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"description": "A sorta-sequel to [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3703261]Pale Ale,[/url] also for ouendancyrus, here seeing our intrepid adventurers (two of 'em, at least; I wonder where that rogue got off to) visiting a tavern similar in its menu, yet different in service. At this one, instead of the patrons being serviced ~by~ the staff, they're served instead - and instead of smaller kobolds, the staff is entirely larger, feral dragons! Exotic!\n\nThis was another trade, & you can check out their part [url=https://www.furaffinity.net/view/60378566/]here![/url]",
"description_bbcode_parsed": "A sorta-sequel to Pale Ale, also for ouendancyrus, here seeing our intrepid adventurers (two of 'em, at least; I wonder where that rogue got off to) visiting a tavern similar in its menu, yet different in service. At this one, instead of the patrons being serviced ~by~ the staff, they're served instead - and instead of smaller kobolds, the staff is entirely larger, feral dragons! Exotic!
This was another trade, & you can check out their part here!",
"writing": "“I just – don’t know why you thought-”\n\n“Well, because you did so well at the one last time. You know the one.” Dova clapped his companion on the shoulder, then leaned in across the table. He heft his mostly-empty tankard, sloshed the fizzy, frothy liquid inside around a bit – a little bit slopped over the edge and spilled along the dragonborn’s fingers – and then he hoisted it up, took a deep whiff of the bright, sharp scent, and knocked the rest of it back. “Figured this might turn out to be up your alley, too.”\n\nRallis shifted where he sat, the wizard’s nose stinging with the unavoidable aroma of the drink. “I mean, it’s a matter of… um…” He glanced around the common space of the tavern, this one built differently from all the others he had been in: the patrons sat in a wide ring surrounding the center, with a second elevated stage running the exterior border. He jumped and leaned to the side as one of the servers passed by on that elevated ring, the four huge legs stepping smoothly along, the feral dragon’s tail lifted up and out of the way – and Rallis ducked his gaze to the side to avoid the embarrassment of staring straight at the server’s undercarriage, the beast’s scaly lower belly swollen slightly out with the volume of fresh mark he carried inside of him, waiting to be tapped by another thirsty customer. A bit further down the line, another patron reached over, knocked on the side of the stage, and lifted his tankard into the air; the feral dragon who had just passed by nodded his recognition of the order, and picked up his pace to promptly fill it.\n\n“Throwing caution to the wind, stepping in, and just going for it, right?”\n\nRallis glared at the fighter. Dova smirked, chuckled, then leaned back across the seat; he tilted his head back, mouth open, and tipped his tankard over to catch the last few pale yellow drops. Rallis watched, grimaced, then turned away again, his own tankard still empty where it sat at the edge of the table.\n\n“Excuse me,” said one of the patrons over at the other table, his voice just barely audible under the din of the tavern. The feral server leaned in closer to listen. “Could you describe to me the taste of your particular vintage?”\n\nThe conversation had apparently caught Dova’s attention as well. The fighter turned in his seat, one arm resting over the back.\n\n“Of course.” The dragon spoke in a slow, thick, steady voice, his words dripping with the sweet ichor of long experience. “This evening expect a warm, almost oat-like candor on the nose, spreading into a pleasant, heady thickness that coats the throat. The usual pungent acidity will then present itself first and foremost, with a slightly astringent spice on the back end eliciting thoughts of cinnamon, clove, and peppercorn. After swallowing, all of this will then mellow out into a smooth, tingling heat, rising from your stomach to come out on every breath…”\n\nDova turned to face Rallis again, a look of bemused appreciation on the other dragonborn’s face. “I only understood about half of that,” he said, “but, wow, that sure sounds good to me. You sit tight. I’ll see if I can call one other.”\n\nProviding my own for kobolds is one thing, Rallis thought, once again sinking back into his seat; as the others said, it’s literally their job. They like it. Love it, in fact. But then here, with these… He looked over again as another feral dragon server approached, this one smaller, sleeker, younger… and visibly more nervous. The excited kind of nervous, like when Rallis himself had first begun adventuring with his fellows: the fantastical, naive wonder at the wider world, and the constant unwavering appreciation for all the strange things that might befall him…\n\n...and now here he sat in a tavern where the only drinks served were those freshly brewed within the bladders of the beasts constantly circling the common room pit. The scent had begun to waft up across him from all around, rich and high and strong and, admittedly, a little bit inviting; he shifted where he sat, trying to adjust his robes in his lap, and looked away again.\n\n“Rallis.”\n\nHe ignored the fighter. The mage crossed his arms in front of his chest.\n\n“Rallis.”\n\nThen, finally, he looked over. Dova grinned, licked his lips, nudged his tankard over towards the stage – then reached over and knocked at the rim with two knuckles.\n\n~ ~ ~\n\nCaer perked up to the sound, glanced around for its source, and finally located the knocking coming from the table he had just passed. The young dragon tried to hide his excitement somewhat as he stepped backwards toward the thirsty customers, his urgency pulsing repeatedly through him, his necessity brimming: the other, older dragons at the tavern had warned him in advance that the regular customers had a tendency to develop a taste towards their usual servers, and as such might not be willing to explore the personal brew of a new hire like himself. Still, though, the young male had wanted to be prepared, and as such made sure to fill up before his shift-\n\n-but now as he bustled awkwardly back towards the two dragonborn who had called for another round, he could feel himself nearly bursting at the seams for how much this had backfired. Finally, he thought once he reached the table, and lifted a hindleg up and over the pair of patrons. Finally, I’ve been waiting for this…\n\nThe broader, burlier dragonborn motioned for the other’s tankard, who sat and looked away before begrudgingly nudging it forward. The bigger one barked out a laugh, swept it closer, then lifted both of them up in one hand towards Caer’s waiting underside, the feral dragon’s shaft hanging ready. He waited for the not-quite-familiar sensation of the lip of the tankard lifting up underneath his tip, struggled to hold himself back: usually he had an issue where he struggled to piss while being watched, but this time the urgency had become so great that nearly as soon as that touch vibrated up underneath him, his hindleg kicked, his wings fluttered, and he craned his neck forward… and he released.\n\nIt was divine, it was paradise, it was delightful. Caer let the sweet shiver of relief reverberate through his body as he freely drained out into the patron’s waiting mug, the hot, rich rush of his stewed piss pouring out, streaming down, spraying across the table. Making the circle of the tavern time and time again while watching his elders repeatedly serve the customers, sometimes the same ones time and time again, had been torture: watching their full lengths pour the perfect amount out into the tankards, fizzing and steaming, and how they could pinch off the flow to move on to the next one, all the while Caer’s own volume just continued to grow, and-\n\n-a noise from underneath him caught his attention, and the feral dragon blinked, shook his head, and looked down to see the dragonborn leaning back, both of his tankards overfilled so that the warm, pale yellow mark sloshed over the sides, while Caer still continued draining out across the now soaked wood of the table. The dragon gasped, wobbled where he stood, then struggled to clamp down his flow; it took a few tries of quick, forceful spurts spraying out alongside the dragonborn’s shoulder, but then finally the server managed it, offered an apologetic grimace, and then hurried along the round again, hoping to leave the mishap behind him.\n\n~ ~ ~\n\nDova blinked, flicked his tongue out across the stray piss that had sprayed across his lips, then shrugged and offered one of the overfilled mugs to Rallis across from him. The wizard waited for the excess to slosh off the side – and scooted so that the spill wouldn’t stain his robes – then carefully took the tankard from him, the sharp, intense heat of the feral’s fresh mark already searing through the earthenware.\n\n“Well,” the fighter rumbled, then made a bit of a mess across himself as he tried to take a sip. His snout briefly scrunched up; he pulled the mug back, sniffed at it, tasted it again… nodded, and took a deeper drag. “Must be new. Nice head to this one, good spice… a bit overeager, but, well, that’s part of the risk we take in coming here.”\n\nRallis stared at his own portion. He could smell it from here, and, admittedly...\n\n“Go on, try it. I’ll finish mine off and call him over again once he’s relaxed a bit.”\n\nThe wizard frowned, licked his lips, swallowed… rolled his eyes, then reached for the mug.",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "“I just – don’t know why you thought-”
“Well, because you did so well at the one last time. You know the one.” Dova clapped his companion on the shoulder, then leaned in across the table. He heft his mostly-empty tankard, sloshed the fizzy, frothy liquid inside around a bit – a little bit slopped over the edge and spilled along the dragonborn’s fingers – and then he hoisted it up, took a deep whiff of the bright, sharp scent, and knocked the rest of it back. “Figured this might turn out to be up your alley, too.”
Rallis shifted where he sat, the wizard’s nose stinging with the unavoidable aroma of the drink. “I mean, it’s a matter of… um…” He glanced around the common space of the tavern, this one built differently from all the others he had been in: the patrons sat in a wide ring surrounding the center, with a second elevated stage running the exterior border. He jumped and leaned to the side as one of the servers passed by on that elevated ring, the four huge legs stepping smoothly along, the feral dragon’s tail lifted up and out of the way – and Rallis ducked his gaze to the side to avoid the embarrassment of staring straight at the server’s undercarriage, the beast’s scaly lower belly swollen slightly out with the volume of fresh mark he carried inside of him, waiting to be tapped by another thirsty customer. A bit further down the line, another patron reached over, knocked on the side of the stage, and lifted his tankard into the air; the feral dragon who had just passed by nodded his recognition of the order, and picked up his pace to promptly fill it.
“Throwing caution to the wind, stepping in, and just going for it, right?”
Rallis glared at the fighter. Dova smirked, chuckled, then leaned back across the seat; he tilted his head back, mouth open, and tipped his tankard over to catch the last few pale yellow drops. Rallis watched, grimaced, then turned away again, his own tankard still empty where it sat at the edge of the table.
“Excuse me,” said one of the patrons over at the other table, his voice just barely audible under the din of the tavern. The feral server leaned in closer to listen. “Could you describe to me the taste of your particular vintage?”
The conversation had apparently caught Dova’s attention as well. The fighter turned in his seat, one arm resting over the back.
“Of course.” The dragon spoke in a slow, thick, steady voice, his words dripping with the sweet ichor of long experience. “This evening expect a warm, almost oat-like candor on the nose, spreading into a pleasant, heady thickness that coats the throat. The usual pungent acidity will then present itself first and foremost, with a slightly astringent spice on the back end eliciting thoughts of cinnamon, clove, and peppercorn. After swallowing, all of this will then mellow out into a smooth, tingling heat, rising from your stomach to come out on every breath…”
Dova turned to face Rallis again, a look of bemused appreciation on the other dragonborn’s face. “I only understood about half of that,” he said, “but, wow, that sure sounds good to me. You sit tight. I’ll see if I can call one other.”
Providing my own for kobolds is one thing, Rallis thought, once again sinking back into his seat; as the others said, it’s literally their job. They like it. Love it, in fact. But then here, with these… He looked over again as another feral dragon server approached, this one smaller, sleeker, younger… and visibly more nervous. The excited kind of nervous, like when Rallis himself had first begun adventuring with his fellows: the fantastical, naive wonder at the wider world, and the constant unwavering appreciation for all the strange things that might befall him…
...and now here he sat in a tavern where the only drinks served were those freshly brewed within the bladders of the beasts constantly circling the common room pit. The scent had begun to waft up across him from all around, rich and high and strong and, admittedly, a little bit inviting; he shifted where he sat, trying to adjust his robes in his lap, and looked away again.
“Rallis.”
He ignored the fighter. The mage crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Rallis.”
Then, finally, he looked over. Dova grinned, licked his lips, nudged his tankard over towards the stage – then reached over and knocked at the rim with two knuckles.
~ ~ ~
Caer perked up to the sound, glanced around for its source, and finally located the knocking coming from the table he had just passed. The young dragon tried to hide his excitement somewhat as he stepped backwards toward the thirsty customers, his urgency pulsing repeatedly through him, his necessity brimming: the other, older dragons at the tavern had warned him in advance that the regular customers had a tendency to develop a taste towards their usual servers, and as such might not be willing to explore the personal brew of a new hire like himself. Still, though, the young male had wanted to be prepared, and as such made sure to fill up before his shift-
-but now as he bustled awkwardly back towards the two dragonborn who had called for another round, he could feel himself nearly bursting at the seams for how much this had backfired. Finally, he thought once he reached the table, and lifted a hindleg up and over the pair of patrons. Finally, I’ve been waiting for this…
The broader, burlier dragonborn motioned for the other’s tankard, who sat and looked away before begrudgingly nudging it forward. The bigger one barked out a laugh, swept it closer, then lifted both of them up in one hand towards Caer’s waiting underside, the feral dragon’s shaft hanging ready. He waited for the not-quite-familiar sensation of the lip of the tankard lifting up underneath his tip, struggled to hold himself back: usually he had an issue where he struggled to piss while being watched, but this time the urgency had become so great that nearly as soon as that touch vibrated up underneath him, his hindleg kicked, his wings fluttered, and he craned his neck forward… and he released.
It was divine, it was paradise, it was delightful. Caer let the sweet shiver of relief reverberate through his body as he freely drained out into the patron’s waiting mug, the hot, rich rush of his stewed piss pouring out, streaming down, spraying across the table. Making the circle of the tavern time and time again while watching his elders repeatedly serve the customers, sometimes the same ones time and time again, had been torture: watching their full lengths pour the perfect amount out into the tankards, fizzing and steaming, and how they could pinch off the flow to move on to the next one, all the while Caer’s own volume just continued to grow, and-
-a noise from underneath him caught his attention, and the feral dragon blinked, shook his head, and looked down to see the dragonborn leaning back, both of his tankards overfilled so that the warm, pale yellow mark sloshed over the sides, while Caer still continued draining out across the now soaked wood of the table. The dragon gasped, wobbled where he stood, then struggled to clamp down his flow; it took a few tries of quick, forceful spurts spraying out alongside the dragonborn’s shoulder, but then finally the server managed it, offered an apologetic grimace, and then hurried along the round again, hoping to leave the mishap behind him.
~ ~ ~
Dova blinked, flicked his tongue out across the stray piss that had sprayed across his lips, then shrugged and offered one of the overfilled mugs to Rallis across from him. The wizard waited for the excess to slosh off the side – and scooted so that the spill wouldn’t stain his robes – then carefully took the tankard from him, the sharp, intense heat of the feral’s fresh mark already searing through the earthenware.
“Well,” the fighter rumbled, then made a bit of a mess across himself as he tried to take a sip. His snout briefly scrunched up; he pulled the mug back, sniffed at it, tasted it again… nodded, and took a deeper drag. “Must be new. Nice head to this one, good spice… a bit overeager, but, well, that’s part of the risk we take in coming here.”
Rallis stared at his own portion. He could smell it from here, and, admittedly...
“Go on, try it. I’ll finish mine off and call him over again once he’s relaxed a bit.”
The wizard frowned, licked his lips, swallowed… rolled his eyes, then reached for the mug.",
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