Chapter 3 - My Uncle The Mindflayer


Disaster, as the war between the kingdom of Uthandor and the rogue Tilios Monarchy, reaches a fever pitch in a long fight for independence. 

Tilios, a city controlled by the warlike Asmarii people, has been besieged by the rightful rulers of the Central Plains; The current king of the capital having no intentions of splitting his domain. 

None of this would've concerned the vast majority of the land's peoples, as the two cities confined most of their conflict to the relatively small expanse between them. 

To everyone's astonishment and horror, the bloody war inadvertently roused the slumbering dread, Ucalanath, The Red Scourge. This ancient red dragon now terrorizes vast swathes of the Central Plains and has already left Tilios in ruin. 

Both under its direction or without permission, several cults, warbands, and primitive tribes have unified to serve the new terror; the lands now overflowing with darkness. 

As expected, and to Auron Reth's detriment, heroes from the furthest ends of Aereth have banded together, light and dark eagerly anticipating the other's first wave of assaults and offensives. 

It wasn't Auron's fight, and not wishing to be stopped by a band of nosy heroes, he decided to head east, far as he could to the Storm Coast.

 He'd told Uthgril almost everything that had happened, and to his surprise, the old man was surprisingly receptive. He had seen countless adventurers pass through his inn, their hopes and all, and watched as the world turned them to dust. People did what they had to do to survive, and he felt he of all people was in no position to judge with much scrutiny. 

Another week passed, and as the exile had recovered much of his strength, he made a move to leave Yharghest. As a parting gift, Uthgril sold him a fair deal of traveling rations and drink; he had a long road east ahead of him after all. 

It had been close to eight months since Auron Reth had ventured from the safety of his father's castle, moving further and further away from the familiarity of his closed off world. He had loved, hunted, spilled blood, and had been pushed to limits he'd not thought possible. Direction and purpose evaded him, and at times felt as though he'd made little real progress in his quest since the abrupt banishment. 
 
---
 
The moon hung high in the starry sky above, illuminating the lone wolf's path; a cold chill swept through the eerily silent night. 

He was nearing the stony coastline of the continent after having traveled alone for several weeks; The Eastern coast was not far in sight, he was sure of that much. 

Along his travels, the young man had encountered plenty of trail roamers, individuals such as himself, and heard a word of a small fishing town not too far from his current location; perhaps a full night of trekking most likely. 

Unfortunately, There was also news regarding the state of the roads. Bad news, as bands of dragon worshippers, deserters, and even adventuring parties had been seen roaming about in search of their enemy. 

Shit. 

He had no idea how vast the Eastern Sea was, but knew that he'd need to cross it and only planned on returning once things died down a bit; the wind suddenly howled with menacing gust. 

Both sides of Auron's path were beset by rocky outcroppings, foreboding in their cragged appearance. It was a secluded trail that lacked the comforts of scenery or smooth terrain, making it a tucked away route for criminals and runaways.  

A faint light down the trail abruptly caught his attention, almost swaying just out of view; Auron quickly stopped in his tracks. 

It wasn't long before he could see their shapes, some three silhouettes casually drifting towards him, ebbing between the light and the shadow that it casts. Auron had come across no one but travelers, refugees, and a few scared deserters; this encounter already felt different. Something didn't quite sit right.
 
He could barely make out their figures but could tell enough by the sizes and positioning of the ensemble. Their leader was short and skinny, inhumanly so, and a thin tail swung lazily behind their back. 

The second was about as tall as an average human but appeared to lack legs, instead, slithering on a long serpent-like tail. Lastly, a hulking frame, lurching forward at the rear with a long object casually flung over its shoulder; none of this fared well. 

Auron tried t remain calm and unwavering, beginning to rest his right palm on the pommel of the Asmarii blade at his hip. There was nowhere to run as crags of stone blocked both sides, meaning that if a fight were to break out, he'd be drastically at a disadvantage. 

The young man quickly scanned his limited environment, muscles tensing up for a scuffle. 

As they approached, maintaining a small distance, the smallest one stepped forward. 

The tiny leader, a possum-like creature, chirped first, "So! A traveler!" her voice was squeaky, and her grin was lined by a row of tiny pointed teeth. The creature's frame was petite and slender, and she had a soft, childish face.

All three wore strange black robes, embroidered with the image of a fearsome dragon. Simple enough.

 Auron merely grunted in response, reddish eyes still scanning the other figures beneath his ragged poncho of straw. The medium-sized humanoid was also a woman, and barring a snake-like lower half, was quite passable as his own species. 

This creature had short, white-blonde hair and hungrily stripped the man across from her with sharp yellow eyes; carnivorous desires swirling about her hungry mind. 

Her skin was a sandy brown, and specs of small scales covered her pointed cheeks. Perhaps she'd have been an attractive lass, were it not for the curved fangs that peeked past her thin lips. The exile could tell that she wasn't much of a talker. 

That said, the somewhat confident fighter had only worried a little until his gaze reached the third member of their trio. A giant male ogre with its mouth sewn shut via thick black cords. That alone was enough to make most men shudder, but dark and lifeless eyes stared blankly into nothingness as if waiting for a command; its body rippled with power.

Auron had a feeling that it was no longer alive, that perhaps some dark form of sorcery kept the beast enthralled and animate. Not to go unnoticed was a massive bladed-weapon, draped over his left shoulder. Akin to cleaver, its broad blade was apparently coated in dried blood and bile. 

Excellent! In times of duress, sarcasm was a way to mask terror. 
 
 His attention darted about the three of them as the possum girl resumed her sales pitch, "Well, human, have you heard the gospel of Ucalanath? The mighty savior of the downtrodden?!" Her voice was squeaky and cheerful, but he could tell that this troupe wasn't the peaceful evangelist type. No, they had a, grind your bones into dust, look about them. 

"Not quite," a gloved right hand slowly inched towards the sword's grip.

 The group's leader rolled her eyes playfully, "Well, seeing that you are a human, and therefore the oppressor of-." 

"Hold on," he cut her off, "I don't oppress anyone." He wasn't sure they could see his face in the darkness, but his grin was so full he could've swallowed the moon.

The almost neurotic young woman's eye twitched in frustration, yet she maintained her grin, "Please, do not interrupt." She took a deep breath, "Since you are an oppressor of disenfranchised monsters, my friends and I will gladly accept your weapon and escort you to our camp, there you will learn of-." 

"No." It was loud and clear. There would be no negotiating with this bunch, and Auron preferred not to waste anyone's time; if blood were to spill, then so be it.

Twisting her tiny neck to stretch it, the small monster-girl cackled, "You see, hehe, I told you not to interrupt. Hehehe." Even from this distance, he could see the madness in her eyes. She was the ringleader for a reason, for what the lacked in cunning or charm, this one made up for it with insanity. 

The exile's leather boots shifted into a defensive stance, but the young fighter had little time to react as the snake-woman darted forward; a loud hiss escaped her fanged mouth. 

While he was quick enough to brandish his longsword, she was exceptionally fast, closing the fifteen-foot distance between them and coiling around his armored body with unexpected haste. 

"Fuck!" Auron gasped as she attempted to constrict around his body, quickly coiling while applying an obscene amount of pressure. Her chest lined up with his as the two began to struggle for dominance. 

 Despite her slender appearance, she was impressively robust, binding even the moderately active warrior with efficiency. The woman flicked a forked tongue about in front of his face, "Ss-So, Sshall I eat your eyesss firssst?" 

She moved her face closer to his own, picking where to strike first. Perhaps the eyes? Maybe even his lips? The Yuan-Ti preferred to choose the most sensitive areas to first inflict agony, prolonging the suffering of their prey.  

"The lisp is cliché a bit cliche, don't you think?" Auron mumbled back jokingly, between constrictions that are. "What?" Perplexed by the question, she attempted to question him but was too late, he swung his head back before ferociously slamming it into her own, causing the snake-woman to lose her concentration. Auron didn't relent, and each time he struck her, if she showed any sign of recovery, the headbanging onslaught resumed. 

The tiny possum-girl sighed annoyedly as she watched her third-rate follower get beaten into unconsciousness by this miserable human; it was so hard to get good help these days. 

Battered, the attacker pathetically unraveled onto the rocky path. Auron fell to his knees but rearmed himself while down he was down. It had been a close call had the cultist not been so arrogant, or stupid. 

"Wow! Good job!" he heard a mocking peep from their pestering leader, "You're so strong! What a big man!" 

He grimaced as he rose, "So you or the big guy next?"
 
 Enjoying the tit-for-tat, the psychotic little creature playfully tapped her chin. So far, they'd only come across cowards and travelers, let alone some nimrod, wannabe swordsman. She wanted to take her time with him, but first, "How about Petunia?"

"Petunia?" He quizzically studied at the possom-girl and then the ogre that accompanied her, "Is that your name? What kind of-." 

Ripping its stitches open, the great brute let out an unexpected and monstrous roar, loud enough to disturb the stones surrounding them. It's entire body tensed and flexed as if it had just been activated and brought to life for the first time. 

Oh, shit! The exile thought to himself before quickly ducking a wild swing from the undead ogre. The stray attack struck a rock wall, fist-sized stones tumbling to the earth below. In all honesty, the reach it had with such a terrible weapon was genuinely intimidating, as it could keep a full breadth of distance and still inflict extensive damage. To be punished by such power with such a brutal weapon was a thought he didn't hope to realize.

 The beast wailed dreadfully as it readied another swing, again horizontally, except this time struck its intended target. Auron was still recovering from his first dodge as the follow-up was already headed his way.

Thank the gods for Asmarii steel, as the exile's sword had acted as an unlikely bulwark against the ghastly blow. Unfortunately, a non-magical blade such as his own could not absorb the force of the impact. 

Auron's back slammed into a thick outcropping as he was sandwiched between the cleaver's edge and the barrier behind him. 

A harsh gasp escaped his lips as he felt something crack in his torso, again. That didn't matter right now, as he had survived and still had some vitality about him. 

The rotting ogre readied its weapon once more and prepared for another frenzied stroke. Before he could realize an effective counter-attack, he was stunned to find that his blade had been shattered to 2/3rds its length. 

Adrenaline, fear, and a tinge of anger drove him as the onslaught had nearly resumed. 

He dived forward, ignoring the burning pain that wracked his very fresh injury, now almost at the feet of the recoiling zombie. 

"Enough!" he bellowed with an almost heroic frustration and began to use his scrambling momentum to climb the enormous monstrosity's stomach and chest, holding onto the patchy robe for support. 

It was too slow to react, and its meaty free hand aimlessly grasped as the human ascended its large robed chest; tatters of cloth slowly descending to the ground. 

SHLIK! Auron mustered his strength and drove the broken steel deep into the beast's decomposing neck, necrotic black blood spewing forth violently. 

It was a sick sight, but both the fighter and oddly enough, the possum-girl reveled in the gory violence of it all.

In a final act before its death, the zombified ogre gripped at his straw cloak and pulled fiercely, unwittingly adding its own force to Auron's nasty gouge; thick ichor continued to spray from its wound, like a garden hose in the summer. 

Even though it had lost its upper half, the steel sword was unquestionably sharp, and cutting through the rot was like a hot knife cutting through lard. 

Several jagged slices later, and the large swollen head of the creature wheeled down its body and crashed into the earth with a loud thud. 

The bloody Reth expertly tumbled as he fell to the ground below, avoiding the enormous corpse as it collapsed. 
 
The devious onlooker was left aghast by his display. "Ok, now that was impressive!" She clapped slowly, and for a moment, Auron couldn't tell whether it was genuine or more mockery.

The injured warrior shakily recovered his footing, drenched in spoilt gore, and drudged over to the possum-girl with his degraded weapon in hand. 

The two of them stood quietly only a couple feet apart. 

With tired heaves, he spoke, "So... next... I'm going to...cut your... head..." 

"You know," now she had decided to interrupt him, "I don't think so." 

The magic had manifested quietly, so quiet that it was indistinguishable from a gust of wind. All the exile had time to hear was the harsh slashing sound it made as it passed by his ear. 

The petite monster-girl had flicked her wrist and slowly tilted her head coyly after that, whispering an unintelligible arcane phrase. 

Unimaginable agony is what followed. That's was the only way to describe it, as Auron slowly turned his head to his examine his right shoulder; a swift and clean-cut had severed it from his body. 

Blood oozed from the fresh stump, and the wolf couldn't even scream as his voice caught in his throat, turning into a shrill cry. His tormentor was hysterical with laughter, watching the once confident warrior crumble to the ground and desperately but futilely try to cover his wound. Streams of blood welled between his fingers. 

"Look at you, so stupid!" He fell to his side and twitched in utter shock, "Did you think I was just some poor girl? Some weak monster for you to kill, or do whatever you want with?" 

She bashfully covered her mouth, laughing into it as she watched poor Airon writhe in anguish; light blue eyes were ablaze with pleasure. 

The ridicule continued as she crawled onto her hands and knees and inched as close as she could to him, whispering, "I wanna watch the life drain from your little human eyes! Ooh! Maybe I'll turn you into our new enforcer... You'd be a good little meat bag, wouldn't you? How does Petunia sound to you?" She laughed again and brushed long black hair over her shoulder. 

There was nothing but an encroaching void now, and Auron could feel his life slipping away. Killed by an insane beast-woman. 

Perhaps he should let go and put all this suffering and toil behind him. No quest or future, as such things seemed so exhausting all of a sudden; what was the point? Tapping into his ancestral frenzy wasn't an option or even an afterthought, as he'd lost too much blood too fast and there was nothing to pull from. 

It was over. 

The end. 

The final face he'd see would be devious possum-girl, lulling him sarcastically into the darkness that was the unknown. 

As his vision faded to black, ZAAP!! A beam of mystic green energy collided with the dragon follower, her limp body flung out of sight. 

Before the darkness took him, he saw a lanky robed figure approach.
 
 "Oh, dear!"

--
 
"By the Great Wolf's Blood!", the alarmed exile screamed as he shot upright on a marble slab. Red-brown eyes twitching and blinking about, almost manically, and his body quivered as it processed all manner of restorative concoctions; he was naked, and his body was freezing. 

The chamber he awoke in was sterile and hygienic, sleek dark granite walls and a marble slab table being the only things in it really; a bright green wisp illuminated the room from above. 

Where was he? How was he alive? His thoughts immediately went to his arm. Reluctantly and with dread, he looked at the severed arm, expecting to see some horribly disfigured stump. 

Except, it wasn't. It had been replaced? It surely wasn't his own.

The strange new limb was crimson and scaly, obviously draconic or even reptilian in nature, and extremely heavy; the awe stalling the rising terror. 

The exile curled his new clawed extremities, a pale yellow undertone colored his palm and the inside of his arm. "W-What t-the f-fuck?" he mumbled shakily on the edge of either tears or hilarity. He must've gone mad, or perhaps he was hallucinating! Any other explanation would've been a welcome one.

"Oh, good morning, my boy!" A cautious voice chimed from behind him. 

Auron knew the voice quite well, even though it had been many years since he'd heard it last. Impossible, but it would've made sense given the setting. Still, how? "U-Uncle I-Illithid?" He questioned the unseen figure between the chattering of his teeth. 

A tentacle-faced Mindflayer entered the room, a sad expression on his face, at least from what his nephew could tell; he approached slowly as if not to spook his ward.

The Illithid rubbed a veiny lavender hand over the human's left shoulder in a compassionate manner, "I worked to the best of my ability, despite the initial setbacks, and I do believe that it turned out quite smashing, don't you?" The mind flayer's black, alien eyes blinked with a cautious, yet excited expression. Auron blacked out. 

---
 
For those fortunate enough to not know of mind flayers or Illithids, now would be a good time for a small educational digression. 

Mindflayers, or Illithids, are a race of subterranean octopus/squid-folk from some indeterminable or alien world. No one exactly knows how, when, or why they arrived on Aereth, or any other planet for that matter, plaguing the dark recesses of the Underdark for centuries. 

Why are they a plague, you ask? Mindflayers are a parasitic race of brain-devouring telepaths, using confusion, magic, and numerous means of torture to break their prey's will before promptly cracking their head open like coconut to suck their grey matter out. 

Are mind flayers to be avoided at all cost? Most certainly, as they generally serve or rule over the forces of darkness. Bar one, sort of. 

Uncle Illithid's real name wasn't Illithid, obviously, but was instead Xalliordell. Long ago, a young Galgar Reth didn't feel like learning that, and for nearly a decade, Xalliordell was referred to as squid-head, calamari, and worm-mouth. If not those names, then other varied and creative derogatory terms that picked on physical traits. 

That said, Galgar proved to be a strong man of a pure character, and this peculiar Illithid didn't mind his company. It was nice to have a human in your ensemble, one who would speak to the common folk. It didn't hurt that Galgar was also apt to cave their skulls in.  

Xalliordell, a younger Reth, and a handful of other ne'er-do-wells traveled the world, bound by a blood oath of sorts. In their journies, they'd come to respect, rely on and owe each other all manner of favors; those were a simpler time.

 Even after their ensemble disbanded, a few of them stayed in touch over the years. Due to personal reasons, the unique mind flayer and the Wolf Lord remained excellent friends even after their split, therein"Uncle Illithid." 

Auron had admired his mysterious uncle since he was a young lad, moved by his intelligent, caring, and resourceful nature. Sadly, he hadn't seen the Illithid in some time. Until now.
 
When Auron regained consciousness, he awoke in a separate room and wore an excellent set of white linen. This chamber had silvery quartz walls and finely crafted furniture; it smelled of lilac funnily enough.

 There was a small onyx nightstand to his bed's right and a grand oak wardrobe directly across from it; his refurbished and polished armor peeked from its open doors; for lighting, a soft yellow wisp danced above. 

Auron's body felt fine, despite his arm, and he would've been at a hundred percent if not for it. The recently grown arm didn't hurt in the slightest, but for the time being, it didn't quite feel like his own. 

There was a knock on the heavy door. 

"Come in," Auron beckoned. 

Upon request, his slender Illithid uncle floated into the room, hands clasped together near his skinny abdomen; he appeared morose, almost as if he'd been crying. "I'm sorry if I offended your sensibilities, dear boy. It seems I got a little carried away in my efforts to save you." 

He scanned the draconic arm in detail with his sunken black eyes, trying to deduce whether any anomalies were present or not in the transplant. 

His nephew ran his left hand, the 'normal' hand, through his hair. "How, did this thing, get on me, Uncle." 

The mind flayer went on to explain the best he knew how. "Well, I was enjoying my late evening underground stroll when I sensed that you were in trouble--." 

"Wait," Auron stopped him, mid-sentence, "How were you so close? Also, sensed I was in trouble?" This all made very little sense. 

"Ah, yes, I may as well tell you, as you are such a strapping young man now and deserve to know." 

The mind flayer itched his "chin" as he recalled events long past, "Years ago your father requested I forge a psychic link with you, a very non-invasive bond, to track your whereabouts and ensure your safety as young Reth. He couldn't trust himself to watch over you, given his record. After all, you were but a young boy then, and you know your father's ineptitude regarding safety. " 

Auron did indeed. Galgar wasn't a bad father most of the time, but he was always inept. 

"It only has a radius of thirty miles, give or take, as I never intended to meddle in your private affairs, my dear Auron. I promise!" 

The exile still glared at him suspiciously, "I know," the Illithid apologetically sighed for his further lack of transparency. He could tell that there was another big question on the young man's mind. "Well, several days ago, I was conducting a wide array of experiments when I felt your psychic trace enter the area above the laboratory. I have many worksites and frequently move about Uthandor. Needless to say, I was shocked! As you'd never left the Black Wolves' before, even since you were a tot! I was sure something terrible had happened to my favorite nephew and decided to overstep certain boundaries." 

He took a long sigh. "So, I followed the trace to make sure you were alright, and by the Old Ones, I'm glad I did!" 

The subterranean humanoid joyously flung his wiry arms around the young Reth, who reciprocated the hug half-heartedly. "I have a lot of questions," he pat his monstrous Uncle on the back, "the first being this." Auron pried away from the hug and passive-aggressively displayed his new right arm. 

"Ah, that! Walk and talk with me, my boy! It's a fascinating story!" He ushered the young man to follow him deeper into the labyrinth of corridors.

--
 
 When one imagines the Underdark, they often visualize musty caves and hazardous passageways, almost always teeming with carnivorous horrors that never see the light of day. 

They'd be correct for the most part, but forget the vast network of sophisticated tunnels and roads that interconnect the ancient kingdoms of light-sensitive humanoids. 

Drow, Dwarves, Draugr, and the Illithid controlled different regions of the Underdark and were always at odds, but for an extremely wealthy few, it was a possibility to own your own principality; Xalliordell was one of them. 

Uncle and Nephew strolled down a small chiseled corridor into a fantastical great hall of clean design; it was not unlike what Auron had already seen in its polished marble construction. 

Large dragon-glass chandeliers hung from the sleek ceiling, and exceptional granite bust lined the hall's walls. 

Deprived of his own collection, Auron was amazed, eager to rush over and examine the sculptures in detail. 

Each piece was uniquely personalized and modeled after a different humanoid race, with some of them too rare to pinpoint; there was a human, dwarf, elf, orc, Dragonborn, etc. 

There had to be almost twenty in total, and each one inspired a new series of questions and appraisals. 

"These are impeccable, Uncle Illithid!" Auron paused to examine a peculiar bust, one that uniquely caught his attention as an art connoisseur of sorts, "This piece must've been modeled after Mars Vicilia, a famous sculptor of the 3rd Age. He rarely did self-modeling, and pieces that have survived are generally in a dreadful state, but the quality of this piece immaculate." He'd begun trailing off, lost in the glow of his old hobby. 

 The levitating mind flayer stopped behind him, "Ah! I'm glad you enjoy them, nephew! An old friend gave these to me as a housewarming gift many moons ago." 

"Truly?" The young enthusiast was confused by his Uncle's outlandish lie; who would give such a priceless collection away? 

"Oh, Pricilla! A wonderful old friend from the Western Dunes of Shabai. Her eye as a gorgon was just perfect for this kind of stuff! I really should do her that favor she wanted, shouldn't I?" 

Gorgon? The exile had heard about these creatures, women with snake-hair, known for-- It slowly dawned on him that these were not sculptures at all; poor Vicilia. Auron's gun turned in his stomach, and he bid one of his favorite artisan, ado. 

His uncle gestured him to resume their tour. "So, your arm," the mind flayer was visibly anxious as he broached the subject. "After I discovered you, and that woman, I quickly disabled the threat and assessed the situation to the best of my understanding."

 Servants hailing from a myriad of races wandered the underground passages, wearing posh spider-silk uniforms that had been hand-designed by Auron's Uncle. All of them were quite handsome or beautiful, respectively; the Illithid being a collector of beautiful things. 

"I deduced that it was a wind-based evocation spell, evident in the clean nature of your injury--." 

"Uncle!" Auron groaned. If he remembered anything about the strange man, it was his tendency to prattle on. 
 
"Ah, your arm, yes. There was a possibility that it could've been reattached, seeing that the cut was so fresh, but I..." 

"Why wasn't it?" The young man posited lest the point be quickly overlooked. 

"Well," the Illithid stopped at a flight of descending spiral stairs. "All this dragon business on that unbearable surface reminded me of some inventory I'd long forgotten about, and you know how I can get carried away, lad!"

He rubbed his squishy temples, "This must be confusing, mind if I tell a story? I swear on your ancestors that it'll make help you understand!" 

The exile nodded. 

"Thank you. Almost two decades ago, your father and I were hunting dragons, mature chromatic dragons, to be exact. We were pursuing our shared prey for entirely different goals. Your father was collecting heads for wall decor, as usual. Which was an utter shame, as I wished to use their enigmatic brains for... well, science! Galgar decided that he had no use for the rest of our haul, typical of him to leave what he didn't find useful, and I acquired an abundance of exotic dragon organs during that expedition." 

"You sewed a dragon arm on me?!" Auron could feel his heart nearly leap from his still beating chest. 

The Illithid laughed, "Oh no, no, no! Those arms on your human frame would've been disastrously unwieldy. What I did was much less invasive. I simply submerged you in a large tank of an adult, red dragon's blood, approximately 328 years old. The theory was--." 

"Y-You w-what?!" The exile examined the ruby red arm, trying to comprehend how any of this came to be really. 

"If you keep interrupting me, you'll never find out, lad!" 

Auron apologies for his impatience, motioning for the mind flayer to continue. "Well, the creature's blood is very potent, especially when considering magic properties. Given the right heat and alchemical enzymes, the healing power of a dragon's blood can be quite restorative! In my quest to acquire all the membranes and organs I demanded, I found that there'd also been an excess of ichor. I had such quantities, and I was rushing to save you and-- You should have seen how pale you were, Auron... I just got, carried away...is all." Mind flayers generally lacked any form of empathy or even concern for the well being of others, its what made Xalliordell different.
 
The young man slumped against a slick chiseled wall, unintentionally sliding down its smooth surface, eyes affixed on the new arm. 

It felt lighter now, but it still wasn't his, and it emitted a stronger heat than the rest of his body. In all honesty, he should've been thankful that his uncle was watching him from afar, as the alternative fate would've been much more repulsive, resurrected as a slave to some mad dragon cult.

What was done was done, and when given some thought, the draconic arm did indeed look powerful. Auron could tell that it possessed some inhuman quality.

"I'm not upset anymore, but I need to know, are there any... features, at least? I know there isn't exactly a manual to this, but do I get any perks?" 

Relieved by his nephew's regained composure, the Illithid helped him from the floor. "As much I hate to admit it, I don't know, but half-dragons have been known to inherit the traits of their draconic lineage. While you lack much in the way of being a full half-dragon, perhaps as your body adapts to the new limb, so will your understanding of it? There exists a multitude of theories that have been asserted by the brightest minds, such as myself. I'm just grateful that there were no abnormalities!" 

Auron balled the clawed right hand into a tight fist and concentrated. Surprised to discover that, a faint whisper echoed in his head, not of words, but of a feeling: gluttonous greed. 

He had the blood of a dragon in him now, a red dragon at that. Maybe there was more to this arm than he gave credit, something to utilize as a tool, as a weapon...What was he thinking? He brushed those thoughts aside, "So what are we doing here?" His eldritch uncle gave an assuring pat on the shoulder, "You'll like it."
 
~
 
The staircase ended in the entrance to a long, dimly lit hallway with a series of small holding cells that lined its walls; magically reinforced glass replaced conventional steel bars. 

As the not-so related duo made their way down the corridor, the young man noticed that most of them were devoid of prisoners. "Not much further.", the mind flayer assured him. 

They reached the last cell, and Auron did indeed like what his uncle had to show him: the devious little creature that had amputated his arm.

The charming possum-girl leaned against one of the stone walls in boredom, naked and tired. 

After Xalliordell stabilized his nephew, he'd ordered two servants to retrieve the cult incapacitated worshipper, having stunned her with a ray of paralysis. 

As she turned her head and saw the two of them, a groan escaped her lips, "You've got to be kidding me." Her face twisted in a scowl of loathing.

"Not quite," the slippery Illithid tapped on the glass slowly, "I have no time for it, really." She squinted her baby blue eyes, examining the recently altered human from her end of the cell. "Heh, heh. Nice arm you got. Hehe. Not so human anymore.", a sharp-toothed grin spread across her tiny face. 

"Human enough," the freshly re-limbed Auron glared at her, "you little rat." 
 
She wasn't much different than Yaz as far as bodies went, except hers was a tad skinnier, plus the short grey hair that covered her body; perky breast, thin arms and legs, and a small tight ass. Had it not been for her unseen magical abilities, he'd have presumed her defenseless; looks were indeed deceiving.

The monster girl's tail flicked playfully behind her, "So who's the skinny one, your mate? You know you do have that look about you, perhaps a little soft." She winked sarcastically. Despite the grave situation, she'd an extreme degree of confidence that things would work out. 

"No. Illithid's my Uncle. It's a long story, one you really wouldn't care for." As much as he despised her for what she'd done to him, the exile enjoyed the pestering imp's banter. He didn't know what the mind flayer had in store for her, but the defiance she displayed now would make it all the better. Yes, she deserved whatever was in store for her. Who knows how many she'd killed, or worse. Auron didn't let her witty nature blind him. 

Uncle Illithid sighed, "You know for an Ulatan, you're quite aggressive, how uncharacteristic of your species...and the fact that you can manipulate the wind so effectively is also intriguing If the necromancy of the ogre was also you're doing then I'm actually impressed for someone your age." 

Xalliordell mumbled something under his breath rapidly, as if computing information like an accountant on tax day, "Had you not violated my nephew in such a manner, perhaps we could've discussed a great deal." 

The prisoner rolled her eyes, "So, a sellout and filthy human come to ask me about my magic? Would you like to know my favorite color next? Or perhaps what I like to eat on holidays?" 

"No need," Xalliordell lightly chuckled at her response, "I won't need to ask anything soon enough." 
 
Her expression slowly transformed from devious playfulness to anxious curiosity, "what is that supposed to mean?" 

Auron was also confused, tentatively crossing his arms while scanning his Uncle's tendrilled face for a clue; the captive's feet suddenly felt slimy and cold. 

She hesitatively looked down, immediately noticing a thick crimson ooze being secreted by the cobblestone floor of her cell, "What in the—." It bubbled and popped as it squeezed through the tiny cracks.

"You see, I breed all manner of cave slimes for an assortment of purposes." The Illithid waved his hand and manifested an ethereal bench, casually offering for Auron to take a seat. 

The Ulatan sorceress glanced at the growing puddle then back at her captors. "Well, erm," she squirmed as it began to spread, "fuck this!" Closing her eyes, she attempted to channel her innate magic through tiny pink fingertips. Nothing. 

Bright eyes snapped open in terror, the oozing sludge continuing to make its way up her slender ankles. Without her long list of spells, she was entirely defenseless. 

"Ah, your magic, it wouldn't be much of a holding cell if it didn't negate your flow of mana. Vitarum, I call it, a recent invention been selling quite well, for obvious reasons." Xalliordell gently planted himself on the conjured bench.

For the first time in a long time, as long as she could remember really, the Ulatan felt utterly powerless. Curiosity was replaced by real horror, and there were no jokes left to tell. 

Auron, an interested spectator in this whole exchange, simply sat and watched as his uncle's pet ooze crawled up her legs with a sickly suctioning sound. The more of the slime that squeezed through, the faster it became. 

Unfortunately, the captive didn't have the strength to resist the foul creature's grip, and clamored against the glass wall in desperation, "I s-swear! I didn't mean t-to—" Now she was begging, but there was no negotiating with an Illithid with a grudge. 

Her open palms slapped against the transparent wall pleadingly. Uncle Xalliordell quietly floated towards her, placing his own hand against the magical glass barrier. " Usually, this wouldn't be a personal matter, but in this case? I'm quite afraid it is." 

Auron could obviously see her expression alter as beautiful blue eyes bulged in panic, a thick oily tentacle pushed past the pink lips of her small snatch. His Uncle's creation was rapacious, wrapping around and fondling each new appendage it touched. 

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gasped in disgust and shock from the painfully stolid violation. The gelatinous tendrils were cold and insensitive, pulling her weak legs without any consideration.

"Ah yes, to my earlier insinuation about not needing to ask anything, this particular slime was the result of most curious series of experiments. Allow me to confess, it obeys the will of a singular master, me in this case, and seeks to gather information from other sentient creatures and transfer said information to its master. The process of transferring such data is quite complicated, the methods by which it retrieves said information is, well, no need to elaborate on that point." 

There seemed to be no end to its bubbling spawn. The Ulatan trembled as her frame was forcefully pushed further into the barrier, flat-chested breast tightly squished against it. The ooze was halfway up her body now, and it showed no signs of stopping; hopelessness began to set in. 

As the voracious vermillion ooze continued to fill her holes, she let out a series of pathetic squeaks, tears still running down her trembling face. No orifice was spared as it continued its expansion across her nude body: breaking in her tight twitching asshole, fully entering her once pure womanhood, and using tiny tendrils of slime to tunnel into her ears and nostrils. The raped Ulutan gagged and sputtered as it explored the depths of her insides; the exile could tell that she would no never be the same. 

The once feisty, albeit psychotic, possum-girl's fierce eyes grew relaxed and glazed over; She had a new master. Tentacles of all sizes and girths pumped and convulsed as they began to fill the new captive's mind with doctrines of submission. She would be reeducated appropriately by this creature, reprogrammed to serve Xalliordell. 

Auron would've never stood for such things, but something about this felt like justice. She had unforgivably wronged him, and her punishment was too stimulating to not watch. 
 
~
 
After an interesting dinner, in which Auron tasted grilled cave-spider for the first time, Uncle Illithid escorted him through a series of varying workspaces, stating that there were gifts he wished to bestow his seldom visited nephew; he'd missed many birthdays after all.

Uncle Illithid seemed to be running a small kingdom in the Underdark. The network's central chamber was filled with diligently working Draugr smithies, each toiling away to craft, maintain, or imbue some item or another, an enormous forge of sorts. They seemed to be lost in their work, but by the looks of them, Auron was unsure whether they were employees or slaves. 

"I know that you must soon be on your way, and I do wish to give you something you'll find quite useful. Something that I believe is owed to you." The young man was puzzled, "Owed to me?" ]

Without speaking another word, the mind flayer lightly closed his orange eyes and waved a slender purple hand, an arcane aura faintly tracing along with his fingertips. 

From the depths of the immense workshop, a sheathed sword weightlessly glided through the air, moving with almost sentient purpose and intent. 

The young Reth was taken aback as it halted before him, entranced by such a mystical weapon: It had a glistening obsidian sheath, a twisted golden guard, and its handle was an exquisitely etched silver. There was not a craftsman he'd met that could've forged such an exquisite piece.

"Don't be shy boy," his peculiar Uncle could barely contain his own excitement, "take it." It was a gift that he'd long wished to bestow after all.  

As Auron grasped the sword's hilt with his right hand, the young man could immediately feel the powerful magic that lay dormant within the blade. It had been a long time. "What is this?" 

Always keen to tell a story, Xalliordell began, "Long ago, when your father was but a young man, he and I stumbled upon an ancient cache of weapons; lost to the great undead king, Tyril the Corrupted." 

He began to pace as he recollected the story, "From the myriad of weapons we uncovered that particular blade was the one that your father decided to actively make his own." 

Auron spoke up, "I see, and what's its name?" All magical blades deserved a name, as cliche as it sounded, as most of them were sentient in nature. A weapon that was imbued with magic was imbued with a fundamental element of life or mana.

 "Ah, the tragic beauty of this story," the Illithid's expression grew solemn, "Amara." His nephew's gaze quickly darted from the sword to his squid-like face, "This blade is named after my mother?"
 
 "Yes, at first, he decided not to name the ancient weapon. Concluding that giving a tool, a name was absolutely pretentious. Funny, given the names he gives his arms now, hah. Anyways, shortly after he obtained the longsword, he met your mother. A woman he called in his words, 'the most beautiful whore he'd ever seen.'" 

"Well, she wasn't like other women, and for some time, rejected your stubborn father. So much for being a, well, you know how rude he is. After months of her rejections, he said to me that as long as he couldn't hold her in his arms, then the sword would have to do." Xalliordell began to tear up as he recounted the story; the twisted mind flayer was somewhat of a romantic. "The rest is history." 

Auron was on the verge of releasing a tearful laugh; his father's simplicity was beautiful yet heartbreaking. He'd never heard of the madman actually doing anything romantic, or at least what he thought was amorous. 

"With that, the sword was named, and for several of our intrepid journies it served him very well. Even after he'd courted your mother and they'd made things as official, the sword stayed ever by his side." Xalliordell's pleasant grin slowly soured.

"Sadly, when your mother passed, he asked me to do as I wished with it; he didn't seem to care. Perhaps your father couldn't stand to hold onto such a constant reminder of what he'd lost."

"Yet this weapon is an artifact, an heirloom that shouldn't collect dust, and I could not bring myself to dispose of it. So I held onto it for all these years, waiting for the day that it'd find another rightful owner." 

The mighty blade, Amara, suddenly had a strange weight to it. Auron knew that it wasn't a physical weight, but an emotional one, as he felt a great deal of pressure weighing upon his shoulders. 

Who was he to wield a blade named after his own mother? A once prized weapon to the mighty Galgar Reth? He hesitated, "Uncle Illithid I—" 

"Your father would never admit it, the bastard, but you two are cut from the same cloth, but in my expert opinion, you were cut much better." He winked, placing an assuring hand on the young man's back.

 Mind flayers were creatures of manipulation and unwavering domination, yet Xalliordell was different to some capacity, and genuinely wished the boy the best in life; he was the closest he had to kin. 

Auron grasped the sheath with his other hand and slowly removed the steel from its confines; except it wasn't steel, it was as transparent as glass. He'd never seen a blade such as this. 

"Uncle?" The Illithid's eyes lit up, "Ah, yes! I nearly forgot. Even to my knowledge, the crystal that the blade consists of is extremely rare. I haven't seen another like it in my travels. Nonetheless, you should be extremely careful, as it cuts sharp, if not sharper than the best-forged steel." 

Amara hummed with energy, almost sentient as he raised it above his head for further examination. "Outside of being nigh unbreakable, this particular weapon has a strange attribute: it can read souls." 

That was indeed peculiar, but Auron still struggled to process the nature of the situation and didn't ask any questions; was this really happening? Perhaps he'd see in time?

"You'll know what I mean in time, and don't worry, the sword will act in your own interest. Feel that you want it to read your opponent's heart, and the sword will obey, revealing their truest desires." While magical weapons were rare, there was a fair number scattered about Aereth. Each was an individual, and Auron wondered who had forged such a peculiar longsword.

"What of my other sword?" The young ma had grown quite fond of the Asmarii steel, seeing that it had saved his life. 

His Uncle guffawed, "The work of the Asmarii is highly overrated, but I had a feeling you'd want it, so I had some of my best smiths re-forge that old thing for you." 

Another blade glided from the shadows, his trusty edge, completely restored and even improved upon. "A composite of moonstone ore, dragon-glass, and obsidian steel were used in binding and replacing some aspects of the blade." 

It magically unsheathed itself, revealing a newly forged blade akin to Damascus steel, a fantastical swirling pattern decorated its length. 

"I don't know what to say." It was genuinely one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for him. 

"It was nothing, lad, all I ask is that you never lose to some petty thugs again; what would your father think?" 

Auron let out an exhausted sigh, "fair enough."
 
~
 
Auron collected his belongings, and Uncle Xalliordell did him the final courtesy of showing him to an exit close to the Eastern Coast, a route that would lead to the humble town of Draynor. 

As two men went on their way, Auron felt a tug at his waistline; it was the Ulatan that had irreparably scarred disfigured him. Except for this time, her demeanor and appearance were entirely different, dressed in little more than a French maid's outfit; it appeared that Xalliordell and Galgar Reth did share some things in common.

Her long black hair, once wild, was now fashioned into a single long braid. "M-Master Reth, please be safe." 

Her eyes sparkled that same beautiful sky-blue, but the events of the previous night had permanently altered her psyche. Her disdain for humans and the young master, in particular, has been replaced with unfettering loyalty. All she would ever know was the act of submission from here on out, forever subservient to the desires of Xalliordell. 

Auron would've pitied her, but she'd taken something a little too personal from him. He almost continued on his way, but then he stopped in his tracks, would she have shown him pity? The possum-girl obviously wasn't the same homicidal twerp, but who knew what evils she'd committed; Auron wanted a bit of personal payback. 

"Would you mind if I borrowed her before I depart, Uncle?" His Lovecraftian Uncle nonchalantly turned to him, "Of course, my boy." 
 
In a small clearing not far from the underground exit, the brainwashed Ulatan eagerly rested on her knees, sharp-toothed mouth agape and long tongue unfurled, ready to receive the exile's seed. 

He had been working his thick cock for several minutes and could already feel himself about to release onto her anxious little face; eager eyes looked up at him lovingly, even if it wasn't natural. 

This Ulatan had always reviled humans, referring to them as abusive and domineering creatures, beings who'd grown arrogant as their repugnant numbers swelled. With the recent awakening of Ucalanath, she'd had plenty of opportunities to satisfy her bloodlust. 

The irony, as it wasn't a human who'd broken her, but a fellow monster. "May I assist you?" Her tone was docile and pleading. 

"Go ahead," Auron released his manhood and allowed the petite maid to rise to her feet. Auron towered over the slave, his twitching cock already positioned in from of her face. With her small hands, she began to work his shaft, wrapping her long pick tongue around the tip. 

There wasn't an ounce of hesitation as she milked him with great effort, pale pink lips beginning to slide along its length. In no time flat, she began bobbing her head along the enormous prick, tongue still coiled around its length. 

The exile took ahold of her long braid with his right hand and forcefully pulled her lips from his shaft; a look of ecstasy plastered her face. To satisfy and serve had become her only purpose, and she'd done well to fulfill it. She gladly awaited a mouthful of his hot cum, but Auron preferred something a little more intimate. 

With little warning, he hoisted the small woman hips, her frilly outfit slightly slipping from her legs as he raised her up. The cocksleeve wrapped her arms around the back of his neck instinctively, barely flinching as he used a free hand to hurriedly stuff himself into her already dripping box. 

Perhaps this would've made an excellent hate fuck; he could only imagine the pain she'd feel if he simply crammed his oversized meat pole inside of the diminutive gal; Auron couldn't bring himself to be entirely unmerciful. 

How could he? As even when he slipped his vastly ill-fitted prick inside of the Ulatan, she released a blissful moan. Her tiny legs twitched as the human proceeded to spread her unbelievably tight walls; blue eyes fluttered in pleasure. "D-Does it f-f-feel g-good?" She quietly moaned into his ear, inquiring to see if she could make the experience any better.

The little fiend had been incredibly tight when he'd entered her, but now? Her thin body happily accepted his manhood, and her tiny stomach bulged with each stroke from his somewhat large member. 

Once again, there was no warning as he filled the brainwashed monster girl's tiny womb up with virile spunk. She gasped and shuddered joyfully, just happy to fulfill her new purpose in life: serve her masters in all ways.

Much of the anger he felt for the monster-girl quickly faded as he set her down onto the grassy knoll, watching as she clumsily collected herself, still coming down from the unexpected dicking; a mixture of fluids ran down her thigh. 

For a moment, he thought about speaking to her but realized that there wasn't sufficient of her left. "Take care of yourself," Auron gave a final, semi-sincere remark before heading on his way. "Y-You too!" She squeaked merrily.

As he walked down the hidden trail leading to Draynor, he reached into his pocket, retrieving a small strand of straw. It was from the cloak/poncho that Yaz had made for him months ago, one which had served him for some time, or at least it felt like it had. It had been ruined from the fight with the Ogre and had to be discarded when he was rescued. Still, this seemingly insignificant piece of straw reminded him why he was out here in the first place, and also, of who he was when he left her. His recent actions, even his time in the Orc village, suddenly made him sick to his stomach. 

The lad knew that she wouldn't have cared, as goblins didn't tend to value social norms such as monogamy; Yaz had made it quite clear that she didn't. But, he did, at some point. He'd envisioned a life with her and their children; perhaps it was virginal naivity. Those dreams had disappeared and had been replaced by what? Wandering about? Almost dying on multiple occasions? Something had changed inside of him, something that he couldn't blame on dragon blood or that of his ancestors. 

As the sun hang in the evening sky, Auron stopped in his tracks and removedAmara from its sheath. The young man studied the crystalline blade for a moment, recalling what his Uncle had told him of its unique properties, that such a weapon could reveal the true nature of one's heart. What dwelled within his spirit, he wondered. His hand began to tremble, and almost in a state of panic did he hastily return the blade to its scabbard. 

Auron Reth was afraid of what he'd see.
