OVERALL CONTENT WARNINGS: Tentacles, multiple partners, Mpreg/eggs
"Surely the lord won't require a sacrifice this year," one of the women near Pascal whispered to her companion as she clutched her blouse at the chest. "The monsters haven't shown up in years."
"Because of the last sacrifice," her companion warned, "so we have to give them another. It's almost been ten years since then."
The woman rubbed her companion's arm. "The last sacrifice— she was your older sister, wasn't she? She drew the lot."
Her companion nodded and dropped her eyes. "Yes. I— I hate that I could do nothing…."
"You were only twelve. Who could have expected you to do anything?"
The gavel of Mayor Jean hitting the podium three times ended the muttered conversations around him. Pascal swallowed and brushed his ginger curls from his amber eyes.
"Thank you all for coming," the mayor began, "as we choose a volunteer to calm the beasts of the forest. As many of you know, our ancestors fled war and persecution. When they came upon this place and settled, they knew not of the beasts in the forest or the monstrosity deep within. When faced with their destruction, our ancestors struck a deal with that monstrosity: protection and prosperity in exchange for one of our own. It is now time to renew the agreement, to keep our people safe and protected. Whoever is chosen will receive instructions and venture into the forest alone."
Mutterings resurfaced as those on the town square's stage prepared the lots from the box. All adults not married or with children were expected to draw a lot. The cube was spelled to prevent tampering by the lord's pet warlock.
From where Pascal stood, he could see the lord and the warlock speaking with the mayor and his secretary. The warlock - Pascal's twin, Senka - barely acknowledged Mayor Jean or his secretary Anton, but nodded his ginger head along to the lord's words. Finally, Lord Claude turned to the crowd, and everyone quieted.
"Those who fit the requirements, please step forward."
Swallowing hard, Pascal twisted his shirt in his fists. His legs wouldn't move. But several around him started forward—and he couldn't be the only one who didn't. Careful not to jostle anyone, Pascal ducked his head and made his way to the front of the crowd. This time, over a dozen adults had no partner and no children to care for. Senka was the only exception to the drawing; magic talent was rare enough, and no one was willing to risk losing someone with that necessary resource.
Senka quickly counted those who would draw lots and muttered over the box. A brief flash of purple light and the warlock nodded. "Ready, sir."
The lord nodded. "Your sacrifice is for the good of your neighbor, your family, your people. Your name will be remembered. Know this as you draw your lot. Make a line and come forward one at a time."
The first who moved was a tall, muscular young man called Jonathan; though he was courting a young woman named Elsie, they had not yet made any vows. Both stood together with the crowd; both would draw lots. They squeezed hands and advanced to the stairs. Jonathan went first, pulling his lot and showing a blank slip. He left the stage on the other side and waited as his love drew her lot—another blank.
Another blank. And another. Until Pascal and two others were left.
The young man—Cal the baker’s son—in front of Pascal drew a blank, relief evident on his face. The woman behind Pascal, Annie the apprentice seamstress, fidgeted her dye-stained hands, fear and anxiety clear in her body language.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to show his own fear, Pascal took the stage and strode to the box. Senka watched him out of amber eyes that matched his own but said nothing; he could not be seen as trying to save his own family.
With shaking fingers, Pascal reached in and drew out a slip—a slip with a black dot in the center.
The woman who had yet to draw collapsed in relief.
Senka's eyes widened, and he took a step back from the box, from Pascal. "Oh, brother…"
Pascal stared down at the lot in his hand, his mouth dry and tasting of cotton. He didn't hear Lord Claude as he began to speak to the crowd or even react when the lord's guards escorted Pascal from the stage. Shock numbed his senses as he was taken to the lord's manor and given a warm meal to eat and mulled hot cider to drink. He barely tasted any of it, but the cider made his fate easier to swallow.
The lord tried to explain what he needed to know, but Pascal couldn't seem to process any of his words. He sat numb before the lord as he spoke; even Senka tried to get him to respond.
Feeling the world spin around him, watching everything spooling away from him, the lord's maids bundled him into a room. Pascal numbly followed their directions. He bathed in the prepared bath and dressed in the clothing set out for him. Simple trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, boots—nothing fancy, and nothing that would be missed. Just enough to protect him from the worst of the night chill of the forest.
Lord Claude appeared as the maids finished, Senka at his side. "It's time, Pascal. Are you ready?"
The words dragged his numb mind, kicking and screaming back to the present.
Ready?
How could anyone be ready for this?
Swallowing thickly, Pascal lifted his eyes and searched his brother's face, but Senka refused to meet his gaze. A stab of hurt wormed its way into his heart, and Pascal forced himself to turn to the lord.
"Yes, sir. I'm ready," Pascal murmured, dropping his gaze to the tops of his boots.
"Come, then," the lord said, turning on his heel. Lord Claude led the way out of his manor, where guards waited with horses.
The lord swung up into the saddle of the first horse while Senka pulled himself up into the saddle of another. The lord glanced around the area as his guards mounted up before his gaze fell back upon Pascal.
"Come, boy," Lord Claude said, motioning with a hand. "You will ride behind me. We will not make you walk."
Feeling stiff already, Pascal took the lord's hand. With his help, Pascal clambered up the horse behind Lord Claude. Before he felt even a little settled into the saddle, the lord started off, ordering his people to move out.
"We must hurry to the clearing before the moons reach their zenith, my lord," Senka said as he rode alongside the lord and Pascal. "If Pascal isn't there by the time the beasts arrive to collect their master's sacrifice, the people will be in danger… and we will be in danger if we are anywhere near the clearing when they arrive."
Lord Claude nodded and chanced a glance up to the sky. Then, after a moment, the lord said, "Hold on to me, boy. We do not want you falling off."
Though his fingers felt numb, Pascal clutched at the lord's back, hunkering down behind him. With a shouted command from Lord Claude, the group spurred their horses into a gallop. Having never ridden in his life, Pascal squeaked and nearly fell, but he wrapped his arms tightly around the lord's chest to stabilize his position.
The horses' hooves thundered down the road, away from the village, before veering off onto a dirt path. Immense trees wider than the arm span of several men rose before them. As the trees closed in around the group, the buzzing of nighttime insects was suddenly cut off. All-consuming silence descended with the shadows. Deep darkness tugged at his senses and swallowed the very sounds of the horses, going so far as to steal his breath away.
The warmth of the horse beneath him worked to chase away the sudden chill of the shadow's claws. Where only moments before the musky scent of the lord and the horse clogged his nose, Pascal smelled nothing. Pascal clung desperately to Lord Claude as he rocked with the horse's gait, fear choking his throat. He opened his mouth to ask the lord what was happening, but no sound, not even a croak or moan, came from his lips.
Before he had much time to wonder or let the fear turn to panic, the horse slowed and stopped. A hand grasped his thigh, squeezed for a moment, then went to his fingers, slowly pulling him from the lord's clothing.
Flushing, Pascal shrank back from the hand, only to lose his balance and fall to the other side. Another set of hands caught him and lowered him to the ground until he found his feet, but still, he saw and heard nothing.
The hands left his body, and he clutched at his tunic. Moments passed, but no further contact soothed his growing fear. Panic clawed his throat, and tears welled in his eyes. His slight frame began to tremble, and Pascal slid his foot forward, feeling along the ground. If he could just sit down—
He took a few careful steps before he tripped and pitched forward. His arms pinwheeled as he tried to protect his head. At what felt like the last second, myriad hands clutched his arms, head, and chest.
But these hands felt off.
Leathery and firm, long and thin; others, soft and covered in short fur. Others gave the impression of wicked talons. What felt like thick, rubbery vines wrapped around his ankle and crawled up his leg, and constricted his flesh.
Sharp talons caressed his cheek, trailed down his neck, and squeezed his shoulder. Long fingers brushed away his tears. Strong hands lifted him against a broad, furred chest. Hot breath caressed his tear-stained cheeks as this creature—whatever it was—took him deeper into the forest. Between the strength of the arms holding him and his loss of senses, Pascal resigned himself to this fate. After what seemed like an eternity spent in that dark silence, the arms set him down into what felt like a chair. A hand took his fingers, gentle and slow, before another cupped his chin. A soft thumb rubbed over his cheek, brushing away what remained of his tears.
A little lamb like you should not cry. A voice like chimes echoed in his head, and Pascal started, widening his sightless eyes.
He tried to form words, tried to ask what was happening. But, as before, his voice wouldn't come to his call.
Shh, little lamb, do not fear. You will be cured soon. The forest can be cruel to intruders… the voice purred into his mind, sending a shiver of electricity down his spine. All you need to do is take this and drink, and you will be recognized as mine. The forest will not harm you ever again.
Before Pascal could try to ask further, a cup pressed to his parted lips and chilled liquid spilled into his mouth. Not wanting to choke, Pascal shuddered and drank the fluid down, tasting mint, berries, nuts, cream, and salt. As the mixture roiled in his stomach, Pascal pressed a hand to his mouth to keep the concoction down. Another shudder shook his frame, and Pascal doubled over, expecting to vomit at any second.
Just as quickly, the feeling passed—and his vision began to clear. Darkness ate at the edges of his blurred vision, but finally, he could discern his surroundings. Carefully, he sat back up and let his eyes roam his surroundings. As he did, sounds and smells began to filter back in as if through a fog. The clean scent of the forest mixed with the dank aroma of moss and peat drifted along a gentle breeze.
Blending beneath those scents was the underlying, unmistakable scent of old blood.
Swallowing his fear, Pascal faced forward. Holding a small pale porcelain bowl threaded through with green roots, a creature with ash-grey skin towered far above him. The bowl appeared but a fragile thimble in the enormous creature's claws. The beast stood several feet taller than Pascal, supported on two legs covered in hardened scales that created a natural armor. A thick, sinuous tail swayed behind the monstrous form, lined with the same scales, spikes of ranging lengths, and tipped with wicked-looking barbs.
Pascal followed the long line of huge muscles twitching beneath the dark skin, past hardened scales and spikes, up to a broad chest where the skin stretched taught over the creature's ribcage. A hardened crust protected the sensitive neck, jutting out in natural armor that reached far above the creature's head and massive, spiraling horns. Sharp fangs of a beast glinted in the silvery moonlight filtering through the room, fangs on full display as there was no flesh to cover them nor stop the black ooze from seeping from between his fangs.
The creature stared at him out of bone-white, unblinking eyes as grey mist smoked and curled from his body.
Pascal's mouth dried, and his mind blanked as he stared up at the creature. The creature tilted his head, breaking Pascal's momentary shock. When Pascal blinked, however, the creature vanished, replaced by another.
A tall humanoid with tanned skin handed the porcelain bowl to a long-limbed humanoid creature. Antlers and curving horns split the waterfall of his brown hair, and gentle brown eyes met Pascal's own. On bare feet with little covering his waist, the humanoid slid forward a step.
Does my appearance yet frighten you? The voice returned as the humanoid tilted his head in the other direction before holding out a hand covered in what appeared to be normal human skin.
Pascal swallowed hard and straightened his back, determined to speak now more than ever.
"Y-your appearance didn't frighten me," Pascal insisted, proud that his voice only cracked once. "And it doesn't frighten me now."
Doesn't it? The creature tilted his head the other way.
"No," Pascal confirmed, lifting his chin. "I'd rather you not change yourself to make me comfortable."
A hum rolled from the creature, and the ash-grey horned beast stood before Pascal again between one blink and the next. The beast knelt before Pascal and traced a giant talon along Pascal's cheek.
You are a brave little lamb not to flinch away, the creature intoned, but I sense that trickle of fear you wish to hide. I will not add to it.
Once more, the ash-grey beast became the amber-skinned humanoid. The creature tried to smile, but Pascal could tell he wasn't used to such things.
"Who… who are you?" Pascal asked, fisting his tunic as he tried not to let his apprehension show.
Were you not told, little lamb? the creature asked, taking Pascal's hand. A look of concern crossed the noble features as he rubbed a strong thumb over the back of Pascal's hand.
"I— I was told that I was to be a sacrifice to the beasts of the forest and the Master who rules them…. that my sacrifice would give my people another decade of protection and peace," Pascal replied, repeating what he'd heard of the tradition and their pact with the beasts.
Indeed, that was the agreement many years past, the creature replied, keeping those dark eyes locked on Pascal. So, you know the basics of our pact. But did they not explain the rest?
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