Arya strode confidently through the open twin doors, already dreading the fact that she'd have to put on a smile as these gross men continued to gorge themselves silly. Except, they weren't stuffing themselves. Perplexingly, the dining hall was entirely devoid of activity. She wasn't too worried, however. The knight recalls the dinner party a few moons back, how the Duke of Umbrel had challenged Edwin to a joust, prompting them to drop everything. Her lord had never been one to back down from a challenge. A smile curves across her tired face as she reflects on his sharp jawline. Even musing over the dashingly charming greeting he always gave her.

She still can't help but find the whole situation somewhat unnerving, though. It’s odd seeing a normally jubilant hall so desolate of activity. She passes plate upon plate of tantalizing meat. Drumsticks, mutton, protein…. On cue, her stomach lets loose a tremendous growl.

Gl'urrrrk

"Mmm, well, no point in letting it go bad."

Jeffery watches furiously as the rest of his entourage clamors uselessly around the rim of a nearly full glass of mead, dipping their heads into the honey-flavored swill. Of course, they were laughing and cheering all the way. However, Jeffery was very much aware of the danger this situation posed. Why wouldn't he? After all, Jeffery had been the one who'd cast it. He can’t help but mull it over; how could it have backfired so badly? It was only supposed to affect Lord Edwin! Jeffery paces back and forth, listening as his leather shoes squeak against the porcelain dish.

“Bastard child should have never taken the throne! What a disgraceful… what a mess.” The officer sighs, rubbing his temples. He can already feel the headache coming on.

Size magic isn't the type of magic to wear off, and it’s typically magic that must be broken manually. Typically, via sacrifice or incantation. How they were supposed to do that at the size of gnats was anybody's guess. He's thankful for one detail, though; it seemed to affect the castle equally. If it hadn't, well, that presents a hazardous situation for the rest of them.

Meanwhile, Glint, Hal, and Stubs sit drunkenly on the wooden cup full of mead, eagerly partaking in the prize for performing the climb.

"Ey, what do you boys think? All the drinks we ever need! Right ere’, all in one!" Glint yells almost triumphantly as the rest echo his sentiment with boisterous jeers of approval.

Stubs takes another sip, mead spilling through his hands as he greedily drinks it up. "Ya know Glintie? I think we made it, died, and went right to hic h-heaven!" Stubs nearly falls backward off the narrow edge, forcing Hal to grab him by the collar of his tunic.

"Yeah, yeah, and even in heaven, you boys can't hold yer drinks! Clumsy fuck!"

The men all share a laugh, only pausing because of an ominous exclamation from Hal.

The drunken man gawks at the entryway in disbelief. "Oh, fuck me… boys, we got trouble!"

Glint and Stubs both swerve their heads to a magnificent sight. The knight of Tworage, Edwins personal champion, dressed in the finest reds and silks coin could buy. All three are stunned into several moments of silence. 

Glint is the first to speak up, "Guess Tanner got the short end of the stick, eh? No peeks at her from down there, that's for sure!" He leans over carefully, inspecting the lavishly padded chair that seemed miles below them, where Tanner sits trapped on an island of lavish padding.

There's a howl of excitement, this time, Stubs speaks up. His face rose-red with drink, "Lass is lucky I'm no bigger than a speck. Otherwise, I'd be havin' her!" They all chuckle heartily in amusement before an accidental bump of the table on Arya's end sends them tumbling into the sickeningly sweet liquid.

Thunk

"Hey! What in the hell is goin' on up there!" Tanner screams for his companions. Something’s wrong; He can feel it in his very bones. But, what could the man possibly do? He knew the answer was a resounding: nothing. His current size left him marooned on a chair hundreds of times his height. He felt almost emasculated by the soft velvet under his feet. However, he has a plan. If he cou-

A moving wall of red halts Tanner's thought process cold, startling him so entirely that he yelps in fright. It moves faster than any man or horse he's ever seen, stepping in front of the already pulled-out chair and possibly, inspecting the spread of food. The noble glances upwards at the unending fabric that had become his pseudo sky.

The gown itself is magnificent, no doubt crafted by a master tailor. Although, the object that draws his attention most is much more primal. Despite the sheer amount of fabric the gown had, it's just tight enough that a rough outline is noticeably visible. A picture of a shapely backside extending through. Lines and curves painting an incredibly arousing picture for the microscopic man. That is until it comes hurtling towards him.

It's such a simple action for Arya, one she's done thousands of times in her life. There isn't any hesitation as her ass comes down hard against the chair's smooth surface. Tanner isn't even able to eek out noise before he's pressed between two very different textures. Pain courses through his body as the muscles prod and squeeze and dominate him into swift submission.

Jeffery stands perfectly still, petrified as the young girl looks over the food, debating on what to try first. He knows internally he should be waving, screaming, anything but what he’s doing now. Somehow, the officer just can’t will his legs to move, frozen in place amongst the scraps of meat and grease covering the plate. He’s an easy target once she grabs for the drumstick right behind him.

A massive hand reaches for the dried meat, not wasting a second before scooting it across the plate and up to her hungry and ravenous mouth, loading up Jeffery in the process. He adheres to the greasy stick of meat, a scream finally forced from his lips as an impossibly large mouth splits the flesh off the bone directly next to him. Powerful and primal, a cacophony of noises erupts as her mouth continues to shred meat from the bone, eventually taking Jeffery into her insatiable mouth. He’s promptly covered in an unsavory combination of chewed meat, grease, and animal fat as his chubby figure is thrown around Arya’s humid mouth.

His yelps and shrieks mix in with the sloshing and chewing. He’s bruised, battered, and thrown molar to molar until his luck finally runs out. Chewing greedily, the champion subconsciously bites down on what she figures is just a spice, maybe a slightly hardened piece of the poultry.

His life ends insignificantly. Utterly unnoticed as Aryia pops his entire body under the intense and unrelenting force. The small body explodes with viscera, only to be immediately pulverized into unseeable mush amongst the rest of the food.

Meanwhile, the three micros drift helplessly in a swirl of ripe mead—the fumes sting at their nostrils. Putting down the remainder of the drum with a clang, a massive hand reaches for the cup. They watch helplessly as Arya grasps it, pulling it towards her lips to wash the dry flakey meat down her gullet. The action creates a cataclysmic amount of motion for the trio, as several differently flowing currents erupt around them. Stubs is pushed towards the rim, closest to the massive lady. He bounces roughly against the cup’s wood while Glint and Hal bob to and fro, struggling to keep their heads above the waves.

Cold mead meets warm pale lips, prompting a small groan of enjoyment from the titanic woman. A cascading waterfall of chilly drink opens up in a grand display as her lips suck in what looks like a pond worth of fruity alcohol. Hal yelps, barely audible over the rushing of sticky liquid that carries him into her cavernous mouth.

The rush of mead stops, enclosing Hal in total darkness, as a mouth full of burning alcohol swishes him back and forth, rinsing her mouth of leftover meat still clinging to her teeth. His yelps and shock have long since devolved into pitful whimpers and hysterical begging.

G'luuuck

There's no indication, no hesitation. It’s relaxed and unceremonious as Hal’s gulped into a warm slimy tunnel, fast-tracked towards the boiling stormy seas of Arya's stomach to be digested eagerly by her fit, uncaring body. His most significant contribution: An unnoticeable amount of protein for her hardened physique.

Red consumes Tanner’s vision, cloying itself into his eyes and staining his very brain. Is this it? Did he die under the rear end of a beautiful maiden? No, he wouldn't be able to feel the warmth nor the arousal between his legs. Somehow, he survived. His breathing is shallow, chest compressed by excesses of muscular and shapely ass. He wills himself to move forward, to try and escape, but he simply can't do anything past a wiggle.

Frustrated, he lashes out, wiggling against the tight cheeks pinning him in place. The squirming feels good against his exposed arms, the cold of the fabric helping to cool his heated body. Though however good it may have felt, he'd made a grave mistake. Miraculously, Arya feels him. An itch directly between her rear. She looks around, confirming the coast is clear before subtly reaching a finger beneath the dress, feeling immediate relief as the finger digs into her smooth yet firm skin.

Tanner is obliterated before he even sees the massive digit coming towards him. The enclosed space opens for a fraction of a second, light flooding in as a finger smushes him roughly into the crevice of the tight cheeks. Roving hills of flesh briefly massage his tiny body into a stain before Aryia pulls it away, relief flooding over her as the itch is swiftly eliminated.

The knights focus briefly by a rogue itch; she stares around the platter she'd just devoured, pupils, drifting toward the half-finished cup to her right.

"Might as well polish the rest off, I suppose." Aryia mumbles, sealing the fate of Glint and Stubs.

The two coughs up the sickly mixture, having taken far too much into their stomachs and lungs. Already previously drunken messes, their vision starts to blur wildly as the toxic substance starts making its way into their bloodstreams. It all starts over again, the frenzy of water, the two of them trying their hardest to stay afloat. Glint yells out in a drunken rage, seeing the destructive pale lips rest upon the wooden container.

"You hic bitch, harlot, whore! How dare you, do you know wh-" He never finishes. Cut off and dumped into the mouth of a girl in a torrent of mead.

Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug

Ayra slams the mug down hard, content with a belly full of delicious dried chicken and sweet drink. It had been several lunar cycles since she had anything more than meat stews and cold porages.

Burrrrrp

She looks around, a blush instinctually coming across her cheeks. Thankfully, still, no nobles were to be found. Now, all she had left to do was wait. She spends a solid chunk of time kicking her feet back and pacing among the empty dining area. Long enough for the drink to affect her senses.

"Hellllooooooo, anybody hooome? Edwin, Gretta… Horace?" She shudders, thinking of the correspondence with that dreaded man. Still, even he would be a welcome face at this point. She'd not seen hair nor hide of even the servants since she'd returned.

Bored as sin, Aryia mulls over to Edwin's regular spot, taking a seat in front of his half-finished meal. She laments that she still hasn't gotten a chance to talk to him and revel in their victory together! Perhaps, even hug him with bare flesh exposed….

She looks down, vision blurred and mood soured, only to notice some movement from just beyond the plate. Ugh, another one?

Edwin watches his best friend and constant companion in excitement. He strips off his tunic, revealing muscle firm from years of continuous physical activity. He may have been of rich blood, but he was never above getting his hands dirty.

Using his tunic, he waves it back and forth, relief lighting up his entire face as her pupils hazily focus on his diminutive form. He cups his hands around his mouth, yelling up towards his steadfast champion. He’d been worried that whatever spell had been cast may very well have affected her as well, and Edwin had never been so relieved to be proven wrong.

That is until the knight’s finger crashes down right beside him.

“Arya! Wha-”

The tiny lord is knocked swiftly off his feet by the impact of the index finger alone. He looks up, only to see her eyebrows and mouth curl together to form a drunken smirk.

“Bug wants to play? Hmm, fine! Aryia’s always game!” Edwin tries to explain, yell out, but he’s quickly forced into a backward scramble, scooting away as Arya walks an index and middle finger towards him. Her drunken giggles surround him as he drags his ass back, away from the dancing fingertips. They’re far too big, quickly overtaking him. He watches as they dance around him, playing with him, enjoying his confusion and fear. She finally relents, letting out a sigh of boredom.

“Ar-”

Crunch

Bone and sinew meet the coldness of the unyielding table. She gives it a little twist, just to be cautious before inspecting the damage on her finger. She brings it close to an eye, but it’s unrecognizable. Just some red mush the bug left behind. She scowls in disgust before standing up and wiping it off dismissively on the back of her dress.

By now, she’s starting to lose hope that Edwin will be back tonight. Clearly, wherever they’d run off to in such a hurry must of been important. Boredom edging into her very bones, she heads to her quarters, in dire need of a nap.