A foolish hunter discovers why you must always drink the full dose of an antidote.
Here's a short, wholesome fluff piece I did to accompany a delightful render by IvoryLagiacrus. The story involves a hunter falling a little too in love with a Great Wroggi. Entirely SFW (but a little weird). 2.7k words.
If this kind of lighthearted story strikes your fancy, I did two others for Ivory back in 2022, here and here.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
One wrong step. One wrong, stupid step is all it took for Trenton to stumble down the hillside. His misplaced boot sent the soil into motion, and rivulets of mud rolled down the hill like an avalanche. His boots stuck in the ankle-deep grip, Trenton had no choice but to ride the wave of mud, his arms lurching like that of an electrocuted felyne.
It was only twenty feet. But twenty feet didn’t make the terror any less real. Or less muddy.
With the forest floor rushing closer and closer, Trenton leapt at the last moment. He flew out of his boots—the mud refused to let the pair go—and struck the earth hard. His awkward attempt to roll out of the fall did nothing to soften the landing. It simply sent the contents of his satchel flying. His gear face-planted into the dirt alongside him.
“Fuckin’ Volvidon on a stick…”
Trenton stumbled to his feet and started the sorrowful task of plucking his half-buried belongings from the mud. His well-done steaks were now well-caked, and his soggy excuse for rations would have even a Deviljho turn up his nose. Some of his potions had shattered when they struck exposed roots. The lid to his antidote had come loose, and its blue contents slowly drained into the mud. Trenton resealed the vial and stuffed it away with the rest of his soaked gear.
As he mumbled curses colourful enough to make a felyne sailor blush, a rustle from the overgrowth just ahead sent a tingle up his back. Instinct took control. His hand reached for his weapon sheath. After squeezing the cold iron of his shield, his fingers moved to the mud-slick leather that ordinarily held his sword.
Ordinarily.
Unfortunately, today was anything but ordinary.
“S-shit!”
His eyes shot across the muddy earth, desperately searching for the glint of his weapon. A sword and shield hunter without his sword was just dinner on a silver platter. A tiny shield—a mere lid covering the feast—stood between him the ravenous jaws of some unknown beast.
As though sensing Trenton’s panic, the underbrush shook. A snout peeked through, orange scales glinting even in the forest’s shade. Reared teeth. Bright amber eyes. Their predatory leer coaxed Trenton to raise his shield—his only defence. He peeked out from behind as the beast took a lumbering step closer, branches snapping with its footfalls.
A Great…
Something. Great something. Great… Joggi, perhaps?
Trenton scratched his chin as he squinted over the ridge of his shield. Seriously, what were these things called? Amatsu curse the egghead researcher who decided to give every raptor the same naming scheme.
With another step, the monster’s slender neck emerged from the brush. A grey, puffy membrane surrounded its head, almost like a giant pillow. The odd feature seemed to swell, and Trenton lowered his shield for a better look. He had heard of something like this, vaguely, but from where? Guild hall gossip? Some dire warning given by a quest master? A casual quip from a felyne that he promptly forgot due to his immense hatred of cat puns? The name was on the tip of his tongue.
As though wanting to give him a hint, the beast spread its jaws. A gurgled hiss. A purple shimmer.
“That’s right!” Trenton clicked his fingers. “A Great—”
A Great Big Spit. Purple gunk hurdled through the air in a perfect arch, drenching Trenton from forehead to neck. He gasped in shock. Then, in only seconds, he started to retch.
He slapped his face with both hands, fingers thrashing through the viscous substance, but the goop clung to his skin like hardened mud. The effect was instant. His breath ruptured, a choked cough clawing out of his lungs. The world spun. Forest green and monster orange swirled to a brown puddle. His rib cage ached, seconds from snapping under the force of his beating heart.
Poison.
Despite experiencing the world’s worst hangover condensed down to ten seconds, Trenton’s hunter training remained intact. He twirled—more stumbled—behind a tree to take cover from the advancing raptor, which now squawked with glee. He ripped his satchel from his belt and tore through the contents. Every item pulled had no time to take shape before he dropped it into the mud, his failing sight rendering each a dim blur.
But there was colour, at least. Colour that curled and coiled and caressed the light behind his eyes. Only one colour would save him. Blue.
His hands, now too numb to feel the shape of the vial, held something blue against his nose. Something half blue. Half empty. Wrenching the lid free set his muscles on fire, as though acid were eating them away from the inside. But with a merciful pop, the stopper came free, and Trenton almost shoved the entire bottle down his gob.
He gulped. A sting down his throat, then a sudden numb, relief from the pain. He gulped again. His lungs could finally draw in air. He gulped again.
But there was nothing left to gulp.
Vision still hazy, Trenton looked down to the strewn mud at the base of the hill, where the impression of his boots and belongings lingered. Somewhere in that vile swell, his blue saviour lay buried, lifesaving juices diffused in the dirt. Lost.
He croaked in agony—though less from pain, and more from pure loathing at his rotten luck. Then his legs gave way. He kneeled over, grasped at his neck, and, with the last of his strength, cursed the elusively named beast.
“Fuck… Wroggis…”
And collapsed into the mud.
Behind the tree, the Great Wroggi still chortled, mocking laughter that transcended language. The beast waited patiently, delighting in the quieting struggles of his prey. The gargled sounds. The clumsy thrashing of limbs. Then the beautiful, peaceful silence.
With a satisfied huff, the sac encasing the monster’s head—the home of his deadly poison—deflated. The Wroggi sauntered around the tree, leering down at the dead hunter. Clenched in his gloved grip was an empty vial. A blue droplet spilled from its lid, sinking into the mud. The beast leaned down and sniffed the hunter’s face. The poison, still slick and stuck, smelled much like the Wroggi.
Humans weren’t often on the monster’s diet. Most were armed with sharp, pointy sticks or big, painful rocks (or a combination of both). All that risk for meat that was scrawny at best, unappetising at worst. This one no doubt fell into the unappetising camp, covered in tasteless leather and baked in mud.
But the Wroggi wasn’t the sort to turn down a free feed courtesy of a hapless hunter—no matter how unappetising he may look. Sharing a dissatisfied snort, the monster rolled his tongue across the human’s lifeless face.
“That… tickles…”
Wroggi yelped and leapt back. The hunter was still kicking? How?
More sluggish than a tired Dodogama, Trenton rolled onto his back. He flashed a dopey smile to the paralysed Wroggi. “Did I say… stop?”
The Wroggi’s poison sac inflated anew, and with an angry snarl, he planted a foot on the hunter’s chest, talons pricking against his throat.
Surprisingly, Trenton was unfazed. In the back of his mind, he had an inkling that he was still under the effects of the poison, partially neutralised in his system. His chest no longer burned like an overcooked steak. All the heat had instead gushed to his face. He felt giddy and daring—disembodied even—just like any long night of drunk festivities.
And Trenton wanted just one thing.
Poison. More of that sweet, intoxicating poison. Another drink of that life-giving purple nectar, straight from the source.
Unfazed by the talons at his throat, Trenton spread his arms wide, forcing words out between coughed giggles. “Looks… looks like you caught me. Guess you gotta give me another shot. I’m so trapped and hopeless, you know. Nothing I can do to stop ya.” With his heart beating in his ears and his limbs twitching like a palamute’s tail, Trenton opened his mouth wide.
And the Wroggi could only look on in horror. The buff hunter beneath his talons was no prey. He was utterly fearless, taunting him even after receiving a face-full of poison, even while pinned beneath the great raptor. The Wroggi’s one key strength—his poison—his once infallible hunting tool—had no effect.
His prey drive quelled by the realisation, Wroggi bowed his head and tucked his tail, awkwardly shuffling backwards, desperate to reach the safety of the underbrush before his prey-turned-alpha coaxed a turf war. But a loud shout made the beast flinch.
“Where do you think you’re going!? We ain’t done here!”
Frozen in shock, the Wroggi watched the formerly dead human stumble to his feet. Purple-tinged drool leaked from the hunter’s lips, dripping from his chin. The Wroggi found himself unable to react as the hunter limped closer.
“All that good stuff you got in your little heart-shaped cushion,” Trenton slurred, arms reaching out, fingers groping the air. “I want it.”
Wroggi puffed his sac once more, despite the futility. He knew more poison would have no impact. But a threat display might dissuade the deranged hunter.
But that hope was quickly dashed; inflating his poison sac only hastened the hunter’s step and voice. “That’s it, good Wroggi, good Wroggi. Gimme all you got.”
Run or fight, fight or run—Wroggi was rooted by indecision. The hunter drew ever closer, and—
“I said gimme!” Trenton pounced on his prey. He slammed into the Wroggi’s chest and latched his fingers around his neck, squishing the sac he so craved. As if the earth had been pulled out from under him, the Wroggi stumbled and fell onto his back. Despite his screeching and thrashing legs, the hunter clung on tight—and moved in for the kill.
Or the nibble. He… nibbled the Wroggi’s sac. Wroggi froze, his hind leg extended mid-kick, his bright amber eyes searching desperately for some sort of explanation from the crazed hunter. That answer came in the form of a gentle squeeze of the Wroggi’s neck cushion, still inflated from his fight-or-flight.
“Come oooon,” Trenton whined. “Give me more of that purple stuff.”
Trenton kneaded his fingers across the squishy membrane, shoving and prodding, hoping to coax the contents to overflow. Though his mighty fingers had enough strength to compact one half of the sac, its contents simply gushed to the other side, where the membrane there swelled like a felyne’s belly after a guild hall feast.
Frustrated at learning he couldn’t just squeeze the poison out, Trenton growled. He slammed a hand into the membrane and twisted his palms, scrunching his fingers deeper and deeper into the pillowy mound. The sac wobbled from the impact. Within, viscous fluid slopped against the walls. The Wroggi, still unsure of how to react, could only express his confusion with a sideways tilt of his snout.
“Damn it,” said Trenton, his once-chipper voice now a slow drawl. “Whadda I gotta do to make you spit?”
Why would the Wroggi spit? It had no effect. And this hunter wasn’t prey. He was touchy, yes—and louder than an Anjanath in heat. But his clawless fingers traced the puffy sac with a gentleness rarely enjoyed by monsters. Those wonderful digits worked tirelessly for the Wroggi’s delight, alternating between groping the puffy sac, then rubbing and digging into the seldom-touched membrane. Those tender motions brought the Wroggi a satisfaction it had never felt before.
Better still, this warm-blooded hunter radiated wonderful heat. Warmth warmed the Wroggi’s underbelly and burrowed deep beneath his hide, helping to fend off the encroaching evening’s chill.
Near overwhelmed by strange and new sensations, the Wroggi’s tail grew a mind of its own. At first it swayed, and then it wagged. It curled between the Wroggi’s haunches to stroke the hunter’s back, before finally wrapping around the hunter’s thighs, coiling his legs—and tensing tight.
Wroggi had decided. He would keep this strange hunter.
For a little while, at least.
“Hey!” The hunter smacked his face against the squishy poison sac, only to bounce right off. “Are you even listening to me?” His eyes were fierce, much more than the warm amber of the Wroggi’s. “Open your maw and SPIT!”
The Wroggi’s nostrils twitched. He breathed in the human’s scent, an odd mix of leather and mud. As he exhaled, a plume of purple mist washed over the hunter’s sweat-slick face—which made him all the rowdier.
“Yes! Do it!”
With the sun setting, that noise would carry for miles. It would draw in nocturnal predators—the sort stronger than a lone Wroggi.
But with a sudden jolt, the monster had a brainwave: he had a way to keep this curious human quiet. The beast leaned in, treating the hunter’s face to a slow, affectionate lap. His forked tongue smeared purple-tinged slobber through his hair. Before the human could shake the gunk from his hair, two powerful forelimbs wrapped tight around his back.
“What are you—”
A huff. The Wroggi’s plump sac swelled ever thicker. The membrane bulged, the stretched hide straining to hold the sudden air. The human, too distracted by the puffed up sight—now lurching like hypnotic jello—realised the Wroggi’s intentions too late. With another snort, the monster pulled the human in; the small creature face-planted into the poison sac—the Wroggi’s own organic pillow.
A muffled shout sent the Wroggi shuddering; his membrane was ticklish, especially when stretched so thin. Trenton groped two great handfuls of membrane to shove himself free, but those mighty arms tensed around his back held tight. He only sank deeper. He had but once brace to free himself from the monster’s embrace. One thing to leverage his weight against.
A soft, malleable sac, no firmer than wet mud.
Suffice it to say, it was a futile battle. The hunter squirmed and shoved and kicked—mumbled protects tickling the Wroggi’s hide all the while—but those forelimbs wrapped around his back had him pinned. Talons stroked his exposed skin, shifting under his shirt, curling in loops over the scruff of his neck.
Every thrash—each burst of fury—served only to exhaust the trapped human. Minute by minute, his face sank deeper into his poison-filled pillow, muting his voice to little more than a pleasant rumble.
And with his catch faltering, the Wroggi moved in for the kill. His talons weaved through the hunter’s hair, their tender strokes like electricity through his scalp. A single clawed finger extended and, with the barest of effort, pushed the human’s face deeper into his new bed. The membrane enveloped his ears and swallowed his hands.
Then, the coup de grâce: Wroggi laid his snout down gently atop the hunter’s head, tucking him in. Barely audible beneath inches of sac, Trenton groaned. Not out of anger, nor in the hope of resistance. Mere acceptance. He had used up all his fight. But what better place to recoup his energy than a living water bed?
Warm and secure in the protective embrace of a Great Wroggi.
Albeit, the hunter had little choice in the matter.
With his prey snug and settled, Wroggi narrowed his eyes and focused his ears. As the sky darkened, the hunter’s mumbles dwindled to soft moans. Then, with one last kick of his legs, silence.
Then gentle snoring. Even asleep, the hunter’s hands stayed firm, still gripped tight around the edges of his new pillow.
A satisfied snort. Misty purple trailed from the Wroggi’s lips. The smog rose to the forest’s canopy. There, the breeze dispersed it into the orange glare of the setting sun.
What an odd human, the Wroggi thought. Not prey, yet certainly the strangest creature the beast has ever caught—the sort to come running back after getting a face-full of poison spit, only to prod and poke at the source of their ailment.
Curious indeed. As Wroggi looked over the now peaceful human—fast asleep on top of his belly, face nuzzled deep into his poison-filled sac—one thought crossed the monster’s mind.
Once the morning comes, whatever shall he do with this strange catch?
Quest Failed: Time Limit Expired
Category Story / All
Species Dinosaur
Gender Any
Size 2559 x 1440px
Listed in Folders
Monsters make such good cuddle-buddies. The Great Wroggi's reactions to all the hunter's weird behavior were really fun!
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