That day, behold as the mythical community gathered in the elven kingdom, the Great Forest.
Well, in this era, the elves, once all about that hermit life, were now all about joining society because, you know, FOMO was real even in the magical realm, basking in the tranquility afforded by an era devoid of interspecies conflict.
Thanks to a certain woman… saint… witch…?
Not only them, in the midst of the expanse of the continent, the dwarves undertook the ambitious task of constructing Storm Anvil Mountain.
Wasn’t that just on brand, the dwarves building their mountain? Because what else would they have done with all that time and underground expertise, throw picnics?
Meanwhile, the beastkin, ahh, the beastkin, with their primal instincts intact, established the Great Jungle in the east as their domain. Chilling, being all one with nature and whatnot. They probably had a "no humans allowed" sign somewhere.
Far beyond the reaches of the forest, the merfolk flourished in their aquatic paradise, living it up underwater, as the waves sang tales of their majestic kingdom beneath the seas… or gossiped about the recent underwater scandals.
It must have been nice to have scales instead of dry skin, am I right? No. Some were rather dry. Like the werewolves and the centaurs.
Correct. The nomadic werewolf packs and centaur groups roamed free, embodying the spirit of wanderlust that stirred within their souls. They must have had the best campfire stories.
Yet, not all mythical beings embraced this newfound era of peace and prosperity.
The brutish orcs and conniving goblins, creatures of chaos and discord, lingered on the fringes of society, forever stuck in a chaotic loop. Some creatures never got the memo about peace and love, huh?
Their penchant for battle and strife kept them tethered to the tenuous threads of peace, often finding themselves at odds with the vigilant human armies tasked with maintaining order.
Magic and mayhem, they said.
Frequent extermination quests by commissioned mercenaries, or just simple expeditions by noble households or official orders from the authorities above.
As these mythical beings did their thing, intertwining their stories in the grand tapestry of existence, it was clear that coexistence had been both a delicate ballet and a big middle finger to fate. Because why not defy chaos with a bit of sass and style, right?
In a realm where magic met drama, legends crossed paths, and destinies played poker, the mythical communities showed off their resilience and adaptability like it was a… Tuesday, perhaps.
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That was why, amidst the grandiose assembly of majestic beings, let us not forget the presence of the proud individualists.
King of the Storm Anvil, Wekkoun Anville, graced the palace with his presence at long last, bestowing all with his esteemed greeting.
Queen of the Great Forest, Tashr Reyrie, deigned to acknowledge him with a regal nod, as did the formidable couple, Selen Blackmantle, the Sovereign of the Great Jungle, and her Minotaur husband, with his tribe surprisingly integrated with the Beastkin a couple of decades ago.
As they awaited the Merfolk Monarch, the daunting figure of the Werewolf’s Alpha King, Onulph Sam, and the noble Centaur’s Great Tribe Chief, Adroros Borion, made their punctual appearances.
To their collective surprise and perhaps dismay, even the representative of their erstwhile foes, the Vampires, made an appearance.
Behold Master Vlad, the Original Saint’s Cardinal, accompanied by his alluring daughter, Salsabella Wallachia.
The dragons and the unicorn representatives… well.
Perhaps they’d just crash the party tomorrow.
"Please grace us with your presence in these humble abodes, dear guests, and do follow the elf servants meticulously assigned to cater to your every whim."
Off scurried the elf servants, leading the Dwarf King and the Vampires to their esteemed guest lodgings, clearly designed with the exquisite tastes of elves in mind. It was perfection, of course.
Lo, our beloved Grumbletoe finally found a bed made just for him without even having to ask for an extension! And as for Wekkoun, with his above-average height for dwarfs—well, he might as well pass for a pint-sized dwarf next to the other dwarf, standing tall like a human-sized ten-year-old lad.
Wekkoun was four and a half feet tall, for reference.
As for the grand Alpha King and the majestic Great Jungle Sovereign, along with her hulking Minotaur husband, they were graciously bestowed with regal chambers befitting their lofty positions and, might one add, their massive physiques.
The beds they were led to appeared as sturdy as if they were built to withstand a stampede of raging rhinoceroses without so much as a groan.
Meanwhile, the majestic Centaur Tribe Chief, gently nestled in a room fit for a mythical creature of his stature, complete with carpets softer than a unicorn's mane and more pillows than a spoilt princess' chamber.
Clearly, the elves had not forgotten the intricacies of accommodating a being with the body of a horse and the torso of a... well, a human. Bravo to their attention to detail!
As the esteemed guests settled into their allocated abodes, the elf servants couldn't help but exchange knowing glances, a hint of pride dancing in their eyes. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, this Great Assembly.
Meanwhile, in another secluded room, a certain elf servant ran away from it, her face bright red after delivering a report to the room’s inhabitant.
Inside, a literal blonde goddess lay on the bed, her hair painted an abstract flow like a golden river atop the opulent bed, contrasting her uncovered skin and flesh.
Her breathing was a bit erratic, her tired yet satisfied eyes focused on the man sitting near the window, reading a report that had just arrived, hands shaking and nose bleeding.
“The expected guest?” Morgan asked, in the midst of her afterglow.
Burn wiped his nosebleed with his thumb, his hands still shaking after their previous activities. “The Junior Fleet Admiral,” he said, sighing. “Fucking Bitch. Why did the news about him arrive when I was about to?”
“When will he come?” Morgan chuckled.
“Galahad managed to hold him for three days. It means we need to go there after this assembly,” Burn answered.
Morgan nodded. “Okay. Set the reports down and teach me how to give head. You promised me that, didn’t you, Bunny?”
Burn closed his eyes, setting the papers aside. As he stood up, he saw Morgan slowly rise from the bed. He stroked her hair, gathering the locks in his fist.
Bracing himself, clearing his mind for another mental trial-slash-torture, he said, “Start with your lips, Momo.”