- Continues from “Sehanine’s Moonblade”

“...[D]eath-rain of poison and acid fell onto the Mother’s flesh and sundered it aside so that the Dryads wept and fled their homes and the Nymphs sought refuge under great boulders. Eleustria, heroine and champion of House Ahlirian knew she went to her death, but sworn to defend her people, she drew her blade – sky-blue Ilmaeria’s Sorrow – and stood fast before the ravager who called itself the ‘Emerald Butcher’ and so battle with the great Dragon ensued…though her struggle was epic and though her gleaming sword struck true a hundred times on the Great Wyrm’s steely scales, it was to no avail and the great heroine, her adamantine breastplate bloody under the Dragon’s jaws, finally succumbed…those who heard her final lament professed that she called the name of her most beloved fellow blademistress who had perished defending the Hymmath Gate against the Emerald Butcher: Tahllea…”

- Chronicle of the Noble Sacrifice of Lady Eleustria, Champion of House Ahlirian; Written and Illustrated by Lady Elinathanal of House Ceilanith and dedicated with “much affection – mind, body and soul”

Brook Under Sunshine – a reprise

Sunlight streamed through the high canopy and cascaded onto

the verdant needles of majestic conifers. Morning came as an ocean of light into the village of Brook Under Sunshine. Sharp, melodic birdsong floated through the treetops and a light, cool breeze hummed through the high branches. Aravae and Sigrid stepped out of Iniila's abode and strolled down the treetop boulevard that lay suspended high above the forest floor. A massive branch had been flattened by druidic magic, so that the road arched and wound its way through the various homes and simple shops that lined the mighty evergreen trees in which the village was sheltered. The morning was brisk, but Sigrid was filled with a newfound sense of purpose. She had resolved to return to Imej and claim her dignity back from Tahllea, even if it meant confronting the deception she had used to gain Mjrina's affection and her position in Yssinel's House. But there could be no more hiding. It was time for to live up to her vocation as a paladin of the Vigilant Maiden and, perhaps most importantly, it was the only way to honour both Mjrina and Aravae.

"What troubles you?" Aravae inquired suddenly with a soft, almost shy smile. The previous night, she had been filled with nothing but passion for Sigrid, but, when she awoke that morning, feeling warm and incredibly safe in the Aasimar's embrace, the only emotion she had felt welling in her breast was a profound, sisterly affection.

Sigrid paused by the great wooden statue of the Forest Mother that dominated a wide, circular plaza at the centre of the village. Two pretty junior druids, bare-breasted and clad in long, voluminous skirts woven from a luminescent, green silk attended to the elaborately carved statue, whispering incantations and setting down intricate wreaths of freshly picked flowers in offering to their Goddess.

"I never wanted you to know." Sigrid murmured. She felt her heart tighten in her chest as she contemplated the radiantly smiling Aravae. The Grey Elf's shoulder-length hair was as golden as the sun that rode high in the sky, her sky-blue tunic reflecting the azure brilliance of the new day. Aravae, Sigrid thought bitterly, was a Goddess and she, the deceiver, was unworthy of her affection. "And I beg you to forgive me for what I'm about to confess..."

The Aasimar trailed off as Aravae stepped forward without hesitation to gather her into a warm embrace. It was the same embrace they had fallen asleep in, tired, but deliriously happy after making love. "Hush," Aravae breathed, brushing her lips against Sigrid's cheek. The Aasimar skin was fragrant with the herb and pinewood scented soap from Iniila's bathing chamber. Her indigo hair, glossy in the sunlight and marvelously soft, was like silk between Aravae's fingers. "Thank you for last night, thank you for loving me - body and soul, thank you for being Sigrid." She had wished for her confession to have been more poetic, but Aravae could only let the quiet words flow from her heart and spill from her lips. Not even Tahllea deserved such a profession of devotion.

Sigrid drew a deep breath and looked on as the two woodland-tan druids poured libations of mulberry juice at the feet of the buxom, perpetually pregnant Forest Mother. Their rounded breasts, like firm gourds, swayed gently with each movement of their lithely muscled bodies. Ritual green and red paint streaked their cheeks and shoulders. She thought of Mjrina and decided that it was time to be the real Sigrid once more. "I am no wandering knight," Sigrid began hoarsely, her throat tightening with frustrated shame, "I am but a novice who was sent away from her Order to prove herself...I'm definitely not a heroine, or much of a warrior...I," Sigrid paused and blinked back a stray tear, "in a way, Tahllea was right...I'm a foolish, upstart girl with more dreams of glory than sense and..."

"Look at you," Aravae interrupted gently, trailing her lips over Sigrid's delicate, fae-like features with reassuring kisses. "All that time around humans and you start to become like them - so obsessed with laws, orders, words that, in themselves, have no meaning."

"But...I lied to you, to everyone." Sigrid said between gritted teeth, even as she clutched Aravae closer, her fingers digging into the Grey Elf maiden's back. The tunic's fabric was soft, like Aravae's skin.

"Hush." Sigrid's grip loosened. Aravae's voice soothed her, almost as if she had always been her sister. "Sigrid, my love, I simply don't care. If you read our epics, hear the stories of the Bladesingers of old, you would understand that a heroine is not perfect. A heroine can deceive, steal, or cause her lovers much pain. But she is a heroine because her heart is good and her deeds are heroic. That is the difference between humans and Elves: humans hasten to see the ugliness in everything, we seek beauty even in a wilting flower."

Sigrid sighed almost inaudibly and allowed herself to be rocked gently in Aravae's arms. "Last night, I said you were too nice," the Aasimar said quietly, basking in the sensation of Aravae's lips grazing over her sensitive, pointed ear. "I only have the Blessed Maiden to thank that I was right."

Aravae allowed herself a gentle laugh and it was music to Sigrid's ears, like ice water trickling over crystal. "Come now, a Bladesinger never wallows in her emotions and she certainly does not need a fellow warrior to tell her these things..."

"Why?" Sigrid smiled coquettishly, feeling a surge of relief sweep through her. "Aren't Bladesingers allowed a cuddle?"

"Well, maybe occasionally," Aravae shot back amiably. She could see it in Sigrid's vivid, violet eyes that a great weight had been lifted from the Aasimar's soul. It pleased Aravae to no end to see the brash, irreverent Sigrid she so adored return.

"This is where our destinies cross, then." Sigrid said. She composed herself and took a step back to meet Aravae's silvery glance.

"Woven together, never to be undone," Aravae replied, as if it were a prayer. The druids were chanting rhythmically in the background, their hair, green and chestnut-brown, was slick with blessed nut oil, so that their tresses fell wetly over their shoulders like tendrils of vegetation.

Sigrid suddenly smelled a familiar scent of incense being carried by the breeze. Min, as always, walked soundlessly over the wood, her functional, brown leather boots seemingly floating over the street. "Morning...Sigrid." Min greeted playfully, emphasising the Aasimar's name with a mocking, childish pitch.

"Why, it's Min, what a pleasure." the Aasimar replied with affected irritation. She swept around and found Min with a characteristically enigmatic smile painted on her lush, red lips. The tiefling carried her linen shirt slung over her shoulder - her lithely muscular torso was bared to the brisk morning air, so that she wore only her skintight beige breeches. In the corner of her eye, Sigrid noticed one of the druids stealing a quick, longing glance at the sensuous tiefling. Min smiled back.

"Something tells me," Min said, sauntering casually over to the Aasimar's side, "that little Sigrid had a top-shelf fuck last night."

Sigrid blushed fiercely. "Not as good yours," she snarled. Min circled her like a hunting cat playing with its prey.

"I guess Grey Elven girls are all the same." Min continued, her long, ember-red hair fluttering like a silken curtain as a gust of wind swept down the plaza. "All prim and proper, 'till you take them out of Imej, that is."

"I...see," Sigrid sighed - Min really did only have one thing on her mind. "But, I’m curious, how did you know?" A legitimate question, Sigrid thought, since neither she nor Aravae were especially vocal in their passion.

"I didn't." Min purred with a predatory grin, "Just guessed."

"Maybe you would be so kind as to translate." Aravae interjected, ever more fascinated by Min's effortlessly graceful movements. There was something entrancingly alien in those burning, orange eyes and pale, red-tinted skin - like rose-agate marble.

"Don't worry about it." Sigrid groaned. "It really isn't important."

Aravae shrugged, perplexed as always by the incomprehensible customs of outlanders. "We appear to be a full party, perhaps we should set out so we can hopefully reach Imej before nightfall, I would hate to run into more Forest Marauders on our way back." the Grey Elf suggested, reflexively running her fingers over the smooth, mother-of-pearl pommel of her sword.

"Sounds perfect," Sigrid nodded. "But I would really like to thank Iniila for her hospitality first."

"There is no need for that." a clear, melodiously accented voice interrupted. Iniila emerged from behind Min, her fierce, emerald green eyes burning with resolve. She was clad in her form-fitting, expertly crafted leather armour, patterned to resemble falling leaves. The leather hugged her voluptuous, muscular frame tightly, before flowing into a knee-length skirt of thick, hardened leather strips to facilitate movement. Her great, ancestral longbow in hand, she looked like a handsomely feral, wild-eyed attendant of the Forest Mother, her hair a wondrous autumnal fusion of deep red, chestnut-brown and dark, honey-blonde strands. "We are not to part ways yet."

"You're coming?" Sigrid asked incredulously. That Iniila would wish to relive her unfortunate experiences in Imej was decidedly surprising.

"Yes." Iniila replied curtly. She was a woman of actions, not empty words.

"Iniila, why?" Aravae queried, dumbfounded.

"To be at your side once more," Iniila said, her lips curling into a subtle smile.

"But...surely your village needs you." Aravae protested. She had no intention of dragging Iniila back into a world that looked upon her with arrogant contempt.

"I spoke with the Mother's Voice - the High Druid - and we agreed that it was right for me to see the world with different eyes. She said that, in time, all tracks would lead back to my village, but not before the world knew my name." She was resolved to go and prove to all Imej that she was no longer the frightened, angry scullery maid who cried herself to sleep on Aravae's breast. Most importantly, she owed Aravae a debt of love and gratitude - a debt which a ranger could only repay with her bow.

"Looks like she's coming, too," Sigrid informed Min in Common. Iniila's declaration had come as a pleasant surprise to Sigrid, who was more than happy to have such a redoubtable, wildly fascinating warrior to fight by her side.

"Really?" Min arched an eyebrow. "A sodding relief, if you ask me," she said, feigning indifference, "just in case we run into those fucking berks with the long claws in the forest again." The tiefling nodded gratefully to Iniila, and ran her naturally ruby-red fingernails affectionately over the Wood Elf ranger's jawline. Iniila pounced and seized Min's wrist, dragging the tiefling closer so she could grasp a handful of deep-red hair to pull the demon-blooded woman into a wet, searing kiss. Min parted her lush, moist lips and let Iniila's tongue wrestle hungrily with her own. The Wood Elf woman's eyes burned with a passion that even the previous evening's endless lovemaking had not satisfied. Min thrust her hand under Iniila's armour and clasped the Wood Elf's firm, tautly muscular thigh, her fingers trailing higher, instinctively reaching for the hot, wet nexus she so badly wanted under her fingers and on her tongue.

Then, with a coy smirk, Iniila drew back and pulled herself out of Min's embrace, before striding down the plaza and leading the party's way down the great wooden stairway that led from the village to the forest floor. Min wet her lips and savoured the fresh, herby moisture of Iniila's tongue. The tiefling realised that Iniila was going to tease her all day, just to get her wet and desperate so that by nightfall, she would be like soft clay in the ranger's hands.

"You'll just have to wait, my dear Min." Sigrid gloated as Aravae chuckled softly to herself. "That's the lovely thing about Wood Elves, they have a completely different understanding of time."

Min felt her sex tighten with frustrated desire. It was going to be a long day. So, she followed Sigrid and Aravae down the stairway, sauntering casually as she took one last glance back at the smiling druid by the statue of the Forest Mother. Then, the village disappeared back into the upper canopy of the forest and the mighty wooden stairway brought them down through the lower reaches of the tree trunk where the Wood Elves stored their fish, fruit and tubers to dry in the air or roast gently in wooden baskets over smoking, aromatic coals, magically suspended on disks of floating force so that the heat did not come into contact with the living wood.

They made their way back through the invisible sphere of force and illusion that shielded the village from unwanted attention and, once again, Sigrid found herself at the confluence of two rivers that melded together into a single pool and then cascaded down, with a thundering sound and curtains of clear, white foam, into a waterfall. It was much colder outside, for the druids of the Wood Elven village carefully controlled the climate inside their own isolated world, but the wilderness outside was covered in a vast blanket of crisp, pristine snow. Frozen conifer needles and ice crystals crunched under her boots as Sigrid made her way, a little unsteadily at first, behind Iniila. The ranger was undeterred by the cold, just as her movement across the snowy forest floor was just as swift and easy as it had been inside the village. Instinctively, she knew where to place each foot and, even if the trails were now invisible, she orientated herself by the position of the sun and the familiar configuration of trees, stones and frozen creeks where the water sang under a glassy veneer of ice.

Min, however, had never suffered from cold, so that she strolled almost casually, her shirt still draped on her shoulder, her hair matted with flecks of snow. Sigrid could not help but admire her, the subtle, athletic lines of muscle in her belly, the berry-like perfection of her hard, raspberry-red nipples which rode like jewels on her firm, wonderfully compact breasts. If by night she moved like a leopard, now she could as well have been a snow leopard, her long legs feline in their dexterity as she silently followed Iniila's lead. Aravae, for her part, was unusually lively, chatting amiably between Sigrid, who mused with her at length about the beauty of an icebound landscape and Iniila, whose answers were monosyllabic at best. Without asking, Sigrid knew that Aravae was delighted to have Iniila by her side again. Some bonds, the Aasimar reflected, were as steadfast as the roots that held up the Wood Elven village.

It was late afternoon and the sky had become overcast when they paused to eat by a stream. Iniila drew her steel-sharp obsidian shortsword and cracked open the icy surface of the water to drink while Aravae unpacked some thin, but very dense Wood Elven waybread.

"You're not cold at all, are you?" Sigrid said in Common, while Min stretched out on the snow and broke off a piece of crisp, chestnut coloured waybread and nibbled curiously around its edges.

"No. But I saw you catching a peek or two." Min noted with a hint of lasciviousness.

"Well, I can hardly help it." Sigrid protested, hoping that Min mistook the light pink blush on her cheeks for the effects of the icy breeze.

"'Course not." Min purred, taking a hungry bite of the waybread. At least it was not too sweet. "I've been to the temple of the Vigilant Maiden back in Sigil - all those high-up paladins in blue and gold armour pretending to wonder what a tiefling's doing in a holy place when they're really only thinking 'bout my tits or my ass or what my pussy'd taste like."

"Let me guess, your lover's a Grey Elf so you want to get all the gutter speech out of your system before we arrive in Imej, right?" Sigrid replied dryly. It was not so much the vulgarity, but the fact that Min had brought up the Order. Now, Sigrid's mind could only cast itself back to Isobel's challenge and to the eternal question that seemed to have no answer: would she ever return to the jeers and taunts of her fellow novices? Even if she did come back as a triumphant heroine, she doubted that many of her former tormentors would be swayed by tales of her valiant deeds in the lands of the Elves.

"Something like that...but, say...I have some good friends at the Order and I never saw you..."

"I was a novice." Sigrid replied tersely. In the background, she could hear Iniila instructing Aravae on how to discern where the Naiads of a river could be summoned.

"Thought so," Min shrugged. "But you're pretty sharp with a sword."

"Thanks..." Sigrid’s voice trailed off, stunned that Min did not require or expect further information. The tiefling was simply unconcerned with the reasons behind Sigrid's presence on a distant world.

"You didn't like at the Order, did you?" Min said, sitting up all of a sudden. Her taut, muscled back was covered in a fine, icy powder.

"No...but what would you know about it?" Sigrid shot back savagely. Min had hit a sore spot.

"They don't like our kind there...halfbreeds I mean - but at least, I s'pose, you were always warm and well-fed and didn't have to worry 'bout reaching for your dagger whenever you saw a shadow approaching." There was no bitterness in Min's voice, but, as a tiefling, she knew what it was like to be on the shadowy base of society. Aasimar, halfbreeds though they were, were usually far better regarded because of their celestial, as opposed to demonic, blood.

"How many people did you stab, injure, kill, even?" Sigrid inquired. She rose and sat down by Min's side at the base of a pine sapling to contemplate the rushing water sing under its icy prison.

"Never counted," Min said nonchalantly. Her breath misted in the air. That definitely made her look like a demon, Sigrid decided, a beautiful, mysterious demon.

"Why did you do it?" the Aasimar continued.

"Doesn't take much to put a body in the dead-book. Before I made a name for myself, there were always a few men who thought that the pretty kid with the red hair and the tight ass would make for a good time...I guess that if I'd let them live, they'd be regretting it. But I'm no cutthroat - where I grew up, you had to show that you were strong. Then, life got a lot easier."

"Ever stab someone for not holding her tongue?" Sigrid asked grimly.

"Yeah, but not to kill them. Sometimes, a little cut is all it takes - just to teach them that it's better to keep your tongue in your mouth instead of losing it." Min never took insults personally unless, of course, they were meant to be personal.

"Do you think you have any idea as to what other novices at the Order called me every day for years? I never had the luxury of fighting back." Sigrid said. It was not so much the words, because even the vilest curse lost its effect in time, but the sheer loathing and hatred behind each poisonous comment.

"I can guess." Min replied indifferently. Her voice registered no emotion, so that when the tiefling placed a comforting hand on Sigrid's shoulder, the young Aasimar was caught off balance.

"I'm sorry, maybe I'm exaggerating this. You've certainly been through far worse than I can imagine." Sigrid noted quietly.

"Hey, c'mon, I never said I had a bad life: no one ever got to me, I never fucked anyone I didn’t want and since some Goddess with a fucked sense of humour decided to make sure I was born with a talent for thieving, I never had to beg or sell myself even though my parents dumped me in an orphanage and, as soon as they could, the orphanage dumped me onto the street. Not many abandoned tieflings can say that." Min smiled, almost warmly.

"You're right," Sigrid conceded. "I guess it's pointless to sit around waiting for life to be fair."

"Exactly," Min said knowingly, "which is why it's up to us to make sure life is just a little bit fairer and we can both start by teaching Tahllea a lesson."

"Those who say life's a bitch have obviously never met Tahllea, but with your help, we're going to hunt this self-proclaimed she-wolf down." Sigrid clenched her fist, speaking each word as if it were a vow.

"She actually called herself a she-wolf?" Min laughed.

"Yes," Sigrid spat, "she has a way with metaphors."

***

Winter Comforts

The snow slowed their progress, so that, by the time the sky darkened, shifting from a deep orange dome into a light indigo vault, shimmering with stars, Imej was not yet in sight. Iniila paused halfway through a wide, sloping field of grasses, now almost entirely shrouded in snow that separated the higher virgin woodlands from the younger conifer forests that surrounded Imej.

"We will find shelter now. Tomorrow, by first light, we will make for Imej." the ranger said matter-of-factly. Despite the cold, her woodland-tan skin bore a fine sheen of sweat. Aravae and Sigrid nodded in agreement while Min merely stretched, arching her back, in a silent yawn, contemplating the starry horizon. "Sigrid," Iniila said, her tone softer and less declaratory. "I would like you to translate something between me and Min."

"Of course," Sigrid replied. "Min!" she called in Common, "Iniila would like to talk to you."

"Strange." Min quipped. "Don’t usually need a translator for the kind of conversation we have."

The tiefling approached Iniila. "You are very expert in the arts of lovemaking," Iniila began and Sigrid relayed in Common as swiftly as she could. "So why do you not wish for me to make your flower blossom?"

"Huh? I don't get it?" Min said, while Aravae suppressed a prurient giggle.

"Uhm..." Sigrid desperately reached for a suitable euphemism, before deciding that the effort would be lost on Min. "She wants to know why you don't let yourself be fucked."

"Right, that." Min said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Sure, if she wants we can try."

"She says that it's only right that she show you that pleasure," Sigrid continued, more than a little amused by this unique insight into Min's sensual exploits, "she says that she is a warrior, not a girl..."

"Fine, fine, tell her she can have her turn in charge." Min conceded, feigning reluctance. She had never expected such vigorous lovemaking from an Elf, so the prospect of Iniila mounting her, spreading her, fucking her until her throat was too sore to cry out was deliciously alluring. Although Min usually liked to be in control, Iniila was a woman whose fiery presence demanded obedience.

Sigrid translated and Iniila gave a satisfied nod. Now that the conditions of the evening had been established, the Wood Elf ranger led the party down a narrow gully, sheltered from the swiftly accelerating snowfall. With the approaching night, the temperature began to drop precipitously and Aravae and Sigrid clung to each other for warmth, while Iniila led them expertly, even in the encroaching darkness. Finally, they reached a small hillock, surrounded by low-growing evergreen shrubs. A dull, suffused light radiated from two oval windows that had been carved into the hill itself. They approached the mound, where Iniila brushed back the sharp, thorny bushes to clear a path. Once they reached the very surface of the hillock, Iniila drew her obsidian shortsword and used its blade to brush off the ice and snow to reveal a simple wooden door which she then proceeded to open by muttering a soft command word in Druidic.

The wood yielded and the door opened, quite organically, for it had no hinges. Inside was a warm, dry refuge in the midst of the gathering snowdrift. The floor was wooden, but oddly soft, as it had been in the Wood Elf village. Before them was a simple living room, with a few functional wooden chairs, a battered divan upholstered with green hemp and a glowing sphere of eldritch fire suspended on a stone pedestal against the far wall that provided heat and a rich, red illumination. Beyond the sphere were doors which Sigrid presumed led to communal dormitories.

"Is there any part of this forest you don't know?" Sigrid asked in wonder, gratefully following Iniila's lead and removing her boots at the entrance. The warm, yielding floor was like paradise against her tired feet.

"No." Iniila replied, quite seriously. She lay down her bow, arrows and shortsword at the weapons rack by the entrance and bade her companions to do the same. It was then that Sigrid noticed that theirs were not the only items on the rack. A suit of crystalline chainmail, composed of a myriad of mirror-like fragments was flanked by a long, thin striking sword and a punching dagger that appeared to have been crafted from a single, pure icicle.

"Someone else is here." Aravae hissed softly, as if she feared disturbing the silence.

Iniila raised her hand to silence her friend. "Aulatha!" the ranger called.

At the far end of the room, by the glowing sphere, a door swung open and out stepped a creature of breathtaking grace. At first, Sigrid thought her an Elf, but on closer inspection, there was something strangely exotic about her. She was comparatively tall and her physique was taut, almost boyish, as was the short cut of her luminous silver hair that reached not much lower than her pointed ears. Her skin was snowy-pale, while her body was defined by a very slender and finely muscular athleticism which, though it gave few concessions to femininity, still had a compellingly elegant allure to it. The strange woman's visage was cool, but welcoming nonetheless, even if her eyes, so light blue they almost appeared grey, and angular features suggested the stark beauty of a shimmering glacier. She wore a white silk loincloth and nothing else, so that Sigrid's gaze was immediately drawn to her tiny but subtly delicate breasts, each capped by a plump, tulip-pink nipple.

"Iniila," the woman said quietly, her Elven accented in the fluid, singsong manner of the Star Elves. "What a blessed coincidence." She hastened over to plant a soft kiss of greeting on Iniila's lips, before dipping her head in acknowledgement to the other visitors. "Welcome to this humble refuge, I am Aulatha of House Tarsellis, Handmaiden of the Pole Star Queen and, like you, I have sought rest here for the night."

"The Pole Star Queen...but you are no Star Elf!" Aravae said, almost in awe. The woman's skin gleamed with perspiration: it was like meltwater on snow.

"Quite." Aulatha said coolly. She was a woman of few words and had little patience for hollow musings. "Some would call me a nymph, though such a description rings false to those who know the nymphs of warmer lands. Suffice it to say that I have lived my life amongst Star Elves and am bound by the Mistress and high priestess of House Tarsellis to do her bidding in the name of our Goddess."

"A warrior-nymph?" Sigrid breathed, swiftly glancing back at the fine, crystalline blades on the weapons rack.

"In the far North, one has to be a warrior to live." Aulatha replied dryly. "Now, if you will forgive me, I had just finished my steam bath and was about to rinse myself off outside. I am hardly presentable in this condition." With that, the nymph stepped towards the door and the travellers instinctively shifted to allow her through. Aulatha threw open the door, letting in a gust of freezing air, and shut it behind her. Sigrid peered curiously out of the window and saw the nymph scrubbing herself with great handfuls of icy snow, before ceremonially thrashing her skin with branches from the surrounding thorny shrubs.

Min sidled up to Sigrid's side. "What was that about?" the tiefling whispered, while Iniila invited Aravae to help her prepare the evening meal in the small but functional kitchen that lay in a nook behind the burning sphere of magical energy.

"She says she's a nymph." Sigrid remarked, turning from the window to join Aravae.

"I doubt there are many satyrs chasing her." Min said with a tinge of admiration. She took Sigrid's place by the window to admire the Aulatha's streamlined, athletic form: so hard, strong, yet undeniably female. In an instant, Aulatha stared back, her steely eyes boring into Min's. They gazed at each other in silence for a pregnant moment and then, as if nothing at all had happened, the nymph returned to scrubbing her breasts and shoulders with handfuls of snow. Min wet her lips. Her blood quickened. Aulatha's nipples were turgid. The tiefling thought of the icy, rose-flavoured sweets Star Elf pastry shops sold in Sigil and wondered whether they would be even remotely as delightful as those hard peaks between her lips.

By the time Iniila and Aravae had managed to heat up some dried, bright yellow Khinthaka berries with rough but savoury hazelnut flour to make a porridge, the sky had completely darkened. Aulatha set out a simple white linen cloth on the floor for the party to sit around, drawing porridge from a large, wooden communal pot and breaking off pieces of heated waybread. Aulatha and Iniila ate in silence while Aravae and Sigrid chatted almost constantly about the quality of the polar nymph's equipment. Aulatha did not take the bait. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her loincloth pooling between her thighs, her visage almost emotionless. It was only when Sigrid finally decided that her curiosity had become unbearable that she began by directly addressing Aulatha.

"Where is your journey taking you?" the Aasimar inquired. Iniila shot her a sharp, warning glance. The ranger knew that Aulatha to be an outstanding blademistress and a fiercely loyal friend, but one who preferred to keep to herself.

"Eltheless. My home city." Aulatha replied. Her glance crossed Min's again. The moment was brief but electric.

"Were you out on a quest?" Sigrid pressed.

"If Aulatha prefers silence, allow her that privilege." Iniila hissed sharply.

"I can speak for myself, Iniila." the nymph shot back. She set down her bowl and spoon and raised her gaze to meet Sigrid's, "Not on a quest, child, but on an errand. House Tarsellis has many scions who travel this world. My Mistress has charged me with reporting to each every five moons to ensure their safety and comfort. I understand that you are bound for Imej tomorrow morning. That is my temporary destination, too."

"Where will you be staying?" Sigrid asked, reaching out to refill her bowl with another generous portion of porridge. It was thick and pleasantly oily, with a subtle, underlying fruitiness from the berries.

"House Ahlirian has generously extended its hospitality." Aulatha replied. It did not happen often, but Min was stirring the blood in her veins faster than most of the countless Star Elf girls she had bedded. The tiefling was an outlander, a barbarian, but there was an irresistible flame in those orange eyes that compelled even the sternly rational Aulatha to take notice.

"Ahlirian...so you are Dzelha's Warden..." Aravae whispered.

"Lady Dzelha and Lady Jylzaela are my responsibility, yes." Aulatha said, her tone was brisk, as if every additional word were an imposition on her patience. "I was Lady Dzelha's fencing instructor when she expressed her wish to become a Spellsword, I have cared for her since she was a child..."

"Is that so?" Sigrid smirked, "but I'm guessing you weren't her nursemaid, right?"

Aravae did her best to restrain a guilty laugh while Aulatha shot Sigrid a glare so withering that even the brash Aasimar decided to look away lest she further inflame the nymph's wrath.

"How old are you?" Iniila growled, rising to her feet to clear the table before the dinner became a disaster. "If you were my daughter..."

"Look, I was joking!" Sigrid protested. "I don't think anyone in this forest actually has a sense of humour."

Min continued eating, unperturbed by the musical quarrelling in Elven and quite grateful that Sigrid's quip had distracted everyone long enough for her to seize the final portion of porridge.

***

"You sure you don't want to bring Sigrid in here to translate...." Min purred even though she knew Iniila could not understand her. The small living room was quiet: Sigrid and Aravae had retired to the communal sleeping quarters in the back of the sanctuary. So Iniila decided to keep it that way, silencing the tiefling with a wet, lusty kiss. Min submitted and let herself be pressed back against the strangely warm wooden wall. The ranger's hands trailed down her firm, compact breasts, curious fingers grazing each turgid red nipple in turn. Min clasped the hard leather bindings of Iniila's armour, drawing the strong, voluptuous ranger closer. So close she could smell fresh pine needles, leather and sweat.

Iniila's kiss was long and fierce, her tongue hot and possessive as it danced in Min's mouth. She cupped the tiefling's breasts and pressed her thumbs against the very tip of each nipple, feeling the heat and rubbery firmness of each peak. Min leaned into Iniila's hungry embrace, her lush, sultry lips melding with Iniila's, moist and wanting. With a firm jerk, Min unhooked the final strap of Iniila's armour and the leather gave way, revealing soft, tan skin. Iniila's breasts were warm against Min's body: rounded, heavy orbs, but firm and taut to the touch, her nipples dark brown and big like ripe berries, begging to be suckled. Min shuddered as she felt her nipples brush against Iniila's, their bodies writhing, pressed together, following the dance of their kiss. Iniila's caresses trailed over Min's hard flanks, her thumbs tracing the outlines of the tiefling's muscled belly before sliding over the leather waistband of her lover's breeches. Min leaned back against the wall and thrust her hips outwards. Her sex burned with need - her clit felt like a splinter of hot metal between her thighs, pulsing with lust after a day of frustrated desires.

The ranger took her time, slowly breaking the kiss and licking the soft skin of Min's throat. Iniila could hear Min's heart hammer in her breast. The tiefling was lovely in the firelight: her red tinted skin radiated with sensual energy under the glimmering light of the eldritch sphere. Her skin smelled of incense and it was hot to the touch, so hot that Iniila's lips burned as they kissed the valley between the tiefling's breasts. Strong hands forced themselves into Min's tight breeches, rolling over the taut muscle of her buttocks, curious fingers running inside the tight, warm crease. The Iniila jerked the breeches down. Min grunted at the sudden exposure of her sodden sex to the relatively cool air of the room. A sticky trail of cloudy juice coated the inside of her leather breeches.

Iniila could smell Min's sex, her lust. A spicy cinnamon scent. She wanted that scent hot on her lips. She kissed the contours of Min's breasts, her tongue leaving a glistening trail that drew ever closer to the tiefling's tightly engorged nipples. Min buried her lips in Iniila's autumn-hued hair and smelled pine resin and the mineral aroma of snow. Her blood felt like thick, viscous liquid straining to pass through her veins. When Iniila's lips latched around her nipple, Min could not help but give a sharp cry and dig her nails into Iniila's shoulders. The ranger suckled with firm, passionate hunger. Her tongue flicked against the stiff little peak, her lips tugging ever so gently, creating soft, irresistible friction.

Min writhed against Iniila's mouth. Her sex was sodden and creamy with desire, her loins seethed with need. But Iniila was having none of it. With a sharp tug on Min's nipple, she broke free of the tiefling embrace and stepped back, leaving Min burning with frustration. Very carefully, the ranger unstrapped her armour at the waist and let the fine leather suit fall to the ground. Min lunged forward and captured Iniila's lips once more, her hands desperately clasping the ranger's wonderfully flared bottom to draw her closer so she could grind her lust-swollen petals against the Wood Elf's thigh. Iniila fought with equal determination, thrusting Min back against the wall. The ranger was stronger and Min was powerless to prevent those firm hands grasping her shoulders and thrusting her down to her knees.

Min knelt demurely at Iniila's feet while the Wood Elf parted her thighs and spread the inner lips of her womanhood between her thumb and forefinger. Min felt her own sex tighten at the sight of a wonderful, deep red flower spread in front of her. The perfume of Iniila's pussy was sublime: earthy, musky and fertile. Min grasped Iniila's bottom and pressed her lips against the apex of the fat, hairless mound of the ranger's sex. Iniila hissed with delight and mashed her pussy against Min's lips. The tiefling started licking, tracing the drooling inner lips of Iniila's sex, tortuously making her way up to the glistening little jewel of the Wood Elf's clit. Iniila groaned and bent her knees until she was almost squatting, her pussy yielding and deliciously spread like an obscene lotus bloom. Thick rivulets of milky nectar flecked her inner petals. Min lapped hungrily, gathering the delicious nectar until it stained her cheeks and coated her tongue with rich, savoury musk. The Wood Elf's taste was almost saline, the droplets of sweat from her firm belly had mingled with the essence of her sex.

Iniila braced herself, cooing softly as she caressed Min's silky tresses. Min's tongue now worshipped the ranger's clit with long, slow licks. Iniila bit her lip and began to roll her hips against Min, she felt the agonising tension in her belly mount with each lick, drawing her closer to the ecstasy she so craved. The tiefling was in no hurry, her tongue languid as it teased the contours of the hood of Iniila's Jewel of Hanali, before lavishing a quick little flick against the tip of the delectable little bud. The ranger's was so rapt with desire that she did not notice Aulatha padding silently into the room and kneeling behind her. A grave mistake for a ranger, Aulatha thought, and one for which she would be pleased to punish Iniila.

"What...?" Iniila gasped in surprise at the sensation of a warm, wet tongue trailing down her spine, over the arch of her back to the deep crevasse of her bottom.

"Silence. Let her lick you." Aulatha ordered and, for the first time that evening, she smiled at Min. The tiefling nodded in acknowledgement while Aulatha fell to her hands and knees behind Iniila. Min grasped the firm globes of Iniila's bottom and tugged them apart. The ranger moaned as she felt a rush of cool air against the tightly-knotted star of her anus. That sensation was soon replaced with Aulatha's moist, soft lips, followed by the sensual warmth of her tongue as she began licking the musky crease of the ranger's bottom. The wanton nymph hooked a hand between Iniila's thighs and plunged three fingers into Iniila's nectar-soaked channel. Iniila drew a deep breath as she felt her sex, sodden and yielding, mastered by Aulatha's fingers.

As if on cue, Min latched her lips around the ranger's clit and flicked her tongue against the tip. Iniila felt an ocean of frustrated lust flow free from her loins. She bucked her hips, thrusting herself against Min, her thighs and calves pulled taut with effort as she came, her breathy, ragged gasps filling the chamber. Iniila fell to her knees and Aulatha forced her down, face to the ground, her tongue flicking hungrily against the ranger's earthy rosebud. Iniila's channel convulsed around Aulatha's invading fingers, so the nymph withdrew and thrust back with her whole hand. The ranger groaned and planted her knees as far apart as they would go. The pain was divine. Aulatha had conquered her pulsing sex and the beautiful polar nymph was now fucking her, wrist deep in her steaming pussy, her tongue coaxing the ranger's rosebud with wet, hungry licks.

Min took the opportunity to tug her breeches down and off and watched in awe as Iniila writhed on the floor, bucking against Aulatha's thrusting hand. Then, as quickly as her first wave of passion had flooded her, the second came, this time more violent as Aulatha's knuckles ground mercilessly against the ranger's sweet spot. Iniila felt a maddening pulse of release deep inside her, unleashing the roiling tension in her belly. The Wood Elf’s defeated pussy contracted madly around Aulatha's bunched fist, but to no avail. She let out a sharp, mewling gasp as her channel expanded painfully and she sprayed her sweet, musky passion onto the floor. Long, glistening arcs of fluid poured forth from Iniila's sex, spattering on the inside of her thighs and pooling beneath her in a lewd, cloudy puddle. Min felt her desire reaching breaking point.

"You see." Aulatha barked in halting Common. "Wood Elf girls are not happy without a hand inside them." She violently withdrew her hand from Iniila's sex and rose to her knees. Iniila turned to embrace Aulatha, smothering the nymph's lips with wet, lusty kisses. Min dipped a hand into the pool of hot, female nectar on the floor and painted her lips with Iniila's essence. Then, she joined the passionately kissing lovers and thrust her lips against Iniila's and then Aulatha's, sharing the essence of the ranger's climax.

"You are next." Aulatha said menacingly, flicking her tongue against Min's lips. The tiefling smiled and seized the nymph's waist. Her muscles were hard, taut, as if she were ready to pounce. In a deft motion, Min stripped Aulatha's loincloth off. The silken fabric was smelled of sweat and sex. Aulatha's fat, hairless mound lay spread open before Min, the inner lips light pink, like a pale cherry blossom and wet with thick, clear fluid. Iniila positioned herself behind Min and cupped the tiefling's soaked sex in her hand. The soft, ember-red down between Min's thighs was matted with nectar, the tiefling's red inner lips swollen and pouting.

Min kissed Aulatha once more and eased the nymph onto her back. Her lips were fierce as they explored Aulatha's elegant body, tracing the perfect, rounded plums of her breasts, before easing on a swollen, yielding nipple and suckling. The nymph's body tasted of freshly-fallen snow. Min moaned as she felt Iniila parting the sopping inner lips of her pussy, before flicking her tongue to ravish those tart, spicy folds with her licks. The tiefling raised her hips to better present her pouting flower to Iniila's caress. As Iniila lapped wantonly at Min's pussy, she worked three fingers into the tiefling's tight, velvety channel. Min groaned and licked down Aulatha's hard, flat belly. The nymph anticipated Min's lips and briskly spread her pussy open with her thumbs. The scent of wild berries and frost-covered flowers filled Min's nostrils. Aulatha's nether petals were swollen and heavy with dew. Min started lapping desperately, her hips now bucking rhythmically, begging Iniila to end her wild desire and just put a hand - or two - in her and fuck her. The tiefling had rarely felt so wet in her life.

Iniila eagerly obliged. She positioned herself behind Min and leaned over the prone tiefling so that her hard, hazelnut-brown nipples brushed against Min's back, and thrust all four tensed fingers into her lover's burning sex. Min grunted and clasped Aulatha's taut, firm bottom for support as she licked frantically at the silky folds of the nymph's delicious pussy. Aulatha's nectar was tart, savoury with just a hint of sweetness, like a wild fruit plucked from a northern thorn. Min felt firm, but loving hands clasp her hair, drawing in closer. Aulatha's moans were quiet, almost inaudible, but there was ecstasy painted on her face, for not even she could resist the delights of Min's tongue tracing the juice-sodden folds of her sex and flicking her clit with long, hard licks.

Iniila flared her fingers in Min's sex, spreading the overflowing channel. Milky juice spilled down the tiefling's thigh, trickling down onto her thigh. Usually, Iniila would have used walnut oil to fuck Min, just as she did with the giggling junior druids who eagerly spread for her during fertility festivals for the Forest Mother. But the tiefling was irresistibly wet, so that when Iniila finally bunched her fingers together and thrust into her demon-blooded lover's channel, Min yelped softly and wantonly ground her hips against Iniila’s penetration. With three long, winding thrusts, Iniila buried her hand in Min's sex. The tiefling surrendered herself to the sensation, lapping at Aulatha while she writhed under Iniila's thrusting hand, begging the ranger to stoke the flames of ecstasy that stirred in her loins. Iniila's fingers rubbed against her sweet spot, hard, relentless, electric with each touch.

Min suckled Aulatha's tiny, but wonderfully stiff clit as best she could and then introduced two fingers into the nymph's blooming Flower of Hanali. She was unbearably tight. Aulatha hissed at Min's impudence, but could do nothing against the tiefling's expert tongue. The nymph came with short, barking gasps, her fingers digging into Min's scalp, while her belly tensed and then relaxed with the waves of blissful release that now flooded her body.

Iniila continued to fuck Min with long, languid thrusts, building the cauldron of heat and desire deep in the tiefling's loins. It took only a few moments for Min to draw a long, ragged breath as she felt her sex contracting passionately around the Wood Elf maiden's hand. Hot, cinnamon-spicy juice trickled in a small rivulet down Min's thigh as Iniila jerked her hand out of the tiefling's channel and licked off the residue, finally tasting that delicious essence she had so longed for. Aulatha, however, had just begun. The polar nymph rose imperiously to her feet and picked up her discarded silken loincloth. With surprising strength for her slender frame, she wrenched Min to her knees and tied the tiefling's wrists together to the weapons rack. Min was beyond caring whether Aulatha or Iniila was in control. She simply wanted another sex to lick and another hand in her with a raw, dirty desire she had never imagined she would feel amongst Elves.

Once Aulatha had secured Min's bonds, she bade Iniila to rise. The ranger pounced to her feet and lunged at Aulatha for a burning, lusty kiss, sharing the tiefling's exotic nectar between their duelling lips. Min slumped forward submissively, her knees held wide apart so that stray droplets of nectar trickled onto the wooden floor. Then, before her she saw Iniila's firm, tautly muscled thighs. The aroma of the ranger's aroused pussy was pure feminine musk - the essence of Wood Elven womanhood. Iniila spread her inner petals and pressed her sex against Min's eager lips. Behind her, the tiefling could feel Aulatha bite down gently on her shoulder. That was the nymph's warning, then came three fingers deep into the blooming, dark red hothouse flower of Min's channel. Aulatha allowed herself a conspiratorial smile - after Iniila, Min was as wet and pliant as the tiefling strumpet she was. The nymph whispered as much in Star Elven into Min's ear and thrust her hand in. It only took a few exploratory, coaxing thrusts to find herself deep inside the tiefling. Min was squirming, moaning, her lips and cheeks smothered in Iniila's earthy dew, the ranger's voluptuous, heavy breasts heaving with each thrust as she ground her hips against her demon-blooded lover.

They made love throughout the night, Iniila and Aulatha taking turns fucking and being licked by Min. There was nothing the tiefling could do but resign herself to her silk-bonded submission. It became a rhythm. First a ripe, copiously juicing Wood Elven pussy for her to devour and Iniila's husky, breathy moans and a hard, burning fist deep in her channel that made her cry out and jerk her hips spasmodically with each shuddering thrust. Then, a more delicate pink alpine rose, smothered in clear nectar, thrust savagely against her lips and tongue and restrained, throaty gasps while Iniila loosened Min's pussy and strummed the burning nexus of her Hanali's Heart deep in the silky lake of her channel. Each raw, powerful climax was followed by a new quim in her face and another fist in her sex until Min felt so wet with juice, sweat and something hot and live trickling out of her stretched channel that she thought she would drown in a sea of sensuality.

By the time the time the darkest hour drew near, an exhausted Iniila finally released the loincloth that bound Min's wrists to the weapons rack and the tiefling collapsed, panting, on the floor, only to find her lips smothered with the Wood Elf ranger's adoring kisses. Min's sex was so sore she felt on fire, her throat was raw from crying out, but for the first time in years she almost felt...satisfied. Her heart hammered between her temples and she could taste and smell nothing sex and sweat, so Aulatha cooled her feverish skin with kisses as they curled up on the damp wooden floor for the night. The nymph's lips were stained red and tasted of steel. Min had been bleeding and Aulatha had been all too happy to lick her fingers, drenched with red-streaked nectar clean. The tiefling did not care enough for it to hurt.

Min fell asleep with the wry thought of what Sigrid and Aravae would think upon finding them in such a state the following morning.

***

Sketches

Yssinel waited with tense patience in her personal drawing room. Her dinner with Aerylle was due to start soon and the wretched girl, Senythina, had not yet turned up. So the Enchantress waited, legs crossed, her fingers nervously caressing the blade of her mother-of-pearl enamelled letter opener. The circular chamber was quiet and relatively modest, with a few elegant pieces of intricately carved pine-wood furniture and a small bookshelf with cheap tomes for casual reading. It was quiet, Yssinel reflected, silent compared to her adolescent days when she had filled her drawing room with paintings and poems in elaborate calligraphy to create the ideal setting for endless gossip and discussion with her friends. Now, only the trickling of sandalwood-scented droplets from the silver water-clock interrupted the monotonous calm. It was already dark outside, so an impressive hanging lamp, shaped like a leaf from the World-Tree cast a soft, green glow over the marble walls and carpeted floor.

Wood Elven fabrics had suddenly become fashionable in Imej and Yssinel had decided to be a trend-setter for her evening with Aerylle. The Enchantress was clad in a breezy, light green and creamily golden robe composed of many overlapping layers of gossamer fabric. Although the colour scheme was Wood Elven, the cut was made to flatter a Grey Elven physique, so that it hung marvelously from Yssinel's waifish, elfin frame, falling around her shoulders and over her breasts like a silken cascade before splitting off, daringly, into two long but thin strips of fabric at the waist which revealed enticing glimpses of her thighs with each movement of her legs, or sway of her hips.

A knock finally broke the silence. Yssinel swiftly rose to her feet, her robe rustling with the sound of spring leaves in the breeze. "Do come in." the Enchantress said, her measured tone never betraying her trepidation.

The door swung open and Senythina stepped in. The novitiate priestess was, much to Yssinel's satisfaction, as endearingly pretty as ever. Silver-haired, with soft, bright golden eyes and irresistibly charming, almost girlish features, Senythina's presence, as befitted a priestess of Hanali, was undeniably sensual. She was clad in a sleeveless, white satin dress with a loose, plunging neckline that nevertheless strained to constrain her breasts, and a daringly short skirt hemmed with a border of tiny pearls. As her Goddess required for formal occasions, she was barefoot and bare-legged, her feet adorned with golden anklets and silver toe-rings. "Apologies for the delay, Mistress..." Senythina said apologetically, discreetly producing a plain white envelope.

"No matter, child, it is, as always, an honour to have you perform in my House." Yssinel replied with a welcoming smile. Senythina nodded shyly and greeted her mistress with a soft kiss on the lips. Her heavy, swollen breasts heaved under her dress.

"This is what you asked for, right Mistress?" Senythina said, her soothingly musical voice eager to please.

"I am certain it is, child. How is your daughter?" Yssinel took the proffered envelope and brought it to her desk where, with a deft flick of her letter-opener, she uncovered the neatly-lettered message within.

"Very well, thank you." Senythina said gratefully. "And many more thanks for recommending me to House Ahlirian, Lady Tahllea was delighted with my performance." The young priestess could not have been more grateful for Yssinel's patronage. With two wealthy Houses contracting her services as a musician, she and Elhanna, her bonded lover, could finally cease having to count each Half-Dandelion coin to make ends meet.

"That hardly surprises me, my dear." Yssinel smiled. She read the message once, twice and finally, finding it too good to be true, a final, satisfied time. It was all explained in those few, brief sentences Senythina had transcribed from the official temple records. Now Yssinel realised why Tahllea had feared the truth, so much so that she professed herself indifferent to her biological family. "My lovely Senythina," Yssinel purred, drawing the priestess into an affectionate embrace. "You have been most helpful. Such loyalty is touching, my love, it really is. Perhaps I may have a word with your High Priestess, a musician of your caliber would probably relish a position in the Inner Sanctuary."

"Oh, that would be perfect..." Senythina said dreamily.

"Consider it done." Yssinel concluded. She replaced the message in the envelope which she slipped into the top drawer of her desk, silently willing the locking mechanism to snap shut. "Now come, child, it is time for you to play."

With that, Yssinel ushered Senythina into the dining room. The chamber was a vast, oval expanse, with a great window that overlooked Imej. Light from the floating spheres of eldritch energy that circled the tower and from the innumerable motes of faerie fire that lighted the streets flooded through the mighty crystal panes that occupied a whole wall of the dining hall. The long, masterfully carved table had been set with the finest Grey Elven porcelain and Star Elven crystal for two and a tall bouquet of radiantly pink Thanthal irises towered above their ceramic pool of fresh water. Aerylle was already waiting for them, clad in an understated, but delightfully tasteful azure evening gown adorned with platinum-thread embroidery that simulated the undulating patterns of stylised, Elven cursive. The neckline was deliciously plunging, flowing down so that most of the librarian's belly was bare as well and the subtle contrast of pale skin, silvery platinum and sky-blue flowed into an organic whole.

"Am I late, my beloved Mythila?" Yssinel said solicitously as Senythina swiftly took her place next to the musician's armchair directly in front of the window.

"Of course not," Aerylle replied, hastening to greet her friend with a kiss. "I took the occasion to catch up on some gossip with Mjrina." The Wood Elf handmaiden curtsied in greeting to her mistress. She stood by the table, ready to serve the evening's meal when instructed. Mjrina was grateful that Yssinel had asked her to serve clad in her usual thin and loose leaf-green shift. Formal Grey Elven dresses like the kind she was made to wear for official balls and dinners in honour of Yssinel's mother chafed her.

"It really is wonderful to be all together like this." Yssinel said effusively, before extending a gracious, dove-like hand to introduce Senythina. "This, my dear Aerylle, is Senythina, priestess of the Blessed Hanali Celanil and one of the most promising young musicians and singers of Imej. She will be entertaining us tonight." Senythina gave a demure bow and took her place on the plush, upholstered armchair. In front of her, a selection of woodwind and string instruments, all of expert manufacture, had been ranged on a low wooden table adorned with a gold-thread cloth.

"A pleasure, Senythina," Aerylle said. "May the Blessed Sehanine nurture your daughter." The librarian's tone softened noticeably when she mentioned Senythina's child. Although she had promised herself to wait for Min to discuss the matter fully, Aerylle could not help but melt at the thought of motherhood. It was something she had never really thought of as an adolescent, but now that she was in a bonded relationship with Min, the question continued to nag her.

"May she welcome your prayers." Senythina replied, blushing slightly. Ever since her pregnancy, she had been the centre of attention and that sensation was, at times, embarrassing.

"As we discussed this morning, Senythina," Yssinel said, ushering Aerylle into her place at the table, “the Five Tower Romance repertoire."

Senythina reached for a gleaming, silver flute and began the first hypnotic piece. On cue, Mjrina disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a lapis-lazuli pitcher of heated Avariel Mead which she poured in each wide-brimmed sweet wine glass, before serving an appetiser of pine-nut, violet petal and oak leaf salad. With the sensuous, humming flute providing a soft backdrop, Aerylle found ample pretext to start the conversation. "Min did not return this morning." she began softly. She knew Min too well to be worried by the tiefling's absence, but Senythina's presence had inevitably conjured up the tortuous debate on motherhood.

"Sigrid was also missing," Yssinel replied sympathetically. "I think they may have taken an excursion out into the forest together. Poor Sigrid was very disappointed with the outcome of her duel with Tahllea, perhaps she needed some time to herself and Min decided to accompany her."

"I suppose that makes sense," Aerylle conceded, taking a sip of her mead. The liquid was dense and powerfully sweet with a pleasantly acidic aftertaste. "Min looks a little roguish, but she has the kindest of hearts."

"She loves you, that much is certain." Yssinel remarked.

"Yes." Aerylle remarked quietly. "She does and I only wish she realised it is not a weakness to admit it."

With the formalities of Aerylle's sentimental life settled, Yssinel settled into a more familiar pattern of conversation to put her friend at ease. Yssinel's amiable, ever light-hearted banter combined with the rising, dulcet tones of Senythina's strangely erotic flute and liberal sips of aged, bronze-coloured Laitikh-fruit wine from an Aquatic Elven city to the far south, all contributed to take Aerylle's mind far from her worries about her relationship with Min. Mjrina served them with faultless timing, leaving a sufficient pause between each course to fully savour the tiny dish's aftertaste before bringing the next creation of the House's cook. The meal, as Aerylle had begun to expect from Yssinel's extravagant kitchen, was superb. A daringly primal main course of two, thin slices of rare breast of fatted wood pigeon on a bed of intricately sliced, caramelised winter pears was followed by Mjrina's legendary steamed chestnut pudding enhanced by the lightest sprinkling of a fantastically expensive dark, richly bitter powder from the Sylvan Elf jungles.

When the plates were finally cleared away, Mjrina poured birch tea into low, wide red ceramic cups and, as she had been instructed, Senythina lay down her flute and selected a long, slender oval lute with seven strings. The first few chords were soft and understated, but then the tempo of the strumming quickened and Senythina's crystalline, sweetly feminine voice pierced the air. By the first line, Aerylle had already recognised the song.

"The Quest of Tersielleth." Aerylle said, a light blush spreading on her finely-sculpted features. Yssinel had, of course, remembered her favourite romantic poem.

"And none sing it with more passion than Senythina." Yssinel replied. With a subtle tilt of her chin, she bade Mjrina to fetch the book she had bound for the occasion. The Wood Elf handmaiden padded silently to a pedestal at the far end of the table where a lacquered box with an intricate flower motif rendered in agate and pearl lay. Reverently, she picked up the box and presented it to Aerylle.

"Thank you, dear." Aerylle said, affectionately running her hand over Mjrina's thigh. Mjrina suppressed a shudder of desire. It was a miracle that she had served with her usual, flawless precision because she had spent the greatest part of the evening immersed in a vivid, sensual fantasy about Aerylle. Now, she felt a pang of longing in her sex, which now pulsed, damp and swollen. She could only hope Sigrid returned soon to put an end to the burning frustration between her thighs. "And my gratitude to you, too, Shannaeliia, something tells me this might just be a present."

"Oh?" Yssinel said with light sarcasm. "I suppose only a Diviner could deduce that."

Aerylle smiled warmly and opened the box. The enchanted mechanism released at her touch, causing each wooden leaf of the box to detach itself from the book it surrounded and neatly fold back on itself, becoming a perfect, lacquered cube. "A book?" the librarian said, with a hint of excitement. Her family and Yssinel's shared a similar vocation in the production of tomes and manuals of various types, so that Aerylle was convinced that her friend was perhaps one of the few women in Imej to share her passion for the printed word.

"Open it." Yssinel invited, rising to her feet to take her place by Aerylle's side. Her eyes danced over Aerylle's soft, slender form. As usual, the librarian had enviable taste in footwear. Yssinel made a mental note to send Mjrina to purchase a pair of dark-blue, ivy-patterned silk sandals like the ones that now trailed deliciously up Aerylle's milky-white calf.

"This is my father's binding." Aerylle noted, lovingly caressing the soft, red felt cover of the tome. She flipped the book open. "Oh...Yssinel, really..." the librarian sighed, half flattered and half mortified. Before her was one of her better, and most risqué, sketches of Yssinel naked, lying back on a pillow, her thighs lightly parted with a lone lily between her breasts.

"You made so many that week we were bored out of our minds at the Diamond Wall Waterfall. I kept the best ones...and a few of your letters." Yssinel purred, kneeling by Aerylle's side so she could examine the picture in closer detail. Aerylle had been a talented artist, though she had turned her attention to calligraphy - a pre-requisite for the magical arts – before entering the Academy of Divination. Nevertheless, Yssinel always believed that, in time, Aerylle could have become a painter of genius.

"Oh, look, remember we had that enormous, black marble bathing chamber in the cottage we shared..." Aerylle mused, tracing the bare outlines of the roughly sketched chamber that surrounded another picture of Yssinel in a classic, nymph-like pose, her back turned, with a flimsy, transparent shawl across her shoulders that ran down in a diagonal, emphasising the gloriously pert curve of her bottom, her face turned to the viewer with a suggestive, ambiguous smile on her lips.

"Yes," Yssinel whispered, the memories of that excursion in their final year at the School of Arcana still burning in her mind. "That was quite a holiday - I do recall one of the more memorable moments being Tahllea trying to kiss that Naiad she was flirting with, only to find herself with a column of freezing water in her arms."

Aerylle could not restrain a guilty laugh. Tahllea had a habit of being forthright in her courtship, a tactic which was not likely to lure a typically shy, retiring Naiad into the bedchamber. "Yssinel, apologies if I ask you instead of Tahllea...but you know, she is sensitive about some things..." Aerylle began tentatively.

"Please, there are no secrets between us." Yssinel answered, turning the page to reveal one of Aerylle's long, flowery love letters, studded with schoolgirl metaphors but rendered in wonderfully expressive cursive calligraphy.

"It just struck me that after the duel with your Kithela, that Tahllea was a little...excessive." As a mage and a librarian, Aerylle knew that it was not her place to judge the warrior ethic, but Sigrid seemed like such a disarmingly gallant blademistress and treating her with honour should have been second nature to Tahllea.

"I know." Yssinel said sadly. "She has been angry and bitter these last few months. Unfortunately, she has allowed the worst sides of her character to show through as of late, which is such a shame because I know her to be so loving and protective. You should speak to her, she always listened to you." Yssinel's fingers trailed over Aerylle's wrist.

"When I see her tomorrow, I will try to discover what troubles her." Aerylle felt her pulse quicken. Yssinel was leaning against her, the Enchantress' long gold and silver tresses soft against her skin. Her wafting perfume was complex, sweet and strangely entrancing. In the distance, Aerylle could hear Senythina's song reach its climax with rolling, dramatic chords.

Yssinel breathed silently, leaning her head against Aerylle's shoulder. She could hear her friend's accelerating heartbeat, feel her skin become warmer to the touch. "Mjrina," Yssinel said, turning yet another page in the book on Aerylle's lap.

"Yes, Mistress." Mjrina acknowledged, almost with relief since the lusty ache in her loins had grown unbearable.

"Your service has been perfect, as ever, and you may retire for the evening. But first, escort Lady Senythina to the parlour and serve her some refreshments." Yssinel ordered.

Senythina drew the song to a close and set down her lute. She rose, bowed and crossed the long dining hall to thank Yssinel. "Will that be all, Mistress?" the priestess queried.

"For tonight, my dear, yes. Your performance was beyond reproach. I shall leave you in Mjrina's capable hands and bid you good night." Yssinel said, wordlessly revelling in Aerylle's lingering, flowery perfume. A trace of peach-blossom, Yssinel thought with satisfaction, Aerylle was as expert as ever in coding her desires with the language of scent and flowers.

"Good night, Mistress." Senythina noticed Mjrina's fiery, leaf-green gaze contemplate her in the corner of her eye. The young priestess smiled nervously and followed her out of the dining hall.

"Is my humble present to your liking?" Yssinel breathed as soon as the heavy wooden doors of the dining chamber closed behind Senythina. With deft, almost imperceptible movements, she began to loosen the straps of Aerylle's sandals.

"Yes..." Aerylle hissed. Her heart began to race. She had always planned on being intimate with Yssinel, but the welling of her passion unexpected, as if a lambent flame had been lit in the pit of her belly.

"Read me a letter." the Enchantress said, easing Aerylle's sandals off and rising to her feet to circle around Aerylle's chair.

Aerylle paused for a moment, relishing the sensation of Yssinel's kisses on her golden-blonde hair, trailing down a single, thin braid and moving ever closer to the sensitive peak of her pointed ear. The words on the page were painfully sophomoric, but there was no resisting Yssinel's desire. "Yssinel, my pristine spring..." Aerylle began, mouthing each word with sensual reverence. Yssinel's soft, rosy lips finally graced Aerylle's ear. Her kisses were teasing and moist, her tongue flicking between her lips to leave a long, wet trail on the pale skin. Aerylle moaned softly, her toes digging into the soft carpet. "...I thirst for your kisses and burn to quench myself at your fount..."

Yssinel's gave Aerylle's ear a long, wet lick and whispered, "Is that what you desire?" She ran her fingers over Aerylle's shoulders, loosening the librarian's azure dress, so that the fabric fell around her waist, revealing the deliciously firm, conical peaks of her breasts. Her rosehip-pink nipples were stiff and shimmering with golden honey-dust. Yssinel felt her sex tighten with need: Aerylle knew it was going to happen, for she had only dipped her nipples into the honey dust, so that it would be discovered when she was undressed.

"If you wish to make me yours tonight, I would gladly submit to the pleasure of your caress." Aerylle whispered, intoning one of the many formal Grey Elven declarations of intimacy. Her breasts were already flushed with passion and all she could hear was Yssinel's breathing close to her ear.

"Mythila, our longing silence has ended." Yssinel murmured. Her lips kissed Aerylle's cheek, drawing closer to the librarian's lips. Aerylle breathed once more and then felt a familiar warmth and delicious, yielding moisture against her lips. She opened her eyes and Yssinel was kissing the life breath from her soul, her tongue leading a furious, lusty dance. Aerylle saw fire in Yssinel's sapphire-blue eyes. Delicate hands - those of a masterful sorceress - cupped Aerylle's breasts. She could not help but moan into Yssinel's mouth. The Enchantress' fingernails trailed ever so gently against the engorged, rubbery peaks. Her touch was electrifying and Aerylle felt her loins churn with sensuous hunger.

With slow, deliberate movements, Aerylle carefully peeled off Yssinel's dress. The green and golden fabric trailed over the small, elegantly proportioned hillocks of the Enchantress' breasts, trailing sensually over the stiff peaks of her nipples and then falling off and away. With a mental command, Yssinel unravelled the rest of her dress and sent it fluttering onto the floor. Aerylle's hands followed the spreading expanse of bare skin, tracing the familiar contours of Yssinel's breasts, her flat belly, her hips, her sleek bottom.

Their kiss continued unabated, Aerylle's tongue locked in a sweet embrace with Yssinel's. The librarian explored the slim expanse of the inside of Yssinel's thighs, caressing upwards until she reached the hot, moist flower of the Enchantress' womanhood. "Feel!" Yssinel moaned, finally breaking their searing kiss. "I burn for you. I always have." She pressed wet butterfly kisses against Aerylle's pale throat and felt the throbbing blood in the veins underneath the soft skin. Aerylle pressed the palm of her hand against Yssinel's sex to part the plump, hairless mound, spreading the peach-pink petals of her swollen sex. For a silent moment, Aerylle's glance met Yssinel's and then, the Enchantress dipped forward, straddling her friend's hips, to lick between the librarian's breasts, leaving a shimmering trail.

Yssinel's lips parted wetly and gently enveloped a hard, honey-dust coated nipple. She licked the very tip first, holding the nipple between her lips and drawing her tongue over the hot, engorged peak to taste the subtle sweetness of the golden pollen with which it had been sprinkled. She suckled each of Aerylle's nipples in turn and tasted the velvety honey of Hanali's Berries, those same breasts she had seen grow over the years and lusted after for so long, those nipples she had desperately smothered with kisses until Aerylle had said firmly but gently that it was not yet time. Now, Aerylle writhed in her seat, pink lips parted with mewling sighs, eyes screwed shut, hips rolling, inviting the Enchantress lower.

Aerylle slipped two fingers against the silky inner petals of Yssinel's sex. Heat radiated from the Enchantress' feminine core - such burning need, such wanton wetness. "Take me." Yssinel whispered against Aerylle's breast, relishing the frantic drumbeat of her heart. That plaintive, lusty voice spurred something in Aerylle. The fire that Min had awakened in her now blazed. She grasped Yssinel's taut bottom and thrust the Enchantress on the table. Yssinel gasped in surprise as she landed on the tablecloth. Aerylle thrust the Enchantress' thighs apart to reveal the blooming orchid of her sex, glistening with sweet nectar.

"Blessed Hanali..." Yssinel moaned, hooking her legs, graceful like the necks of two white swans, over Aerylle's shoulders for support as the librarian climbed onto the table and thrust two fingers into her lover's velvety channel. Yssinel bit her lip to restrain a sharp cry. Aerylle twisted her digits inside Yssinel's sex and added two more, stretching the juice-sodden tunnel so that the flower of the Enchantress' pussy bloomed, flowery and dripping with nectar like a tropical lily. Pressing the heel of her palm against the glistening pearl of Yssinel's clit, Aerylle thrust forward and pressed her lips against the Enchantress', silencing her high, rhythmic cries.

Yssinel's toes curled with delight at the furious, churning rhythm of Aerylle's fingers in her pussy and the maddeningly hard grinding of her lover’s palm against her clit. Every thrust brought the knot of desire in her loins closer to being loosed. She had never felt Aerylle so powerful before. The librarian's kiss was hungry and demanding, her belly and thighs pulled taut with effort as she gyrated her hand against Yssinel's sex. Yssinel whimpered against Aerylle's mouth, the delightful agony of her overstuffed sex melding with the hot, grinding pressure on her clit. "Is this the way Tahllea takes you?" Aerylle whispered fiercely between gritted teeth.

"Yes!" Yssinel arched her back, driving her hips against Aerylle's thrusts. Aerylle grinned wickedly and summoned a flare of small electric sparks on the tips of her fingers buried in Yssinel's sex. Yssinel gave a high keening wail as she felt something sharp and needling against her sweet spot, her Hanali's Heart. Her sex convulsed as a shattering climax swept over her, coursing through her veins like molten metal. She thrashed in ecstasy, her channel clamping down helplessly on Aerylle's fingers. The librarian rode her lover’s climax, setting her thrusts in rhythm with Yssinel’s breaths. Then, she withdrew her fingers, sticky with warm nectar, and wordlessly traced her name on Yssinel's breasts, spelling each syllable out in moist, flowing cursive. Yssinel muttered a soft incantation and the liquid trail on her chest began to glow with a dull silvery light. Aerylle leaned over her the Enchantress and followed each intricate line of the calligraphy with her tongue, licking up the sweet, gleaming moisture.

Then, she mounted onto the table, pressing herself sex to sex with Yssinel. Their passion-moist pussies sank together into a sweet, silky nether kiss. Aerylle eased herself on top of Yssinel, clasping the Enchantress' delicate ankles in her hands to hold her thighs as wide apart as possible, one leg against her shoulder and the other flat on the table. Yssinel's sex was parted like soaked, pouting flower, her clit hard and peering lasciviously out of its little pink hood. Aerylle tightened her grip on Yssinel's ankles and thrust as hard as she could. The friction was delightful, velvet rubbing against velvet, her clit grinding against the sodden nether petals of Yssinel's pussy. Aerylle felt liquid, flowing against and mastering Yssinel's spread, submissive sex, each thrust a jarring spark of pleasure that flared up her spine.

"Oh, Blessed Hanali, Aerylle, Min has made you into quite the scrumptious savage..." Yssinel gasped, strumming her own hard nipples as Aerylle lunged forward, her sex grinding and mashing against the Enchantress'. She rolled her hips against Yssinel's sex, desperate for that wanton, wet pressure of the swollen lips of Yssinel's pussy against her clit. Aerylle took her pleasure slowly and methodically, thrust after slick thrust until the coil of tension in her loins unwound into a wave of hot, liberating release. She climaxed with ragged, uninhibited moans, her long golden hair flailing around her shoulders, her sex convulsing with the throes of her passion.

Fiery as a lust-drunk nymph, Aerylle rose and walked on the table to squat wantonly over Yssinel's face. The Grey Elf librarian's pussy was a spread peach, dripping with sweet juice. Aerylle lowered herself on the Enchantress' face until her sex was nestled against her lover's mouth. Yssinel started licking hungrily at the silky slit. Rich nectar, floral and sweet, coated Yssinel's lips as she lapped, spreading exploring each petal with her tongue, drawing nearer to the hard pearl of Aerylle's clit. She spread Aerylle's inner petals and worshipped the soft flower that bloomed under her touch.

Kneeling with her legs on either side of Yssinel's shoulders, Aerylle lay herself atop the Enchantress' body so she could dip her head between her friend's parted thighs. Two fingers spread open the inner folds and the swollen bead of Yssinel's clit reared up from between the silky, juice-sodden petals. Aerylle latched her lips around the delicious nub and began trilling her tongue against its surface, drawing muffled, husky moans from Yssinel. As she buried her face in Aerylle's sex, the sweet, cloudy essence of her beloved spilling over her cheeks and lips, she knew that the first stage of her plan had come to pass. Soon the right order of things would be restored and Aerylle would be hers and hers alone.

***

Feathers – “Do you want to fly?”

Swords clashed on the wide fencing arena of Tahllea's duelling hall. Floating torches of lambent blue flame surrounded a wide arena of brushed snow that had been set out for the trial duel between Dzelha and Erieanal, a statuesque and strikingly pretty Avariel Bladesinger who had long fascinated Tahllea. So, she had invited the young blademistress to Imej at House Ahlirian's expense to see what the artful winged Elves could contribute to her own style and, naturally enough in Tahllea's mind, to her growing collection of warrior-lovers. As it turned out, the results were impressive.

Tahllea sat on a wide, red-upholstered armchair in front of the arena, attended to by two charming but anonymous young apprentices who stood by her side, clad in the duelling hall's classic, sky-blue tunics. Tahllea herself wore a formal, azure shirt and dark blue breeches for the occasion. That, she considered her formal uniform and great care had been taken in the design which had been entrusted to none other than Yssinel's personal dressmaker. The outfit was completed by a light blue neckerchief which she fixed to the high collar of her shirt with a functional platinum chain with an impressively-cut, ovoid sapphire as a centrepiece.

"Outstanding! Continue just like that." Tahllea called in sanguine encouragement. Dzelha had sunk into a defensive posture, her shimmering crystal sabre raised above her shoulders in a high guard. The Star Elf maiden was, in Tahllea's expert opinion, especially fetching in her shimmering suit of chainmail, each link cast to resemble a snowflake and, like snowflakes, no two links were exactly alike. Dzelha's chainmail was form-fitting, but perfectly articulated to allow ease of movement, so that whenever the lithe Star Elf advanced or retreated, her armour seemed to merge and flow with the motion of her taut musculature. Erieanal was no less impressive: tall, haughtily beautiful with the sharp, fae-like features so typical of her kind and long, honey blonde hair, she was the very picture of deadly grace. Her great white, feathery wings, streaked with winding patterns of golden paint, flapped and tensed, providing her with extraordinary mobility as she leapt and dashed across the fencing arena, setting Dzelha on the defensive.

The Avariel's aquiline amber eyes blazed with fanatical determination as she brought her Grey Mithril scimitar to bear on Dzelha's raised guard. Dzelha's crystal sword hummed as the Star Elf parried and countered with a series of high slashes. Erieanal beat her wings once and leapt backwards. Her creamy, gold-tinged skin gleamed with sweat. The duel had started in late afternoon and now, the sun had already begun to set, casting a rich, reddish glow onto the brushed snow of the fencing arena floor. Erieanal beat a strategic retreat, her gold-brocaded boots crunching in the snow. For mobility's sake, no Avariel Bladesinger ever wore armour, so Erieanal was clad in her golden-yellow fencer's tunic with its intricate silver-thread patterns forming a vast, stylised protective symbol over her chest and shoulders.

Erieanal took a moment's pause to read Dzelha's posture. The Star Elf maiden was panting, as exhausted as she was. Banking to her left she dived in under Dzelha's guard, bringing a series of low, slicing cuts to bear against the Star Elf's knees. A trail of blue light followed Erieanal's blade - Grey Mithril was forged from the rocky bodies of fallen stars. Dzelha dipped her blade and parried just in time. The force of the attack threw her off balance and she backpedaled unsteadily. Erieanal bit her lip in frustrating and pressed her attack, opening with two wide slashes and then leaping into the air with a beat of her wings and bringing her scimitar crashing down on Dzelha. The Star Elf was once again too quick for her. Dzelha parried amidst a shower of sparks and riposted with a powerful lunge that just grazed the side of Erieanal's shoulder, snipping off a few white feather-tips and strands of hair.

The Avariel, swiftly took three steps back to withdraw from the threat range of Dzelha's blade, only to see the Star Elf maiden press her advantage with an arcing upward slash that came within inches of her chest. Erieanal leapt back, crouched and lunged for a counter-attack, her glimmering, granite-grey blade piercing the air with a low wail. A burst of blue sparks ensued as Dzelha parried the blow just above her knee and instinctively reached out to grasp the Avariel's shoulder to throw her off balance. The wretched girl has been fluttering about all afternoon, Dzelha thought grimly, I may as well ground her. At close range, the delicate, hollow-boned Avariel had no chance against Dzelha's wiry musculature and she fell tumbling to the snow where Dzelha was able to land a final blow to her chest. The amethyst on Erieanal's broach began to glow a bright violet, indicating the end of the bout.

Tahllea rose from her chair as a gesture of admiration for the splendid duel. Erieanal took a long moment to gaze at the sky, burning with sunset hues of saffron and orange while she caught her breath. She should have seen it coming - she should never have engaged Dzelha at such close range.

"Blessed Pole Star Queen, you are annoying to duel against." Dzelha said between ragged breaths, extending a conciliatory hand to help Erieanal to her feet.

"You were most fortuitously fortunate." the Avariel snapped with a wry smile, accepting Dzelha's hand to pounce to her feet. She spoke quickly, her accent tinged with the clipped, staccato intonation of the Avariel tongue.

"Doubtless," Dzelha nodded with affected modesty. Erieanal flapped her wings twice to shake off the fine, snowy powder that covered them, sending a mist of tiny crystals in Dzelha's direction. The Star Elf found herself trapped in Erieanal's sharp, amber gaze. Avariel eyes were more angular and clearly almond-shaped than those of most Elves, so that Erieanal truly did have a touch of otherworldly elegance about her.

"Star Elves enjoy steam-baths or am I mistaken?" the Avariel's porphyry-painted lips curled into an ambiguous smile.

"Of course, we find them far more relaxing and hygienic than a water bath." Dzelha sheathed her sword in its amethyst-studded scabbard. It was clear that Erieanal was a flyer: though her physique was delicate, her shoulders and chest were clearly well-developed, her breasts high and, naturally, impeccably firm orbs.

"Show me; I am most desirously curious to know." Erieanal casually adjusted one of Dzelha's long, intricate braids, smoothing it and casting back over the Star Elf's shoulder.

From behind her, Dzelha could hear Tahllea approach them. "An extraordinary performance, Ladies, extraordinary." Tahllea said with genuine relish. "Erieanal, your technique has a grace I could scarcely have imagined. Perhaps you would stay in Imej a little longer - the moment my best apprentice and deputy returns, I was thinking of testing you with my own school of fencing."

"It would be a most pleasing honour." Erieanal nodded. "Your House is commendably generous."

"Very good," Tahllea concluded. "But I think that you both deserve a nice bath and something warm to drink...Alhana," Tahllea called out to a pleasingly cute, but frightfully naive young apprentice with cobalt-blue hair, "fetch our guests some warm Irlenmeyer Mead and prepare to serve it in the baths."

"Right away, Mistress." the apprentice scampered off to comply.

Inisde the duelling hall, the baths dominated the lower level of the building and were dug into the very rock beneath the glacier. A great central pool with a smooth, pumice-stone border lay under a rocky cupola. Lighting was provided by a ring of yellow, sorcerous light that circled the outline of the dome of the baths, casting an almost sandy luminescence onto the steaming water. Dzelha and Erieanal gratefully undressed and handed their equipment to Tahllea's fawning apprentices, who swiftly carried back to the duelling hall's workshop for maintenance. Tahllea stood smirking by the bathing chamber door as Dzelha and Erieanal stepped in, the stone pleasantly warm and almost soft under their bare feet.

"I will arrange for a steam treatment as soon as my apprentices finish distilling the birch-essence." Tahllea remarked, arms crossed as she leaned back against the heavy granite door. The humid heat matted her shirt with moisture.

Dzelha took Erieanal's hand and raised it to her lips to kiss. The Avariel cocked her head curiously to one side, seeking to catch Dzelha's silvery gaze. Slowly, her heart drumming ever faster in her chest, Dzelha approached Erieanal, drawing her into an embrace. The Avariel's light brown nipples pressed deliciously against Dzelha's breasts. Under fingers, the Star Elf felt Erieanal's taut, muscular flank, the slight flare of her hips and inhaled the light, floral perfume she applied to her wings, the sweat on her smooth skin. Erieanal's limbs ached, but her chest tightened with a sense of trepidation. She flapped her wings once and enveloped Dzelha in a soft, feathery cocoon.

Tahllea watched with rapt attention. "Don't be shy," she cooed, "I know you like Dzelha and she most certainly likes you."

Erieanal's gaze bored into Dzelha's as she tilted the Star Elf's chin with the lightest of touches. Her nipples stiffened against the Star Elf maiden's slick skin, the nexus of desire deep in her sex began to stir with awakening passion. The Avariel caressed the curve of Dzelha's taut bottom, rising higher to cup the Star Elf's soft, pert breasts. She could feel the hot, needy pulse of Dzelha's heart, the way her breathing quickened under her touch. "Do you want to fly?" Erieanal whispered, her lips hovering a tiny distance from Dzelha's.

"Please..." the Star Elf Spellsword sighed. Purple-painted lips, soft as plums, moist and wanting pressed against hers. Purple and violet melded, the subtle sweetness of their combined lip-paint merged into a sensual dance of warmth and moisture. Avariel women kissed with long, determined licks, so that Dzelha had to part her lips as wide as she could to fence with Erieanal's irreverently playful tongue.

Tahllea smiled with smug satisfaction. "I shall take a moment to undress at my leisure. In the meanwhile, I recommend you two warm up before the serious exertion begins." The High Elf Bladesinger had already arranged her private chamber at the duelling hall to be prepared to receive guests and that breakfast be prepared for three the following morning. Tahllea began to unbutton her shirt, each triangular, turquoise link giving way to reveal the tautly muscled expanse of her torso. Her small, delectably elegant breasts were beaded with condensation, her dark pink nipples arrogantly stiff. She shrugged of her shirt, pulled off her boots and stepped inside the bath, closing the door behind her.

A blast of fragrant, birch-scented steam filled the chamber. Erieanal's kiss burned itself into Dzelha's lips. The Star Elf maiden swept her caresses from the moist peaks of Erieanal's yielding, rounded breasts down the Avariel Bladesinger's belly, to the hot, ripe mound between her thighs. Shielded in the Avariel's wings, she felt as though she were in another world, as if everything were slower, blurred by the steam. Erieanal sighed with anticipation, her whole body tensing as Dzelha's thumb curled around the inside of her nether lips and flicked upwards, wet with creamy dew, to tap against the tip of her clit. The Star Elf maiden's pressed against the winged blademistress' clit, gently at first, and then with building intensity, stoking the flames of passion in Erieanal's bucking loins.

"You're lovely." Dzelha said, her cheeks flushed a light shade of violet by her arousal and the muggy heat. "I..." her voice dropped until she was certain that Tahllea, who was lurking around somewhere in the steamy mist, could not hear her. "I am not just saying that because she is here...I really think so and..." Dzelha kissed up the creamy expanse of Erieanal's throat, before flicking her tongue against the Avariel maiden's pointed ear so that she could whisper in ever more secretive tones, "I only regret we cannot be alone."

A hiss of steam followed. Tahllea heard Erieanal moan softly. She slipped a hand into her breeches, pressing down hard against the plump mound of her sex. She watched the two younger blademistresses press against each other under the protective cover of Erieanal's wings. Tahllea slipped two fingers against the engorged surface of her clit and began to diddle the little bud at a leisurely pace, her eyes fixed on Erieanal's straining thighs and bottom. If only the Avariel's wings were not obstructing her view.

Tahllea opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was tight with passion. She took a deep breath and pulled down the waistband of her breeches in one, swift jerk. Tahllea felt her sex ache with need as it was exposed to the hot air. "Dzelha," Tahllea ordered, her voice a low, lascivious purr, "be a good host and show Erieanal the delights of that wonderful tongue of yours."

Dzelha blushed a bright violet and bit her lip with embarrassment. "Do not burden yourself with worry," Erieanal murmured, lovingly caressing the Star Elf maiden's cheek, "it is enough to lie in love with you." The Avariel Bladesinger swept her wings back and leapt into the air, hooking her legs around Dzelha's waist. She was incredibly light, so that Dzelha had no trouble carrying her over to a smooth wall, moist with condensation and setting her down. The Star Elf maiden fell to her knees and floated soft, hummingbird kisses up the inside of Erieanal's thigh. "Stay perfectly still." the Avariel ordered. Dzelha paused and Erieanal leapt into the air, wings outstretched, and hooked her thighs around the Star Elf maiden's neck, heels digging into her back for support.

Suddenly, Dzelha found herself with a wet, musky Avariel pussy nestled against her lips. She inhaled her newfound lover's rich aroma - it was a exotic scent, something intensely female, yet distant, like wild mountain flowers mingled with earthy ferns. Dzelha clasped Erieanal's hips and began to lick, tentatively at first, to trace the richly pink contours of the Avariel's sex and taste the pearly essence of her arousal. The Avariel maiden was delicious: powerfully fruity, yet savoury with a hint of tartness, like wild grapes. Dzelha licked and felt Erieanal writhe against the wall, her fingers trailing down her Star Elf lover's long braids to her pointed ears. The humidity in the air mingled with the violet dye on Dzelha's lips, so that the thin rivulets of viscous juice that hung heavily between Erieanal's inner folds were tinged a light lavender with her wanton licking.

Tahllea continued to pleasure herself as she approached the moaning Avariel. With her free hand, she stroked the length of the winged Elf's thigh, winding down her calf and to instep of her delicate foot. Erieanal was far too focused on Dzelha's tongue to care. Each one of the Star Elf's licks sent a stabbing jolt of pleasure up her spine. Her clit felt hard, burning hot and vulnerable as Dzelha lavished her wet, passionate attention on the stiff little pearl. Tahllea leaned over and began to suckle wetly on Erieanal's nipple. The Avariel maiden's breast was soft, but strangely dense under Tahllea's fingers - a perfect orb made to look all the more impressive by her strong chest muscles. Tahllea released her lips from Erieanal's nipple and began to ravish the Avariel blademistress' breast with long, arching licks. Erieanal moaned and ground and mashed her pussy into Dzelha's lips. The Star Elf's cheeks were soaked with lavender-tinged juice.

Erieanal's musical moans, the wet sound of Dzelha's licking and Tahllea's husky, laboured breathing filled the chamber, melding with the dripping of countless flecks of condensation. In the distance, a familiar, high-pitched voice called, "Mistress!" It echoed through the chamber. Tahllea ignored it, she would punish Alhana later for interrupting her.

"Mistress!" If there was one thing Tahllea loathed, it was being disturbed, especially when she was in the process of exploring her newest toy. She whipped around, squinting through the steam. Erieanal's gasps were growing more ragged, her wings fully spread, feet arched, her toes digging in Dzelha's back as the first spasms of ecstasy washed over her. She was coming onto Dzelha's tongue and Tahllea was missing it. Alhana, the Bladesinger thought, better have a very good excuse.

"What is it, girl?" Tahllea snapped, trying to make herself heard over Erieanal's mewling cries.

"Mistress!"

"What the fuck is it, you blithering idiot?" Tahllea roared. She angrily pulled up her breeches and hastened to the door where Alhana stood trembling, riveted to the spot in terror.

"I'm so...so sorry, Mistress..." she stammered, almost sobbing. "I did not mean to interrupt..."

Tahllea drew a deep breath, seized the girl by her hair and dragged her out of the bathing chamber, slamming the door shut behind her. "Explain yourself, girl and pray to Sehanine that it is worth my time." She thrust Alhana roughly against the corridor wall.

"Oh..." Alhana whimpered, tears of abject fear and humiliation running down her cheeks. "Please...Mistress...forgive me..."

"Useless..." Tahllea snarled, before realising that the particularly crude expletive she had prepared in Common had no counterpart in Grey Elven.

"It...it's Lady Yssinel, Mistress..." Alhana managed to stammer, doing her best to avoid Tahllea's burning, golden gaze. "I simply could not turn her away - I went to fetch the Irlenmeyer Mead as you instructed and she was upstairs in the reception hall...she ordered me to find you. She said she has something very urgent to relate...please, Mistress, forgive me..."

Yssinel - Tahllea thought - what in the Abyss does she want? Yssinel's interest in fencing was incidental, so she rarely came up to the duelling hall without invitation. Something was wrong. "Fetch my dressing gown." Tahllea instructed coolly. Alhana scrambled to obey with immense relief.

The young apprentice soon returned with a short, blue silk dressing gown and Tahllea angrily tugged off her breeches, exposing her painfully aroused sex to the cool air outside the baths. She briefly considered ordering Alhana to lick her to orgasm there and then, just to relieve the dull throb in her clit, but then swiftly discarded the idea. Alhana was so nervous and relatively inexperienced that she was bound to make a mess of things. So, Tahllea pulled on her gown and wrenched the silken belt her apprentice had proffered to tie the garment off at the waist.

"Is...is there anything else you need, Mistress?" Alhana whispered submissively, her eyes respectfully downcast.

"No, you may go home," Tahllea answered, before deciding that it was, after all, her duty to be a good role model. "...And, Alhana, apologies if I was a little brusque. I have been on edge recently."

Alhana nodded gratefully, bowed and left as swiftly as she could. Tahllea took her time to proceed up the long spiral staircase that led to the reception hall. The smooth paving stones felt cold under her feet and the upper chamber was colder still. Yssinel stood by the dim oval mirror of glowing yellow force which provided some feeble heat and a good deal of illumination. Ceremonial swords, award certificates in the elegant calligraphy of a dozen Elven dialects and paintings of famous Bladesingers of the past covered the walls, while a rather cozy living area had been set out with satin-upholstered divans and functional, faux-Wood Elven furniture.

"Did I disturb you, my love?" Yssinel inquired, her voice heavy with concern even as she shivered under her long, Winter Wolf fur coat.

"Ye-...I mean no, not at all." Tahllea lied. Her nipples were uncomfortably hard against the silk of her dressing gown. In their engorged state, they tented the fabric. "I understand you had urgent need to see me."

"As a matter of fact, yes, do sit down, my lovely Moon Huntress." Yssinel cooed with a sweetly innocent smile on her lips.

Tahllea grinned, almost bashfully. "You know I prefer to stand. Please, tell me what troubles you." The fur coat, in the Bladesinger's eyes, was in awful taste, yet another example of the rampant fashion for 'primitive' clothing amongst Imej's wealthier classes.

"Although I never envisioned being so direct," Yssinel began cautiously, "I believe you and I never spoke about your biological parents."

Tahllea snorted. "That is of no interest to me. I made that very clear some time ago when you and Aerylle offered to find out. They have no bearing on who I am, though, if my memory serves me correctly, Jander suggested that my mother could well have been the legendary High Elven Bladesinger Eleustria who perished in confronting the Green Dragon who called itself the 'Emerald Butcher'." A little uncertainty about her origins always provided Tahllea with a pleasing mystique, one which she had used to draw an endless procession of wide-eyed girls into her bedchamber.

"That would have been most convenient," the Enchantress replied, feigning disappointment, "but a priestly contact of mine at the Temple of Hanali found otherwise."

"What?" Tahllea arched her eyebrow in irritation. Suddenly, the blood ran very cold in veins.

"Hardly distressing news, my love, since it was never any secret that you were adopted into House Ahlirian, so surely you have no issue with the revelation that..."

"Stop!" Tahllea growled, striding over to grasp Yssinel's wrist. "Do not toy with me, I beg you."

"This is no game." Yssinel replied calmly. "My source is both extremely reliable and most thorough."

Tahllea's blood ran cold. She knew Yssinel too well to be fooled by her innocent eyes - the Enchantress was plotting. "So?"

"Eleustria of the Uranthurin branch of House Ahlirian found an infant in the rubble of a hippogriff stable after the Emerald Butcher's raid on..." Yssinel intoned.

"No..."

"She found the infant in the arms of a stable girl," Tahllea felt her fists clenching reflexively, "and made Lontherinn of House Ahlirian, your adoptive father and her comrade in arms, swear that the child be raised as she would have her own daughter, which is where the myth of Eleustria being your biological mother came from. Knowing that she went to her death, she bequeathed all she had to you, including her suit of mithril chainmail and her sword, Ilmaeria's Sorrow."

"Are you certain?" Tahllea swiftly composed herself, drawing a series of deep breaths and steadying her trembling fists.

"I know you, Tahllea, and you had long suspected this. The painting of Eleustria that hangs in your bedchamber is evidence enough that you look nothing like her." Yssinel explained, before arriving to her point. "What I wanted to say, Kyrithii, is that the past is irrelevant and it should certainly never be allowed to forge a future where its mistakes are repeated. Now you know that exalted parentage and an illustrious House do not make a good woman or a good Bladesinger. Good Bladesingers make themselves."

"Something tells me," Tahllea said darkly, "this has something to do with Sigrid."

"Out of love for you," the Enchantress said placidly, "I overlooked the fact that you publicly humiliated my Kithela and induced her to flee. But, now you have a chance to redeem yourself. My messenger-falcon has spotted Sigrid in the Outer Band of the city, she is making her way back home with Aravae in tow. I recommend you go meet her and offer your apology and a vow of friendship."

"What...?" Tahllea exclaimed.

"My love, you are an excellent blademistress but a terrible thief. I know you took my research on Sigrid's...history. It would be a great display of magnanimity on your part if you forgot about my research altogether." Yssinel was far too subtle for open threats and Tahllea knew that the Enchantress' trap would only become more intricate.

"I sense an 'otherwise'." the Bladesinger said tersely.

"Not at all." Yssinel corrected. "Imej is not a crude society and it would hardly matter if you were born of a noblewoman or a commoner, what would be troubling, in my mind at least, is that, even in light of your heritage, you were to create problems for Sigrid on the grounds that she was...liberal with the truth about her humble background. I have great affection for you both and my ideal solution would be for neither of you to be humiliated. As a matter of fact, I have every interest in your reconciliation."

"Of course..." As much as it irritated Tahllea, she was more than ready to forego revealing Sigrid's past if it meant stilling whatever diabolical plan Yssinel had plotted. "But I will never apologise to Sigrid." That last defiance was non-negotiable.

"Oh, please." Yssinel pouted. With a shrug, she let her heavy white fur coat fall to the ground. She was radiantly naked underneath. "It would make me very happy indeed, just as I would be the first to show my immediate gratitude."

"Goddess!" Tahllea hissed. "You walked through Imej like that?"

"Why not? I am an Enchantress, no?" Yssinel eased herself to her knees in front of Tahllea, carefully spreading the fur coat so she would have a soft surface to support her. "Your devoted and obedient lover is at your service, Lady Tahllea."

Tahllea had already opened her dressing gown, her sex swollen and needy. "Very well," Tahllea sighed as Yssinel traced the outer petals of her lover's smooth mound. "After this I shall track Sigrid down and...do as you say."

***

She-Wolf

"Right," Sigrid stretched languidly as she breathed in the now familiar, reassuring air of Imej. Gone was the forest with its damp and darkness. Now, under her boots there were only orderly flagstones as the party wound its way up the Night Market boulevard. "So I take it I'm going home alone."

"Yes, sorry," Aravae said apologetically. "I have to make sure Iniila is settled in at Tahllea's tower." They proceeded through the thronging crowds of the market, the air heavy with spices. It was Sylvan Elf week and traders from the far South, near Queluria's very centre, had brought vast cargo loads of exotic plants, dried seeds, improbably coloured fruits and luxurious woods. Bronze-skinned Sylvan Elf women wearing corded armour and wielding feathered spears stood watch over piles of cinnamon sticks and tidy heaps of star anise, red pithey seeds and long, coiled fruit with a hard, fibrous skin that hid a delectably sweet centre.

"So you've decided that you're staying?" Sigrid inquired, turning to Iniila who walked with all the caution of an explorer stepping into a Fire Serpent's layer. The vast edifices of stone, the ostentatious Grey Elven magic and the thickly clustered crowds all unnerved her. Worst of all were the curious gazes of the Grey Elves themselves, who viewed her as an exotic curiosity on par with the mysterious, painted Sylvan Elves.

"Yes. For now Aravae needs me and you need me." Iniila replied. There was tension in her voice. Her bow was unstrung and she felt naked without the certainty of being able to draw an arrow and fire faster than most Elves could blink.

"I need you?" Sigrid chuckled.

Iniila nodded in all seriousness. "Warriors like you do not come to our lands by chance. Fate and the great wisdom of the Forest Mother drive them."

"What about you, Min?" Sigrid called out in Common, lest the tiefling feel left out. "Straight back to Aerylle?"

"Straight back to bed." Min groaned. Every step caused her leather breeches to chafe against her abused sex and inner thigh. Even relieving herself that morning had been sharply painful, like a thousand pinpricks in the tender flesh between her thighs. Now, all she wanted to do was climb in bed and sleep - naked - for the next week. For the first time in as long as Min could remember, she was more focused on the dull, agonising throb between her legs than she was on the jutting breasts and taut thighs and biceps of the dusky-skinned Sylvan Elf huntresses.

Aulatha gave Min's bottom a playful slap as she trailed behind the tiefling, her mirror-segmented armour glistening in the firelight of the lively Sylvan Elf market stalls. "A bad night, perhaps?" the polar nymph teased, her stride infinitely graceful and, as far as Min's more cutting side was concerned, that was the only thing keeping Aulatha from being confused for a boy.

"You could have allowed Iniila apply some balm, couldn't you?" Min groaned as Sigrid sniggered knowingly.

"Are you a woman or a girl?" Aulatha scoffed. When she was certain the rest of the party had gained a few paces lead over them, she surreptitiously reached into her traveling pack and pressed a small bundle of silken fabric into the tiefling's hand.

"Huh?" Min paused and ran her fingers over the neatly-folded white garment. It was Aulatha's loincloth, the silken bindings that had held Min's wrists as she was ravished the previous night.

"Keep. Remember." Aulatha smiled and walked off to rejoin the party. Min gazed at the nymph's taut bottom under the interlocking crystal segments of her armour, desperately trying to decide whether or not her waist was about Aerylle's size.

By the time they reached the residential quarter of the city, it was fully night-time, the two great moons still full and silvery in the sky. Aravae and Iniila said their farewells with the promise that they would meet Sigrid the next morning and struck out for the tower of House Ahlirian. Aulatha let them depart, before offering a short, respectful bow to Sigrid. "You have powerful blood flowing through your veins," she said in Grey Elven, her voice reverent, "I have known many blademistresses and I now know that you will be one of the finest this world has ever seen one day. I hope to see you soon, Lady Sigrid." With that, Aulatha strode over to Min to indulge in one last, lustily fierce kiss, and hastened after Iniila and Aravae.

"So...Min, I guess this is good night." Sigrid said. The darkness was suddenly pierced by a floating sphere of eldritch light overhead that cast a brilliant, blue glow as it continued its orbit around the tower of House Ceilanith. The Aasimar felt no trepidation anymore about Tahllea divulging her secret. More than at any time in her life, Sigrid felt liberated and ready to take on her own destiny with Aravae by her side.

"Yeah, good night." Min groaned, silently cursing her breeches.

"I'll...see you tomorrow morning for training, right?" Sigrid added.

"Make it afternoon, very late afternoon." Min said, ambling her way down the street back to Aerylle's tower.

"Come over to Yssinel's tower when you're ready, they have a big garden." Sigrid called out and Min shrugged and continued on her way home. She decided there and then that even if Aerylle's mother greeted her by pulling down her breeches to lick her out, she was still going straight to bed.

Sigrid confidently clasped the pommel of her sword and made her way up the winding road to Yssinel's tower with a renewed sense of purpose. The soft song of the canal echoed off stony walls in the distance as Sigrid hurried home. Hopefully, Mjrina would be waiting for her with a cup of honeyed tea and a warm bath. Within moments, she was once more before the ornate, calligraphy-engraved portal of Yssinel's home and there, she noticed a familiar silhouette emerge from the shadows. Sigrid reached for her sword.

"It's only me, you silly girl." Tahllea snapped, moving into Sigrid's path.

"If I ran you through right now, do you think they'd ever find your body?" Sigrid snarled.

An uncomfortable, desperately awkward silence followed. "I'm sorry." Tahllea said at length, her golden eyes boring into Sigrid's.

"Is that all, Tahllea? Fuck you!" Sigrid spat venomously. "Not only did you have to humiliate me, you tried to force yourself on me..."

"Which is precisely why I am apologising." Tahllea said between gritted teeth.

"Why would you? What kind of dark scheme did you think up this time?" Sigrid said indignantly, trying to push past Tahllea. The Bladesinger seized the younger girl by her forearm and spun her around.

"Listen, Sigrid," Tahllea said, this time without a hint of malice in her voice. "Think what you will of me, but I am not a wicked person. I have treated many with less respect than I owed them and that is why I wish to start now by asking for your forgiveness. If you had the soul of Bladesinger or a paladin, you would know that there is no honour in spurning the good intentions of a fellow blademistress."

"Then apologise to Aravae, too." Sigrid challenged, struggling unsuccessfully to free her arm from Tahllea's iron grip.

"Whether you believe it or not, I love Aravae as much as you. Simply because we show our affection in different ways does not mean that mine is any less valid." Tahllea said fervently, finally relenting to allow Sigrid to break free.

"If I am to accept your apology, you must allow me to duel you again to restore the honour you took from me." Sigrid backed up against the portal to Yssinel's tower, hoping to slip in as soon as possible to free herself from the searing flames of resentment in Tahllea's eyes.

"So be it." Tahllea nodded. "And I will have the good grace not to spread any details that may harm your dignity."

Sigrid paused. Tahllea sounded sincere and, vicious as she was, the Bladesinger was most definitely not a liar. "I've made my peace with the matter of my past. It was foolish of me to be dishonest." the Aasimar said tentatively, gauging Tahllea's reaction.

"It was." Tahllea noted dryly, before assuming a more conciliatory tone. "I shall be happy to give you the chance to confront me once more. It will be up to me to fix the date and time, as is customary, but to this tradition, I will add another condition which you may accept or refuse as you prefer."

"Go on." Sigrid invited.

"Should I win, you will put aside all this hot-blooded, adolescent defiance and join me and Aravae at my duelling hall. I will even give you a position of privilege almost equal to mine and you will be entitled to improve and refine my technique with your own admittedly outstanding talent for improvisation." Tahllea said with a rather wolfish grin.

"And should I emerge victorious?" Sigrid shot back mockingly.

"I will officially dissolve Aravae's obligation to me and you can take her, and whatever other silly little girl currently under my protection you can convince, adventuring or exploring or any other such plan you had in mind." The sphere of blue magical light passed over them again, causing Tahllea's shirt and breeches to glow with a lambent, azure light. A lone crow cawed in the ensuing silence.

"Agreed." Sigrid assented. It was all or nothing. "You have my word."

"Then," Tahllea concluded, "you will be notified tomorrow as to the time and place of our second and final duel."

"Is that all...?"

"Kiss me." the High Elf Bladesinger ordered.

"Never, not after last time!" Sigrid cried defiantly.

"To seal our agreement and that we may be sisters again with our feuds behind us." Tahllea advanced and Sigrid instinctively backed up against the door to Yssinel's tower.

"All right..." the Aasimar said hesitantly, "but just a kiss..."

Tahllea pounced and stole quick, chaste kiss on Sigrid's lips, drawing back before the stunned Aasimar had a chance to react. "There, all done." Tahllea said with a gently mocking chuckle. "That was not too bad now, was it?"

"Well, if that's all, I bid you good night." Sigrid said, breathing a sigh of relief that the sheer awkwardness of being forced to make peace with Tahllea was over.

"As you wish, Sigrid." Tahllea laughed, retreating into the shadowy darkness of the road. "The odd thing is," she called, her voice echoing out in the distance, "I really do like you, my dear girl. It has been a long while since I found someone who could stand up to me."

Sigrid swiftly turned around, murmured the command word Mjrina had taught her and the heavy portal opened, allowing her to dash gratefully inside the familiar reception room. A dull light pervaded the room, as it had been prepared for the night, so only two dim lamps, shaped like blooming lilies, flooded the room with a lunar glow. Almost immediately, Sigrid noticed that Yssinel had been entertaining a guest. Fresh, red and pink flowers sat majestically in an immense cut crystal vase, and two wooden boxes lay on the round table in front of the wide, silk-upholstered divan. The silence in the tower was disconcerting. She had expected Mjrina to hear that a guest had arrived and descend the stair in an instant, but a serene quiet reigned. Her curiosity piqued by the boxes, Sigrid made her way to the table and opened the lid of the larger container. Inside was an exquisite porcelain doll of an Elven sorceress and some assorted papers - nothing of interest. Sigrid carefully replaced the ornate lid in the same position she had found it in and unlatched the locking mechanism of the second, simpler container.

The lid sprung open, revealing what Sigrid immediately assumed was a large, thick-stemmed flower with a bulbous, rosy head and a textured surface. On closer inspection, though, it was no flower. Sigrid froze. She had heard of such implements at the Order of the Radiant Path, but they were always spoken of with disgust by the more puritanical novices and with energetic longing by her more wanton peers. Now, before her, was what appeared to be a decidedly Elven version of a dildo. Sigrid looked around her, carefully scrutinising the unmoving silence. Was it Mjrina's or Yssinel's? More like Mjrina's, she decided, since from what she had understood of Grey Elven eroticism, such devices defeated the perceived purpose of lovemaking between women.

Tentatively, Sigrid lifted the item out of the box. To her eyes, it seemed grotesque: a thick, obscene blossom with a short root at its base. Yet it felt warm and fleshy in her hands. It called to her. Deciding that the implement would not be missed for a night and filled with morbid curiosity as to how it would feel to use it on Mjrina, Sigrid stole out of the reception hall and made her way upstairs, blushing fiercely at the thought of such transgression. She made her way back up to her room. Much to her surprise, as she stepped out into the corridor, the door to her bedchamber was ajar, dull red light pouring through the crack and mingling with moonlight from the stairwell's window. Sigrid gingerly made her way forward.

***

Fertility Rites

Senythina dug her heels into Mjrina's back as the Wood Elf fucked her. Mjrina was wrist deep in the young priestess' loose, sopping, velvety sex, the pads of her fingers grinding violently against the buxom Grey Elf's Hanali's Heart. Senythina bit down on her lower lip to suffocate her cries, her toes pointed deliciously in the air, each movement of Mjrina's hand in her channel bringing on yet another, pulsing spasm of satisfaction in her loins. Her short priestess' robe was bunched up around her waist, her bloated, heavy breasts finally free of their satin prison. Mjrina was latched on to one of her big, cherry-pink nipples, suckling hungrily, a thin rivulet of milk trailing down her chin. Hot, sweet Grey Elven milk coursed down Mjrina's throat as Senythina leaned further back on Sigrid's desk, thighs tense with desire. The priestess could no longer contain her cries, even if Mjrina had ordered her to be quiet, so that her plaintive, whimpering moans flooded the chamber with their wanton music.

Sigrid stepped in unnoticed. All she could see was Mjrina, still clothed in her green shift, thrusting and grinding against a voluptuous Grey Elven girl who lay spread out on her desk, feet arched and toes pointed in her direction, her hands clasped around the Wood Elf's neck for support.

"Blessed Hanali, fill me!" Senythina moaned. Mjrina plunged into her hard and Senythina bucked her hips forward. Copious, pearly juice trickled onto the hardwood desk below. Her clit was a stiff little jewel, angrily free from its hood like the pistil on a lasciviously spread pink orchid. Mjrina's cheeks hollowed as she drank, her jaw seemingly moving in rhythm with her hand, drawing out that sweet, creamy fluid from Senythina's huge, swollen breasts, her lips and tongue hard at work coaxing that delicious nipple to liberate more of its delectable essence. At this rate, Senythina thought, she would emptied before she was filled. Still, the pleasure of feeling the milk flow out of her to feed Mjrina's hot, sensual mouth was indescribable, almost as sublime as the jarring convulsions of pleasure that had begun in her loins with the circling thrusts of the Wood Elf maiden's hand.

"Uhm..." Sigrid began softly, clearing her throat. Her chest tightened with desire. As irritating as it was to see Mjrina taking her pleasure with another, the scene before her was so raw and wanton that the Aasimar could not help but feel a pang of longing in her sex.

"Oh...!" Senythina replied, a low keening wail escaping her soft, moist lips as her sex convulsed around Mjrina's hand. A tide of hot, liquid relief radiated from her loins, as she dug her heels into Mjrina and drew the Wood Elf in closer. "Mjrina," she gasped between ragged breaths, "your lover..."

Mjrina released Senythina's nipple and a trickle of glistening milk coursed down the pale skin of the priestess' swollen breast. The Wood Elf maiden smiled and eased her hand out of Senythina's sex. Senythina groaned and rolled her hips. Mjrina's hand came out with a wet pop, followed by a small gout of cloudy nectar from the beautifully stretched silky flower of the priestess' pussy. Senythina slumped back against the wall as Mjrina turned to face Sigrid with an almost innocent smile on her lips. "Welcome back, my dear Sigrid - I was just beginning to worry about you."

"Ah...I was just..." Mjrina interrupted Sigrid's stammering with an ardent, hungry kiss. Their tongues touched and Sigrid tasted warm, fresh milk and flowery nectar.

"Would you like Sigrid to join us, Lady Senythina?" Mjrina said breathlessly as Sigrid broke their kiss just long enough to desperately strip off her boots, tunic and breeches.

"It would be a pleasure, I'm sure..." Senythina said dreamily as she sat back, idly toying with her clit as she watched Sigrid's lithely graceful form revealed. Any priestess of Hanali knew that a blademistress was always a welcome addition to the erotic rites of her Goddess.

Once Sigrid had undressed, Mjrina fell back into her lover's embrace. She brought her nectar-coated fingers to Sigrid's lips, feeding Senythina's sweetly musky, floral passion to the Aasimar's hungry lips. Then they kissed once more, this time Sigrid took the lead, her lips fierce and demanding. She pulled down the straps of Mjrina's shift and let the garment pool to the ground. Hard, coffee-in-milk nipples pebbled against Sigrid's flushed skin. Sigrid brushed aside Mjrina's verdant hair and smothered the Wood Elf maiden's pointed ear with furious licks.

"Blessed Forest Mother, what is that?" Mjrina inquired suddenly with a lascivious little giggle as she spied the olisbos Sigrid still clutched in her hand.

"This...I thought it was yours..." Sigrid grimaced.

"How...terrible." Mjrina said, even if her voice betrayed a hint of morbid fascination. "Senythina have you ever seen anything like this?" There was nothing, Mjrina concluded, that a priestess of Hanali did not know about such wicked, fanciful instruments.

Senythina rose languidly from the desk and stepped out of the remainder of her milk-streaked robe. Sticky, gooey nectar mingled with sweet milk hung in thick strands over the inner folds of her sex and streaked the inside of her thighs. The moment she noted the dildo held awkwardly in Sigrid's hand, she gave a soft, lascivious giggle and pressed her bounteous breasts against Mjrina's back to kiss each point of the Wood Elf maiden's sensitive ears. "Of course," Senythina smirked, finally meeting Sigrid's violet gaze with a suggestive glance, "our priesthood has a rather similar tradition - only that we do not use it for frivolous ends. How else do you think I became pregnant by Elhanna?"

Sigrid blanched, but Senythina seemed enthusiastic enough. The young priestess leaned over Mjrina's shoulder to flick her tongue playfully over Sigrid's light pink nipples, drawing each rubbery peak out - stiff and engorged with desire. "What do you say, Milady Kithela?" Senythina said, her softly melodious voice betraying the wantonness in her golden eyes.

Before Sigrid could answer, Senythina had seized the olisbos from her and had knelt at the Aaasimar's feet. Mjrina stepped away to Sigrid's side to watch, fascinated, as Senythina placed two long, exploratory licks against the plump, smooth mound of the blademistress' sex. "I just have to make sure your Flower is in full bloom..." the priestess breathed and parted the inner petals of Sigrid’s pussy, revealing a moist, rosy blossom. Senythina licked again and this time Sigrid acquiesced and parted her thighs, her sighs silenced by Mjrina's lips. Sigrid had a heady, strangely musky taste for an Elf, Senythina noted, but, from her own ever-expanding experience, she found the blademistresses usually had a nice, earthy touch of intensity when she licked them out.

With a final, loving flick of her tongue over Sigrid's dew-coated clit, Senythina slipped the base of the olisbos into the Aasimar's yielding channel. Sigrid gasped as she felt something immediately take root deep inside her. Tendrils of force parted the walls of her sex and fixed themselves into the humid depths of her canal. It felt as if her sex had been turned inside out and the sensation, far from being uncomfortable, was almost unbearably pleasurable. Senythina smiled and released the olisbos so that it jutted shamelessly from Sigrid's sex. "Please, Mjrina, it is only right that you have the honour." Senythina invited, rising to her feet.

Almost immediately, Mjrina fell to her knees in front of Sigrid and, with trepidation in her eyes, she ran her fingertips over the pliant, fleshy surface of the olisbos. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes!" Sigrid gasped. It felt as though Mjrina's fingers had traced the length of the inner walls of her channel. Senythina stepped back to Sigrid's bedside table and uncorked an amethyst vial of lavender oil, intently watching the scene unfolding in front of her. Mjrina dipped her head and placed a soft kiss on the flower-bulb tip of the dildo. Sigrid drew a deep, ragged breath. She felt those soft, moist lips as if they were on her clit and it sent an electric spasm that coursed up her sex, deep into the nexus of pleasure in which the olisbos was rooted.

Mjrina cocked her head curiously to one side and tentatively licked the base of the shaft. Sigrid's hips bucked forward. That was proof enough that the blasphemous implement worked, so, quite naturally, Mjrina took the bulb between her lips and let it slide into her mouth. Sigrid lost herself in a world of sublime heat and pressure. The sensation was an irresistible combination of Mjrina lapping at her clit and thrusting inside her sex, so she allowed the electric tension to build in her loins with each gentle, suckling motion of the Wood Elf maiden's lips and tongue. Mjrina's breasts swayed with each motion as she sucked on the shaft, her body rocking with Sigrid's in the tender rhythm of lovemaking.

Senythina knelt behind Mjrina and captured those heavy, rounded Wood Elf breasts in her hands, expertly rolling the big, turgid nipples between her fingers. She swayed her hips to grind her pussy against Mjrina's bottom, leaving long trails of slick essence on the smooth, tanned skin. Mjrina let the olisbos slide out of her mouth and then kissed the tip. She delayed her climax too long - it was time for the evening's frustrations to be relieved.

"Sit down." Mjrina said softly but firmly and Sigrid, unaccustomed to her lover being so forthrightly demanding, hastened to comply, easing herself on the carpeted floor of the bedchamber. Mjrina pounced on her. She thrust one hand between her thighs to part the richly pink inner lips of her womanhood and the other on the ground for support, hoisting herself above Sigrid to straddle the Aaasimar's thighs and then lowering sodden pussy onto the rigid olisbos. Mjrina grunted as she let the entire shaft slip into her. Sigrid's nails dug painfully into Mjrina's back. She felt as though some sort of hot, velvety vise had clamped down on her clit, so that when she felt Mjrina's sex slip against her mound, it was as if an explosion of heat and light had filled her loins.

"Goddess..." Sigrid whimpered. Mjrina was on top of her.

"This is what Wood Elf women do best." Mjrina remarked lasciviously and began to gyrate and grind her hips in a rhythmic, dance-like motion. She almost seemed in a trance, her thighs and calves straining as she rotated the bulbous head of the dildo inside her, echoing the primordial, sacred movements of coitus and childbirth.

"It's wonderful..." Sigrid mewled between gritted teeth. It was almost as good as having Mjrina's mouth buried in her sex. "But...isn't this thing supposed to be a fertility device?"

"Blessed Hanali, no!" Senythina smiled sweetly, pouring a copious amount of lavender oil onto her delicate hand. "It radiates no fertility magic. Perhaps it was made off-world, but it certainly is not enchanted so as to transfer your life essence into Mjrina."

For a brief, fleeting instant, Sigrid was convinced that she saw an expression of disappointment on Mjrina's face. The Aasimar simply allowed Mjrina to regulate her own rhythm, so that she could concentrate on lavishing wet kisses on the Wood Elf's voluptuous breasts, hanging like ripe, taut gourds. Sigrid latched her lips around a hard, light brown nipple and grasped Mjrina's hips to steady her. The Wood Elf maiden yelped sharply and Sigrid saw Senythina smile conspiratorially behind her.

Senythina uttered a swift prayer to Hanali and pressed the pads of two fingers against the puckered rosebud nestled in the musky valley of Mjrina's bottom. The Handmaiden was like a priestess of Hanali, Senythina thought, thrusting in with almost no resistance at all - she knew how to relax herself. Senythina poured more fragrant oil onto her hand and began to work a third and a fourth finger in the deliciously tight, clenching little rosebud, now a steadily blossoming flower under her touch. Mjrina was too far gone with ecstasy to care what Senythina did: all she felt was the sharp, pulsing pleasure of the dildo inside her womanhood and the dull, deliciously dirty, throbbing sensation of Senythina exploring her bottom. She had loosed herself completely: her muscles were liquid, flowing against Sigrid and Senythina, becoming a single erotic whole. Then came a jarring bolt of sweet agony: Senythina was slipping her thumb into the Wood Elf maiden’s bottom as well. It was agonising when the priestess forced her knuckles through the tight, desperately convulsing star of Mjrina’s bottom, but once that was over, the oil and Senythina's expert pressure did the rest. Mjrina groaned wantonly as her defeated rosebud slipped down the length of Senythina’s hand and clamped down spasmodically on the priestess' wrist.

Sigrid felt something solid against the base of the shaft through the thin membrane that separated Mjrina's channel and bottom. That added friction against her felt like a hand deep in her sex, each thrust into Mjrina now felt like a dual assault on her clit and Hanali's Heart. There was no resisting it, so Sigrid surrendered to the tidal flow of pleasure that now issued forth from the uncoiling knot of desire in her loins. She gave a low, ragged breath and bit down gently on Mjrina's nipple, loosing a few good thrusts into the whimpering Wood Elf maiden as her passion overcame her.

Sigrid cried out her pleasure against Mjrina's breast, the Wood Elf maiden’s sex convulsing hungrily against the root of the shaft. Tremors of pleasure flooded into Sigrid’s loins. The waves of limb-loosening relief that flooded through her veins dragged on for long, ecstatic moments. Mjrina continued to writhe her hips - lost in her passion. It was like being in her village again, a celebrant in a sensuous fertility festival. There was no more pain, just the sublime twisting of Senythina's hand in her bottom and Sigrid's dildo in her sex. As had so often happened in celebrations in honour of the Forest Mother, Mjrina did not even feel herself climax - she simply rode the spasms of her pleasure, breathing huskily, and allowing wave after wave of convulsions to wash over her. Like a fertility rite, she could have continued until dawn, so it was with a little disappointment that she felt Senythina tenderly withdraw from her bottom and Sigrid gently lift her off the dildo by her hips.

Mjrina slumped back down to her knees and turned accusingly to Senythina, "You of all people should know not to interrupt the Forest Mother's Sublimation." she pouted.

"Forgive me, Mjrina," Senythina whispered apologetically, "but I really should be home before it gets too late. Elhanna might worry about me and I ought to be on hand in case Sehynneth starts crying in the middle of the night - Elhanna is a little too strict with her already, poor child."

"I suppose you're right." Mjrina conceded. She rose unsteadily to her feet, a trickle of lavender oil ran down the inside of her thigh. Sigrid, already exhausted from her journey back to Imej, silently willed the dildo to disengage and, much to her surprise, it obeyed her mental command, withdrawing its roots and falling wetly onto the carpet beneath her. She slumped back onto the floor, watching the painted ceiling and Senythina and Mjrina exchanging a sensuous parting kiss.

Senythina gathered up her dress and did her best to freshen up with a ceramic basin full of cold water and flower petals. "Next time there is a revel at the Temple of Hanali, I will let you know - we are always happy to have someone familiar with fertility rites to assist our worship."

They chattered on about which hallucinogenic herbs were best for a solstice revel, but Sigrid had long ago ceased trying to listen in. Instead, she crawled into bed and took refuge under a pillow. Herbalism and Elven fertility cults were, at that moment, far less interesting than sleep. Within moments, the lights were out and she could feel Mjrina's heartbeat close to her. The Wood Elf maiden smelled of sweat, sex and lavender. Sigrid buried her face gratefully between Mjrina's breasts and let her love rock her, cooing musically in Wood Elven, into the world of dreams.

***

Braids

Early morning at Tahllea's duelling hall, perched high on a glacier with a magnificent view of Imej's dreaming spires in the distance was always an impressive sight. Pristine, mountain sunlight drowned the wide, stony bedchamber, covering glossy walnut-wood furniture shimmering over the cool, perfumed water of three washbasins, all neatly lined up next to a dresser and a wide, silver-framed mirror. In spite of the rays of brilliant sunshine penetrating through the scenic window and reflecting off the tiny flecks of crystal in the granite walls, Dzelha saw only a warm, slightly shadowy darkness and heard Erieanal's soft breathing in rhythm with the subtle drumming of her heart. Dzelha had never rested so well in Imej. She was shrouded in a soft, indulgently feathery blanket that enveloped her and caressed her arms and back.

With a low sigh, Dzelha stirred, lovingly stroking Erieanal's slender, tautly muscled sword arm. "Are you awake, my glorious treasure?" the Star Elf whispered reverently.

"Hmm..." Erieanal hummed and tightened her arms around Dzelha's waist.

"Oh...my rare beauty, have I been sleeping on your wing?" Dzelha sat up suddenly and adjusted her weight off the Avariel's feathery wing. "I am so sorry, I just fell asleep..."

"There's hardly any pressing need to apologise when there's no harm done, right?" Erieanal smiled, stretching in the warm sunlight and joyously flapping her wings to relieve the stiffness of night.

"I suppose not." Dzelha said gratefully. She straddled Erieanal's waist to plant a series of quick kisses on the Avariel maiden's lips. "Especially since being cuddled by an Avariel is one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever enjoyed."

Erieanal's amber eyes shone with quiet satisfaction, "We like to think it's nearly as good as being bedded by a Star Elf."

"Perhaps," Dzelha mused, pretending to think as she caressed the valley between Erieanal's firm, round breasts, snaking down to the flat valley of her belly, "we have a particularly fascinating case of cultural...interaction. Here we are, and Avariel and a Star Elf, speaking in Grey Elven, sharing a High Elf's bed - Queluria can truly be a fascinating world."

"You are like me - traveller and sojourner. I hope we discovered something important yesterday." Erieanal said, playfully easing her thighs apart ever so slightly as Dzelha's caress danced over her navel.

"I did." Dzelha confessed. "You are as beautiful fencing as you are making love...but now, a cultural question, if I may."

"Please, it would be my pleasure." Erieanal replied, her Avariel Elven intonation so clipped and rapid that the syllables seemed to fade and jump into each other.

"How," Dzelha breathed huskily as she dipped her head to flick her tongue in Erieanal's navel, "do Avariel women like to start the day?"

"By making their lovers work for their reward." the Avariel replied nonchalantly, extricating her thighs from under Dzelha and bounding into the air to land, quite gracefully by a washbasin.

Dzelha groaned and fell back on the bed. Culture clash was, as always, a profound irritant. "I really loved last night." she said sweetly, trying to pull on Erieanal's heart-strings.

"I know, me too," the Avariel bent over the jasmine-scented washbasin and briskly washed her face, before dipping a clean washcloth into the water and brushing down her arms, belly and sex. "But merely because I am wandering traveller doesn't mean that my heart isn't that of an Avariel, so I wholeheartedly expect to be courted like one."

Dzelha drew a deep breath and kicked a pillow in frustration. At length, she rose and padded on the cool, stony floor to plant a kiss on the nape of Erieanal's neck. "From what I know about Avariel culture, that means plenty of presents..."

"Amongst other things." Erieanal said, grimacing at her smudged lip pigment and the fading golden spiral pattern on her wings. "Do you know where I can find Avariel cosmetics in Imej? I urgently need to re-apply my war-paint." As things stood, Erieanal thought, she was a disgrace to Lady Sky and to Faenya, patron of Avariel Bladesingers.

"Naturally," Dzelha purred, stealing a quick kiss on Erieanal's pointed ear. "And I can apply it for you."

"A woman of many manifold talents." Erieanal replaced the used washcloth in the basin of water and turned to face Dzelha. "Such a woman makes me want to stay in Imej a little longer."

Dzelha's heart leapt, for she could hear it in Erieanal's voice and see it in her eyes that the previous night had meant something deep and emotive to her, a meaning that Tahllea had never even pretended to understand. "If...if in the course of today I say something very stupid, promise you will forgive me."

"Dzelha," Erieanal said patiently, planting a soft kiss on the tip of the Star Elf maiden's nose. "When clouds gather, the rain will always come - always. But there is no use in trying to force the clouds. They know when it is time."

"At least it is a blessing Lady Tahllea is not here, she is hardly the type for this kind of conversation. At least not with the likes of us." Dzelha said pointedly.

"Lady Tahllea presumes far too much." Erieanal said with an ironic smile. "She would have to clip my wings before I settled down in her aerie."

Dzelha allowed herself a soft, complicit laugh and plunged her face into her own basin of water. It was not icy-cold as she preferred it in the morning, but she would ask one of the attendants to bring a pail of meltwater straight from the glacier when they bathed properly after breakfast. A nervous knock broke the morning silence.

"Mistress..."

"Come, in Alhana." Dzelha ordered. The apprentice edged the door open, peered inside and, once she had ascertained that Tahllea was nowhere to be seen, finally swung the hardwood portal open, pushing a glass and silver trolley that immediately filled the chamber with the aroma of freshly baked pastries, dried fruit in syrup and decadent cinnamon and walnut butter pudding.

"Did Mistress...I mean Lady Tahllea return last night?" Alhana queried, visibly relieved that her mistress was not on hand to humiliate her.

"No, we were expecting her at any time..." Dzelha began.

"But we managed perfectly well without her." Erieanal concluded with an impudent smirk. Tahllea was certainly not the type of woman a fiercely proud and independent Avariel Bladesinger would fall for.

Alhana took that to be her dismissal and, with mumbled thanks, withdrew to the rest of her morning chores. Dzelha sat down on the bed and took a rather enthusiastic bite out of a generous slice of walnut butter pudding. Erieanal joined her, staring intently at the strange forms and smells of Grey Elven cuisine. Dzelha paused as she noted the Avariel's diffidence. "Here, try." She raised a piece of the sticky toffee-brown slice to Erieanal's porphyry-painted lips. Deciding that its fragrance was, after all, quite inviting, the Avariel maiden took an exploratory bite. It was rich and darkly sensuous, with a hint of spicy sweetness that in no way overwhelmed the strong, nutty flavour of the confection. "How is it?"

Erieanal licked the sticky remains of the syrupy sauce that soaked the pudding from her lips. "Almost erotic." she answered, seizing the final piece from between Dzelha’s fingers in a single mouthful. The Star Elf maiden chuckled and brushed her thumb over Erieanal's lips.

"I want to kiss you." Dzelha breathed.

Before she knew it, Erieanal's sweet, moist lips were against hers. The Avariel kissed with the same ardent passion with which she fenced, her tongue a sword Dzelha would have been happy to duel against forever. When Dzelha finally broke the kiss to draw a long, satisfied breath, Erieanal grazed her lips around the Star Elf maiden's cheek to gently nuzzle her lover's long, sapphire-blue braids. "Some say the braids of a Star Elf woman are an unspoken language..."

"They are correct." Dzelha said proudly. Everything in Star Elf society, no matter how abstract or artistic had a fundamental social significance.

"What does this one signify?" Erieanal asked softly, running her fingers through a thin, intricately woven braid.

"The House Braid: it says that I am a daughter of House Tarsellis, but am too young to carry my House's name. Only senior priestesses and affirmed blademistresses have that privilege." Dzelha explained, taking a quick sip of herbal tea from an infinitely thin ceramic cup.

"And this one?" Erieanal's dextrous fingers danced onto to another, random braid.

"My Art Braid: it says that I am a Spellsword and that I am a blademistress of some experience."

"It must be so perplexingly complicated to remember all of them..." Erieanal said in wonderment.

"Of course it is, but is the first thing a Star Elf girl is made to learn in her formal education. Then, with an enchanted hairpin, they are not too difficult to do up after each time you wash your hair - as long, of course, as you know the right pattern...anyway, you will see when we go down to the baths." Dzelha said, offering Erieanal her refilled teacup. "Braiding, just like speech and cosmetics are important to us because they convey a language which ought to be unspoken - a language that unites all Star Elves and, just as life is a torrent in constant flow, so, too, do our braids change and some women even dispense with them altogether."

"Why?" Erieanal inquired curiously.

"Star Elven society can be rigid and those who choose to flee it often cut off their braids in protest." Dzelha never quite understood those who did so. She adored travel, but she and her sister, Jylzaela, both knew where their home was, so that they often missed the crystalline sea of the ice flats, the snow-covered canopies of the taiga or the shimmering northern lights of the festivals of the Pole Star Queen.

"You are skilled with your hands." Erieanal noted, admiring Dzelha's long, elegant fingers.

"Why, yes." A little flattery went a long way with Star Elves.

"Then I will teach you the protective patterns of the Avariel so that you may paint my wings." To entrust a non-Avariel with wing painting was a great honour indeed.

"I have the impression that my first courtship present will be a new set of Avariel war-paint." Dzelha said with mock suspicion.

"That," Erieanal cooed, wrapping her wings protectively over Dzelha's shoulders, "would be a superlatively excellent start."

***

Tahllea’s Evil Genius

Tahllea stood indifferently in a darkened corner of the oval chamber. A sea of blue cushions surrounded a singing fountain whose water was perfumed with orange-blossom essence. A dull blue light reflected off the cushions, flooding the stony walls, so as to produce the impression of being underwater. She watched as her adoptive brother, Jander of House Ahlirian, reclined naked in his armchair, a clearly aroused, blond Grey Elf boy kneeling between his thighs, happily sucking on his phallus. In front of them a slender, silver haired boy had his phallus buried to the hilt in the bottom of a long-haired, dusky-skinned Wood Elf youth who idly played with his own engorged cock as they coupled face to face. Grunting moans filled the air as the silver-haired Grey Elf strained against his lover, his glistening organ sliding rhythmically between the firm, taut buttocks of his Wood Elf lover. Jander's smooth, well-defined torso glistened with sweat and oil as the infuriatingly skilled blond boy took half of his master’s shaft in his mouth, his tongue flicking against the base of the nobleman's glans.

Suddenly, the Wood Elf boy groaned. His taut cock convulsed and shot long streamers of glistening, silver seed onto his own chest and belly, his rosebud contracting deliciously around the silver-haired boy's pulsing phallus. The Grey Elf withdrew from his lover’s bottom and forced his wet cock between the Wood Elf's lips, grinding and thrusting until he spent his seed deep into the darker boy’s throat throat. The Wood Elf gurgled in pleasure and hungrily swallowed his lover's copiously thick, savoury seed. Jander rose imperiously to his feet and his golden-haired lover instinctively turned to his hands and knees, his smooth cock bobbing with each motion. Jander grasped his shaft, its berry-pink head pulled taut and hard, dripping with fluid. He mounted the blond boy, positioned his cock against the puckered star of his lover's anus and thrust in. The boy gasped as Jander mercilessly mastered his bottom, thrust after agonising thrust until he finally spent his seed deep inside his golden-haired plaything. Jander measured his release in low, breathy grunts, before pulling out, his cock dripping with seed. Once Jander had taken his pleasure, the Wood Elf boy swiftly flipped the blond Grey Elf over and started to hungrily service his unfulfilled cock.

"Are you quite finished?" Tahllea inquired dryly. She never made Jander sit through her sessions with Ilmaeria and Alhana.

"For the time being." Jander replied dismissively. The silver-haired Grey Elven boy silently knelt at his master's feet to wipe his organ clean with a scented towel. "So, my darling sister, how may I be of service to you."

"In confidence, it appears that I have been outmaneuvered. Yssinel has seized the advantage and that wretched strumpet Sigrid is benefiting from this new development..." Tahllea began angrily.

"I take it you are alluding to the business about your biological parentage." Jander tossed his long, dark hair over his shoulder and stretched, admiring the musculature of his own biceps in the dim light.

"You knew?" Tahllea growled.

"My dear sister, a Griffon Cavalryman never mentions something unless it is relevant." Jander said, taking a glass of cold amber-coloured wine from his delicately muscled silver-haired servant.

"Well, under the circumstances it has become relevant." Tahllea snapped. "Yssinel is assuming the moral high ground with me and compelling me to duel Sigrid again. Naturally, I set a wager that I know I will win, but..."

"Nonsense, my lovely sister." Jander said striding over to Tahllea, a cruel smile on his lips. "One is never certain of winning a wager, you are here because you are worried you may just lose."

"There is a remote possibility, I suppose." Tahllea answered coldly.

"In which case, even that possibility needs to be eliminated." Jander drained his garnet-encrusted silver goblet in a single draught.

"What do you suggest?" Tahllea pressed. She knew Jander well enough to realise that he always had a solution somewhere up his sleeve.

"Very simply, you need to make sure that she is in no condition to duel you..."

"Could you be, perhaps, a tad more specific?" the Bladesinger snapped back.

"A trap, my dear sister, a trap. You see, each weapon, as you and I both know, has a weak spot. On the occasion of your last duel, I noticed she was wielding an exceedingly fine adamantine blade; probably High Elven manufacture from around the Tyrithian River delta, which means that it is almost pure eldritch-forged diamond and adamantium ore." Jander remarked, as if the information in question were common knowledge.

"So?" Tahllea loathed her adoptive brother's lectures as almost as much as she had loathed her pointless lessons in calligraphy and history at the School of Arcana.

"Adamantine of that purity normally has a resonance - a very specific tone that weakens the diamond in the blade."

"Such a specific resonance would be impossible to discover." Tahllea corrected.

"Without specific study, that is. Bring me her sword and I can see what I can do. Naturally, she must never notice its absence." Jander proffered his goblet for a refill of sweet wine, poured from a silver pitcher cast to resemble a griffon's head. "I take it you have an interest in this Sigrid."

"You could say so," Tahllea said sardonically, "but mine would not be the only frustrated desire in this House."

"Must you continue to disappoint me, my dear Tahllea?" Jander lamented.

"Now and forever." the Bladesinger answered, amiably enough. "It strikes me as bizarre for you to claim that I am the only woman who interests you when all you want to do is take me like you would a boy."

"But, my lovely Tahllea, your bottom has no equal..." Jander said worshipfully.

"That, dear Jander, you will never know for certain - but since Aulatha is here at the tower, you can ask her. I am certain she will be able to provide you with an extremely detailed description."

***

Catharsis

Sigrid ran as soon as she heard the door click open. Being able to see through the darkness gave her an advantage over the human novices. She dived to the side of the dormitory wall, clutching a tightly wrapped raisin loaf in her hands. Excited whispers followed. Sigrid saw her chance and sped through the opened door and down the stone hallway. Angry shouts and footsteps followed her. She dashed down the stairway and into the empty exercise yard. It was dark , so she wound her way easily under the cover of shadow towards the armoury. There, she knew of a secret trapdoor that led underground to an abandoned waterway. This would allow her to resurface in the Baths and make her escape back to her own dormitory without anyone noticing her presence.

She dashed silently, her nightgown clinging to her form with cold sweat. They were still after her, she felt it in the air without having to look or hear. Slipping through the armoury door, Sigrid felt almost safe. The trapdoor hidden under a pile of old leather breastplates was in sight. That was when something blocked her way.

"Fuck!" Sigrid growled. Someone had anticipated her presence in the armoury, she turned to run back out. That was when lamplight flooded the long, narrow chamber, casting its glimmer over endless rows of polished armour, swords and lances.

"Almost there, Sigrid? What a shame." Greta, buxom red-haired novice blocked the doorway with a spiteful smile on her lips. Sigrid whipped around. Tall, blonde Ithunn stood in the way of the trapdoor, her visage, as always, coldly stern. Behind Greta, two more distinctly irritated novices hovered, clad in their brown and green fencing tunics. The night watch had caught up with her.

"Fine, have the loaf back." Sigrid said defiantly, casting the bundle she clutched in her arms to the ground. It landed with a wet thud. Sigrid's stomach rumbled. She could almost taste its buttery sweetness under her lips.

"Not this time, Sigrid. Things have been disappearing because of you." Greta said menacingly.

Sigrid made a mad dash for the door. Greta caught her by the scruff of her nightgown and threw her back onto the floor. The Aasimar managed to break her fall with a well-timed roll. "What do you want?" she spat.

"Ithunn," Greta said coolly, "hold her down."

The tall, blonde novice nodded and complied. Sigrid tried to scramble out of the way, but Ithunn was surprisingly quick - testament to her deadly skill on the fencing court. Strong hands held her in an iron grip. Ithunn thrust Sigrid to the ground, her knee placed on the base of the Aasimar's back, her hands clasping the captive girl's wrists together.

"What do you want?" Sigrid whimpered. She was helpless under such unrelenting strength.

"To teach a sneaky, whorish Elf-cunt like you a lesson..." Greta barked, seizing Sigrid's indigo hair and jerking the Aasimar's head up.

"Greta!" Ithunn warned dangerously. "This is an Order of paladins, not a market, never use that sort of language in my presence."

"Hey, Ithunn," Sigrid said tersely, "if you really want to help you'd let me go..."

"Silence!" Greta slapped Sigrid so hard with the back of her hand that the Aasimar saw multichrome lights in her eyes. Hot, live coppery blood trickled down her nose and poured from her cut lip. Greta leaned down, her breath hot against Sigrid's ear. "You worthless, halfbreed bitch, you're nothing but a little rat, aren't you? A thief and a weakling and frankly, I have grown tired of your raids."

"Go to the Abyss, Greta," Sigrid gasped defiantly, struggling as Ithunn leaned harder into her back, "a common human like you will never understand the worth of an Aasimar woman..."

"Is that so? Let her up." Greta ordered.

Ithunn dragged Sigrid to her feet, still holding the Aasimar's arms firmly behind her back. Greta drew her dagger and sliced open Sigrid's nightgown from neckline to hem and tore the sundered garment off. Sigrid stood naked and trembling, bile-sodden rage roiling in her throat. "There's your Aasimar," Greta spat contemptuously. "You call this a woman?" The flame-haired novice drew threateningly close to Sigrid's ear, "Faerie-bitches like you belong either in the forest or in a brothel, make your mind up but don't bother us."

"My answer is the same as it always was," Sigrid shouted, her voice filled with burning defiance even as she blushed purple with humiliation. "Burn in Gehenna." Every time she walked into the Baths, her distinctive elfin physique was the target of relentlessly cruel jeers.

"That's your problem, Sigrid," Greta sighed. She brought her knee against the Aasimar's belly with such force that Sigrid felt the air rush out of her. She gasped and doubled over. Ithunn released her and she crumpled to the ground where Greta pursued her with two savage kicks to the belly. Sigrid tasted blood on her tongue. She clutched her bruised stomach in agony, doing her utmost not to give Greta the satisfaction of crying. "Your mother doesn't send you food packages because you are a miserable, arrogant halfbreed bitch and she is glad to be rid of you. But that isn't anyone's fault but your own. Now off to bed with you and if I catch you stealing again when I'm on the night watch I swear by the Goddess that you will regret it for as long as you live."

With that, Greta swept around and led two of her comrades out the armoury. At least, with the lamps gone, Sigrid could huddle in her cold, defeated misery. Her belly throbbed with dull agony. "Sigrid," a grave voice came from behind her. It was Ithunn. "Get up."

"Can't you see it hurts...fuck!" Sigrid hissed, angrily blinking back her tears.

"I know it does, but you are training to be a paladin of the Blessed Vigilant Maiden: your pain exists to be endured. Now on your feet." Sigrid felt herself dragged to her feet by firm, gentle hands. Ithunn took a long winter cloak from a rack of outdoor gear and draped it over the Aasimar's shoulders. "Are you bleeding?"

"Yes..." Sigrid replied weakly.

"Then you're coming with me to the infirmary."

Sigrid blinked. She was on fresh silken sheets and surrounded by curtains embroidered in a stylised, floral pattern. The air did not smell of steel or leather, but of dried flowers and citrus peel. For a moment, her mind hovered between Imej and the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden. She was in a silent limbo as she awakened from her waking dream. Each time she rested, those images, those mocking voices came back to her. Everything did, even the dull pain she remembered from being kicked.

"Sigrid..." Mjrina called from behind the curtain.

The Aasimar stretched in the bed and realised she had fallen asleep in Yssinel's room. She did not even remember how she had arrived there. "Just a moment," she called. Brushing the curtain aside she stumbled out into the late afternoon sunshine. Mjrina stood in front of her bearing a silver tray with a single golden cup. Sigrid gratefully took the cool metal in her hands and brought it to her lips. In the clear liquid, she saw her reflection. In an instant, she gave a sharp gasp and fainted dead away.

For the second time that afternoon, Sigrid awoke. It was late afternoon and she had fallen asleep on the divan in the garden. Someone, probably Mjrina, had spread a blanket over her. It was embroidered with a stylised, floral motif. Sigrid rose gingerly from the divan. In the distance, she heard chatting in Common. Then, through the garden gate came Aerylle and Min.

"Taking a nap?" the tiefling noted irreverently, sauntering casually into the garden. Aerylle stood by the gate, to be joined a few moments later by Yssinel.

"I shouldn't have," Sigrid replied, her eyes still growing accustomed to the bright light of the reddening sun. "But yesterday was a long day...and speaking of which, how are you coping?"

"Aerylle kissed it better." Min replied sardonically. The tiefling wore a simple, sleeveless grey top and black breeches, so that she looked far more darkly urban than anyone Sigrid could ever have imagined walking the streets of Imej. "By the way, I heard you enjoyed my little toy last night."

Sigrid felt her cheeks flush with guilty heat. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was yours."

"Never mind." Min shrugged. "I'm always glad to share, but you gave Aerylle a bit of a fright. You should've heard her - saying something 'bout what Yssinel's mother would think of her if she found," here Min affected Aerylle's cultured, schoolmistress intonation, "that awful thing in her home."

"Sorry..." Sigrid called with an inane wave, trying to catch Aerylle's attention. The Grey Elf librarian resolutely pretended not to hear.

"Anyway, I think we'd better get down to business." Min noted, carefully scrutinising each one of Sigrid's movements. She needed to know how the Aasimar's body reacted, even in the most banal of situations.

"I don't have my sword, let me go fetch it..."

"Nah, no need for that," Min interrupted, drawing back her long, straight ember-red mane with a casual flick. "Like I said, I'm not a fencer and I never held anything much longer than a dagger. You know how to duel with a sword, but you should also know how to move."

"Footwork?" Sigrid offered, a little perplexed.

"Not really. Y'see, if there's one thing I figure 'bout you is that you're a lot like me - you sort of know the position of things around you and can detect their movements without seeing them, or even paying much attention. That's 'cause your senses naturally do the work most people have to train for years." Min took a deep breath and exhaled, watching her breath mist in the cool evening air. The sky was a spray of red, gold and violet that reflected brightly off the frozen sheet of water that normally flowed down the far garden wall. Beyond the garden, on the street, Min could hear light chattering - perhaps a couple of servants cleaning the canal-side walkway of House Ceilanith's tower.

"All right, makes sense," Sigrid nodded. "So what do we do."

"Play." Min said curtly. The tiefling turned to Aerylle and Yssinel and snapped her fingers. On command, Mjrina came through the vine-wreathed garden gate bearing two leather gloves and a dense, hard rubber ball. Sigrid looked sceptically at Min, but the tiefling simply grinned and took a glove and the ball from the radiantly gracious Mjrina. "I don't know what you call this game, but Aerylle tells me all the high-up girls with an interest in sharp objects play it, so we might as well give it a try."

"Are you certain?" Sigrid tentatively pulled on a leather glove that very much resembled a fencer's gauntlet. As was to be expected of Elven workmanship, the white stag-leather was sinfully soft.

"Yeah, but with a twist." Min noted with an enigmatic smile.

Mjrina handed Min the ball and proceeded to tie a long strip of black fabric around the tiefling's eyes, before doing the same for Sigrid. "I am looking forward to this, Sigrid." Mjrina whispered huskily into the Aasimar's ear, planting a quick lick on its pointed tip. "Afterwards, I can promise you a long, relaxing bath." With that, the Wood Elf maiden secured the blindfold and returned to her mistress' side.

Undaunted by her blindness, Min made her way to the frozen wall, followed by Sigrid, who measured her step by memory and hearing alone. "The rules of the game are simple," Min explained, casually tossing the ball against the wall. She heard it bounce against the ice and maneuvered expertly to recover it in her glove in mid-flight. "You've got to keep the ball in play by bouncing it against the wall and the other player must return it without the ball ever touching the ground. If you don't return or the ball touches the ground on your turn, a point goes to the opponent."

"Understood." Sigrid said with determination. The game was logical enough - Min wanted to teach her how to concentrate fully on an opponent, predict even the unpredictable so that, when she eventually duelled Tahllea again, she would know simply by sound and hearing, where the Bladesinger's sword was about to land.

Wordlessly, Min served, striking the ball so hard against the wall that the ice cracked. Sigrid heard and felt the air around her change, the sound, the angle, the position all became a single point in her mind, so she instinctively reached for it. Her glove moved through darkness which, in Sigrid's mind, had already been filled with the details of the garden. She felt something hard and heavy stinging against her palm, so she returned the ball. A hard thud echoed throughout the snow-covered garden as the ball struck the wall and sailed back with blinding speed. Min caught it with a backhand strike and so began an energetic, sightless dance.

From near the garden gate, Aerylle and Yssinel watched seated on an emerald-silk upholstered divan embroidered with an abstract, circular pattern. Mjrina served them hot, eucalyptus honey diluted with cinnamon tea which they drank from hard, birch-wood cups. Aerylle watched Min's lithe body move with thinly-veiled admiration. All had been forgiven the moment she had stumbled back into her bedchamber that morning after her night at Yssinel's tower. That escapade, of course, meant that Aerylle was in no position to assume the moral high ground and chide Min for eloping without warning her.

"Where did you go yesterday evening?" Aerylle queried, a little accusingly. Yssinel had left her for an almost unbearably long period of time, though, when she returned, wearing only a heavy Winter Wolf fur coat, she made sure she was forgiven by spending an equally long time with her face buried between Aerylle's thighs.

"I just had some matters to clarify with Tahllea. Matters of the highest urgency." Yssinel replied truthfully. She wrapped her arms around Aerylle's waist and drew the librarian into a loose embrace so she could place soft, feathery kisses on her friend's golden hair and pointed ear.

"Last night was marvellous." Aerylle said, quietly losing herself in Yssinel's caress. "You made me so glad to be home again."

It works! Yssinel thought. She could barely contain her excitement. Ljra's ritual was, surely enough, taking effect and binding her to Aerylle. The dryad would be thanked generously in due course. "Always a pleasure, my love." the Enchantress said, tracing the curve of Aerylle's hips and thigh with the lightest of strokes from her fingertips.

"By the way," Aerylle said, her voice dropping to a low, confidential whisper, "did you see that gorgeous, northern nymph who came in with Min?"

"Yes," Yssinel replied, with masked irritation, "Aulatha."

"To be quite honest, I was so pleased that she and Min seem to be such good friends. She is magnificent." Aerylle imagined those strong hands, that wiry muscle, the hardness of Aulatha's bottom and thighs and shuddered with pleasure.

"Ask my mother." Yssinel said bitterly. "She is very well acquainted with Lady Aulatha."

"Lucky her." Aerylle sighed.

"My dear Mythila, you never understood my predicament, did you?" Yssinel said sadly. "I still never know whom to expect at breakfast or at dinner. We should be a family by now..."

"Oh, come now," Aerylle protested. "Only humans have such prejudices. Your mother is young at heart, let her live with passion." Aerylle's memories of Elinathanal, matron of House Ceilanith, were universally pleasant. Although a little aloof and detached, Yssinel's mother was unfailingly generous and an infinitely gracious host each of the countless times Aerylle had been her guest.

"I always envied your family," Yssinel confessed. "You knew and still know whom to love. Remember, when I was a child, I was so optimistic and naive and called all of my mother's lovers 'mother', too, until I realised it was futile. Within a month, they would be gone or relegated to a casual bedmate - all to secure ever more prestigious clients and ever more powerful sorceresses to commission her manuscript illustrations."

"She also did it to provide for you..." Aerylle ventured. There was a time in which she had been mildly jealous of Yssinel's wealth, but her own mother had, in the tradition of more modestly-endowed Grey Elven Houses, saved since her birth to ensure she could attend the School of Arcana and, eventually, an Academy.

"I could do without all of this, but I cannot do without her." Yssinel said miserably. "Every moment she gave to her lovers was a moment taken from me."

Almost inaudible footsteps made their way across the snow towards the divan. "Lady Aulatha." Yssinel heard Mjrina say enthusiastically. She cringed and reluctantly rose to greet her guest.

Aulatha, Yssinel thought furiously, was shameless. The polar nymph still held the wafer-thin golden chalice from the private collection that rarely left her mother's bedchamber. She wore only a pair of long, loose, silk pants which hung well below her hip bone, so that the silk only just shrouded the smooth, plump mound of her sex. "Lady Elinathanal will be down to greet Lady Aerylle shortly." Aulatha noted matter-of-factly, feeling very much at home with her bare feet in the snow. She took a sip of her ice-cold lichen-wine and stole an admiring glance at the frenetic match between Min and Sigrid.

"I...would be Aerylle, by the way," the librarian chirped with the same hideously sycophantic yearning Yssinel remembered from their schoolgirl days. "Such a pleasure to meet you - I understand you are a good friend of Min, my bonded lover."

"Indeed." Aulatha replied curtly, taking Aerylle's outstretched hand. With a graceful sweep, she pressed her lips against the soft skin. Aerylle very nearly swooned. "An honour, Lady Aerylle. Our hostess has nothing but praise for you."

"Are you comfortable?" Yssinel queried, a little coldly. Aulatha paid the Enchantress' masked hostility no attention.

"Yes, but I shall wait for Min and Sigrid to finish their match. I am to refer an invitation on Aravae's part for this evening. A private room has been booked at the Starshower Restaurant." Aulatha remarked striding over the snow to have a closer look at the ongoing game. Aerylle felt her throat tighten when she realised that Aulatha's white silk pants were virtually transparent, so that the outline of her thighs and pert bottom was clearly visible.

Elinathanal made a leisurely entrance a few moments later, freshly coiffed and perfumed, clad in a simple silver silk Enchantress' robe with a heavy, purple cloak to ward against the cold, she bore herself with such regal majesty that Aerylle, as ever, was overwhelmed by her presence. "Your bond honours my House." Elinathanal said with a gracious nod of her head, invoking the traditional Grey Elven greeting for a bonded pair.

"Many thanks, Revered Matron, I hope Min is not disrupting your garden." Aerylle replied, respectfully falling to one knee to kiss Elinathanal's outstretched hand.

"Not at all, my dear child, it is a pleasure to have such vigorous activity from time to time. Otherwise, I find that this House assumes a staid, lifeless air." Almost immediately Elinathanal had detected Yssinel's troubled demeanour. "My daughter," she said with an almost imperceptible smile, "I am pleased that Lady Sigrid has graced this House. I could scarcely imagine a more appropriate Kithela, so," Elinathanal paused, pretending to think, "I have given much thought to setting aside some funds to purchase her a better sword - one truly fitting of a heroine. I find that the weapon you provided her, though magnificent, falls a little short of perfection. This situation must be rectified. Although I am no expert in this matter, Lady Aulatha is and she, quite kindly, recommended the name of a High Elven Artificer who makes her home near the Sea of Fading Dreams. She only produces one sword every twelve years, or so I am told, but I think that Sigrid would make an ideal candidate for such a gift."

"You are too kind." Yssinel replied dryly. She could not quite dispel the image of her mother writhing and moaning huskily on the bed with Aulatha’s hand buried in her sex.

"Generosity, my beloved daughter, is a virtue - much like hospitality. Lady Aulatha will be joining us for a formal dinner this evening. You may invite Tahllea, if you wish...Mjrina, my dear, I hope you did manage to find fresh Cypress Honey..."

"Yes, Madam Matron," Mjrina replied, respectfully lowering her eyes when addressed, "I bought a dozen combs."

"Good girl, such a lovely, devoted Handmaiden." Elinathanal purred, placing a soft kiss on Mjrina's hair. Yssinel felt her blood begin to boil. It was going to be a long evening.

***

Five for the road

The Starshower Restaurant bustled with life. Situated in a modest, but lively part of Imej, it had acquired some renown for its excellent, free-flowing berry wines and infinite varieties of freshly baked breads and fine preserves. It was also the restaurant where Aravae's mother still worked as a pastry cook. At first, Aravae had been reluctant to choose the establishment as the venue for a social evening, but Iniila, eager to exorcise the phantoms of her past, had insisted. In the end, stepping into those familiar walls of old, but polished wood and even recognising some of the longer-serving members of the kitchen and serving staff was something of a bittersweet pleasure. Of course, it helped that she was now a ranger and not an angry, resentful scullery maid.

Since Aravae had heard that Tahllea had accepted Sigrid's second challenge, she had been eager to provide a show of support for her friend, so she had put together a little gathering that soon grew into an energetic dinner party under a pinewood ceiling studded with tiny, glowing red motes of eldritch light. Predictably enough, Dzelha's surprise guest stole the attention, a little to Sigrid's chagrin, but Erieanal was, admittedly, quite a spectacular and exotic blademistress. Aravae had spent what seemed like an eternity complimenting the Avariel's freshly painted wings while Dzelha proudly proclaimed that she had been the skilled artist who had brought the complex, stylised and sinuous protective ward to life with turquoise and gold paint.

Though not especially luxurious, the private dining room had a certain homely coziness, with its cushion padded circular divan and simple embroidered tablecloth. Sigrid simply allowed the flow of tart, copper-red Enilh berry wine and the endless succession of masterfully prepared fruit tarts to build into an indulgent rhythm. Rather than celebrate her return to Imej and her defiance before Tahllea, the dinner had made the Aasimar forget about the upcoming duel altogether and rather concentrate on understanding her companions. Surprisingly, though, it was Aravae who took the initiative, patting Sigrid's thigh gently under the table to gain her attention.

"I am so happy for Dzelha," Aravae enthused and Sigrid nodded in vigorous agreement. The Star Elf had curled up on the divan and leaned her head on Erieanal's shoulder, a blue and gold painted wing wrapped protectively around her. "Pity Mjrina cannot be with us tonight."

"Yssinel is having a lavish dinner of her own." Sigrid remarked, watching intently as Iniila and Erieanal vigorously debated whether tracking was more challenging in the sky or on the forest floor. "Aulatha and Min wanted to come tonight as well, but I suppose they could hardly have refused Yssinel’s invitation."

Aravae chuckled softly under her breath, "Remember what a mess they made in the ranger's cabin? I would not be surprised if they found a pack of wolves there next time, sniffing about..."

"Aravae!" Sigrid laughed, pleasantly stunned at the bawdiness of her friend's joke.

"I know, I know, but it was nice to see that Iniila is as sensuous as ever. We had a rather fiery, if clumsy, infatuation when she used to work here."

"Are you thinking of renewing it by any chance?" Sigrid insinuated playfully.

"Well, as we both discovered," Aravae said smugly, "I am a woman full of surprises."

"Speaking of surprises, Min is a frustratingly good Iquilá player..."

"Really?" Arave said incredulously. She knew Tahllea disliked the game, which she believed was too soft for a Bladesinger to seriously consider playing, but a number of Elven noblewomen who took a more balanced approach to bladecraft and sorcery used it for endurance and coordination training.

"Yes, it was the first time she played the game and not only did she beat me, she also managed to win against Aulatha." That particular match, Sigrid recalled, had left Aerylle flushed with excitement and much more involved in the sport than she expected a librarian to be.

"I heard you are training blindfolded, that must be difficult." Aravae noted, taking a quick sip of berry wine. She was not much of a drinker, but the flavour was a comforting reminder of home.

"Not as much as you may think." Sigrid boasted, finally deciding to make herself at home. She kicked off her boots and stretched on the divan. If Erieanal's eager chattering continued, it was going to be a very long night.

"Sigrid," Aravae said pensively, changing the subject, "I just had the strangest idea."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"I had the impression that the five of us would make a very good adventuring party."