A Dryad’s Grove

Cautiously, Krvavy stretches a leg out and pokes at a vine with her clawed toe.

The part that she touched breaks off and... crumbles into dirt...?

Layers upon layers of these vines litter the ground ahead. They’re all visibly decaying into darkly coloured dirt. And, as Krvavy watches, small leafy sprouts are pushing their way out of that rich soil.

A gentle glow bathes this section of the cave. The water within the hot springs and their many little rivers is brighter than usual. But this soft light is coming from somewhere else. From... the air itself...?

Krvavy steps forwards. Moss sprouts beneath her feet. She can see patches appearing all over the place.

This whole area is... almost uncanny. The terrain is the same. The rocks, pillars, ledges, ponds, and streams that were here before are all in exactly the same places. But new life is spreading across all of that, making everything look just a little different.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Krvavy advances along the riverside. Saplings soon surround her. Most are less than half her height, but the further in she walks the larger they get. There are even a few that could truly be called trees, albeit rather small ones.

Krvavy holds her breath and pauses.

This place isn’t exactly the same as before. The outer part was, but not in here. Not close to where the ritual took place.

The large stone columns that reach all the way up to the cave ceiling above are in completely different spots. The stone ledges and the bubbling ponds between them are all different as well.

A symmetrical valley stands in front of Krvavy. The river that she has followed is split in two, nestled between sheer cliffs adorned with trickling waterfalls and an ‘island’ path decorated with shrubs, bushes, and flowers.

The Drakling’s clawed feet dip into the water, walking across a small patch of wide stepping stones that rest just beneath the surface.

A crisp breeze blows her crimson hair over her shoulders. Dancing wisps of mist and steam block her view of what lays ahead.

Despite the cascading waterfalls and the many flowing streams, everything seems to grow quieter with each hesitant step that Krvavy takes.

Starlight filters in through the fog as she walks ever closer towards the ritual site.

Krvavy stops.

The swirling mists part like curtains, revealing the depths of Beryl’s grove.

A ring of rocky cliffs surround the clearing in two steep tiers. At the top rest three large pools which flow down into the four small ones nestled between them and the island valley Krvavy stands upon. Each of those seven bodies of water feed into the oddly tranquil pond in which stands a circular mound of an island. Around the edge of that island rest seven standing stones covered in thorny vines and budding flowers.

The cool night air dances around the barbarian, urging her on and gently encouraging her to cross the final few stepping stones resting beneath the calm water.

Unable to avert her gaze any longer, Krvavy looks towards the very center of this grove.

A tall tree has risen up in what was, just a week ago, the very center of a ritual.

Brown bark covers its towering trunk. Arching roots splay out from its base, reaching towards the vine covered stones that stand where the pedestals used to. Its branches spread across the entire clearing, hanging above the surrounding elevated ponds and nearly touching the four thick pillars that hold up the sky.

Vibrant foliage fills the canopy above. All shades between lime and turquoise are present. Scattered amongst those leaves are beautiful blue-green blossoms in all stages of bloom. Starlight dances between the many branches.

Krvavy steps forwards, towards the tree.

The sound of her heartbeat grows distant. She reaches her hand out, fingertips gently brushing against the bark. Her palm softly presses into its trunk.

It is warm.

After who knows how many minutes, Krvavy slowly sighs. Her hand drops down.

The vines may have retreated, but that doesn’t mean –

crkk...

A faint crack appears on the bark where her hand just was.

crrk...

The lines spread like a clumsily made spiderweb. The bark rustles and shifts, as is being pushed from the inside.

CRKK...!

A hand bursts out from the tree. A hand covered in thick but smooth bark. The fingers are long and curved, tipped with sharp wooden claws.

Without any hesitation, Krvavy clasps onto that hand with both of her own, holding it tightly. The knife-like fingers curl around her grip, digging into her scales as it begins to pull. The barbarian does not budge, letting herself be an anchor for her sweet berry.

The bark cracks further. Another hand pushes out, followed closely by... a head. “Hhhhh...” The freshly transformed Dryad slowly exhales, her eyes pressed shut.

Krvavy can’t help but smile. She wasn’t sure what exactly to expect from this ritual but... Beryl still looks like Beryl. Her skin is still a soft caramel colour. Her ears are still long and pointed. Her short and messy hair is still its same brunette colour and is still in roughly the same style, though the locks that rest on the sides of her face have grown a little longer.

But Beryl isn’t exactly the same. Beyond her armoured wooden arms – the bark of which slims into roots and melds into her biceps – there are some other noticeable changes.

Her inviting lips are green. As is the inside of her mouth. And her nipples, it would seem. The Dryad is still mostly inside of her tree, and bark still covers most of her chest, but that does not stop the rise and fall of her breasts from giving brief glimpses of her equally verdant areola.

And, perhaps most obvious of all, Beryl now has two cute branch-like antlers growing from the top of her head. They both have a single blue flower growing on them, reaching up towards the sky. Between the roots of her new antlers and the bases of her pointed Elf ears lie a line of flowers, mostly white but some blue. They’re arranged almost like a hairband, but not quite...

“Krvavy...” A soft whisper passes through the Dryad’s green lips. Her eyes flutter open. Pools of darkness gaze up at the Drakling, pure black and –

No.

Not quite pure black. They seem that way at first, but... Krvavy can still see, very very faintly, her sweet berry’s blue-green iris’ hidden away behind a curtain of black. Almost as if she is staring through a pair of dark tinted contacts...

“Krvavy...” The Dryad reaches out her other bark-covered hand, brushing a knife-like finger across the Drakling’s cheek. “I...” A grin fills her face. Elated. Sinister. “I no longer feel the collars call!”

-0.49 Health

The deadly wooden claw flicks over Krvavy’s pale skin, drawing forth a droplet of blood.

“Ahahaha~!” The Dryad cackles and laughs, her dark expression fading away in an instant. “Ya should ‘ave seen yer face, my dearest love~! Fear and joy, mingled wit’ each other~! Now, ‘ere, ‘old still.”

Beryl’s armoured thumb glances over the already fading scratch. A gentle warmth, like sunlight on a beautiful summer day, flows into Krvavy.

The barbarian is speechless, completely caught off guard by everything that is happening. The surprise grounds her ever so slightly. ‘Beryl is still Beryl’. Those words echo through her mind.

“My, ya do ‘eal fast... Ah didn’t even need ta ‘elp ya.” The tanned tomboy gently shakes her head. “Sorry fer tha’ scare, my dearest love, Ah just couldn’t resist it. Ah wasn’t kiddin’ though. Ah can’t feel tha’ accursed collar messin’ wit’ my mind. And Ah... Ah still love ya!” She excitedly shouts out, speaking quicker as she all but rambles on. “Ah still feel everythin’ it made me feel, but Ah can look back on all o’ tha’ wit’ just me in my own head! Ah can see everythin’ ya’ve done and Ah’m not **** ta love it all! Don’t worry, don’t worry, Ah don’t ‘arbour any ill will fer ya! Ah understand everythin’ ya did and, ‘onestly, ya were more than Ah deserved! Way, way more. Ah...”

Beryl’s long and pointed ears droop down as her expression suddenly drops. A horrified realization fills her face.

“Ah...” The black pools of her eyes lower, filling with despair. “Eirlys... Ah... could ‘ave...”

Krvavy snaps out of her daze, quickly moving one hand up to gently cup her sweet berry’s cheek, thumb brushing away the tears already rolling down it. “Shh, shhh... Don’t think about that. You didn’t even know it’d do this to yourself. You couldn’t have known back then.”

Beryl weakly shakes her head. “No, my dearest love, Ah... Ah suspected the ritual might ‘ave done this. Tha’ it might ‘ave freed me from tha’ collar. Wha’ we did wit’ Khalia weakened its effect on ‘er. And this... was more intensive. Khalia was reshaped. Ah was completely remade. But...” she slowly sighs out, “ya are right. Ah did all tha’ Ah thought Ah could fer ‘er back then. It just... ‘urts... knowin’ tha’ Ah... tha’ Ah didn’t need ta kill ‘er. If Ah’d’ve known, Ah could ‘ave nursed Eirlys back inta bein’ the woman Ah loved. She wouldn’t’ve needed ta die a broken shadow o’ who she was...”

The Drakling leans in, gently embracing the upper half of her sweet berry.

Beryl trembles slightly, burying her face into Krvavy’s chest. “Thank ya, my dearest love, fer givin’ me a third chance at life. Fer... fer everythin’ ya’ve done fer me. Good and bad.” She stays like that for a few long seconds. “Ah’m still one o’ yer girls, aye...?”

“Of course. I love you, Beryl.” Krvavy gently whispers out, planting a kiss atop her tomboy’s head, between those two branch-like antlers.

“Ah love ya too, Krvavy. Always and ferever.” The Dryad sighs out, shoulders slumping in relief. Her long dagger-like fingers trail across the strong shoulders of her Draconic lover as she lifts herself up and takes a deep breath. “Now...” she very slowly exhales, “can ya ‘elp me from my tree...? And Ah’m sorry fer this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Krvavy reassures her Elvish lover, hands slipping down to beneath Beryl’s shoulders. Wooden clawed fingers fall down and grasp around her biceps. Both Drakling and Dryad hold each other tight.

“No, my dearest love, Ah do.” A weak smile plays at Beryl’s green lips as she is slowly and carefully dragged from the depths of her tree. “Ah made ya and the others worry fer a whole week. Tha’ alone is bad enough, but Ah also... well, ya’ll see.”

The barbarian closes her eyes and cradles her sweet berry’s newly made body.

“There... Set me down ‘ere on the roots, my dearest love. Ah’m a bit too tired ta stand on my own.”

Krvavy does what she is asked, for the most part. She sits down with her back pressing into the tree, holding the Dryad in her lap. Hesitantly, her emerald eyes open back up and take in the sight of Beryl’s new form.

Much the same as her arms, thick bark covers the Wood Elf’s legs like armour.

But that isn’t what catches Krvavy’s attention. That isn’t want causes Krvavy’s heart to freeze.

“This is wha’ Ah was apologizin’ fer.” Beryl quietly sighs out, her long clawed fingers coming to rest over the back of the barbarian’s hand. A hand that is almost reverently pressed against her large and swollen belly. A belly that is firm and taut despite its size.

A thousand thoughts race through Krvavy’s mind, but she doesn’t get to voice even a single one.

“Shh, shh... Let me explain.” A sheepish and regretful tone tinges Beryl’s every word. “Ah... was afraid tha’ Ah’d change too much. Some Dryads come out as more tree than Elf. Bodies o’ gnarled wood and bark. If tha’ ‘appened ta me... Ah wanted ta ensure tha’ Ah could still give ya at least one kid... Oh!” Her ears twitch and gain a dark green hue. “Ah’m not actually pregnant! Ah... probably should ‘ave started wit’ tha’...”

“But...?” The barbarian breathes out, slowly blinking as she meets the black pools Beryl’s eyes. Her throat is dry and her tongue feels swollen. The... shock... of what she sees in front of her isn’t abated at all, despite her growing bewilderment.

“Ah know wha’ it looks like, but... Do ya remember, all tha’ time ago, wha’ Ah first told ya o’ ‘ow Dryads are made?” The tanned tomboy abruptly asks, the greenish hue spreading to her cheeks. “Tha’ there are two different rituals? The first is wha’ we did ta make me as Ah am now. The second... is this.” She nervously taps her taut belly. “It’s much more complicated than just bein’ pregnant. Wha’ is inside o’ me is... just a seed. A seed tha’ is made o’ both the essence o’ ya and me, but still an actual, literal, seed.”

Krvavy is at a loss for words, unsure of what she could possibly even say. Her hand gently, lovingly, rubs across the caramel skin of her sweet berry’s distended belly, though each movement it makes is hesitant and almost cautious.

“It’s just a packet o’ energy and life. Tha’ is all. Right now, at least. If we wanted it ta be more, then it’d take a few years o’ cultivation and tender care before it’d grow inta our own lil’ saplin’.” Beryl averts her gaze, looking off to the side in embarrassment. “Though if... if ya don’t want tha’, then Ah... Ah could use it’s energy ta strengthen my tree.”

“Can you... still get pregnant...? Normally?” Krvavy cautiously asks, immediately grimacing and internally kicking herself for being so blunt.

“Aye! Aye, Ah can.” A wide smile fills Beryl’s flushed face, her long and pointed ears quivering in joy. “Ah... can’t quite explain it, but Ah can still feel tha’ part o’ me. Ah may no longer be flesh and blood, but Ah should still be able ta make cute lil’ Dragon Elf babes fer ya, assumin’ Ah could ‘ave done tha’ before...” She lightly shakes her head, brow lifting a little as she sheepishly gazes up at her Draconic lover. “So Ah don’t really need this one... If ya don’t want...”

“Do...” Krvavy audibly gulps, almost **** on her own tongue. “Do we need to... plant... it now, or...?”

“Oh! No, no!” The Dryad hastily answers, lifting up her wooden clawed hands to reassure the barbarian. “If ya want ta keep it, then we can store the seed inside o’ my tree! Tha’ way it’ll stay as fresh as it is now even as the centuries pass on by!”

The barbarian slowly sighs out, shoulders slumping in relief. “Let’s... do that then...” It just doesn’t feel right using what could become their kid as a source of energy – as fertilizer – for a tree. No matter how important that tree is. “If... if we ever want to... make our own Dryad, we... we’ll use this. But until then...”

Beryl wraps a bark-covered arm around Krvavy’s waist, pulling herself up against the barbarian’s warm – and rather stressed – body. “Again, Ah’m... really sorry about this. Ah just couldn’t risk never ‘avin’ a kid wit’ ya. And Ah also thought it’d be fun ta give ya a bit o’ a scare... Though, in ‘indsight, Ah didn’t really think tha’ part all the way through... It is a bit much, even without the other surprises...”

Krvavy takes a few deep breaths, slowly inhaling and slowly exhaling. “It’s... okay.” She quietly states, gradually calming down. “I get it. I understand why you did this, even... even if I’m not too happy about it.”

“Wha’, don’t ya enjoy seein’ me like this~?” Beryl gently grabs the Drakling’s wrist, bringing attention back to the hand that is still caressing her pregnant looking belly. “All fecund and round~? As if Ah were ‘eavy wit’ yer spawn~?”

Krvavy bites her bottom lip, doing her best to ignore the burning warmth spreading across her cheeks. “More that... that you kind of just **** all of this onto me. I’m... still not ready for this kind of thing.”

The teasing tomboy slowly shakes her head and sighs. “Aye, sorry. If ya’d like, we don’t ‘ave ta tell the others about this. Wouldn’t want ta risk them gettin’ jealous... Or fer them ta have somethin’ ta tease the both o’ us about...”

“Yeah, that... Sure...”

“Right.” Beryl claps her wooden hands together. The noise that makes is really more of a thud than a clap, but it serves the same purpose. “Now, ‘ow about we take yer mind off all o’ the worries Ah **** ya ta bear wit’ and instead focus on somethin’ a bit more... interesting? If ya ‘aven’t noticed, Ah’ve changed a fair bit.” She smiles wryly at her own terrible attempt at a joke. “But wha’ ya see ‘ere isn’t all o’ who Ah am now. So... want a bit o’ a tour?”

The Drakling raises an eyebrow and stares down at the Dryad cuddled up in her lap.