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Subject: Wulf: Nemesis 1/5 (m/f, m/f/f/f, f/f, cons. s&m)
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	Nemesis is yet another chapter in the ongoing adventures of
Wulf the Freelance, fantasy adventurer and reluctant sex machine. I
invented him a few years ago as an antidote to the poor quality of
erotic fiction on line (you know what I mean, the vile kiddie porn and
the vomitous snuff crap, to name but two especially scummy genres),
and as a tribute to some of my favorite writers and authors (among
them Bill Willingham, Michael Moorcock, Jack Vance, Fritz Leiber,
Stephen Brust, Phil Foglio, plus others too numerous to mention).
Since then he’s participated in probably about a quarter-million words
of fantasy swashbuckling and messy sex, and is still going strong.
	Nemesis is yet another serialized tale (along the lines of
Wulf’s last adventure, "Stormking"), and is the first chapter of the
new epic, "Dark Vengeance." There is, however, one important
difference between it and "Stormking" (take note before sending
e-mail). I will not be working on "Nemesis" continuously, but will
take time out to tell other Wulf and Wulf-related stories in between
installments. Other Wulf tales include "The Wizard of Shark Island"
(based on my current AD&D campaign which is unfortunately stalled
about 1/3 of the way through), and "Mark of the Zombie," which
features the crew of orc Cap’n Skrall’s ship "Conqueror," and is
totally Wulf-less.
	The present tale contains miscellaneous acts of lesbian and
hetero sex (haven’t dipped too strongly into gay male sex yet, since
I’m not really all that familiar with its - pardon the pun - ins and
outs), including some elf bondage sex, daemon buggery, strap-on
biodildo lesbian sex, a multispecies foursome, oral, anal and old
reliable conventional sex. 

	This story is not intended for distribution to individuals
under 18 years of age.

FINALLY: AN IMPORTANT NOTE TO OUR LOYAL READERS:

We have changed servers AGAIN, and now can be mailed as
marawuti@ipinc.net. Our website is now www.ipinc.net/~marawuti, but is
likely to change yet one more time in 3 months or so. The reason for
this is that our old isp, Spiretech, for whom I briefly worked, laid
me off after less than 4 months and left us sucking vacuum. I chose
not to continue service with this stupid company and their stupid,
short-sighted, incompetent president, and so have moved to ipinc.
We’ve been thrown slightly off-track by this blindsided betrayal, and
I’m struggling to find something to replace the income I’ve lost. In
the meantime, Wulf and company are constant companions and actually
quite a comfort. Their world is uncomplicated and straightforward, and
despite its dangers, is infinitely hospitable. Better than our little
scrap of dirt, wouldn’t you say?

Best wishes to all.

Dark Vengeance
Part One: Nemesis
A Wulf Tale in many parts

Prolog: The Dark Elven Realms
	The room was lit with deep indigo, purple and blue with a high
vaulted ceiling that vanished into grey misty shadows. Two women sat
in silence, a study in contrasts.
	The first sat upon an elaborate seat of carved stone, with
snakes and daemons twisting along its legs and arms, and a great black
dragon’s head projecting from its high back, staring with magically
glowing red eyes. She was a dark elf, her skin deep black, her
heavy-lidded, almond-shaped eyes a rich purple. 
	Captive beauty is such a lovely thing, thought Lady Thae’Lynn
N’Quy, Duchess of Darkoak Hill, Keeper of the Black Ring, Mistress of
the Thirty-three secrets, Holder of the Sacred Chain. Beauty chained,
restrained, bent to your will. Particularly, she mused with a
delicious shudder that set her rings to jingling, when that beauty is
an arrogant one, golden-haired and vain, like her race’s cousins, the
ancient light elves.
	One such kneeled before her now, her skin a pale contrast to
Thae’Lynn’s ebon flesh. Keeper Vaenetha Toliurim, former Mistress of
Stag Vale and Protector of the Four Keys had fallen far since the
Stormking’s rebellion, now reduced to kneeling, chained and naked,
before the representative of her people’s mortal enemy. Yet, even in
bondage, the high elven woman maintained a trace of dignity, a spark
of the self-assured hubris which was her race’s hallmark.
	Thae’Lynn smiled to herself, while at the same time
maintaining an air of icy disdain. She was happy that the elf retained
a small amount of her old spirit.  All the more pleasure in the
breaking.
	Lady Vaenetha held out her shackled wrists in a gesture of
submission. Thae’Lynn tried not to notice that the gesture made it
appear as if the elf woman was offering her breasts as well as her
wrists. The room was chilly, and the Vaenetha’s pink nipples had begun
to swell.
	"Lady Thae’Lynn," Vaenetha said softly, pale blue eyes meeting
Thae’Lynn’s deep violet ones, "I come as a representative of my
people. You asked that I come before you naked and unarmed, in chains
as a slave, and so I have. I offer myself in the name of all my fellow
refugees, those who followed the Stormking and are now exiles. We beg
your succor and your protection."
	Thae’Lynn drew a deep breath and gazed away absently.
	"And why, as one of the pale ones, who banished my people ages
ago, do you come seeking my protection?"
	A flash of fear and indecision flashed across Vaenetha’s
exquisite, alabaster-sculpted face.
	"My Lady, surely you know."
	"No. I do not. Pray tell me." Thae’Lynn kept her voice steady
and emotionless.
	"The Stormking, Lady... He was... He was your ally, Lady
Thae’Lynn. He led us in rebellion against our rightful queen, the
Silver Lady. We fought our own people on your behalf. We were..."
	Thae’Lynn let the silence stretch between them. "You were
what?"
	"We were deceived, Lady. By you. Now, as a result of your
deception, we are without a home, rootless exiles, hunted criminals.
We helped you once, Lady, though it was without our knowledge. Now, we
ask that you help us."
	The dark elf raised her eyebrows. "You speak bravely, little
elf, for a naked, helpless captive." She tugged contemplatively at the
silver stud in the center of her lower lip. "The Stormking was my
pawn, true. And you were my dupes, fighting your bitch queen like
dutiful little soldiers. But I owe you nothing, foolish little elf. No
more than the gamemaster owes his dice."
	Oh, the lovely, delicious expressions which pursued each other
across the golden-haired elf’s face! Anger, fear, disappointment,
tragic loss... and finally, finally...
	Oh, the finest and most lovely of all expressions -- absolute
surrender, the desperate desire to find something, anything, to say or
do, to change the unchangeable. It was the look of the condemned
prisoner at the gallows, of the spurned lover, of the wealthy man
seeing his fortune vanish before him.
	At that moment, Thae’Lynn knew she had won.
	"Please, lady," Vaenetha said in a small, broken voice. "We
beg you. We will do anything. If you do not help us... We will... We
will all..."
	Thae’Lynn waited a long time before replying, then finally
cast the elf a sidelong, narrow-eyed glance, flashing a smile like a
cracking whip.
	"Hm. Perhaps..." She mused for another long moment. "Perhaps
you will have your uses. You say your people will serve me in any way
I ask."
	"Any way, Lady. We’ve no other choice."
	"Hm. How many of you are there."
	"Nearly two hundred. Once we were thousands. We have many
different skills which would serve you well."
	"Of that," Thae’Lynn replied, smile widening, showing off the
multiple dark rings that pierced her flesh, "I am certain."
	She felt a faint throbbing in her thighs and a deeper, warmer
sensation at their junction as she watched the elf’s response. Sudden
hope, tempered by barely restrained terror of what the dark elves
might inflict upon her and her fellow refugees.
	"I require proof, of course," Thae’Lynn said, keeping a tremor
of growing excitement out of her voice only with stern effort. "I
require you to prove your sincerity."
	The elf swallowed, holding her head up, shaking her thick
golden tresses. "What do you require of me, Lady?"
	Thae’Lynn stood, loosening the neck of her gown.
	"Much, little elf," she whispered. "Very much."

*    *    *    *
Wulf
	Lady Daedora is a relatively regular visitor to the "Skate,"
and her arrival usually involves wild sex, in which I am, more often
than not, uninvolved. Like so many of my other female acquaintances,
her preference is for my companions, Livia and Narisha, and though I’m
sometimes invited, their activities are usually noisy, exuberant, and
regrettably ladies only. Not that I really mind all that much; the
constant attentions of Livia and Narisha are enough to exhaust even
the strongest and most virile of men, which I am neither.
	This appeared to be one of those nights, I’m afraid, during
which I sat around with Stef or, worse, Udo, drinking and getting
morose while the entire ship rocked to and fro, and the occasional
wail of passion echoed up from Narisha’s well-appointed little love
nest-cum-cabin. This night, however, proved different.
	For those of you who may be totally confused by all this
expository babble, I should probably stop a moment and explain. My
name is Wulf, aka several other equally uninventive names, including
Chuma (keep that in mind -- it will be important later, and there WILL
be a test). I’ve been all things in my day... No, wait a minute; that
was that other guy. Let me start over again.
	The name most commonly associated with me is Wulf. It’s known
to the authorities from Cold Isle to the Demon Realms, and with
special fondness in such citadels of good taste as Stoneburg the Free
City, the Elven Isles, and the Dark Elf kingdoms. Until recently I
made my living as a petty thief and freelance adventurer, though since
our acquisition of the mercenary cutter "Skate," we’ve added
smuggling, exploration, salvage work and occasional piracy to the
resume.
	When I say "we," of course, I include myself and my merry
crew, including Stef the thief, who keeps losing parts of his body and
getting them reattached, Udo the drunken and only marginally sentient
dwarf, Jikjik the goblin accountant (go figure), and Turlu the bosun,
whose skill with a knife is equaled only by his ability to cheat at
cards. I’ve got some other miscellaneous friends, too, but they’re off
on their own ships or having their own adventures, and don’t show up
in this narrative.
	Then, of course, there’s the women, who are, I’m sure, the
ones you’re most eager to hear about. My affections are pretty much
equally divided between Narisha, a lusty wilderness of crimson flesh
and black hair, and Livia, a blonde, freckle-faced little
nymphomaniac, whose innocent exterior hides a heart that is the  very
soul of perversity. Narisha is a demon, that is to say a race of
creatures who physically resemble infernal beasts but are actually
entirely mortal, and Livia is, well, she’s a thief like me. She’s just
a kick-ass sorceress to boot.
	My history with these two is well known, and has been
chronicled in my previous memoirs. I like to think that I’ve played a
role in mellowing them both out a tad, since Narisha isn’t quite so
demanding, nor is Livia quite so selfish and manipulative since they
both started sleeping with me. I am, in all likelihood, wrong in this
conclusion, but it at least helps me deal with the frustration of
seeing them vanish belowdecks with a delectable dark elf woman,
apparently bound for an evening of lustful exploration and penetration
of multiple orifices.
	This left me walking the decks, noting the inspiring sight of
Big and Little Sister rising above the silvery waves, full and
crescent, shield and scimitar. Somewhere to the north were the Elven
Isles, where the Silver Lady and her councilors strove to keep
together an increasingly fractious and chaotic domain. To the west lay
the endless grassy Veldt Lands, home of my greatest lost love, the
warrior woman Ushandra, while south of us the towering crags of
Arwensland concealed and protected the mysterious kingdoms of the dark
elves. This last was, of course, where our new guest had come from,
flying out of the night on a black-furred warbat.
Above me there was a rush and flap of wings as the aforementioned
warbat, which had until now been hanging upside-down from a yardarm,
plummeted toward the deck, then swooped into the air, lightly grazing
the calm water, then flapped away like a scrap of paper blown on the
breeze.
	"Holy shit!" echoed a gruff voice from nearby. "Wha’ the fuck
wazzat?"
	Udo the dwarf tottered out of the shadows, clutching, as
always, a bottle of Ol’ Gimli’s Rotgut. 
	"Just a big bat," I said, calmly. "Ignore it."
	"Oh. Ah. Mm."
	That was about the extent of the little bugger’s verbal
repertoire, but I didn’t feel all that bad as he fell into unsteady
step beside me.
	"’at’s what da elf girlie came in on, wuzzunt it?"
	"Yes, Udo," I replied. "She flew here on a big black bat."
	"Hm. Kinda cute, fer an elf."
	"Not an elf, Udo. A dark elf. Only don’t ever call them that
to their faces."
	"Hm. Okay. Why not?"
	"It’s an insult. Kind of like calling a dwarf a sheep
buggerer."
	Udo’s face suddenly contorted with anger. "Hey! Who the fuck
called us THAT?"
	I was saved from further pointless banter by the surprising
appearance of my beloved Narisha.
	She really is the sort of woman who makes you stand up and
take notice, if you take my meaning. She’s tall - only a few
fingerspans shorter than me, from her tousled, jet-black hair to her
powerfully-muscled legs, and everything in between screams loud, hot,
passionate sex. She follows the usual demon fashion trends, which is
to say wearing as little as possible, in as alluring a manner as
possible. Demons, you see, rely upon their natural toughness and
resistance to normal weapons to protect them, and figure that armor is
nothing but an impediment lustful ogling.
	This time, however, her expression was anything but lustful,
and she seemed far too somber to have just completed a bout grappling
with Livia and Daedora. She was also dressed relatively
conservatively, in heavy trousers and a man’s shirt open nearly to the
navel, revealing a deep crimson gorge between her breasts.
Unfortunately for the rest of the world, Narisha looks painfully sexy
even when she’s not trying to be.
	"Wulf," she said, uncharacteristically quiet. "You need to
come down. Daedora has something she needs to talk to you about."
	"Heh heh heh," chuckled the oily little dwarf. "Talk, huh?
Izzat wha’ she calls it, the li’l minx? ‘Talk’, huh? Yeah, Wulf. You
go do some talkin’ fer me, okay?"
	I briefly considered tossing him over the side, then finally
decided that we probably needed him, and followed my demon lover
belowdecks.
	Her cabin was set up for a conference, rather than an orgy,
and the other two women seated at a table, regarding me with sorrowful
gazes. Damn, I thought. Someone must have stolen their lubricant
supply.
	Fortunately for me, I kept the thought to myself, instead
bowing slightly to Daedora.
	"Lady," I said, politely. "I’m sorry, but your bat seems to
have flown away."
	I got a small smile for that.
	"Don’t worry. He’ll find his way back."
	There was a sadness about her that I had not seen before. Like
all dark elves, she was black-skinned, with pure white hair and deep
bluish lips. Her face was sharp and active, her deep violet eyes like
a fox’s, normally alive with mischief and cunning. Unlike certain
other dark elves, Daedora shunned bodily modification, and her skin
was smooth, absent rings, bars, scars and tattoos. She wore a
fur-lined tunic and tight trousers, and sipped from a steaming mug of
tea.
	"Hello, Wulf," said Livia, voice soft and restrained, then
cast her pale-blue eyed gaze down at the table. Her gown was the same
shade of blue, complimenting her short blonde hair and accentuating
the generous, but not grossly overblown, curves of her breasts and
hips. Even as I once more admired her delicate beauty, she sighed
deeply.
	Gods and daemons, I thought, they’re ALL like this...
	 "So what’s going on?" I demanded, seating myself, and feeling
a lurking sense of dread. "Tell me before I go out and hang myself."
	Daedora began, speaking softly. "Something terrible has
happened. And something even more terrible is likely to happen, as
well."
	"That," I said, pouring myself a cup of tea from Livia’s
magically self-heating pot which sat, happily steaming, in the center
of the table, "is not very encouraging. What’s happened and how
terrible is it?"
	"She’s locked horns with an old friend of yours, Wulf," Livia
said. "Remember Thae’Lynn N’Quy?"
	Now if there’s ever a name tailor-made to boil my blood, it’s
that ring-studded dark elf bitch. Alternating trying to fuck me and
trying to kill me (usually in concert), she’d managed to get me
embroiled in two elven civil wars, murdered uncounted thousands, and
been indirectly responsible for the death of my lover Sarra, a wild
elf druid. Our last encounter had ended with Thae’Lynn and her daemon
lover teleporting to safety a bare instant before my lance skewered
her like the last piece of meat at a dwarven banquet.
	"How can I forget," I replied, as calmly as possible. "If ever
there were two people who wanted to see each other dead..."
	"We know she was behind the Stormking unpleasantness," Livia
said. "And probably that demon assassin who tried to kill you, Wulf."
	"Her schemes have grown in scope and cunning since the Elvish
Isles debacle," Daedora said. "She is now the undisputed ruler of the
Dark Elf lands."
	My head snapped around at that, and I sat straight up, heart
pounding.
	"Gods damn her," I growled. "How the fuck did something like
that happen?"
	"That’s what Daedora was busy telling us," Narisha said. "Now
that you’re here she can continue."
	"Hell," I said. "I thought you were all down here having sex."
	"That," Narisha said, "would have been a welcome alternative.
Unfortunately, it will have to wait." She stretched, breasts
struggling to escape from her shirt and reminding me that some things
don’t change. "Not too long, I would hope, however. A good session of
whipping and fisting does wonders for driving off depression, my dear
little dark one."
	I winced, and Daedora smiled again, but still looked weary.
"My lovely demon," she whispered. "I hope to oblige you again soon.
But we’ve other things to discuss now."
	I poured myself some tea, cast about for biscuits, and settled
in for a long story.

Daedora
	Deep within the labyrinthine canyons and grim mountains of the
Dark Elven realms lies Council Spire, a single shard of black granite
rising from a dark, stony plain. Here, where the sky is always
storm-tossed, and lightning brings but a brief, electric glare to the
shadowy landscape, and where dark winged things flap and squawk, the
Zhalha'sarr'im rulers gather once per year in solemn assembly to
discuss their realms and decide upon matters that affect them all.
	Daedora journeyed there this year, along with her aunt Shadera
and her uncle Vomoss, heirarchs of House Yth’ela. She was young for
such an honor -- well under fifty years -- but her parents, lesser
household nobles and Zhalha'sarr'im had raised concerns about
Daedora’s unorthodox ways. Specifically, her tendency to leave the
safe confines of the Darkhold, as her people called their homeland,
and seek adventure in foreign, dangerous lands. Her romantic
relationships with, among others a demon woman, human sorceress and
human thief, remained secret, and Daedora knew that were they to be
found out, her parents’ rage would know no bounds.
	For the moment, a trip to the Council with her more
influential aunt and uncle was considered sufficient to at least show
her the majesty and glory of Dark Elven culture, for these events were
invariably accompanied by excessive pageantry and spectacle as each
house sought to outshine all the others. Subtlety was a dark elven
trait when it came to foreign relations and the manipulation of
outsiders, but was a lost art when it came to internal politics.
	Though somewhat distressed, and desirous of another trip
abroad (when she thought of Narisha Daedora’s thighs ached and she
found herself craving a cool drink of water), Daedora found herself
looking forward to the Council with growing anticipation. The many and
varied traditions of the different houses fascinated her, from their
elaborate ceremonial garb, their strange accents and court customs,
and even such esoteric points as their magical rituals and sexual
practices. These last were a source of primarily intellectual
curiosity for, like many dark elves, Daedora found most others of her
kind distinctly unappealing. The declining birth rate of the
Zhalha'sarr'im was linked to many things, not the least of which was
the fact that dark elven males and females generally held each other
in complete disdain.
	And so it was that Daedora clambered into a luxurious howdah
atop a great, sluggish dray lizard and joined the winding House
Yth’ela caravan beneath grim indigo clouds and began the long journey
to Council Spire. Discomfited by primitive conditions -- she had only
two slaves to see to her needs -- Daedora was grateful when the high,
forbidding massif at last emerged from the gloom, already surrounded
by the retinues of a dozen Dark Elven families.
	The seemingly frail and slender needle of rock was deceptive
-- close up it was enormous, honeycombed with passages and chambers,
hollowed out with ancient magic -- powerful spells long forgotten.
Daedora sighed with relief at sight of the rooms assigned her, and
sank into the deep, black marble tub, eager to wash away the travails
of her long journey. A pair of twin nethron servants attended her, and
Daedora left the bath chambers feeling refreshed and renewed.
	Daedora dined on fresh water shark and landsnails Shadera and
Vomoss, then spent the hours between dinner and moons-rise dressing in
her finest spidersilk gown and elaborate silver and emerald jewelry,
then allowed the slaves to painstakingly coif her long white hair,
weaving it with platinum wires, deep purple gems and spangles in her
household colors of green and black. Finally, she placed her personal
firewand at her belt -- unlike other races, Dark Elves were expected
to attend councils armed. When finished, she stood before a full
length mirror, gazing at herself with frank admiration.
	Her race, she knew, was a selfish and narcissistic one. For
Zhalha'sarr'im, Daedora was downright charitable, but even she could
not resist the potent lure of her own reflection, of the dark, wicked
beauty she exuded, from delicate, pointed face with its small, pouty
mouth painted silver, to her shapely, exposed shoulders and pert
breasts, nipples stiff and starkly silhouetted against the purple silk
of her gown. When she walked, the black skin of her thighs was visible
though the high slits in either side of her long skirt, and a pair of
silver sandals wound thin tendrils about her calves, almost to her
knees.
	The pressing, but deliciously impossible desire to make love
to herself tugged at Daedora. Perhaps, she mused, allowing a throg to
wrap her in a fur-lined cloak, our race is dying out because none of
us can ever find a passion to equal that which we feel for
ourselves...
	House Yth’ela was seated in the dome-roofed council chamber,
household guard resplendent in black and green enameled armor, spears
held on guard, and Daedora watched the rest of the families arrive.
The scions of House Jabushan marched into the chamber, eyes fixed
rigidly to the front, faces expressionless beneath dragon-crest helms.
House Devora came, clad in bright colors and outrageous clothing,
scandalizing other, more conservative families. Duchess Reanna Nythor
and her daughter, the Baroness Shav’rae entered, escorted by a pair of
demon guards in black armor, and followed by a long train of relatives
and retainers bearing household banners. Young Faela M’Than, come only
recently to Patriarchy of his house, entered with his own version of
Shav’rae’s demons, a squad of steel-clad bull jarreks.
	Others came -- the green dragonscale guards of House Nendotha,
the slender bat-riders of House Voale, the furtive assassins of House
Inytas, and the other minor houses -- Uthiam, Nashla, Ruthas, M’non
and Yaleatta. Last came Prince Tyreth, the virtually powerless
ceremonial ruler of all the Dark Elven realms. The position of King or
Queen remained unfilled, at least until, as Dark Elven tradition
dictated, they returned to the elven homeland and replaced the
treacherous light elves who had usurped rulership of the land.
	No, wait... Daedora’s eyes scanned the chamber, counting
households, matching family crests with retinues, then looking back to
the Prince, who stood in the center of the chamber, looking confused
and angry.
	Where, Daedora asked silently, was House N’Quy?
	It took several long moments for the absence to finally sink
in with the dark elves who now filled the chamber. No house would dare
defy convention and arrive after the High Prince...
	Apparently, it quickly became evident, Thae’Lynn N’Quy,
Duchess of Darkoak Hill would, and did, for a few heartbeats later,
she and her escort appeared, striding confidently into the chamber.
	No one could deny that Countess Thae’Lynn was a perversely
beautiful woman, tall and slender, with her dozens of gleaming
piercings, her elaborately braided and coifed silver hair piled atop
her head, and her luminant purple eyes. She wore a midnight-black gown
with an open bodice, revealing her breasts and silver-studded nipples,
and a single sculpted black thigh.
	Thae’Lynn was beautiful, true, and cunning, but she had also
led her people into countless disasters, from the abortive invasion of
the Elven Isles to the ill-advised backing of the rogue sorcerer known
as the Stormking. Her intrigues grew more elaborate and cunning with
each passing day, and many considered her the prime schemer in all the
Zhalha'sarr'im lands.
	Her household was one of the strangest of all, as well,
reflecting her xenophilic tastes. An exquisite young Dark Elven
beauty, naked save for silver chains, eyes downcast, led the
procession. Daedora guessed that this would be Yawesha'ae, Lady
Thae’Lynn’s favorite plaything. The Duchess of Darkoak Hill herself
was borne on a litter by a quartet of minotaurs, and beside her walked
her black unicorn, Valla. Daedora shivered, recalling the tales of the
beast’s carnivorous appetites. Behind her, leading a column of
household guards strode the fearful form of Mazzor, Thae’Lynn’s daemon
lover. Last in line came a curious procession, a group of white robed,
hooded figures, bearing a second litter, this one concealed by a white
cloth screen.
	The Prince whirled, his face a mask of annoyance, melting
quickly into curiosity.
	"Lady Thae’Lynn!" he said, his high voice echoing off the
domed, vaulted ceiling. "We are pleased you could join us at last.
Perhaps you could explain your tardiness?"
	Thae’Lynn nodded graciously as her bearers set down her
litter. "A thousand pardons, your grace," she said. Though her voice
was soft, steel underlay her tone. "My retinue, as you can see, is
rather elaborate, and we were unavoidably delayed."
	"Mm." The Prince seemed unimpressed. "Unavoidably delayed,
Lady? Very well, we will overlook the infraction. Please take your
place among your peers."
	Rather than complying, Thae’Lynn stood, stepping down from her
litter as graceful and dramatic as an animated ebon statue.
	"Again, my apologies, My Prince," she said. "It is just as
well that things have gone as they have, for I’ve an important matter
to bring before these assembled dignitaries."
	Now the Prince seemed truly annoyed. "Lady Thae’Lynn, we will
deal with your important matters in due course. Other houses have
business to discuss as well."
	"Mm." The steel in her voice became more obvious. "I believe
that my matter is of considerably greater importance than anything
these worthy nobles --"
	The Prince’s tone was harsh. "Lady! Take your seat, or..."
	"Or what, My Prince?" Thae’Lynn demanded. Mazzor stepped
forward, talons gleaming with implicit threat. "I only ask your
indulgence for a moment, then I will take my place if you still feel
it is warranted."
	Tyreth stepped back involuntarily, eyes wide. Around him,
hands went to sword hilts and his personal guards gripped their spears
more tightly. All seemed suspended for an instant.
	"Very well, Lady," Tyreth said, softly. "You have my
indulgence. But if it is not worth my time and that of these assembled
nobles, there will be consequences."
	Thae’Lynn smiled, as if victory was already hers.
	"As you know, my agent the Stormking was defeated in battle
two years ago."
	"And we are still paying the price for your folly!" shouted a
voice from House Nendotha.
	Thae’Lynn ignored the taunt. "And in the wake of his defeat,
the Elven Realms are in chaos. Hundreds of the Stormking’s Light Elf
followers fled, and wandered throughout the lands of the Inner Sea."
	Thae’Lynn gestured, and the hooded figures came forward,
bearing their heavy, concealed litter.
	"At last, my fellow nobles, with nowhere else to go, they came
to me, their ally and sponsor. They offered their lives and souls to
our cause, my brothers and sisters."
	One by one, the figures removed their hoods, revealing the
fine-boned, golden haired visages of light elves, males and females. A
hush fell over the assembled Zhalha'sarr'im.
	"My kindred, it is well known that in all the history of our
race, none of us have ever had light elves in our households. I now
have accomplished such a thing. These light elves are pledged to me
and to House N’Quy."
	Thae’Lynn’s burning violet eyes scanned the chamber, and
Daedora felt the other woman’s gaze rest briefly on her.
	"What will they do for me, you ask, my brethren? To what
lengths will they go for their beloved Thae’Lynn? Let me show you."
	She made a quick gesture, and the assembled elves moved,
setting down the litter and removing the white screens.
	"Behold," Thae’Lynn declared proudly, "Keeper Vaenetha
Toliurim, and her new lovers."
	The assembled Dark Elves gasped in involuntary astonishment at
the scene before them.
	Upon the litter was constructed a framework of black wrought
iron, end caps in the form of bat and dragon heads. Astride the
framework, wrists bound to a pair of metal crossbars, was a graceful
light elf woman, naked save for a harness of black leather straps that
presented her breasts like offerings on a tray. Doubt-maddened eyes
noted that the two swollen pink nipples were pierced by heavy silver
rings, with a fine chain hanging between them. Her face was uncovered,
her expression was a delicate combination of wide-eyed fear, but mixed
with anticipation and smoldering excitement. Some observers noted the
effect of overindulgence in dream-smoke, but even this was amazing,
for it was well known that Light Elves never partook of such things.
	And that wasn’t all. The scene before them was, to the eyes of
the Zhalha'sarr'im, almost inconceivable. The high elf woman, lithe
and lissome as all of her kind, clad like a Dark Elven courtesan,
slowly spread her supple thighs apart, revealing a cleanly shaved
pubis, pink vulva naked and hairless, a purple gem glittering from a
silver ring that pierced her clitoris. What had happened, what god or
goddess had been stirred to action, what cosmic law has been
transgressed, to bring one of the proud, the golden, the chosen, to
this state, a bound, eager captive, lying naked and exposed before her
enemies?
	It defied logic and ten thousand years of experience. Between
the elven woman’s legs crouched two black-skinned Zalha’sarr’im, a
male and a female, also naked, also pierced and chained. After the
first few moments of shock finally began to subside among the
assembly, something new and even more unbelievable happened.
	Slowly and deliberately, with apparently practiced ease, the
two Dark Elves began to kiss, lick and bite their way up the elven
woman’s splayed thighs. The elven woman -- who was she? Keeper
Vaenetha? -- closed her eyes briefly, and her pink tongue moistened
her lips. Her pierced breasts rose and fell, chain glittering in the
faint violet light, and the silent assembly fancied they could hear a
tiny moan escape from her throat.
	Daedora’s thoughts mirrored those of her fellow nobles. Who
was this Keeper Vaenetha? Thae’Lynn said she had followed the
Stormking. She was a woman without a country, now, a hunted outlaw.
But even that made no sense, and did not explain her behavior. What
high elf would subject herself to this? What high elf would allow
herself to be...
	To be what, Daedora wondered, feeling her own excitement grow.
Best not to question. Best to only...
	Only watch...

[end of part one]


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