Dream 17 (Patreon)

It took a day.

A full day of laying almost perfectly still, trying to suppress his nervous fidgeting in the silence of his tunnel.  Hour after hour passed, the gentle burble of the lava bath his only companion as Sam quietly munched on woody milklight gill to pass the time.

At some point, he fell asleep, muzzle tucked into the crook of a scaly arm and tail curled tight around his tiny form.

He dreamt of flying.  Massive wings stretched taut and blotting out the blurry landscape.  He pumped them twice, rising above the green and brown forest, filled with trees and animals torn straight from Crone Tazzaera’s books.

Euphoria filled Sam as the wind rushed past him.  The sun above him shone down on him, warming his wings.  Exhilaration filled his heavily armored chest.  This was it.  Who he really was.  Who he was meant to be.

A thump woke him with a start.  Samazzar jolted upward in the side-tunnel, breathing heavily as his snout whipped back and forth, frantically searching for predators.

Instead, his vision settled on a stick-like forearm.  Revulsion shuddered through Sam.  After the unfettered joy of his dream, returning to this reality just felt…

He reached out with his other hand, pinching the thin red scales between two of his claws.  They were dull, as disappointing and mundane as everything else in the deep tunnels.  More than that they weren’t right.

Another thump shocked Samazzar out of his introspection.  He rolled over and crawled to the mouth of his tunnel, excitement causing his tiny heart to hammer in his chest.  Carefully, his head poked above the final stone incline as Sam peeked into the elder salamander’s cave.

Backlit by the magma pool, the huge amphibian tromped carelessly across the chamber.  Halfway across it stopped, head swiveling appraisingly as it turned toward the pile of otter meat.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as the creature took a tentative step toward the bait.  Bad air chuffed out of its nostrils as the salamander sniffed, intrigued by the scent of the meat.

It took another step, cocking its head curiously in the direction of the food.  Finally, hunger triumphed over caution and it shambled happily over to the mount of protein.  With one last glance around the chamber for scavengers, the elder salamander dove in, chomping away happily at the unexpected bounty.

Sam quivered with excitement, eyes trained on his prey’s squat shape as it crunched through the meat, slurping its lips with appreciative gusto as soon as the otter’s remains were gone.

It sniffed once, head tracking left to right as it surveyed the room, stopping when it was looking in Samazzar’s general direction.  The monster paused, inhaling deeply a second time, before taking a tentative step forward.  The smooth skin between its eyes seemed to wrinkle in confusion as it took another.

Sam froze, the excitement from a moment later draining out of him.  The elder salamander closed its eyes, nostrils flaring as it searched for the scent once more.  Without opening them, it began walking slowly toward the mouth of the passage he was hiding in.

Terror filled his tiny body.  The amount of otter meat he’d fed the monster should be more than enough to bring it low.  Unfortunately that wouldn’t do him much good if he was sharing space inside the salamander’s stomach with the otter.

Eyes wide and locked on the amphibian shuffling toward him, he frantically began trying to recall what he remembered from Crone Tazzaera’s book.  There were multiple references to purple otter meat.  Most dealt with specific components of the animal such as its adrenal glands, tear ducts, and liver.

There wasn’t much on the creature’s flesh itself.  Sure, Samazzar knew that the toxin would freeze the muscles of whatever ate it, causing paralysis and eventually the failure of its victim’s heart and lungs, but he didn’t know how long that would take.  Everything he could remember dealt with the treatment and recovery.

His breath came in short sharp gasps.  The elder salamander was more than halfway to him and the only thing running through Samazzar’s mind was how to steep enough mugroot to cure the toxin’s paralysis.

The salamander stopped.

It crooned in distress, clawing at the rocky floor.

The animal took a couple paces backward only for its back left leg to tremble and give way, spilling it to the cavern’s floor.  Its head swayed, eyes dim as it tried to make sense of what was happening.

It took everything inside Sam to not whoop with joy as the salamander tried to stand up, only for another leg to give way entirely.  It shuddered, struggling for breath as its body slumped to the ground.

The salamander whimpered, an almost pathetic sound of concern and distress as Sam scrambled to his feet.  He pulled his satchel off, searching through it until he found his alembic and the ingredients he would need to temper the monster’s heart’s blood.

Whistling to himself, Samazzar pulled out his remaining oil of burn resistance and slathered it over his body, almost entirely ignoring the elder salamander’s feeble effort to drag its bulk back toward the magma bath.  He coiled the needle and bloodletting hose, a series of reeds that had been boiled until they were pliable, around his alchemical equipment and scurried into the main chamber.

Cheerfully, he jogged over to the salamander.  With sure, careful movements, Sam set his gear down a safe distance from the monster’s almost spasmodic flopping before he continued on to the magma pool.

Sam ignored the dying monster, harvesting the firespore mushrooms that grew next to the glowing puddle of molten rock.  Even with the oil of burn resistance glistening on his scales, Samazzar could feel the magma’s oppressive heat hammering down on him.

He worked quickly, very aware of the extreme heat and limited quantities of good air near the magma.  Just as Sam began to feel overheated and a bit dizzy from his environmental exposure, he finished collecting the last mushroom.

Hurrying back, he tuned out the wheezing breaths of the now immobile salamander.  Its eyes tracked him fearfully as Samazzar went to work, unfurling his equipment and preparing the ingredients.

Sam changed the tempo of his whistling, mashing a firespore with his mortar and pestle in time to the sharp melodic notes.  Periodically he would stop to measure and add another ingredient.  Finally, almost fifteen minutes after he started, Sam scraped the concoction out of the stone mortar and spread it on the inside of a cured rat hide.

His tiny claws moved in swift, sure movements as he laced a supple tendon through a half dozen holes bored in the edges of the hide.  Pulling on either end, Sam nodded in satisfaction as the hide curved in on itself, forming a watertight bag full of his reagents with an opening about the size of his fist.

Without even noticing, Samazzar’s whistled tune switched tenor again, becoming more bombastic and jaunty as he hefted the bag up over one of his thin shoulders.  A moment later he grabbed his bloodletting gear, coiling the needle and jury-rigged hose around his left arm.

He practically skipped over to the elder salamander’s bulk.  Its breath came in short, rasping gasps as Sam quietly fed the bottom end of the hose into his mixing bag.

Tracing his pointer claw over the animal’s chest, looking for the sluggish beat of its heart both with his touch and with his magical, pressure sensitive, vision.  Finally, with a smile on his face, Sam plunged his knife into the monster’s sticky hide, carving his way toward the heart.

It groaned, body shuddering as it tried ineffectually to roll over and crush the source of its pain.

“There, there,” Sam cooed, tossing his dagger to the side as he prepared the bone needle attached to his reed hose.  “You had your chance, friend.  You almost got me to be honest, but there’s no need to struggle now.  Just close your eyes and slip into the night.  I’ll make sure to put your gifts to good use.”

Then, without receiving or expecting a response, he pushed the bone needle through the exposed wall of a rubbery artery.

Hot blood sprayed over him as the reeds bulged, struggling to accommodate the pulse and flow of blood from the huge animal.  Samazzar grinned, his face a mask of hissing red as the oil of burn resistance struggled to accommodate the supernatural heat of the monster's magically infused blood.

Just as his big filled to the brim, Sam yanked the needle out, cutting off the flow of blood before it could overfill the container.  The tempering potion wasn’t the most delicately balanced alchemical creation he’d attempted, but like all things, moderation was the key.  As much as he wanted to drain the beast dry, the potion would lose its efficacy if too much blood were added.

Ignoring the dying salamander, Samazzar skipped over to the rat hide, picking it up and holding it over his head with undisguised glee and avarice in his eyes.  He pulled the hose out with a popping sound before pulling the tendon drawstring taut, sealing the container.

Then he shook with all the force his skinny body could provide.  The bag was heavy and almost scalding hot, but Sam barely noticed, so focused on his racing thoughts of what would come next.

The extreme recklessness of his actions never crossed Sam’s mind as he loosened the drawstring just enough to let out a trickle of the thick liquid leave the big.  Before he could second guess himself, he pulled the foul smelling mouth of the bag to his muzzle.

The tempered blood tasted awful, but at the same time, it was ambrosia.  Samazzar could taste each and every exotic ingredient that went into the concoction as it seared his throat, but it didn’t matter.  Power and potential tingled through his body as the elder salamander’s magic began to connect with his bloodline.

Sam pulled the half full bag from his face, grinning through a mouthful of bloodstained needle-like fangs.  He tipped his head backwards, wordlessly shouting in ecstasy and triumph at the distant ceiling.

Despite his best efforts, Sam’s primal scream came out as more of a happy chirp than anything imposing, but Sam didn’t care.  Energy wove through his nerves, tingling and numbing his body.

He looked down at the bag full of tempered blood in his claws, and a manic light filled Sam’s eyes.  Giddy, with excitement thrumming through his veins, he picked up the reed tube and shoved it back into the mouth of the blood sack.

His stomach cramped, clenching like a fist around around the crusts of milkweed that he’d eaten the previous day.  Bile rose in Samazzar’s throat, bringing with it the painful memory of his first experience with elder salamander essence.

“More,” he whispered to himself, eyes flashing as he looked down at the sloshing bag of blood in his claws.  “Once was more than enough.  I can’t leave things to chance. I-I-”

A wave of pain washed over Samazzar.  For a brief second, he could feel each individual scale and bone in his body.  Each one of them burned like a hot coal, searing into his weak and tender flesh.

Still, it wasn’t enough.  He could feel his body changing as the magic infused him, but he couldn’t settle for minor or incremental change.

How could he?  Lellasa’s disdain, her casual dismissal echoed in his ears as Samazzar set down the blood bag, exchanging it for the reed hose and bone stylus.

He needed to be more.  To show them all.  To shut up the whispered laughter behind claws as they gossiped about “the little dragon.”  He needed to tower over them so that the layabouts and lazy wouldn’t see him as an easy mark.  So that he wouldn’t be targeted by the bigger kobolds when Dussok wasn’t around.  He needed-

He needed this for himself.  It didn’t matter what the other kobolds thought, they were little more than frightened cave lizards, scampering under rocks the minute a predator happened by.

Samazzar was a dragon.  Every time he looked into a reflection, he could see the faint outline of wins behind him.  When he woke up each morning, it was with a brief spike of hope only to look down at his skinny, frail arms and realize that the practical joke fate had played on him would last another day.

The moment of clarity didn’t calm him.  Instead, it stoked Sam’s frenzy to a fever pitch.

Clenching his eyes shut, Sam rammed the bloodletting needle deep into his own chest.  The pain scorched through him, stealing his breath.  His face twisted into a savage smile, a rictus of blood soaked fangs and scales.

With trembling claws, he picked up the blood sack.  Samazzar squinted, struggling to focus his magic through the fog that the pain from his change had draped over him.

The bag sloshed in his claws, waves of pressure rippling through it as the blood rocked back and forth.  Sam squeezed gently, tracing the liquid with his magical vision as the compression forced a stream down the reed hose and toward his chest.

His gaze turned inward, the agony wracking his body distant as Sam felt the tingle of realization, like he was on the verge of uncovering another mystery.  The bag and his heart were the same.  Their walls would tighten, putting a chamber of blood under pressure and forcing it into the spigot.

Almost without thinking, Samazzar squeezed in time with his heartbeat.  He almost blacked out as the scalding heat of the elder salamander’s blood splashed into his arteries.

The euphoric energy rushing through Sam’s body doubled.  Distantly, through the adrenaline and pleasure overwhelming his pain, he felt a hamstring cramping so hard that a bone broke.  He fell to the ground, tiny claws still clutching the blood filled vessel as if it were the most precious gem in the world.

He squeezed again, pulsing more of the magically infused blood directly into his pain wracked body.

There was no doubt that direct exposure to the salamander ichor was infinitely more potent than drinking it.  Sam could almost feel the changes as they happened.  His muscles screamed in agony as they tore themselves apart, only to itch uncontrollably as they rebuilt themselves into a larger and bulkier form.  His very bones ached as magic seeped into them, infusing some unknown mystery into their very marrow.

Another clench of his fists, and the rat hide was empty, the last of the deep red liquid splashing into his body and sinking him into a hell of pain mixed with exultant joy.

He threw up.  Blood.  Some of it from the salamander, most of it his own.

A spasm wracked his body, flesh rippling like water as his body tore itself apart.  Faintly, Sam remembered the warnings about adding too much to his bloodline at once.  That the magic could burn through his system and hollow him out just as easily as the physical changes could break his tiny form beyond repair.

He gritted his teeth, the taste of blood still on his tongue, thoughts hazy.  It was too late for regret now.  Next time he’d need to take into account the addictive euphoria of the transformation.  He’d need to ensure that a partner was present to make sure he didn’t take too much at-

Another seizure hit, locking Samazzar’s body tight.  A second later, his head slammed backward into the rock floor of the cavern, ending his thoughts and wrapping him in blissful darkness.

Later, Sam didn’t know how long, he drifted back into consciousness.  His body ached.  Muscles that he didn’t even know about yesterday screamed at him as he lay, breathing shallowly on the warm rocks.

He pried his eyes open, a surprisingly difficult feat due to the layer of crusted and dried blood covering Samazzar’s face.  A groan tore itself from his raw throat.

Sam sat in the center of a circle of blood and scales, the cast off remains of his former life.  To his left, a pair of bats took flight, startled by his exclamation from where they were feasting on the body of the elder salamander.

With some effort, he rolled over onto his knees and stood up.  Hunger and thirst wracked him.  Samazzar had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious, but his ravenous gaze locked itself on the salamander’s corpse.

Rot hadn’t set in, and that was good enough for a hungry kobold.  Sam dove face first into the beast’s side, his claws tearing through its flank with uncharacteristic ease as he tore off and devoured hunks of meat.

Finally, ten minutes later Sam staggered away from his downed prey, stomach bulging.  For the first time he noticed that the world seemed… smaller.  Rocks that had come up to his knee only reached a third of the way up his leg.  Even the salamander’s body, which used to tower over him, now merely looked very large.

He glanced down at his claws. The nails extended further than he remembered.  Somehow, he just knew that their ends would be almost supernaturally sharp compared to before.

Even his scales were new.  They were no longer weak and supple, little more than a covering to keep his muscles and blood inside.  They were thick and durable.  Proper armor against the sort of predators that might seek out a-

Sam paused, frantically touching his face and muzzle.  A second later, a hint of disappointment slowed his manic actions.

“Still a Kobold, no evolution yet” he muttered to himself before brightening.  “But it’s a good first step.  Next time.”

He looked back down at his new claws, gleaming in the light of the magma pool.

“Next time.”