Tabula Rasa: Adventures In A New World

A slightly metallic taste lingers in Krvavy’s mouth, growing increasingly intense as her sharp and carnivorous teeth anxiously chew and gnaw away at the inside of her cheek. That bit of pain does little to stem the tide of unwanted thoughts flooding through her mind, each one more worried than the last, more fearful and uncertain. Restlessly, this Drakling paces back and forth, clawed toes clicking against cold stone.

“S-she’s ready.”

Those nervously squeaked words – barely audible as they are – snap Krvavy back to the present, her thick and meaty tail whipping through the air as she so swiftly spins around on the spot. Without wasting even a second more, she immediately heads off... following this noisy river towards its source. Towards the source of the cold and uneasy dread clinging to her heart.

Adeline makes a soft ‘eeeeeie’ of a sound as she hurries on after her much larger lover, reaching up and grabbing onto a hand so much bigger than her own, providing what little comfort she can with such a small gesture.

Wisps of steamy mist swirl through the air, growing thicker and thicker with each hasty step that Krvavy takes, soon obscuring all beyond this cluster of hot spring ponds. Gentle glimmering lights bleed through that warm, wet haze... shades of teal and turquoise rising from the bubbling, flowing waters...

Pillars of stone stretch to the cave ceiling hidden high above, raised ridges and rocky hills flanking the valley this river runs through. There is plenty of space between those cliff edges, and the raised ledges themselves are not too tall, but... they still seem to loom overhead. Oppressive and claustrophobic.

A feeling made worse by the thin, leafy vines scattered across the damp ground, limiting the amount of spots where barbarian and bunny-mouse can safely place their inhuman feet. That sparse web grows thicker and more lush with each step taken, swelling into an unavoidable carpet of verdant green which buries beneath it bare and lifeless stone.

The walls that line this path pull in, closer and tighter. The steamy air grows heavy, thick with anticipation and apprehension alike. The land itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for a moment long overdue.

A dead-end emerges from the mists ahead. A destination in which only one path has ever led.

Beryl stands naked at the beginning of the river, dozens of waterfalls and trickling creeks fanning behind and beside her in two separate tiers, yet all converge to one beneath her feet. Countless swirling lines adorn this tomboy’s tanned and glistening skin, those shades of blue and green enduring despite the droplets of misty moisture clinging onto Beryl’s slim body.

That somber Elf gives Khalia a pat on the back, her touch lingering for a few long seconds before she finally turns towards Krvavy, the gentle light cast by magical water and scattered crystals more than enough to make out her conflicted expression. A strenuous peace has been painted across her face. Tense and worried. Lax and relieved. The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a facsimile of a smile. Not quite forced, though not entirely genuine either.

“Take this.” Beryl softly exhales, reaching towards her Draconic lover with a branch balanced atop her upturned palm, its rounded tip covered in moss and wrapped in strips of coarse fabric. “Ya’ll be our beatin’ ‘eart, my... Krvavy.”

The Drakling’s scaled fingers wrap around that drumstick. “Beryl... you –”

A single glance cuts Krvavy short.

After everything... after all those long decades... after all of her self-inflicted suffering... Beryl is not turning back. She cannot let herself turn back. Not now. Not when the decision that she so dreaded has finally been made. “Beat twice gently and once ‘arder, again and again...” The Wood Elf whispers those instructions, her voice hardly able to be heard above the rushing and roaring waters all around them. “Try ta keep yer pace steady and even, but if ya feel the pull... then give in and let it lead yer ‘ands.”

Krvavy can only nod in response, her throat so dry and uncomfortable that even swallowing is a struggle. She glances to the side, meeting Thea’s gaze for just a moment, before quickly turning away again.

That nude noble girl looked... so gloomy and grim. So tired and bored. As if she was waiting for a funeral to begin. And for it to be over with.

The Drakling’s clawed toes curl inwards, sinking through luscious moss and leafy vines, digging into fertile soil that doesn’t belong so deep underground. Her emerald eyes sweep from side to side, not taking in the sights of this hazy clearing so much as focusing on those lingering within it.

All of her girls are present and accounted for. All but Inanna.

“Dwarves are not a magically conductive folk.” Beryl calmly explains, reading that question right off of Krvavy’s face. “As much as we could use another pair o’ ‘ands, it is safest ta keep ‘er at a distance fer wha’ is ta come. She still ‘elped plenty though, don’t ya worry.” The Wood Elf gently touches one of the greenish swirls dancing across her belly, sighing faintly as the tips of her fingers follow one line to its whorled end. “Ah couldn’t’ve painted these nearly as well as she did...”

“Are... we good to do this with just the four of us...?” Worry fills the Drakling’s voice. Yesterday’s certainty has long since left her. If it were Krvavy’s choice to make...

“Five, my dearest love. Ah am not an idle participant in this ritual.” An echo of a teasing smile finds its way onto Beryl’s face. “A Dryad ta be is... is ta take the lead o’ ‘er own fate. Ta guide the magic and reshape ‘erself. A final test... And don’t ya worry, my dearest love,” she shakes her head, trying to keep her expression light. “In my procrastination, Ah ‘ave prepared fer this far, far more than a soon-ta-be Dryad usually would. It will all go as intended. We ‘ave all tha’ we truly need ‘ere, and wha’ can be substituted will be.”

“Hmph.” Thea crosses her arms and huffs, seemingly unbothered by her complete lack of clothing. There are bigger concerns on her mind right now. “Some of those ‘substitutes’ are –”

“Hush now, save yer voice.” Beryl silences the brat with but a whisper. She takes a deep breath, trailing her blue-green gaze across the four others gathered here. Adeline, Khalia, Krvavy, and Thea. Her eyes meet each of theirs, one by one. “If ya feel the pull, please hum or sing along. Otherwise, stay silent once we begin. Tha’ goes double fer ya, sweet puppy~.”

A rather red hue creeps onto Khalia’s cheeks, but the slightly sheepish embarrassment of being called out like that – even if quite playfully – is not enough to distract her from what is to come. The Were-Beast’s fluffy ears slowly droop down, her shaggy tail falling completely still.

Krvavy’s heartbeat picks up its pace, almost deafeningly loud in her ears. “Wait, can I...?”

“Aye.” This tomboyish Elf serenely nods her head, knowing what her Draconic lover is asking, and more than fine with letting it happen. She has no reason to hide what will soon change. Her guard is lowered, Inspect is let through.

“You’ve levelled up.” The Drakling plainly points out, not letting herself feel even a tinge of hope. She knows that a single level is not enough.

“Aye.” The Wood Elf repeats herself. “From settin’ all o’ this up.” Her hand glides through the stifling and suffocating air, brushing aside the steamy mists to aimlessly gesture at the plants all around them. “Ah wouldn’t expect ta reach twenty-nine within the next decade if not for wha’ we are about ta do.”

Krvavy’s throat clenches tight. “I love you...”

A genuine, if small, smile tugs at the corners of Beryl’s caramel lips. “Ah love ya too, Krvavy. Ah love all o’ ya. Thea. Adeline. Khalia. Even Inanna, as risky as tha’ is ta say wit’ wha’ Ah’m about ta become~.” Her faintly joking tone fades away, leaving her serious and somber once more. The weight of what is to come, and of what led her here, rests heavy on her shoulders. “Ah’m sorry fer this. Fer ‘ow sudden it was. Fer draggin’ ya down wit’ me. But it’ll all be better soon.”

“H-how long will w-w-we h-have t-t-tt-t-to wait...?” Adeline skittishly stutters, failing to blink back her tears, twin trails of sorrow streaming down her cheeks.

Beryl stifles an apologetic frown. She takes half a step towards that Halfling, nimble fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as she reaches down and cups that adorable girl’s chin, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Ah’ll be ready before Krvavy is ta leave. Ah promise.”

The Drakling’s heart twists. She still has about a week until then...

“Now... We’ve wasted enough time.” The Wood Elf straightens her back, standing tall. Her pert breasts, painted with swirls that match her eyes in colour, slowly rise and fall as she steadies her breath. She is tense and nervous. Relaxed and relieved. “Take yer positions, and let us begin. Krvavy, ya’re there wit’ the drum. Khalia, up on the ridge.”

The Drakling’s scaled fingers tighten around the stick in her hands. She steps forward, standing behind an unrealistically squat tree trunk with a skinned pelt – probably deer or goat by its size – stretched taut over its top.

A few agonizingly long seconds pass as the Were-Beast hurries out of this hazy hollow, swiftly ascending a steep slope as she moves to where she is needed, climbing atop a leaf-covered cliff that reaches twice as tall as the Drakling does. Plants and vines rustle beneath her pawed feet as she pads her way over to a gnarled pedestal.

One of seven that surround this eventual grove, up on the ridge that curves almost all the way around it.

Four, including the one that Khalia is waiting behind, are thick and squat, while the three in between are noticeably thinner. They all appear to be equally spaced, all but the two nearest to Krvavy. Her drum is where an eighth would be, down here in this verdant valley.

“The ritual’ll be ‘ungry fer mana.” Beryl rolls her shoulders and tilts her head back, facing away from the others. “Let it feed, but... but only on wha’ ya can give. Don’t let it take too much. If ya feel woozy or weak, then turn and quickly leave. Once we begin, Ah cannot stop. Not without dire consequences. So, if anyone is ‘avin’ second thoughts, now is the time ta voice ‘em.”

Not a sound can be heard beyond the rushing of water.

Beryl subtly nods, glancing down towards her feet. Beads of moisture trail down her back, passing over runic lines that swirl and meander across her caramel skin, the muscles beneath tensing and going slack.

Tension hangs heavy in the hazy, humid air.

So very slowly, the Wood Elf woman exhales, straightening herself back up and lifting her arms high. She holds that pose for a few long seconds, before abruptly bringing her hands together.

Claap!

A rush of wind blows down from above, disturbing the mound of dirt in the center of this hollow, the steamy mists twirling and dancing outwards from that point.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Krvavy beats the drum, twice softly and once hard. Just as she was instructed.

Beryl’s hips sway side to side as she steps forward. Her bare feet effortlessly glide across vines and roots, before sinking into the mound of rich, black soil. She gracefully kneels down in the dirt, bowing her head as if to pray.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

The tanned Elf reaches a hand up and plucks a seed from within her messy hair. Her lips briefly brush against it, before the seed is buried in the soil before her.

All around this would be grove, the mess of vines begin to gently writhe.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

A tingle dances across Krvavy’s skin and scales. Her core pulses, filling her channels and her body with mana. The tingle delves deeper, passing through muscle and fat, reaching her bones. The energy within her slowly begins to diffuse through her flesh, evaporating into the sweltering air swirling all around her.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

The soil shifts. A leafy stem sprouts from the fertile earth. It grows into a flower, a flower the colour of Beryl’s eyes. Its seven petals curls upwards, interlocking into one solid mass. Thorns cover its thickening stem.

Beryl gently nods and rises to her feet.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Adeline shakily approaches the center of this ritual, hesitantly and carefully walking across the writhing carpet of mossy vines with her little bunny paw feet. Her trembling hands clutch tightly onto a wooden tray, holding it up in front of her, careful not to let the thick layer of seeds that cover it from spilling to the ground... no matter how much they may shift and sway as she advances.

“Mhhhh, mmm... Mm, mm, mmhhh...” Beryl begins to quietly hum, her gentle and forlorn tune echoing throughout this hollow, drowning beneath it the deafened sounds of countless waterfalls and streams. “Mmmhhhh... Mhhhhmmm... Mmmmmmmmhh...”

The Halfling arrives by Beryl’s side. Her fur-tipped tail, damp as the rest of her beautifully bare and bottom-heavy body, twists and wraps around her quivering knees.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Beryl delicately wipes a single tear from Adeline’s cheek, robbed of the time to do any more than that. She spares the girl a weak smile as her other hand grabs a fistful of seeds from the unsteadily held tray.

“Mmhh, hhhm, hmm...” Another voice joins with that of the Elf, Thea’s silver-blonde brow knitting together as she finds their hums syncing perfectly together, starting and stopping and shifting in unison. The noble girl closes her eyes and lowers her head. “Mhh, mmmh, hhhhm...”

A tanned knee touches the ground once more. With delicate care, this tomboy parts the loamy soil to create a shallow pit. Her fingers peel back, an assortment of seeds spilling from her hand, those grains guided down by gravity alone.

An arms reach away, the lone flower sways.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Beryl lifts her head up, glancing off towards where Khalia stands so high above. She gives a single nod.

The Were-Beast bends over and grabs a sparsely woven basket, lifting it above the thick pedestal and tipping its contents out. Wide leaves sprout from gnarled wood, catching the various fruits like a multi-jointed mouth, before twisting into a leafy bud.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Khalia hurries towards the second pedestal as Beryl calmly moves forwards. The Elf remains between that Orc and her flower at all times.

“Mmmm... Hmmhmm... Hhhmm...” Hardly a sound can be heard beyond those hums, soft and subdued as they are. The wind whispers through the misty air, swirling in near silence. The water flows through stone buried beneath a verdant mass, calmly and quietly trickling despite all of the cascading falls.

The mass of vines and roots that fill this hollow writhe and twitch as the next handful of seeds spill into the soil.

Up on the ridge, Khalia lifts a reed cage into the air. Inside rests a plump grouse, one which doesn’t react at all as it is freed. The bird’s little head remains pointed towards Beryl, its beady eyes intently watching on, following every faint movement that Elf makes. Strong, furred fingers wrap around its tense neck.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Wide leaves reach up from the thin pedestal, engulfing the limp sacrifice.

A strong breeze blows through the ritual grounds, leafy vines rustling as that continuous gust grows in might, swirling stronger and faster... before calming to a near standstill. The steamy mists no longer linger close, having been pushed back... held at bay as a thickening dome that surrounds them all.

Thea falls silent right as Beryl’s lips part, her hum shifting into a song, one that only she can sing. A wordless tune flows from the depths of her soul, sorrow fading into relief and acceptance. More seeds are planted.

Berries of all sizes and colours spill from the basket held in Khalia’s paw-like hands, immediately being enveloped in a leafy bud that grows to top the squat pedestal before her.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Beryl all but crawls through the soil, stopping on the far side of the flower from Krvavy. Her blue-green eyes briefly meet those of the barbarian, but are quickly pulled down towards the ground.

A second cage is lifted up. A wide-eyed but calm hare is placed onto the fourth pedestal. It stares unblinkingly at the Elf’s back, breaking its gaze only when its neck is snapped. A leafy mouth closes around that carcass.

Thmp. Thmp. Duum!

Krvavy’s veins throb. Little creeping vines twist around her Draconic feet, brushing across her clawed toes and caressing her black scales. Mana bleeds through her skin, entering the stifling air and feeding the life around her.

Another handful of seeds sink into the loamy dirt. Beryl’s wordless song shifts again, singing of hope and comfort.

Vegetables of all sorts feed the next pedestal.

Thmp, Thmp, Duum!

Krvavy’s heart beats in time with the drum, growing faster and louder as the ritual goes on. Those rhythmic sounds echo through her entire being, coming from within and without, drowning away her thoughts and her worries.

A tear rolls down Beryl’s cheek as she plants her sixth handful of seeds.

A third cage is lifted, the pheasant within silently watching on and judging the Wood Elf in the moments before its sacrifice.

Thmp, Thmp, Duum!

Sunlight filters in through the thick dome of fog, shining down onto the swaying flower.

Adeline wobbles slightly, weakly humming in time with the tanned Elf’s tune. Her skin glistens with sweat, growing pallid and pale as Beryl takes a final fistful of seeds, before gently shooing her away. The Halfling can barely stay upright, her short legs quaking and buckling as she stumbles over to the Drakling’s side. Her flat chest raggedly rises and falls, even as she quiets down and drops from Beryl’s chorus. A hint of colour slowly returns to her olive skin.

Rich, loamy soil covers the seventh little hole. Nuts pour from the final basket. The seventh offering is accepted by a large, leafy bud that sprouts from the top of the seventh pedestal.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

Krvavy’s every breath grows heavier and more laboured than the last. Beads of sweat drip down her brow. Worry and awe and everything in between fill her emerald eyes as she watches Beryl step towards that lone, blue-green flower.

The air crackles with power as the soon-to-be Dryad wraps her dexterous fingers around its jagged, thorny stem. Crimson blood trickles into the fertile soil.

Beryl’s wordless song shifts a final time, becoming one of longing and desire.

The flower is effortlessly uprooted, growing stiff and solid. Thorny tendrils coil around the Elf’s wrist and arm, drawing more blood as it anchors itself to her.

Beryl steps back from the now empty center of this hollow, specks of dirt and soil clinging to the caramel skin of her arms and legs, covering some of the lines painted onto her. A heavy expression fills the Wood Elf’s face as she walks straight toward Krvavy, thorny flower held before her and watery eyes downcast.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

Thea’s hand presses into the barbarian’s side, cold and sweaty. A pink light glows between her clammy fingers.

Krvavy’s eyes go wide, but there is nothing she can do to stop her fiancée’s magic from flowing into her body. There is nothing she can do to stop those pleasant, blissful bolts of pink lightning from coursing through her entire being, from burning through her brain and searing through her soul. The wooden drumstick held so tightly in her hand snaps in two as her fingers involuntarily clench in fists, her muscles tensing and locking up, clawed toes curling and meaty tail going stiff.

Beryl’s free hand darts forward, grabbing firmly onto her Draconic lover’s dick. Within the span of a single second... that shaft has swollen to its full size, shuddering and throbbing in desperate need. The lithe Elf gracefully lifts one long leg up, raising it higher and higher and higher still, only just able to rest her heel atop this Drakling’s shoulder.

Pleasure pulses through Krvavy’s cock, the nimble fingers hooked behind one of its stiffened ridges helping to guide that painfully rigid rod down from where its turgid tip has pressed into a toned tummy, leaving trail of viscous pre in its wake.

The tanned tomboy’s touch briefly tightens, the stiff and pointy nub of her clit crushed by that colossal cock. A gasp is drawn past her parted lips as her wet pussy spreads around a cockhead that has swollen to nearly the size of her fist, its excessively flared crown keeping it from properly penetrating. An intense, sweltering and searing heat surrounds it all the same.

Ecstasy abruptly forces itself upon the barbarian, waves of burning bliss washing outwards from the spot where Thea’s hand still presses into her side, tingling in an agonizingly wonderful way. Given no other choice, her hefty sack pulls close to her body, clenching with enough strength to squeeze a virile load through the considerable length of her shuddering shaft. White static sweeps across Krvavy’s mind as her seed is sent shooting into this slutty Elf’s sopping slit.

A gentle smile plays at Beryl’s lips, that lithe and athletic tomboy pulling back after taking only the first spurt inside of her. The second coats her toned belly, as well as her pert and perky breasts, as she sinks down to her knees. The third thick rope is caught by the blue-green flower, its petals melded together into a large cup.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

Krvavy’s heart continues to beat to the tune it has been told to, even though the drum is now left untouched. But that sound echoes throughout this vine-filled hollow nonetheless. And with force as well, the many leaves all around rustling and shuddering in the breeze it brings, even the impenetrable membrane of steamy mist beyond the surrounding ponds rippling as it is made to contain that lively energy.

Creamy cum overflows from the flowering chalice held in this soon-to-be Dryad’s hand. But not even a drop of that sticky seed spills down to the floor, not like the blood freely flowing past the thorny vines curled around her arm, those blue-green petals absorbing all that trickles down their sides.

Beryl plants one last soft and affectionate kiss at the tip of the sensitive and still-swollen shaft that she so loves, before rising to her feet once more. Sticky seed dribbles down the inside of her painted thighs. A smooth leaf is pressed against her pussy, keeping the rest of Krvavy’s cum inside. Where it belongs. Where it won’t go to waste.

The Drakling shudders and pants, barely able to stay upright despite the two blonde’s trying to hold her steady, despite the clingy vines wrapped around her legs and tail. She grits her teeth and grimaces, forcing herself to push past all of that pleasure, to focus and concentrate. Her vision swirls as she gradually comes back to her senses, enough of her mind returning right as Beryl reaches the very center of this hallowed hollow.

Blood freely flows from the dozens of small wounds on that Elf’s arm. The thorny vines spread further, scratching and cutting into her as they come to cover more and more of her caramel skin, even reaching across her shoulder and back. Her life seeps into the rich and fertile soil.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

A thunderous heartbeat echoes throughout the ritual ground, the land itself trembling and shaking. The flowing, falling water has long since been silenced. The rustling leaves make not a sound.

Beryl holds her flowery chalice high. Her wordless singing ceases in an instant.

The swirling, runic lines painted across her caramel skin begin to glow. Vibrant shades of cyan, turquoise, and teal dance across her body, shifting around like the northern lights. Neither the thorny vines nor her trickling blood can hide the radiance pouring from her soul.

The chalice tips, spilling just a small amount of its contents out onto the first mound of seeds that Beryl had planted. Then the second. She slowly rotates. Third, fourth. She gently spins in place. Fifth, sixth. Her heel sinks into the soil, where the flower in her hand had grown. Seventh.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

Khalia’s arms wrap around Krvavy’s waist, her chin resting on a black-scaled shoulder. A weak and tired sigh escapes past her plump lips as she leans into her Mate’s back. Her presence helps to steady the Drakling, enough that the vines clinging onto Krvavy’s legs begin to retreat, knowing that they are no longer needed.

Adeline quivers and trembles, Thea shudders and shakes. Both of those shorter girls, different as their heights may be, lean heavier against the Dragon that they earnestly love.

Beryl’s eyes shine with a bright and brilliant blue-green light. A smile plays at her lips as she trails her gaze over her audience of four, soft and subdued yet still so sincere. Remorse and relief fill her face in equal measure.

The impossible sunbeams leaking in from above grow more intense, piercing through the dome of fog to focus on Beryl like spotlights. One from above, seven more from the direction of each pedestal.

The wind blows Beryl’s short hair around. Leafy vines rustle as fresh sprouts grow across the hollow. Green shoots reach out from the rich black soil around her, growing from the seven mounds of seeds she personally planted.

Seven saplings soon surround the Wood Elf.

Thmp! Thmp! Duum!

Her tanned skin grows faintly pale. Thin, thorny vines twist around her throat and curl around her other arm. They scratch across her smooth belly. They dig into her thighs. They root once more in the earth beneath her feet.

Beryl closes her glowing eyes and brings the flowery chalice up to her lips. She shudders and drinks her fill. Cum flows down her chin, spilling onto her painted breasts as the petals wilt and fall away.

Branches knit and weave together, forming a cage with her in its center.

The flower’s thorny stem straightens even further. Its pistil turns sharp and stiff. A sturdy thorn with a single point.

Beryl opens her eyes.

Seven trees become one, engulfing the Elf just as she buries the thorny dagger into her own chest.

Thmp, thmp, duum...

The heartbeat is muffled and quiet.

The foggy mist begins to fall like a gentle rain as the sunlight slowly fades away.

A calm fills the clearing. Silence reigns, somber and serious. The flowing streams and cascading waterfalls remain completely hushed. Khalia’s heavy breath blows across the Drakling’s skin, but not even that is audible. Nor is Krvavy’s own heartbeat. Not a sound can be heard.

Craaack!

The silence is suddenly shattered as one of the many quartz crystals explodes, sending sharp fragments flying through this hollow.

Craack! Craa-ack!

The barbarian staggers and stumbles backwards, dragging Adeline and Thea with her as she pushes against Khalia. Steamy mist streams down from above, the invisible barrier that held that haze back breaking away.

Craaaack!

Vines shoot up from the leafy and mossy carpet, wildly writhing and thrashing around, whipping into each other and wrapping together into twisting masses.

Krvavy lifts her two beautiful blondes up and into her arms. Her muscles protest, but their complaints go ignored. Thin, twisting sprouts try to coil around her feet as she and Khalia hastily retreat. Some find purchase on their legs, only to be mercilessly snapped or uprooted.

Sound returns the instant that they step onto solid stone once more.

Craack...!

The quartz crystals continue to shatter and explode in the distance, though those sharp noises soon grow muffled and distorted. Krvavy can’t help but glance back over her shoulder, blood-red brow knitting together.

Where once stood a dome of fog and mist now stands a wall of thorns and vines.