A Dryad’s Grove

Krvavy’s breath catches in her throat, the pressure in her chest growing tighter and tighter as she so cautiously stretches out a scaled leg, very carefully poking her clawed toe into a vine.

Only for it to break apart, collapsing into a crumbly mess...

The impenetrable wall that stood strong for an entire week has finally fallen. Some sections have spilled beyond the bounds of that broken barrier, but the vast majority of that verdant cocoon appears to have crashed in on itself. That tangled, woven lattice litters the ground ahead, layers upon layers of vines piled atop each other. And all of them are in a similarly desiccated state to the one that this Drakling dared to touch, dissolving and decaying into... darkly coloured dirt...?

An expanse of fertile soil stretches across this section of the cave, small and leafy sprouts already pushing up from the ground, new life growing while the old fades away.

Thin, hazy mist hangs in the air... wispy ribbons of steam rising from the bubbling hot springs, those ponds overflowing... their life-giving waters soaking into the land itself, the excess gathering amongst rocks and mud, forming trickling streams that carve the same paths they’ve tread for countless eons...

A gentle glow bathes that beautiful scene. A soft light akin to that of the moons and stars, not solely shining from the pools and rivers – as it did before – but instead... coming from nowhere and everywhere at once...

Krvavy steps forth into that grove not yet grown. Moss sprouts beneath her bestial feet, soft and comfortable... so similar to what covers their bed. Flourishing fronds tickle and brush against her inhuman ankles, fresh foliage caressing across her black scales. All around this place, similar patches of moss and lichens and ferns come to life, spreading and growing into a lush carpet.

So much has changed in this section of the cave... Yet so little is actually different. The foundations have hardly been touched, the underlying terrain remaining so close to what it once was. The rocks, pillars, ridges, ponds, and rivers are all perfectly recognizable.

Which only makes it more uncanny, to see grasses so freely growing where there used to be nothing but stone and steam...

Slowly, step by hesitant step, Krvavy advances ever onward into this sliver of the land above, following the surging stream to its source. Soon enough, the dark and dim cave beyond falls out of sight, thin curtains of mist obscuring even the warm light of her home. But the barbarian barely even notices that, not once glancing back the way she came...

Each passing second sees more and more plants grow in this burgeoning grove, days and weeks and months condensed into mere minutes, sprouts and shoots swelling into shrubs and saplings. Bracken, branches, and bushes bump into the thick tail trailing behind this Drakling, leafy boughs and winding stems stretching overhead as trees rise from the vast amount of vegetation, larger and more lush the further she advances.

Krvavy catches the tip of her tapered tongue between her carnivorous teeth, blood-red brow abruptly knitting together. Her emerald eyes sweep across this increasingly obscured and increasingly unfamiliar land.

Where the outer part of this grove remained mostly as it was, simply painted over with soil and sprouts, the same cannot be said deeper in. Closer to where the ritual took place.

The large stone columns that once reached all the way up to the cave ceiling have been... shifted around. They have been split apart and squished together, forming new pillars that fade into the misty haze hanging high above. The stone ledges and rocky ridges resting between and around those monolithic posts have likewise been reshaped. Even the bubbling ponds over here aren’t exactly where they used to be. There are... more... of those hot springs than there used to be.

All of that change culminates in one thing: a symmetrical valley, down here deep underground.

And Krvavy stands in its mouth, the river that she has followed thus far splitting apart hardly even a step ahead of her. Cascading waterfalls crash down into those two tributary channels, pouring over the edges of steep and sheer cliffs not too much taller than this Drakling, creating calm and quiet streams where rushing rapids should by all means be.

In the center of that gentle gorge stands an island, one flanked by those mirrored moats. Shrubs, bushes, and flowers decorate that thin tract of land, an empty path of moss and grass stretching straight down its center.

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

A brisk breeze blows through Krvavy’s crimson hair, strands swept away from her face as loose locks are brushed back over her bare shoulders. Yet despite that... dancing wisps of mist and steam block her view of what lays ahead, standing strong even as the fresh wind flows from beyond that otherworldly veil, the scent of spring and life in the air.

Everything seems to grow quieter and quieter with each apprehensive step that Krvavy takes, regardless of the rivers flowing to either side of her and the waters pouring from above...

Sparkling starlight filters through the fog as the Drakling creeps ever closer towards the ritual site, towards –

Krvavy comes to a sudden stop.

The wall of solid and swirling mists that hangs before her begins to slowly part, splitting down the middle like curtains being opened... revealing to this barbarian the heart of Beryl’s grove.

A ring of rocky cliffs surround that hallowed hollow, separated into two steep tiers. At the top rest three large pools, their flourishing waters flowing down into the four small ones nestled between them and the verdant valley within which Krvavy stands. Each of those seven bodies of water feed into the oddly tranquil pond that borders this clearing, a circular mound of an island rising from its center. Upon that isolated hill sit seven standing stones, each one spaced to be where a stump briefly rested, each one covered in thorny vines and budding flowers, each one pulsing with power.

The cool night air dances around the Drakling, urging her on and tenderly encouraging her to cross these calm waters, guiding her across the submerged stepping stones.

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

Toward a tall and thick tree that has risen from what was, just a week ago, the focal point of a ritual long, long overdue.

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

Vibrant foliage fills the expansive crown 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 boughs and branches.

Krvavy steps forward, towards that intimidating tree.

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

It is warm.

After who knows how many minutes... Krvavy so very slowly sighs, shoulders sagging as a weight settles into her stomach. Disappointed, her hand drops down.

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

crkk...

A faint crack appears on the bark where Krvavy had just touched.

crrk...

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

CRKK...!

A hand covered in thick but smooth bark bursts free from that tree, its fingers abnormally long and tipped with sharp, curving claws.

Without even the slightest hint of hesitation, Krvavy clasps onto that inhuman hand with both of her own, holding it so very tightly. Those knife-like fingers curl around her grip, finding purchase as they dig into her scales. Discomfort shifts into faint pain as that hand begins to pull with all of its might. But the barbarian does not budge, letting herself be an anchor for her sweet berry.

The bark cracks further. Another deadly hand pushes free, followed closely by... a head, familiar and so greatly missed. “Hhhhh...” That freshly transformed Dryad slowly exhales, her eyes pressed shut.

Krvavy can’t help but smile, her vision blurring just a little from the joy and relief that fills her heart. 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, messy hair is still its same bark-brown shade 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 as she was before. Beyond her wooden armoured arms – the bark of which slims into roots which them meld into her biceps – there are some other noticeable changes.

Her inviting lips are green, a beautifully leafy hue. The same can be said for the inside of her mouth. And her nipples, it would seem... This newly ordained 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 perky breasts from giving brief glimpses of her equally verdant areola.

And, perhaps most obvious of all, Beryl now has two cute branch-like antlers sprouting 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...

“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 irises hidden away behind a curtain of black. Almost as if she is staring through a pair of dark tinted contacts...

“Krvavy...” The Dryad lifts her other bark-covered arm, brushing the razor-sharp tip of knife-like finger across that Drakling’s cheek. “I...” A grin fills her face. Elated, ecstatic. Manic and maddened. Sinister. Sadistic. “I no longer feel the collars call!”

-0.49 Health

That lethal wooden claw flicks over Krvavy’s pale skin, so effortlessly drawing forth a single droplet of blood.

A cold chill sweeps down Krvavy’s spine. The cruel talons wrapped around her clasping hands tighten their grip even further, holding her so strongly and so securely, keeping her trapped in place. Dread pierces through her heart, the pleasant air around her growing stifling and suffocating as the land itself bears its fangs.

“Ahahaha!” The Dryad cackles and laughs, those sharp and crazed sounds... growing lighter and more musical, her dark expression fading away in a matter of moments. “Hahha~! Ya should ‘ave seen yer face, my dearest love~! Fear and joy, so sweetly mingled wit’ each other~! Now, ‘ere, ‘old still~.”

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

The barbarian is speechless, her mouth slightly agape as she silently stands there, completely caught off guard by... everything that is happening. The surprise grounds her ever so slightly. ‘Beryl is still Beryl’. That mantra echoes through her mind.

“My, ya do ‘eal fast... Ah didn’t even need ta ‘elp ya.” That tanned tomboy gently shakes her head, the flowers in her beautifully messy hair rustling just a little as those atop her new antlers flutter in the faint breeze. “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. Ah was able ta ‘urt ya wit’out sufferin’ tha’ same pain a ‘undred times over. And Ah...” Glimmering dewdrops linger at the edges of her darkened eyes, tears of joy and relief threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Ah still love ya!”

Starlight shines through the canopy above, those twinkling beams adding to the ethereal and otherworldly glow that lingers in this section of the surface brought so deep underground.

“Ah still feel everythin’ it made me feel,” the Dryad hastily continues, her slightly unstable voice raised into an excited shout, “but Ah can look back on all o’ tha’ wit’ just me in my own ‘ead!” Those verdant lips of hers spread wider and wider, almost painfully so. “Ah can see everythin’ ya’ve done and Ah’m not forced ta love it all! But don’t worry, don’t worry even one bit! There’s no way Ah could ‘arbour any ill will t’wards ya! Ah understand everythin’ ya did and, ‘onestly, ya were kinder and... and... and just more than Ah deserved...! Way, way more...! Ah...”

The long and pointed ears of this former Wood Elf suddenly droop down, the flowers in her hair wilting as her expression drops. A look of horrified realization fills her now quite pallid face.

“Ah...” The black pools of this Dryad’s eyes fall like autumn leaves, 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 bitter 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 doesn’t quite have the energy to shake her head. “No, my dearest love, Ah... or at least some part o’ me... suspected tha’ the ritual might’ve done this. Tha’ it might ‘ave freed me from tha’ collar and its influence. Wha’ we did wit’ Khalia weakened its effect on ‘er. And this... was more intensive. Khalia was reshaped. Ah was completely remade. But...” a long and heavy sigh slips past her leaf-green lips, “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.

That tomboy trembles... only to melt a moment later, tension leaving her body as she slumps into that loving hug, burying her face into Krvavy’s chest. “See...? This is wha’ Ah mean when Ah said tha’ ya’re more than Ah’ deserve...” Her bark-covered arms wrap around that barbarian’s back, squeezing tight enough to keep Krvavy from immediately speaking. “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, not moving even slightly, not wanting to move. “Ah’m still one o’ yer girls, a...aye...?”

“Of course. I love you, Beryl.” Krvavy gently whispers, planting a kiss atop that wonderful Wood Elf’s head, between those two branch-like antlers that were bumping into her own horns.

“Ah love ya too, Krvavy. Always and ferever.” The Dryad so earnestly returns, stress and worry alike banished by her barbaric lover’s words. One of her long, dagger-like fingers trails its way across Krvavy’s pale skin and black scales as she carefully lifts herself up, taking an incredibly deep breath. “Now...” she so very slowly exhales, “can ya ‘elp get me out o’ my tree...? And Ah’m sorry fer this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Krvavy reassures her Elvish lover, hands slipping down to grab Beryl beneath the arms, thumbs pressing into the squishy spot between breast and shoulder. Sharp, claw-like fingers find their way to her biceps, grasping as firmly as they can without cutting into flesh.

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 so delicately 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.”

Krvavy nuzzles her face into a head of short and messy bark-brown hair, emerald eyes so nearly drooping shut as she steps back from that toweringly tall tree, cradling her sweet berry’s newly made body as closely as she can. The heavy beat of her heart echoes outwards, thrumming through this woman that she so dearly loves.

“There...” A hint of anxiety can be heard in that single, softly spoken word. Sheepish embarrassment, more than anything fearful. “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. Rather than let Beryl leave her embrace, the barbarian instead sits her own ass down, back pressing into the thick trunk of that tree as she rest this surprisingly heavy tomboy in her lap. A little hesitantly, her gaze drops down to that newly made Dryad, taking in the sight of Beryl’s beauty.

Much the same as her arms, thick bark covers this Wood Elf’s wonderfully long legs. Like a suit of naturally grown armour. Or a wooden exoskeleton.

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 grimaces just a bit, her long and 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 incredible size.

A thousand thoughts race through Krvavy’s mind, but she doesn’t get to voice even a single one. And not simply because her throat is too dry to speak.

“Shh, shh... Let me explain.” Sheepish regret underlines Beryl’s tone. “Ah... Ah was afraid tha’ Ah’d change too much. Some Dryads come out as more tree than Elf. Bodies o’ gnarled wood and bark. Barely even people, by appearance. If tha’ ‘appened ta me... Ah wanted ta ensure tha’ Ah could still give ya at least one kid... Oh!” Her ears suddenly twitch, their caramel colour tinted and tinged a dark green hue. “Ah’m not actually pregnant! Ah... Ach! Ah probably should ‘ave started wit’ tha’...!”

“But...?” Krvavy chokes on that word, slowly blinking as she meets the black pools Beryl’s eyes. Her head is spimming 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, that 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 simply 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... quite 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 solid and distended belly, though each movement it makes is rather hesitant. 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 as she mutters that last bit, looking off to the side as her embarrassment grows and grows, not unlike all the plants in this grove of hers. “Though if... if ya don’t want tha’, then Ah... Ah could use it’s energy ta strengthen my tree. It is... a bit like all those crystal batteries tha’ we ‘ave lyin’ around. Just... inside o’ me...”

“Can you... still get pregnant...? Normally?” Krvavy cautiously asks, immediately biting her tongue 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 with joy as she bashfully glances back towards that barbarian. “Ah... can’t quite explain it, but Ah can still feel tha’ part o’ me. Ah may no longer be o’ 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, looking rather timid and shy as she taps her knife-like fingers together. “So Ah don’t really need this one... If ya don’t want...”

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

“Oh! No, no!” The Dryad hastily answers, lifting up her wooden and clawed hands to reassure that Drakling as best she can. “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 lets out a long and heavy breath, 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. Though, in ‘indsight, Ah didn’t really think tha’ part all the way through... It is a bit much, even without the other surprises... Ah... should ‘ave said somethin’ before... But Ah wasn’t entirely sure if it was even goin’ ta work wit’ everythin’ else, and...”

Krvavy’s chest slowly rises and falls, a lot of effort needed to keep herself inhaling and exhaling at a rather steady pace. “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 actually ‘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 forced all of this onto me. I’m... still not ready for this kind of thing.”

The teasing tomboy makes a soft sound, her mirthful expression dimming into something far more serious, almost somber. “Aye, right... Ah’m sorry fer tha’. Truly. Ah... ‘ave a lot ta make up fer. But, uhm, if ya’d like, we don’t ‘ave ta... ta tell the others about this.” A single knife-like finger raps its armoured knuckle against her rather round midsection. “Wouldn’t want ta risk them gettin’ jealous... Or fer them ta have somethin’ ta tease the both o’ us about...”

“Yeah, that...” Krvavy finds herself nodding. “Sure...” If the others heard about this, it might open a floodgate and...

“Right.” Beryl smacks 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 forced ya ta bear wit’ and instead focus on somethin’ a bit more... interesting? If ya ‘aven’t noticed, Ah’ve changed a fair bit.” A wry smile plays at that Dryad’s verdant lips, put into place by 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 a single eyebrow and stares down at the Dryad cuddled up in her lap. A couple seconds tick on by, curiosity gradually overcoming apprehension. The worry that yet more ‘surprises’ will be sprung on her is still there, but...