The Lamia Child is a story about a moral dilemma faced by adventures then put in the hands of the reads with a simple question of "What would you do?". Unlike the hundreds of "WAT DO?" threads that appear on /tg/, this particular one found a little soft spot in teegee's heart.
The original post
"you have just killed the 3 lamia and as you search among there odd bed rooms you find a small child lamia curled up under one of the bed shivering. It sees you and shivers more tears flowing down its face, whimpering something in a language you cant understand. With mixed emotions knowing that you just killed its family you leave, only to be stopped by a small tug and a tiny but hard to understand voice "don't want to be alone" the half snake child exclaims in accent that sounds like its coming from a snake.
this is the current situation of my party, all extremely mixed emotions. Some want to take it along, others want to revive the lamia they had just killed, while one wants to kill it, for fear of it one day killing them in revenge. What would you do"
That is all was given in the original post, leaving many to ask why. Why did "You" the adventurer go off and kill these Lamia? A verdict was pretty split between killing it, raising it, and leaving it to fend for itself. It was only till that the original poster remade his thread a year later and mid way through updated the dilemma with a bit of back story
the updated post
You have been hired to wipe out a ruined castle filled with a lizard kin clan (it varies from lizardfolk to salamanders to anything else with scales). The people who hired you tell you that they are pest and have attacked villagers and travelers. If you try to do a sense motive you rolled a natural 1, so you believe in what they say and head off storming the castle. As soon as you enter the creatures attack you and you defend. Eventually clearing a path to the 3 lamia queens who the people who hired you told you to kill. As soon as you enter they intermediately attack you as well, causing you to defend yourself and kill them off. After you loot the them and the room there in and find a little lamia child curled up under one of the serpents beds shivering, its unknown how much it know about what just happen but it does seem scared. It looks up at you as you stare a bit slowly uncoiling and slither toward you in an nonthreatening way. As she comes out and sees her kin dead she looks up to you and says in a tiny but hard to understand voice “want to leave, but don't want to be alone” Doing a sense motive you also roll a 1 so its unknown if she has intention to kill you as she grows up, What do you do?
This assumes that you know nothing that your bad luck rolls made you ignorant up to the point of finding this child and just now your having doubts if what you did was a good thing or not. I hope this clears up what you need to know
This updated version cleared the "why" out of everybody and the vote was unanimous: keep the lamia child as you own and raise it as your daughter. This led to writerfags giving daw-ing and baw-ing stories
Your Hair is matted against your face with a mix of blood and your sweat- the first not being your own. The hall echoes with the sound of your hard breaths coming in and out as you calm yourself in the room you had just freshly bisected the previous owners of.
You drop your blood drenched axe, reach up to pull off your animal skin cloak, and let the cold air hit your face while you allow yourself to finally collect your thoughts and the loot of these reptilian humanoids.
You hear the door creak open before you see it. Your battled toned reflexes kick in: you pick your axe up, lean over, grit your teeth then let out an intimidating holler as you ready yourself once more.
The sound of a child crying is heard and a small lamian child sticks her head out of the door, "No, no don't want to be alone- No shiny, no drop!". She bawls and your paternal instincts kick in and your veiny, red, worked hands drop the axe.
You didn't know Lamians could cry.
You didn't know you could feel pity.
The axe clangs against the cold stone floor and the lamian's body shivers and coils up. You slowly approach her and kneel over.
Your strong, scarred arms extend towards her shivering little body and you pick her up and cradle her against your chest.
She coiled tightly in your arms and continued to shiver out of fear.
You went home early that day.
Lamia Daughter: "Daddy! Daddy! Pick me up with your musssssclesss~!!" You: "Sure thing little sweet pea"
You kneel down, flex your arm and your daughter slithers over and coils around your bicep. You proceed to flex and lift her up while grunting a "Hoo-yah". She giggles and applauds your strength before hugging your neck and giving something you've started calling "hissy kissies".
You're walking home with the groceries from the market. Your daughter tired from a long day out on the town is coiled around your leg and nuzzling up against your thigh. You don't want her to look up your kilt and thus shake your leg a little, "Sweetie get off my big man leg, you're a big girl." She coils around tighter and buries her face into your thigh, "I'ma snakeskin boot- boot, boot, boot."
You don't have the heart to tell her boots don't make the boot noise and decide to leave her as is.
You look at the horse. You look at your daughter. She looks at the horse. The horse looks at the ground.
She turns, jaw set, arms bent, muscles tensing, cheeks flaming. So much like you. "Daddy! No laughing!"
You look at the horse and swear, "I promise sweetpea, no laughing."
The horse rolls its eyes.
It's late afternoon, tempers are as hot as the falling red sun.
She slithers warily towards the side of the overly-nonchalant looking horse. "Now sweetie, again: one hand on the saddle horn." She reaches. "Other hand on the bridle." She grabs. "Coil up..." She crouches. "When I say go, pull and spring up... aaaand GO!"
She's splayed on the ground again, tail thrashing, arms pounding, an entire new dictionary of adolescent frustration and bedeviled ambition being yelled at the grazing horse.
She's still recumbent as her eyes open, opalescent green and hypnotic. She takes your offered hand, swirling upright.
She puffs her cheeks out, looks away. "I-" You cut her off, "it's that damn horses fault. Look at him!" You cup your hands into an impromptu bullhorn, "you call yourself a Druid!? I've seen more animal spirit in a sack of moldy potatoes!"
Her tail slaps angrily into your leg. "Daaaaad! You cheated!" You raise your hands in mock surrender "Hey, hey. I was worried about you being safe. And that..." the horse gives you a loud, mocking whinny, "seemed like a safe way to get some practice in." You turn to the horse. "Not a sure waste of 12 good bits." The horse turns away. Raises its tail in faux salute. You turn your head, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. The resultant plopping is clearly audible.
You're as good as your word. You don't laugh. The corners of your mouth twitch up, you snort, choking down a guffaw that'd cause a week of sulking. But as you squat, waiting for her tantrum to blow over, you aren't laughing
Her eyes bulge in outraged disbelief. "Oh. My. Gods."
Now you laugh, eyes screwed shut, tears leaking down your scarred cheeks. You fall to one dusty knee, ribs aching, gasping for air.
You barely hear the grinding whisper of her indignant departure.
She's sitting up before her vanity, combing out the tangles of her freshly-washed hair. You knock. "Daddy." Her tone is chiding. "Yeah, sweetpea?" "You are such a... a... dad!" You choke back a snigger with no small effort. She sniffs, and turns back to the vanity. You squeeze her shoulders, and place a kiss on her damp crown. "Goodnight, pumpkin." Her tail snugs around your calf, squeezing gently.
There you stand, hands on her shoulders, the metronomic rustling of the brush marking the passing time.
In the mirror's reflection she smiles the uncertain half-smirk of the blossoming girl, and she says; "Good night, father."
You lay on your bed your wrinkled hands folded neatly on your chest as your daughter now a woman braided the ends of your long flowing silver beard.
"You should have told me." "You wouldn't have understood." "I would have understood- FATHER." "Never."
She sighed and her breasts lifted with her chest. You had seen her grow up from a sweet little pea to a vine that wrapped around you in your old age.
"You understand now though- you're a good girl. You've always been a good girl."
She gently clasped your hands and she began to weep quietly. "You've been the best father I could have ever asked for..." She began to trail off - you raised better then this. "You're a dragon m'dear. A dragon."
You closed your eyes. You died early that day.