This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Internal-Ad6147 on 2025-11-27 10:03:13+00:00.
Thanksgiving Special
Dustwarth’s halls glowed with lantern light and the low hum of dwarven song. Long oak tables, scarred by years of meals and mugs, had been dragged together. Now, plates of roasted roots, sizzling meats, fresh stone-bread, and barrels of thick brown gravy buried them.
The food was so tempting, even those already full wished for more. Sweet pork glistened beneath a lake of rich, greasy gravy. When torn, loaves cracked with a satisfying sound, releasing steam like a victory banner. Along the table, pies bigger than shields beckoned: berry, nut, and a caramel-cream one—dangerous for teeth.
And that wasn’t all. There were bowls of buttered roots, honey-drizzled biscuits, slabs of cheese as thick as armor, and enough soup to drown a goblin battalion. This was the kind of feast that dared you to try everything and rewarded you with delight when you did.
Boarif slammed a tankard down and spread his arms wide.
“Eat, ye twig-limbed travelers! Fer tomorrow ye’ll miss this food an’ cry bitter tears!”
Emily laughed nervously, already overwhelmed by the sheer number of dishes. Meanwhile, Revy eagerly scribbled down the names of every new seasoning she tasted.
Damon sat beside Sivares, who eyed a whole roasted boar set aside just for her. She licked her lips in anticipation, while he watched her reaction with a knowing smirk.
“Don’t inhale it in one bite this time,” he whispered.
“No promises,” she whispered back. Then she immediately took half the beast in her first bite.
Aztharion sat across from them, his very own plate before him. Slices of roasted deer, creamy mash, and herb-soaked carrots filled it.
Not a carcass thrown on dirt, nor scraps tossed at him—this was a meal, prepared for him.
“Is this for me?” he asked.
“Aye,” Boarif answered. “Eat up, Prince Flightless. Winter’s comin’, and ye’ve wings ta earn.”
Aztharion’s throat tightened. He swallowed both food and emotion.
Keys curled beside Damon’s cup, a tiny towel around her like a cape.
“One seed at a time,” Damon warned.
Keys nodded solemnly.
Then immediately tried to grab three.
Revy flicked her gently.
“Discipline, little one.”
“I’m grateful not to be vomiting,” Keys muttered, nibbling slower.
Lyn sat with her hands folded, steam rising from her bowl.
Her smile was small, peaceful.
“This is the first holiday I’ve spent outside the chapel,” she said quietly.
Talvan raised his cup.
“Then here’s to new traditions.”
Their cups clinked.
Sivares’ enormous foreclaw joined in, causing everything to rattle and nearly knocking Keys into a stew pot.
As the laughter faded and plates emptied, Damon stood up, set his mug aside, and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
“So… uh. Back home, we’d sit around a table like this and say what we were grateful for.”
Everyone stared.
“Well,” Talvan shrugged, “couldn’t hurt.”
So, one by one, they shared:
Talvan: “I’m grateful for friends who pulled me out of the water when I sank like a stone.”
Revy: “I’m grateful for… second chances.”
Emily: “I’m grateful I got to see the outside world.”
Keys: “I’m grateful that seeds exist.”
Lyn: “I’m grateful you’re all alive.”
Sivares:
“I’m grateful I’m not alone this year.”
The table fell quiet.
Then all eyes turned to Aztharion.
He looked around, his claw tips digging into the wood, and spoke barely above a whisper.
Aztharion:
“I… am grateful someone wants me here.”
Damon reached over and placed a hand against his warm scales.
“We’re glad you’re here, Az.”
Sivares dipped her head too, the faintest and proudest smile curling her jaw.
Boarif sniffed loudly and pretended his eyes weren’t damp.
“Well! Enough mush. Time for food!”
Keys stood on the edge of the table, staring up at the mountain of food as if it were a holy temple built for giants.
Her whiskers twitched, and her ears drooped.
She looked from the feast… to Sivares happily tearing into an entire leg of pork in one bite.
“Aaaah… why can’t I be dragon-sized?” she whined. “If I were that big, I could fit so much more food inside me!”
Her tiny mouse body, already round from earlier snacks, betrayed her as she clutched her sides in dramatic despair. Damon smiled softly, noticed her struggle, and helped her sit on a small plate set aside just for her.
“At least this way, you can taste it all.”
“But at least this way, you can taste all of it.”
Keys wiped a tear, whether from emotion or hunger, no one could tell.
“Bless you,” she whispered, reverent as a priest.
Then she dove into the gravy like a hero leaping into battle.
Emily took a tiny sip of dwarven ale. Her eyes watered. For a moment, her soul seemed to flee her body. She slapped the mug down as if it had wronged her ancestors.
“Why,” she wheezed, “is it both on fire and cold as death at the same time?!”
Boarif grinned like a madman.
“Welcome to dwarven drinking, lass! If you can still feel your face, it’s not strong enough!”
Emily wondered if she would ever taste again.
Revy sampled the sweet pork, wiping sauce from her chin thoughtfully.
“The caramelized glaze is delightful…”
One bite later, she added, “…but the rosemary ratio is slightly overbearing for the fat content.”
Every dwarf within earshot froze. Boarif stared, his brows knitting together.
“Ye… ye dare critique me ma’s recipe in me own hall?!”
Revy looked up, realizing too late that she may have provoked danger. Damon, sensing the tension, slowly slid away from the table. Talvan just facepalmed. Aztharion leaned over and whispered to Sivares, “Is she challenging his nest-rights?”
Revy blinked, forcing a nervous chuckle. “It’s really, uh, good...”
The tension broke only when Talvan eyed the dwarven mug as if it were a battlefield he’d have to drag Revy from. Determined, he puffed up. “I’ve had my share of strong drinks before. This won’t do me in.”
Revy, already sipping water, raised a brow. Sivares paused mid-chew. Emily leaned in, curious.
Talvan took one heroic gulp—and instantly regretted it. His eyes bulged as his soul tried to evacuate his body through his nose. He slapped both hands on the table, gasping, “FIRE—IT’S—FIRE! I’M DRINKING LIQUID FIRE!”
Ves cheered like he’d passed a trial.
Before anyone could recover, Emily—determined to prove she wasn’t the sheltered mage everyone thought—picked up her own mug.
This version links actions and reactions more smoothly, reduces abrupt jumps, and groups related dialogue and description for better flow. If you’d like, I can try applying this directly to your document again, or help with another passage!
“Well… it can’t be that ba—”
She took a sip.
Her knees buckled.
Her wings (if she had any) would have molted.
She wheezed:
“OH GODS! IT’S LIKE LIQUID FIRE! WHY WOULD ANYONE DRINK THIS!”
Talvan, still fanning his mouth, croaked:
“Emily… why would you do that…?”
Emily pointed weakly at him.
“Because you said you had ‘experience.’
You lied to me, Talvan!”
Boarif the dwarf slapped both of them on the back hard enough to rattle their descendants.
“Good first tries, the pair of ye!
If ye can still breathe, ye’re doing better than my cousin!”
Talvan and Emily simultaneously collapsed against the table in shared suffering.
Keys, nibbling a sunflower seed nearby, shook her head solemnly.
“Humans,” she squeaked.
“No survival instincts at all.”
Meanwhile, in another corner of the hall, two dragons are.
Before them: two mountains of food.
One unspoken challenge.
Boarif placed down a whole hog between them.
They stared.
Aztharion looked at the
“Winner gets the last pie.”
Sivares smiled, “You’re on, whelp.”
Revy panicked. “Stop, your stomachs will.”
WHAM
Both dragons inhaled food like gods consuming offerings.
Plates vanished.
Bones clinked.
Damon blinked once, and an entire turkey was gone.
At last, Sivares sat back… victorious.
Aztharion groaned, tail thumping the floor.
“I regret… everything…”
“You lasted longer than most fledglings,” Sivares said kindly.
It was the highest compliment a dragon could give.
Sivares eyed the keg, the same drink that had floored Talvan and Emily. With one claw, she picked it up.
She tilted her head back.
GULG. GULG. GULG. GULG. GULG.
The entire hall went silent.
Emily squeaked, “She’s not, she’s not gonna, is she?”
Talvan whispered like a man witnessing the downfall of a civilization,
“I think she is…”
With a final throat-flex that could probably shatter boulders, Sivares drained the keg dry.
Then, with the dignity of a true dragon…
She lowered the keg.
Took a breath.
And then, with a monumental, echoing belch, she shook dust from the ceiling.
“BURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP.”
The dwarves EXPLODED into cheering.
Tankards slammed on tables.
Boots stomped.
A chant rose like a battle cry:
“SIVARES SIVARES SIVARES!”
Boarif wiped a proud tear.
“That lass is a champion! Haven’t seen a belch like that since me great-grandpappy!”
Sivares blinked, dainty as could be, and tucked her wings closer.
“A-Ahem. Excuse me.”
Talvan and Emily just stared at her.
Emily croaked,
“Why… why did it sound like the mountains were collapsing…?”
Talvan, eyes wide in reverent fear:
“I think sh...
Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1p7yk1h/dragon_delivery_service_ch_775_dwarven_delicacies/