an odd addition
#1 of A Fine Trophy
He stood tall, gazing upon row on row of his glorious "collection". He walked past, his hooves clanking on the solid stone floor, marveling at his hard work. Over the thousands of years of his life, he had traveled the rifts, coming forth from any rips in the dimensions to do battle with whoever lay on the other side. To casters, this was known as a miscast, to him, it was battle and feast. He thought it fun to join into the fray if there happened to be a battle, and he was yet to meet a superior. He had slain countless mages, and had caused havoc along the lands. After all, he was a demon.
Grael was 7 foot tall at the shoulders when he was on all fours. When he stood up, he rose to an impressive 11 feet. His body rippled with unnatural movement and muscles, and his body showed no sign of age, except for his rather patchy brown mottled flesh. His great wings were now rather tattered, and bore very limited flight, so he kept them furled up on his back most of the time. His tail was noticeably long, and it flexed with a will of its own, coursing with demonic strength. It was prehensile, and he used it for a variety of tasks, and saved him the trouble of doing anything with his hands. This was all good, but perhaps his most curious feature was his flaming eyes. Many people had noticed this before their untimely death, and a few demons criticized his appearance, but they were in no position to provoke, as they were now all additions to his ever growing collection.
He drew his eyes away from the rest of his collection, and came along the last piece. He remarked at how out of place it seemed to be amidst all of the spoils of war. Amongst all the axes, skulls, gold, jewels and trinkets, lay a large sinewy cocoon-like construct. It was a strange item, but he had fond memories of this particular one. Sparks leapt from his eyes as he recalled that day.
Grael was a mere 2102 years old (he was currently around the 7 thousand mark) on that particular day. He struck a fierce sight, his armor glinting with slicked blood and shining with the reflected light of the rifts. His great sword was by his side, which he fondly named Raksha (head splitter), was dripping in what remained of the last caster. Grael floated in what was called the rift, which was an area prone to tears in the realms called Rips.
As a caster used magic, he opens small rips in the planes, which allows elements and other things through to his realm by means of something like a vacuum. (I.e. it sucked things through, and it came out the other side) The only object that mages really wanted on his plane was the large flaming boulders that served nothing more than a good smashing. But from time to time, they also got another unwelcome addition, which was him.
A rip opened nearby, and Grael grinned at the prospect of yet another fools head on his pile. He walked towards it and pushed the boulder out of the way, and jumped into the rip himself. He charged through, flames shooting from his eyes as he tensed in anticipation of another battle. He got through and stopped at the scene, this certainly wasn't what he was expecting.
In front of him stood not a cult, mage or warrior, but a shocked and frightened girl. This was going to be a long day, he reminded himself. She was terrified, and tried to recite her banishment incantations, but failed altogether, weak sparks just forming at her finger tips. He wasn't the sort that was sent back quickly, so there was no threat here. He snorted out sparks and rose to his full height (this time on two legs), his breath heavy and his wings blotting out the dim light of the room. While doing so he took time to gaze at his prey and scope out the room.
It appeared to be a rather large room of some sort, but unlike other summoner's, he wasn't inside the large stone confines of a castle or dungeon, but rather that of an average, albeit rich, family room. Had he cared, it was probably cozy and was covered in a light blue carpet with a small fireplace in the corner. Stacked near the far wall to his disgust was a pile of fluffy doll things.
In fact, it seemed nothing more than a young girl's room, but it was different somehow, and it became clear in the form of a heavy pile of tomes where there should've been a dress closet.
He glared at the tomes and knew that she was some sort of apprentice at magic, whether or not it was known was another matter.
"Another backyard mage eh..." was all he thought.
He was standing inside a summoning circle, the chalk runes on the floor shimmering a faint blue, casting a strange light on the dark room. The markings on the floor indicated that she was probably trying to call forth from a relatively harmless plane, and would've got something along the lines of a dog or something, but one smudged rune sent the whole thing out of control, hence his presence. How she could've survived such an exhausting summon was perplexing, but he had other problems on his hand.
He gazed back at his would-be prey. She was no longer speaking, and had long given up hope. She was in a state of complete submission, her eyes closed and her hands together in a form of prayer. Her body trembled as she expected the worst. Her words were now mere whispers.
She was a decent height, standing at what was close to 5 foot 5, and looked no older than 17. Her hair was long and gold, which she wore loosely down to her shoulders, save that of two plaits on the side of her fringe. She was wearing light blue robes with a silver trimming, and her hood was now askew, hanging loosely from her head exposing her fine features. She was a human no doubt, but her fine features spoke of partial Elvish blood made more apparent by her delicately pointed ears.
He held his sword high above his head, its blade poised for the killing blow. It longed for the blood of another to satisfy it. Her eyes squeezed tighter shut, and her lip trembled.
With a clatter, the sword fell to the ground, making a rather large hole in her floor. He drew it back up and ceremoniously drew a bit of blood from his arm to satisfy his blade. (Side note: Raksha could only be drawn to take blood, otherwise it goes crazy and stuff) and sheathed it. It shimmered in protest, but was quickly forgotten. The distinct sound certainly puzzled her, but it was nothing compared to what happened next.
His long tail reached across the circle, pulling her from against her bed where she had fallen, and bringing her up to his face.
"Too small for two bites, too big for one" he joked to himself.
His tail looped at first between her legs (to which she flinched) then around her midriff, before around her neck with the tip against her face. She barely struggled, and gave in to his dominating hold. His tail tip caressed her face, tracing her beautiful features, calming her and removing her anxiety. She was puzzled by his actions.
"What was he thinking?" she thought silently.
The tail now moved to her mouth, tracing the fine lips with the tip. The sensation was new to her and it certainly felt strange. It pressed very softly against them as if hushing her silent, and it traced the divide between them, before it rather gently (but with a bit of force) pushed itself in. This sudden movement caught her by surprise and made her choke and gag. She coughed and rejected it, spitting the tail out. It came out slick with her saliva to which he responded by tightening the grip on her.
In her short lived apprenticeship, this was probably the worst move yet, and he jerked her violently to his face, his fangs bared in a menacing way. She prayed for a quick death, or at least one without much pain, but he thought otherwise. He made a strange sound, a sort of low pitched shrieking sound, much like a jet engine whining (if they had been invented back then) before to her horror, her feet, legs, waist, and alarmingly her neck was covered by a mesh of some sort of thread. She mouthed a silent protest as her head too was engulfed by the fluid, and at last her movements became null. Happy with his work, Grael slung the strange trophy on his back, and vanished into the rift.
*end first chapter*
Ultima-Dragon
3/7/07