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Victories and Defeats - Vala (two pics + story!)
🕑 Added 2017-09-19 10:11:54 +0000 UTC Hi Henlo Hewwo! Today's treat is brought to you by the combined efforts of 146tym and myself! I've illustrated his wonderful story, and I do heartily recommend you read read more of his work like this, and this! 146tym has expressed an interest in contributing to more Patreon works, so if you enjoy his stories, please do comment below <3- - -
Vala gazed into the polished blade of her sword, and from its surface stared the determined visage of a frost dragon on a mission. For a moment, she almost didn’t recognize herself, compared to the familiar face she’d grown up seeing reflected from the surface of her father’s shop windows. It was hard to imagine that the bored heiress of a trader would now be sitting in the woods at dusk, armor clad and blade in hand. The mere thought made her blood race.
“Learn the business,” her father had told her, his broad claws encompassing their dusty little shop in their dusty little town, “One day this will all be yours.”
“But I don’t want this,” she’d never quite managed to say in return. Instead, she’d contented herself with gazing out the window, out at the horizon where the golden city stood, towers gleaming like flames in the light of dawn. The city of fire dragons, warriors against the undead, guardians of life, heroes to all who lived and breathed. “I want that.”
But she was a frost dragon. Thick and muscled, true, as strong as any being would be with a blade in hand, but many things could wield blades. Only the fire dragons could lay the dead to rest with a single breath. She could only hope to freeze them solid, any lesser chill presenting little problem to those who’d long abandoned life’s warm glow.
What good was a hero who couldn’t stop the dead?
She shook herself off, dislodging the lone, dark thought. Not all troubles in the world were of the undead, as she’d found out. It had been an old fire dragon who’d spoken of it to her, his scales a dull lifeless brick, eyes foggy with age. He’d told an enchanted little frost dragon of the day’s he’d been a lord of the frontier, a lone bastion of light against the darkness and undead.
And he’d told her of the things that had fallen from the heavens one dreadful night. Not dead, but not like any life to walk the good green earth. Pale, spindly things, hard and sleek like the things beneath the deep black sea. He told of how they’d driven him from his home, their terrible screams ringing in his ears, his flame washing off them as though they were made of stone.
He told her of the horn he’d abandoned, the horn of a frontier lord. The horn that, upon its cry, all the golden host of the Sun’s Wings would rally in scale and flame to drive back whatever nightly host had descended. The horn he’d left unblown in his fright, his town undefended as he fled it on dishonored wings. The horn that still held the honor and station of its former owner, for whomever could take it up in claw again.
Even if that claw belonged to a frost dragon.
Setting her jaw, she slid the blade back into it scabbard, and gave her armor one last tug, grunting as it squeezed her chest. Frost dragon curves were nice in town for show, but there was definitely a downside when it came to armor sizing. Still, she had to admit she cut a pretty ravishing figure in it, and it wasn’t like the supernatural often sprung for bows and arrows.
Steeled and prepared, she gave one last look up into the sky, watching as the deep purple above continued to give way to true night. Lost in the shadows of the forest, she knew it was time. She moved as quickly as she dared towards the town, trying not to trample and crush the foliage underneath. As she walked, the forest only grew quieter, her footfalls growing louder in time with the thundering beat of her heart.
She almost left the forest by accident, the darkness was so heavy. It was only when the crunching of twigs and leaves stopped that she realized she was exposed. In the dim glow of starlight, she could make out the ghostly forms of houses, dark and silent now that their protector was gone. She could only hope the residents were gone as well, fled from this terrible place.
She pressed close to one of the cottages, scanning the starry sky until she spotted the dark outline of the dragon’s keep. It would be there that the horn remained. Her pulse quickened, and she grasped the blade of her sword, holding it tight until the rattling of the scabbard grew too loud. She had to shake her hand free, breathing deeply to try and steady her jangling nerves, forcing her excitement deep down within her.
It was then that she noticed her scabbard was still rattling.
And it wasn’t her scabbard.
She turned around to find a great, milky white form towering over her from behind, its glossy shell so pale it glowed even in the dark. Great, angular, and eyeless, it rattled with a terrible metallic clatter above her, one spindly leg reaching out, wicked and pointed. She felt ice shoot through her veins, and with barely a thought she opened her maw wide and Breathed.
The frosty blast hit the creature with a twanging like snapping guitar springs. It half recoiled, its hide cracking and splitting apart like a dropped glass, and it let out a terrible, screaming wail that made the darkness fill her visison. When her sight returned, it lay broken and still on the ground before her.
The foe flame couldn’t touch, dead by her claw.
Her heart swelled with pride, and she almost screamed for joy, until a dozen other wails split the night all around her. For a moment, she felt a flash of fear, but then she remembered her breath was their bane. Taking her blade in hand, she lifted it high and gestured toward the tower, raising her voice for all to hear. “I am Vala! First frostlord of the frontier, and you have my prize!”
She’d never been much of a sprinter, but the glow of victory gave her legs wings. She charged through the darkened town as pale forms rushed towards her. Every one that came close, she struck down with a frosty blast, their cries only spurring her on. She could feel the light of tomorrow’s dawn upon her soul, a dawn that would shine on a town reclaimed and honor in her claws. Sword lifted high, she charged into the castle, ready for the battle ahead.
/////////
“What a fascinating tale!”
Vala fought the urge to blush at the Prince’s words. Any other time, she would have thought them certain mockery. But the way his eyes sat upon the horn in his grasp, she knew he believed every word she’d said. “Thank you my lord!”
“No,” He waved her comment of with a lithe, delicate hand, red scales glowing like embers in the morning light. “I am no lord to you. Such things do not stand between equals.”
The words alone made her heart skip a beat, and the fact that they came from the prince himself nearly killed her on the spot. He was a beautiful thing, all lean muscle the way fire dragons should be, elegant and streamlined, born to glide beneath the sun’s grace. Merely looking at him made her feel as hot as fire itself, at least in her cheeks. “T-thank you… uhhhh…”
“You may call me Fyre.” She blinked in shock, and he burst into almost musical laughter. “Yes! Cliche I know! But there’s nothing for such a name but to embrace it, or so my parents believed. Just so happens I agree!” He laughed harder as she proceeded to open and close her mouth like a stunned fish. “Oh come on, let me show you the city! This is your new home after all!”
Impulsively, he grabbed her hand, and dragged her out of the room with a startled yelp.
///////////////////////
The golden city was incredible, the combined wealth and gratitude of all races high and low, gathered into one place to venerate the greatness of the world’s guardians. Everywhere opulence and glory lay resplendant beneath the rays of the sun, filling her with a warmth she never could have imagined. Were it not for the icy magic in her heart, she feared she would have melted on the spot.
Though, with the prince at her side, she almost did anyway. He was the kind of creature not seen in the world of common merchants and laborers. A talented, vivacious soul with the resources to feed his mind and heart. With every turn of the streets, he led her to some new marvel, a concert hall, a baker, a delicatessen. She tasted flavors, watched plays, and felt fabrics she scarcely could have imagined. It was a dream come true.
The only hitch was when the sun dipped below the spires, and finally standing in the lengthening shadows, she realized that her day was coming to an end.
“Something the matter?” Fyre stopped and glanced at her, the fascinator of emerald Coutl feathers he’d gotten her still held in his grasp.
“Oh, no, nothing.” She waved him off with a smile she wished could have been more sincere. “I’m just… tired is all. Where, uhm, shall I be staying?”
“Oh, well, that’s understandable!” Fyre said, sharing none of her disappointment. If anything, a mischievous glint shone in his eye. “I suppose I could show you to your holdings, if you would like, but in truth, they...” he paused, chewing his lip for a moment. “Well, we do not reclaim or tend the places of the dishonored. That task falls to those who would reclaim their place. Tradition, you know, and also a bit of an encouragement to the younger generations. Grow up across a monument to lost glory, it plants the seed that perhaps you might be the one to reclaim it.” He shot her a bright grin, sudden as a flash of lightning. “Though I guess that seed took root a little further than we expected!”
She could only glance down, fighting the urge to die of embarrassment and glee.
“But just the same, I’d rather not foist such a task on our weary warrior, so~” He bowed and extended a hand, and she felt her heart stop. “Would you accept my offer of shelter for the night? As your prince, it’s only my place to see to our newest lord.”
She might have passed out at that point, but fortunately he took that as a yes.
////////////
When she awoke, she was on sheets that were either pure silk or pure sunlight, she couldn’t quite be sure. For a moment, she wasn’t even certain where she was, the feeling was so alien. She struggled upright, propping herself up against the headboard and took her first look at the room around her. It was incredible, hardwood shelves that would have made a library envious, gilded and arcane implements she couldn’t recognize beyond that they were tools of higher learning. Between them were blades, shields, and armors of every make and kind, a martial legacy only a fire dragon could claim.
“Impressed?” She turned to the voice, and found the prince standing by the door to the room. Standing in all his glory. In all his very, very naked glory. Inside of a second even her magic couldn’t keep pace with her rising temperature.
“Y-yes!” She instantly realized the double entendre of her statement, and tore her head away before she ignited. “Not that, I mean, the room! The room is very impressive!”
His laugh was soft, but all the warmer for it. “My apologies, it’s something of a tradition here. We live and die in our armor, so sleep is one of the few times we can be ourselves. Wholly and without artifice.” He coughed and glanced away himself. “Though, I know our traditions are not yours, so I’ve made certain to shield your modesty.”
Sure enough, she still felt the tight confines of her dress wrapped around her body.
“If you would keep the evening to yourself...” His words disappeared as her blood thundered in her ears.
She looked at him again. Lean and sleek, the picture of draconic perfection. Her dress pressed down on her from all sides, like a vice, until she could barely breath. Almost without thinking, she reached up and began to pull apart the lacing. She felt the pressure release, and watched as his eyes shot open in shock, his amazement plane to see. All his amazement.
“Mmmm, you’ve been such a good host,” she purred, emboldened by his expression, “The least I can do is give you a tour of your own~”
He didn’t need to be told twice, climbing in with an eagerness that was already obvious. With an enthusaism that made her giggle, those strong, delicate hands immediately found her bare chest, squeezing deeply into her curves. She couldn’t keep down a moan as he felt her up, reveling in the feeling. She was big even by frost dragon standards, but compared to what she’d seen of fire dragons, she was absolutely gargantuan. She gave him a fierce kiss, and lay back in the bed, crooking a finger. “Mmmmm, are you going to keep testing the water, or are you going to dive in?”
He dove in with gusto.
////////
Life in the golden city was a dream. Clad in gold and silver, a nod to her heritage, she found herself entertained at the tables of legends. She dined with warriors and generals, producing her horn to constant awe and amazement. Every time she blew it, she was greeted to cheers and accolades, and usually invitations to a dozen other banquets and dinners to share her prestige with those who had not yet seen. And, as always, there was the constant appreciation of her prince.
The only drawback, and it was hardly even that, was that she didn’t actually do that much fighting. As a matter of fact, when she had the time to think on it, she hadn’t done any. It was all banquets and entertainments, which were all delightful, to be sure, but it was starting to show.
Her flat belly became round and curved, muscle hidden beneath a growing layer of plush fat. Her ass had expanded as well, along with her chest, until the prince had started to call in frost dragon tailors, her measurements exceeding frost dragon experience. It was an interesting experience.
“Settling in for winter?” The old dragon had teased, making her flush fit to die. Unfortunately, the prince had been present and sharp enough to pick up on the line. That evening, when he’d asked her, she’d had to explain.
“It’s a saying,” she began, standing before the mirror, cradling her belly. It really was so round and heavy. “We fatten up for winter, keeps us warm and healthy through the cold months.” He waited expectantly, sensing there was more. “Winter is also when we… nest, to keep each other warm. Preparing for winter means… getting ready to settle down~”
She felt his hands sink into her hips, and his fangs worry her neck in the way that made her shudder. “And are you?”
She reached down and pulled his hands up to the melons her breasts had become. “What do you think~”
/////////////
It wasn’t long before the wedding was announced. It was the event of the season, the warrior prince of the golden city, to wed the first frost dragon lord of the frontier. If she was a social event before, it was nothing like what she became. She met dignitaries, family, the cream of the crop. And of course, she got increasingly ready for winter.
By the time of the wedding, her dress was ready to burst at the seams. Her breasts threatened to overflow her top, her ass refused to fit in a chair, and she couldn’t miss the muttered giggles of the bridesmaids and gusts, wondering if she was already with clutch. It might have bothered her, if it didn’t put a massive grin on the prince’s face, and by association, hers. It didn’t hurt that her wedding cake was imported chocolate, her favorite.
Naturally, she finished the entire thing by her honeymoon.
///////
<Well, look at you.>
Vala sat up with a start, immediately regretting the motion as her stomach protested. She flopped back, groaning as memories of the night rushed back to her. How she’d burst her dress, and how the prince had all but jumped her the moment she had. The thought brought a smile to her lips, until she noticed the pale, spindly form looming over her bed.
<Hello again, murder,> it made noises she couldn’t recognize, but there meaning struck her like physical blows. <Enjoying yourself?>
She drew a deep breath in blind panic, half believing she was in a nightmare.
<Choke.> this time, the sound wasn’t just meaning, it was a command. Her throat locked down on itself, and the frost sputtered within her.
<Like that? Though I bet it’s a familiar feeling at this point.> A sharp, slender leg jabbed into the folds of her gut, making her grunt. <Then again, you don’t look like you have any trouble at all getting anything down that maw.>
“What...” she tried to speak, but her throat was doing it’s level best to force the life out of her on its own.
<What am I doing here? Claiming the satisfaction that is mine,> the words lashed against her, like whips against her heart. She could feel the hatred within them, the contempt. <Little more than a year ago, you stormed into my village, my home, and my beloved greeted you in curiosity, and you killed him.>
“I...” She remembered, the dying wail of the first as it cracked apart.
<Do you remember what really happened that night?> the words dripped with menace. <Perhaps you should remember.>
////////
She sat in a village square, tied and gagged, men and pale monsters clustered around her.
<Vengance!> Screamed one, the words cutting knives of pain through the air, as it cradled a broken form in its limbs. <I demand vengance!>
“She’s but a child!” One of the men spoke up, softly, pleadingly. “A misguided hero!”
<And what does that do for my pain?> the suffering creature rounded on the man. <I have lost more than you shall ever know! You poor, lonely creatures cannot comprehend my suffering! Listen to those who can!> It swept a leg, gesturing to its kind amongst the humans. <Do they beg me stop? You know them, they are not bloodthirsty, not vindictive! They know what I have lost, and they do not deny me! So who are you to do such?>
The man stepped away, cowed. After a solid minute of silence, the creature turned to Vala.
<Listen and obey, as all must. You will leave this place thinking yourself a hero. You will boast of you and...> it threw the horn her feet. <your pathetic triumph, that has cost me so dearly. You will blow that horn at every opportunity, and spread the message that I have hidden within. And when I come to you again, you will listen.>
////////
<Ah yes, that look of horror, how I’ve longed to see that.> The creature loomed close, pale and eyeless as it snarled in a sound not of this world. <And now, I claim what is finally mine.>
It scuttled back, grabbing a mirror and hauling it over so she could see herself. What she beheld was a heaving mass of at and scales, nearly as wide around as it was tall. She could hear it’s wheezing breaths as they struggled in and out, hear the gurgle of her unruly innards. She feel the way the bed struggled to hold her, smell the scent of grease and sugar on her lips.
<You are no hero. You are the fat, pampered plaything of a horny dilettante, shown off to boat of his cow-titted, fetishized novelty. Look at this bloated thing, so greedy and swollen like no true warrior ever could be.> It pressed a leg into her middle, and kept pressing deeper and deeper as it continued to sink into ever more fat. <A final command for you, creature. I command you to obey no past commands. You are free now to sink under your own power, as I know you will. You will struggle, you will fight, and you will fail.> It stepped away, and it’s next words were devoid of rancor. <With that, I am avenged. Though you live, the dragon and the dream that took my love will now surely die. Whatever remains of you past that, creature, do what you will. Now sleep, and remember this night until your dying day, but for your own sake, tell none. They wouldn’t believe you anyway. We’ve made sure of that.>
///////////
She did fight it, at first. That very next morning, she rolled out of bed and set to jogging, only for the prince to run after her as she gasped and sagged against the hallway wall. She tried taking up the sword again, only for her flabby arms to fumble her swings, sluggish and awkward. She even looked at armor, before breaking down in tears that the sheer weight of a suit her size would crush her flat. And in response the prince held her, squeezed her, and fed her.
And to her eternal guilt, she ate.
She tried to resist a bit at first, trying to skip meals, find any way to simply not shove more in her maw, but the hunger itself was agony. When her prince came, she ate, and the relief she felt was almost orgasmic. So grew a perverse cycle, where rather than escaping from eating, eating became her only escape. She ate to fill her heart, she ate to fill her stomach, and she ate to please her prince. And when she was gifted with her first clutch, her appetite only grew.
By the time she laid, she filled their whole bed. By the time they hatched, she was overflowing even that, already working on the next generation. She started to fall in love with the process, bloating and breeding out of control, her life a whirl of selfish, fertile ecstasy. After all, even if she would never serve on the battlefield, this was certainly a far more enjoyable way to contribute.
///////
And it is said, to this day, that over a thousand houses can trace their beginnings to the glacial queen of the golden city.
So named for her weight.
Comments
Jenny Koda
Oh gosh yes I loved the story, and thank you so munch QUQ
Athan
I've had this tab open for two weeks and forgot about it Dx Nice work; great story, and awesome art!
Visha Oakwood
all I ever wanted <3
