to salivate too much as she inhaled the scent of wealth wafting off the garment.

“It’s grotesquely expensive,” Madame Vanje said with a sigh. “I understand that a classer of your level needed armour, but this… My skills help me evaluate, manipulate, and strengthen garments. I’ve increased its durability somewhat, but nothing like what an armourer could do. I fear you’ve wasted this alloy.”

“An armourer made the scales, and the thread was harvested from a particularly unpleasant drider. I just needed you to put it all together into a dress. I’ve worn something similar before, but it was a rushed job and didn’t last particularly long,” Typh explained.

“Ah yes…” Madame Vanje said, clutching the heavy dress close to her chest. “I understand that you destroy whatever you’re wearing when you transform into your… larger form. If I find out that you ruined one of my pieces in such a way, it will be the last dress that I make for you. I’ll understand if there are assassins or suitably extenuating circumstances, but I do not create works of art just for them to be destroyed by the idle rich.”

“I’m not idle,” Typh said, and then upon receiving a venom-filled look she blanched. “Fine. I can accept those terms. I’ll take good care of it, but it is armour. Its purpose is to take blows meant for me.”

“Which is why you should have gone to an armourer,” Madame Vanje grumbled. “I can accept that, now put it on if you can, I need to make my adjustments.

Typh did as she was told, and pulled the heavy garment over her head. It was exceptionally heavy, so much so that she strongly believed Vanje had left out some significant details about her class skills as there was no way the low-bronze tailor should have been able to lift the damn thing yet alone work on it.

The dress was too tight in all the predictable places and too loose in all the others. Fortunately, Madame Vanje was skilled, and the tailor used her class abilities to make the metal and the stitching flow like water as the dress adjusted itself to fit snugly around her body. Wearing it felt like she was being perpetually hugged, and the heady scent of the expensive metals filled her with a euphoric sense of satisfaction.

System help her, but she loved it. It would be an honest shame to wear it into battle. The thought of adding it to her hoard arrived and was promptly discarded. She would wear it into battle, and soon.

Madame Vanje slowly walked around Typh, prompting her to strike various poses while the tailor made minor adjustments to the heavy garment. In a sense it was therapeutic, a relaxing series of gentle movements while she remained clad in something she truly loved. There were better uses of her time, and what could easily have been a minutes long chore, given a woman of Vanje’s skills, crept into its second and then third hour while the two women made idle chit-chat.

Eventually, Typh felt the need to ask the question that had been scratching at the back of her mind.

“Vanje, am I doing a good job?” the dragon asked.

“That’s Madame Vanje to you… You should really ask someone else that question, I’m a dressmaker, not a politician,” the tailor answered.

“I feel like you have an opinion. You moved your shop all the way from Rhelea. That has to mean something,” Typh said.

“That has more to do with the lake that swallowed up my old store than anything else,” Madame Vanje explained and then sighed. “Because of you, I’ve talked to people who I was raised to believe were mindless monsters, and I’ve raised up a spear against the ones that really are monstrous. I’m not sure I achieved much, but I did try. I heard Arilla’s big speech about bringing about an end to the unclassed so that we can finally be free, and I really do think that things are changing. I want to believe that you’ll save us from the next Monster, like how you're saving all those poor people from Padia, but…”

“But what?” Typh asked and Madame Vanje bit her lip.

“You’ve made mistakes… Naming a necromancer your heir? And then legalising diabolist, banditry, and murderer classes?”

“I haven’t named any heirs,” Typh protested. “But I see your point. Is it really so bad? Shouldn’t we judge people for their actions rather than who they are? Is someone who takes a bandit class any more dangerous to society than someone with a goblin or dragon class?”

“It’s different, they’re species classes.”

“I’m not sure I agree. If I raise my noble class past 199, I’ll be more noble than dragon. If it ranks up into something else, then that will be more important than whatever I was born as…”

“I… I’m just a dressmaker, Typh. I don’t know how to answer that. I would say you should talk to a priest about it, but there are a few of those around these days—good riddance too after what they did,” Madame Vanje spat.

“But other than that, what do you think?”

“Typh…”

“Please.”

Madame Vanje sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

“I think it’s a good thing that you saw sense and finally decided to share power with Arilla. Terythia needs a human king on the throne, and having her as your counterpart has stopped a lot of the complaining about our evil tyrant dragon. But…”

“But what?” Typh asked and the tailor looked uncomfortable before speaking again:

“Why did you keep the nobles around?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?”

“The nobility exists to counterbalance the power of a king. Overthrowing any would-be-tyrants is their purpose and evil or not, you are certainly a tyrant. While they’ve never done it since Terythia broke away from Old Epheria, I don’t see why you’d risk keeping them around. Shouldn’t you have just killed them all and replaced them with people loyal to you?”

It was a good question—one she hadn’t expected to hear from a dressmaker. She’d mostly been expecting the usual grumblings about diluting Terythian culture, or the nonhumans or tax rises. Not this.

“I don’t have the time,” Typh said, and it was only half a lie. The truth was, she didn’t have the stomach for it. Not anymore. “Thanks, Madame Vanje… For the dress, for the talk, for taking far longer than you needed to. I think… I think I’ve enjoyed this. It’s certainly better than reading reports, but I think I should get going.” 

Typh moved to step down from the stool in the centre of the dressing room and was startled when the tailor moved to stop her.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Madame Vanje snapped.

“Leaving?” Typh asked.

“We are nowhere near finished!”

“We’re not?”

“I told you I’d keep an eye out for dresses in your size!” the tailor exclaimed.

“That was… that was almost a year ago—and in another city!”

“It was! You have no idea the headache I’ve endured transporting them with me from Rhelea. You really should have come in person before today! But when you have a dragon as one of your favourite clients you go the extra mile."

“Thanks,” Typh said.

“So do you want to see them?”

“The what?”

“The dresses!” Madame Vanje exclaimed, as she walked across the room and threw back a wardrobe door. The dragon stared at a myriad of scintillating metallic perfection and felt her knees go weak. The room stank of cinnamon, and the tailor smiled in triumph. “I’ll take that as a yes, now take off your clothes, we have underwear to try too!”

Typh whimpered an affirmative and did as she was told.

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