Moving this up to the front.

---

[Not the actual beginning]



He awoke abruptly, his chest tightening so rapidly that it caused him to scream aloud. This ceased, but only momentarily, as he had freely expressed his terror in yet another scream that was soon muffled by his blanket. A third cry had escaped his mouth, silenced when he sat up straight to look forward. He saw the dancing shadows of something near the fire of the next room. The usually soothing sight did nothing to calm his mind, as within but a brief moment did he silently declare all around him to be both dismal...and frightening. It was an akward moment, where all his beliefs turned against him, threatening to twist him unto the amusement of forces unseen, or so he supposed. Though he sat in his room in seclusion, he could not help but direct his attention wherever he suspected a demon might be hiding; this, in the world he supposed had turned to meet him to his face, only to rend his innocence in twain. And then came a soulful reprieve, his racing heart slowing. But the image returned to him. Those unusually explicit, brightened eyes, gazing upon him so intently. That face, horrifically unsound. He could not have expunged the thought from his mind had he tried, so he did not move. And he did not speak nor think to speak. All the inclinations of his psyche did nothing but recreate his fear at ever having seen that face. And he cried, desperately praying in his mind for a source of divine protection; perhaps even some form of intervention. He didn't speak using such complex words. All he knew was to beg. But only time would bring the comfort he desired.

He turned his thoughts to the fire in the other room. He remembered it, as well as the crimson room of his past dreams that he could never seem to find. His adrenaline had begun to thin, his body then comfortable. Gazing forward, he knew not what to think or suppose. A peace swept over him. He wrapped himself up in his blanket, rolling over onto his side to rest. But with the natural thought that sleep would bring him release, his thoughts turned to that nightmare yet again. "Nightmare?" his mind echoed. No longer did he see those moon-like eyes, which gazed upon him without relent. No longer did he hear the screech that came from that thing's mouth. He could hear the faint kindling of the fire. And with it, the chirping of the crickets. "Crickets!" he thought in bemusement. Whether he had been awake, or wrapped in the throes of his supposed 'dream world', he remembered them, those small, noisy creatures. He remembered a night where one had found its way into his room, chirping noisely. It was a small fiasco that had managed to pique his feline fancy more than what was comfortable, as he had spent the brunt of that night chasing the creature. Such a simple thought, carried on a kindled flame, buried within his heart. "I hope I meet it again someday!" he thought, the smooth flow of remniscence just enough to lull him to sleep. He listened for more of them. He could hear them chirping. It brought him a smile, just before his eyes had closed. But soon there were other sounds, the audacity of which disrupted his thoughts.

"What, another one?!"
"Where...is she?"

The urgency of these voices caused him to stir.

"Pull yourself together woman!"
"Is she coming? Is she?"
"Leave her."

Nigel's ears perked up.

"But, you can't mean... This is so~"
"And it's what she's chosen. Who are we to interfere?"
"That's insane!"
"And I don't bother with the specifics. Besides, don't you think this'll keep her out of YOUR hair?"
"THIS WOMAN IS A CITIZEN OF SHARAMIK! And as per my duties..."
"Take the pay, end the discussion."
"...You're no better than that monster."
"And I also know when I'm in over my head. What's the loss of a few crazies gonna do, huh? Less chance of that thing turning on US, ha!"
"Get out of my sight."
"Right, right. Well then, enjoy your burial!"

Unable to percieve what he had heard, Nigel became concerned. Curious, he wrapped his blanket around his back and stood up, padding his way towards the firelit room. What he then heard was like the coming of thunder, drawing nearer in a slow but forthcoming manner. His mind lackadasiel yet his hearing keen, he drew nearer to the entrance of his home; that place against which he held a handful of taboos. He saw a man clad in drab looking armor, who stood next to a fit, long-haired brunette with pale, dirty skin, who was clothed in tattered rags. Seeing humans who looked like this - fallen to their knees with lowered heads - would always become a deeping concern of his. But he did not dare to go near them. The very sight of them was disturbing. The distant thundering became louder; clearer. Within seconds it became as definable as the sound of his own voice, and this startled him. But nothing startled him more than the massive figure he had begun to see in the distance, which drew ever closer at an alarming rate. And with a timid squeak, he ran back to his room, burying himself in his bedding and his dusty blanket.

A sporadic entourage of pitched, heavy winds began to sound out, rising and falling, as a long shadow was cast over the gravely concerned man, the moonlight making out a huge figure that he dared not approach.

"Please, this woman has done nothing to you!"

A female voice as deep as the passage of sound through a large horn then began to articulate its words, fleeting as it was, but most powerful in the depth of its tone.

"And yet she comes of her own will."

His blood curdled, uncontrolled in its rushing. He motioned his hand downward towards his sword. But he did not unsheath it nor grasp its hilt. He watched the large fingers of her massive left hand curl in a subtle way, their claws wicked-looking. His strength failed him. He could not find it within himself to act on faith in his ability alone, as without thinking did he back away from both the titan and the woman, backing down.

"Please, consider those who~"
"I consider what I choose to, and man can dictate nothing more. If her sacrifice is of deathly concern to you, perhaps you would feel better in her place?"

Her simple words urged him to make even more room for her, as he backed away even further. Angered as he was, he yanked his sword from its sheath...

"No..."

...but his quaking legs served to do nothing but amuse her as she then raised her voice, standing tall as if to present to him a challenge, or so he percieved it as such.

"But an adoptable for the fallen of Heaven, standing a ground upon which he has no place! You appear healthy. Perhaps you would like to join her? I posess room for you both..."

Watching that hand of hers motion as it did when she spoke, he could not help but imagine what it could do to him should he have provoked her to wrath. Sparing only a brief moment to decide upon whether to fight or flee, the guard dropped his weapon, and fled for his life. Seeing him do this elicited a peculiar reaction from Chanda, as she growled in a monstrous depth, looming over the solemn woman as if she had just bested a contender who formerly meant to do battle with her. A smile stretched across her feline muzzle, she slowly crouched down near the despairing woman, who then lifted her head up to look upward towards the face that drew closer to her. Her eyes widened, as she became horror-stricken at the feeling of hot, rank breath blowing softly against her face. Her heart sank, as she watched a row of cruel teeth slowly unclench just before her face. She could smell the stench of death now more than ever before. But in knowing the reasons behind why she had come to rest on her knees where she lay she simply watched, shivering, her deepest fears assaulting her mind, debilitating her bones. She was sure she would die, and soon. And with that assurance came defeat, as she lifted her head up in concordance, wanting to stare into the amber eyes that fell upon her, though she couldn't so very close. At the very least, she wanted to see the face of her new slave owner. She had thought herself prepared for this meeting, having huddled up to where Chanda resided. She thought herself ready to make such a sacrifice, that the lives of her children might be spared. She thought wrong. In every second that she had surveyed more of the body of her new master did her resolve falter, until she finally broke. She fell back. This isn't what she wanted. But now, she had no say in the matter; no choice. What may would come, and in knowing this did she pull away in disgust, cringing. She knew better than to run, at least, this was her knowledge of animals. All the more imperative that she would not hastily depart from the likes of a titanous dragonborn well in her prime. To escape was madness in her mind. And to resist, insanity.

Knowing her place, believing he was doomed, she slowly brought herself to face her captor again, crawling under her gaze to make her way towards a furred digitigrade leg as stout as a young soldier, desperate to enact what she could to somehow ease the monster that breathed its hot breath down upon her naked back. She took a moment to give the toes of that foot a once over, guaging just what it was that she had so haphazardly decided to approach. And thus did she reached out with her right arm to stroke the extracted talon of a single hinddigit, as blood rushed through her body with all too much ease. It was beautiful to her. Never in her life had she seen an appendage so endowed with strength; so capable of rending flesh in twain. Watching how it eased its way forth from the toe only to retract naturally had deadened what little of her resolve remained. Slowly but surely, she allowed her head to fall low, petting over the hindclaw that she supposed could end her life. Delerium took her, as she rose to her feet to then fall upon the claw, lavishing it with affection. As she began to eagerly run her hands through the fur of the monstrous left foot where she could, Chanda began to speak, comforted by these sullen gestures that the gutteral flow of her vocal cords only served to prolong.

"There is time for you..." Chanda released sighingly, her tone nonchalant. "Have your manners about you, and you will last."

Chanda made her way to the open door of her abode. As she advanced, she then began to ravel the end of her long, thickly soft tail around her victim, who then fell limp in its grasp.

Nigel could hear many noises, some of which sounded like that of a weeping woman. Deeply concerned, he got to his feet, walking towards the fire's light. But then did he see a much larger shadow upon the walls of his room. It seemed to shuffle and motion, the darkness of its shape thickening; nearing closer to the doorway of his room. Seeing this he backed away, retreating to his bedding yet again. But eventually, he saw something portrude its way into his room, falling over to flop upon the ground. What it was he did not know, but it looked rather interesting from a distance. He made his way towards it. But then did he notice it shuffle in but a mild motion, which caused him to believe that it was some form of furred snake. Daring not to go nearer to the wall it lay near, he made his way around the corner, just enough to see where the furred appendage had come from. And at the sight did his heart stop...

Towering before him was a massive and most unusual nephar, who sat almost motionless, her legs crossed. Her attention seemed to be focused on a woman who stood near the claws of her outstretched foot, petting over its thick soles in a hurried manner...

"So you are taken with the daemons..." said Chanda. "You are fair; perhaps even suitable for their kind." She lowered a massive hand. "Such a lovely creature..."

What Nigel saw was almost too much for his young eyes to bear. A middle-aged, human woman, resting upon a massive thigh beneath the clutches of an outspread, lethal hand. It slowly petted over her naked body, its claws kneading her hair. The woman appeared to be running her hands through the fur of this massive leg, rubbing her fingers all around. Nigel did not know what to make of what he saw, and simply watched from a distance. And after a moment of gentle carressing, the titan turned her gaze to him, staring directly into his eyes. Nigel then began to feel very, very light-headed. The feeling came with such an intensity that he could not even keep his balance, falling on his rump. Strangely enough, amidst all of this sudden disorientation his focus seemed to remain tightly transfixed upon Chanda's amber eyes. He could not stand nor flinch, as his gaze remained forward. For some reason he could feel his blood curdling



[My current stopping point]

---

There are several things wrong with this unfinished story in its current form. It needs several touch-ups, and possibly a better ease in the flow of wording. I'm trying to do the same thing I did with my other story titled "Why Am I Trapped In This Dream? - A Nigel Story," where there is only so much prose applied so the story doesn't seem devoid of what may be a more simplistic flow. I struck a balance with that piece, which is uncommon with me since most of my works are usually very heavy with prose. I have a knack for conveying a story with the same delicate care applied in poetry.

I started it on a bout of insomnia, almost over three weeks ago, I think.

No indentation of the paragraphs for some odd reason...