Xascha the Dragonbrood
Yep, I’ve named the cutie in my avatar. (Designed by @kirstendoodles) And I’ve decided that she’s a kind of monstergirl called a dragonbrood. And I’ve started writing a short story about her. And I’m going to give you lucky folks a preview.
Enjoy!
Xascha gazed up at the twinkling pin-pricks suspended in the darkness. She stared long enough to pick out those lights which were still and those that slowly inched their away across the false sky. That was how you distinguished the luminescent crystals encrusting the cavern ceiling from the glittering slugs that fed on them.
Jostled out of her reverie, she span to address the invasion of her personal space with an angry retort, but stopped short when she realised the offender was a rather large ignean. The rock people were gentle giants, slow of thought and action, and this one was clearly having difficulty navigating the busy streets. She sympathised; although she was only a little bigger than a human, she often felt cramped and constricted when she'd visited their settlements aboveground, and she didn't have the additional disadvantage of an ignean's glacial reactions. She watched with a smile as they ambled off, giggling at the smaller beings scrambling to get out of the way. The dragonbrood shrugged and took her turn wading into the throng. Her destination was on the other side of the market, but she was in no hurry, so she immersed herself in the river of bodies and let the current carry her along. Busy crowds soothed her, it was almost like being alone. Everyone had their purpose and simply wished to carry out their errands with as little disruption as possible. Few had time to stop and stare.
She dropped out of the stream to examine a particularly fine coat that caught her eye. The silk was a deep teal, but there were hints of blue and purple throughout, lending it a certain iridescence. Silver thread around the cuffs and hem described the abstract patterns favoured by the spider-folk and the buttons were artfully tarnished pewter. Checking the rear of the coat, Xascha saw that it had a centre split to the waist, perfect for a lady with a tail. “Is this your own work,” she inquired of the weaver tending the stall. “Alas no,” the lanky arachnid replied “I am not that skilled. I merely act as a trader for my cluster. I did provide the silk for that particular garment though, some of my finest.” After some negotiation, they shook hands and Xascha moved on with a paper-wrapped bundle under one arm. Her purse was considerably lighter, but having always preferred comfort to coin, she was content with her purchase. She was tempted to don the exquisite coat immediately, but there was little room to change and, like most dragonbrood, she took pride in her appearance. These things must be done properly.
