<span style="font-weight: bold">Gwahir</span><br/><br/>{Warning: Digestion of Poison Dusk Lizardfolk, intermediately explicit.}<div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">Gwahir's belly gurgles and churns about the small lizardfolk struggling within – then those struggles, which have failed to earn him release... cease. He barely has the strength to make his presence felt, as Gwahir's stomach muscles press him into a tight ball, bending his joints this way and that as he's compacted, the pain of dislocation far less than that of the ever-present acid burning its way through his scaley skin and into the soft flesh beyond. For Gwahir's part, the pleasure is intense. Any further motion of his meal will be wriggles, not struggles, and he can already feel the lizardfolk's body beginning to melt, releasing the perfection of its nutrition.</div></div></div><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Aethon</span><br/><br/>The Blackscale {BS3} sat up, beginning to struggle to his feet... when<span style="font-style: italic">power</span>wrapped around him, rendering him quite bound and immobile. He collapsed back onto his scaley rump, his thick tail only partially cushioning the blow, and began to struggle. Futilely.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Alizome and Jules</span><br/><br/>“You're right about one thing,” the blackscale-lizardwoman smirked, as she fended off Gwahir's flapping, clawing, biting attack with one thick, powerful arm. “I<span style="font-style: italic">can</span>easily devour you,” she {FBS1} said, her other fist reaching for Alizome's neck. One of Alizome's blades sliced lightly into her arm... skipped from a scale, and fetched the lizardwoman a mighty blow to the temple. She groaned, wordlessly. “I- I don't feel so good,” she moaned, her hand sliding down to clutch at her wriggling, writhing belly. Then she fell, sideways, as one of her legs buckled beneath her. The bulge that was Jules could be seen pushing its way up, back into her oesophagus from her now-unresisting stomach.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Linda</span><br/><br/>The blackscale – still almost insensate from its drugging – staggers this way and that, within the limits of Linda's hair-binding. Dimly, it swipes at her – but its claws don't even come close to her exquisite flesh.