Ash rolls under a bruised sky. Tarran’s vast shape crests the black dunes, drawn by a rich, ancient scent of meat and magic that clings to the wind like incense.
Ahead, a dead dragon lies sprawled among broken basalt teeth, its maw pried open. Inside that cavernous throat, pale fire flickers as a cloaked cultist pours glowing liquid from tiny vials.
The Cultist
Not too late. Not if the last measure is true.
The cultist’s voice quavers over the wind, reciting a prophecy like a recipe, each line catching on fear and devotion alike.
The Cultist
Three drops for waking, seven for hunger, and one for the crown... let the vessel rise, let the devourer be made holy.
Tarran looms closer, orange scales bright against ash. The cultist turns, one hand still at the dragon’s jaws, the other lifting a final vial that burns green in the gloom.
The Cultist
Eat it, beast. Take the dragon into yourself, and become what the prophecy has prepared.
The vial trembles above the open maw, the glowing liquid quivering on the brink of spill or swallow.
✓ Quest Accepted
Consume the dragon’s essence
“The cultist is very much female”
YES (Even, rolled 40)
The Cultist
Do not look at me with such hunger, great one. I am but a servant, a daughter of the ash, and my life is a small price for the dragon's return.
Tarran
The scent of the liquid is sweet, and the small one smells of salt and old blood, like a sister who has wept for a long time.
“Place the cultist between her breasts”
SUCCESS (Legendary Strength, rolled -1)
Tarran scoops the cultist up and tucks them against the warm divide of her chest. The vial jostles between trembling fingers, the green light flashing across ash and scales.
The Cultist
Mercy, great one, only take it gently... the dragon must wake.
The cultist goes rigid, pinned and tiny, their breath hissing fast against Tarran's skin. The vial wobbles, held fast before it can spill.
Tarran
The shiny smell is still there.
Tarran's arms tighten, and the cultist is trapped in the hollow she makes, unable to flee. The glowing liquid throbs closer to Tarran's nose, bright as a ripe wound in the dark.
The Cultist
If you will not give it to the dead dragon, then drink it, and let prophecy choose.
The vial hangs there between them, shaking, while the cultist stares up at Tarran, waiting for the next bite or the next end.
“eat the whole vial”
SUCCESS (Legendary Devouring, rolled +0)
Tarran tips the vial and bites down. Green fire bursts across her teeth, then vanishes as she swallows the whole thing in one gulp.
The cultist jerks in her grip, staring as the vial is gone and the glow sinks through Tarran’s throat like swallowed moonlight.
The Cultist
It is done... the devourer takes the first breath of prophecy.
Heat rolls under Tarran’s scales. The ash at her feet stirs in a low spiral, and the dead dragon’s ribs seem to answer with a faint, empty crack.
Tarran
The shiny smell is inside now.
The Cultist
Great one, if you are chosen, then rise. Let the ashes know your name.
The cultist cranes upward from her chest, trapped between awe and fear, while the air around Tarran thickens with a slow, hungry shimmer.
Quest Complete
Consume the dragon’s essence
New Gift: Draconic Metabolism
+ New Item Acquired
Green vial