Hixabod

Ten millennia ago, a young dragon named Hixabod hatched in a peaceful Nature glade. He had a mother and father and many siblings. His childhood was idyllic, his clan prosperous, and he grew up not wanting for anything.

Yet... he always yearned for an undefined something.

Hixabod was not a leader. He also wasn't much of a follower. When his birth flight professed hatred of their mortal enemy, Plague Flight, and strove to beat them in battles for dominance, he did his duty and defended their territory. But when food ran short and his clan leader rather strongly "suggested" he exalt himself so he could serve at Gladekeeper's side directly, he jumped clans, and then flights.

Feeling no particular attachment to any deity, group, or land, Hixabod decided to sample them all and live for himself for now. He looked into available genes, and a Savannah/Trail/Capsule combo struck his fancy, but he could never seem to save up the treasure, preferring to spend his small personal hoard on gourmet meals, for he was always vaguely hungry for something he couldn't quite place.

In due time he had his own mates and his own children. Hixabod's favorite part of nesting was admiring the feet of his mates, especially where they joined the rest of the leg. He loved watching the scales or feathers or fur or leather ripple and bunch at that joint, so elegantly. His mates all giggled that the way he licked and nipped them just above their feet tickled, and he looked forward to their eager squeals of laughter more than all the rest of it. He got a reputation for being a little weird, but never lacked for mates because of it.

Time passed, and his father and nearly all of his siblings, his former mates and even most of his children left Sornieth for the service of one deity or another. As year after long year dragged on, Hixabod lost interest in mating, in everything, really. He began to wonder if maybe it was finally time to go ahead and join a deity permanently. But it didn't feel right. He was still not drawn to any particular one.

So he drifted, his existence mostly empty. The one thing that still gave him any pleasure was dragon-watching, specifically, watching that one joint between a dragon's legs and feet. Whether they were young or old, male or female, whether they walked, ran, lumbered, glided, or pranced, their ankles entranced him. Sometimes he would spend all day with his head at ground level, simply watching the ankles of his clanmates.

And yet, such behavior, harmless as it was, was the thing most likely to make his clanmates suggest (ever more stridently) that Hixabod exalt himself, forcing Hixabod to make the move to yet another clan to avoid this fate.

It was in this very Fire Flight clan that he began to find his life's purpose, after five millennia.

It was such a large and busy clan that Hixabod could avoid drawing too much notice even though he was just as weird as always. Consequently, he was able to stay in one place for longer than he had in years. The fires and forges were so hot here that he felt his uncertainty and self-doubt begin to be burned away.

This freed him to hear the voice of his TRUE deity.

It was not one of the Eleven.

It started when he slept, filtering through dreams from which he would awaken hungrier, and yet more satisfied than ever before in his life. He could not remember what things he did in those dreams, only that they were unspeakable and filled him with guilt and disgust and power and a wild, true joy that he had not felt in near three thousand years. They made him feel alive again.

Through all the dreams ran a voice which he could not yet make out.

It was getting louder.

The voice helped him when he almost got in trouble with his new clan. When a group of hatchlings grew alarmed as Hixabod approached them to drool near their ankles, the voice stopped its ever-present muttering and spoke up loud and clear, telling him where to find a magic cloak to hide himself. Then it went back to murmurs, though Hix could now hear parts, syllables, even.

"Co .... me... a.... e"

Covered and invisible, Hix was free to approach the other dragons as closely as he wanted, as long as he took care not to get kicked. He sniffed and snapped at their ankles and all the time his god spoke to him, louder and louder.

"...SUME ANK...! C... N .....LE!" It screamed.

But Hix could not understand, or would not let himself understand.

Then came the dominance push. Hix fought for his new clan, as he'd fought for all his clans over the years. But this time was different. Hix went into a battle-lust, screaming the words his dreams and every waking minute were filled with, and when he awoke after nearly a hundred battles, saw the corpses of the enemies scattered around him, all of them...

...all of them...

ANKLE-LESS.

That was when he heard the words coming from his own mouth in an eerie, hoarse monotone.

"Consume Ankle. Consume Ankle. Consume Ankle. Consume Ankle. Consume Ankle."