Forced Separation
Mog's finals are just around the corner. Faora is forced to confront him leaving the academy in more ways than just dealing with his absence.
for
Part- 3
Forced Separation
Featuring Faora Meridian
by Mog Moogle
The moogle's muscles squeezed against the dragon's member as the small bed creaked under the forceful thrusts. The little creature under the big dragon moaned and panted as the full length of the dragon pumped in and out of him. The ridges slid in and out of the tight ring as the dragon grunted.
It had become an almost nightly ritual for the two. Though the moogle mechanic- reluctantly -had agreed not to engage the dragon mage until their daily tasks were completed. For the most part, it was something he complied with.
"Fae," Mog cried out as his member throbbed against the comforter. "So close..."
Faora grunted in agreement as his thighs quivered on each thrust inside. Despite the moogle having all of his male bits restored to their original configuration, he knew how to work his tailhole in a way that made the dragon need to climax once he was inside. It was a physical experience the likes of which the disciplined mage had never known was possible.
The moogle clawed at the simple wooden frame as they stressed it to its limits, adding to the impressive collection of scratches already in the mage's bedframe. Even under the assault, the mechanic's reinforcements of the bed he applied after the first time it had collapsed under them held fast.
Faora knew the desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm and prolong the encounter was about to waiver. His loins burned with as much need to deliver his seed as the moogle under him had to receive it. He thrust inside of the smaller moogle as deep as he could as a suppressed howl filled the dorm room.
The swelling of his ridged cock inside of Mog and the flow of his cum pushed the moogle over the edge as well. The simple mattress soaked with another of many moogle orgasms as his insides were once again filled with another of many dragon orgasms. He panted softly as the waves of bliss receded and Faora gently came to rest on top of him.
Faora nuzzled into the moogle's neck and gave it a tender lick. A thank you for another intimate night before the day started tomorrow. His feelings of contentment faded as his thoughts shifted to the thought that Mog would soon leave the academy. It would be a mixture of disappointment and relief. Free of distractions so that he could focus wholly on his studies, but a lack of warmth as his nights in the bed would once again be alone.
"Fae Fae," Mog said softly, causing the dragon to look down at the moogle with concern at his tone. "What'cha thinking, Fae Fae?"
"This may very well be our last night together," Faora replied.
"Nonsense. After the assessment tomorrow, I'll have a few more nights in the dorm before any official graduation. Besides, you won't be at the academy forever. We could always be together after your studies are done."
"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that." Faora eased back until his spent member slid from the moogle's tailring, causing him to gasp and the moogle to moan. "Even if I leave the academy in your lifetime, I have no idea where my study and practice will take me. Pursuit of knowledge is what a mage does."
Faora levitated himself and the moogle off the bed and gently rotated them in the air, coming back down onto the mattress on his back with the moogle atop him. His arms wrapped around his lover as he held his warm fur against his scales. "And as much as I enjoy studying ways to be intimate with you, there's not much to advance the studies of elemental magics in doing so."
"Have a little faith, Fae Fae," Mog said with a smile. "It's not like we can never see each other again."
"You know I've never been a big proponent of faith," Faora said and grumbled.
"And you know that faith in the gods is not what I was talking about," Mog replied with a huff. "'Sides, if you have so much faith in making your own fate, make that fate to see each other again."
Faora chuckled and nuzzled at the moogle's cheek. "You annoy me to no end, but I will miss you."
"It's been an interesting year," Mog said with a smile that gradually faded. "What do you think of the announcement of my final?"
"I think the masters continually test me, and this one in particular I find distasteful."
"Yeah, but--"
"Don't you?" Faora cut him off. "I was tricked into manipulating your body. I may have not had the purest of intentions at the time, but the Archmage all but admitted he planted the suggestion. I do not like being deceived."
"Fae, I don't think that was the intent."
"Oh?" Faora's tone was still agitated.
"Of all the mages here, you're the only one I trust."
"Be that as it, I still detest the idea."
Mog nestled in as close as he could and nuzzled Faora's chest. "Promise me something, Fae Fae."
"What's that?"
"Don't hold back," Mog said as he looked up at the dragon. "I trust you not to hurt me, and I hope you trust me to do the same. But don't try to go easy on me in any way. I want you to treat it like--"
"Like I'm bedding you?" Faora cut him off and chuckled.
"Like it really matters. If you hold back, it's not going to show anyone what I can do."
Faora scowled a moment then shook his head. "I know you're not going to try and harm me, and I won't harm you. I'll give this assessment the effort it deserves." Mog smiled at him before laying his head back on his chest. Sleep overtook the dragon as his furry blanket atop him kept the chill of the night at bay.
Faora cracked his eyes open as he heard a rhythmic grinding. The dim illumination of a candle flickered from the moogle's workbench. He could see Mog sitting on his stool at the workbench, naked save for his goggles. His magnifying loupe was down over one of the lenses as the moogle rubbed a small rat-tail file over a glass container.
With a yawn, Faora eased up in the bed. It was still early in the morning hours, long before the sun would rise. He cocked his head at the moogle as he observed him for a few moments. "What are you doing, Mog?"
"Making sure everything is ready," the mechanic replied as his focus never shifted off his work. "Still need to get a few things done before tomorrow."
"You told me last night that everything was ready."
"It is," Mog replied as he pushed the goggles up to his forehead. "Just making sure. I need this to go off without a hitch."
"I do hope you're talking about the assessment and not some explosive device you're planning on using."
"You'll see," Mog said as he looked at the dragon with a coy smile.
Faora rolled his eyes and laid his head back down on the pillow. He did trust Mog not to intentionally hurt him, but a doubt about the moogle getting too enthusiastic and inadvertently doing so lingering in his thoughts until he finally wrestled himself back to sleep.
The morning came, and with it the rain. It would have been a simple matter for almost any of the masters at the university to alter the weather, so the soft rumble of thunder and the rain against the stone walls came as a surprise to the mage as he roused from his sleep. He looked over at the empty bed of his dorm mate, then the uncharacteristically tidy workbench. Almost all of the tools, little devices and gadgets were gone.
Faora rose from his bed and walked to the window, looking out over the courtyard at the wooden platform that had been erected in the middle of it. The water soaked the wood and puddled the grounds around it.
Faora thought to himself that the moogle must have gone to one of the masters or engineering instructors to request a delay in the demonstration. "Though that wouldn't account for his workspace being clean," he said, scratching the side of his head.
He had no morning tasks. His instructions for the day had simply been to prepare. He sighed and shook his head. Instead of working on his own projects, studying ahead in his courses or simply enjoying the day to himself, he was stuck wondering if the assessment would happen. If only he could already control weather.
He shrugged his shoulders as he turned away from the window. Sitting down at the lectern, he willed a tome from the bookshelf over to him and suspended it in front of him. He scanned over the pages where he had left off, telekinetically turning them without ever putting a claw on the pressed parchment.
The morning passed as he reviewed the elemental studies that would be his focus. It wouldn't be long before he prepared his specialty for review to the masters. The rain outside had slowed from steady to a light sprinkle, and the midday sun began to peek through the scattering clouds.
As he had nearly finished the tome, a knock on the heavy wooden door diverted his attention. With a sigh and a flick of his fingers, the tome closed and tucked neatly into its place on the shelf. Faora summoned his blue robe around his body before he went to the door and pulled it open.
The small raccoon that had been keeping the desk of the Athenaeum during his penance stood before him. Instead of her brown novice robes, she wore the green robes of an apprentice. Faora lifted an eyeridge at her as she looked up at him.
"Um, Master Ocdor..." she began with a quiver in her voice, "that is, he sent me to tell you that, um..."
Faora continued to stare at her with growing annoyance as she stumbled through. "Yes?" he asked in a drawn out and annoyed tone.
"Sorry, it's just, speaking to the Archmage always makes me a little nervous. He assigns us so few tasks directly, and I'm always afraid that--"
"And that task was to deliver a message, Apprentice?" Faora interrupted to refocus her.
"Oh! Yes. I know he could have just summoned you directly, with his thoughts. Like he did me, but I'm serving a penance--"
"Not surprising." Faora said and then shook his head. "The message?"
"Yes. They're ready for you in the courtyard. Something about an assessment."
Faora's expression shifted. He fully expected the assessment to be delayed. The abundance of moisture would surely put the moogle at a large disadvantage and make his task far more simple. Faora walked past the raccoon toward the staircase at the end of the dormitory hall, offering a brief, "Thank you," to her.
The dragon stopped short of the stairway and bound over the banister to the entry hall. He dropped the three floors and softly put his feet on the ground. The large front doors of the dorm opened just wide enough pass through as he stepped into the courtyard.
The masters and non-mage instructors at the university were gathered around the raised platform. As he approached it, the mist in the air dissipated and the clouds cleared. Faora squinted as the sun was allowed to shine and fully illuminate the makeshift stage. The dragon lifted himself to the platform and stood before the masters.
The Archmage was perched on a separate raised platform in a large chair that looked far too big for the mouse's small stature. He stood up and looked over the crowd. "Today, we will witness the final assessment of our first potential graduate of the Engineering and Industry program.
"In two years, a simple tinkerer has made advancements in metallurgy and chemistry worthy of masters of those trades. His studies have coincided with the study of magic to advance those fields in directions that make Battlemages ineffective among our rivals and free to improve themselves so that our empire will be better prepared. Not necessarily replace the mage in the field with a common soldier, but to augment them with non-magical protections against our foes and adequate tools for the common soldier to withstand them.
"Everyone here has seen his findings, and we have determined an assessment to adequately test his inventions and techniques. In the sense of keeping it as true to the initial conflicts in which they will be tested against in the field, his opponent has not seen the advancements and has been instructed to adapt to the countermeasures and attacks to the best of his abilities.
"In turn, Journeyman Meridian, with his focus toward elemental Hydromancy, has been selected because of his ability to overcome the typically outfitted musketeers and grenadiers our enemies are now fielding with regularity.
"At our student's request, the clear advantage has been given to our mage with an abundance of environmental factors to make any attacks he produces from water more effective," the Archmage paused as he looked directly at the Journeyman on the platform. "Journeyman Meridian, as soon as your opponent takes the field, the assessment is considered underway."
Faora nodded and stood ready. For a few moments, there was total silence among the crowd. Then the large doors opposite the dorm doors opened and the moogle walked out toward the platform. Faora drew his head back and cocked it to the side as he observed the mechanic dressed-- rare enough these days on its own --in a long overcoat with a bandolier over his shoulder covered in pouches, and his goggles with the dark lenses and loupe raised so that it was the translucent glass.
The moogle made his way through the masters, grasped the platform with his paws and awkwardly lifted himself up into the arena. A few chuckles rose from the crowd at his less than graceful entrance, but the moogle never lost the coy smirk on his muzzle as he brushed the moisture off his coat.
Faora watched as the small creature stood on the opposite end from him, still smiling confidently. Per the Archmage's instructions, the contest had begun, but the moogle just stood there looking at him. Finally, the moogle raised a paw and gestured at the dragon to go first.
Faora rolled his eyes and shook his head. If he were really given the first move, the assessment would indeed be short. However, the gesture was arrogant, and in combat, that sort of arrogance would ensure defeat. Best the moogle learned that.
Faora raised his hands up and curled his claws. His focus was on the mechanic as the world around them faded. Blue swirls picked up the water around him in a vortex and formed a large sphere in front of him. Soaked gunpowder would mean no explosives, no firearms, and no chance for the moogle's victory.
With a push of his will, the water sped toward the moogle. The surroundings came back into focus as the relatively simple aspect of propelling the water required less concentration and pulling on the ebb and flow of the ethereal plane. It was right on target, and the force of it would likely wash the moogle completely out of the arena.
When it was only meters away from the moogle, the mechanic pulled a small phial from one of his pouches and casually tossed it. It hit the water and ripples of force ripped the large sphere into large white droplets. They showered the moogle with the force of a torrential downpour, but not the torrent of a tsunami. The moogle was soaked head-to-toe, but still standing and still smiling.
Faora looked at the display with amazement. He was almost certain the opening attack would be the final attack. His expression shifted back to confidence at the realization that the dripping wet fur and clothes of the moogle meant that his explosives and guns would also be soaked, and utterly useless.
But the moogle kept smiling shook the water out of the fur on his face and then pulled a strange looking firearm from under his coat. The hammer cocked back and a collection of smaller barrels in a housing revolved and sat into place behind the longer barrel of the handgun.
The dragon lifted a hand toward the moogle as the hammer started to drop. His focus was once again on the creature as the world around him faded. From what he knew about the firearms, he wouldn't have time to erect any barriers to ward off the projectile, but he drew on his powers to slow the events down around him and increase his reaction.
It required more concentration to manipulate his surroundings in that way. A push of force toward the moogle wouldn't have time to connect before the shot cut its way through the air to him. As the hammer hit and the smoke forced its way out of the strange cylinder, Faora had an idea.
He used the remaining extent of his magical focus as he watched the small white cone-shaped bullet exit the muzzle. As it drew closer, he willed a strong force of telekinetic energy toward it. Even though he'd slowed everything down, it closed the distance faster than his manipulation of energy. It was only five paces from him when it hit the deflecting force and was pushed downward and away from the direction of its spin.
Through instinct rather than planned action, he lifted his right leg just in time to keep the impact of it from hitting anything but his robe. His eyes were focused on it the whole time, and he watched the white bullet deform against the fabric, splinter and crack as waves of kinetic transference rippled in the cloth.
Then he heard the report of the shot follow. The projectile-- which obviously wasn't lead --had managed to beat the sound of the explosion that propelled it. He couldn't dwell on the shock of the fastest object ever produced long as his attention was pulled back to the sight of another flash. The moogle had fired a second shot without reloading in rapid succession.
Foara's keen senses still available despite the draining concentration of his spells managed to push his force once more. This time, it was straight down underneath him. His feet left the ground as his body lifted upward and away from the line of fire. When he was clear of it, his mind started to relax.
The dragon's sudden stop of the push made his acceleration falter quickly and he dropped back down to the platform much less graceful than his vault over the banister, barely keeping himself standing as the world tuned back into his senses and his perception of time moved to catch up with the rest of the mortal realm.
Mog's smirk was gone and replaced with a scowl. Faora was surprised at the seemingly hostile gesture of the moogle, but then the moogle looked up at the Archmage while maintaining his disapproving look.
"I told you that wax and tallow would affect the ballistics," he said to the mouse with the highest station in the university. "You saw how easy he dodged. He'd have a harder time with a three-hundred and fifty grain lead--" the moogle was cut off as the air around him rapidly condensed.
Faora forced the moisture on the moogle and in the air to compress as he flash froze it. He watched the moogle nearly drop his handgun as he coughed the icy breath from his lungs. The water in his fur froze and droplets crystalized on his tufts and whiskers. The moogle dropped to his knees, but as he did, the trigger of the firearm was pressed. Despite Mog's numbing fingers, the gun discharged.
Faora was caught completely unaware as the less than lethal bullet impacted the palm of his hand. The obvious pain of the impact was the first thing he noticed, but he stood for a moment and looked at his arm as it fell completely limp. He couldn't move it at all. His shoulder still seemed to work, but everything from his upper arm down was like the muscles, sinew and bone had been shattered.
The dragon could faintly sense a magical field on his arm to simulate the damage of the round. Other than the stinging in his palm, the pain had mercifully been left out of the spell. Faora looked back at the moogle who was gasping for breath for a few moments before he lifted back up to his feet.
"I guess I should focus on you, huh Fae?" he said. "At least you make that easy," he whispered and then winked at the dragon.
Faora couldn't help but roll his eyes despite the very serious contest. The brief levity lasted but a moment as the moogle took aim at him again. Faora once more tapped into the ethereal powers around him to slow the events.
The dragon had another offensive trick he'd not employed. Without the channeling ability of his dominant arm, it would be difficult to stave off another shot from the moogle's gun while employing it, but he was confident he could execute it.
With a bright flash, Faora saw the wax bullet traveling at him dead center. As quickly as he was able, he threw a forceful wave at and then shifted to the side ever so slightly out of its expected path. He then readied his follow up.
The moisture around the moogle was still thick and condensed from the cold. He began to pull each thawing drop of water rapidly away from his opponent. The energy of his magic ripped it with such a force that the tight bonds of the cold liquid flash boiled and thick steam started to cover the moogle.
Faora let his perception slip back to normal much more rapidly as the mental fatigue of the more advanced technique was begging to drain him. However, its purpose was served as he felt the wax bullet graze his robe and watched a thick cloud of boiled water coat the moogle. He heard a muffled scream and called off the steam as quickly as he had produced it.
It began to drift away with the breeze, but he couldn't see the moogle until enough of it had cleared to reveal his coat covering him in a huddled ball on the platform. To his surprise, the moogle sprang to his feet and ripped his goggles off his head.
He yipped as his paw pad wrapped around the hot brass casing for the lenses and he flung them away. He blew on the red burn mark a few times then looked up at Faora with a smile. The steam trickled off his coat as he shrugged it off his shoulders and let it fall from his arms. The fabric had somehow shielded him from the heat.
Under his coat was his standard lab outfit and smock, but with the tool pockets replaced with pouches similar to those on the bandolier. An empty holster for his prototype firearm hung on his right side and a full holster with an identical firearm on his left. His wings stretched out and fanned the steam away with a few quick flaps.
Faora grumbled through his panting. He was starting to become exhausted. If he was going to keep his promise and not hold back, he needed to end the contest. As the moogle lifted his firearm again, the dragon pulled the remaining moisture off it and the moogle yipped at it became too hot to hold.
When it clunked to the ground, Faora readied himself to attack. As his left arm rose, he saw the moogle toss another glass phial into the air toward him. He sent a wave of force at it to deflect it back, but as soon as it hit the glass, it shattered and a bright flash and loud boom overwhelmed him.
With deafening ringing in his ears and his vision was swirling black spots, the report from another shot of the moogle's second firearm was barely audible but the impact of the wax bullet in his abdomen was clear. It wouldn't have been immediately fatal and could be treated with healing magic, but the magic field on him to simulate the damage made his already short breath much more labored. He was going to lose unless he pulled out all the stops.
Faora closed his eyes and drowned out everything around him. The darkness covered everything. The sounds of the breeze, the movements in the crowd, the feel of the wood underneath him as his wounded body slumped down. He drew his spirit into the ethereal plane and the mortal realm was left behind. The only thing he bought with him was a magically enhanced perception of the moogle.
He saw the outline of the moogle's very essence moving toward him as he fumbled with his unseen inventions of the other world. He pulled a spell to his forefront and it began to take physical form.
The air condensed around him and formed into ice. A bullet impacted his left shoulder. Blue energy licked at it as it levitated above the him. Another grazed his thigh._The ice large chunk of ice separated and flew through the air. _The next glanced off one of the chunks of ice. The ice chunks formed back around the moogle and he grunted at it compacted around him.
Faora opened his eyes as his spirit flooded back into his body. As soon as his perceptions shifted to the mortal realm, he became instantly aware of how much damage the moogle had actually done. His mind was exhausted and the simulated physical damage made it difficult to even lift his head.
The dragon rose up to his feet, but his left leg couldn't move or support much more than a very light step. Both of his arms were limp and every breath took almost more effort than he had. He made his way toward the block of ice that was the charging moogle mere moments before.
As he approached, his steps got easier and the movement in his arms returned. Faora drew a deep breath as he it returned to normal save his fatigue. The ice fractured and fell away from the moogle at his feet then melted away with the water dissipating.
Mog opened his eyes and groaned as he looked up at the dragon. He slowly sat up and shook his head. "I feel like I've been run over by a twelve-ox cart." Mog's attention was pulled toward the crowd as Master Amon covered the two with a warm field of magic. Their bodies mended and their fatigue lessened.
As it subsided, Mog giggled and extended a paw toward Faora. "Much better. I almost had you, Fae Fae."
Faora smiled and took his paw, lifting him to his feet. "You do have me." Faora sighed as the mental fatigue was only partially alleviated by the healing magic. "To be fair, had I not recently had... training to focus while distracted, I think you would have won."
"An impressive display," the Archmage said from his platform, pulling the attention of the crowd and the combatants. "We will reconvene in the Hall of Masters. You may both return to your dorm. You will have a decision before the sun has set.
Faora was placing the seal on his project for his Journeyman's final. Over the last two years, his studies had focused on his specialization. The glow in his eyes faded as the Adept seal bound the scroll. He wouldn't be able to read it again until the Master Leagus had reviewed it and granted him Adept status.
The concern that it was perfect was minimal. He'd reviewed it several times before the seal was placed. The fact that the dorm had been absent anyone but himself since the moogle left meant that he could concentrate on his work and study without any distractions; save for when his thoughts would turn to him and he would grow lonely.
Lifting the scroll up, he enveloped it in a blue energy and it flashed to his storage in the ethereal plane. Standing from the lectern, he moved to the window and looked out over the courtyard. He couldn't help but wonder how the moogle would have fared against him now. He had two more years of training he could bring to bear.
Mog's letters had told him of the position he was offered in the Royal Court. Being placed over the retooling of the forges and foundries to make his new designs and then placed over the outfitting of the new style of infantry. The letters had been consistent enough, but they had not seen each other since the moogle departed.
The rest of the dragon's day was free. There was very little studying ahead he could do until he could read the Adept scrolls. Basic theory was beyond him, so the more practical lessons were all that he gained from. He had almost decided to walk the grounds when a knock on his door diverted his wandering mind.
Faora sighed as he made his way across the room, sorely hoping that it was not a novice or apprentice on a penance to personally deliver a menial task. As the hinges creaked, he saw an imposing rhino in the engineering uniform and smock.
"'Beg pardon, sir mage," he said in a voice that seemed timid for his large size. "The Chief would like to see you."
"The Chief?" Faora asked as he cocked his head.
"Chief Engineer. He's in the metallurgy lab. He sent me to fetch you to him."
Faora shook his head and sighed. The Engineering and Industry masters rarely asked for students directly unless it was for some sort of strange experiment they were conducting. "Very well," Faora said and followed the student toward the stairs.
The metallurgy laboratory had been an expansion to the school's own smithy. Now, arcane students weaving enchantments into the metal shared the workspace with common folk that worked to master their trade. The smell of blacksmithing forges and smelting metal filled the air as the rhino led Faora to the back of the laboratory.
"'Chief's in his office," he told the mage as he stepped out of the way of a simple door. "He said to go on in."
Faora nodded then pushed the door open. The office was crammed with work benches, the walls covered in schematics, and various tools and half-completed mechanical devices were scattered about. On the far wall was a desk that was scattered with scrolls from the Athenaeum as well as mechanical manuals. Just beyond it was a chair where the Chief Engineer sat.
Faora looked down at him and blinked a few times as he watched him scrawl some chaotic lines on a pressed piece of parchment. After a few moments of looking down at him and letting his surprise wear off, Faora cleared his throat to draw his attention.
The moogle looked up from the parchment and then lifted his goggles. He smiled at the dragon with his cheek tufts blackened with soot. "Hi, Fae Fae. Guess where the king just assigned me?"
"Yeah, I can guess," Faora said and chuckled.
"Of course, I may have implied that I could encourage the students to make advancements and teach them the craft. I spoke with Master Ocdor earlier in the day, and he expects a lot of progress from me, so I'll have ask you to keep distractions to a minimum. I know how annoying you mages-- especially dragons --can be."
"Annoying? Distracting? Me?" Faora laughed out loud and then rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you, too."
"Mmm," the moogle agreed and then went back to drawing on the paper. "I will need to consult with a hydromancer on a project I have. Apparently, they're starting to field a lot of pyromancers in the west, and I need to adjust some countermeasures. The arcane masters tell me you're the most advanced student in that field. Please come by my quarters at the end of the day so we may discuss some... hydrodynamics."
"Discuss them? More like view them in practice."
"Glad we're on the same page, Journeyman." Mog looked up at Faora and smiled. "That will be all... for now."
Faora chuckled and shook his head. He turned around to leave the office, but stopped at the door and looked back at the moogle. "Oh, one thing, real quick Chief."
"Yes, Journeyman?" Mog said as he paused his work once again and looked up at the dragon.
"We should start that study session with a bath. You are a rather dirty moogle, at the moment."
"Only around you, Fae Fae."
Faora knew that his studies would once again be more difficult, but at least his nights would no longer be cold.
The End