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They are lessons for the future. The city of Bordlan Summit still tells a tale of the great frost dragon, The Patriarch, who ravaged the great kingdom and killed its inhabitants. Many a hero lost their lives to kill his spawn and make the land safe. Yet that was long ago, the last sighting of The Patriarch was over 250 years prior. Amidst a blizzard, three unassuming citizens will find that legends can come true. With a little luck, and a determination to make the feared beast pay for siring the brood that ravaged the land, they will humble the legendary dragon and direct their fury upon the loins that sired the land's draconic scourge.\n\nWarning, Contains:\n-M/M Sex Themes\n-Castration\n-Cooking\n-Non-Con\n-Implied Snuff\n\n-----\n\nAnother anonymous commission, by someone who's commissioned me before. Had some fun figuring out how to describe the mechanics of the situation considering one lucky break is the difference between a city atop a volcano and a snow cone. ;3 Enjoy and stay warm tonight! ", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Legends are legends for a reason. They are lessons for the future. The city of Bordlan Summit still tells a tale of the great frost dragon, The Patriarch, who ravaged the great kingdom and killed its inhabitants. Many a hero lost their lives to kill his spawn and make the land safe. Yet that was long ago, the last sighting of The Patriarch was over 250 years prior. Amidst a blizzard, three unassuming citizens will find that legends can come true. With a little luck, and a determination to make the feared beast pay for siring the brood that ravaged the land, they will humble the legendary dragon and direct their fury upon the loins that sired the land's draconic scourge.

Warning, Contains:
-M/M Sex Themes
-Castration
-Cooking
-Non-Con
-Implied Snuff

-----

Another anonymous commission, by someone who's commissioned me before. Had some fun figuring out how to describe the mechanics of the situation considering one lucky break is the difference between a city atop a volcano and a snow cone. ;3 Enjoy and stay warm tonight! ", "writing": "Booted feet connected with opaque blue ice, the dull thud of each step poffing up powdery snow as a cold wind whipped over the tenuous bridge that connected the city of Bordlan Summit to the outside world. The mountaintop city had survived since time immemorial, buttressed against the whipping cold and fueled by the warming fires of the volcano it was situated upon. Approaching the towering stone gates which sealed off the city from the elements, Damian Adamson lifted his head just in time to watch the massive port crack open. Having spent much of his trek with his head down to ward off the blustery mountain wind, the relief was overwhelming as he finally stepped through the gate, into the city's embrace.\n\nThe small handcart he dragged behind him tracked thin lines of snow, the wheels shedding droplets of water in the comfortable, perhaps even sweltering, climate afforded by the volcano. Built on a hub and spoke system, the massive city's many districts housed a dizzying array of vendors and goods dealers. This little slice of civilization was built around a massive, centralized furnace. No matter where you were in the city, it was possible to see the massive buttresses which held aloft the mountaintop and protected the most important feature of the city, it's flaming heart. Powered by the very mountain's roiling lava, The Furnace stood at the very center of the city of Bordlan Summit. The massive heater was a complicated system of hydraulics, vents and burn chambers. Built by the great engineers of old, the people of The Summit had come to revere the old forge. Its maintenance and operation were practically an arcane ritual, with knowledge of its workings passed down in oral tradition. Over the years, the great furnace had become a sort of shrine, adorned with statuary and beautiful carvings dedicated to the kings and legends of old.\n\nAs Damian shed his heaviest clothes, basking in the sweltering comfort of the city, he found himself pausing to check a few street markers to make sure he remembered where he was going. That was when he noticed him. An old dwarf wearing the sash of a senior technician of the Order of the Furnace. Long since retired from his days crawling through soot and burning himself on steam pipes, the old man had gathered a throng of children and acolytes to retell the tales of old.\n\n``Aye, there are even stories too old for me to remember,'' the dwarven machine worker chuckled, stroking his flowing brown beard as he rose from his seat and walked to the wall behind him, having to climb upon a well-positioned mailbox in order to bring his squat body high enough to reference worn murals that adorned the hallway. ``I don't think you young'uns truly appreciate the stories of The Patriarch.''\n\nGesturing up to the faded plaster fresco, the old man pointed to a colossal outline of a blue dragon, his yellow-tipped wings spread wide as jagged ice gouted from his upturned jaws. Damian knew the story too well. Growing up in the shadow of Bordlan Summit, he would know that before the age of man and mer, an ice dragon was born in the frigid waste. This dragon lived for as long as stories were told, nearly a millennium. He alone had sired the brood which came to populate the region. The children of The Patriarch harried the first brave adventurers who came to settle the snowcapped mountains. When The Patriarch needed to intervene, he did, bringing frozen vengeance unto his foes, and death to what little grew in this barren land.\n\nThe young farmhand chuckled as the old dwarf spun fantastic tales about the dragon's potent seed, that he spawned hundreds of whelps. Yet, even the wizened engineer never truly knew a time when The Patriarch had reared his head. It was true that he would take flight to seek revenge when his spawn were slain, or when pesky adventurers strayed too close to his roost. But that was centuries ago. The last recorded attack from The Patriarch was over 250 years prior. His sons and daughters were picked off over generations, slain by great hunters and armies alike. Whether the dragon had died, or simply slumbered, his famed brawn and cruel tyranny had become almost a caricature. Mothers threatened their disobedient children, saying The Patriarch will come and freeze them solid if they misbehave. Rambunctious young men often made crass doodles over public depictions of the beast, swelling the genitalia to almost comic proportions and keeping the city's artists busy dealing with unplanned `revisions' that made a mockery of the beast's studly performance.\n\nShaking his head as the old man got into an argument with one of his acolytes over whether the beast feasted upon the flesh of men (despite neither truly knowing the answer), Damian trundled forward from his rest towards A large stone tavern just off the great hall of the main entrance. Built into the side wall of the Western District, the facade was created by painstakingly carving and chiseling out the building from the rock face. As he stepped through the bas relief structure's main door, a smile rolled over his face as Damian was met with the same savory smells and sights he remembered from better times, when the world wasn't covered in snow and darkness. He hardly got through the door when he was rushed by the sweet-and-spunky tavern keep, the stout dwarfess Ruby-May Darkrock.\n\n``Damian!'' She cried, eyes wide and still holding the half-tankard of ale she had been filling when she noticed him arrive, ``I've not seen ye since nigh on Summer!'' Despite her relatively spry appearance, Ruby-May was getting old for a dwarf. The retired adventurer was pushing on 200 years old, her retirement being a little plot of land in the city where she could feed and nourish the souls who came to visit her home.\n\n``It's good to see you too,'' Damian smiled as he gave the auburn-haired dwarf a tight hug, resisting the urge to lift her off the ground as he did. But his smile seemed to fade as he looked about the tavern. There were some familiar faces, certainly, but the spirits of those in the hall seemed a bit glum and downtrodden. It was only after he took a closer look that he noticed something amiss. The plates upon the table weren't filled with the usual rich stews and roasted meats he was used to seeing on his visits to the city. A thin gruel and watered-down ale were all that was left upon the menu. ``Oh gods, not you as well?'' he asked at length as Ruby-May led him by the hand through the tavern.\n\n``Aye, the harvest failed horribly this year. Ye were one of the last farmers to get their crops before the frost settled.'' Ruby-May led Damian to a table that was occupied by a peculiar critter. A soft-skinned, brown-scaled kobold sat at a corner table, tinkering with some bronze and iron items he was trying to fit together. The critter seemed almost squishy or amphibian from his time spent in water, the little kobold making his living fishing the caverns underneath Bordlan Summit. Yet he spent most of his free time working on pet projects of his own creation, toying with contraptions which might solve one problem or another.\n\n``Oh, huh.'' The little reptile glanced over his shoulder, brow raising for just a moment as he recognized his old friend. ``Damian! Nice to see you.'' He was well-spoken for a kobold, though his manners still lacked. The critter made exactly enough room for the young man to settle down at the table, causing Ruby-May to plant the tankard on the table and swipe the critter's toys away. ``H-Hey!''\n\n``Nik, show a little respect, Damian had to travel through a blizzard to get here...'' Setting her rump down at the table, the tavern keep forgot she was even taking care of a patron, swilling out of the poor man's tankard as she asked, ``So, why are you here, hun?''\n\n``My, uh...'' Damian paused as he pulled the hand cart over to his side, unfurling the cover to reveal it loaded with useful household goods. ``My family's food stores are running down. We did our best, but there's not nearly enough to make it through the winter.''\n\n``You're selling your farm tools?'' Nik asked as he rummaged through the well-worn supplies. ``You're that desperate, huh?''\n\n``Tools, blankets and furs, I had to stop Mom from putting her dowry hope chest in.'' With a sigh, Damian watched as the kobold wrapped his fingers around a beautiful dagger. Made of steel and inlaid with silver, the tool was easily 200 years old, the edge filed from a broad survival knife into more of a stiletto point. ``That's uh, that's the dagger my Great Grandfather used to banish the haunting from the ancient tomb that abutted our property... I don't want to sell it, but...''\n\n``Well... we don't have much here at the Summit either,'' replied Ruby-May, sighing as she swilled the tankard in her hand. ``But, I'll happily open my storeroom for ye, hun.'' \n\n``I'm sure you'd rather a friend buy your things off you,'' added Nik as he eyed the silver inlay on the old dagger before setting it back down on the table. ``A loan until you can pay us back for them.'' The kobold smiled and put a wet paw upon the man's shoulder. ``Besides, you look exhausted. Let's get some beer and gruel into you first. I could use another anyways, Ruby.''\n\nThe three old friends laughed and conversed, happy to be together again despite the conditions and the paltry food choices. As the hours wound down, the blizzard seemed to intensify, whipping about the stone keep with a fury. As Damian finished his third ale for the evening, a low rumble seemed to shake the mountain to its very core. The busy tavern came to an abrupt silence as eyes upturned and ears strained to listen. The rumble grew louder and louder, before a piercing shriek echoed from the open top of the volcano's mouth, the buttresses and vestibule of the forge causing the cry to reverberate through the halls and districts of The Summit. As guardsmen and engineers rushed to their posts, there came a sudden crash as two hefty thuds shook just outside the main gate. A second, piercing screech shattered the air as the ice bridge to the fortress began to crack, as if clawed talons were crushing it to snowcone powder. \n\nOne of the tavern-goers peeked his head outside the door just in time to watch the town guard unsuccessfully attempt to bar the gate. They were stopped by a gigantic talon-tipped wing slashing through the unsecured wooden portal, the attacker's body wedging the doors open. All within the entry hall could hear a sharp inhale from outside the gate. In the piercing silence, someone screamed, ``The Patriarch! He returns!'' A moment later, the world erupted into madness as a gout of frost breath spewed from outside the gate. A seething chill fell upon the city as anyone exposed to the cone of ice found themselves freezing in place. Plates of thick, wet ice slathered over helpless guards and citizens alike, creating frozen statues that littered the main thoroughfare of the mighty city. Inside Ruby-May's tavern, the helpless citizens cowered in fear, the one unlucky man who'd stepped out to look suddenly flash-froze to the door. His body mercifully shielded the rest of the room from the flooding tendrils of cold that whipped across the forsaken city.\n\nAs the tavern-goers tried to huddle backwards towards the now-damp hearth for what little warmth they could find, they heard a voice boom, practically resonating in the cold stonework all around them. Words in draconic, followed by broken common tongue, filled their ears.\n\n``Destroy my Spawn. Ravage my Lands. This city shall freeze.'' Damian gasped, realizing he had unconsciously grabbed the dagger from off the table, the cold metal shimmering in his palm as he and the survivors stared between the legs of the frozen man in the doorway. Like a fire hose left unguarded, cold gouts of sleet and frigid moisture spattered this way and that, blanketing the Western District in a thick sheet of ice. The trapped citizens could hear the mighty Patriarch roar, his winged claws and body pounding on the shale rock face between heaving lungsful of hail and rime, his pounding body threatening to collapse the whole mountain to get a better angle. As snowflake-like frost patterns grew upon the shimmering heirloom, the young farm boy realized that he couldn't count upon the guard to save him or his friends. Reaching a hand towards Nik, the reptilian critter shuddering as his body temperature drifted dangerously low, the young man gave a motion towards Ruby-May.\n\n``Come on!'' He called, helping the kobold get to his feet and gather a pouch of his tools, ``We need to get out of here.'' The three cautiously approached the doorway, followed by a nervous gaggle of the city's people. By sheer bad luck, none of the city guard had taken their break in the tavern, leaving the survivors in over their heads at the prospect of fighting the beast. Damian swallowed hard as he slipped between the legs of the man frozen in the doorway, shuddering as a vicious cold gripped his lungs. The whole city was slick with sheets of ice as flurries danced in the now chilled air of the Western District. From his vantage point, the young farmhand caught a glimpse of the beast just outside the propped open door. His aqua and cobalt blue scales blended well with the raging blizzard, but even from this distance, he could make out the powerful muscled form of The Patriarch. At least, it appeared to be him. He'd never seen the beast before, but he did not doubt this was the legend in flesh and frost.\n\nStrewn across the city's streets were large lumps of ice, poking out from the slick sheets that blanketed the stone halls and roads. Each one was, previously, a living person. As Damian led his bedraggled friends across the Western District, they could see the horrid visages of neighbors and city guard alike, peering back from thick encasements of ice. Frozen where they stood, the beast's frost breath took their lives before they even had a chance to react. As the small group passed the middle of the district, they got a clear view of the dragon's thick gut and pecs, the beast reared back to take another swipe at the stone of the mountainside. Balanced upon his hind legs, Damian could clearly watch the dragon's virile manhood swing about in the doorway. The caricatures and crass drawings of the old dragon's body were not far from the truth, it would seem. Two massive and girthy testicles swayed like a counterweight between the beast's legs, the taught scrotum practically swollen despite the dragon's obvious age. Making their way towards one of the spokes of the city, the small crowd of survivors were able to watch as the raging dragon's dick pounded against the edge of the gate, crashing through the pried-open wooden doors like a battering ram.\n\nWhere one might look at a horse and think it endowed with a godly heft, the horse would certainly look upon The Patriarch and tremble at the sight of his ungodly cock. Despite the gate obscuring much of the gargantuan beast's figure, it was clear that the creature's penis took up most of the doorway, the girthy length easily reaching up to the beast's pectorals. The girth covered most of his scaly chest; it was awe-inspiring, and perfectly proportional to the towering dragon's form. The massive being's shaft was at least twice as big as a human, the heft large enough to crush a person accidentally, if not on purpose. As the bedraggled survivors raced for the sanctity of The Furnace, they received one last indignity as the throbbing shaft pummeled through the doorway, shattering several of the frozen bodies that littered the hall and scattering their icy body parts like pucks upon the floor. Yet once away from the grand entrance, the rag-tagged group realized they might have a chance at survival. Seething ice turned to puddles the closer they got to the massive heater, and soon their breaths no longer fogged the air as those lucky few managed to make it to The Furnace.\n\nHuddling under the mighty buttresses and bathed in the warm glow of lava all about, the survivors took stock of those who had escaped death, quickly realizing their desperate position. The Patriarch was lucky with his assault upon the city. The initial flyover was aimed just right, a cone of frost pouring hail and panes of ice down through the volcano's mouth upon the Northern and Eastern districts, killing and maiming those stuck in the streets. The defense of The Summit was in the hands of townspeople, it would seem.\n\nDamian cautiously stepped over wounded citizens, leading his band towards The Furnace, the practically arcane heater beating like a mechanical heart as steam and lava hissed all about below the massive platform. Yet there would be little time to rest, nor to pray to the heat for solace. The dragon had taken to the skies once again, his seething rage unstoppable as he squeezed his massive body through the volcano's mouth. Landing with an earth-shaking thud upon the massive buttresses, the denizens of Bordlan Summit realized the beast was overhead, trapped between the massive stone walls and the megalithic dome that protected The Furnace from above. Clattering about upon the smooth stone, like a raccoon caught in the ceiling, the terrified people huddled closer in to the forge as frost and ice began to fall all about them, the living legend spraying his breath with a wild fury in an attempt to snuff out the heart of the city.\n\nThat is, until the ice began to pile too high along the inflexed arches of the towering structure. In his haste, The Patriarch suddenly lost purchase upon the smooth stone he'd slickened with his own breath. Panic set in as the dragon's clawed legs scraped down the length of the structure, sliding until he fell straight off the edge. If he had any more momentum, he might have tumbled down above the lava pit below, giving the beast ample time to fill his wings and fly once again. But instead, the sculptors of Bordlan Summit had unintentionally sealed his fate. Surrounding the outside of the massive stone buttresses were nine statuary dedicated to the great kings of old who ruled the city. The Patriarch fell at just the right angle, the dragon's massive back cradled in the arms of Ragnar IV. The added weight caused the statuary's arms to collapse, sending the dragon tumbling down towards The Furnace and giving the trapped onlookers their first real view of The Patriarch's body.\n\nPure muscle was an understatement. Even though the dragon was ancient by human standards, and geriatric as far as dragons were concerned, he still cut a dangerous figure. The Patriarch's body spanned at least two stories, head barely reaching the edge of the dome-like buttress that protected the massive boiler. His shiny azure scales rippled as the muscle underneath flexed and clenched, clawed feet leaving indents in the stone floor as he tried to gain purchase. An entire city, whose fathers and forefathers had only known of the beast through fairy tales, got their first look at The Patriarch. Yet the beast's ungraceful fall was as confusing to them as his body was terrifying. When the statues arms contacted the floor of the furnace, The Patriarch's body shifted forwards, causing the great dragon to slam hips first into the gaping mouth of the great engine which powered and heated The Summit.\n\nFor a moment, the dragon stared blankly as his chest and belly came to rest against the massive stone and metal boiler, unsure what exactly had just happened. Confusion gave way to agony, a sudden and excruciating pain gripping the dragon's loins as he realized his proud, throbbing shaft had threaded through one of the large feed ports built into the side of the roiling furnace. The great boiler was built spanning the center of the old volcano. It was made up of one long chamber where fuel was heaped to burn, collected in an upper flue separated by a metal grate. On this coldest of days, the furnace was not only stoked, but all the hydraulics were opened wide, allowing heat to circulate directly into the city. The Patriarch had only enough time to squeak out a gasp of surprise before a horrid screech reared from the beast's gut. \n\nTugging backwards in a panic, the dragon's hide snatched on the broken statuary; two crossed tridents in the ancient king's hands digging into his flesh, creating a makeshift trap that held The Patriarch in a tenuous position. Tugging against the accidental restraints, he gave the onlooking crowd of citizens a perfect view of the deadly beast's awe-inspiring cock, the length visible through every open air port and the hefty glans poking out the opposite side of the massive burner. Despite the surprise, the furnace was a snug fit on the beast's weighty shaft, the jerking and panic causing his erection to throb as warming seed leaked out the tip in cold drizzles, hissing on the side of the massive furnace. Realizing he was stuck, the beast reared his head back, roaring in agony as a gout of frost escaped his jaws. He was determined to punish the impudent creatures who dared defy his reign, who dared kill his whelps...\n\nInstead of sleet and hail, a cold rain fell upon the onlooking citizens. Uncomfortable, but certainly not deadly. The combination of ambient heat in the furnace room, coupled with the blood pumping through his rapidly heating cock, caused a strange reaction which blunted the effectiveness of the ice dragon's most dangerous weapon. Damian stared wide-eyed at the beast as the world about him began to spin. Some citizens began to panic, rushing away from the Forge as they wailed that the end was upon them, that the beast was inside. Others seemed agitated, a brooding anger rising from them as a few dared hurl chunks of stone at the massive dragon, some landing against the beast's gigantic cock and swollen balls. Jeers began to erupt, cries about how the beast's children had ravaged their lands and killed their families. Even if The Patriarch had slumbered, his children roamed free, hunting down men and mer alike. Just three years prior, one of his spawn had destroyed farms in the valley to the East, killing many a good soul until soldiers from The Summit could finally put it down. Even if the scourge was not doing it himself, the engorged and throbbing shaft was what created these hell beasts, and those who had witnessed their attacks were more than happy to take their anger out on the dragon's virility.\n\nAs The Furnace began to fill with the first wispy scents of searing dragon cock, The Patriarch rocked back and forth in growing pain. Even with the flesh of his cock pierced by the statuary, the old stonework rocked and crumbled, causing some to scream that there was no time, that the beast could break free at any moment. As panic set in around him, the farmhand gripped his family heirloom tight in his hand, thumb stroking up to the hilt, before he made the decision to act. Gripping Nik by the shoulder, he pointed towards the beast's cock head, the tip oozing with cum as seething tendrils of smoky steam hissed off the supple flesh.\n\n``Nik, you got your tools still?'' Still shaking off the sluggishness from his exposure to the cold, the kobold nodded as he fished into his rucksack. ``Good. Get over there and hook the head. Tie it off to whatever you can!'' Giving the little kobold a shove before he could say anything to the contrary, he turned to find Ruby-May, attending to one of the wounded in the hall. ``Ruby! I need your help.'' Darting his eyes around the room, the farmhand pointed to a set of dwarven-craft hydraulic pistons. ``Grab one of those and get in close to the thing, we gotta hold it in place.''\n\n``A-are ye crazy?!'' The dwarfess cried despite the towering roars filling the room.\n\n``We can't let it get out! It's too hot for its ice breath in here.'' Blinking as another spatter of cool water hit her face, the tavern keep realized he was right. Nodding, she gave him a quick hug before rushing off to the pile of equipment laid about the side of The Furnace.\n\nBathed in fiery warmth from the great heater, Nik found himself rummaging through piles of discarded refuse and slag to find anything of use. After a moment of searching, he managed to nab a few bent pieces of iron, some arcane component that fit somewhere deep in the lava tubes that powered the boiler's workings. Grabbing them up, and several lengths of rope, the squishy little lizard created a few makeshift fishing hooks to reel in his gargantuan prey. Racing up to the mouth of The Furnace, Nik gasped as he watched the gargantuan urethra oozing precum out the tip, the copious leaking already turning a sickly brown against the red-hot furnace's sides as it dehydrated and burned. With a deft hand, the kobold scaled a pile of fuel, just tall enough to reach the gaping mouth that was the beast's urethra. Placing one of the makeshift iron pitons up against the soft, pulsing flesh, Nik gave a hard strike to it, causing the dragon's struggles to intensify. Rearing back in pain, draconic curses filled the air as the massive shaft shifted inside the furnace as if it was a seething hot metal stroker toy for the virile scourge.\n\nAt the same moment, as the dragon began to make headway tugging against the statuary that caught just in front of his balls, a loud HISS screeched out underneath the creature's body. Ruby-May used Nik's distraction to plant one of the pistons down upon the ground. It took her a moment to figure out how it worked but turning a handle as hard as she could forced all the built up tension to release at once. The piston doubled in length in mere seconds, the thick metal lodging against The Patriarch's ball sack, shoring up the tenuous position and applying an unfathomable amount of pressure to one of the dragon's spermatic cords. This time, the dragon's screech was accompanied by a visible wince, the tortured creature stomping his clawed feet upon the ground in a vain attempt to crush the cursed thing that did this to him. Despite her age, Ruby-May was able to scamper out of the way, retreating back to grab another piston.\n\nAll the while, Damian watched as the two worked, studying the beast's reactions, but more important, studying the way he reacted to the seething, roiling heat that swelled around his cock. As Nik, who was quickly joined by a few brave souls, began to tug on the ropes he'd hooked into The Patriarch's glans, Damian realized that this position was more than just a fortunate accident. As another screech rocked The Furnace, he realized the dragon's cheeks had begun to puff a bright red, the frost disintegrating in his lungs and spattering about in a lukewarm rain. His beautiful, masculine shaft was not just beginning to cook and sear upon the grate, it was channeling heat into the rest of his body, weakening him from the inside out. Grabbing for a stout metal pole and a bit of lashing, the farm boy quickly affixed his family heirloom dagger to the end, creating a makeshift polearm. Stepping up towards a segment of the furnace, about midway down the dragon's cock, he hefted the tool with both hands and jammed it inside the opening.\n\n``The furnace is weakening him!'' Damian cried as he planted the blade down upon the dragon's seething shaft. Already, the heat had eaten deeper and deeper into the beast's virile manhood, made all the more evident when Damian drew the blade back, splitting the cock skin on his backswing. Like a roasting hotdog, the flesh underneath swelled out the opening, a hot drool of fluids already leaking out from inside. ``We've slain his spawn before!'' He shouted, adjusting the blade to do the same a foot over, the now heated iron cutting through the skin a lot easier this time. ``Let's show this beast the pain he has caused The Summit!''\n\nLed only by this rag-tagged group, a farmer, a fisher and a tavernkeeper, the citizens of The Summit got their first glimpse of blood and realized that The Patriarch was mortal. Damian pulled back on his polearm, the hot metal wrapped in a thin, opaque skin he had peeled off the beast's shaft like a burst sausage casing. The dragon roared as his spongey inner flesh was exposed to the seething hot metal, turning every struggling thrash into even more agony as fresh, uncooked meat touched the inside of The Furnace. Nik too had made some tentative progress with his torture, wiping the sweat from his brow as he was held aloft by two stout men. Staring into the gaping mouth of the beast's dribbling urethra, he could smell the scent of seething hot cum beginning to bubble within. Surely the beast was beginning to simmer in his own ball sack. Despite the dragon being a sentient being, the scent of roasting dragon sausage was practically divine, especially to a people who had been stretching their food stores for months.\n\nDrawing one of his filleting knives from his fishing pack, Nik pressed the blade into the glans alongside the urethra. Carefully pushing the blade in, he gasped as a gout of steam escaped the spongey-soft flesh of the beast's cock head. The shaft was massive, towering over the kobold's diminutive form at least three times his size. It was no wonder that the dragon was only truly `cooked' about a half inch in as he poked and prodded his knife into the wound. But with a little grin, he called out, ``Hey Damian! Start cutting! Don't let all this meat go to waste!''\n\nAs more brave citizens joined in the process of disassembling the massive beast, creating makeshift saws and polearms with whatever tools lay around, The Patriarch could only watch and writhe in agony as his cock seemed to alight with searing lines of pain all along its length. Each one brought a new agony, as person-sized knives cut steak-sized hunks of flesh from the beast's form. Others began to hurriedly throw more fuel into the flame, the few engineers left alive doing their best to increase the temperature as wood and other flammables burned beneath the pounding shaft. The Patriarch's draconic screams rather suddenly turned to common tongue as he finally broke his use of the noble language in order to plead with the people he vowed to extinguish in ice.\n\n``Release me! Release me NOW!'' The voice boomed with a resonance that shook the core of the mountain, but also came with an edge of panic. The peoples' reply came in the form of jeers from the emboldened citizens, a few of those tending the fresh meat jabbing their knives in deeper. The Patriarch's haughty demeanor fell as he realized that little bundles were being passed from those blocked from his view by the furnace out to the citizens on the sides of the room - the ones throwing rocks and cursing his dragonhood for the beasts it spawned. Those little packages, which sizzled and hissed with a lovely fragrance, were thick slabs of meat, slowly carved off his succulent shaft. As tears began to well in the beast's eyes, he realized for the first time in his life that his pride, his dragonhood, was being violated. Not simply violated, but being taken apart, cut by cut. Worse, his slumbers had not only left him blue balled, but he could hardly remember the year his last fuck was... There would be no other chance.\n\nBack at the cock head, Nik was working diligently, cutting cubes of flesh from the beast's sensitive glans, creating a strange and foreign diced pattern in the flesh. The further he delved with his knife, the less meat remained to give form to the sensitive and slick urethra, causing it to gape open like a wet glove. Tentatively, Nik put his paw down upon the fleshy sock of sensitive meat. Letting his claw tips rub upon the material, he watched as the chopped open glans began to twitch and spasm - there must have been some sensation still within the unsupported flesh, despite the flowing dribble of precum looking more like browned butter than potent dragon cum. As the thick head disappeared slice by slice, Nik methodically re-affixed a new hook deeper in, ensuring that the beast could not pull back without causing serious damage. It wouldn't take long before he had chopped his way through most of the dragon's sensitive glans, his knife teasing into the crowning cockhead's cleft.\n\nThat, however, was a mistake. Perhaps it was the stimulation from so many knives, his overwhelmed nerves mistaking the roiling oven for a dragoness lover. Or perhaps The Patriarch's own body was screaming out in agony, his dick seemingly understanding that he, and it, was going to die. There was no warning from the beast, no orgasmic roar. Instead, the shaft seemed to leap on its own accord, practically knocking Nik backwards onto the floor as the wet sock that remained of his urethra began to spurt a sudden gush of boiling hot dragon cum. On the other end, Ruby-May had just finished affixing a stout rope about the dragon's balls, nearly cinching off the swollen and jiggling testes, much to the amusement of those looking on. As the crisping scrotum tensed up, clinching the rope even tighter around the strangling whelp-makers, a half-hearted and simmering orgasm flooded down the length of the dragon's shaft, what remained of his cock desperately trying to fulfill its purpose in life, one last time.\n\nDamian soon joined Ruby-May at the base of the Dragon's cock, directing a few of the stronger citizens to begin hacking away at the dragon's shaft. Knife blades, saws and other crude implements strapped to the ends of poles began to work through the root. The base of his shaft was practically raw compared to the rest of his flame-broiled penis, the undamaged nerve endings causing the dragon to screech out yet again in sheer agony as his most sensitive flesh was carved off. At first, hot blood began to drool and pour down onto the heads of those working to sever The Patriarch's manhood. But soon, as their knives sawed and cleaved each ragged cut, a dribbling drool of cum that had lingered in his urethral tube flowed down the citizen's makeshift polearms, morbidly slickening their hands with the dragon's last orgasm. The pain too much to bear, the weakened frost dragon gave every ounce of strength he had left. Despite heated blood coursing through his body, the exhausted dragon scrabbled and struggled with what little purchase he could find. With a mighty, fleshy tear, The Patriarch screeched as his wings flapped upwards, ripping what little remained holding his cock to his body. As the immense tube of meat, diminished from so many torturous cuts, flopped down useless and dead, the dragon felt himself freed at last from the statuary that held him in place.\n\nLifting off the ground, The Patriarch took to wobbly flight, his lustrous scales no longer shimmering and his flesh visibly ashen. Yet his progress was hindered by the sudden tug upon his testicles. The taught and hefty scrotum had heated to near sizzling temperatures, noticeable by the thin wisps of cum scented steam that wafted out what remained of the beast's cock root. As he tugged upwards, the frost dragon felt his tied-off ball sack reach the end of its rope, the virile whelp-makers attached firmly to the floor of The Furnace by the same stout rope that hugged his spermatic cords. With a mighty roar, the beast cried out in agony as the crisped skin ripped to shreds. The tensed cords stretched to their limit, before the fibrous ends frayed and snapped at last, freeing the beast and sending the meaty and girthy balls plopping back down next to the seething hot furnace, steam hissing out from the boiling cum within.\n\nAs the dragon stumbled about, doing what little he could to egress from the horrid hell he had trapped himself in, his open wounds continued to spatter and spray hot red blood. Clambering up the buttresses, the beast's life pattered down like rain upon the cheering throngs, hissing on the hot metal with an iron-tinged sizzle as the emasculated dragon took flight to escape. He was forever weakened, shamed as he stumbled over the mouth of the crater, his now heated core body temperature puffing out steam as he struggled. The Patriarch knew his hours were numbered. Likely to die from the blood loss atop his hoard, if not on the way back to his cave, the beast's sluggish, half-cooked heart told him that even if he could stem the bleeding, he would not survive for long. The heat which coursed through his blood had done irrevocable damage to the dragon's body, scorching his internal organs, and filling his normally frigid lungs with water. \n\nThe unsung heroes of Bordlan Summit took a moment to collect themselves, a cry went up from the victorious townspeople. There would be new legends to tell of the humble folk who defeated the beast of old and cast off the frost once and for all. But now, as Damian stood before the gorgeously cooked and fragrant strips of dragon meat that had been peeled and carved from the creature's flesh, he gave a little nod to his equally hungry friends.\n\n``I think...'' He said at last, looking up to his Great Grandfather's old blade, slick with blood and still seething hot from its time in the furnace, ``I think I'm gonna keep this old heirloom... After all, there's plenty of meat to go around.''\n\n PAGE \\* MERGEFORMAT 2 \n\nThe Wardens of Bordlan Summit\n\nWritten by Choice Cuts Deli\n\nCommission for Anonymous | April 2021 | 6256 Words\n\n(c) 2020 Choice Cuts Deli Freelance Author \n\nAll Rights Reserved\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Booted feet connected with opaque blue ice, the dull thud of each step poffing up powdery snow as a cold wind whipped over the tenuous bridge that connected the city of Bordlan Summit to the outside world. The mountaintop city had survived since time immemorial, buttressed against the whipping cold and fueled by the warming fires of the volcano it was situated upon. Approaching the towering stone gates which sealed off the city from the elements, Damian Adamson lifted his head just in time to watch the massive port crack open. Having spent much of his trek with his head down to ward off the blustery mountain wind, the relief was overwhelming as he finally stepped through the gate, into the city's embrace.

The small handcart he dragged behind him tracked thin lines of snow, the wheels shedding droplets of water in the comfortable, perhaps even sweltering, climate afforded by the volcano. Built on a hub and spoke system, the massive city's many districts housed a dizzying array of vendors and goods dealers. This little slice of civilization was built around a massive, centralized furnace. No matter where you were in the city, it was possible to see the massive buttresses which held aloft the mountaintop and protected the most important feature of the city, it's flaming heart. Powered by the very mountain's roiling lava, The Furnace stood at the very center of the city of Bordlan Summit. The massive heater was a complicated system of hydraulics, vents and burn chambers. Built by the great engineers of old, the people of The Summit had come to revere the old forge. Its maintenance and operation were practically an arcane ritual, with knowledge of its workings passed down in oral tradition. Over the years, the great furnace had become a sort of shrine, adorned with statuary and beautiful carvings dedicated to the kings and legends of old.

As Damian shed his heaviest clothes, basking in the sweltering comfort of the city, he found himself pausing to check a few street markers to make sure he remembered where he was going. That was when he noticed him. An old dwarf wearing the sash of a senior technician of the Order of the Furnace. Long since retired from his days crawling through soot and burning himself on steam pipes, the old man had gathered a throng of children and acolytes to retell the tales of old.

``Aye, there are even stories too old for me to remember,'' the dwarven machine worker chuckled, stroking his flowing brown beard as he rose from his seat and walked to the wall behind him, having to climb upon a well-positioned mailbox in order to bring his squat body high enough to reference worn murals that adorned the hallway. ``I don't think you young'uns truly appreciate the stories of The Patriarch.''

Gesturing up to the faded plaster fresco, the old man pointed to a colossal outline of a blue dragon, his yellow-tipped wings spread wide as jagged ice gouted from his upturned jaws. Damian knew the story too well. Growing up in the shadow of Bordlan Summit, he would know that before the age of man and mer, an ice dragon was born in the frigid waste. This dragon lived for as long as stories were told, nearly a millennium. He alone had sired the brood which came to populate the region. The children of The Patriarch harried the first brave adventurers who came to settle the snowcapped mountains. When The Patriarch needed to intervene, he did, bringing frozen vengeance unto his foes, and death to what little grew in this barren land.

The young farmhand chuckled as the old dwarf spun fantastic tales about the dragon's potent seed, that he spawned hundreds of whelps. Yet, even the wizened engineer never truly knew a time when The Patriarch had reared his head. It was true that he would take flight to seek revenge when his spawn were slain, or when pesky adventurers strayed too close to his roost. But that was centuries ago. The last recorded attack from The Patriarch was over 250 years prior. His sons and daughters were picked off over generations, slain by great hunters and armies alike. Whether the dragon had died, or simply slumbered, his famed brawn and cruel tyranny had become almost a caricature. Mothers threatened their disobedient children, saying The Patriarch will come and freeze them solid if they misbehave. Rambunctious young men often made crass doodles over public depictions of the beast, swelling the genitalia to almost comic proportions and keeping the city's artists busy dealing with unplanned `revisions' that made a mockery of the beast's studly performance.

Shaking his head as the old man got into an argument with one of his acolytes over whether the beast feasted upon the flesh of men (despite neither truly knowing the answer), Damian trundled forward from his rest towards A large stone tavern just off the great hall of the main entrance. Built into the side wall of the Western District, the facade was created by painstakingly carving and chiseling out the building from the rock face. As he stepped through the bas relief structure's main door, a smile rolled over his face as Damian was met with the same savory smells and sights he remembered from better times, when the world wasn't covered in snow and darkness. He hardly got through the door when he was rushed by the sweet-and-spunky tavern keep, the stout dwarfess Ruby-May Darkrock.

``Damian!'' She cried, eyes wide and still holding the half-tankard of ale she had been filling when she noticed him arrive, ``I've not seen ye since nigh on Summer!'' Despite her relatively spry appearance, Ruby-May was getting old for a dwarf. The retired adventurer was pushing on 200 years old, her retirement being a little plot of land in the city where she could feed and nourish the souls who came to visit her home.

``It's good to see you too,'' Damian smiled as he gave the auburn-haired dwarf a tight hug, resisting the urge to lift her off the ground as he did. But his smile seemed to fade as he looked about the tavern. There were some familiar faces, certainly, but the spirits of those in the hall seemed a bit glum and downtrodden. It was only after he took a closer look that he noticed something amiss. The plates upon the table weren't filled with the usual rich stews and roasted meats he was used to seeing on his visits to the city. A thin gruel and watered-down ale were all that was left upon the menu. ``Oh gods, not you as well?'' he asked at length as Ruby-May led him by the hand through the tavern.

``Aye, the harvest failed horribly this year. Ye were one of the last farmers to get their crops before the frost settled.'' Ruby-May led Damian to a table that was occupied by a peculiar critter. A soft-skinned, brown-scaled kobold sat at a corner table, tinkering with some bronze and iron items he was trying to fit together. The critter seemed almost squishy or amphibian from his time spent in water, the little kobold making his living fishing the caverns underneath Bordlan Summit. Yet he spent most of his free time working on pet projects of his own creation, toying with contraptions which might solve one problem or another.

``Oh, huh.'' The little reptile glanced over his shoulder, brow raising for just a moment as he recognized his old friend. ``Damian! Nice to see you.'' He was well-spoken for a kobold, though his manners still lacked. The critter made exactly enough room for the young man to settle down at the table, causing Ruby-May to plant the tankard on the table and swipe the critter's toys away. ``H-Hey!''

``Nik, show a little respect, Damian had to travel through a blizzard to get here...'' Setting her rump down at the table, the tavern keep forgot she was even taking care of a patron, swilling out of the poor man's tankard as she asked, ``So, why are you here, hun?''

``My, uh...'' Damian paused as he pulled the hand cart over to his side, unfurling the cover to reveal it loaded with useful household goods. ``My family's food stores are running down. We did our best, but there's not nearly enough to make it through the winter.''

``You're selling your farm tools?'' Nik asked as he rummaged through the well-worn supplies. ``You're that desperate, huh?''

``Tools, blankets and furs, I had to stop Mom from putting her dowry hope chest in.'' With a sigh, Damian watched as the kobold wrapped his fingers around a beautiful dagger. Made of steel and inlaid with silver, the tool was easily 200 years old, the edge filed from a broad survival knife into more of a stiletto point. ``That's uh, that's the dagger my Great Grandfather used to banish the haunting from the ancient tomb that abutted our property... I don't want to sell it, but...''

``Well... we don't have much here at the Summit either,'' replied Ruby-May, sighing as she swilled the tankard in her hand. ``But, I'll happily open my storeroom for ye, hun.''

``I'm sure you'd rather a friend buy your things off you,'' added Nik as he eyed the silver inlay on the old dagger before setting it back down on the table. ``A loan until you can pay us back for them.'' The kobold smiled and put a wet paw upon the man's shoulder. ``Besides, you look exhausted. Let's get some beer and gruel into you first. I could use another anyways, Ruby.''

The three old friends laughed and conversed, happy to be together again despite the conditions and the paltry food choices. As the hours wound down, the blizzard seemed to intensify, whipping about the stone keep with a fury. As Damian finished his third ale for the evening, a low rumble seemed to shake the mountain to its very core. The busy tavern came to an abrupt silence as eyes upturned and ears strained to listen. The rumble grew louder and louder, before a piercing shriek echoed from the open top of the volcano's mouth, the buttresses and vestibule of the forge causing the cry to reverberate through the halls and districts of The Summit. As guardsmen and engineers rushed to their posts, there came a sudden crash as two hefty thuds shook just outside the main gate. A second, piercing screech shattered the air as the ice bridge to the fortress began to crack, as if clawed talons were crushing it to snowcone powder.

One of the tavern-goers peeked his head outside the door just in time to watch the town guard unsuccessfully attempt to bar the gate. They were stopped by a gigantic talon-tipped wing slashing through the unsecured wooden portal, the attacker's body wedging the doors open. All within the entry hall could hear a sharp inhale from outside the gate. In the piercing silence, someone screamed, ``The Patriarch! He returns!'' A moment later, the world erupted into madness as a gout of frost breath spewed from outside the gate. A seething chill fell upon the city as anyone exposed to the cone of ice found themselves freezing in place. Plates of thick, wet ice slathered over helpless guards and citizens alike, creating frozen statues that littered the main thoroughfare of the mighty city. Inside Ruby-May's tavern, the helpless citizens cowered in fear, the one unlucky man who'd stepped out to look suddenly flash-froze to the door. His body mercifully shielded the rest of the room from the flooding tendrils of cold that whipped across the forsaken city.

As the tavern-goers tried to huddle backwards towards the now-damp hearth for what little warmth they could find, they heard a voice boom, practically resonating in the cold stonework all around them. Words in draconic, followed by broken common tongue, filled their ears.

``Destroy my Spawn. Ravage my Lands. This city shall freeze.'' Damian gasped, realizing he had unconsciously grabbed the dagger from off the table, the cold metal shimmering in his palm as he and the survivors stared between the legs of the frozen man in the doorway. Like a fire hose left unguarded, cold gouts of sleet and frigid moisture spattered this way and that, blanketing the Western District in a thick sheet of ice. The trapped citizens could hear the mighty Patriarch roar, his winged claws and body pounding on the shale rock face between heaving lungsful of hail and rime, his pounding body threatening to collapse the whole mountain to get a better angle. As snowflake-like frost patterns grew upon the shimmering heirloom, the young farm boy realized that he couldn't count upon the guard to save him or his friends. Reaching a hand towards Nik, the reptilian critter shuddering as his body temperature drifted dangerously low, the young man gave a motion towards Ruby-May.

``Come on!'' He called, helping the kobold get to his feet and gather a pouch of his tools, ``We need to get out of here.'' The three cautiously approached the doorway, followed by a nervous gaggle of the city's people. By sheer bad luck, none of the city guard had taken their break in the tavern, leaving the survivors in over their heads at the prospect of fighting the beast. Damian swallowed hard as he slipped between the legs of the man frozen in the doorway, shuddering as a vicious cold gripped his lungs. The whole city was slick with sheets of ice as flurries danced in the now chilled air of the Western District. From his vantage point, the young farmhand caught a glimpse of the beast just outside the propped open door. His aqua and cobalt blue scales blended well with the raging blizzard, but even from this distance, he could make out the powerful muscled form of The Patriarch. At least, it appeared to be him. He'd never seen the beast before, but he did not doubt this was the legend in flesh and frost.

Strewn across the city's streets were large lumps of ice, poking out from the slick sheets that blanketed the stone halls and roads. Each one was, previously, a living person. As Damian led his bedraggled friends across the Western District, they could see the horrid visages of neighbors and city guard alike, peering back from thick encasements of ice. Frozen where they stood, the beast's frost breath took their lives before they even had a chance to react. As the small group passed the middle of the district, they got a clear view of the dragon's thick gut and pecs, the beast reared back to take another swipe at the stone of the mountainside. Balanced upon his hind legs, Damian could clearly watch the dragon's virile manhood swing about in the doorway. The caricatures and crass drawings of the old dragon's body were not far from the truth, it would seem. Two massive and girthy testicles swayed like a counterweight between the beast's legs, the taught scrotum practically swollen despite the dragon's obvious age. Making their way towards one of the spokes of the city, the small crowd of survivors were able to watch as the raging dragon's dick pounded against the edge of the gate, crashing through the pried-open wooden doors like a battering ram.

Where one might look at a horse and think it endowed with a godly heft, the horse would certainly look upon The Patriarch and tremble at the sight of his ungodly cock. Despite the gate obscuring much of the gargantuan beast's figure, it was clear that the creature's penis took up most of the doorway, the girthy length easily reaching up to the beast's pectorals. The girth covered most of his scaly chest; it was awe-inspiring, and perfectly proportional to the towering dragon's form. The massive being's shaft was at least twice as big as a human, the heft large enough to crush a person accidentally, if not on purpose. As the bedraggled survivors raced for the sanctity of The Furnace, they received one last indignity as the throbbing shaft pummeled through the doorway, shattering several of the frozen bodies that littered the hall and scattering their icy body parts like pucks upon the floor. Yet once away from the grand entrance, the rag-tagged group realized they might have a chance at survival. Seething ice turned to puddles the closer they got to the massive heater, and soon their breaths no longer fogged the air as those lucky few managed to make it to The Furnace.

Huddling under the mighty buttresses and bathed in the warm glow of lava all about, the survivors took stock of those who had escaped death, quickly realizing their desperate position. The Patriarch was lucky with his assault upon the city. The initial flyover was aimed just right, a cone of frost pouring hail and panes of ice down through the volcano's mouth upon the Northern and Eastern districts, killing and maiming those stuck in the streets. The defense of The Summit was in the hands of townspeople, it would seem.

Damian cautiously stepped over wounded citizens, leading his band towards The Furnace, the practically arcane heater beating like a mechanical heart as steam and lava hissed all about below the massive platform. Yet there would be little time to rest, nor to pray to the heat for solace. The dragon had taken to the skies once again, his seething rage unstoppable as he squeezed his massive body through the volcano's mouth. Landing with an earth-shaking thud upon the massive buttresses, the denizens of Bordlan Summit realized the beast was overhead, trapped between the massive stone walls and the megalithic dome that protected The Furnace from above. Clattering about upon the smooth stone, like a raccoon caught in the ceiling, the terrified people huddled closer in to the forge as frost and ice began to fall all about them, the living legend spraying his breath with a wild fury in an attempt to snuff out the heart of the city.

That is, until the ice began to pile too high along the inflexed arches of the towering structure. In his haste, The Patriarch suddenly lost purchase upon the smooth stone he'd slickened with his own breath. Panic set in as the dragon's clawed legs scraped down the length of the structure, sliding until he fell straight off the edge. If he had any more momentum, he might have tumbled down above the lava pit below, giving the beast ample time to fill his wings and fly once again. But instead, the sculptors of Bordlan Summit had unintentionally sealed his fate. Surrounding the outside of the massive stone buttresses were nine statuary dedicated to the great kings of old who ruled the city. The Patriarch fell at just the right angle, the dragon's massive back cradled in the arms of Ragnar IV. The added weight caused the statuary's arms to collapse, sending the dragon tumbling down towards The Furnace and giving the trapped onlookers their first real view of The Patriarch's body.

Pure muscle was an understatement. Even though the dragon was ancient by human standards, and geriatric as far as dragons were concerned, he still cut a dangerous figure. The Patriarch's body spanned at least two stories, head barely reaching the edge of the dome-like buttress that protected the massive boiler. His shiny azure scales rippled as the muscle underneath flexed and clenched, clawed feet leaving indents in the stone floor as he tried to gain purchase. An entire city, whose fathers and forefathers had only known of the beast through fairy tales, got their first look at The Patriarch. Yet the beast's ungraceful fall was as confusing to them as his body was terrifying. When the statues arms contacted the floor of the furnace, The Patriarch's body shifted forwards, causing the great dragon to slam hips first into the gaping mouth of the great engine which powered and heated The Summit.

For a moment, the dragon stared blankly as his chest and belly came to rest against the massive stone and metal boiler, unsure what exactly had just happened. Confusion gave way to agony, a sudden and excruciating pain gripping the dragon's loins as he realized his proud, throbbing shaft had threaded through one of the large feed ports built into the side of the roiling furnace. The great boiler was built spanning the center of the old volcano. It was made up of one long chamber where fuel was heaped to burn, collected in an upper flue separated by a metal grate. On this coldest of days, the furnace was not only stoked, but all the hydraulics were opened wide, allowing heat to circulate directly into the city. The Patriarch had only enough time to squeak out a gasp of surprise before a horrid screech reared from the beast's gut.

Tugging backwards in a panic, the dragon's hide snatched on the broken statuary; two crossed tridents in the ancient king's hands digging into his flesh, creating a makeshift trap that held The Patriarch in a tenuous position. Tugging against the accidental restraints, he gave the onlooking crowd of citizens a perfect view of the deadly beast's awe-inspiring cock, the length visible through every open air port and the hefty glans poking out the opposite side of the massive burner. Despite the surprise, the furnace was a snug fit on the beast's weighty shaft, the jerking and panic causing his erection to throb as warming seed leaked out the tip in cold drizzles, hissing on the side of the massive furnace. Realizing he was stuck, the beast reared his head back, roaring in agony as a gout of frost escaped his jaws. He was determined to punish the impudent creatures who dared defy his reign, who dared kill his whelps...

Instead of sleet and hail, a cold rain fell upon the onlooking citizens. Uncomfortable, but certainly not deadly. The combination of ambient heat in the furnace room, coupled with the blood pumping through his rapidly heating cock, caused a strange reaction which blunted the effectiveness of the ice dragon's most dangerous weapon. Damian stared wide-eyed at the beast as the world about him began to spin. Some citizens began to panic, rushing away from the Forge as they wailed that the end was upon them, that the beast was inside. Others seemed agitated, a brooding anger rising from them as a few dared hurl chunks of stone at the massive dragon, some landing against the beast's gigantic cock and swollen balls. Jeers began to erupt, cries about how the beast's children had ravaged their lands and killed their families. Even if The Patriarch had slumbered, his children roamed free, hunting down men and mer alike. Just three years prior, one of his spawn had destroyed farms in the valley to the East, killing many a good soul until soldiers from The Summit could finally put it down. Even if the scourge was not doing it himself, the engorged and throbbing shaft was what created these hell beasts, and those who had witnessed their attacks were more than happy to take their anger out on the dragon's virility.

As The Furnace began to fill with the first wispy scents of searing dragon cock, The Patriarch rocked back and forth in growing pain. Even with the flesh of his cock pierced by the statuary, the old stonework rocked and crumbled, causing some to scream that there was no time, that the beast could break free at any moment. As panic set in around him, the farmhand gripped his family heirloom tight in his hand, thumb stroking up to the hilt, before he made the decision to act. Gripping Nik by the shoulder, he pointed towards the beast's cock head, the tip oozing with cum as seething tendrils of smoky steam hissed off the supple flesh.

``Nik, you got your tools still?'' Still shaking off the sluggishness from his exposure to the cold, the kobold nodded as he fished into his rucksack. ``Good. Get over there and hook the head. Tie it off to whatever you can!'' Giving the little kobold a shove before he could say anything to the contrary, he turned to find Ruby-May, attending to one of the wounded in the hall. ``Ruby! I need your help.'' Darting his eyes around the room, the farmhand pointed to a set of dwarven-craft hydraulic pistons. ``Grab one of those and get in close to the thing, we gotta hold it in place.''

``A-are ye crazy?!'' The dwarfess cried despite the towering roars filling the room.

``We can't let it get out! It's too hot for its ice breath in here.'' Blinking as another spatter of cool water hit her face, the tavern keep realized he was right. Nodding, she gave him a quick hug before rushing off to the pile of equipment laid about the side of The Furnace.

Bathed in fiery warmth from the great heater, Nik found himself rummaging through piles of discarded refuse and slag to find anything of use. After a moment of searching, he managed to nab a few bent pieces of iron, some arcane component that fit somewhere deep in the lava tubes that powered the boiler's workings. Grabbing them up, and several lengths of rope, the squishy little lizard created a few makeshift fishing hooks to reel in his gargantuan prey. Racing up to the mouth of The Furnace, Nik gasped as he watched the gargantuan urethra oozing precum out the tip, the copious leaking already turning a sickly brown against the red-hot furnace's sides as it dehydrated and burned. With a deft hand, the kobold scaled a pile of fuel, just tall enough to reach the gaping mouth that was the beast's urethra. Placing one of the makeshift iron pitons up against the soft, pulsing flesh, Nik gave a hard strike to it, causing the dragon's struggles to intensify. Rearing back in pain, draconic curses filled the air as the massive shaft shifted inside the furnace as if it was a seething hot metal stroker toy for the virile scourge.

At the same moment, as the dragon began to make headway tugging against the statuary that caught just in front of his balls, a loud HISS screeched out underneath the creature's body. Ruby-May used Nik's distraction to plant one of the pistons down upon the ground. It took her a moment to figure out how it worked but turning a handle as hard as she could forced all the built up tension to release at once. The piston doubled in length in mere seconds, the thick metal lodging against The Patriarch's ball sack, shoring up the tenuous position and applying an unfathomable amount of pressure to one of the dragon's spermatic cords. This time, the dragon's screech was accompanied by a visible wince, the tortured creature stomping his clawed feet upon the ground in a vain attempt to crush the cursed thing that did this to him. Despite her age, Ruby-May was able to scamper out of the way, retreating back to grab another piston.

All the while, Damian watched as the two worked, studying the beast's reactions, but more important, studying the way he reacted to the seething, roiling heat that swelled around his cock. As Nik, who was quickly joined by a few brave souls, began to tug on the ropes he'd hooked into The Patriarch's glans, Damian realized that this position was more than just a fortunate accident. As another screech rocked The Furnace, he realized the dragon's cheeks had begun to puff a bright red, the frost disintegrating in his lungs and spattering about in a lukewarm rain. His beautiful, masculine shaft was not just beginning to cook and sear upon the grate, it was channeling heat into the rest of his body, weakening him from the inside out. Grabbing for a stout metal pole and a bit of lashing, the farm boy quickly affixed his family heirloom dagger to the end, creating a makeshift polearm. Stepping up towards a segment of the furnace, about midway down the dragon's cock, he hefted the tool with both hands and jammed it inside the opening.

``The furnace is weakening him!'' Damian cried as he planted the blade down upon the dragon's seething shaft. Already, the heat had eaten deeper and deeper into the beast's virile manhood, made all the more evident when Damian drew the blade back, splitting the cock skin on his backswing. Like a roasting hotdog, the flesh underneath swelled out the opening, a hot drool of fluids already leaking out from inside. ``We've slain his spawn before!'' He shouted, adjusting the blade to do the same a foot over, the now heated iron cutting through the skin a lot easier this time. ``Let's show this beast the pain he has caused The Summit!''

Led only by this rag-tagged group, a farmer, a fisher and a tavernkeeper, the citizens of The Summit got their first glimpse of blood and realized that The Patriarch was mortal. Damian pulled back on his polearm, the hot metal wrapped in a thin, opaque skin he had peeled off the beast's shaft like a burst sausage casing. The dragon roared as his spongey inner flesh was exposed to the seething hot metal, turning every struggling thrash into even more agony as fresh, uncooked meat touched the inside of The Furnace. Nik too had made some tentative progress with his torture, wiping the sweat from his brow as he was held aloft by two stout men. Staring into the gaping mouth of the beast's dribbling urethra, he could smell the scent of seething hot cum beginning to bubble within. Surely the beast was beginning to simmer in his own ball sack. Despite the dragon being a sentient being, the scent of roasting dragon sausage was practically divine, especially to a people who had been stretching their food stores for months.

Drawing one of his filleting knives from his fishing pack, Nik pressed the blade into the glans alongside the urethra. Carefully pushing the blade in, he gasped as a gout of steam escaped the spongey-soft flesh of the beast's cock head. The shaft was massive, towering over the kobold's diminutive form at least three times his size. It was no wonder that the dragon was only truly `cooked' about a half inch in as he poked and prodded his knife into the wound. But with a little grin, he called out, ``Hey Damian! Start cutting! Don't let all this meat go to waste!''

As more brave citizens joined in the process of disassembling the massive beast, creating makeshift saws and polearms with whatever tools lay around, The Patriarch could only watch and writhe in agony as his cock seemed to alight with searing lines of pain all along its length. Each one brought a new agony, as person-sized knives cut steak-sized hunks of flesh from the beast's form. Others began to hurriedly throw more fuel into the flame, the few engineers left alive doing their best to increase the temperature as wood and other flammables burned beneath the pounding shaft. The Patriarch's draconic screams rather suddenly turned to common tongue as he finally broke his use of the noble language in order to plead with the people he vowed to extinguish in ice.

``Release me! Release me NOW!'' The voice boomed with a resonance that shook the core of the mountain, but also came with an edge of panic. The peoples' reply came in the form of jeers from the emboldened citizens, a few of those tending the fresh meat jabbing their knives in deeper. The Patriarch's haughty demeanor fell as he realized that little bundles were being passed from those blocked from his view by the furnace out to the citizens on the sides of the room - the ones throwing rocks and cursing his dragonhood for the beasts it spawned. Those little packages, which sizzled and hissed with a lovely fragrance, were thick slabs of meat, slowly carved off his succulent shaft. As tears began to well in the beast's eyes, he realized for the first time in his life that his pride, his dragonhood, was being violated. Not simply violated, but being taken apart, cut by cut. Worse, his slumbers had not only left him blue balled, but he could hardly remember the year his last fuck was... There would be no other chance.

Back at the cock head, Nik was working diligently, cutting cubes of flesh from the beast's sensitive glans, creating a strange and foreign diced pattern in the flesh. The further he delved with his knife, the less meat remained to give form to the sensitive and slick urethra, causing it to gape open like a wet glove. Tentatively, Nik put his paw down upon the fleshy sock of sensitive meat. Letting his claw tips rub upon the material, he watched as the chopped open glans began to twitch and spasm - there must have been some sensation still within the unsupported flesh, despite the flowing dribble of precum looking more like browned butter than potent dragon cum. As the thick head disappeared slice by slice, Nik methodically re-affixed a new hook deeper in, ensuring that the beast could not pull back without causing serious damage. It wouldn't take long before he had chopped his way through most of the dragon's sensitive glans, his knife teasing into the crowning cockhead's cleft.

That, however, was a mistake. Perhaps it was the stimulation from so many knives, his overwhelmed nerves mistaking the roiling oven for a dragoness lover. Or perhaps The Patriarch's own body was screaming out in agony, his dick seemingly understanding that he, and it, was going to die. There was no warning from the beast, no orgasmic roar. Instead, the shaft seemed to leap on its own accord, practically knocking Nik backwards onto the floor as the wet sock that remained of his urethra began to spurt a sudden gush of boiling hot dragon cum. On the other end, Ruby-May had just finished affixing a stout rope about the dragon's balls, nearly cinching off the swollen and jiggling testes, much to the amusement of those looking on. As the crisping scrotum tensed up, clinching the rope even tighter around the strangling whelp-makers, a half-hearted and simmering orgasm flooded down the length of the dragon's shaft, what remained of his cock desperately trying to fulfill its purpose in life, one last time.

Damian soon joined Ruby-May at the base of the Dragon's cock, directing a few of the stronger citizens to begin hacking away at the dragon's shaft. Knife blades, saws and other crude implements strapped to the ends of poles began to work through the root. The base of his shaft was practically raw compared to the rest of his flame-broiled penis, the undamaged nerve endings causing the dragon to screech out yet again in sheer agony as his most sensitive flesh was carved off. At first, hot blood began to drool and pour down onto the heads of those working to sever The Patriarch's manhood. But soon, as their knives sawed and cleaved each ragged cut, a dribbling drool of cum that had lingered in his urethral tube flowed down the citizen's makeshift polearms, morbidly slickening their hands with the dragon's last orgasm. The pain too much to bear, the weakened frost dragon gave every ounce of strength he had left. Despite heated blood coursing through his body, the exhausted dragon scrabbled and struggled with what little purchase he could find. With a mighty, fleshy tear, The Patriarch screeched as his wings flapped upwards, ripping what little remained holding his cock to his body. As the immense tube of meat, diminished from so many torturous cuts, flopped down useless and dead, the dragon felt himself freed at last from the statuary that held him in place.

Lifting off the ground, The Patriarch took to wobbly flight, his lustrous scales no longer shimmering and his flesh visibly ashen. Yet his progress was hindered by the sudden tug upon his testicles. The taught and hefty scrotum had heated to near sizzling temperatures, noticeable by the thin wisps of cum scented steam that wafted out what remained of the beast's cock root. As he tugged upwards, the frost dragon felt his tied-off ball sack reach the end of its rope, the virile whelp-makers attached firmly to the floor of The Furnace by the same stout rope that hugged his spermatic cords. With a mighty roar, the beast cried out in agony as the crisped skin ripped to shreds. The tensed cords stretched to their limit, before the fibrous ends frayed and snapped at last, freeing the beast and sending the meaty and girthy balls plopping back down next to the seething hot furnace, steam hissing out from the boiling cum within.

As the dragon stumbled about, doing what little he could to egress from the horrid hell he had trapped himself in, his open wounds continued to spatter and spray hot red blood. Clambering up the buttresses, the beast's life pattered down like rain upon the cheering throngs, hissing on the hot metal with an iron-tinged sizzle as the emasculated dragon took flight to escape. He was forever weakened, shamed as he stumbled over the mouth of the crater, his now heated core body temperature puffing out steam as he struggled. The Patriarch knew his hours were numbered. Likely to die from the blood loss atop his hoard, if not on the way back to his cave, the beast's sluggish, half-cooked heart told him that even if he could stem the bleeding, he would not survive for long. The heat which coursed through his blood had done irrevocable damage to the dragon's body, scorching his internal organs, and filling his normally frigid lungs with water.

The unsung heroes of Bordlan Summit took a moment to collect themselves, a cry went up from the victorious townspeople. There would be new legends to tell of the humble folk who defeated the beast of old and cast off the frost once and for all. But now, as Damian stood before the gorgeously cooked and fragrant strips of dragon meat that had been peeled and carved from the creature's flesh, he gave a little nod to his equally hungry friends.

``I think...'' He said at last, looking up to his Great Grandfather's old blade, slick with blood and still seething hot from its time in the furnace, ``I think I'm gonna keep this old heirloom... After all, there's plenty of meat to go around.''

  PAGE   \\* MERGEFORMAT  2

The Wardens of Bordlan Summit

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for Anonymous | April 2021 | 6256 Words

(c) 2020 Choice Cuts Deli Freelance Author

All Rights Reserved

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