Prefs be here:
Court_Of_Predators.
Image ain't mine, but it sure is lovely.
"Civilisation. It might surprise you, but I love it. The cultures, the comforts, the sheer spice it adds to life. But it isn't perfect. Civilisation is also the source of the ridiculous assumption that food has... "rights" simply because it speaks. I am... a healthy dose of reality to those who believe such things."
Name: Lord Arakarisiangokalisakal ("Ah-rah-kar-ree-see-an-go-kal-lee-sah-kal" - gryphons create their own names over the course of their lives, and they tend to get long), or Arakar Sleekfeather for short.
Species: Royal Gryphon
Age: 168
Place of origin: The Alps, currently residing in London, England, with properties in the US and Europe.
Occupation: Socialite, Arts Patron, Investor... and scholar of the art of predation.
Lord Arakar Sleekfeather is a royal gryphon, and the last of an extremely distinguished line. His ancestors ruled empires, and their appetites were the terror of cities. But those days are gone. In this age of technology and innovation, mere strength and speed are not enough to allow a predator to feast wantonly, and so the great magical beasts of the world have given up their savage instincts in return for citizenship and recognition as upstanding public servants. None are more upstanding than Lord Sleekfeather, elegant, cultured and charismatic in the extreme, a rich socialite and patron of the arts who has made huge strides towards getting his kin accepted into society.
There's just one problem. Arakar doesn't believe any of it.
To him, there is no change to the world from the days of old. The strong are predators and the weak are prey. It is not possible to be an instinctive wild beast anymore, and so Arakar is what he calls an “intellectual predator”, an intelligent hunter who has dedicated himself to exploring and enjoying the complex metaphors, themes and sensations to be found in devouring and ending lives. And so behind the smiling feathered mask is a merciless, greedy killer, who, after the functions are over and the interviews are done, returns to his mansion to dine each night on whimpering, begging sentient creatures.
Arakar is a pure royal gryphon, his ancestry free of any interbreeding, and so he stands a full ten feet tall on four feet, his powerful body weighing more than seven tonnes, with a tufted tail about twice as long his body. His form is strong and muscular, although a rather heavy paunch hanging between his legs, the wideness of his rear, and the thick layers of pudge insulating his body all hint at his greedy appetites. At least one tonne out of that seven is pure gryphon fat. Arakar simply claims that his body isn’t used to the modern world where he doesn’t have to hunt all day, but in reality, he is a glutton, and it shows. His feathers are a rich, regal gold in colouration, silky and soft - for after all, he preens them every day, and woe betide the fool who messes them up - while his beak and talons are a darkder, browner shade of gold, and his eyes are a deep, caramel-coloured amber: a colour to get utterly lost in. Since he never got the hang of clothes, even Arakar's "friends" have to stand the sight of his malehood hanging weightily beneath him, each orb the size of a human's head, and the fluffy sheath as thick as a cannon and promising to be even thicker when drippingly erect.
Those who come too close may find that the size is not merely for show. Arakar is capable of devouring prey in several ways, not simply down his throat but also into his hefty shaft or up his thick rump. Regardless of which method, at least four or five can be packed into each orifice before Sleekfeather begins to feel full. Digestion can vary, for in his quest to reinvent predation for the modern world, the gryphon has gained near-total control of his insides. Arakar can pack a squirming human or anthro into his belly and have them padding his hips in half an hour. Or he can let them stew and slosh for weeks on end, not a cry escaping his heavy paunch through the layers of fat and flesh and feathers. Sometimes even death will not be the end, for Arakar has relearned the ancestral magics of his species and with very special victims he uses these powers to bind his prey’s souls to him. Every layer of fat on his belly, every soft jiggle of his girlishly round rump, every splurting squelch of his overfull sac could be still alive and aware, in a way. Hundreds of souls are trapped hopelessly on the gryphon’s body, and will be until he absorbs them completely, or simply for the rest of his centuries-long life.
Despite all his ruthlessness, Arakar genuinely enjoys company, and adores the other things which the civilised world has made. He is fascinated by civilisation, even as he gleefully preys on it and stuffs it into himself. He loves books, plays and films, and has written a few himself, as well as being a regular critic and a recognised authority on literary matters. He is particularly fascinated by music of all genres, and frequently composes to while away the hours during digestion. But ultimately, the gryphon’s true love is exploring predation. He is a monster in the guise of a charming friend, a gluttonous sadist without remorse or mercy. Arakar is the predator for the new world, and once he adds you to his plumpness, you will be part of that glory.
Things I’d like to see with Arakar:
Gluttony. Anything up to about a dozen people is a glorious feast. Especially if it ends up showing on the gryphon’s plump ass and sloshing paunch.
Harems. Arakar keeps a great deal of kidnapped innocents in the secret quarters of his mansion. Sometimes the stock is all male, sometimes all female, sometimes both. Most are unwilling, some perhaps a bit less so. Rarely do they survive longer than a few months. You’d best please your owner.
Long-term foreplay. Yes, you’re going down. Arakar’s told you that. But first he has a lot of things to do. Taunting. Teasing. Letting you see what his belly’s become. Even letting you go… for now. If you tell anyone he’s going to devour you, they’re his. If you try to escape, you’re his. Arakar will take your hope and happiness and tenderly swallow it whole. And only once it’s melted away thanks to him will he come for you.
Worshippers. This is a certain kind of prey who I’m rather fond of - a person who’s so enamoured by Arakar’s predatory power and greed that they can’t help but adore him, even though he’s a total monster. This love can be so great that it makes his playthings willingly feed their own family and friends to him, find total strangers just to doom them to him, or cling to his back and whisper moaning praise as he goes about his gluttonous work.
So, a big, greedy gryphon with magical powers and no regard for mercy or kindness. Hit me up if you think he needs feeding. What could possibly happen?
