- The Archivist, your narrator

" Love your Sisters at arms more than your own life. Put neither gain, nor profit, nor promise of advancement before even the least of My Daughters, lest my Bow bring judgement unto to you. It is right and noble to love your Sisters as your Goddess loves her nymphs and Shield-Maidens, with whom She is happy to share her Hunt, her Revels and her Embrace...If you are to be bound to a Sister, let it be both in the soul and in the flesh. If it were but in the soul, then it would be the love of another world, if it were to be but in the flesh, then it would be but lust and debauchery..."

- Founding Axiom (72) of the Order of the Radiant Path of the Vigilant Maiden

"So what are we going to do about the dark elf in the closet?" Marséna mused as she busied herself with her longsword and whetstone. The scraping of stone against steel echoed around the armoury.

"That's not nice." Virginia corrected. They were to be on duty soon. Marséna, however, had an obsessive-compulsive relationship with her equipment. Virginia remembered that back when they shared a bunk bed, chaos had been the rule. This had irritated the normally fastidious Virginia to no end, but the sheer amount of effort which Marséna invested in her weapons and armour had always been admirable. Different priorities, Virginia supposed.

"You're right, Virg it isn't," Marséna said, inspecting her handiwork by a running a single finger down the blade. It was acceptable, but she knew she could do better, "it's like the hobgoblins you thought lived under your bed when you're little, only this one's real."

"You're exaggerating, now. I feel like I can trust Lily. And I'm working on explanation for the Vice-Commander." Virginia genuinely believed the first part, but the comment about the explanation was a barefaced lie. There was no conceivable way she could explain the leadership of an order dedicated to preserving liberty from the depredations of banditry, slavery and bondage that she had casually struck a friendship with a dark elf and was, additionally, housing it in the knight's Quarters. Something had to be done, though, because as secretive as Lily no doubt could be, it was only a matter of time before she was discovered. In the shorter term, too, it was impractical to keep Lily locked up in the apartment, even if, to Virginia's knowledge, the drow ought to have been well adapted to living in cramped spaces; they did, after all, originate underground.

"If only you could trust everyone you slept with." Marséna sighed as she finally sheathed her sword and adjusted her breastplate.

"How do you..." Virginia was aghast, she had planned on telling Marséna but the pre-emption had stunner her.

"How long have we known each other?" Marséna said maliciously, rising to her feet.

"Clearly too long," Virginia groaned, "am I really that transparent?"

"No, but I have ears as well as eyes. Keep it down next time." Marséna's mirthful, lightly mocking laugh filled the armoury. Virginia could only blush and turn away slightly.

"So, changing the subject, are you all set?" Marséna asked, stretching her arms in front of her. Her olive skin stood in relief against the bright silver of her breastplate; Virginia thought it beautiful and certainly a welcome change from her own paleness, or the equally light complexions of Syf or Friyya. Ortho and Mareterra clearly had different suns.

"Yes, but your hair ought to be tied tighter." Virginia said, loosening the plain black fabric bindings that held Marséna's waist-length hair in one long, free-flowing braid. It was truly raven black, with a pleasantly pliable consistency prompted by the intermittent presence of subtle curls.

"I know. But it would be a shame to cut mine short, no?"

"I thought Friyya was supposed to be vain, but you're no better." Virginia chided.

"Sour grapes. I bet you've been mistaken for a boy." Marséna's tongue had a sharpness to it which, in Virginia's experience, knew exactly where to cut.

Ignoring the comment, Virginia contented herself with finishing Marséna's braid with one brisk tug.

"Ai! easy." Marséna protested.

"Slipped." Virginia replied smugly, planting a playful kiss on Marséna's cheek.

"Hmm...look it's white bread and bramble jam." Friyya hummed as she strolled into the armoury, fully outfitted with her helmet in hand.

"Fuck you, I'm not that dark." Marséna growled.

"Your mouth," Virginia reprimanded softly, before turning to face Friyya, "Goddess, Friyya if you weren't so juvenile you may just be mistaken for an intellectual from time to time."

"Oh, c'mon now...what is it with all these exotic preferences of yours - first Mareterrans then dark elves. Ortho girls aren't good enough for you anymore?"

"Conjugate giban in the present indicative." Virginia challenged. Friyya could only glare back, flustered. She had a good memory and was quite an avid reader, but languages, even her ancestral language, were so far removed from the remit of her studies that she had not even considered them.

"Thought so." Virginia taunted. Then it occurred to Friyya. Since when was Virginia a linguist or an antiquarian?

"Hey, but neither can...."

"Too late." Virginia interrupted, raising her hand dismissively as she and Marséna doubled over in fits of stifled laughter before quickly and nervously recovering their composure to fall to their knees, eyes respectfully fixed on the ground as Vice-Commander Isobel entered the armoury.

At this point, it may be difficult to convey to the reader the awe which Isobel's presence instilled in her subordinates, but it suffices to say that in combating the wicked, the fiendish and the outright demonic for much of her life had made her adopt at least an element of the terrible aspect of the evil she fought. Tall, carrying herself with military rigidity, her hair blood red - dyed Friyya had often whispered maliciously behind Isobel's back -, her face adorned with shocks of red and black protective war paint. Though not a brutal woman, Isobel was a disciplinarian and kept her wicked cane as close to her as her legendary zweihänder greatsword. Its blade had certainly run red, black and ichor-green with the blood of many a demon. As Consecrated paladins whose promotion had only been recent, what made Virginia, Friyya and Marséna most nervous was the cane.

"Rise." Isobel's voice carried the expectation of immediate compliance which was never withheld.

"Greetings, Reverend Sister." The three chimed together.

"Friyya, am I a schoolmistress?" Isobel had always treated all her subordinates fairly and equally, but there was fair and then there fair. The latter description could, broadly speaking, have defined her attitude to Friyya.

"No, Reverend Sister." The paladin mumbled.

"So don't greet me like one: speak up! You're not thirteen anymore."

"Yes, Reverend Sister." Friyya managed a clearer tone.

"Don't worry about it, I won't be holding my breath." Isobel concluded dismissively before finally addressing the group, "Now, I understand you performed commendably on your last outing. You even managed to put your training into practise and have your first taste of the blood of the irredeemably wicked. Be advised, though, that felling unarmoured thugs is one thing and pursuing the crusade of the Vigilant Maiden is another. You are only at the beginning, so I want to see no over-eagerness. Exercise caution at all times and you may live to serve this Order with the glory it deserves."

"Yes, Reverend Sister." The three called back in unison.

"For today, I imagine there will be less excitement. I want the three of you to take a watch detail by the Shattered Temple. Though banished since the times of the Faction War, the godless Athar have sought to rebuild their influence. Their attachment to what they believe to be the folly of the gods is revolting, but it is their weakness. You will be confined to surveillance. Take your positions on the roof of a nearby building. Any untoward activity should be reported to these headquarters before the Civic Security authorities are notified, am I clear?" Isobel did not trust the Sigil authorities, such as they were, nor did she trust the factional, divided nature of the city's society. All she could trust were her fellow sisters at arms.

"Yes, Reverend Sister."

"Excuse me, Reverend Sister..." Friyya interjected nervously.

"What?" Came the impatient reply.

"Won't Syf..."

"No, she has fencing training to lead. As a matter of fact," Isobel's tone was contemptuous as she peered directly into Friyya's eyes, "what a good paladin like Syf is doing with a soft layabout like you is a mystery to me. Be advised that you can ply her all you want with your charms, but she will not always be there to lead you by the hand, understood?"

"Yes...Reverend Sister." Friyya resolved to let things run their course naturally next time.

"Now if there are no more special requests for lovers or mothers, you are dismissed."

The three initiate paladins bowed and gratefully took their leave.

"Virginia!" Isobel called out, almost as an afterthought.The blonde paladin stopped in her tracks, her heart beginning to race.

"Next time you fail to report to me you'll spend a week in Penitential, understood?"

"Yes, Reverend Sister. I'm very sorry...please accept my unqualified..."

"Out!"

Virginia was only too happy to obey.

"I hate sentry duty." Marséna said tersely as the party made its way to the Hive Ward. The gloomy, sundered ruins of the great temple of the blasphemous god Aoskar loomed before them, its carcass of shattered steel, glass and black stone a testament to the absolute power to Lady of Pain - Sigil's mysterious governing entity - over even the divine within her realm.

"We only just qualified for our Consecration, I hardly think we should be doing anything far more dangerous." Friyya ventured.

"So when are you going to dedicate yourself entirely to teaching novices their doctrine and Axioms and leave the real work to us?" Marséna snapped back.

"Leave her." Virginia said firmly. It was a shame that Syf had not accompanied them; she seemed to have the ability to balance the party and keep everyone working comfortably to the best of their ability. With Syf out of the equation, it was up to Virginia to actively play the peacemaker. But, the blonde paladin mused, the relationship between Marséna and Friyya was strange: they had good days when they would talk amiably, share a few laughs or even chat through the evening under the same blanket in the common room; and bad days, like the one Virginia was currently being forced to put up with, when one puerile barb followed another.

The squalor of the Hive never ceased to amaze Virginia. It was as if all the most wretched mass of the planar realms had been discharged into the most narrow and fetid of spaces. Dilapidated houses leaned on one another in a neverending succession of architectural grotesquery and impossibility. The streets ran thick with sentient scum: cutthroats, thieves, demons, half-demons and quarter-demons, assassins and pimps. Raw life, Virginia thought wryly to herself.

"Where should we set up positions?" Marséna inquired as they approached the great, blasted square where the Shattered Temple squatted like the decaying corpse of the god who was once worshipped there.

"Far right, there's a house with its roof removed, probably so someone could sell the tin, we could stake out on the top floor, I think it overlooks most avenues of access to the Temple." Virginia suggested.

Friyya and Marséna both nodded their assent, so the party made its way discreetly towards the ruined structure, which turned out to be utterly uninhabited and, indeed, uninhabitable. Most of the veneer on the wood had been chipped away and the planks beneath their feet were rotted. A rickety set of stairs led up to the topmost floor where the dim light of Sigil's day filtered easily through the collapsed ceiling. From a height, the Shattered Temple actually had its charm. As a ruin, it had been well preserved, though overgrown with razorvine, and it looked like an oddly appropriate landmark in Sigil's most desolate, most chaotic cityscape. If there was beauty in this chaos, it was in its organic, spontaneous quality. From their vantage point, the party could see the great curve of Sigil's wheel stretch and curve out in the distance. With their observation lens, the paladins could see the tall, stately arches and pointed steeples of the Lady's Ward and the Clerk's Ward.

"So we wait?" Marséna said impatiently.

"We wait." Answered Virginia as she sat down on the bare, creaking floor, observation lens in hand, methodically scrutinising the passing human and inhuman traffic, "I'll take first watch, you two stay by the entrance."

"How lucky I am to be backed up by the Radiant Path's finest." Marséna opined, though, to be fair, Friyya was a reasonably competent swordswoman.

"Well, Syf's lived thus far with a modest fighter like myself by her side, but, of course, you hardly stand to be placed in the same class..."

"Which is exactly where I hope to prove you wrong, now let's move." Marséna snapped.

********

Sigismund Pandulf von Dassau, Director of the 3rd Bureau of Civic Security had two great passions since recanting his allegiance to Yugoloth hierarchy and seeking redemption through law enforcement: reading and wine. Originally a member of the arcanoloth caste of the Yugoloth fiends whose role it was to tempt both other demons and mortals into signing damning, labyrinthine contracts which promised short-term advantage but inevitably led to long term disaster, he had ultimately found this line of work unrewarding and, frankly, demeaning to his prodigious intellect. So he had cleared his desk, so to speak, and made a quick dash for Sigil, where the Lady of Pain's watchful eye ensured no high-level cosmic interference from outside, thus allowing Dassau to carve a new niche for himself in the Civic Security Department, an institution established in the wake of the decline of the Factions who had previously engaged in specialised sectors of Sigil's administration.

Although Dassau had immediately been appointed to high rank, he had found upwards mobility through the corrupt morass of Sigil's politics to be somewhat difficult. Ironically he, the former corrupter, was now having his career stifled by corrupt mortals who did not need a crooked contract to sin in greed or ambition. They appeared to do so out of second nature. In any case, Bureau Director was interesting enough. His new martial calling had allowed him to remodel his appearance. Though the inner nature of his demonic soul compelled him to remain with a canine theme, he had abandoned the jackal, whose connotation in most cultures was tied either to death or deception, and selected a particular breed of dog which on some worlds was known as Dobermann and on others, notably Ortho, as the West Gothic Mastiff.

Though his visage remained a snarling, demonic parody of a dog's, it was at least tempered by better intentions, and although his long fingers, complete with disease-injecting claws were as eager as ever to point out flaws in any argument - for his legal mind was second to none -, Dassau had at least chosen to conceal them beneath black leather gloves which complemented the military cut of his uniform. Time off from formulating contracts which were impossible to fulfil had given him ample time to research numerous cultural perceptions of appearance. So he was always impeccably dressed.

"Sir, some activity has been reported by an informant near the Shattered Temple."

"So I hear, take note Isolde." Dassau instructed his private secretary.

Isolde was new in the Bureau. She had taken up the job because she knew she could set about it with grim determination where her predecessors, utterly fed up with Dassau's innumerable eccentricities, had failed. So she had volunteered and won Dassau's grudging trust, if not respect. But only as an underling and a factotum.

"Since the Athar, Faction of the Godless, as stipulated in Article 224, Paragraph 9, Line 3 of the Provisional Code of Public Security has been banned from the city in toto for activities deemed disreputable, blasphemous and seditious, any recrudescence of their activity is to be proscribed according to Article 225 of the same code and, under such provisions, those apprehended beyond reasonable doubt in the process of conducting conversations, transactions or public gatherings in support of the Athar movement are to be subject to imprisonment pending a capital trial, are you writing this?"

The question was redundant. Although she held pencil and paper, Isolde never wrote anything down. Dassau's recall was perfect. Anything he, or anyone else, said or wrote was immediately recorded and could be retrieved from the arcanoloth's archive-mind with effortless ease. In effect, Isolde did not have a job. Dassau did not need a secretary, but merely demanded one as a reflection of his rank. In reality, Isolde's days were filled with bringing Dassau library books and wine from the demon's vast, personal demi-plane cellar which could be accessed by a portal on the left wall of his office. But even that could not relieve the boredom. Dassau could read and memorise even the thickest of books in a few hours. This meant that there were long intervals between activities to occupy his fertile, contorted mind for him to mull over Hells knew what. He had become quite neurotic as a consequence, making increasingly obscure references to even more abstruse literary works, all the while interweaving his professional thoughts with long, perfectly argued and factually accurate, but inconceivably boring digressions.

"...In conclusion, this Office recommends that clearance be provided in accordance with Article 99 of the Code of Praxis in order to secure a more substantial deployment of field operatives in response to aforesaid Provisional Code of Public Security violations."

Isolde looked up, expecting her next order. She hated to admit it, but she would have preferred being in bed. She needed a glucose tablet and she was certain that there had been some additional tartar buildup on her teeth since two strikes of the Bell Tower ago when she had last washed them. She would excuse herself at the next opportunity. The speck of dust she had found against the windowpane still bothered her, nagging at the back of her head like a burrowing worm. She could not trust Lirai to clean it up, so by the time she got back she probably would have to disinfect the whole windowframe.

"I am sorry, but are you paying attention, Isolde?" Sigil's lingua franca was not a particularly poetic tongue, but Dassau spoke with such a precise, aristocratic intonation as to make it seem otherwise. Isolde assumed that the same could be said of the countless other languages Dassau had picked up in the aeons he had spent trawling the Planes looking for mortals and immortals to corrupt.

"Sorry sir, I feel I would be more attentive if I had taken an additional glucose tablet this morning."

"Are you telling me that you still consume those appalling things? Oh, and that reminds me. If one has an interest in the sweet, then there is no vintage like the Pollesson 625, single vineyard cuvee from the left bank of the Torvalle River on Mareterra. Its effusive sweetness gives way to a humbling mid-palate of glorious sun-dried fruits: namely the muscat grape, the apricot, the orange flower petal and the late-ripening pear, and, finally, an interminably lengthy persistence on the palate in which evident notes of incense, camphor and beeswax can be detected. Thus, in conclusion, drink wine and not glucose."

"I shall keep that in mind, sir." Isolde replied. The thought of the innumerable contaminations present in most foods revolted her. Decay in human bodies, as she understood it, began at three. So she had weathered sixteen years of decay thus far and, thanks to her highly regimented lifestyle, was none the worse for it. In Isolde's estimation, her teeth and skin were a perfect, unblemished white. She was the perfect embodiment of an ideal Mid-Western Ortho female racial type: straight blonde hair, well-proportioned Gothic skull, symmetrical blue eyes endowed with perfect vision; breasts and hips within proportions which were deemed acceptable for functional femininity but not given to garish vulgarity. In other words, Isolde knew herself to be a perfectly maintained physical specimen. No decay would be allowed. Decay was weakness.

"Very well. You may procure yourself a glucose tablet; from thence retrieve the Seventh Philology Annual Edition of the Fraternity of Order; finally return to the 5th Bureau and liaise with me at regular intervals regarding the situation at the Shattered Temple."

"At your service, sir." Isolde was grateful for the time granted to her for a quick snack. It would be more than an adequate window of opportunity in which to clean her teeth.

***

"Having a bad day?" Marséna inquired as Friyya paced around the entrance hall at the bottom floor of the derelict building. Surveillance duty was depressing as it stood, but guarding a doorway Marséna was convinced had not been breached in at least a decade was worse still.

"What do you think?" Friyya snapped back.

"Are we going to stop this now?" Friyya had started it bright and early that morning and now, it was up to Marséna to end it.

"Sure." The paladin conceded sullenly, privately relieved she did not have to lose face in apologising, "What did you want to ask?"

"What's Isobel's problem with you?

"To be honest, I don't know, maybe because my talents lie outside her field. She's like you, she wouldn't trust me on mission." Friyya bit her lip in frustration. The Radiant Path wasn't meant to be all shimmering breastplates and drawn swords, it was a philosophy, a way of life and a powerful moral message as well - it was love.

"Don't play the victim, you know I trust you." This was no time to be leading Friyya into an emotional tailspin.

"Yeah, but you're better than me."

"At this, maybe," Marséna reassured, placing one gauntleted hand on the pommel of her sword, "but we've grown into a team for a reason, we need each other, and not just in battle. C'mon, none of us has half the mind you do."

"You flatter me, I'm no genius."

"I only know that late night study sessions with you saved us all from some really well-deserved punishment." Marséna said, smiling warmly.

Friyya chuckled knowingly to herself, "Alright, peace then and we can kiss and make up properly when we're off duty."

"Oh, so Syf isn't enough for you now." Marséna teased.

"Well," Friyya said with affected conceit, placing her hands on her hips "I am a woman of the world."

Marséna could not help but laugh, though the comment had brought her on to a more serious point, "Speaking of Syf, there's been something I needed to ask you."

"Hmm?"

"I envy you."

"What?" Friyya snorted.

"You seem to have it easy, as if the pieces fitted together and you didn't have to make it work, as if your relationship worked by its very nature."

"Trouble with Shesayne?"

"Yes," Marséna admitted between gritted teeth, "she's been distant in the last few days. That and I think she's been put off by other things weighing on my mind."

"I'm no expert," Friyya began, "but, I can suggest this. Drop your baggage, put the weight of your soul away, at least for the evening. If you're suffering, she'll know but you ought not to convey your frustrations on her. Sort them out beforehand, you owe her that. That and Shesayne's sensitive, she needs to love Marséna who is thinking about Shesayne, not Marséna thinking about other things."

"It's been a bit of a flat period recently, for lots of things. I just wish I could start putting my life in order."

"We all do." Friyya said, placing a reassuring hand on Marséna's shoulder, "But do this, make love to her tonight, so that she knows that you still need her, then, when you're both certain that there should be no secrets between you, I promise you that there will be no need for one to tell the other something important, but because the other will always ask first."

"You're joking. You make it sound like child's play."

"A plant grows effortlessly, but only if given water, sun and soil."

"Friyya, your turn." Virginia called out from upstairs. Nothing important had happened and the changeover would at least give her opportunity to stretch her stiff legs a little.

"Got to go, but I'd like to pick this back up again sometime."

"Whenever you want." Marséna shouted as Friyya ascended the stairs. She knew that they could well have been quarrelling again the following day, but that was just the way it was with sisters, Marséna thought, you don't choose them, you sometimes wish you could wring their neck, but, in the end, you could not help needing them.

Virginia came down shortly afterwards, looking a good deal more tired and frustrated. "I would almost say it's a fool's errand. If there is suspicious activity here, they're being quite discreet about it."

"Don't worry about it, I heard they send newly Consecrated paladins on pointless missions just to test their virtues of patience and cooperation. The reasoning is that if we don't rip each other apart after half a day of mind-numbing, repetitive activity we're good to go against the legions of evil."

"So did you and Friyya rip each other apart?" Virginia said, leaning back on the wall next to Marséna, her hand never far from the pommel of her sword.

"No. But she left me with the impression that I owe her a bath or a dinner. Probably both."

"I knew it!" Virginia exclaimed, "It's been like that between you two since the beginning, just like adolescent sisters."

"No, it was not! I really hated her in the beginning, remember?" Marséna protested.

"Case and point." Virginia concluded smugly.

"By the way, Virg..." Marséna began, unsure of how to best approach the topic.

"Yeah."

"Friyya said I needed to deal with the things that have been bothering me, so please hear me out."

"I think I know what this is about, but go on."

"I don't think you're a poor judge of character, but I do think you're a good person and sometimes, you can be under the impression that people can change readily, from black to white." Virginia groaned, she knew that Lily would have entered the conversation at some point.

"C'mon, Virg just hear me out."

"Fine." Virginia relented, she knew better than to dismiss Marséna's concerns out of hand.

"You know what they say in the valleys around my town? They say that you can't train a wolf to become a sheepdog. He just won't take it, he may have the best of intentions, he may grow affectionate to the shepherd, even, but eventually, he always relapses. It's not because he's a bad wolf, on the contrary, he's a good wolf, that's why he'll always eat sheep."

"We all have free choice, Marséna...if educated, anyone can make the right choice." Virignia interrupted, she had considered this argument before and found it less than convincing. The notion that evil was an absolute, irreversible value was suspicious, to say the least, to her. Nevertheless, culture was a powerful thing because it dictated mindset and Lily, once a fully acculturated and even elite member of her race, was certainly steeped more than most in drow social mores.

"I'm not finished," Marséna continued, as she now tilted her head to face Virginia, "when I was a child in my twelfth summer, they trapped a wolf in the pasture near my family's farmstead. I remember the shepherds came down from the hills and it was about vintage-time because the grapes in our vineyards were big, and so red they were almost black. They took me to see the animal as it lay there, thrashing against the snare around its paw on the grass. He was a big one too, male, brown and muscular. One of the shepherds gave me a knife and told me to finish him off. So I did. I took a leather strap to hold up into the wolf's jaws and cut his throat, just like I'd always done when I was made to slaughter lambs. He struggled a while, so my hands and dress were covered in blood. I was proud that I had killed a wolf, but the shepherds, they looked at me with surprise, maybe fear. So they took me to the capitain rezent, the governor of our commune. He had one look at me and said, 'she has the blood of Furies, a massaluo, a wolf killer, she will have no peace in marriage, her honour will lie in the carrying of arms.' So they bundled me up and sent me away to the Order. I did not understand then, but I understand now, what it meant to kill the wolf."

"Marséna...I never..."

"Don't take it personally, I hate that fucking story."

"I still don't really understand what you meant by it, though."

"I suppose what I'm saying is," Marséna said gently, staring into Virginia's eyes with a depth of emotion the blonde paladin had rarely seen before, "that it's bad enough that you expect someone's nature to change for you, just like that, but it makes matters even worse when you volunteer to change your own nature at the same time. You and I, Virg, we are both massaluo, that shouldn't change."

"You're jealous, aren't you?" Virginia knew Marséna too well.

"Yes, a little, so what? Does that lessen my point?" Marséna said defiantly.

"Why, Marséna?" Virginia began her voice a little choked with emotion, this was digging up an archive of the heart she hoped to keep shut - permanently - and it was hardly the ideal subject matter for mission duty, "It's been a long time. I was so happy for you when...when you found Shesayne. I thought time had made things better for you."

"Has it for you?"

"Yes," Virginia confessed, "but we were still novices then and over the last couple of years, I think I've been searching for something else. I don't think what I'm seeking is necessarily better, but I owe it to myself to give it a try."

"I don't think I've ever stopped loving you, Virg." Marséna said quietly, running a hand as quickly as possible across her cheeks in the hope that Virginia didn't catch on.

"Neither have I, silly, you..."

"No!" Marséna interrupted, her voice more frantic than it should have been, "You know exactly what I mean. I want the kind of love you won't give me." Then, remembering her duty, Marséna composed herself, running a hand across her cheeks again before assuming an alert, dispassionate stance. She swallowed heavily, "This will have to wait another time."

Virginia stood there listlessly. Not another word was exchanged.

*****

"No activity at the Shattered Temple over the span of this working day, sir." Isolde declared with some satisfaction.

"I salute your efforts!" Dassau replied, raising a long, gloved finger into the air, his eyes glowing with the demonic malice he could never quite suppress, "But I must ask you to stay beyond the usual hour."

"May I enquire why, sir?"

"Naturally, we live in a socially progressive society. I require your support for my mnemonic exercises."

"Mnemonic, sir? But your memory is flawless."

"On the contrary, the inactivity of recent times has weakened the resolve and brilliance of my spirit. This cannot be permitted, hence you shall open any of these books at a random page and cite the page and work concerned. Subsequently, I shall begin a recitation, from memory, from the beginning of the page to its very end. Should there be any discrepancies in my recall, you are to identify them immediately for instantaneous rectification."

"But sir..." Isolde had been desperate to return home all day, to climb into her nice clean bed with perfumed, freshly washed Lirai and enter into a communion of pure bodies and souls with her.

"There are no objections, Isolde. This is not Gehenna, there is a chain of command here!" Dassau's fist fell heavily on the table. The old dog, Isolde decided, was definitely struggling in the deep end. Reformed or not, Dassau's essence remained demonic, as did his taste for soul-draining, tortuous exercises.

"As you wish, sir." Reluctantly taking up a vast, leatherbound tome, she flipped it open to a central page, "Disquisition on Mathematical and Physical Etiology, page 422."

"Which, though easily cross-referenced with experiments 9a through 22 (viz. also Appendix III) is not a function proper, but a strong hypothesis on the causational factors associated with..."

****

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Asked Friyya as she stood in her apartment's common room. She had sent an exhausted Syf to bed with the promise of joining her soon and seen an unusually taciturn Virginia clear the table and bring some food to her drow lover - or was it prisoner?. Only she and Marséna remained. The raven-haired paladin sat listlessly on the most divan which was the common room's centrepiece, curled up under a blanket, a glass of - contraband - wine from her homeworld in one hand. The bottle, already more than half drained, was on the table.

"Sure, misery loves company." Marséna said, taking a sip of the dark, almost ink-black liquid. It reminded her of the aromatic shrubs, sun-burnt earth and fresh orchard fruits of her homeworld.

"What happened to Shesayne?" Friyya asked, perhaps needlessly, as she sat down,

"We quarrelled."Friyya had gathered as much. Shesayne as one temperamental half-elf and certainly controlled by unpredictable passions.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm not much of an advisor, either."

"No, it was my fault," Marséna said ruefully, "I was bitter...I told her to leave."

"I hope everything you said can be taken back." Friyya said, placing one hand over Marséna's shoulder.

"Yeah, me too. Come here, it's getting cold." Marséna said, as she drew Friyya under the blanket, holding the slight, auburn-haired girl close to her, "Want a sip?" She asked, offering Friyya the glass.

"Why not?"

Friyya was not used to wine of this potency, much preferring the sweet, white diluted sort which was so common in Sigil's Ortho-descended community. She coughed slightly, the alcohol burning her throat and nostrils. Marséna laughed and kissed her on the cheek, "This, my dear, is real wine."

"I'm giddy already." Friyya protested. How anyone could drink anything so sharp and bitter was beyond her. Sinking deeper into Marséna's embrace, Friyya felt the dark-haired paladin's supple, generous breasts against her own under the thin fabric of their nightgowns, "I'm sorry Marséna. I really want you to be happy, believe me."

"I know you do."

"You quarrelled with Virg too, didn't you."

"Yes."

"I admire you in so many ways, but if I could tell you one thing it would be this: don't fight with the people who love you the most." Friyya snuggled closer, revelling in the guilty pleasure of hearing Marséna's breathing surround her and smelling the light fragrance of the raven-haired girl's citrus perfume.

"I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I feel so lost."

"You and I," Friyya said, her voice more conspiratorial than Marséna had ever heard it, "we're alike. We've both lost our homeland, our roots. I more than you, because at least you have your memories, your language. I have nothing, just the people I have found around me in Sigil. We have no country outside the Order of the Radiant Path, virtually no family...it's just us four. That's the way it was in the beginning and, sometimes, I hope that's the way it will always be."

"I wish you'd think of that before you made your stupid jokes at my expense." Marséna said, nevertheless enjoying the human warmth that Friyya provided.

"Like all families, there are some things we just have to put up with, right?" Friyya said, suppressing a yawn. It was becoming quite late and even that small sip of Marséna's wine had been a cannonball to her brain. What she had said about family though, that Friyya had wanted to tell Marséna for a long time. That almost humiliating confession that, by now, Marséna was more of a sister to her than any member of her original family, that just the thought of not seeing her every morning, or at the dinner table every each evening filled Friyya with gut-wrenching pain. All those thoughts would have their time, though, and, at that juncture, all Friyya wanted was to sleep.

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I ought to get some sleep before tomorrow." Friyya said, pulling the blanket tighter against her.

"Won't Syf miss you?"

"Let me worry about that."

"Shouldn't we go to my bed then..."

"I'm comfortable here, what about you?" Friyya said. She had begun to doze off, feeling comfortably secure in Marséna's embrace.

"Getting better." Marséna commented, burying her face in Friyya's soft, auburn tresses.

***

Thoughts of a homeland of a very different kind filled Lily's thoughts as she lay awake, perfectly at home in the pitch blackness of Virginia's bedchamber. The blonde paladin slept almost soundlessly beside her. Lily's thoughts, though, were filled with a thousand fears and uncertainties and the pulsating trepidation at the back of her head that this was all ploy. She was being drawn into some web, there must have been some scheme to lure her into this den of an alien goddess for ulterior motives. There was, the dark elf reflected, no such thing as a free lunch and, although she had been more than willing to provide Virginia with all the bedchamber pleasures she required, that was, she thought, scarcely enough to justify her permanence in that strange place.

At that point, Lily had outlined two choice for herself, neither particularly appealing, but, as always, pragmatism was the key to survival: one only had to look at spiders who found some life to cling onto even in the smallest of cracks and corners: first, she could simply leave and this would have the advantage of assuaging her anxiety at remaining in a place had yet to fully comprehend; second, and perhaps preferably, she could try insinuate herself in the social ladder of the society in which she had found herself. To the drow's knowledge, it could not have been that dissimilar to her own society. Females appeared to be dominant and, favourably, unlike drow culture, her new milieu appeared to be less interested in the notion of racial purity. Since she was in a minority of one, this would server her well.

Of course, were she to go ahead with the social experiment, the greatest caution would have to be exercised but, it would have been foolish to let her advantage slip: she had already found her way into the bed of what appeared to be a leading personage. There was nothing new there, Lily thought with self-satisfaction, it had taken her a mere three Abyssal Cycles to find a suitably high-ranking priestess as a mistress - in order to secure advancement in the byzantine hierarchy of her city - whilst in training to become a cleric of Lloth. Assuming a comparative method of cultural study, it was only logical that to become sufficiently powerful and respected to the extent that she would no longer have to fear for her safety, she would have to become Virginia's accomplice, as well as her lover.

Then of course, Virginia would ultimately become useless and Lily could move on and away. Such was the course of things. Power relationships were always changing, always in flux and it took a keen mind to ride the crest of each wave. For Lily, had nadir had come when her House had been destroyed: it would all be upwards from there.

Lying in the stillness, Lily briefly considered how depressingly humiliating it was to submit in bed to a human. But such, she supposed, was the way of all worlds: power was the only constant across all cultures and societies. In the end, the dark elf concluded, it was better to be between Virginia's thighs than dead; indeed, the two options did not even bear comparison.

***

"So...do you, ah...actually, eat your males?" Syf inquired curiously, staring curiously at the very surreal scene of a dark elf eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Although she had initially been reticent about the idea of accepting the presence of a wolf in sheep's...well, just a wolf, actually, she was overwhelmed by curiosity and had decided to break the ice.

"And what gave you that impression?" Lily's voices was odd to Syf's ears, melodious, but underscored by a strange accent infused with tonalities whose nuances she could not quite catch.

"Well, there is the spider issue."

Let's see if this works, Lily thought to herself, putting down her spoon and cocking her head slightly as she looked directly into Syf's blue eyes, "I would not say we eat them, but should they stray out of line, there is never a shortage of spirits to summon who would perform that function for us. Despite whatever you may have heard, we are a civilised culture and recognise that each drow has a function: males are for breeding and females are for pleasure; in the most advanced cultures the two activities are kept quite separate. Only animals are unable to tell the difference."

In a perverse sort of way, Syf had to admit to herself that she did not entirely disagree, "Sounds rational enough."

Outstanding - Lily thought, her brave new world was becoming ever clearer.

"Excuse my unfamiliarity with your customs, but are you a priestess?" Lily asked, riding her luck to probe deeper.

"So to speak," Syf said, taking a seat at the table, her interest piqued, "but I like to consider myself a paladin of the faith as well."

"I too, trained as a priestess, but our Goddess is fickle and bestows favours with the ease with which she withdraws them." The bitterness in Lily's comment was palpable.

"I guess no one can take the faith of others for granted, not even the gods." Syf's conscience inevitably led the paladin's thoughts to Friyya. The less she thought about complications regarding that particular situation, the better.

"Precisely, things change and fall apart. There is no use dragging memories around like childhood toys."

"Fortune favours the brave, right?" Syf ventured.

"No, the swift and clever. But fortune has clearly favoured you," flattery, Lily thought, was another social constant that varied little between cultures, "are you that other woman's patron?"

"What, Friyya? No..."

"Yet you are intimate." Lily explored.

"Yes, but I don't think it's only a professional relationship...I mean she's a member of my detachment, but she's also my lover. The two things are separate."

"How so?" Lily asked, incredulous.

"Nevermind. Let us just say that I don't hold or command her in any way. I like to think of it as a relationship between equals."

Now this is strange, Lily thought, "But if you are a militant priesthood, then there must be a chain of command."

"There is," Syf specified, allowing herself the indulgence of a quiet chuckle, "but I don't think it extends into the bedroom."

Why in the Abyss not? Was Lily's only thought as she pondered the day's discoveries. It appeared that she had underestimated the complexity of surface cultures.

***

The fencing ground was in surprisingly excellent condition, Marséna thought as she parried the incoming thrust of Virginia's training sword, Syf must have really been cracking her whip. Though she could often best Virginia in practise, it was not as a result of superior technique. On the contrary, Marséna had adopted a less conventional stance which inclined her to a more fluid, flexible style which, combined with her sharp senses and intuition, made her a frustrating and, most importantly, unpredictable opponent. That morning, though, she was not exactly feeling her best.

"You're hung over." Virginia commented as her opponent moved forward into a counter attack. She knew Marséna would shift from a high to a low attack and readied her guard accordingly.

"A little." It had been a while since she had drank much wine and the half (or was it two thirds?) bottle from the previous night was taking its toll.

"If only Isobel knew..."

"You're not going to tell on me, are you?" Marséna said sardonically.

"Are you still angry about yesterday?" Virginia said, realising too late that Marséna had easily bypassed her attempt at parrying and landed the wooden practise sword with full force on the blonde paladin's exposed lower thigh. Virginia crumpled to the ground, the pain was searing, "I'll take that as a yes." She gasped through gritted teeth.

"What's really depressing is, that didn't make me feel better." Marséna said coolly, offering a hand to lift Virginia to her feet, "Can you continue?"

"No." Virginia said, grimacing in pain. Marséna really had not held back, "You took quite a swing there."

"Even with a headache, I'm more than a match." Marséna said, smiling a little, "Come," she said, allowing Virginia to hook an arm around her neck for support, "I'll help you to the infirmary."

Hobbling painfully, Virginia was all too eager to sit back on the first bed she could find in the cool, empty infirmary. The sounds of continued fencing drills could be heard from outside. In the meanwhile, Marséna opened the ornate wooden medicine cabinet that lay against the wall of the infirmary, withdrawing a stoppered flask containing blue healing salve and a clean, muslin cloth. The raven-haired paladin knelt in front of Virginia's bed to inspect the wound: it was already beginning to form a very substantial bruise and there was some bleeding from a long but shallow cut.

Virginia sighed in relief as Marséna began to work some of cool, numbing salve into the wound. A soft, balsamic smell filled the air as Marséna's hands worked diligently.

It was Virginia who finally decided to break the silence, "I don't think I was fair to you yesterday, I'm sorry."

"Why?" Marséna said, still preoccupied with her task. The feeling of Virginia's slimly muscled thigh against her fingers was one of the sensations she had missed the most in recent times. That and the blonde paladin's simple fabric tunic had ridden up somewhat, laying more of the beautiful, pale leg bare. Marséna tried very hard to concentrate on the medical task at hand, though the salve was already taking effect, slowly clearing the bruising away.

"I think...I think I hurt you."

"We'd spend our lives apologising if all the pain we ever caused to others had to be accounted for." Marséna said, not without ironic reference to their current situation.

"Well, it's always an honour to be beaten by the best." Virginia conceded. The familiar, firm touch of Marséna's hands was reassuring and, from her vantage point, she could not help but admire the inky blackness of the girl's hair and the rich, iodine tan of her skin.

Marséna looked up and smiled warmly, "So I don't need to apologise?" She asked, her hands still on Virginia's thigh even though the bruise was long gone.

"No." Virginia replied, her heartbeat accelerating.

"Can I make it up to you?" Marséna said as she planted a sensual, wet kiss on Virginia's thigh.

The contact was electric: it was if Virginia's heartbeat echoed throughout her body and mind, "I don't think that's a good idea...we have enough trouble to sort out as it is." In the meanwhile, Marséna was bringing her kisses inexorably higher.

"Please, this isn't wise..." Virginia's voice trailed off into a sharp intake of air as Marséna's hand travelled upwards to run a slender finger down the moistened slit of her sex, gathering the moisture like beads of dew.

"That's not what she says." Marséna replied smugly, provocatively cleaning Virginia's nectar off her finger with a luxuriant swipe of the tongue.

"Marséna, please, if this is to be, let it be at the right time." Virginia said, expending all her willpower to take Marséna's hands into her own and lift the dark-haired paladin up to face her, "But please, be patient. Each has her own time and it would just hurt more afterwards if we made love here and now."

Nodding in resigned agreement, Marséna allowed herself to be taken into Virginia's embrace. She knew Virginia to be the wiser navigator of emotions and, as much as she hated to admit it, often trusted the other woman's judgements more than her own, "You were pretty wet, though." Marséna teased.

"You know that I've always found you beautiful." Virginia with a slightly embarrassed grin as she kissed Marséna softly on the lips, "and you've always given me wonderful memories."

"So what happened to us, ma baudesa?"

"It's been so long since you've called me that."

"That's because there's been no joy since you decided on taking another path."

***

- I remember - Virginia thought. - The day our paths split. -

***

"You remember it?" Virginia said, breaking the silence, planting soft kisses on Marséna's hair.

"Yeah. Worst night of my life."

"Almost, you forget your first night in the novice's dormitory." Virginia insinuated, a smile returning to her lips.

"You little bitch..."

"I thought you were so cute, looking lost and homesick, but then you kept me up all night with your sniffling." Virginia teased.

"I had a cold, it was fucking freezing." Marséna said defensively, though inside she was happy that she and Virginia were joking again.

"Never bought that one, never will, I was on the bunk on top of yours, so I think I had a pretty good view."

"You do remember what happened to anyone who mentioned that, don't you?" Marséna said with mock menace.

Virginia could hardly suppress her laughter, "Of course, you sent Friyya to the infirmary during fencing practise."

"So many memories. Goddess, this place has grown on us." Marséna said wistfully. Virginia was still laughing. Marséna, only a first year novice, had become an overnight legend: not even Syf had ever dispensed such a thorough thrashing on an opponent and Friyya, totally outclassed, was forced into sobbing out desperate apologies before Isobel stopped the bout. Of course, since it had been Friyya, Isobel limited herself to a stern, "Control yourself next time" and let the matter drop. Secretly, Virginia imagined, she may well have been quite pleased.

They left the infirmary laughing and Virginia felt her spirits lifted, as if she had been relieved of a great burden. Perhaps Lily could lift them still further. There was, however, still the issue of how she was going to address the very practical problem of having a dark elf stowaway in a temple of Goddess dedicated to the preservation of Good. But Virginia had been hatching a plot. If she could feasibly argue that Lily had become a renegade from her people on the grounds of a momentous cultural and moral shift in her alignment, then the Order of the Radiant Path would be obliged to provide shelter and assistance. Furthermore, Virginia's own efforts in securing this conversion would almost certainly be looked upon with great admiration.

Although her detachment was still of very junior rank - and leadership was consequently assigned on a rotational basis between the four of them -, Isobel had hinted that the appointment of a permanent squad leader was only a matter of time. Syf was generally considered to be the favourite in the running. Friyya was out of the question, of course, since Isobel had been charged with the decision and although the Vice-Commander had a very healthy respect for Marséna, she did not consider her leadership material. The unspoken competition was thus between Virginia and Syf. Not that Virginia wished to take anything away from the erstwhile model paladin, but she certainly would not turn down the squad leader role should the opportunity present itself.

The overall improvement in mood lasted well into the evening. Although Shesayne, sensitive ad temperamental as always, had absented herself again, repeatedly proclaiming that she was going to stay in Min's lodgings for the night in a - generally successful - ploy to irk Marséna, Virginia had seen it fit to entreat Lily to join them for dinner. Out of sheer, morbid and desperate curiosity the dark elf complied, only to be subjected to Marséna's curious stares and Friyya's self-conscious attempts to ignore her existence. They were a curious bunch, Lily decided, not uninteresting, though, since their power relationships were so complex to discern. If she had to be honest with herself, Lily could not actually detect any consistent hierarchy. Naturally, these things took time, though, and the drow were, by and large, a patient and constantly scheming race.

Virginia's cooking too, was buoyed by her optimism and she had laid out a modest feast for her comrades which culminated in a rich fresh fruit pastry which Lily found to be unutterably revolting but that the others seemed to appreciate very much indeed. Friyya, especially, who was busy tearing into her third portion.

"If all your admirers could see you now!" Virginia exclaimed in mock disgust.

"I'm allowed to." Friyya replied succinctly before taking another spoonful. The pastry melted into buttery heaven in her mouth.

"You see, Lily," Virginia said so as to draw the dark elf, who had begun to lose interest in the meandering social interaction around her, into the conversation, "we have the honour of being in the presence of the highest object of this Temple's desire, whether they be novices, priestesses or paladins." Friyya blushed slightly and Syf's heart swelled with pride though she gave no outward sign.

"You're flattering her, again, you know it goes straight to her head." Marséna muttered.

"So, what do the drow consider beautiful?" Syf asked suddenly, her curiosity had been stimulated by the morning's conversation with Lily.

"Well, power of course, generally speaking. But physically speaking, the body has to be proportioned but feminine." Each passing day, Lily felt more confident with the language, the words seemed to fit together even if when all four of her hosts - or was it jailors - started speaking, there were always a few seconds of confusion before her ears filtered out the words which composed the conversation.

"Feminine?" Friyya queried, not quite certain what that term would mean in a drow social context.

"Curved at the breasts and hips, but harmoniously so, we would say like the abdomen of a thillai-i spider."

Friyya had no idea of what manner of arachnid Lily was referring to, but had come to the conclusion that since the dark elves were a matriarchal society by definition, there was no need to mute femininity in order to gain social standing. Femininity, as it stood, was considered the source of potency. Indeed, though relatively slender by human standards, Lily was certainly voluptuous for an elf.

"So, what's life actually like, living in a drow city? I mean we've read about yo...uh, your people, but I don't necessarily think the accounts were accurate." Friyya pressed.

"Do you play?" Lily replied.

"Sorry..."

"Cards or dice."

"You mean gamble?" Friyya ventured.

"Yes."

"No, never in my life."

"Not that you can remember." Marséna snorted.

"Anyway," Lily continued, "when you gamble, you enter with the expectation of winning. Often, when you win, you win very much and when you lose, the loss is just as dramatic. Some, who are loved by Fortune, continue winning no matter how many times they roll the dice. Some win, then lose and some lose then win. The point is, there is no uppermost limit, so some will keep playing, but there is a bottom limit, after which you are ejected from the game."

"So you never know the outcome of the next day." Syf ventured.

"Had I known that I had a losing hand, I wouldn't be here. But then it depends on your preferences, would you rather life a hundred days as a fly or a single day as a spider."

"I find it difficult to state a preference..." Friyya began, but was interrupted as Syf nudged her firmly with her elbow under the table.

"Now, allow me one question." Lily said.

"Please." Virginia invited.

"I would be interested in knowing your society better. I would like to fulfil, some...function. We drow are accustomed to seeing everything in terms of net gain and loss, so I would be willing to compensate you for your loss with my services. So, what is your pleasure?"

Friyya looked on, utterly stunned at the proposition. Though she clearly had a rather charming, polished facade, there was no way she could imagine a dark elf ever playing a constructive part in a society of any description - unless, of course, one called drow anarchy a society. For Lily, on the other hand, it as the opportunity to launch herself back into the working of things; she may have drawn a badly losing hand in the past, but finding Virginia as a patron was almost a godsend. Virginia was similarly enthused, finally she had the pretext to justify Lily's presence and, potentially, the opportunity to win further credentials in the eyes of her superiors. The situation, the blonde paladin thought, would be win-win.

"I'll see what I can find, then." Virginia promised. Marséna and Friyya could only exchange sceptical looks.

***

"Can't sleep either?" Syf inquired, as she sat next to Marséna on the steps that led down into the deserted fencing arena.

"Aren't you cold in your nightshirt?"

"Aren't you?"

Marséna's mind still struggled with the impossibility of her situation, with the sheer frustration of not being able to communicate with Shesayne and the even greater frustration of her ever-ambiguous relationship with Virginia. Everything was contorted and twisted beyond repair. In the end, however, Syf was the sort of person she could share a lonely, pensive night with.

"You always used to come here, whenever you had a problem and before you trusted Virginia enough to tell her."

"Life's cruel," Marséna commented bitterly, grateful at least to have Syf's strong, reassuring arm around her shoulders, "when I was approved for Consecration, I still had Virginia as I wanted her, everything was getting easier by the day. Now, each moment that passes it becomes harder."

"You're telling me?" Syf said as she eased Marséna's head into her lap.

"What are you complaining about, you have Friyya?"

"She's perfect, I'm not." Answered Syf enigmatically.

"Glad you think so." Marséna sniped, rolling her eyes.

"Do you...uh, still happen to have a drop of that wine of yours?" Syf asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

"Fuck it, why not," Marséna decided, "I'm sure we can handle a bottle between the two of us."