FSE

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The castle was slowly growing larger as they approached. He knew that was wrong though. It simply appeared larger as their airship drew closer. Mighty fortifications like that didn't simply spring from the earth like a tree, but for as large as the building was, it seemed like a more likely story than any mortal hands had built such a stupendously large fortress atop the highest peaks of the mountain range. One staggered to imagine how such massive chunks of granite and quartz were hauled up the sheer cliff faces by anything smaller than a giant.

All of the giants were long dead though. Everybody knew that. The only traces of their legacies were in the dire forms of species and the bones of their ancestors.

Isiat's tails gave a gentle flicker, relaxing in the chill of the mountain air. His inky black fur shimmered in the sunlight, the only natural warmth one could find at such altitudes, and even then, it was a fleeting comfort that was as oft-hidden by clouds as not. The white tips of the long appendages were all typical Vulpine markings, spilt from ever meeting black by a thin line of red fur. His eyes were the colour of the icicles stubbornly frozen on the bottom of the rails.

Behind him, close to three hundred tonnes of air-lofted might continued to power forward like the great seafaring vessels that roamed the rolling oceans far away. His vessel was like a barge but grown to the size of a small town, and with just as many souls manning its many stations. Above it, tethered by a vast array of cables and struts, two elongated, armoured air sacs were filled with hot gas to keep the sky sailing merchant craft aloft. A menagerie of propellers on all sides of the massive craft kept directional and attitude control, allowing for precise station-keeping as measured by the master of helm's gyroscopic instruments.

Originally, it had belonged to one of the dragon clans, and in their very bureaucratic way, had an equally unexciting name stencilled along the rear of the massive vessel.

Mass Conveyor 1E4

Isiat, in a drunken game of chance with some dragon traders one night, had managed to swindle it away from its owner by staking a fortune he absolutely did not have against the ship and its contents. Vulpine liquor, especially Kyruku made Ambrosia, was particularly potent, even to the likes of dragons, and the fool captain had inebriated himself past reason long before and eagerly staked his vessel against the young upstart who had been losing all night.

And thus, Isiat had acquired both his significant fortune and his airship all in a single night, thanks to a drunken fool and a cleverly stacked deck.

In the fitting fashion of his victory, Isiat had spent a week on the rigging and ladders to have the vessel rechristened something more fitting.

High Fortune. The new name was proudly emblazoned across the side of one of the almost thousand foot long balloons, along with an image of an ace card with a grinning, black Vulpine as the subject figure. It had seemed entirely fitting. From there, his luck and wealth had only grown, until he had become master of a crew of nearly a thousand souls, both slaves and free men and women alike. The airship had grown as well.

With more people more frequently onboard, the High Fortune had expanded like the urban sprawl of a city. It featured a tavern, a dice den, cargo hold that ran the length of the thick, suspended hull, workshops, cookhouses, smokers, a tailor's, foundry and manufactories, machinists, and even a greenhouse on the upper deck. If a luxury could be found shoreside, Isiat encouraged the crew to find it while onboard during their often multi-month long voyages. There was even a brothel on the lower decks, for, after all, no airship man wanted his journeys to be had high and dry, and it was good for morale and a small profit on the side. Taxes for their continued business were a given, but Isiat had made sure to have his bean counter get it in writing anyway.

"The work crew on number two reported they've got the slow leak fixed, and the buoyancy is stable again, so the list shouldn't be an issue any more. The merch is all boxed and ready for the show, and the usual preparations are underway..." A deep voice spoke from somewhere behind him, and Isiat turned, having to look up to meet the dark, almost maroon dragons gaze.

Speak of the devil... or the bean counter.

It wasn't even that Isiat didn't like Scion. It wasn't that Scion was bad at his job. It was that Scion was a dragon, and almost too good at it. His job and being a dragon, that was.

The dragon clans mostly kept to themselves through all the conflicts rampaging through the ages. They kept their hands meticulously clean of any dirt. But what they were so very, very good at, was hoarding. Gold, wealth, secrets, rumours... if it was of worth to someone else, it was of worth to a dragon. Isiat had made the wise move early of bringing Scion on board for a modest 5 percent share of the profits. Then a 6 percent share. Currently, the dragon was taking in a hard negotiated 9.314 percent share, plus a five percent ownership of Isiat's trading ventures.

In exchange though, Isiat had got a dragon, and not a single piece of his coin was ever unaccounted for, and despite numerous attempts, not one had been lost unnecessarily in a deal. Of course, the problem then arose when Isiat wished to withdraw his own funds. Despite them being rightfully his, the dragon clans seemed to revel in making it as loathsomely difficult as possible to extract so much as a sliver of worth from their hoards.

You only hired a dragon to hold on to your wealth when you wanted to ensure that it would be just as tedious for you to be able to get at your funds as it would be for any potential thieves or cheats. Or, if you had some obscure fetish about telling someone to 'hold my money for me' and then never seeing it again.

"Well of course they are? Why are you telling me this Scion? Did the crew forget how to do their jobs overnight? They know the timeframe as well as I do, and I've committed it to memory!" Isiat laughed, turning around to face his old friend. Despite his complaints, they were indeed friends, and good ones at that, even if the foundation of that friendship had been started on the basis of 'I'll pay you to make sure nobody ever steals any of this.'

"I have... reservations about the costs-"

"Of course you do! But one such as myself doesn't simply get invited to a meeting of the high pack lords without bringing an offering of peace. You know how the canines are..."

"Constantly mounting and pissing on one another to establish dominance?" The dragon suggested with just a sprinkling of patronizing sarcasm.

"Exactly. This is a new suit Scion." He paused, tugging at the lapels of the finely tailored jacket.

"I'd like it not pissed on when we arrive. If the price of that is a few barrels of wine and food for the festivities, I will accept that. We'll make it all back once they see the new toys we're bringing them. You made sure to half charge the cells, correct?"

After all, it'd have done them no good to sell all those fun new toys if they were working at full capacity now...

They conversed a while longer before Scion took his leave to see to the final preparations. Isiat watched with a curious, youthful twinkle in his eyes as they passed into the shadow of the castle. Compared to the ancient fortress, his vessel was but an ant, latching and crawling along its sides. The largest, flat open courtyard was the most ideal mooring ground, and his pilot expertly slid the vessel along the vast, impenetrable walls.

Well, perhaps not impenetrable. Not against some of the tools Isiat had aboard, for sure. The entire docking procedure took a full hour, while the airship was brought level and against the edge of the massive artificial garden. Truthfully, only the forward section of the ship rested against it. The rest simply floated, connected by a maze of boarding and loading ramps that were extended from almost every entry point within reach of solid land, connecting back to the ship like a tangle of cobwebs.

Isiat crossed one such bridge, only to be met by a furious looking canine with a ridiculous plume in his helmet. Some sort of pincher, he mused.

"You cannot dock your vessel here, sir! It must be done around on the eastern fields of the castle, along with the others!" He exclaimed, waving his hands as if in wild gestures.

Isiat made an equally crude gesture as he waved his arm as if to encompass the enormity of his almost half kilometre long ship.

"Where would you propose I set it then? The fields will never in your wildest dreams be large enough for a mass conveyor! Not without crushing the other guest's airships and carriages, and no other platform has such a solid, level space to unload. No, it simply must be here. I insist!" Isiat replied in a much more cheery tone as if he was delighting in the twisting looks of frustration and bemusement on the pinchers muzzle that someone had the gall to speak back to a palace guard like that.

_"I must report this! The lords-" _

"Will not force Master Carcer to leave from where he is. At least not until we have had a chance to examine the merchandise that was promised from your last message." An older wolf wearing a regal, purple robe placed a single, wizened paw upon the guard's shoulder, ignoring any further protests. He fixed Isiat with a pair of sharp, golden eyes that appeared far more lively than the rest of his well-aged appearance did.

"Ahhh! Verrucous! You old dog, you! How have you been?" Isiat broke off into eager and spirited conversation, anxious to be-rid of the guard's presence from anywhere near his majestic ship! He would be adding that one to his ban list once he found out a name.

After all, when you had such facilities aboard as the High Fortune did, it was only good sense to allow onlookers and locals aboard to spend their hard-earned coin whenever they made landfall.

"I have been better, though the campaign through to the far-seas is taking far longer than anticipated. The locals have been giving us trouble. Damned felines have formed treaties with the prey of the plains tribes, and their insurgent tactics are proving difficult to counter." The old wolf grumbled as he drew a pipe from his robes. He lit is with a few strikes from a matchbox. Isiat recognised the smell at once, and it was certainly no pipeweed.

"Ahhh, well, I'm sure you will find a path soon enough. They're just cats and prey after all!" Isiat laughed boisterously. Cats and prey he had sold too not even half a year ago, but after all, all was fair in love and war... Really, it was no wonder the canine campaign was grinding to a halt.

"Yes, quite. I volunteered to meet you. You have an itinerary?" The wolf asked, holding out a sheet of paper to him. Isiat snatched it up and scanned over the list of events and schedule. He was rather unimpressed. This certainly was a formal meeting. Almost no festivities at all marked the long list. Just weapon demonstrations and meetings, except for-

"Ahhh, here, tonight! There's some fun at last. Who's performing during the feast?" The vulpine pointed at the list in his hand eagerly, to a section merely marked Entertainment.

The wolf leaned in, scrutinizing it.

_"Ahh, yes. I believe they've hired an acting troupe to perform Balazars Fall of Khal-tor. Supposedly they're good, a few avians and canines, mostly. Then there's a dragon girl doing the Serpent's coils, and I imagine your fellow from the clans will want front row seats for that..." _He gave Isiat a playful jab in the ribs at the jest.

"Certainly. I'm sure they've arranged for us to be somewhere out of sight though..." Isiat muttered. Canines were never favourable to non-canines unless they had reason to be. Since the vulpine split many generations ago, they barely counted as of the same genus and were rarely lumped into the same clout as the other canine species.

"More than likely. After that, however, I believe they will be opening casks, and having some of the female slaves perform, though supposedly they've gotten one of the feline noble-born girls to perform The Conquest... it should be a good show."

"Mmhm, yes, girl gets fucked by a big, bad wolf, and is given to the audience later. Sounds absolutely riveting- When do I get paid is what I want to know." Isiat rolled his eyes. He enjoyed the erotic performances as much as the next male did, but canines had an unhealthy obsession with them. Dancing was a performance, not a bloody sexcapade for the masses, and how was one to truly enjoy it if they weren't dancing as well? A show was well and good, but he'd have much preferred to be performing it, especially something as carnal as The Conquest.

"Just as soon as you're done offloading the merchandise. I suppose you'll be wanting to demonstrate as well?"

Isiat smirked, ever the showman. His tails gave a subtle flicker of mischief beneath his flowing, red-trimmed cape.

"Well, naturally! Do you have something suitable for me to explode this time?"

__________________________________

As it turned out, something suitable was an airship built using the schematics he had provided the last time he had come by these parts. The vessel was small, designed to be crewed by two with a capacity of just over a dozen, purely a strike craft. It was much lighter and faster, and far more crudely and cheaply constructed than the High Fortune.

Looking at it's scared and burned flanks, it had also seen some action and limped away from it worse for wear. What was left of it was little more than a battered wooden hull barely not even able to support its weight. It had been landed in one of the walled-off training fields and used as a range target. Rather an unbecoming fate for any piece of hardware Isiat dealt with.

A small crowd had gathered, and Isiat made certain to pander to it, fluttering back and forth like a hummingbird between flowers in the spring valleys. He shook hands, gave formal salutations, bowed, saluted, and checked names off a mental list as he greeted them that would have run from his head to his feet were it written on parchment.

Scion stood nearby, along with a few of Isiat's personal guard, armed with the newest toys that he'd brought along, like living demonstrations. The fat, bulky weapons looked much like the black-power wheel locks he'd brought on his last visit. Beside the example model set out on a table was a bowl of faintly glowing stones, each of them looking like a small glow globe.

"Now now folks! Settle down, settle down! Thank you all for hosting me again in this damp and dreary place. It's as unreachable as it is inhospitable, and the weather is no better than it was last time I said no either." Isiat began his little sales spiel, earning a short chorus of laughs from the gathered lords and prospective canine buyers.

That was the trick. First, you drew them in. Made sure they knew you were a friend and made light of your shared plights to build familiarity.

"The canine's conquest has been going well, but as we all know, the campaigns have been ground to a halt by insurgents, foes, and the tenacity of your feline foes." He continued. Highlight their problem, and then, you hit them with the solution. As easy as striking pins while bowling.

"And so, I've come today, after searching the lands for a solution to your problems. Gentlemen, ladies... I give you the Drakeson and Co Las-lock!" He hefted up the demonstration rifle in his paws, snatching up a pawful of the glowing stones as he did. They began to glow more brightly at the touch, reacting to the warmth of his skin. He cycled the heavy bolt, and dropped one of the pulsing stones into the chamber, before locking it shut and sighting at the stricken airship.

With a fizz-POP, a brilliant beam of light shot from the muzzle of the rifle with a screech like a diving falcon, and smacked into the semi inflated balloon of the airship downrange. It exploded in a spectacular shower of sparks and flame, with a resounding boom. The shockwave from the blast shook the stones beneath his feet.

He turned his back to the burning wreck, extending his paws out with a wickedly charming grin that could have sold a snake oil salesman his own merchandise at a profit.

"Need I say more? All I need to know is how many you'd like!"

---

Of course, it had been an easy sell, and they had cleared out their entire stock in a matter of minutes between the barking canine lords scrambling to get the new weapons to their forces first before any others could and forced a delay in supply. Pledged orders and signed contracts would promise Isiat a very, very handsome profit.

Having his people place a few kegs of black powder inside the airship target also hadn't hurt the first impression either... Plus, he'd learned a few interesting tidbits of information, but the one that interested him most...

*"So she's Chief Stryker's daughter then? You're sure about that?" * Scion asked, lazily smoking a cigar between two scaled fingers while he spun a small dagger between the fingers of his free hand. Isiat waved the wafting fumes from his muzzle. The Dragon smoked enough without the tobacco or pipeweed habits he had.

"One of the lords seemed fairly certain about it, and she's performing tonight. Suppose they were trying to keep the felines in line and from regaining any ground. They'll make a public show of it, and news will filter back to him to keep him and his guerilla's in check before the canines make another push towards the ocean." Isiat nodded, sipping from the crystal glass in his paw.

Isiat's quarters onboard the High Fortune was situated towards the fore, just behind the bridge. The walls had been panelled to make it appear like some kind of aristocrat's chambers. A crystal strung chandelier provided lighting, run by the massive solar banks covering to rooftops of the deck level buildings. No expense had been spared when it came to luxury. Even the carpets were a rich, deep green throw like material.

Bookshelves lined one wall, and to the far side of the chamber, a section had been cordoned off behind curtains for his personal rack, a massive, down stuffed bed large enough for four to sleep comfortably upon. Five, in fact, Isiat mused as he looked around. He'd tested that theory before, after all.

A day chaise covered in soft pillows and a sleek, metal pole were placed just off to the side by his desk as well. When he did business in here, he made sure to have a slave put on a show to help keep his business partners suitably distracted from whatever he was trying to swindle them out of. It was amazing just what you could get away with when your opposite number on a deal was too busy having their cock sucked to pay attention to the fine print.

The political situation in the rest of the world was... Delicate, to put a word to it. While no official ceasefire or truce existed between the feline and canine kingdoms, there were certain understandings in place, where both sides knew they could advance no further without suffering unacceptable losses. Really, across all fronts, it had grown like this.

On the feline side, a few important relatives of canine families were held captive, thus ensuring a lower level of fighting in the regions they were kept. The same was true for the canines, and if Isiat's hunch was correct on just who the feline dancer was, or more importantly, who she was related to, well... Perhaps he could make an offer to purchase her, though he would need to find some leverage with which to either sweeten or force the deal.

It wasn't that Isiat was important among these circles. It wasn't even that he was particularly liked, either. He was tolerated because the dragon clans Isiat traded with refused to deal in the quantities of merchandise that he did directly with either of the warring species. Sure, they might trade a few odds and ends, but war supplies? Weapons? Airship schematics? Those kinds of things had been put strictly off-limits to either side. Isiat just so happened to have a very persuasive dragon on his payroll that allowed him to get away with it.

And that fact alone made his presence tolerable. He was neither feline nor canine. To the felines, he was too much of a dog, and his appearance was impossible not to draw comparisons. To the canines, he was little more than part of a sly, scheming, fox, slinking around the shadows of the war like a cat.

So naturally, like anyone shunned by the opposing sides of the war, he did whatever he possibly could get away with the screw over the plans of both of them in as much of a malicious, yet blameless way he could while still managing to make a profit from it.

After all, who better to come out on top than a neutral party! And if that neutral party was him? All the better!

"You know they're not just going to let you take her, and if she is who you think she is, they probably won't let you buy her either..." Scion muttered thoughtfully.

"The canines aren't exactly fond of letting their hostages go, even if it is for an exuberant amount of coin." The dragon pointed out the obvious flaw to Isiat's scheme, even as the vulpine stood up to pace back and forth across his quarters, one paw scratching his chin in deep thought,

"Well, then we'll just have to force their hand if it comes down to it. A canine hostage is a lot more valuable to us than them after all." Isiat pointed out, earning himself a doubtful frown in response.

"I'm quite certain they might disagree with us on that... But I do still have a few contacts within the canine lords' circles. After all, nobody wants to piss off the dragon. Let me ask around, and I'll see if I can find a way to slide things in your- That is, our, favour." Scion said, chuckling as he stood. He pocketed the little jewel-studded dagger he'd been fiddling with.

"I'll find you before the feast. Perhaps I can scare us up some front row seats while I'm at it..."

"Scion-" Isiat stopped him before the dragon could get al the way out of the door.

"I don't need to say it, but don't let anyone see our moves before we get the chance to play them. Even if she's not who we think she is, she's undoubtedly got to be someone of importance. And on the off chance she's not, well... We've always room for another poor soul."

Scion nodded, understanding. Most of the permanent crew aboard the High Fortune had begun their time on the vessel as slaves themselves. Compared to their canine hosts, Isiat was leagues apart from their levels of cruelty. The dragon disappeared outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Isiat meanwhile, finished his drink on his own time, deep in contemplation.

_______________________________

"...and so then I told him, 'If you bring me your daughter and a dowry, then we can talk business!" The Alsatian burst out laughing, as did the ring of other lesser nobility nearby. Isiat, trying his damnedest to mingle, forced a chuckle, and turned away, spotting Scion across the hall. He excused himself from the group, and beat a hasty retreat back to the dragon.

"There you are! Where the hell have you been? I've been forced to hold these fools for company while the casually discuss fucking their sisters." He hissed, frowning with annoyance.

"Wait, which one said that-"

"None of them, of course! I was jesting!"

Scion seemed to hold a sly grin that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

"Well, while you were making nice with our hosts, I paid a visit to an old friend and managed to convince them to move us into the front row. It's a corner, but it has a nice view. By the en passant." Scion added the phrase quickly at the end, and turned, gesturing to his vulpine friend.

"Over here. I want to see this dragon dance..." And like that, the dragon's mind was back to square one.

Over the years they had worked together, they had developed a certain code between them, their so-called moves of the great game. Politics between species and clans were often a confuddled web of spies, diplomats, and assassins. Whenever one of them had arranged a play for the other to follow, they used simple codes to convey it, while still being able to slip them casually into conversation, in case anybody happened to be listening.

Their designated spot was at the far, far end of the U shaped ring of seats, directly by the passageway into the room. The kind of place you stuck a mere trader who had somehow made his way into the ring at all, but who did not influence the higher lords... or the lesser ones either. An outlier. En passant. In passing. To anybody listening, it may have simply come off as their seats were by the passageway, the passing way.

To Isiat, it had a different meaning. Scion had clearly arranged something, an attack in passing. Whatever the hell the dragon had organised, it would be fluid. Pay attention, and be ready to capitalise. That had been the dragons real message. He nodded and followed back to the seats.

The food at least was good, but considering he had supplied most of it, that was of little surprise. Canine cooks had a bad habit of over-cooking and under-seasoning everything. More the reason he tried to keep his visits to their kingdoms strictly as brief and forward as possible. He had only attended all of these 'festivities' because he had been asked to attend by name. Whatever they planned to show tonight, they intended for news of it to spread. He spotted several lesser traders amongst the crowd. They wanted the news to go with them. There was no other reason to invite your arms dealer to dinner.

Well, it was that, or they simply planned to kill them all and steal their merchandise, but Isiat had already discounted that possibility to less than a single percent probability. His crew had orders to resist, and then scuttle if boarded, and even a castle as sturdy as this one would be unlikely to survive such a blast from a ship that was moored beside the main keep.

He sank back into his seat with a contented sigh, shifting through several positions before settling into one that was the least uncomfortable, with his tails lazily draped over the armrests, and sat, and watched, and waited for the opportunity to show itself.

As it turned out, the opportunity was a herself, and a very pretty one at that. The lioness they brought out had been groomed and dressed as for Ally and fittingly as the canines could manage, but even from his seat, Isiat could tell she bore more marks of her captivity than just the pretty golden collar around her throat. The tan furred feline was thin, yet still curvy as if her bone structure and body shape had refused to conform to the usual skin and bones figure of most slaves one saw. Her tail looked as long as Isiat was tall, the tip expanding out to a mass of fluff, a second golden band around its midriff.

Their eyes locked, and Isiat found himself rather taken by just how pretty her face was, and her mismatched green and Brown irises shone like gems. He slowly inclined his head in her direction, a grin spreading on his muzzle as Scion reappeared over his shoulder. The dragon had vanished for a long moment after the dragoness they had brought out had performed the Serpent's Coils, no doubt to try and get himself into hers...

"That's her alright. Just wait. From what my contact said, she's fierce. Bit her dance partners fingers off."

Isiat chuckled a little. So, she wasn't completely without some fight in her, he mused. That was good. Slavery hadn't crushed her spirit wholesale in the way it did some captives.

She took her spot with the eight fingered Dire Wolf on the floor, and an eager silence fell across the crowd. They all knew what was coming. Only the canines would have thought to use a dance with a poetic rape in it to perform a literal rape of their greatest foes. He chuffed as if irritated at just how literal-minded their culture was.

She spun, and the sweet, golden dress they had forced her in spun with her, the frills of it accentuating her movements. Isiat had seen many renditions of The Conquest performed in his time. He'd even performed it several times himself, but always with a willing partner. He could see the trepidation in the lionesses movement as she gracefully, nay, flawlessly performed what was undoubtedly a complex range of movements, each timed to perfection with the violin notes that filled the hall.

And then, opportunity.

A flash of silver caught Isiat's eyes from among the grand display of gold upon the feline's dress as she twirled in to meet the Dire Wolf, chest to chest. He had caught her blow. The knife had changed paws. He was on his feet before he knew what had come over him, drawing his slender rapier from its sheath. He marched onto the dancefloor purposefully as the wolf growled into the feline's face.

"Now scream for me."

"You first!" He called, snapping the wolf's attention around to him. It had the desired effect. He dropped the lioness and turned his fury on the new threat that had appeared.

But a knife against a sword was hardly a fair fight at all, and it was all over as quickly as it began. Isiat's blade sank into the flesh of his chest, up beneath the ribs and bisected the wolf vertically, ending with the tip lodged in his foe's heart. The wolf remained standing long enough for him to withdraw the wavering blade, it's polished steel coated by a thin layer of arterial red blood. He wiped it on the wolf's side as he fell, before returning it to its scabbard, and tucking the sheathed weapon away under his cloak again.

With a dismissive tutt, he gestured to the approaching guards, gesturing for them to remove the wolf's body before it started reeking when he inevitably expired and soiled himself.

Turning, he found the feline's eyes gazing at him fearfully as he reached a paw out, helping her back to her feet. He pulled her up and spent just a moment brushing her dress back into place, before he made his way around behind the trembling feline, growling in her ear urgently.

"The guards only saw him with the blade, but I saw where it came from. If you want it to stay that way, I suggest you dance like your life depended on it." His voice was an accented hiss, but the deception had to be as perfect as her dancing if he was going to end up coming out on top of the situation. After all, a bluff was only as good as the one trying to pull it off. This would be a deception on a grand scale, like the heist of an entire dragon clan's collective hoard.

She nodded weakly in acceptance, seeming to steel herself against her almost demise. He hoped like hell she was just as eager to live past tonight as he was. Still, she took her position diligently. Isiat could smell the heat practically emanating from her. Despite himself, he could feel the pheromone laced scent playing havoc on his thoughts, and fought to keep them ordered neatly. There would be time for that once he'd saved his own skin!

"I believe there was a show ongoing, no?" With a wave of his paw, like a maestro conducting an orchestra, the panicked looking violinist resumed his position and raised the bow of his instrument.

That was good. So far, none of the other lords had risen from their seats, or demanded he sit back down. The bluff was working! Holy crap how was this bluff working?

He didn't question it though. There was no time for it! Shit! When was the last time he had danced The Conquest? Perhaps a year, maybe longer ago, with a fine russet vixen playing the part of the conquered. How did it go? The violin was already playing, that gave him about a two-second grace.

The lioness was already moving, and taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, trusting his memories and instincts to guide him truly.

And that, at least, was something he did trust in. Himself, and his ability to maintain a bluff under stress. His feet moved as if on their own accord. Isiat was no master performer, but dance in itself was an art and he had spent enough time in enough cultures to learn several quite proficiently during his travels. Such carnal performances though, now that was where the real fun laid, and he had performed almost every known one himself at least once, with a variety of partners over the years.

Of them, The Conquest certainly was one of the more difficult ones, featuring much coordination between the two dancers, who frequently weren't looking at each other during the dance. One had to listen and try and maintain where their partner was at all times.

The lioness's tail flowed behind her like a trailing kite caught in the wind. Her motions were fleeting and evasive, always just out of reach, while his own were slower. The heavy conqueror and the fleeing victim. Two parallels that the dance sought to display at once. It was no easy task. Anyone could fuck on a dance floor. That was the easy part.

It was the build-up, the faint teases, a hint of flesh here, a few frenzied strokes there. One had to be able to both perform and fuck at the same time, and that was where many failed to reign in their instincts. Keeping oneself from finishing before the crescendo of the performance was a challenge in itself, but it was one Isiat had risen to the occasion to meet.

He tore her dress in elegant and flowing motions that scythed his mostly blunted claws neatly down the seams, popping them rather than trying to rip the fabric itself.

The slave girl had a pair of tits on her that could have made a saint blush, and without the top half of her dress, she was forced to use her paws and her tail to cover her exposed flesh as the ebb and flow of the dance demanded. Not that Isiat minded at all- The way it forced her to shift and flick her tail about gave him the most tantalizing glimpses of her soft, furry rump, and kept the scent of her heat wafting in his direction. For a little while, he could have even forgotten that if he fucked up here, his life would be in tremendous peril.

He bit her tail as she 'fell', using his teeth for leverage as he forced his paw beneath the lacy material, cupping her soft, chubby sex in the palm of his hand. Curling his middle digit, he spread her wet and eager sex around his invading finger. Her soft moan wasn't lost on him, and he grinned as she instinctively flagged her tail and pushed back against the pleasure. Whatever heat she was in, it was strong. He chuckled darkly like he had her right where he wanted her to be.

She was moist like a good, eager queen, and gripped his digits as he fingered her roughly, not sparing her for courtesy or intimacies sake. The Conquest didn't allow for that kind of romantic side like The lion's passion or The Harem of Bakar. The conquest was all about dominance and control, which was why it was a common choice among slaveholders. He set a vigorous pace with his digits, forcing pleasure upon her as he rubbed her clit with the smooth pads of his thumb.

A faint squeal escaped her, but she was quick to bite it off when she came, warmth and wetness soaking his fingertips as he withdrew them. With his palm raised, he snickered and released her tail so he could growl at her. His flat palm came down upon her upturned rump with a smack that echoed in the large hall. His hand stung from the force of it, but her helpless little moan made it all so very worth it.

"Before your masters notice if you please..." He hissed, delighted by the quickness with which she went into her cartwheel away from him, the thin fur surrounding her cunt soaked and glistening in the light. She was the show, and she knew it as well, but it certainly didn't stop Isiat from licking his chops like a hungry mongrel as they began the final movement of the dance. His true hunt began here.

Keeping his movements low, almost deadly like, he stalked the elegantly twirling and dancing feline. He moved with the rhythm, sliding on his heels and spinning where he needed to, trying to compose his lusts and desires for the offered prey into his very movements, intent on delivering an immaculate performance. Sure, it had been a long time since he'd last danced the dance, but imminent death was a hell of a motivator for perfection.

Still, she was putting on a show he was not likely to forget in a hurry, the teasing sway of her broad hips accentuated by the lazy, drifting motions of her tail, almost as if they were an afterthought. He chased her, as his role demanded, feeling himself uncomfortably swelling within the confines of his pants... Well, he would have an outlet for that soon enough.

Their respective roles brought them together as the violin strings struck a momentary high, pausing for dramatic effect before the rapid, undulating notes of the final movement began. She hit his chest, her breasts pressed against the front of the male's shirt, and their eyes met once more, for but a moment.

"Up, and hold on tight." He commanded her, and the little feline dancing slave jumped to obey. He caught her and braced himself on his heels as her feet tucked around his waist, and hooked together just above the base of his tails. With one paw, his unfastened the button keeping his modesty in check as the other tore the last of her clothes away.

Truly, she was pretty, and damned so, if he was any judge of it, but there was hardly any time for him to brace himself, let alone admire the prize he had maneuvered into his arms. The performance demanded action, and he was hardly one to falter in the most important moment of the act!

"Trust me, kitten." The words felt right as he gazed down upon her. If he could, he would take her from this place. Such a fine prize was wasted upon the likes of the canines here. She would make a fine addition to the other prizes he had stolen tonight, least among them the wolves gold for a pittance of what it could have purchased. Her jewel-like eyes flashed, and he felt her relax against him. A single nod from the lioness was all the confirmation he needed.

He speared into her with a single, swift upwards thrust, bracing her hips with one paw as she clung around his neck like she was holding on for dear life. Her passage gripped him like a smith's vice, silken muscles and heat massaging, rubbing, coaxing him deeper into the hot, fertile feline he found himself rutting.

He spared her no gentleness, but if she had complained, it was lost among the moans she gave into his chest. He took her like a beast possessed, but the demands of the dance were harsh. The timing was everything. Too fast, and one would peak before the crescendo. Too slow, and the violinist would be left embarrassingly silent while two dancers fucked.

But Isiat knew his skill and knew how to angle himself just right to ensure the most sensitive parts of his length were caressed in just the right ways, ensuring that he didn't build up too quickly, or risk getting his knot lodged in a feline that was never built for fucking canines. There would be no pulling back from that mistake.

The audience and everything beyond the torches seemed to fade away, lost in the blur of their motions as they danced, spinning, fucking, growling, hissing. To say their performance was spectacular would have been to say that a dragon's hoard of gold was only 'slightly impressive.'

The timing, the way the slave girl cried out in bliss against him to compliment the subtle, distant notes of the frenzied violin. She gasped as if the pleasure had simply robbed her lungs of air, and Isiat capitalized on the opportunity, pressing his lips hotly to the feline's own while his knot kissed her lower lips, with both equally wet and messy sounds.

She didn't resist either advance and if anything, she widened both her legs and her muzzle as if permitting the male to explore her body, to take her as he pleased. She submitted fully, as her species had when they had realized it was inevitable. They accepted their fates, and perhaps, in that, there was its own kind of strength.

He bred her as the Conquest demanded, huffing through his nostrils as the dance reached its final stages. He could feel her moans, the pleased sounds vibrating into their kiss. He could feel her quaking around him, her body twitching on the edge of orgasm as his length leaked a steady stream of precum into her belly. He wouldn't last long, but neither would she. The dance demanded a finale. The pair would not disappoint.

He came with a snarl, forcing her hips down until he felt his knot seal inside of her spasming sex, the poor lioness losing herself in a tangled series of moans and gasps. He could have sworn he felt her claws raking his back while she came, while his hot seed unloaded into her primed and waiting womb. It would be no matter if he gave her a bastard. It probably wouldn't be his only out in the world, but his prior flings had been distant and time-spaced encounters. The pretty little feline moaning on his cock would be his by tomorrow if he had any say in it.

He bit her shoulder hard enough to pierce the skin, a proper mating bite, marking her as surely as his seed marked her womb. Let them try and keep her. He had more than enough cause to force their hands if he needed now. Slowly, the rest of the world came back into focus. The bliss off climax ebbed into the reward of performance. He'd have bowed, but his still shaking legs would have likely dropped the lioness if he tried. The applause was like thunderclaps rattling the mountainside.

Without fanfare or any further announcement, he took the blushing, panting cat with him back to his seat. His knot would need time to go down before any of the other hungry bastards in the crowd could buy her for a round. Perhaps it was small mercy for her. Gingerly, he brushed a paw across the back of the still dazed-looking feline.

"There... save you a half hour having to make repeat performances." He spoke quietly as he settled back onto his seat, barely moving his tails out from underneath himself in time to avoid sitting on them instead. She seemed to cower against him, looking at her belly fleetingly from time to time, but she did not speak. He did not press the issue. Likely, she was simply coming to terms with all she'd been put through to reach this point.

"Not the talking type, hmm? That's okay... I'm sure we'll see more of each other soon..."

He let her be to rest and calm slightly, but soon enough, his knot shrank, and he slipped from her. Eager guards were waiting to haul her away and chain her up again. He didn't protest. To do so now would have made him appear fleeting, uncomposed. He was a rational man, and rational men knew when to hold their cards. He caught one last, sad glance of her as she was led into a side chamber that had been prepared for her, a line of eager patrons awaiting her pleasure forming at the door.

He turned away, composing himself. He allowed himself to relax, sighing softly. His forefinger and thumb traced the sharp, vulpine shape of his muzzle, combing through the black fur that was going to grey far sooner than he would have liked. Perhaps a round two might have been in order, but no... Not tonight. There would be time for that. There would be plenty of time. He smirked.

Shadi Stryker. Daughter of the Savage Stryker of the South. That was what they called him. There was no doubt about it. He'd only met the elder Amasii Lion rex once, but the resemblance between them had been uncanny, especially as close as he had gotten. The canines had indeed captured themselves a very, very valuable prisoner... And if that hostage were to be released into the hands of a neutral party, and no longer able to be used as leverage, well... There was no telling what might happen to weary and battle tired canine armies in that region.

Why it might even throw the entire subcontinent back into chaos and confusion! People would need weapons, armour, supplies, and a reliable way to get them of course, and who better for the task than he? No, he would have to buy her.

The return margins weren't even in a range he could begin to calculate with any measure of accuracy.

"You've got that look about you that tells me you're about to spend an exorbitant amount of gold on something. Wanting a round two?" Scion laughed as the dragon slid in beside him. He smelt of fuck. Clearly, Isiat hadn't been the only one enjoying the bounties of the party.

"No... not now at least. Find out who she is and buy her for me." He stated simply, his tails twitching, full of mischief and plots. Scion knew that look all too well. A small part of his hoard was about to go missing.

"As the master of your coin-" He started to form some kind of coherent protest, but Isiat shut it down as swiftly as a falcon diving upon a messenger bird.

"I am the master of my coin, Scion. You simply keep it for me. Find out who she is, who she belongs to, and buy her." He left no room for argument. Scion thankfully didn't try to find one.

"And if they say no? You already know who she is, don't you?" The wry, knowing grin that tugged at the corner of the dragon's lips was contagious, and Isiat felt it stretching upon his own in turn. He tapped his nose knowingly, before dropping a coin laden purse into Scion's waiting hand.

"Then remind them my life was jeopardized tonight, and if they want anything I'm selling, they had better fucking ante up."

Oh, he would have that slave after all. He could use a new dancing slave.