- The Archivist, your narrator

"We may be done with the past, but the past is never really done with us."

Light had just broken, but the exercise yards in the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden were already bustling with activity. The annual Consecration ceremony was coming up and, as one of the foremost festivities in the Order's calendar, it was greeted with a burst of frantic activity that saw priestesses and novices meticulously ensuring the Great Temple was in perfect shape, while the last-year novices who were, themselves, to be Consecrated, redoubled their efforts to ensure that they were beyond reproach as candidates for full paladinhood. All this, of course, involved an especially grueling training routine for all concerned which, in practical terms, meant that the first bell for morning prayers now rang just a little before the dark blue shadows of Sigil's night gave way to a hazy dawn. Yet such was the way of the Order: the Vigilant Maiden Herself was the Dawn Star on the homeworld that had first given birth to her cult, just as Her sister - whom some regarded as the same Goddess - Artemis was the Moon.

None of this, however, was much of an irritation to Syf. The tall, pale, dark-haired paladin stood as tense and alert as always at the archery range, her lethally elegant longbow in hand. Like many an idealised depiction of the Virgin Huntress, she was graceful and lithely muscular - her body far better built for running, fencing and archery than it was for motherhood. Now, the steely gaze of her piercing blue eyes and sharply noble features contemplate a distant target, made in the image of a dummy. Her concentration was absolute as she nocked an arrow and drew the taut string to her longbow so its finely carved hardwood frame strained under the tension. By Syf's side, Virginia stood, fascinated at her sister-at-arm's dedication to every aspect of the military arts they, as paladins, had been made to master. Syf's form was perfect as it tensed for the shot, her slender, yet powerful muscles straining under pale skin while her gauntleted hands grasped the frame and string of the bow, preparing for that instant of release where all would be decided.

In a split second, the arrow flew, whistling sharply through the air as it arched its way across the cool Sigil morning, seemingly finding its target with effortless ease a good three hundred feet in front of Syf. It was an impressive shot and even Virginia, who, modestly, viewed her skills in the lance, longsword and bow to be more than adequate, had to admit that Syf had no equal.

"Your shot." Syf said smugly, knowing full well Virginia would be hard pressed to strike the target full in the chest as she had done.

"Sometimes I don't know why I bother." Virginia replied, though, in light of the fact that Syf had been passed over in her favour for promotion to squad leader, she was happy to allow a few concessions to her rival's ego.

"Archery is the martial skill holiest to the Vigilant Maiden. It is perhaps a shame that we have so little use for it in Sigil. The city is cramped and best scoured with a sword or lance." The raven-haired paladin commented, a little disappointed. There was relaxing, meditative dimension to archery which fencing with a longsword simply did not provide. Naturally, there was no substitute for the sheer sensory assault of a fully fledged melee battle, but Syf enjoyed all weaponry - even if swords and bows looked like dumb tools, they spoke to her.

"Right...well, hope springs eternal, even for me." Virginia sighed, as she took an arrow from her quiver and carefully drew her bow. She kept her clear blonde hair cut higher still above the shoulder than Syf, so that Marséna had sometimes unkindly referred to it as 'boyish', and her frame was likewise defined by a classical, Valkyrie-like beauty: all slender muscle and elegant, athletically proportioned curves.

The archery range lay quiet for a few moments as Virginia focused her mind on the target at hand. There, at the end of the yard, the taunting presence of Syf's beautifully centred arrow became the focus of the blonde paladin's antagonism, so that she could finally see in it an enemy, rather than a stuffed dummy. Ambition in itself, however, was not sufficient to bear her through so that when she finally loosed the arrow, it sailed with less sublime precision than Syf's shot, landing squarely in the target's shoulder.

"Not bad, not bad." Syf said with gracious magnanimity, patting Virginia on the back. Her touch was mocking in a gentle, sisterly sort of way.

"I hope you're satisfied." Virginia replied, a thin smile on her lips.

"Now that I think of it, I am."

"Do you want to spar?" Virginia suggested, eager to change the subject. She felt she needed to work up more of an adrenaline-soaked sweat. Too many humiliations on the archery range were doubly depressing since she did not have a hard target to take her frustrations out on. At least when they fenced, she always managed to get a couple of good hits in.

"Giving up already?"

"Yes, my dear Syf, please." Virginia begged.

"Fine, fine." Came the defeated reply. They both made their way back into the armoury to unstring and replace their bows. In the distance, the sounds of a particularly intense practice session involving novices perfecting their routines for the final pre-Consecration evaluations could be heard. With those sounds, fond memories came flooding back to both Virginia and Syf of the time, barely a year ago, when they too had been novices preparing to overcome that most traumatic but satisfying of tests.

"Is...is everything all right with Lily?" Syf inquired, a little curiously, placing her bow back on its rack. As always, the armoury was stocked with impeccably maintained weapons, glittering armour and assorted maintenance equipment. Vice-Commander Isobel always ensured that the younger novices kept the place in absolutely spotless shape.

"Yes, thanks, we still have a few communication problems, but she learns quickly. I'm told drow girls are especially bright and Lily certainly is. It always amazes me how she is already more eloquent that I could ever hope to be."

"Oh, yes, she's a sharp one." Said Syf knowingly. The dark elf had a sharp tongue and a quick wit - qualities Syf sometimes loathed and sometimes admired, "How is her lovemaking?"

"Syf!" Virginia scolded, blushing a little - they had always spoken frankly about and, indeed, witnessed each other's sensual lives firsthand, but Lily was a different matter altogether, "I suppose I would say that it is...interesting. She is an excellent lover and everything in the bedchamber is an art for her: lighting, mood, language. I always feel like she is weaving this beautiful, complex web of passion...and...well, she adores pleasuring me with her mouth, sometimes, perhaps, she adores it a little too much."

"No such thing." Syf said, an edge of playful lasciviousness in her voice, "I take it she's good at it."

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, as if it were a goddess doing it," Virginia said longingly, "but what took me aback is...well, she loves it all the time."

"So?"

"Syf, my treasure, you don't understand, when I say all the time I mean all the time." Virginia said, trying to emphasise her point in the most delicate way possible.

"Oh Goddess, seriously? You mean when you're..."

"Yes," Virginia interrupted hastily, "but, in a way, I think it's commendable. The drow cherish femininity in all its forms, perhaps it is we, as surface dwellers who are biased."

"I suppose you could say that..." Syf ventured cautiously, "but surely she could have waited a day or two."

"Well, when you simply don't mind or like it, even, then there would be no need to wait. In some unenlightened cultures, a woman is unclean when her cycle gives issue, but the drow, of all races, have no taboo on blood. Blood is the essence of femininity and why some men fear it. The mystery of the Hunt is precisely that: we eat the raw liver of the slain doe first, because blood is life and that it issues forth from our womb goes to show that it is women who hold the genesis of life within them."

"I like the way you put it." Syf said, smiling as she finally resolved to give herself some respite and took a seat by Virginia's side on a workbench, "Remember when we first took part in the Hunt? I seriously thought Friyya was going to throw up when Marséna passed her the liver, she looked she was really enjoying it, though."

"She was." Virginia clarified, "As I have told you before, her homeland's greatest delicacy is the raw liver of fatted geese."

"Good times, though." Syf said wistfully, affectionately wrapping her arm around Virginia's shoulders and drawing the blonde paladin into a sisterly embrace.

"You are worried about the future, are you not?" Virginia said knowingly, leaning in against Syf so that her head rested on the taller girl's small, but wonderfully high and firm breasts. She could hear Syf's reassuring, metronome-like heartbeat through the green and brown exercise tunic.

"Sometimes, but then when I look at you, when I feel you here in my arms, I know that what you and I, or Marséna and Friyya, had as novices is made to last forever. I mean, five years Virg, if five years mean anything in this city with no Sun, but five years by our counting sleeping in the same room, changing, growing, loving and weeping together. When I think about it, there is too much to be broken, even if we will never be the same."

"I don't ever recall you weeping," Virginia said jokingly - even under the harshest beating at Isobel's hands, Syf had not so much as shed a tear, "but you're right, we will never be the same again. I think we will be better. Do you know what Friyya once said? She said the stars and the auguries all told her that the four of us were meant to endure, even if the Multiverse should fall down around us."

"How does Friyya know?" Syf queried, gently placing a soft kiss on Virginia's soft, blonde hair.

"She...she was always afraid to tell you because she thought you would imagine it to be sorcery or witchcraft and...well, we all know how much you hate magic that does not come directly from our Goddess, but when she was a child, they said her maid was völva. On Ortho, in ancient times, they say that the völva were seers - holy women. Friyya's maid taught her how to cast the runes and read the auguries from the flight of birds." Although she struck many as outwardly vain and petty, Friyya had a profoundly spiritual dimension to her. None had spoken more eloquently than her about the doctrinal mysteries of the Radiant Path.

"I see..." Said Syf, a little hurt that Friyya had not seen fit to share her secret.

"Syf, don't misunderstand me," Said Virginia, gently placing a comforting hand on Syf's thigh, "she loves you more than she does her own life and that is why she is sometimes terrified of disappointing you."

"She could never disappoint me."

"She knows that, but sometimes, I think that she would like to hear you say that." Virginia said, with kindness and not the slightest hint of criticism. She knew Syf was not effusively romantic and could, at times, be a little standoffish, but her loyalty to her sisters-in-arms was beyond question. Woe betide anyone who dared touch a single hair on Friyya or Marséna or Virginia's head.

"Always the senstive one, Virg. They were right to make you squad leader: you know all of us better than you know yourself. But, I've been thinking..."

"Tell me..." Virginia prompted, very much flattered.

"You know that...well, once I made love to Marséna..." Syf began, a little sheepishly, for the memory of that immensely pleasurable transgression was still fresh.

"Of course, I think Marséna is the only who thinks I don't."

"Well...then why did you and I never try...being together?"

"I would be lying if I said I was never curious, but in the end, I suppose it turned out for the best. You're happy with Friyya now, right?"

"Of course, you're right," Syf said, reminding herself that her prerogative now had to be the building of an ever deeper relationship with Friyya, "we're not compatible, anyway, are we? I don't think I could enjoy the same things Marséna does."

"I could." Said Virginia, her tone rich with a teasing sensuality, "You know I have an open mind."

"I will keep that in mind," said Syf, suddenly giving Virginia a sharp swat on the bottom, before rising to her feet, "now grab a longsword. Let's see if your blade is as quick as your tongue." Virginia, Syf thought, would be an excellent squad leader because she never had the slightest hint of arrogance or authoritarianism - she knew exactly what advice to dispense and did so with humility and a sense of humour. That, in reality, was far more than Syf could ever imagine herself doing.

********

When Syf finally returned from the morning's practice she felt positively elated. Fencing always freed up the more competitive side of her character so that even Virginia was dismayed at the speed with which her defeat came under the devastating precision and equally muscle-wrenching power of Syf's blows. Nevertheless, the blonde paladin had consoled herself by concluding that the longsword was, after all, her secondary weapon. When it came down to a practice match with infantry lances, she could certainly give Syf a run for her money.

But that veiled challenge was far from Syf's mind as she stepped back into the communal apartment to find it, for all intents and purposes, empty. That was a blessing: after a long, relaxing soak in the Baths to cleanse herself from the sweat and dust of her morning training session, all Syf truly wanted was a short, relaxing nap before she went out on patrol later that day. More Anarchist activity, much of it of a highly dubious and, no doubt, immoral nature had been spotted in the outskirts of the Hive and Syf could not wait to show them why they should tremble at the mere mention of the Order of the Radiant Path. Their blood would flow abundantly down the gleaming blade of her sword. But that would come in due course, hopefully after a well-deserved rest.

So it came as something of a surprise when Syf eased open the door to the room she shared with Friyya to find her lover sitting on her chair by the simple wooden desk opposite the bed, her legs coyly crossed and a look of affected anxiety on her face. The moment she saw Syf, Friyya sprang to her feet, "Reverend Sister, you wished to see me." She said in that sensually innocent tone that immediately set Syf's blood ablaze. It was then that it dawned upon her: Friyya was wearing one of her old, pure white novice's tunics which seemed to complement the pristine paleness of her skin to perfection. But, then again, Friyya would have been absolutely stunning in anything she wore, for she was the very epitome of an Ortho beauty with a graceful, sculpturally feminine frame, long auburn hair like burnished gold and, most compellingly, a visage of such arresting splendour that the Vigilant Maiden Herself would have been glad to count her as a lover.

"Oh...Friyya, you didn't have to..." Syf protested, more than a little aroused by the demure little bow her magnificent lover took as soon as she entered the chamber. The novice's tunic flattered her, especially because it was a little shorter than the darker exercise tunics Consecrated paladins wore during drills and that drew attention to the sublime, marble-white elegance of Friyya's thighs - slender like the necks of swans.

"Oh, but Reverend Sister," Friyya continued, putting on her best 'innocent novice' voice, "I was under the impression that you had to see me on some disciplinary matters."

"Is that so?" Said Syf, finally resolving to play along. That well-deserved rest could wait, Friyya had definitely caught her attention. So she drew closer and gently cupped Friyya's chin, so as to inspect the flawless beauty of her lover's face and the wry smile that had formed on her cherry-red lips, "And just what sort of transgression are you guilty of?" Her voice bore all the stern command of a superior officer addressing her subordinates.

"Why, distracting the other novices, of course." Friyya answered with a certain self-conscious smugness.

"I see, so I suppose the punishment must fit the crime." Syf breathed, drawing Friyya closer to kiss those soft, delectably sensual lips. As always, Friyya was happy to allow Syf to take the lead and draw out her breath in the most deeply passionate of kisses. The tall, raven-haired paladin's desire for her beloved never flagged, but seem to mature in time, so that her kiss, now that she wrapped her arms around Friyya's slim, almost girlish waist, was as fierce and needy as the very first they had exchanged as novices. Syf's passions may have been buried deep under a cool exterior, but they burned with a fire that made Friyya's blood quicken and her limbs loosen.

Strong, firm hands trailed up the soft skin and subtly firm muscle of Friyya's thighs, sliding higher up the skirt of her white tunic to cup her wonderfully pert bottom. Syf continued kissing with passionate resolve, her lips pressed in the sweetest of dances against her lover's, her hands now clasping the snow-white globes of the auburn-haired girl's bottom. With one, deft motion, Syf's hands glided across the fabric of Friyya's tunic and loosened it, coaxing the offending garment down, so that it finally pooled around the shorter girl's waist. Almost reverently, Syf's hands found the pristine expanse of Friyya's gorgeously firm breasts, in perfect sculptural proportion with her body. Each glorious, pale mound was capped by taut, tumescent pink nipple, as if a lone flower had grown out from under a sheet of mountain snow.

Syf's kisses slowly departed from the sensuous, moist warmth of Friyya's mouth and trailed down her delicate, swan-like neck - on appearance so refined and aristocratic, even if the wet, teasing licks of the dark-haired paladin's tongue over the sensitive skin drew the most wanton, purring moans. The sensation of those wet, butterfly kisses trailing down the hollow of her throat and into the valley between her breasts was enough to send Friyya's mind into another world of torrid sensuality in which time appeared to flow with the oozing eroticism of warm honey on white skin. That was exactly how Syf's mouth felt on the surface of Friyya's rounded breasts, but there were no metaphors delectable enough to describe that sudden, electric jerk that shot down the auburn-haired girl's spine at the first, magical contact of her beloved's tongue, firm and teasing, on a lust-engorged nipple.

No words could describe the delicious, insistent suckling of Syf's hot mouth against the sensitive peak, the unrestrained expression of joy that Friyya felt at being casually lifted by her lover's strong hands onto the simple wooden desk which she used as a reading table. The sensory contrast was effortlessly arousing: her bare bottom on the polished wood, her bare feet finding purchase on the sides of the table, as Syf's mouth worshipped the rubbery flower bud of her nipple with hungry, passionate licks. But Syf adored Friyya's body, she adored every flawless, perfumed inch and, as her tongue licked downwards to run a warm, translucent trail down her lover's firm belly, the tall, stern paladin knew that all her decorum would fade at the glorious sight she knew awaited her. Almost casually, Syf lifted the hem of Friyya's tunic to be greeted by the sight of soft, auburn curls that ringed the nexus of the auburn-haired paladin's femininity.

Even at the warm, fragrant juncture of her thighs, Friyya was uniquely beautiful, for her sex was the sheer perfection of a freshly-bloomed pink rose covered in morning dew. A clean, but reassuringly musky scent of womanhood surrounded Syf as she brought her lips lower to graze the very top of Friyya's sex with the lightest of kisses. She gave a soft gasp of surprise in reaction, feeling her blood race in her veins, her heart beating an ancient primal rhythm in her chest. Syf knew Friyya was ready. The girl was copiously wet with the nectar of her arousal and translucent, pearly droplets had formed at the mouth of her channel. That moisture, those velvety pink lips nestled between thighs that could have only been carved from marble were a feast Syf could simply not resist. So she dived in, using her thumbs to spread the outer lips of her lover's sex, so that she could lavish every individual petal with long, hungry licks.

Whimpering through gritted teeth, Friyya arched her hips, toes digging into the side of her desk, legs spread wide, her bottom clenched over cool wood. Her sex felt aflame under Syf's desperate licking, but there was no imprecision in the tall paladin's mouth, for she knew exactly where to trail the very tip of her tongue against the lust-swollen lips, gathering up hot, deliciously musky nectar with each lick, and where to dive in, so that she teased the puffy inner walls of Friyya's channel. Melodious cries filled the air, for Friyya felt her desire mounting deep within her. Syf's mouth was bringing her to madness, for the raven-haired paladin would lick in the most teasingly unpredictable of patterns, sometimes granting her favours to the tiny stiff bud of Friyya's clit, sometimes trailing downwards, drawing a disappointed, pouting sigh.

The only solution was to offer herself up more wantonly, arms and thighs straining to better surrender her sex to Syf's lusty licking. A pulse of uncoiling pleasure began to fill the depths of Friyya's belly and her increasingly desperate moans filled the bedchamber. Finally deciding to fulfil her lover's need, Syf began to focus her lapping on the sensitive little bud of her lover's clit, while a tensed, dextrous finger wound its way into the auburn-haired girl's channel, parting hot, moist flesh with consummate ease.

Friyya whimpered, her eyes fluttering open at the sudden sensory assault, her toes curling almost painfully around the sides of the desk as her hips bucked, desperate to milk the first, wondrously relieving moments of her climax as Syf's finger gently caressed the inner flesh of her channel. The first spasms of Friyya's climax were intense, like the morning tide of an ocean swamping a dried beach, so that, all of a sudden, her limbs were flushed with that weak feeling of desire that had just been fulfilled. Friyya's barking, strangled cries seemed to echo the rolling convulsions of her sex around Syf's finger, but the taller paladin continued her diligent work on those wonderfully fragrant folds of lust-swollen flesh, revelling in the essence of her lover's passion.

"Syf...my beloved Syf..." Friyya sighed as the warm, intense feeling of release flooded through her. Before she knew it, Syf's mouth was on her lips, bringing with it the pleasantly musky taste of her nectar.

"Where is it?" Syf asked hoarsely, her throat cloyed with desire as she contemplated the pale, breathtaking beauty of Friyya's body beneath her.

"Oh...Syf, you wanton, wicked girl..." Said Friyya breathlessly. Syf was not usually enthused at the thought of using magical surrogates, but, once in a while, Friyya managed to coax just a little instinct of sensual exploration in her normally impeccably disciplined lover.

"This strumpet who calls herself a novice needs to be punished and it is only right that she retrieve the implement by which her lesson is to be taught." Syf had the unique ability to speak with irresistible authority, so that even Friyya, after years of being her lover, could only meekly comply.

Sliding off the side of the desk, Friyya hastened to open her clothes chest and, from under piles of silks and rare fabrics, withdraw a finely carved, ivory-white olisbos with a textured, spiral pattern. Like all implements of its type, it sported a root-like structure at its base, while the main shaft was moderately long and wide, more like an extended finger than a phallus. Obediently, Friyya offered the item to Syf, a knowing smile painted on her lips. Whereas Syf instinctively disliked anything redolent of the acrid stench of masculinity, she was occasionally prepared to view a dildo as an extension of her sex and of her desire for Friyya.

"I'm glad to see that I have put you in an adventurous mood." Friyya cooed as she helped Syf undress. The raven-haired paladin was, as always, the very image of lithely muscular, athletic beauty. Once the green and brown exercise tunic had been cast aside, Friyya could once again gaze longingly on that taut, pale landscape with its small, but impossibly firm and aristocratic breasts, and, best of all, that wonderful thatch of black curls between Syf's firm thighs that hid delicately saline delights of which Friyya would never grow tired. Once Syf had stripped, Friyya helped her insert the blunt, base end of the dildo between the juicing inner lips of her sex. There, the enchantment took immediate effect, creating sensory connections with the sensitive, passionately aroused inner walls of Syf's channel, the engorged bud of her clitoris and the textured surface of the shaft. That would allow Syf's sex to experience the pleasures of discovering Friyya's body through the sensual bridge of the olisbos.

"Is the novice ready for her discipline?" Syf queried, her breath ragged from the boiling passion that stirred deep within her, spurred on by the sight of Friyya's soft, vulnerable body: firm breasts, taut thighs and pert bottom all seemingly begging for her attention.

"Oh, yes, Reverend Sister, most certainly." Friyya sighed, planting her bottom on the edge of the desk and spreading her thighs wide in invitation. The pink inner lips of her sex parted, thin, white strands of nectar hanging precariously from lust-engorged flesh. Friyya braced herself for the shock that she knew was coming, she could feel the anticipation, see Syf's predatory gaze. Not that Syf was particularly adept at lovemaking with an olisbos, but her athleticism went some way to compensate for her lack of practise, so that once she had positioned herself with the very tip of the rod against Friyya's nether lips, her first, tentative thrust was impetuous, but, with a little careful guidance from the auburn-haired paladin's fingers, found its way deep into the sodden channel. Friyya bit her lip as she gasped, the sensation of textured, oddly organic wood parting her aroused inner flesh was delicious yet simultaneously painful. She was unaccustomed to that width of penetration, but the very fact that it was Syf now controlling the nexus of all her sensations was enough to distract her mind from any discomfort.

For her part, Syf gathered herself, breath quickening at the strange, but deeply pleasurable sensation of feeling the tightness of her lover's sex clamp around the rod. It was almost as if the tissue of her sex itself was being likewise constricted, as if her clit could feel that moist, delightful pleasure. Friyya moaned, offering her hips up wantonly in encouragement, inviting Syf to master her with ever deeper and more vigorous thrusts.

Cautiously, the taller paladin leaned forward to grip the sides of the desk for stability, withdrew the rod a little from the richly wet interior of Friyya's channel before thrusting in again, drawing a satisfied whimper from the auburn-haired beauty. A few more good thrusts were enough for Syf's confidence to build, so she was soon thrusting away against the marvellously warm vice-like grip of her lover's sex. The escalation of sensation was indescribable, spurred on by Friyya's insistent, rhythmic moaning, her lips parted in breathless cries as each thrust brought her closer to her peak. Wrapping her calves around Syf's sides, Friyya drew her lover in closer, relishing the sensation of the textured, pliant olisbos parting her flesh and coursing down the sensitive inner walls of her channel.

With each agonising, yet infinitely pleasurable movement of the dildo, Friyya could feel the fires within her being stoked, building that slippery, itching sensation of pleasure deep in her loins. When Syf, teeth gritted as she strained to impose a sharp, undulating rhythm finally began to give focus to her thrusts, Friyya knew that she could only surrender herself to a long, pulsing peak as she found her release, contracting spasmodically over the long invader now planted to the hilt in her auburn-furred sex. The velvety walls of her sex struggled against and finally submitted to Syf's invasion, while Friyya arched her back to bury her face against Syf's breast, her high, plaintive crises rising to a crescendo as the waves of her orgasm coursed through her channel.

She lay there against Syf's small, firm breasts, panting, planting soft kisses on the pale skin as she slowly recovered from that mellowing ocean of sensual relief in which she now felt herself drowning. Syf embraced her, the olisbos still buried deep in the auburn-haired girl's sex.

"Syf...Syf, did you not enjoy it?" Friyya questioned, her breathing still a little ragged as she nestled her face on Syf's breast, her breath warm on the raven-haired paladin's tumescent nipples.

"Of course I did!" Syf answered fervently, "Perhaps I am unused to the sensation, though, but it doesn't matter, we will have plenty of time for less hurried lovemaking when we return from patrol." Whilst she was frustrated, Syf was certain that all good things came to those who waited.

"Oh, I am sorry Syf," Friyya said, a little dejectedly, carefully easing herself off the desk and into her lover's embrace, the dildo slipping out wetly, coated in a thin layer of fragrant, musky nectar, "I just thought it would be nice for a change."

"No, no, it was wonderful." Syf interjected as delicately as she could.

"Good...now have you seen my under-tunic anywhere? I hate the way the armour chafes against my neck and sides..." Friyya said, making her way to the clothes chest at the foot of the bed where she knelt to rummage through her vast, Syf would have said redundant, collection of clothes which seemed to encompass a selection of items for any given occasion.

As if in a daze, Syf watched her lover's magnificent, sculptural back, curved bottom and thighs. Even in that most common of positions, she was breathtakingly beautiful, a nymph, perhaps, from the hidden forest pool of the Vigilant Maiden herself. Not even bothering to remove the olisbos still rooted in her sex, Syf knelt behind Friyya and embraced her, taking in the scent of freshly cleaned, silky auburn hair and the fainter smell of sex and sweat from their lovemaking. The mix was intoxicating, just as the sensation of Friyya's soft skin, of her firm bottom against the sensitive surface of the dildo which conveyed at least some of the nuances of the auburn haired beauty's elegant curves to Syf's still-fevered, desperately aroused sex.

There was a passion that could not be denied. Friyya knew what she could do to grab Syf's attention. Wordlessly, she leaned forward against the clothes chest, as if in invitation, hoping Syf would get the message. A little repositioning and the tip of Syf's olisbos began to glide with glorious anticipation up the still-moist nether lips of Friyya's sex up the soft valley of the girl's pert bottom and the tight, pink rosebud that nestled at its base. Syf did not know whether it was wantonness or curiosity or a mix of both that spurred her on, but before she knew it, she had thrust Friyya on her hands and knees against the clothes chest, while the auburn-haired paladin desperately scrambled through its contents until she found a small jar of massage oil and eagerly handed it to Syf.

Now overcome with desire, Syf let a few strands of translucent, fragrant oil onto the textured surface of the olisbos and proceeded to coat the shaft in one, clean jerk, while an anxious but desperately aroused Friyya used the chest for support and spread her thighs, her impassioned heartbeat betraying her trepidation. Despite her nervousness, Syf was very matter-of-fact about what to do next, one hand guided the shaft to the tightly knotted rosebud of Friyya's anus, while the other gripped the auburn-haired girl's firm bottom for support. Friyya felt something warm and slick press against her bottom with increasing pressure, so she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and tried to tell herself to relax. The pressure grew, and grew until finally, something gave and Friyya's rosebud came into full bloom, spreading itself open and enveloping the shaft in a tight grip. Friyya grunted and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. She did not want to give Syf the impression that their lovemaking was hurting her.

Slowly, inexorably, Syf slid herself deeper into her lover. The sensation of that tight ring of muscle clamping down on the rod was as if, all of a sudden, the most sensitive flesh of her sex, or the very tip of her clit, had been gripped by the most agonising, magical friction. Syf worked the dildo in until she knelt with her sex pressed against Friyya's bottom. The auburn-haired girl lay almost immobile, fingers gripping the clothes chest, her toes curled and tensed against the wooden floor, her breasts hanging like firm fruit, nipples stiff and drilling into the air. Syf withdrew halfway and thrust back in, causing Friyya to give a strangled, mewling cry of pain and perverse pleasure. For Friyya, the feeling was alien, but fascinating: somewhere between the exquisite pain of having her sex filled by Syf's hand and the dull pleasure of a finger deftly inserted into her bottom just before she was about to climax.

She was unbelievably tight, so much so that the well-lubricated rod had to struggle for every inch as it disappeared between the magnificent, moon-white cheeks of her bottom. A few good, deep thrusts was all Syf could manage before she collapsed, moaning raggedly, on top of Friyya, her climax had struck her almost by surprise and it had been sudden, white hot release, like the sparkling electricity that flew up the rod and flooded her sex with a profoundly fulfilling wave of erotic satisfaction.

"Did it hurt, my treasure?" Syf inquired between laboured breaths, her normally stern voice now soft with concern.

"No, it was lovely. I'm glad I tried it with you." Friyya answered, almost reverently, as she felt Syf's hand wrap tightly around hers.

"Was it...pleasurable?" Syf pressed, more than a little curious. The tall paladin began to carefully withdraw the olisbos from Friyya's stretched bottom.

"Well, maybe, but only in a strange way and I still cannot understand why Marséna likes it so much."

"Must be a Mareterran thing." Syf replied dismissively. All those new enchanted surrogates, potions, erotic sorcerous arts and so forth were, in Syf's view, more the province of women like the wickedly erotic Lily or the brazenly sensual Marséna. Serious, dignified Ortho women knew that all that was necessary was a hardworking tongue and dextrous fingers.

*******

Patrol duty turned out to be routinely monotonous, despite the repeated threat of increased Anarchist and Revolutionary League activity. Although Virginia nominally led the expedition into the bowels of the Hive, Syf knew that, should the situation have required it, she would have been the first to dive into the thick of battle. But the day, cold and damp, seemed to drag on forever. The four of them trudged through the freezing mud and cracked cobblestones of Sigil's most decaying quarters. There, under the razorvine-covered buildings with their rotted wood and creaking structures, four paladins, clad in the finest silvery armour, the starburst insignia of the Vigilant Maiden prominent on their glittering breastplates, were a sight indeed.

Marséna and Syf took point, with Virginia immediately behind with her footman's lance at the ready, and at the very rear of the group, Friyya with her longbow. The armour worn by all paladins of the Radiant Path was designed for both protection and mobility, so that the torso, shins and forearms were protected by finely carved metal plates which were jointed with leather and cloth supplements to ensure that the dextrous fencing style for which the Order was famous could be used to full efficacy. That day, however, there seemed to be no pretext whatsoever to engage in combat, a fact which frustrated Syf to no end. She had already made a conscious effort by sternly admonishing a group of youths loitering around a presumed brothel, but still, no defiance and no violent reactions came her way.

By the time they had finished their tour of the Hive's most suspicious locales, Syf was itching for something to give her cause to draw her blade. There were evildoers everywhere, she could feel it in her bones and in her blood, but she needed them to act up, to engage in some activity so heinous that there would be no choice other than to make her blade drip with their lifeblood. Now, as they skirted towards more respectable quarters, Syf could feel her enthusiasm for her mission decreasing. In her mind, they should have been allowed to strike without warning, so as to flush out the cowardly Anarchists from their hiding places.

Marséna echoed those sentiments, "Well, Virg, another wasted day. Nothing to report back to Isobel, I still wonder why we bother. These fucking Anarchists know when we're coming, so they hide behind decaying walls and in cellars."

"Marséna, really!" Friyya protested. It was hardly becoming for paladins of the Radiant Path to be overheard using such language.

Ignoring both, Virginia decided to put the situation to rest, "We never know what might happen, so our presence alone means that whatever area we are patrolling is safe. That, in itself, is never a waste of time." Despite her external confidence in the importance of their mission, Virginia was nagged by the question of whether or not it was worth making their presence so high-profile. Perhaps a secret midnight strike, as suggested by the more sanguine Syf and Marséna, would have been ideal. Friyya, however, had recommended against it on the well-reasoned pretext that such a bold move would make the Anarchists paranoid and, possibly, more dangerous still and more likely to up the ante, a price which the Order of the Radiant Path, as dedicated as it was, simply did not have the personnel and the resources to pay.

"All Anarchists would do well to steer clear of my blade." Syf muttered, even as she was comforted by the patrol's movement into more familiar quarters which she had known as a child. There, the buildings had the black-and-white woodwork and quiet, sombre elegance of Ortho houses and the verbal cadences of the people she met grew ever more familiar.

"Looks like this is Syf's neighbourhood." Marséna chimed casually as soon as she saw Syf and an elderly man carrying firewood exchange knowing glances.

"You could say so." Came the cool, almost emotionless reply. Although she had officially left that district long ago, Syf still felt at home. The buildings, the voices which surrounded her felt familiar, just as the pounding from the numerous forges rang like music to her ears.

"So...Syf, reckon there's anywhere I can get something to eat?" Marséna queried. Their apparently interminable patrol had made her more than a little hungry.

"Despite the fact we're on duty, I think we can make an exception," Syf declared, all the more happy to spend some time in the bustling, ironmonger's street she knew so well, "there is a general store I know further down the street. If you like veal tongue and mustard, that's the place to be."

"Thank you...now we're talking." Marséna said enthusiastically while Virginia sighed tolerantly and Friyya made a moderately disgusted face.

A few hundred paces took them to a well-appointed and immaculately kept store-front with a number of display cases exhibiting dried fruits, nuts, meats and cheeses all in great variety and quantity. Syf knew the place just by that clean, familiar smell which she remembered from her youth. Motioning to her sisters-in-arms to wait outside, Syf took a few tentative steps inside the shop, only to discover that the jars full of sweets, the casks full of strong beer and white wine and the rows of preserved meats were the same she remembered from her childhood. It was as if the general store she remembered frequenting for its generous portions of black bread and fatback had not changed in the least in nearly six years, by the reckoning of the Ortho calendar.

Moving as if entranced through the familiar shelves, Syf made her way to the counter she knew so well where an expectant, but somewhat obtuse, boy had once offered to buy her sweets. There, Syf found a part of her past she never imagined she would see again. Behind the counter, clad in the long, traditional red and white Ortho dress, stood the incomparably pretty Ethelberta who had once haunted Syf's dreams as a young, confused adolescent. She kept her soft, sweet smile that lit up her face and made her blue eyes sparkle, just as her gentle, feminine frame and long, blonde hair remained as poetically beautiful as they were in Syf's memory. This time, however, she was a fully-grown woman and with child, for the swell in her belly was in evidence under the white fabric of her robe.

"Ethelberta...?" Syf began, a little awkwardly.

"Yes?" The storekeeper began, squinting in the soft illumination of the store to focus on Syf, "Oh...why I don't believe it! Is it Syf? My brave, wonderful Syf?" She said effusively. Any gesture of affection on her part was pre-empted by Syf reverently taking Ethelberta's right hand and raising it to her lips to kiss.

"You flatter me. I thought I would never see you again, but here I was on patrol duty and..."

"You recognised the store. I know...I married him in the end and now, look at me, managing the general store all by myself."

"I beat him, back then he was a few years older than me, and I still beat him. That time we asked Gerd, who could read and do sums better than all of us, to organise a tournament and you promised a kiss for the winner. Do you remember how many boys I battered with my wooden sword to get to you?" Syf said, the fond memory still fresh in her mind. It had been a mock fencing tournament and none of her opponents had ever stood a chance. The lucky ones who surrendered quickly had left, whimpering, with bruises, those who persevered had to endure a broken bone or two.

"So many..." Ethelberta replied, smiling sweetly, as she always did - that smile never failed to melt Syf's heart, "but I knew you were the bravest, not to mention the strongest and you haven't disappointed me. Your parents told me you had gone to become a paladin, but, you know what Syf, you're exactly like the knights in shining armour they talk about in fairytales."

Syf blushed, all the while retaining her composure, "Is he good to you?"

"Yes, of course, and very generous as well. As you can see, we are soon to be a family."

"You look beautiful, more so now than ever." Said Syf with a certain soft regret. Her mind was left overwhelmed by the endless games of time and fate. That day, in a dusty courtyard after winning the tournament, a barely adolescent Syf had received her first kiss and it had lasted but an instant, even if the sweet taste of Ethelberta's lips had left an indelible mark. That very same day, Syf had rushed home and hid in the grain store-room to enjoy the guilty, newly-discovered pleasure of solitude spent with a hand between her thighs. It was then that Syf's mother, who knew exactly what her daughter was doing but pretended not to, called out from the kitchen that there was someone from the Radiant Path to see her. But that was another story.

"Thank you..." Ethlberta prompted, curiously observing Syf's subtle descent into the depths of memory, "I don't think I will ever forget you. Even then, you were the only one who really looked like a knight, so you were the only one who could really make me feel like a lady. Have you found your special girl yet?"

Syf blushed once again, this time more self-consciously. She rarely, if ever, showed superfluous emotion, but she always had an undeniable weak spot for Ethlberta, "Yes. Yes I think I have, but she is no girl, she is a paladin like myself and one I am proud to serve with."

"Good," Ethelberta said with genuine happiness, "you need a strong woman, not a weakling like me..."

"Heavens, no!" Syf interjected, a little indignantly, "I am sure my beloved would envy you, for she can never follow your sacred vocation of motherhood."

"Such are your vows?"

"Yes."

"And you, if it were allowed, would you ever carry a child?" Ethelberta queried, her eyes fixed curiously on the sharp, noble beauty of Syf's features.

"No - never, I have a womb, but it is not made for carrying children. I am a woman and I feel that in my soul, but not all women are made to be mothers."

"Perhaps that is why our paths have been so different. But I would be honoured if my child grew up to be like you."

"Tell my mother that." Syf said wryly. She remembered her mother saying that it was a shame that she could never be wedded. Syf had merely stared at her, dumbfounded. How exactly her mother imagined a married life to be feasible for her was utterly baffling.

"She is proud of you, Syf...take heart, we all are."

"Thank you, really, you are too kind. Unfortunately, I must leave...I am technically on patrol. If you could be so kind as to give a portion of tongue and mustard..."

"With pleasure, and on the house." Ethelberta interrupted amiably, sensing the paladin's awkwardness. She deftly sliced a generous portion of red, preserved tongue on a sheet of brown paper and covered it in spicy-sweet mustard, before handing it to Syf, "Come back any time you want and there will always be a special discount for you."

"Many thanks," Syf said, a little moved that her old childhood haunts could still give her a sense of place and belonging, "and congratulations. I wish you much happiness. Do you know what you will call it?"

Ethelberta smiled coyly, her gaze never leaving Syf's, "Svejn if it is a boy...but, if, as my intuition tells me, it is a girl....well, let's just say I haven't decided yet."

The rest of the patrol passed uneventfully, if only because Syf had, for the first time, partially detached herself from her duty. In the background, she could hear Virginia's observant comments about life on the streets of Sigil and how it was the vocation of the Radiant Path to build positive relations with the population to ensure that they would be better able to do their job. She could even hear Marséna and Friyya bickering playfully about whether or not it was appropriate to eat on duty. Yet, whenever she turned around to sporadically check her back, Syf was instinctively drawn to her beautiful Friyya. After seeing Ethelberta, questions of family, duty and belonging flooded back to her mind. To be sure, the Radiant Path had become her family, but it was only human to look back with endless curiosity at the world she had left behind.

************

"This time, I definitely need to be back for curfew." Ithunn warned. There were some experiences that were best not repeated. So, even if she was curious to see Verden's room, tucked away in a small, seedy, rickety inn deep in the Hive, her visceral terror of how Isobel could add to her torment was greater still.

"Stop fretting," Verden replied dismissively, finally swinging open the dilapidated, battered old door which creaked on its hinges as it swung inwards, "you got off lightly, no?"

"Are you mad?" Ithunn snarled between gritted teeth, "Twenty lashes and an evening kneeling on dried lentils, plus, need I add, three weeks sanitation duty. You try it for once."

"Whatever, you're tough one anyway. So...on to happier stuff, welcome to my humble kip." Verden said with affected grandiloquence.

Ithunn could not help but be fascinated as well as perplexed by what she saw in the cramped, overstuffed chamber. It was if all the furnishings were made to be in direct contrast with the decaying, woody quality of the rest of the inn which smelled of stale ale, rotted carpets and bodies either unwashed or over-perfumed. Verden had consciously decorated everything in a strangely antiquated grand style. Rich, but clearly aged, crimson satin curtains hung around a small bed with its unmade, red silk sheets, imitating a canopy. An opulent, mahogany dresser dominated the other side of the room, its shelves stocked full of expensive perfume and gaudy jewellery which Ithunn had never seen Verden actually wear. An old, dusty mirror with a grand silver and electrum frame dominated the main wall, while the floor was covered in a mixture of old carpets from at least a dozen different cultures, with patterns ranging from elven cursive script to dwarven runes, and casually discarded blouses and leggings. An opened bottle of golden, aged brandy stood by an intricately carved bedside table, flanked by a half-eaten fruitcake.

"It's...well, not what I was expecting." Ithunn said as diplomatically as she could, stepping in with the careful gait of someone who really does not want to plant her boot in the wrong place. A pall of thick, heady perfume filled the air, giving the impression of being surrounded by richly decaying flowers.

"Hey, look, I know it's a fucking addle-cove of a mess, but it beats squatting in abandoned buildings." The voluptuous half-elf said, her voice tinged with a little bitterness. At least in that decrepit old inn she could be safe and warm.

"But...where did you get all these things?" Ithunn inquired, not even really thinking about the question. She was fascinated by the vast assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks which covered every single available surface. There was an old, flaking painting of a nude elven woman, a pile of books with pompous titles like "Arcana and Assorted Magical Paraphernalia" and "S.P. v. Dassau's Guide to Oeridian Wines", silk scarves and handkerchiefs, and, in perfect condition, a brand-new silver silk robe in tasteful, elven style.

"I'll give you three guesses plus one hint: I didn't buy them." Verden replied smugly, closing the door behind Ithunn. She kicked off her boots and began, quite casually, to undress.

"All these books..." Ithunn said in wonder, running her long, pale fingers over dusty old tomes. They were scattered everywhere, like shards of the most random assorted knowledge, but they gave the room an organic feel - as if some mad goddess had jumbled everything she could find up and decided to store it in a single space.

"Yeah, I know, it's ridiculous. Can you read?" Verden inquired, she had cast aside her top and form-fitting leather britches so she could finally throw herself, luxuriantly naked, onto the soft sheets of her bed. They had been a cumbersome steal from a fabric dealer, but definitely worth the effort, for the sheer sensuality of their stroking motion against skin was the epitome of the physical comfort Verden had dreamt for when she was lying on cold hard boards, with only an old blanket for warmth.

"Of course." Ithunn answered quietly, turning around to appreciate the wonderful spectacle of Verden stretched out on the sheets. The half-elf was magnificent: the fullness of her breasts and the soft, feminine flare of her hips and bottom were perfectly balanced out by the lithe, elfin musculature of her thighs and the firmness of her belly, not to mention the delicate, sylvan beauty of her face upon which an almost incongruously ambiguous smile was painted.

"Well, well, well...looks like I've got myself a lady of education. So what are you waiting for? Get over here, or would you rather see than touch?"

"I probably wouldn't call myself a lady of education," Ithunn noted, carefully stepping out of her boots and climbing onto the bed by Verden's side, "I just scrape passes on my doctrinal courses, but, then again, I'm hardly practical with books, though they do tell me I'm good with my hands." The blonde novice teased, passionately taking Verden into her embrace. To feel the half-elf's smooth, woodland tan skin was a sensual delight all in itself, but then to worship those maddeningly rounded curves, breasts so soft yet so firm, capped by light brown nipples, was almost ecstatic.

"That you are...and to think that you'll be leaving me all alone in this bed of mine tonight..."

"Verden," Ithunn interjected patiently as she affectionately ran her fingers through the half-elf's shoulder-length green streaked chestnut-brown hair, "I promise that things will get better after my Consecration. I'm sure they will let you move in..."

"So there you go again!" Verden snapped, "I always have to go to you, but you cannot come to me. What's wrong, ashamed of hanging out with the likes of me in an inn in the Hive?"

Ithunn decided that enough was enough - there was no reasoning with Verden unless more direct measures were taken, so she suddenly grasped the half-elf's wrists and wrestled her onto her back, pinning her down against the silken bedcovers. She loomed over the half-elf, her emerald-green eyes searing straight into Verden, "For the last time and when I say the last time, I mean the last time. I was never and will never be ashamed of you. Perhaps I am sometimes afraid of what people will say, but that is because I fear their spite more than any embarrassment that could come from you."

"It doesn't look like it, but maybe you'll have figured out the dark of it by now," Verden replied, finally deciding to let her mask drop, if only for a moment, "if it was up to me, I'd be reading poetry in my fucking marble library and learning 'bout magic or whatever rather than wondering where best to stick a knife up the sodding basher whose been following me 'round all night."

"I'll always treat you like my beloved and a lady, I promise." Ithunn breathed, although the position she still held Verden in did not seem to support that statement.

"Yeah, y'know what the kicker is? When I was little, I always used to think: fuck it, I may have to beg and steal for my jink, but somewhere out there, I'm sure my mother, who's this high-up elven lady, will one day recognise me on the street and take me home and, from then on, it'll be fuck you to all the berks I used to have to suck up to just to get by. Then one day, I ask this grey elf woman in the Bazaar for a coin or two and she gives me five fucking Sigil Marks, just like that, so I was just 'bout to say how grateful I was when she says 'tell your mother that if she can clean, a friend of mine needs a maid'. I told her as sweetly as you like that, though I never knew my mother, she was no sodding maid and this grey elf bitch looks at me as if I was barmy and says 'well dear, all wood elves are servants, everyone knows that...'" Verden had taken a gamble in telling Ithunn that story, largely because even thinking of it made her want to cry.

"I...I don't know what to say," said Ithunn, loosening her grip on Verden's wrists - almost instinctively, the lush half-elf took her into a savage, desperate embrace, "but you are what you make of yourself and, thief or not, I'm proud of what you have become, because my Verden doesn't need her mother to come and rescue her, she's more than enough to take on the Hive all by herself."

"That, my dear," the half-elf said, blinking back her tears even as she felt her heart well in her chest with pride, "is the truest chant that's ever been spoken."

"We still have to decide how we're going to see each other." Ithunn ventured, her face nestled on the silken pillow beside Verden's head as she placed soft kisses on the half-elf's sensitive, finely pointed ear.

"Say I come pay you a visit tomorrow and we take it from there. I'm not too much of a stranger to you girls at the Order, anyway." Verden sighed, revelling in the sensation of Ithunn's lips kissing gently up the surface of her pointed ear, "And by the way, why don't you get undressed?"

Ithunn complied with the sort of sharp eagerness that betrayed her anticipation. The novice rose to her knees and quickly undid the belt and buttons to her tunic, carefully laying the garments on the side of the bed. Verden smiled as she observed her friend - no, her lover, undress. Even when clearly spurred on by passion, Ithunn had a certain dignified precision to everything she did. That said, the blonde human girl's body, as far as Verden was concerned, knew few, if any equals, for it was emblematic of an almost idealised, athletic femininity. Verden would always say that Ithunn reminded her of paintings she sometimes chanced by in antiques shops and art studios which depicted nameless female rangers in primeval coniferous forests, blonde, svelte but elegantly muscled with bow in hand.

Once she had freed herself from her tunic, Ithunn straddled Verden's hips, smiling wickedly as she leaned forward to press her lips against the half-elf's. The dance of their tongues was hypnotic as Verden's lips parted in welcoming. Ithunn settled atop her lover, her pale breasts pressed against the half-elven girl's larger, more rounded orbs. The contrast of their skins as they kissed with wet, needy passion, their bodies locked together in the most intimate of embraces, fascinated Ithunn. She had always expected elves, or even half-elves, to be pale, but Verden had an almost woody brown tan to her skin. Beneath the strong, sweet perfume Verden always wore in great quantity, Ithunn could always smell the forest, wet earth and fresh spring flowers. All those sensations were accentuated by the vitality of Verden's kiss, the passion with which her tongue met and coupled with Ithunn, the lusty energy of her hands as they caressed the taut muscle of the blonde novice's body.

"You always go for those, don't you?" Verden joked, purring softly as the sensation of Ithunn's tongue as it trailed down her neck before riding up the rounded hills of her breasts. There was no technique Ithunn used to explore that soft, tanned flesh, desire was all that was needed because Verden's breasts were truly splendid - dense, heavy and full, but firm, like perfectly ripe fruit and just as delicious. Ithunn's tongue drew long, slick trails over the brown skin as the novice took her time simply to explore, before moving upwards to grace the stiff, rubbery peak of the half-elven girl's light brown nipples with the lightest of kisses. Verden could only partly suppress a giggle, Ithunn's tongue was as playful as it was arousing, her lips passionate and affectionate at the same time.

"Easy there!" Verden gasped, shuddering at the sharp sensation of Ithunn's teeth scraping against the surface of her nipple, followed by a warm, wet suckling motion.

"Sorry..." Ithunn mumbled sheepishly, looking up with trepidation, "how...how do you usually like it?"

"Bells of the Nine Hells, you are precious." Verden sighed affectionately, "Didn't that aasimar teach you anything? Nevermind...why don't we start with something easy and what comes from there'll all be natural, I promise. Now kneel on top of me and then lie forward so you can lick my pussy while I lick yours."

Ithunn blushed so furiously Verden thought the young novice was on the verge of an anxiety attack, "Uhm...so, is this all right?" the blonde human girl whispered, her voice a little cloyed by desire as she carefully repositioned herself with her knees on either side of Verden's shoulders, angling herself so that the richly pink lips of her sex were accessible to the half-elf. Since Verden was a good deal shorter, she had to prop herself up against the pillows to get better access to Ithunn's deliciously musky sex as the novice raised her hips to position herself as instructed by the half-elf. It was nothing Ithunn had done before, but it had been the subject of enough brazen talk in secluded corners after curfew, fuelled by contraband wine and fried jam buns, for her to know exactly what to do.

"Great....just great." Verden said reverently, relishing the wonderful sight of Ithunn's strong, lithe thighs on either side of her head and, more glorious still, the plump mound of the girl's sex with its gold-spun curls and those richly musky nether lips that would soon yield their precious, feminine juice. Ithunn shuddered as she felt her half-elven lover's fingers gently part her nether lips, while warm, sensuous lips made contact with the lust-inflamed flesh of her sex. Fire rose in her belly at the very thought of being so wantonly spread and at the mercy of Verden's tongue. So she sank into the rhythm of Verden's lovemaking, easing herself between the half-elven girl's thighs to breathe in the soft, salty-sweet fragrance of her perfectly hairless sex.

Verden grasped the taut globes of Ithunn's bottom and pulled the human novice lower, so that the velvety, musky lips of her sex were spread and ready for licking. The half-elf's tongue was like paradise on the aroused nether lips, drawing immediately breathy gasps of approval from Ithunn. She felt that familiar stirring in her loins and knew it was time to begin returning the favour. Ithunn settled between Verden's thighs which the half-elf had spread invitingly, to reveal a hothouse flower of dark pink folds, which were just beginning to glisten with slightly sharp, musky-sweet sap-like nectar. As always, Ithunn let desire and instinct guide her mouth. She planted a soft kiss on the moist nether lips and then began to lick with burning hunger. She could hear Verden's contented mewling sighs and took that as encouragement to continue her exploration of that fragrant, blooming sex.

To her shame, Ithunn could feel her need seizing control of her hips, causing her to roll her sex against Verden's hungry, expert mouth. The need to have that nimble, maddening tongue inside her, teasing the entrance to her sodden channel, before trailing upwards to playfully flick the tiny, hard bud of her clit. When Verden added two, tensed fingers to the firm licking on Ithunn's clit, the blonde novice felt a rush of heat overtake her. She knew she was close, she could feel it with each firm, precise swipe of Verden's tongue against her tumescent bud, with each curling thrust of the half-elven girl's fingers as they spread her channel with consummate ease, rubbing magnificently against the lust-swollen flesh of her inner sex.

Ithunn fought to control herself, to enjoy that pulsing web of need that was being woven by Verden's tongue. She concentrated on the salty-sweet delicacy of her half-elven lover's sex, immersing herself in a rich, fertile world, almost as if she were smelling an exotic flower. Verden's endearingly stiff little clit stood up from its hood, a far too tempting target for Ithunn's hungry licks. But it would only be a matter of time before the blonde novice surrendered to her climax, she felt her passion uncoiling, coaxed apart by Verden's probing fingers. The moment Ithunn came, Verden knew it, because the malicious little half-elf gave her fingers a little twist, spreading Ithunn's channel in the most delectably jarring of sensations.

Stoically, the blonde human rode the unspeakably satisfying waves of her orgasm as they coursed down in hot, burning blood, through her veins. But she did not let that distract her from the priority of bringing Verden to a similar peak. It took a little patience, and some impatient thrusting from Verden's hips, but it was not long before Ithunn felt hot, panting breaths against her inner thighs coupled with a deep, satisfied sigh of pleasure. The half-elven girl's climax had been slow-boiling, so when her release finally came between soft little licks of Ithunn's pink tongue against the pliant wetness of her rose-like sex lips, she could only whimper in profound satisfaction.

Ithunn, was not, however quite finished with her voluptuous, sensual half-elf. With the athletic grace of an expert fencer, she disentangled herself from Verden and gently held the lush half-elf down. One hand seized Verden's firm, tanned thigh and raised high in the air, so that the half-elf's delicate toes instinctively curled in anticipation, while the other slid with two tensed between the sodden sex lips deep into the shorter girl's channel. Verden reflexively bit her lip, but Ithunn drowned out any protest with a burning kiss as she settled atop her lover. Her thrusts were long, deep and suprisingly accurate as they parted the puffy inner flesh of the half-elf's fragrant, pink channel.

"So..." Verden began a little breathlessly as she rolled her hips in rhythm with the long, deep thrusts of Ithunn's fingers, "just so that I know and I don't embarrass you, how d'you want me to talk about the stuff...y'know, down there."

"It's hardly polite conversation at the Order." Ithunn replied, a little indignantly.

"Screed, screed and sodding screed." Verden retorted contemptuously.

"All right, fine," Ithunn conceded, holding Verden as open as possible while her fingers explored the delights of the half-elf's sex, "just call it your 'well', your 'temple' or 'sex' and what we're doing 'lovemaking' and we should be fine." Just the sight of Verden's heavy, rounded breasts heaving in rhythm with Ithunn's long, powerful thrusts was divine. Privately, the blonde novice believed that the voluptuous half-elf's body had been conceived by some malevolent goddess to tempt mortals, because its every motion was unashamedly erotic.

Verden groaned, both in pleasure and in mock disapproval, "Pussy is pussy. When will you people figure the dark out of that one?"

"You could be more poetic about it." Ithunn chided, as she bent forward, nuzzling Verden's heavy breasts.

"No need to be poetic - I think it's the most beautiful thing in the Multiverse, bar none...ah!" The half-elf gasped as she felt Ithunn begin to grind the heel of her hand against the stiff bud of her clit, "Y'know," Verden panted, "since you're so into this, if you want to put your hand in me or fuck me, just say it."

"Huh?"

Verden smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around Ithunn's back so she could stroke the novice's long, blonde braid, "You and me, we need to have a talk."

******

"Sir," Isolde began, her voice betraying a certain, anxious trepidation as she stood in Dassau's musty, disorganised office, "I have finalised my plan of action, I only await your signal before I begin preparations."

"Quite, quite." Dassau commented distractedly, his long muzzle immersed in a very extensive pile of bureaucratic work he had been saddled with after putting down the Anarchist riot in the Hive. A number of complaints had come to Civic Security's attention regarding supposed outrages on non-combatants. Naturally, with immense and biting eloquence, Dassau had answered his superiors and concerned politicians in the Hall of Speakers by drawing attention to the fact that most of those claims were, effectively, unverifiable. The vast majority of the residents of the Hive had neither birth certificates or residence permits, making them, bureaucratically speaking, invisible. If they had been killed in such great quantities as some sectors of public interest had claimed, there was no positive way of finding out whose claim was correct.

"Sir, I repeat," Isolde pressed, standing to attention, but curiously peering down to observe Dassau's meticulously neat handwriting as he compiled ever more ironic and cutting rejoinders, "on the basis of your insightful suggestions, I was thinking of acting some time in the very near future and would, accordingly, require some sort of support..."

"Ah, yes," Dassau interrupted, never once deigning to look up from his paperwork, "spirit is, as always, nought in the absence of substance. You shall almost certainly require apposite staff. Naturally, we are hard pressed here in the Bureau to expose our operatives to undue attention, thus, I shall recommend that you follow my path and hire mercenaries. I suspect that a few good hobgoblins should provide excellent cover. A recent article presented them as the most reasonably priced and comparatively efficient of mercenaries - doubtless, you shall require some sort of advance which you may obtain directly from Accounting. I have instructed them to disburse such funds as you may require."

"As always, sir, you are most thoughtful." Isolde said with feigned gratitude. Her stomach was still churning from the vile dish of braised cockerel Dassau had forced her to ingest some days ago. The hideous, sadistic old dog had forced her to sit for the best part of the day in his presence to ensure that she did not, as she would have desperately wanted, purge. Although, with the aid of a few especially powerful laxatives and emetics, she had cleared the last traces of the offending food from her system, she still felt heavy and contaminated by such a quantity of superfluous food. The consumption of such a fatty dish, Isolde concluded, had no doubt taken several months off her life, not nearly as many, of course, as Dassau himself had taken off.

"I like to think so." Dassau commented with his usual disinterest, "However, I would ask you to take heed. This investigation may, in the broadest possible terms, be sanctioned by official legal praxis, but when you are in the field conducting your interviews I recommend that you keep your profile to a minimum. Internal Security have already notified that I may have exceeded my powers in quelling that riot in the Hive. I do not look forward to further unpleasantness, not least because these forms are utterly interminable."

"We were in the line of duty, sir..."

"Yes, duty," Dassau interrupted, raising a long, gloved finger in the air to silence his secretary, "what a fascinating concept. Deontology - the study of that which is morally expected. Thus, may I ask, how shall your duty enjoin you to deal with the half-elf once you capture her?"

"It would have to be quick, sir, it would not legally constitute an arrest."

"I do not normally gamble, however, if I did have a few thousand Sigil Marks to put down on a wager, it would be that this half-elf of yours is not registered since the Census Office in the Hive Ward has long since effectively ceased to function. Such is the price of progress, Isolde: efficient governments entails paperwork and, where the paperwork is absent or, at the very lest, lacking, so too is justice. Naturally, I have seen the definition of justice change countless times in the course of my previous professional activity."

"Quite, sir," Isolde replied quickly, trying to evade any further disquisition regarding Dassau's past, "I was thinking I could interrogate the subject in question..."

Dassau bared his long, white fangs as the lips of his muzzle curled; it was a parody of a grin, "In a time so distant that attaching a date to it would mean nothing to you, I actually took interest in the content of the interrogation I know you have in mind. It was a sociological curiosity, if you will, but one grows tired of the dreary, debased, tawdry content of your mortal minds."

"Sir...surely you do not..."

"Lying to me, Isolde, is utterly pointless. So please, by all means, take your pleasure. This city should probably be no better or worse off for it." The arcanoloth snarled, his eyes glowing with radiant malevolence as he penned dry, sarcastic notes which drew attention to the service he was performing in the city's favour by cleansing it of such undesirables as tieflings, thieves and Anarchists, "You see, Isolde, some of the less enlightened classes of our society have no sense of gratitude. There is so much dross, so much scum that has to be skimmed off the surface of the vat. I do not, however, refer to the half-breeds and to the unfortunates who pollute the Hive; no - tieflings, half-elves, half-orcs; they are all excrement of the lowest order, not fit even to grace the blade of my sabre with their blood. Yet lower still, we find the chattering classes of Sigil, so quick to judge our fair work while they hide behind magically warded mansions and armoured bodyguards. Look, Isolde! The sad truth of the matter is that my work now is not significantly different than what it was when I was still a yugoloth in the fiendish hierarchy of Gehenna."

"It is a cesspit, sir, I fully agree with you on that count..."

"You shall fully agree with me on everything." Dassau snarled, his voice laced with a potent, commanding menace, "In my infinite magnanimity, I shall grant one exception to this rule. The following question I shall leave open to you: I saw the genesis of mortals from the primordial mud from which divinities, with nothing better to do, dragged them. I am, nevertheless, perplexed by a single, fundamental existential question: am I, a demon, not merely constructed in the image of mortals?"

"Not...not strictly speaking, sir." Isolde ventured weakly. Dassau terrified her when he spoke of philosophy - that was almost always a pretext for sadism or violence and on his part and, very often, both.

"Do you know what a vicious circle is, Isolde?" Dassau queried.

"Naturally sir, in ethics a set of vicious behaviours which, in turn, exacerbates of the causes of such behaviours."

"Precisely. So I wonder: are mortals tempted by the power of demons, or are demons tempted by the wickedness of mortals?"

********

Min's mind wandered. Her day had been especially long and especially frustrating, involving the retrieval of an ancient, moss-covered altar dedicated to some loathsome reptilian fertility god whose race, thankfully, had long since died out or moved to other planes of existence. The images of sacrifice and torture carved at the base of the cyclopean, mind-bendingly wicked item were so vile and perverse that even Lily was impressed. Shesayne had felt ill and quickly withdrawn outside to get some fresh air while Min and Lily struggled with winches and pulleys to extract the altar from the pool of mud and rotting vegetation where it had been trapped in the foundations of an old building in the Clerk's Ward. When it had finally come to the light of day, some considerate colleagues involved in the transport covered the obscene item up so as not to unduly offend passers-by.

The unwholesome experience of scrambling though dense mud and the blasphemous images on the alter had remained seared in the tiefling's mind, so, as she sat alone in Aerylle's tiny kitchen, pondering a half-eaten slice of kidney and oyster pie, she could not help but try to project her mind elsewhere. So she sat immersed in thought, the red silken dressing gown Aerylle had given to her as a present, as usual, left open to reveal her wondrously lithe, freshly bathed form. Aerylle was out with Shesayne and, according to the grey elf librarian, they would be out until late evening for, first, they had an appointment for afternoon tea at the library and then, they planned to see the Lantern Festival in the High Elf district. Although she was loath to admit it, Min missed both of them terribly, but could simply not be persuaded to submit to the indignities of 'dressing appropriately', as Aerylle put it, and submitting to the truly ludicrous social conventions associated only with elves.

Now, the more perverse part of Min's mind was hard at work imagining ever more fanciful scenarios to fend off the boredom. In her mind's eye, a stern Aerylle in full schoolmistress mode was reprimanding Shesayne for pleasuring herself in the library. Min reclined in her chair, propping her feet up on the immaculately polished kitchen table, imagining the scene progressing with Aerylle informing the defiant, rebellious Shesayne that she could use a lesson or two in the erotic arts and that it was her duty as librarian to make sure that the impudent half-elven slattern learned her place. As sensual as that particular scene was looking in Min's frustrated mind, the tiefling could not help but think that it was pointless: even if she did manage to arouse herself, it was her policy never to bring herself to orgasm. That was far too humiliating in light of the countless women and girls in Sigil who would have been eager to do that for her.

Then, even if Aerylle did indeed turn up in time for some intimacy, the grey elf would no doubt prefer an effusive sisterly cuddle with Shesayne involving all sorts of cringeworthy pet names, diminutives and smothering affection. That had been the sad state of affairs in Aerylle's home for a few days now and those few days had been far too many for Min. So it was something of a relief when the unexpected finally occurred a knock was heard at the door.

Min sprang up to answer, unselfconsciously naked but for her flimsy, open dressing gown, "Who's there?" She called.

"Hey, Min, is that you? Sorry to bother you, it's me...Marséna, is Shesayne in?" Marséna sounded dejected, almost a little ashamed of having sought out her jilted lover. But guilt and desperation were a powerful mix so that she had taken a few moments out of her training and patrol schedule to at least try to apologise for slapping Shesayne.

"No," the tiefling replied, trying to disguise her satisfaction that it Marséna as she unlocked the door and the let the paladin in, "and it'll probably be a while before she's back. But there's no use sending you home right now, come on in...d'you want something to drink?"

"No, I really shouldn't..." Marséna began, gratefully stepping into apartment which was infinitely warmer and cosier than the featureless, wooden hallway outside.

"Fuck off..." Min interrupted playfully, "you'll have a glass of feywine or two, right?"

Marséna looked back at the dark hallway, before turning to gaze into Min's enigmatic, delicately slanted orange eyes, "Go on then. I won't stop you."

Nodding in approval, Min retrieved an elegantly carved crystal bottle from the cooler cabinet and poured two glasses of thick, golden sweet feywine. She kept her own half-full so she could top it up with a generous splash of firewater in order to get rid of the sweetness she found so unpalatable, "How's life, then? I heard 'bout Shesayne..."

"I should have known better," Marséna commented bitterly grasping the glass of feywine and quickly downing it in one mouthful, "she was my little treasure, my kitten, so I know it's probably all over now, but I owe her an explanation and an apology."

"Sorry to hear that," the tiefling said with genuine sympathy, her eyes running over Marséna's delectably athletic yet profoundly feminine frame with barely concealed admiration, "you two were good for each other, you really were. She was happy with you." The tiefling quickly refilled the paladin's glass.

"Yeah," Marséna said, for the first time taking stock of the fact that Min was, for all intents and purposes naked, with firm breasts, taut, flat belly and the dark, ember-red curls atop her sex in full view, "but other things came between us. Are you sure you're all right with this? I mean, I never asked, but didn't you ever think that I took her away from you?"

Min chuckled as she drained her glass and quickly refilled it with neat firewater, "I've always liked you, paladin, you and me both know that. Shesayne's a strong girl and she'll go where she wants, but for what it's worth, I was happy to see her go with you. She needs a strong woman who'll take care of her, make her feel protected and appreciated."

"I know...her mother." To say that Shesayne had an ambivalent relationship with her mother was a mild euphemism.

"Well, 'least you never had to live with her. Anyway, Aerylle'd probably be pissed at me by now for being a bitch of a sodding host, sit down...uh, somewhere, and take off your boots, she has this thing with the carpet and gets all touchy when I leave mud on it."

Marséna managed a thin smile and complied, carefully placing her boots by the side of the door and following Min into the small apartment. Aerylle had decorated everything tastefully with finely-bound books, tasteful, brightly-coloured elven fabrics and an expert mix of dried and fresh flowers. Min, with her predatory-cat gait, and effortless sensuality as she swayed her hips and gorgeously taut bottom with every movement, seemed decidedly out of place. The kitchen led into a small bedchamber with an almost unbelievably plush, over-stuffed bed and a nice, elven-style dresser with a crystal-clear mirror. A single armchair, covered with Min's discarded clothes lay at the foot of the bed.

"Just a moment, I'll make this easier for you," Min said matter-of-factly as she proceeded to take her clothing from the armchair and cast it onto the floor, "it's been a long walk from the Temple, you'll probably want to sit down."

"Thank you." said Marséna, quite gratefully. In the corner of her eye, the paladin caught sight of a makeshift bedding consisting of crumpled blankets and a few well-used pillows by the side of Aerylle's bed, "Is that where Shesayne sleeps?" She inquired, guilt once more seizing her mind in its cold, hopeless grip.

"Nah, that's me. I wouldn't worry 'bout Shesayne, she's fitting right in here...definitely more than me." Min sat on the corner of the bed and watched Marséna gratefully take a seat in the overstuffed, blue silk upholstered armchair. The Mareterran girl was certainly a sight for tired eyes: even in her modest green and brown exercise tunic, her radiant femininity was evident in the fine curves of her full breasts and the enticingly rich, sun-kissed tan of her skin.

"Is she still angry at me?" Marséna asked tentatively, trying to refrain from staring at the tiefling's brashly revealed, but flawless body.

"You barmy or something? 'Course not," Min snorted, "but I know Shesayne, maybe a little too well. What I mean is, she and me, we look at emotions in different ways. For her it's a way of saying something she doesn't trust words to say, for me it's something you show only when you really have to, otherwise it just becomes cheap."

"I see..." Marséna stared into the golden mirror of her feywine, trying make sense of it all - she had always been one of the most worldly novices at the Order and, before joining it, she had not exactly lived a sheltered life, but what lay outside the walls of the Temple now looked more daunting than ever.

"You need another girl." Min said curtly, stretching out on the side of the bed, the curtain of deep ember-red hair spilling across the sides of her sharply, exotically beautiful features. That languid, oddly playful gesture always reminded Marséna of the leopard she had once seen in a village fair, "Anyone at the Radiant Path have your eye or are you going to try with Virginia again?"

"There was this one," Marséna answered, feeling more in the mood to confide with Min, whom she knew to be a woman of brutal honesty, "a couple of days ago...the cutest, sweetest trainee priestess you could imagine. After we made love, she even tried to sneak out before I woke up so as not to embarrass me in front of everyone else. Of course, I didn't let her, I wanted her by my side in the morning. She even thanked me afterwards, for making her feel like a lady, tell me if that isn't flattering."

"Shesayne needs a strong woman, but so do you, that was the problem," Min said, almost sternly, as she cocked her head slightly to contemplate Marséna, who was sitting forward, almost defensively, in the armchair, "you need someone who's like you, who's tough but with just enough of a heart to hold you up when you get all weepy..."

"Fuck you," Marséna snapped playfully, smiling wryly to herself: Min had a point, she was hot-blooded and her emotions were as wildly passionate as the Southern winds from the Middle Sea on Mareterra, "but good advice anyway. So what about you? Would you say you're that kind of woman?"

"Maybe." Came the subtly casual reply.

"Do you want me?" Marséna breathed as she felt irrational desire begin to well up in her. The tiefling was simply too erotic, too sensually perfect to resist. Even the slightest flick of her hair or glance from those wonderfully mysterious, orange eyes was enough to send Marséna's blood through her veins like thick, molten rock.

"We've been through this before, no?" Min retorted, arching an eyebrow.

"Answer my question!"

"Yes," Min conceded, very calmly, "since I first laid eyes on you. Shesayne beat me to you, though...she was the first one to follow you outside..."

"What's done is done, right? Now you're with Aerylle and I suppose I'll find someone else, so life just marches on."

"Take off your tunic."

"What?" Marséna cried, taken aback.

"Please," Min said, less as a command and more of a prayer, "take your tunic off, I want to see. I want to see you so much it hurts." That much was true, for the prospect of seeing Marséna in her full, natural glory made the tiefling's heart rise in her chest.

Marséna nodded, glad that Min had given her an excuse. She had known what would have happened the moment she stepped in to the apartment and found Min alone. There was a visceral desire that would not be denied, and it was hungry in both of them, made ravenous by unfulfilled need. So the Mareterran paladin rose and undid the buttons and belt of her tunic before, quite deliberately, letting it fall to the ground. Min took a deep breath and contemplated that sublime, tanned figure with barely disguised admiration. Every curve was perfectly rounded and taut: her belly flat and athletic, her thighs long with the most delicious thatch of midnight black curls nestled between them and then there was Marséna's bottom, two sculptural globes of perfection which, for all intents and purposes, belonged to a goddess.

"This is embarrassing..." Marséna said bashfully, only for Min to leap up, nimble as a pouncing jaguar, and seize her in a fierce embrace, burying her face in the comforting warmth of the paladin's soft breasts.

"Deep down, you and me are cut from the same gem." Min said, almost reverently, running her fingers through Marséna's coal-black tresses, eagerly inhaling the human girl's delicate, citrus perfume.

"Since when are you poetic?" Marséna teased, a little moved by such an open gesture of affection in Min's part.

"Since Aerylle started reading me her sappy elven romances...sometimes I think she ought to cut through the screed and get to the juicy bits."

"Like 'and then the fair paladin kissed the beautiful tiefling'." Marséna suggested, halfway between a bad joke and direct invitation.

"Yeah, something like that..." Marséna had already pre-empted Min's move, so their lips met halfway and that instant opened up a new door to the Mareterran girl's world of sensuality, because the sultry warmth of the tiefling's mouth, the agile, expertly arousing skill of her tongue were like nothing a paladin of the Radiant Path could imagine. For once, there was nothing predatory in Min's kiss, for they knew that they needed each other's warmth. So their tongues danced rather than jostled, lips pressed close together, kissing the sweet life-breath from each other's souls.

Min's hands instinctively crept down, trailing down the taut arch of Marséna's back to clasp the divine globes of her bottom. The sensation was even better than Min had dreamed, for they flowed magnificently with the gorgeous flare of the Mareterran's hips and back into her toned thighs. The time for waiting was over, now, with her consummate tiefling hunger, Min needed to explore and devour. With a shrug of her shoulders she let her dressing gown fall to the ground and sighed in gentle approval as she felt Marséna's hands instinctively caress her taut flanks, before rising up to cup the soft surface of the tiefling's pale, rose-agate tinted breasts. Marséna found herself stunned by the contrast between the pliant, feminine softness of Min's breasts and the athletic tension of her belly and sides. What stunned her more still was the expression in the tiefling's exotic, gently slanted eyes - there was an ocean of emotion there, that ran in the deepest caverns of Min's soul. Perhaps Marséna would be privileged enough to be granted a glimpse.

So as they kissed, they moved, inevitably, towards the bed, where Min eased Marséna down into a sitting position while she settled with her knees on either side of the paladin's thighs, straddling her, "You positive you want this?" Min inquired, more as a formality than a genuine doubt.

"Damn it, Min, why did you never join the Order?" Came Marséna's worshipful reply as she pressed her lips, warm and moist, on the hollow of the tiefling's throat, moving lower so she could lavish the firm curves of the girl's breasts with hungry, yet reverent kisses.

"I'm told it took a while for them to get to appreciate the likes of you, and you're human, I don't know what you girls would have thought of the likes of me." Said Min, a little ruefully. Marséna's tongue was now busy licking firm, wet circles around Min's engorged nipples, deep red like shards of burning coal. With the lightest of touches, Marséna grazed her teeth over the sensitive, lust-swollen surface, before following up with firm pressure from her lips. Min took a deep breath, biting her lip so as not to gasp. She felt need course through her, she felt it in the wetness between her thighs and the mounting, primal desire in her belly. So she seised Marséna by the shoulders and they rolled, laughing softly, onto the bed, wrapped in each other's embrace interspersing deep, wet, passionate kisses with playful mock wrestling.

Min's touch was exhilarating on Marséna's skin, the naturally ruby-red fingernails that trailed down her back, stroked down the crease of her bottom or teased the taut, rubbery café-au-lait nipples that rode proudly on her full, tan breasts. But so too was the sense of discovery, the warm, incense-like smell of Min's skin and the slightest aroma of cinnamon rising deep from the delicious, ripe tropical fruit of her sex, sensually hidden under the softest fire-red curls. Though she was the stronger one, Marséna let Min win, and pin her down on her back, so that the tiefling could admire her prize, half-buried in the plush covers of Aerylle's bed. She then lowered herself, very slowly, until their breasts touched, and their lips met in a passionately spontaneous dance. Min's hands glided across Marséna's full breasts, gently teasing each nipple in turn with lightest of scratches from her fingernails, before drawing them taut, eliciting a playfully indignant gasp from the Mareterran girl.

"Hey, c'mon, turn around." Min invited, her breath short from the hammering pulsations in her chest. Her hands now clasped Marséna's bottom, as if encouraging the paladin to flip over onto her belly.

"Oh?" Marséna replied, a little bemused, "And why should I?"

"I want you, I want to fuck you." Min breathed, before gasping softly in surprise as Marséna seized her wrists and, with almost effortless ease, turned the smaller tiefling over onto her back and held her down. The line between foreplay and genuine threat, all of a sudden, became blurred as Marséna's fingers squeezed tight around Min's wrists.

"I know exactly what you want. Who the fuck do you take me for?" Marséna said, quite firmly, her big, soulful brown eyes contemplated the tiefling with more than a hint of irritation.

"Don't take it personally," Min shot back, never losing her cool, "just a suggestion."

"Whatever I do in the bedchamber happens because I want it to. That means I don't take orders like a whore, understood?" Marséna leaned forward so her gaze was level with Min's.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Min protested, the tightness of Marséna's fingers around her wrist was getting to be very uncomfortable indeed.

"Let's play a game then," Marséna said, still walking the line between tease and threat, "let's say I fuck you. Let's pretend I'm the paladin who just captured a thieving tiefling strumpet who really needs to be taught a lesson or two."

"All right," Min gambled, "fine, let go of me. We'll have it your way."

Nodding in approval, Marséna released her grip on Min's wrists and, as promised, the tiefling turned and raised herself on her hands and knees. It was situations like these that made Min grateful that she could not blush, because she was presenting herself in a most wanton and submissive manner, her face buried in the pillows and her gorgeous, taut bottom thrust firmly into the air, thighs spread so that the neat, red folds of her sex, redolent with pearly, cinnamon scented nectar, were revealed for Marséna's pleasure, "It's in the second drawer of the bedside table if you want." Min said, feeling both acute humiliation and a sense of perverse anticipation.

Much to her surprise, she heard Marséna allow herself a lightly mocking chuckle, "You've got to learn to take a joke, kitten." She said, affectionately patting Min's deliciously firm bottom.

"Yeah well...ah," Min sighed, nestling her head into the soft pillow as she felt Marséna's tongue trail up the sodden, velvety lips of her sex before gliding through the spicy-musky crease of her bottom, "that's pretty good too..." Kneeling behind Min, Marséna breathed in the sharp, sweet smell of an aroused tiefling and she immediately felt her lover tense, almost involuntarily, with the first few licks. On second thought, the Mareterran girl understood why: Min had always been used to controlling lovemaking, so that now, effectively blind and at Marséna's mercy, she only had the jarring sensation of her lover's tongue against passion-moistened nether lips to go by. Min was a truly delicious morsel: each lick was like exploring the petal of a sweet, jungle flower, just as the barely-restrained moans of approval made the tiefling seem endearingly vulnerable.

Min buried her head deeper in the pillow, her hips writhing with the maddening stimulation of Marséna's tongue. Then, there came the sudden, humiliatingly pleasurable sensation of two fingers gently probing the sodden entrance of her channel, parting wet, velvety flesh to ease themselves deep into her pussy. Min growled in passion, thrusting her hips backwards in the most wanton manner and was rewarded by firm, wet licking in the crevasse of her bottom as her Mareterran lover's fingers began to thrust in a long, winding rhythm.

Coaxing the tight, red rosebud of Min's bottom with loving, ever more insistent licks, Marséna detected a subtle change in the tiefling's attitude. It was as if she wanted to be explored, almost as if it were an honour to submit to the paladin who had long haunted her most erotic thoughts. Marséna's rhythmic, expert lapping gently loosened the tight rosebud of Min's anus, while her fingers thrust into the tiefling girl with devastating precision. By the time she maliciously moved a thumb to strum the stiff little bud of Min's clit, the tiefling knew that any further resistance was futile. Her chest burned with need just as her loins tensed, ready for the wave of release which she knew would soon come. Marséna smiled as she felt the urgency in Min's gasps of pleasure against the pillows, giving her fingers in Min's sex a few good twists as deep as they would go against the sensitive inner walls of the tiefling's channel, while pressing down with hard, rolling motions against her clit.

That was more than enough to set Min's ecstasy off. The tiefling contracted spasmodically against Marséna's invading fingers, her eyes screwed shut as she concentrated on the delicious sensation of her roiling climax. Marséna's wicked teasing was not quite finished, for as Min revelled in the lapping waves of her peak, she suddenly felt the jarring, but perversely fulfilling sensation of her paladin lover extracting her nectar sodden fingers from the tiefling's sex and easing them into the now blooming rose of her bottom. Min whimpered in guilty pleasure, intrigued by how little resistance she had put up to Marséna's sudden penetration of her tight bottom.

"You didn't think you were getting away that easily, did you?" Marséna gloated, feeling Min's anus contract in protest around her fingers, "Come on, kitten, you have a favour to return." The paladin said, landing a playful slap on Min's rump.

"Right on it," said Min eagerly, rising to a more comfortable - and dignified - kneeling position to place a conciliatory kiss on Marséna's lips, "though maybe you could stop calling me..." it was then that the tiefling stopped herself. Lady Luck was a bitch indeed, because the Mareterran's irreverent, not to mention unspeakably irritating, pet name was, no doubt, cosmic justice for what Aerylle had to put up with.

"Hmm...thought so," Marséna purred, "and remember," she said, raising her nectar-slickened fingers to Min's lush, red lips, "a good kitten always cleans up after she's done."

Min had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes, but at least Marséna had a nicely deviant side to her. So she obediently licked up her own spicy arousal from the paladin's proffered fingers, which mingled with the earthy, musky taste of her bottom. Marséna smiled lasciviously, drawing her wet fingers up Min's cheek to trace the contours of her high, noble cheekbones, her delicate nose and the sultry softness of her lips, "Where did you come out from?" The Mareterran whispered, with an odd mixture of curiosity and desire, "I want to know you better...who did you first fall in love with? What makes you smile? What makes you cry...?"

"Later...we'll talk all you want later."

"I'm sorry I got a little angry," Marséna confessed, settling on her back, hips raised while Min propped her bottom up with a few soft pillows, "the last few days have been a little hard on me."

"Fuck it, I get how you feel. Things are really addled 'round here too." Min said, admiring Marséna's lovely body spread out before her. The paladin held her thighs up and open, her bottom raised so that the divine globes were revealed, along with the rick musky feast of her sex and the tight, tempting pucker of her bottom which, Min decided, deserved to have a tongue, a finger - maybe more - in it as soon as possible.

The tiefling dived in, using her thumbs to spread the dark pink, richly juicing sex lips to inhale the rich, feminine scent of Marséna's arousal and taste those silky, spread nether lips, so wonderfully fleshy and mildly salty, her tiny, jewel-like clit already standing arrogantly from its hood. Marséna mewled in contentment, rolling further on her back to spread herself for Min's mouth. Her toes pointed in the air, calves straining under the sensual pressure building in her loins.

"How long do we have until Aerylle comes back?" Marséna asked, between breathy gasps - Min had begun to concentrate firm, strumming licks on the unbearably sensitive surface of her clit.

"Nevermind," Min said between licks, "after this we'll change the sheets and I'll come to Quarters so we can continue."

**********

As expected, the Lantern Festival had turned out to be a rather splendid occasion and yet another opportunity to encourage Shesayne to reconnect with elven roots. It was therefore with a certain sense of satisfaction that Aerylle watched the last magically levitated lanterns, illuminated by multichrome points of light and wrapped in the finest of silks, disappear into the Sigil night sky. They gave texture and depth to the otherwise overbearing darkness and struggled valiantly against the brash, monotonous civic lighting which illuminated the nearby Temple Ward. But the High Elf district, that evening, was ablaze with light and colour, ranging from low-hanging floral arrangements that covered the streets, to wonderfully ephemeral faerie fire sculptures which floated in the sky before disappearing in a burst of sparkling dust.

Aerylle admired the final proceedings of the evening from the veranda of a tastefully decorated elven tavern where she had managed to book a long, plush couch and a table facing the main square where the festivities were taking place. It had not been cheap, but Aerylle had concluded that Shesayne needed a little treat now and then, especially in light of her acrimonious quarrel with Marséna. She wanted the petite half-elf to feel special, appreciated and, most of all, more elven. That objective had been partly reached by a radical change in clothing and hairstyle which meant that Shesayne had, effectively, been mistaken for an elf by all who had encountered her that evening. Now, as the festival began to wind down, Aerylle reclined in the comfort of the couch, Shesayne curled up fast asleep by her side, with her head nestled in the grey elf's lap.

Seeing her in such a state of peaceful contentment was a source of great joy and ambiguity, for Aerylle found Shesayne to be truly beautiful, dressed as she was in a tasteful red and white patterned evening gown, her straight black hair let down, as elven modesty dictated, over her pointed ears so that the tips nearly reached her shoulders. But Aerylle had been living through an especially confused period. Between her work, Min and Shesayne, everything seemed to flow into one, barely intelligible mass. In the end, she was grateful for intimate, relaxing moments like that one; where she could observe the Multiverse in silence, tenderly stroking Shesayne's soft hair.

"You're Aerylle, right?" A charming, playful voice called from behind the grey elf, breaking her train of thought.

"Oh, yes...why?"

"Sorry to startle you, I can do that sometimes, I'm Astrid." A slender, athletically built young woman sidled up to the couch. To Aerylle's eye, she appeared human, even if she was somewhat on the short side and was rather fine-featured, with strangely hypnotic blue eyes and a smattering of light freckles on her very pretty, youthful features. Most striking of all was the dark blue colour of her hair - worn moderately short in an almost boyish cut - which was so intense that it appeared deep violet in the dim light from the veranda's lanterns. She was clad in a tight, sleeveless white top, a succinct matching skirt and high black leather boots

"I'm sorry, but have we met?" Aerylle inquired, quizzically looking over the stranger's equally curious expression.

"I suppose cosmically yes, but personally, no. I knew Min...I mean, I know Min and you know Min, so there you have it." Astrid crouched down by Aerylle's side, her gaze darting to scan the scene in front of her.

"To my knowledge, Min has many acquaintances..."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Right, well, we were intimate. She bought me an ioun stone when I couldn't afford one and...well, since I love all things magical, that was a thousand times better than her buying me roses."

"I see..." Aerylle began, her memory beginning to settle, "you are the one who left the note under the pillow."

"Right...yeah, well I'm shy, you see and I like to be my own woman. So that means never falling in love if I can help it and I thought that if I stayed much longer with Min, I probably would, so I had to make a run for it...for my own safety. And, I know, she probably remembers me a little different but I've got a twin sister and I hate being confused with her so I dyed my hair and decided to cut it a little...I mean, who the fuck wears braids nowadays right?" Astrid said, her voice had a distracted, almost nonchalant quality to it, as if everything were perpetually amusing.

"Very nice to meet you," Aerylle managed, still dazed by the almost surreal nature of the encounter, "but can I help you?"

"Uh...no, but I just saw Min a little while ago this evening and thought that maybe you could give her a message. I didn't want to bother her then, because she was with this other girl, but I think I really need to speak to her."

Aerylle's blood froze for an instant, for the mention of 'other girl' already sent her mind into a pessimistic spiral. A moment later, however, the more rational part of her mind wrested back control and informed her that there was, no doubt, a perfectly rational explanation, "With pleasure, what would you like me to say?"

"That Astrid called, she'll know what that means."

"One thing, however," Aerylle said, a little suspiciously, "how did you know my name and where to find me?"

"Did you ever hear of the question 'who watches the watchmen'? Let's say that those who watch sometimes don't realise they are being watched themselves. And those who are watched in the first place, are, logically, watched by the watchers of the watchmen." Astrid replied calmly, as if it all made perfect sense, before smiling sweetly and changing the subject entirely, "Is this little treasure your sister?" She asked, gently placing a hand on Shesayne's arm with the same delicacy of someone admiring the finest fabric.

"No...I mean, not really."

"Your lover?" Astrid pressed.

"No. I would count Min as my lover." Aerylle commented defensively.

"You have faith. That's good. Faith will save us, you know. Anyway, it's a shame," Astrid continued, seemingly unfazed by Aerylle's unease as she continued to stroke Shesayne's arm, "because she is adorable." Shesayne squirmed in her sleep, snuggling closer to the comforting warmth of Aerylle's belly.

"Would I be rude if I said that I simply have no idea what is going right now?"

"No, not at all. But everything has it's time. You grey elves would say miyhaa einaiy eile - 'the spring bud isn't forced', right? Hope my pronunciation was all right, Grey Elf's hard, but you can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"

"How do you...?"

"Patience, Aerylle, patience. Remember, it's always better to ask questions than to answer them. More fun, no? Anyway, tell Min. It's important, I promise. Maybe she can explain it much better than me. For now, I'd just say that things happen: raindrops fall in a place that was decided long before the drop itself leaves the cloud.” With that Astrid, raised an elegant, evidently dextrous, hand to her lips, kissed her fingertips and transferred the kiss with the lightest of touches to Shesayne's mouth, "She's lucky. She's somewhere where two suns shine through treetops and a river meets the sea. You're there, too, smiling by the riverbank while she goes for a swim."

Before Aerylle could even formulate another question, Astrid had breezed away. The Sigil sky was wide and empty, a constellation of points of light ran the length of the Great Wheel's curve. It was nights like those where mystery and questions seemed to undermine reason and sow doubt, that Aerylle was glad that Shesayne was with her. Nevertheless, that moment was daunting to the librarian because she, of all beings, needed to make sense of the Multiverse, to be able to explain, understand and categorise it. Now, with questions of Min's past and the coming storm that Aerylle felt brewing on the horizon, she only wished she too could sleep as soundly as Shesayne.