Another fun story featuring Azar and one of his many unfortunate encounters with a magic user. A simple check on some smoke where it shouldn't be coming leads to a misunderstanding, and Azar's waistline paying the price.

Story written by the fantastic

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The conditions were just perfect for flying. There was a warm southern breeze providing
soothing updrafts and a high pressure wave that blew away the clouds. The winds whipped up the sides
of the mountains, sending Azar spiraling upwards into the clear skies. He spread his blue-webbed
wings out as wide as he could to catch all of the wind. The dragon scattered a flock of honking geese as
he passed, chuckling to himself as the angry waterfowl flew back into formation.

Far down below in the valley, the little hamlet was nestled between a forest and river. The
villagers were probably watching the acrobatics of their scaly neighbor, but in all likelihood they were
so used to his presence that they were just going about their business. Azar was a known and welcomed
figure in the region. Only a few towns could boast that they were in the territory of a dragon, and fewer
still could boast about it while their homes weren't on fire.

Azar alighted on the crest of a hillock with a heavy thump and a thunderous whoosh from his
wings as they slowed his landing. There were some good cooking herbs here on the hill, and he plucked
a few choice sprigs and leaves, tucking them away into a satchel on his chest. The leather band was
wrapped over one shoulder and between his wings so it wouldn't fall off while he was flying.
A village child once asked him how he got it on. “Magic,” Azar replied with a toothy grin. In
truth, he just flipped it over his back and tied it, but it was more fun to make the children giggle.
As he continued picking out herbs to take back, the wind shifted and blew in from the east. The
dragon lifted his head and sniffed. Smoke? It was faint, but it was definitely a wood fire. He turned his
ice-blue gaze around to the east and peered into the distance, spotting a little column of dark smoke
rising into the sky before being blown away by the wind.

Strange, he thought. He didn't see it earlier while he was flying, and it was a bit early to start
cooking fires.

Curious, Azar fastened his satchel closed and then took to the skies again, heading over to the
source of the smoke. As he flew in close, he began to glide and circle around. Down below him, in a
little hollow between two tall stone ridges, was a cottage. The smoke was billowing out of the chimney,
but he couldn't see anyone around.

The dragon gently landed on the edge of one of the stone ridges, peering down into the wooded
canyon. The cottage was nestled against the far ridge, flanked by some young trees that had taken root
in the rich soil that probably collected there after heavy rains. The little hollow was probably twice
Azar's wingspan, enough space for the cottage and a small clearing in front of it.

Gently, Azar climbed down into the hollow, careful to wind his way around the trees and enter
the clearing. He stepped up towards the cottage and listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything,
so he reached out with a claw to knock. No response. Tilting his head, the dragon walked to the side of
the cottage and peered inside the window.

It was nice and cozy inside, set up for a single person. There was a cot tucked against one side,
and a large cast iron pot in the fireplace with a healthy fire burning away underneath it. Dried herbs
hung from the ceiling near the hearth and a table set in the center of the cottage was covered in various
cooking utensils. Azar even noticed the well-stuffed bookshelf beside the bed.

A squeal tore the quiet of the hollow from somewhere behind the dragon. Frightened, Azar
reared up on his hind legs and turned to see what was going on. Over on the edge of the clearing, a red-
furred fox stood with a stack of firewood in her arms. She dropped the wood, the pieces scattering
around her feet.

“Dragon!” she shouted, clearly trying to be brave despite her fear. “This is my home!”

Azar held out his claws in a placating gesture, but as he opened his mouth to answer, the vixen
lifted up a paw and there was suddenly a crack of purple light in front of her fingers. Hovering in
midair above her fingertips was a glowing... cake? Azar's already open mouth dropped open even wider
as he tried to process everything that just happened. The little vixen was a mage? And did she really
just summon a cake to threaten him with?

Before he could fully appreciate how lucky he was that she wasn't conjuring a bolt of lightning
from the sky or turning him into a squirrel, Azar's mouth was suddenly filled by the cake. It streaked
through the air like a bowshot and buried itself into his open maw. His immediate reaction was to spit it
out, but one taste of the glittering magic dessert and a powerful desire to eat it overcame him. He
chomped down on the spongy cake and swallowed it all, licking the crumbs from his mouth.

It tingled all the way down to his belly, which immediately bulged out a few inches as Azar
dropped back to all fours. His bigger belly wobbled back and forth heavily for a moment afterwards,
but he didn't seem to notice.

“I can explain,” the dragon tried to say, but the mage was having none of it.

“What's there to explain?” she snapped back, conjuring more confections above her paws. The
waves of energy flowing from the magic cupcakes tousled her hair and blew about her simple green
dress like she was caught in a heavy wind. “You were going to roast my home!”

“I would never!” he protested.

Ignoring him, the vixen flung her outstretched paws forward, launching the barrage of cupcakes
like magic missiles. Azar couldn't resist gobbling them all up after getting a taste of the first cake. They
weren't especially harmful, after all. He devoured the tasty treats and his body plumped up even bigger.
His forelegs swelled in circumference and his hindlegs grew heavy and soft. In his middle, the dragon's
belly hung lower and lower, wobbling heavily in the diminishing space between it and the grass.

He continued to try, unsuccessfully, to explain himself, but he could barely get a word in around
mouthfuls of magic food. The mage apparently knew many culinary spells from around the world, as
the fattening dragon was bombarded with apple pies, mochi, baklava, gelato, and picarones. He
chomped down on everything that came flying towards him, because each treat was as delicious as the
last.

But if Azar assumed the vixen was trying to fend him off with kindness, he was mistaken. As he
ate, his body swelled with fat. The trim, acrobatic dragon started to look like a white-scaled donut in
the little clearing. His belly's flanks expanded past his legs as he turned into a prize-winning cow at a
festival. His legs were soft trunks of blubber, jiggling heavily as he slowly repositioned himself to carry
his rising weight. Fat rolls formed on his chest, squished together by his growing forelegs to form
cleavage just under his neck. His neck, of course, was also getting heavy, energetically wobbling and
bouncing as Azar tilted his head from side to side to snatch up all the delicious desserts.

The leather strap holding on his herb satchel pulled tight into his blubber, digging a fold into his
white-scaled fat. Portions of it disappeared into the crease on his chest and between his foreleg and
flank. Stretching as far as it could with a strained creak, the strap finally gave out, popping off the
dragon's fat figure and making his flab ripple from the shock.

Seeing how effective her spells were on the dragon, the vixen stepped towards him. She had
more confidence in her stance now as she came close. Putting both paws together, the mage twisted and
wrapped strands of violet light into a triple-decker cake fit for a royal wedding. This treat slowly
floated over to Azar's mouth and hovered in front of his plump nose, waiting to be eaten. The dragon
obliged happily, long past feeling any fear from the vixen's magic.

While he ate, the vixen stepped to his side, pressing a paw gently into the dragon's wobbling
flanks. His scales were still hard as adamant, but there was a plush softness underneath them, and his
gut rippled when she gave it a pat. Azar's hanging gut pressed onto the ground now, flattening the grass
under him. As he continued to grow rounder, filling up what little space there was in the clearing, rolls
formed on his sides as his flanks struggled to fit between his huge, jiggling legs. The vixen poked her
fingertips into the rolls, making his blubber mush around her fingers.

“I think I could definitely fetch a good price for an immobilized dragon,” she purred to herself.

Azar was too busy munching on the cake to really pay attention. “Well, I hope the townsfolk here have
something nice to trade, at least.”

Azar finished the massive cake and burped softly, blushing red. He looked about for the vixen
but couldn't see her anywhere. His herb satchel lay on the ground in front of him – or rather, somewhat
under him, as his chest rolled partially over the top of it. The dragon tried to turn and look over his
shoulder, but rolls of flesh kept him from turning too far. The blubbery Azar tried to lift up his belly,
but found it was far too big and too heavy to get back off the ground – it was piled in rolls at his sides
from its own weight and size.

The vixen mage stepped back in front of him, standing just inches away from Azar's chubby
face. She seemed confident now that the dragon was fully immobilized – he definitely couldn't fly off
now matter how hard he tried. Even walking would be a struggle.

“Now to figure out how to get you down to the village so I can sell you,” she mused to herself,
holding a finger to her chin and thinking.

“Oh, I doubt they would pay you for me,” Azar replied, resting his front claws on his fat body.

“They wouldn't?” the vixen asked, her ears drooping down.

The dragon nodded, making his neck bulge and jiggle. “I mean, I hope there isn't a bounty on
me. I visit the village every once in a while and they're very friendly. I trade things I collect around the
mountains with them.”

The mage narrowed her brow and swept back her long hair, looking down and spotting the
satchel half-stuck underneath his bulk. She stooped down and picked it up, opening it and rifling
through the contents. She cataloged each of the herbs and roots he had scavenged earlier that morning,
seeming to become impressed.

Sheepishly, the vixen met the dragon's gaze and gave him an embarrased smile. “I apologize. I
thought you were coming to raid my home. I really value my privacy, and when you live out alone,
well... and I'm sorry about making you so... big. Culinamancy is my specialty.”

Azar chuckled and hefted his new bulk a bit. “I just came to investigate the smoke. And don't
worry about it, I can say it was definitely the most delicious magical assault I've weathered! However,
do you mind changing me back now?”

The vixen's already red fur grew even redder on her face. “I... well, that's not culinamancy.
You'll need a specialist in adiposimancy for that. I could send a letter to someone I know at the
academy, but until then, I suppose we're stuck together.” The mage reached out and gave a soft pat on
Azar's shoulder. “To be honest, I wouldn't mind a little company for a while, and I could let you help
me perfect some of my other spells while you're here.”

“That sounds wonderful to me,” the dragon replied, smiling.