One Hundred Days

One of my most unhinged projects, based on a game which should not have WG fetish fiction, and yet, here we are.

DAY ONE

From the moment she opened her eyes, she knew she had to hurry. She rushed to the nearest tree- a small oak. She cut it down as fast as she could. Barely enough wood for a couple basic tools. An axe and something that could pass for a pickaxe. The axe broke after felling a couple more small trees, but that was not important.

The “picacxe” did not fare much better. After a few broken stones, it fell apart in her hands. Still, it was good enough. Enough to make a stone axe and stone pickaxe. That was enough of a start. Or it would have been, if that work had not taken all day. The sun was setting. The odds of surviving the night without armour, let alone a real weapon, were slim to none.

She decided, in desperation, to dig herself a small niche in the side of a tony mountain and fashion a makeshift door with some of the leftover wood. It was nothing close to a home; it was barely a shelter; and above all, in her rush to get materials, she had not found a single morsel of food. She spent her first night shivering in a tiny cave, hunger gnawing at her and the sounds of monsters crawling all around.

DAY TWO

She had not slept all throughout the night. When she opened the flimsy wooden door, she was as determined as she had been yesterday, if not more because of her grumbling stomach. Her best hope would be to find a village, but who knew if any were nearby. The nature around her offered some opportunities, however. A stone axe might not be much of a weapon in combat, but it’s fine to cull a few pigs. After a blood-soaked morning, the forest’s wildlife was severely diminished and she built up a furnace to cook up her prey. The filling sensation of roasted meat filling her belly invigorated her. She was ready to explore more. With careful consideration, she examined the superficial caverns for coal and iron. Just enough for a shield, and a real pickaxe. That was all she needed, at least for now. She packed up her meager possessions and started to explore. That forest had already given her much, but she needed to find some trace of civilization if she wanted a chance to survive for long.

DAY FOUR

it took two days of trekking, occasionally stopping to hunt a few animals. Without a bow, she was still stuck chopping her prey directly, but she had scrounged enough iron to make herself a sword. That was enough to slaughter most wildlife before it had a chance to escape. She realized that in only a few days she had gone from starving to never feeling anything less than full.

It was on the evening of the fourth day that she saw plumes of smoke. A cluster of them, clearly coming from a village. And one coming from a tower on a hill.

She knew what to expect from that tower. Bandits, crossbows, immediate hostility. She knew she’d have to confront them sooner or later, but now was not the time. She made her way to the village just as the sun set, and was greeted by the mumbling of the villagers and the impassive gaze of their golems.

There was a free bed. There was bread.

A day to remember.

DAY SEVEN

Exploring the outskirts of the village had proven quite a daunting task. Abandoned mines filled with spiders, dark forests where undead roamed freely even during the day, and that ominous tower, always looming. It was clear the village was completely defenseless, so she decided that if she was going to stay, she’d have to build something to protect it.

DAY 14

Between the digging of irrigation canals to cultivate more food and invaluable sugar cane, the construction of rudimentary but sturdy walls, she barely had time to explore the treasure trove of caves and mines around the village. At least she no longer had to worry about food.

The village had plenty of livestock, and after her expansion of the farms she had plenty of grains to ensure she had plenty of bread, food for the animals, and meat from those animals. Her meals went from “eat whatever is available, whenever available” to three square meals a day. Between that and the constant labour of digging and building, she began to bulk up. Her arms and legs were starting to show an increased width, and her abdomen was beginning to expand. Not quite a pot belly, but at least the beginning of one.

DAY 20

The irrigation canal project had grown beyond her initial plans. She not only had enough produce to trade and feed the animals, but such and enormous surplus she had no idea what to do with. Well, she did have an idea. An idea which quickly turned her midsection into a fully fledged gut and buried her muscles under a tick layer of fat. Still, she wondered if she could do more. The village could be expanded, improved. She could definitely use a butcher for her increasing need for meat. She needed fore farmers to tend to the ever-growing fields. She started building houses, and more walls to protect them. Meanwhile, each ranch and farm in the village produced enough food to feed the villagers and to ensure she would not spend a single second being less than stuffed with food.

DAY 22

After a few more trips in the old mines, she had enough armament to confidently attack that ominous tower. Clad in a snug iron armour, holding a shield and sword, she made her way up the hill.

Well, she huffed and puffer her way up the hill, stopping occasionally for a “snack” of a couple of pork-chops. Around midday, and at least five “snacks” later, she was at the foot of tower.

The enemies did not hesitate to start their volley. Five arrows broke against her shield, and one flew wide above her. As the were reloading, she charged the first one, bashing into him with her full bulk. The enemy stumbled long enough to get an axe to the head. Another volley caught her by surprise, with arrows piercing her armour before she could raise her shield. Still, her enemies had to reload every time, and her legs, however coated in flab, were still strong and fast. She closed the distance to another one, knocked the crossbow out of his arm and followed up with a weak axe strike. She knew that would not be enough to kill him; she counted on it. The enemy’s companions, predictably, launched their bolts, hitting their ally square in the back. He fell to the ground, as she stood unscathed. At this point, the battle was decided. The last few fell without difficulty under the merciless blow her iron axe, and their banner – and the bleak potion they carried – were her trophies.

Her wounds were superficial, but she felt exhausted. All that running around had taken a toll on her physique. After weeks of overwork and overeating, she was built for power, not endurance. She ate everything she had brought with her, looted the tower and ate everything remotely edible the bandits had. She still didn’t feel full. Well, more accurately, she felt so full she could explode, but she wanted to eat more. She waddled back to the village, and told the good news about the defeat of the bandits. It was getting dark, so she only had time for a couple dinners before bedtime. That night she slept like a baby, with a belly so full and heavy it rivaled the stone blocks of the village’s walls.

DAY 30

The village had gown under her stewardship into a proper town. Tradesmen of every kind sold and bought wares, merchant visited regularly, farmers grew and distributed food. She had built herself a proper house – rather, a fortified bastion which towered over the rest of the village, with a crenelated roof, buttresses and fortified iron doors.

Her expeditions in the mines had produced enough redstone to build some rudimentary automation – mostly smelters, and a few automated carts to carry stuff around. She wondered if she should expand the minecart network. It’s not like she couldn’t walk, it’s that every day it was becoming more and more of a chore. She no longer had something recognizable as a pot belly; rather, her belly was now lost in the of flab that covered her from head to toe. Her hips were so wide she barely fit through doors, her legs chafed constantly and any semblance of muscle, assuming it was still there, was buried under a mountain of fat. Still, she didn’t mind. She was busy expanding and renovating the village, and reaping the fruits of her labour – usually measured in whole stacks of food consumed every day.

DAY 40

The village was now a thriving city, surrounded by a thick walls, with walkways, crenelations and plenty of traps for would-be intruders. She had dug deep enough to gather a stash of diamonds, and plenty to make herself a diamond pick and diamond axe. Armour, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. A normal chestplate not only failed to cover her torso, it failed to cover her chest – each breasts being bigger than her head. Normal leggings were not even large enough to properly cover her arms. And boots struggled, and failed, against her cankles. She had resolved to go through doors sideways, but even that was beginning to be a problem. Yes, her hips widely exceeded the breadth of a door, but her belly and butt were not far behind.

She had to face a dilemma. Either lose some weight, or drastically alter her living space.

It took the time to devour three whole cakes to come to the conclusion that her living space was the problem. Her house was outfitted with double doors, double beds, double wide stairs (through she wondered if there was a more efficient way to get her up a floor) and every new old and new tunnel she dug had to be wide enough to accommodate her girth.

DAY 45

She was not one to be dissuaded lightly. Expending more diamonds than any villager had seen in their lifetime, she had built herself a proper diamond armour. Wide and bulky enough to accommodate her girth, it made her almost as wide as a golem, if significantly shorter. She knew the time had come; the revenge of the pillagers could not be delayed much longer.

She spent whatever iron she had to assemble a few golems, and every scrap of Lapis Lazuli to enchant her oversized armour, and prepared. The horn sounded. The bells rang. The battle was on.

The tall walls were enough to keep some of the pillagers at bay, but the sheer number, coupled with crossbowmen firing over the ramparts and witches tossing poisonous concoctions through every crack, made the first wave anything but a breeze. Pulling a few arrows out of her shield – and taking a quick cake break – she prepared for the second wave. Her skill with an axe had been unparalleled so far, but she realized vindicators were close to a match for her prowess. Still, she cut enough of them down for the golems to finish off the rest. Tired, wounded, and aware that even her weapons could not take much more, she sat near the village well to eat a few well-earned stakes. Or more accurately, stacks of steaks.

The pillager beasts made a valiant effort to breach the walls, but once their riders were sniped off their attacks became uncoordinated and frenzied. The tall bastion gave her a perfect view of the battlefield, and a perfect opportunity to make use of the crossbows she had looted off her enemies. As much as she preferred close combat, she didn’t feel like getting close to those monstrosities. The wave of attack ended as a beast charged the last standing golem, only to be lung in the air and crash unceremoniously to the ground.

The battle was won. She collapsed from exhaustion, and for the first time in a log time, she slept with less than a full belly.

DAY 46

The celebration for the victory was in full swing when she made her way down the stairs and through the double doors of her fortress. She was now officially the hero of the town, and villagers clamored to giver her gifts. She graciously accepted, and less graciously devoured anything even remotely edible on the spot. She figured she had earned a little extra indulgence. As it tuned out, when the day turned to night, the extra indulgence was still in full swing. Having stashed away her armour, her clothes ripped from her impossible bulk, she waddled half naked, eating the spoils of her victory. She felt so tired she could barely bring herself to harvest a dozen watermelons to eat as dessert, and after that she made the heroic decision to bake and devour enough bread to feed a few dozen villagers for weeks. In the end, she was so exhausted that she barely had the strength to eat the dozen cakes she had prepared the day before to celebrate her victory.

DAY 60

despite repeated attempts, her plant to avoid walking by placing a village-wide network of minecart had repeatedly failed. Yes, the minecarts worked, but they had a fatal flaw.

She couldn’t fit in them. N fact, she couldn’t fit in most things. Even double wide doors were beginning to feel a little snug, and the idea of going up and down stairs and ladders was practically out of the question. She considered climbing up to the second floor of her bastion, and the thought was so exhausting she had to consume a few dozen baked potatoes just to recover.

Still, there were other means to make things work. She had, not without some difficulty, automated most of her farms and ranches. For now they just gathered the food in designated chests, but even walking to those chests was such a chore. She wondered how many hoppers it would take to deliver everything to her bastion directly.

DAY 90

She had not, by her reckoning, gotten out of bed for at least seven days. Her bed was, of course, tailored for her size and occupied enough space for at least four normal beds. A system of hoppers and minecarts delivered food directly to her, so at most she had to reach for her crafting bench and cook it. Meat, of course, was already cooked by automated smokers, so she delighted in the sheer laziness of eating it without any additional effort. Entire ranches and farms had been established just for her consumption, with the villagers more than content with their share of the old farm. She had more or less given up on the adventuring life – her days mostly consisted of stuffing her face until her body couldn’t take anymore, and then continuing stuffing herself. Her nights were equally split between dreaming of the meals she just had or the meals she wished to have tomorrow. Her belly was a three-by-three block of pure fat, her arms and legs easily a block wide and her head encased in a block of neck fat and double chins. Often she wondered if she could invent a crafting bench that could cook cake automatically, or a large enough cart to carry her body on a set of three parallel tracks, but those were minor considerations. So long as she could live her life of gluttony and hedonism, she was content.

DAY 100

The village was secure. Her automation was now so efficient that not a single seed went to waste. Her eating had now reached such heights that even sleep had to take a backseat. Her gluttony, it appeared, won over her laziness and she would wake up with a grumbling belly a couple times a night, to top off her already overstuffed stomach.

It was during one of her binges (not that there was any time that could honestly be described as outside her binges) hat she heard of a legend, a hidden realm. Another Dimension. She first became aware of The End. And how a dragon ruled over that realm.

That was enough to awaken her long-dormant adventuring spirit. One question was vivid in her mind:

What would a dragon taste like?