The group dozes lightly, housed comfortably in Priscilla and Sær's house at Firelink Shrine. Sær is wrapped around Sif's tail, mistaking it for Priscilla's in his dreams. It's currently wet from him smooching it. Rosabeth snoozes reclined in a large chair, Vengarl on her lap. Grahame is in his cage, having fallen asleep like a parrot the moment Priscilla put a blanket over it.

The largest of the group, however, is currently wide awake, her ears perked up while listening for movement.

Hearing none, Priscilla gets up and pads to the opposite side of the room, suprisingly stealthily for a thirteen-and-a-quarter foot tall woman. She kneels down at the corner, gently prying away a loose stone in the floor. Underneath is a book, a thick tome featuring pictures of dragons, humans, and their various bits and pieces.

Clutching the book to her chest, she creeps past the others into her reading nook on the other side of the house. Lighting a lamp with a click of her fingers, (a trick all undead possess to light bonfires) she kneels in the corner. Opening the first page, she raises a surprised horn-brow at the message on the first page.

For my daughter Priscilla, so that she may learn to produce young for my experi-

Priscilla angrily rips the page off, burning it in the lamp. She goes back to reading.

I have put many hours of research into the understanding of crossbreeds, extrapolating it to a dragon-goddess hybrid.

It is quite rude of you to rip the pages off of this book, despite it being made for you.

Go sit in the corner as penance.

Priscilla's face goes red with fury. Her father truly was a cold, calculating bastard, and it's made worse by the fact that he predicted her so easily. Sitting by the wall just to spite him, she starts reading.

Given the God's retreat from Lordran, it is unlikely that a suitably holy mate will be present. While deplorable and ultimately useless, humans would prove invaluable in the production of a mate. If my hypothesis is correct, (and it usually is) The the size of the genetalia is inversely proportionate to the size of the parents. For example, My daughter's would almost certainty be proportionate to that of a human's, pictured in diagram 1.1:

Priscilla studies the picture closely, a blush beginning to spread across her cheeks. "Well, it certainly does look like mine," she mutters.

Seeing as humans are simple, perverse creatures, the mere presence of a female crossbreed will be enough to draw in the males. Once engaged in the act of reproduction, the male usually requires no special attention. Doing so, however, will greatly increase the chance of conception.

See diagram 1.2 for the male genetalia anatomy. The chart is rated by sensitivity of the specified area.

Priscilla's face is aflame now. She makes a small squeak as she looks at the diagram, morbidly fascinated by the picture. She had always assumed it would look like a front-tail, but never anything like this.

"I wonder if Sær's looks like this..." She whispers.

I have researched positions that factor in size difference while still retaining high conception probability. Positions are recommended to be changed every five to ten minutes to ensure optimum results. Skip to diagram 1.4 to see illustrations.

"Oh, goodness," Priscilla whispers, tail curling in on itself. The clinical nature of her father's explanation is both off-putting and arousing.

By inserting the Man-Serpent Greatsword into the maw of the Gaping Dragon and inflicting thrust damage, the male will release a mass of souls into the female's abyss, thus transforming her into an Egg Burdened. See diagram 1.3 for detailed instructions.

"Oh!" Priscilla says. "His- how could she..? 'Tis impossible! Su-Such an act would...

A-and to fit!Oh my- looks so painful! That! I! What-I can't! This is so...!"

She takes deep breaths to calm herself.

"I cannot falter now! Soon, Sær and I are to be wed, and I cannot fail him."

She skips to the center of the book.

And so, by inserting my Crystal halberd into Gwynevere's Abyss, you were created, as per her desire. Do not be alarmed by any noises either of you may make. Your mother was quite the screamer when we were-

"OH MY GOD!" Priscilla shrieks, flinging the book out the window. The sound of crashing glass awakens the others, and Sær comes sprinting in.

"Priscilla! Are you alright?! What happened?!"

"Oh, I, I-I-I um, well... I... Saw Patches! Yes that's it, Patches! He was staring in the window with that trout-face of his!" She stammers. She hasn't had much experience in insulting people, and it shows.

"I'm going to throw him off a cliff in the morning," Sær mutters. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, fine!" Priscilla replies. "Get some rest, darling."

"Aaaaaah-kay," Sær says, yawning.

As he walks back to bed, Priscilla can't help staring at him a little more than usual.