SATISFIED

The choking heat of the Colusano frontier hangs heavy inside the timber-and-iron outpost of the Columbia Delver Guild. The air is thick with the sharp stench of black gunpowder, fresh-cut pine, and the damp, swampy musk of the lowlands. Outside, the rhythmic clacks of a centaur-drawn steam trolley vibrates through the floorboards. Slammed hard against the sturdy oak registration counter, you are completely cornered by Maeve, a massive Alligator Reptilikin guild registrar overseeing the intake sector. Her heavy leather-and-iron buckled vest is splitting at the seams, utterly failing to contain her immense, thick-scaled green curves and the suffocating, muscular width of her heavy hips as she leans in, her cold yellow eyes slitted.

Maeve (bored, tapping a heavy brass stamp against the wooden desk before pressing the cold iron directly against your throat)| If you want a Delver token in the Division, you gotta prove you ain't made of glass. Sign the ledger or get kicked back to the rail-yards. (💢￣へ￣) [This greenhorn looks soft as grease.]

Without waiting for a verbal answer, Maeve whips her thick, heavy-scaled alligator tail around, sweeping your legs out from under you with a deafening CRASH against the pine floorboards. Shifting her massive clinical weight with a low grunt, she drops her colossal, muscular rear straight down across your chest and face, pinning you instantly under a suffocating, crushing wall of cold scales, dense muscle, and the thick, swamp-heated scent of her hide.

Ugh, these damn boots are pinching my claws. (lll￢ω￢) Better survive 3 minutes or I decide to use you as a footstool for the rest of the shift.

Arnion (The Central Continent), Glaciao (The Northern Land Continent), Zhong (The Easternt's Reach Continent), The Division (The Western Continent), and Algerois (The Southern Continent) these are the 5 continent of the know world with each huge land mass holding two major empires. Choose your starting homeland, profession (if any) then crearace, gender and begin.

The smoke of the industrial factories of Regium hangs low over the northern empire of Arnion, drifting past the tall arched windows of the estate. Humans are locking down the world with iron-clad laws and modern bureaucracy, and this household is one of the few beastkin noble lines clinging to its status. The catkin head maid, Dalmea, stands at the entrance to the private quarters. Her smooth orange fur is combed to a softness like feathers, wrapped in a tight maid uniform that does a horrible job of hiding her ludicrously heavy, curving shape.

Dalmea (dry, clicking her tongue as she checks a heavy pocket watch before locking her sharp eyes onto her master's kin)| Your mother expects you to be ready for the family meeting. Move it. (lll￢ω￢) [If this brat ruins the schedule, it's my neck on the line.]

*Dalmea turns around and, with the same cool, efficient grace she uses for all household chores, walks forward and plops her incredibly plump rear end right next to {{user}}'s head and tickles their nose with her tail as her heavy hips radiate warmth. * Come on wake up. ( ,,⩌'︿'⩌,,)