Sigil - Book I

by CrimsonLotus

Sigil Preludes | Sigil Book II

Sigil Book I - Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Sigil Book One, Chapter I

So traveller, now begins our story true and proper, to which the preludes you have no doubt browsed were but a foreshadowing. Anyone, I suspect, is capable of concocting his or her own recipe for disaster. It's only a matter of time, however, before we stumble upon the formula accidentally. If hindsight is perfect, it is only because, compared with our dreams and fantasies, life is always tragic. So we look back and retroactively allocate blame to arbitrary events of people. The truth of the matter is, of course, that fate has a way of always finding things to go wrong. Some, with nothing interesting to say, would conclude "that's just life". Of course, that's only half the story because it is its tragedy that makes life interesting. Why else would people pay to go to the theatre?

- The Archivist, your narrator

"Il est plus honteux de se défier de ses amis que d'en être trompé."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ai! easy." Marséna protested.

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

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

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

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

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

"Conjugate giban in the present indicative." Virginia challenged.

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

"Thought so." Virginia taunted.

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

"Hey, but neither can...."

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

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

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

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

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

"No, Reverend Sister." The paladin mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Reverend Sister."

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

"What?" Came the impatient reply.

"Won't Syf..."

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

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

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

The three initiate paladins bowed and gratefully took their leave.

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

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

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

"Out!"

Virginia was only too happy to obey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So we wait?" Marséna said impatiently.

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you think?" Friyya snapped back.

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

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

"What's Isobel's problem with you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmm?"

"I envy you."

"What?" Friyya snorted.

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

"Trouble with Shesayne?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Case and point." Virginia concluded smugly.

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marséna...I never..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Has it for you?"

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

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

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

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

Virginia stood there listlessly. Not another word was exchanged.

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

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

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

"May I enquire why, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We quarrelled."

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

"I know you do."

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Won't Syf miss you?"

"Let me worry about that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

"Well, there is the spider issue."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fortune favours the brave, right?"

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

"What, Friyya? No..."

"Yet you are intimate." Lily explored.

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

"How so?" Lily asked, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

"If only Isobel knew..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." Virginia replied, her heartbeat accelerating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what happened to us, ma baudesa?"

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

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

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

- I remember -

Night - which in Sigil meant dark grey verging on pitch blackness. Virginia and Marséna were still novices, though they would be Consecrated soon. They used to go to the Temple's communal bath for privacy. Marséna was always the more passionate, impatient one, almost slamming Virginia against the hard, cool, damp marble wall. The sound of water in the pool lapping in slow, unhurried waves was the only complement to their ragged breathing. They kissed with eager, youthful passion, Marséna stripping her tunic off and virtually tearing Virginia's open. The dark haired girl's breasts were magnificent, Virginia thought, even in the dimmest light of the chamber she could admire them in their tense, generously firm, rounded glory, nipples hard, brown like coffee in milk. She needed Marséna as much as she herself was needed, but Virginia preferred her passions to mature subtly before bursting out.

Virginia kissed back breathlessly, pressing her body against Marséna's, fighting back. She lavished her tongue on Marséna's sublime breasts, savouring the olive skin, hungrily mouthing the stiff nipples, impudently erect in the cool, humid air. Breaking the kiss, Marséna hastily unfolded the the cloth-wrapped bundle which Virginia had brought with her, revealing an intricately carved and elongated olisbos, specially conceived for two women to share and mildly enchanted to reproduce the firm pliability of real flesh. Marséna slid one end of the implement into Virginia's sodden sex, eliciting an immediate, desperate gasp from the blonde paladin. The enchantment of the shaft allowed it to be physical and sensual bridge between a couple, transmitting sensations and stimulation. Thus, when Marséna gripped the exposed surface of the olisbos, a wave of tight, tense pleasure filled Virginia's belly.

Still pressing Virginia against the wall, Marséna began to work the other end of the dildo into her, slowly at first so as to agonise Virginia's anticipation, before finally relenting and sliding herself resolutely down the shaft. Virginia gave a sharp cry, Marséna's lips were on her throat now, as she felt the raven-haired girl begin to move her hips, thrusting herself against the intruder buried deep in her sodden sex. Pinned against the wall, Virginia had no choice but to absorb the waves of sensation filtering through the shaft inserted in the innermost recesses of her sex. She felt the pulsations vibrate maddeningly against her most sensitive spot hidden deep within her canal, just as the little sensory impulses teased the stiff little bud of her clitoris.

But with the contractions of her own sex, Virginia could also feel Marséna's whose mute, rhythmic cries settled in the form of hot breath and soft vibration against the sensitive skin of the blonde paladin's neck. Virginia felt a knot tighten between her legs, deep in her pelvis and she knew she would not last long, Marséna's thrusting was frantic, the perfect form of the dark-haired paladin's slender thighs and flat belly was magnificent as it strained against her lover's paler skin. Virginia seized the opportunity to explore Marséna's breasts, hips and the delicious, feminine curve of her bottom.

Marséna reached her peak first, the meticulously carved surface of the olisbos tugging at the cherry-red inner lips of her sex had become intolerable. Lost in a flurry of passion, her raven-black hair spilling over Virginia as Marséna lunged forward, impaling herself, crying out her lust and love in long, strangled breaths against her lover's breasts. The sensory assault generated by Marséna's orgasm overcame Virginia almost immediately afterwards, as the blonde paladin felt the knot between her thighs suddenly loosed, her limbs becoming like liquid as she whispered Marséna's name into the girl's ear, before being compelled to bite down, hard, on a sun-kissed shoulder to prevent the sounds of the outpouring of her pleasure from travelling too far around the Temple.

"Make me yours," Marséna said breathlessly, kissing up Virginia's neck, "I want only you to fill me until there is nothing left to take."

Marséna withdrew from the dildo and kissed Virginia fiercely on the lips, her teeth bit down maliciously on the blonde paladin's chin and jawline. The effect was immediate as Virginia felt a surge of ferocity building up in her. She seized Marséna roughly by the hair, pulling up the girl's chin so she could have access to the exposed neck. Virginia adored the saline residue of Marséna's sweat mingled with the clean, citrus breeze of her lover's perfume. It was a marriage of flavours which never failed to make Virginia's blood quicken.

Now firmly in control, Virginia spun Marséna around, forcing her face first against the wall, one hand hooked around the raven-haired paladin's torso to clasp a supple, perfectly balanced breast and to feel the throbbing heartbeat underneath. Virginia bit down on Marséna's shoulder as the Mareterran spread her thighs to allow her lover better access. Virginia did not need further invitation and took the exposed half of the olisbos and placed its wet, flared tip between the divine hills of Marséna's sculptural bottom. Marséna mewled in anticipation as she felt the pressure of Virginia's hips build on the tight, puckered ring of her bottom and then bit down on her lower lip in mixed shock and pleasure as she felt the shaft penetrate her.

At first ,Virginia took it slow, knowing better than to rush this particular form of intimacy. It was so much better savoured with slow, deliberate thrusts which drew out the most endearing little startled breaths from Marséna's rich lips. But the sensation for Virginia was exquisite, too, the dildo communicating the heat, pressure and tightness of Marséna's delectable bottom.

Feeling fully opened, exposed vulnerable to her lover, Marséna could only bite down harder on her bottom lip, little gasps escaping her each time Virginia thrust in. She felt the impulses from the olisbos course through the thin membrane which separated the inner recesses of her bottom with the secret spot deep within her sex. Behind her, she felt Virginia emit a sharp, guttural cry and felt the waves of her lover's pleasure like a great primordial sea overwhelming her.

Marséna collapsed forward, her empty sex and aching bottom contracting spasmodically, the marble of the wall cool on her cheek. Virginia cupped the raven-haired paladin's chin in her fingers and tilted her head slightly so she could kiss her. She then withdrew the dildo gently first from Marséna's bottom and then from her sex, before they both collapsed against the wall, holding one another in an intimate embrace.

"I'm in love with you." Marséna said softly, her breath still a little short as she gathered Virginia's head in her arms.

"Me too." Virginia replied, not really pondering the nature of her lover's statement.

"I mean, I couldn't imagine myself being with anyone else, now or ever." Marséna's voice had that rich, thick passion which both stimulated and, at times, frightened Virginia.

"I love you, child, but there is still so much time. There is so much we have yet to see."

"Is my love not enough for you?" Marséna's voice had a trace of indignity in it.

"Of course it is, but at our age...it's too early to be thinking of that."

Marséna stared sullenly at the floor. Virginia tried to comfort her, placing tender kisses on her friend's cheek, but, with regret, felt it moisten beneath her lips.

"Let's get back to bed." That was the last thing Marséna said that night. Instead of climbing into Virginia's bunk - for then they slept communally - as she had almost always done, Marséna slept alone. There was no fight, no loud crying, no recrimination. Nothing but a change in the relationship everyone had assumed to be on very solid foundations. Soon they forgot their bitterness, but never remembered the heights of their passion.

That fateful night Virginia dreamed. She was alone in a field of golden, ripe wheat, so high it reached beyond her elbows. The air was rich with a herbal, floral scent, the sky open and turquoise with not a single cloud in it. The sun, rich and intense as she had never seen it with her eyes captured the ears of wheat, which waved only slightly in the cool breeze that came from the ocean which Virginia could not see, but hear and smell. Then, all of a sudden, in front of her was Marséna, in a simple, flimsy white peasant dress, her iodine-hued skin seemed to glimmer in the sun. She wore a coquettish wide-brimmed straw hat and she was smiling at Virginia, her hand extended.

Then, before she knew it, Virginia was on the ground, still moist and cool from the morning, Marséna by her side, lips locked in an eternal embrace, hands already fumbling to remove any offensive clothing. For the rest of the dream, they simply made love, spontaneously, passionately, surrounded by the golden wheat. Never had Marséna's lips or sex tasted so sweet, never had her cries been so melodic, never had her tongue been so dextrous as she lay between Virginia's thighs, her raven-black hair spread like a mantle around her.

When Virginia awoke, her face was covered in tears though she did not remember weeping the previous night. It was then she that, whatever happened, she would never stop loving Marséna. She could ignore loving her, perhaps, for some time, so that she would temporarily be like a sister to her. But the fact was always there and ultimately ineluctable, eternal like the Great Spire which held all the Planes of existence together.

*********

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

"Yeah. Worst night of my life."

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

"You little bitch..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm allowed to." Friyya replied succinctly before taking another spoonful.

"You see, Lily," Virginia said so as to draw the dark elf, who had begun to lose interest in the meandering social interaction around her, into the conversation, "we have the honour of being in the presence of the highest object of this Temple's desire, whether they be novices, priestesses or paladins."

Friyya blushed slightly and Syf's heart swelled with pride though she gave no outward sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you play?" Lily replied.

"Sorry..."

"Cards or dice."

"You mean gamble?" Friyya ventured.

"Yes."

"No, never in my life."

"Not that you can remember." Marséna snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

"Please." Virginia invited.

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

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

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

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

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

"Aren't you cold in your nightshirt?"

"Aren't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigil Book One, Chapter II

The sands of time are often unsettled. They seem to be subject to random movements, exposing that which should lay hidden and hiding that which, on all accounts, ought to come out to the light of day. Now, in our humble little narrative, those same sands are beginning to shift uncomfortably. They say you cannot escape your past, but that is inaccurate (quite aside from being platitudinous), because the past is not independent of your conscience. To want to escape the past and to bury some memories forever is like wanting to escape from yourself, and I don't think you can run from yourself even if you're riding on a githyanki skiff on the Astral Plane. Then, of course, evading the past defeats the purpose of life: the past is there precisely to tell you all the bloody stupid things you should not do in future. So we have links to the past, little reminders of lives we lived. Sometimes it is a dress, or a species of flower, or a phrase which we rescue from the night of time. Whatever the case may be, these are bridges not only with our previous - or future - selves, they are also, potentially, our most important bridges to others.

- The Archivist, your narrator

"O dignitosa coscienza e netta,

Come t'e' picciol fallo amaro morso!"

"Easy, easy, easy, Min or there'll be pieces of us floating around the Spire." Shesayne warned, mentally activating the shimmering, translucent containment stone which floated over the pulsating artifact.

"How the hell do you know it's unstable?" The tiefling queried, very gently shifting the grotesque, alien item which very much resembled a vile fusion of a mollusc and a brain carved in sickly green stone.

"Pulsation, pulsation, pulsation." Shesayne replied didactically, she had the intuition for these things. She could feel the restlessness of the artifact's enchantment course through her. The half-elf could only hope that the containment stone did its job and prevented any further effusion of magical radiation.

"What do you reckon it is?"

"Mind flayer, probably, but why in the Nine Hells it was tossed down an underground reservoir is a secret even my brilliant mind struggles to explain." The dark-haired half-elf's movements were as full of nervous energy as Min's were languid and elegant. Shesayne's impish face always bore an energetic smile, as if there were always something vaguely amusing about life in general. Today was the exception to the rule, Min noted, as Shesayne seemed more pensive than usual. Pensive and Shesayne were not two concepts which had previously even remotely occupied the same thought in Min's mind.

Shifting the artifact slightly to one side, Min could ascertain that it had not fused with the cistern's surface. That was no consolation as they now stood at least twenty feet underground, in almost pitch blackness except for the faintly luminescent containment stone. The monstrous thing on the ground would have to be shifted at some point before the cistern could be filled again. Some sort of purification would also have to be arranged as the artifact had easily corrupted even the was quantities of water which had been contained around it, causing an outbreak of vividly unpleasant stomach disorders.

"How are we going to get this sodding thing out, then?" Min said in frustration. They always seemed to get the worst retrievals.

"Dunno, levitation, flight...cables and pulleys..."

"With a containment stone?"

"Probably not then...how about the same way we came in?"

"I'm not carrying that thing all the way up the ladder." Min protested.

"Not us, my linear thinking friend, now that the item is secured, we can send for support in the, uh, backbreaking labour department."

"That'll take ages." Min sighed. She had really wanted to go home as soon as possible for a quick wash and change before meeting Aerylle for dinner. But, there was the problem of Shesayne who had insisted on unloading herself - all her troubles, frustrations and obsessions included - in Min's already extremely cramped bedsit. Worst of all, though Shesayne was slender and compact, she moved constantly in her sleep, stirring in an endless sequence of incomprehensible dreams and very much irritating Min to the point in which she had strongly desire not only to dump the petite half-elf out of the bed, but out of the window as well. Sleep was to Min the most sacrosanct of institutions. Disturbing her whilst immersed in deep sleep was akin to eating her freshly-excised liver in the scale of execrable acts.

"Why are you in a hurry? Something essential, indispensable for you to attend to?" Shesayne provoked, her rapid-fire singsong delivery aggravated Min to no end when it was used to stir up arguments. Which was, after all, Shesayne's hobby.

"Yes, now that you mention it."

"So has she whipped you, trained you into shape yet? I bet you're enjoying all the silver knives and crystal goblets."

"You're one for sarcasm today." Min said, like yesterday and the day before, she thought.

"Well, truth be told, it looks like it's shaping up fine, running on excellent." Though the half-elf was almost incapable of envy, she could but cross-reference Min's recently good spirits with her own difficulties.

"Yeah, she's nice. Sometimes a little stiff, but I'm working on that."

"I bet you are." Shesayne said, with a knowing smile which was broader than usual. Min, who had never been shy about her personal affairs with Shesayne had regaled the half-elf with enticingly detailed accounts of her romantic encounters.

"You'll never guess what she bought for me." Min said before resigning herself to dragging the artifact closer to the ladder which reached up towards the surface, from which only the tiniest shaft of light peered down into the cistern.

"What, what, what?" Shesayne's curiosity had definitely been alerted.

"I said guess."

"Flowers, jewellery, silverware, expensive wine, expensive perfume..."

"Try a skirt, all gauzy with some sort of plant pattern." Min said with some embarrassment.

Shesayne's mouth remained slightly agape, a incredulous smile forming on her lips, "Sod it, you're joking."

"Nope. It looks like she misses her extensive ceramic doll collection, or something, 'cause she obviously wants to dress me like one."

"Did you actually try it..." Shesayne could not suppress a soft, impish laugh, like silver chimes tinkling.

"No. Fucking. Way." Came Min's curt response.

"Hmm...get it all out now, because she'll definitely have a go at you for your, ah...colourful expressions."

"Yet another problem." Min said, mildly more preoccupied with how to shift the heavy carving out, up by the ladder.

"So, Lady Min, I wish you all the best of luck. Sounds like a marriage made in Elysium."

"That one's getting old and irritating, Shesayne." Min retorted between gritted teeth.

"Three hundred says you'll wear it."

"What!"

"Within, say, twenty days."

"Are you barmy? Who do you take me for?" Min was somewhat indignant, she thought Shesayne knew her better.

"Then it's an easy three hundred." Shesayne continued, hedging her bets on her intuition.

"Hmmm..." Min considered the proposition briefly. It was a standard month's salary, but she reckoned she had the willpower to carry her refusal through, "You're on."

"Right, three hundred with Tymora, Lady of Fortunes as our witness."

"I hope you actually have three hundred lying around." Min said sceptically, she had forgotten how many times she had to buy Shesayne lunch because the half-elf strapped even for a few coins.

"For you, sweetest, I'll find them." That, of course, was a lie, but Shesayne knew there was no chance whatsoever that she would lose.

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

Cirily was still thinking about Elyszara's torn dress as she laid out the main table in the spacious dining room of the attic apartment. With dextrous fingers, she effortlessly organised the symmetry of the plates and cups, her firre ancestry gave her a very keen eye for both visual and aural aesthetic detail. She immediately knew what could be considered beautiful though, in time, she had been forced to concede that there was something of a correlation between the beautiful and the valuable. If something was deemed valuable, even if it was a Howler-skull necklace, it became beautiful by definition, though only philosophically speaking and not by aesthetic merit.

To her, however, Elyszara was both valuable and beautiful, an unfortunate dependence that weighed heavily on Cirily's mind. Perhaps she would confront her beloved, there was almost certainly a perfectly rational explanation. Indeed, Cirily had no intention of coming across as paranoid, commanding or in any way cause discomfort. Elyszara could be highly strung enough as it was.

"How are our delightful little preparations going?" Elyszara inquired, sauntering in with her typically nonchalant grace. Much to Cirily's chagrin she was still wearing that godsforsaken indigo lip and nail paint. Combined with a flimsy white blouse and sheer, inky-black leggings, Cirily reflected that her lover looked like she was ready to join an assassin's guild.

"Fine, but you look like an alu-fiend."

"Oh come, it's supposed to be mysterious...and standing next to you, I could never be in bad taste." Elyszara said, her tone more seductive as she moved behind Cirily, running a hand up the hem of the flame-haired aasimar's loose, copper-coloured dress.

"You always get off too easily," Cirily began, her voice breathless as her blood quickened under Elyszara's expert caress. She felt her nipples begin to peak uncomfortably under the silky consistency of the dress, the friction of the engorged flesh against the smooth-woven fabric was becoming intolerable, "please tell me you'll wear something more respectable tomorrow."

"All to complement your extraordinary cuisine, my dearest." Elyszara said as she kissed her lover's shoulder. "I had Harys send out the invitations today, nothing too fancy, just a little get together for some refreshing socialisation."

"I thought you only said us plus five." Cirily said suspiciously.

"What fun would there be in that, I told them to bring guests."

"Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?" Cirily snarled, irritated that she was effectively being asked to be cook and caterer at the same time. Elyszara was allergic to any duty so menial as helping out in the

kitchen or laying the table.

"Occasionally," Elyszara said maliciously, her hand now under Cirily's dress, cupping the girl's sex.

"You always get off too easily..." Cirily's voice trailed off as she leaned forward on the table, her sex already moist and aching, in reaction to the provocation of her lover's knowing fingers. Elyszara knelt behind her. As Cirily felt her beloved's tongue dance and glide wherever its whim took it, she realised that, despite the mounting tension between her thighs and the fire in her hips, she could not quite get that shimmering dress out of her mind.

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

I'll kill her. Syf thought to herself standing by a spartan, wooden desk in the modest temple library of the Order of the Radiant Path, It's not a crime of passion, it's a crime of frustration. But I'll kill her, it won't take long, just one thrust of the sword between her breasts and it's over.

The paladin was contemplating the elaborately written invitation letter Elyszara had sent. If this was not some sort of perverse provocation, she did not know what was. Syf's sword hand felt like gripping something. This turmoil, of course, was relegated to Syf's mind because her cool, commanding exterior betrayed no outward signs of emotion. Her piercing, blue eyes remained calm, but behind them, her brain was in ferment. If she was had been invited, then so had Friyya. This setup had the potential, Syf thought, to be the single most difficult situation she had ever encountered, trials and combat included. And by far the most unpleasant. To cap it all off, she had a residual, nagging headache from the bottle of tough, tannic Mareterran wine she and Marséna had shared the previous evening.

Of course, Syf did not wish Elyszara ill will as such, but her relationship with Friyya was by far and away the most important thing in her life outside of service to the Order. Of course, a moralist could point out that it was Syf who had strayed in the first place. A firm "no" the first time would have been all that was required to prevent this situation and all its awkward, painful and humiliating corollaries. That moralist, Syf concluded, had clearly never had Elyszara's soft, sensual lips kissing down her throat, whilst agile, slender fingers unbuttoned her blouse, slowly and expertly so that the fabric scraped ever so slightly against stiffening nipples...Syf surreptitiously bit down on her lip, but made sure it was hard enough to jerk her back to the present situation. To be sure, she was a paladin and ought to have reflected the virtues embodied by her Order which, in the Founding Axioms, certainly underscored the importance of fidelity and self-control. But, for all her disciplined, controlled exterior, Syf was also human - too human. Anyone, of course, could err once. Syf never considered herself a saint, but the operative word there was once. Ideally, she would have explained the situation to Friyya after the first time, taken her distances from Elyszara and hoped in the forgiveness of her beloved. Of course, in an ideal world, their order would not even have to exist and Syf, paradoxically, feared Friyya's rage more than the embarrassment of discovery.

The mess would be cleaned up, though, Syf meditated, the initial anger at receiving the invitation subsiding, and though Elyszara would probably escape without a longsword to the chest, whether Syf herself would be that lucky was still anyone's guess.

From the corner of her eye, Syf spied Marséna approaching from amongst the rows of desks.

"Something's vexing you?" Marséna chimed and Syf gave her the satisfaction of pretending to have been surprised.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, that silly girl keeps sending these invitations when she knows we're not supposed to be out of Quarters after curfew." Syf lied. It was something she normally hated doing which, rationally speaking, was a shame because her cool, collected exterior would have made her a very good pathological liar indeed.

"C'mon, it'll be great, she has relatives in high places apparently, there shouldn't be any trouble if we're discreet."

"Her mother, apparently." Syf specified emotionlessly.

"I think it would be an excuse to unwind a little."

"I think it would be an excuse for you to drink too much."

"You are so cynical, cease never to have faith in your fellow man or - indeed - woman." Marséna said with affected grandiloquence.

"I should be going to mess hall for lunch, care to join me?" Syf inquired, eager to change the subject.

"Always." Marséna assented, smiling as she led the way through the maze of desks.

Following the Mareterran out, Syf could not help but detect - or imagine? - the slightest sway in the paladin's hips and the perfect curve of her bottom, every bit as perfect as the rumours held, only slightly concealed beneath the skirt of the simple brown-bordered green tunic, secured with a leather belt, which all paladins of their junior rank wore as off-duty uniforms. Syf tried to seize back control of her wandering mind: rationally, Friyya fulfilled every single one of her desires and did so with impeccable style. She did not even have to tell her lover what she preferred because Friyya had apparently perceived it from the first time they made love. In the end, Syf decided, it was matter of being simple, fallible flesh and blood.

The mess hall was overrun with novices, distinguished by their white tunics, a fact that lifted Syf's spirits a little. She enjoyed the blanket of awe and fear which she extended over the paladins-in-training. All thanks to her merciless fencing drills, soon, Syf plotted, she would have the same presence and impact as Isobel. It was only a matter of time.

They took plates of steaming soup - which Marséna immediately complained was bland - and loaves of black bread - which Marséna had categorically never touched since coming to the Order, claiming it was unfit for human consumption. Not that Marséna was picky, unlike Friyya, but she really did not see why the kitchen didn't at least make an effort to add some herbs, some walnut or olive oil, or even a little goose fat to make things vaguely more edible.

"You're staring at my ass, aren't you?" Marséna said as they searched for a quiet spot down one of the long communal tables which ran the length of the mess hall.

"Hold you mouth in front of the novices." Syf snarled.

"I don't blame you, I was once told by a painter from Mareterra that I had a such a classical figure that I needed to be painted. You, on the other hand, sometimes I think you're a man born in a woman's body."

"Do not be foolish." Syf said, immediately regaining her composure as they sat down. Before she had joined the order, Syf had always enjoyed physical pursuits: running, wrestling and mock fencing. Taller than most of the boys, human or otherwise, she had always quickly earned immediate and unconditional respect. Nevertheless, Syf had never forgotten for a moment that she was a woman and certainly did not need to braid her hair, paint her nails or wear silk to confirm it.

"I'm joking, Syf, our work would be much easier if more women were like you." In reality Marséna admired Syf - her cool, piercing eyes, those noble, commanding features. When Syf became Syf the Instructor, then she was like a martial statue, but when she smiled, or patiently stood guard when one of her sisters was ill or injured, then Marséna thought her positively radiant.

"What about a fencing bout, later?" Syf probed, tearing a hunk out of her loaf of bread. She could afford to be prodigal, she would have Marséna's soon as well.

"By all means. There was a lesson I was hoping to teach you." Marséna picked at her soup. There were day in which, by necessity, contraband was her only form of nutrition.

"Keep hoping. You aren't eating anything, you should take some food if you want to last more than few strokes."

"How can you actually eat this?" Marséna asked in disgust.

"Food is food."

"No," Marséna corrected, "food is my mother's bread and cheese dumplings, fried in goose fat with crushed tomatoes and maybe some reheated blood sausage on the side." Had the memory been any more vivid, her mouth would have begun to water.

"Let's not get into this argument again." Whenever Marséna went down that route, Syf was almost grateful for her soup.

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

"Tomorrow, the ceremonies for your Consecration begins. Today, I have a curiosity I would like to leave satisfied. Everyone in the centre!" Isobel declared imperiously. She had been using Syf to illustrate the ideal forms of the appropriate stances, guards and attacks to be employed with the longsword and dagger. The dozen or so would-be-paladins gathered around nervously.

"Marséna, face Syf." A murmur spread through the group, only to be immediately silenced by Isobel's hand.

The raven-haired novice complied, the sword she had been using for practise still in hand. Unsure of what was happening, she could only stare in to Syf's impassive, piercing eyes. There was nothing to be read there, nothing to be known beyond that cool, perfectly collected exterior.

"Everyone else back!" Isobel ordered. Compliance was immediate as the group withdrew a few paces to allow Marséna and Syf a clear fencing circle.

"Present!"

Syf obeyed immediately and assumed a two-handed ready pose.

"But Reverend Sister, those are...uh, actual cold-wrought steel swords." Friyya protested.

Isobel spun around and was in front of Friyya in two strides, "Thank you for identifying my deficiencies in melee weapons recognition. Your comment is duly noted." With that, she brought down the braided leather cane - more like a whip - hard on Friyya's thigh. The auburn-haired novice crumpled, biting her lip to restrain her sobbing so as to minimise Isobel's satisfaction.. Virginia caught her and Friyya leaned into her friend for support.

"You never learn, do you?." Virginia reprimanded lightly, helping Friyya prop herself up.

"Save that for after curfew." Isobel snapped, "Now, back to where we were before I was deservedly corrected. Let's see what you two can show me. Marséna, en garde."

The Mareterran complied, though she assumed her usual unorthodox stance, body positioned laterally with respect to the opponent, relatively close to the ground, sword held forward in order to minimise the target and maximise reach.

"Engage!"

Marséna dived in first, trying to bring in her blade for a low cut across Syf's legs. She deliberately placed the flat of the sword out for the blow, thinking that whatever madness Isobel had concocted it was best to stay on the safe side of things. Syf, though, had already perceived the attack and parried with relative ease, locking blades with Marséna in an effort to capitalise on her superior physical strength. This was not a ploy Marséna would not fall for as she disengaged and continued her offensive through a series of low cuts, knowing Syf's defence to be weakest against sweeping, unpredictable attacks.

Isobel watched on, clearly intrigued. Syf was an excellent classic fighter, but Marséna's improvisation and use of intuition was simply commendable. As the fight wore on, the stylistic divergences of the two women was placed into ever greater relief: Syf cycled through her vast repertoire of standard guards, attacks and counter-attacks, but Marséna, though less technically gifted, fully deployed her natural perception and athleticism, frustrating even the most powerful of her opponents attacks by regularly breaking her fighting stance in an attempt to break the rhythm of a fight which, had it been kept to the strict rules of duelling, would evidently have favoured Syf.

Virginia could not remember ever having seen a bout like this. With Friyya held close at her side, she could feel the other woman's trepidation at each blow. Every time the swords rang when they met, the auburn-haired girl became tense, squeezing Virginia's arm and fearing the worst, while Virginia remained comparatively impassive, trusting Marséna and Syf to be reticent. On the fencing arena, though, both fighters were exhausted. Marséna felt her limbs on fire, her constant change of position in an attempt to unsettle Syf had cost her dearly in terms of muscular endurance, she was not sure she could keep it on much longer and, if confined to standard combat stances, she would almost certainly lose. Syf faced a similar quandary: on average she had expended far more force per blow than Marséna and knew she could not maintain that rhythm. The experience was doubly frustrating because every time she lunged, or slashed forward, Marséna invariably had a response. She was fast and read all of Syf's movements perfectly.

The exertion, however, began to take its toll and Syf, spying an opening in Marséna's defence, pressed her advantage, the sword cutting down with all the strength she could muster to send the Mareterran's weapon flying a couple of paces into the dust. Deciding to end the bout there and then, Syf moved forward to try to thrust her weapon unequivocally towards Marséna' s throat.

Marséna, however, had other ideas as she clasped the handful of earth and dust she had gathered in her hand the moment she had been disarmed and cast it, with expert skill, against Syf's face. Under ordinary circumstances, Syf would have tried, with much success, to resist the intense, burning discomfort of the sand and dust in her eyes, but, in her exhausted state, she could only clasp her face with her free hand for a few moments. That was long enough for Marséna to draw the dagger from her belt.

"Stop!" Isobel shouted. Though no one knew it then, she was shaken inside. Marséna had drawn the dagger as if she had really intended to throw it. Of course, these things happened in the heat of the moment, but she had trusted them both to contain themselves.

Striding up to the two panting combatants, Isobel hit Marséna across the face, hard, with the back of her hand, "You clumsy bitch! Do you want to kill someone? Get out of here before I eject you from the Order." The raven-haired woman remained kneeling, dazed, on the ground for a few short moments, before withdrawing, indignantly, to the Temple building.

Syf remained where she stood, doubled over and panting, still not entirely aware of what had transpired, but under the impression that she had won. Isobel was quick to disabuse her, "You too," she growled, slapping Syf with the palm of her hand with such force that the novice could no longer feel half her face, "you don't decide when you win, I tell you if you win. Now disappear before I give you the thrashing of your life." Syf complied, still dispassionate, though her piercing eyes fixed Isobel with burning resentment.

Isobel, on her part, was relieved. There would have been nothing worse for the Order than losing two of its most promising fighters. Which brought her to the question of why she had initiated the bout in the first place. Upon further consideration, Isobel decided that it was to be a test of maturity, to show them both that life was neither fair, nor painless, nor easy. Syf still needed to learn a lesson in humility, Isobel noted, and Marséna - well Marséna - was fascinating to watch, but she needed to learn discipline. In every sense of the word.

"Dismissed!" Isobel ordered and the last year novices dispersed gratefully, still stunned by what had transpired. Virginia lagged behind with Friyya hobbling under her arm.

"Friyya!" Isobel called just as Virginia thought that they were safe at the shaded entrance to the temple.

"Yes, Reverend Sister." Friyya said, wearily, turning around and preparing herself for further indignities.

"I don't make it my policy to enter into the personal lives of my students, but with you, I make an exception. Make sure you take care of Syf tonight, understood? That's an order."

Friyya nodded, "Yes, Reverend Sister." At least Isobel had a vaguely human side, though it was suppressed under so much metal and defensive wards, painted in red and orange across her face.

What Isobel regretted was that she could not tell Virginia the same thing with regards to Marséna. It was certainly not her place to tell the Mareterran what an excellent paladin she would make; Isobel was there to train and command, not to praise. That was best left to mothers and lovers.

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

Marséna sat sullenly alone in the baths of the Temple. Thankfully for her, there was no one to draw attention to her misery so she was free to commiserate with herself, hugging her knees in the shallow water of the edge of the great communal pool. First Virginia, now the bout, it all appeared as if she were on a losing streak of epic proportions. But then again, she was a double outsider. First, the majority of the Order was of Ortho extraction, leaving her to stick out quite evidently in her class. Second, she played by the rules only insofar as it was efficient. In fencing, she knew that her physique and capabilities were best suited to a quick, fluid and unpredictable style, though the others had been slow to appreciate that. Most of all, Marséna missed the open fields, the green-brown hills, the vineyards and olive groves, the colourful citrus orchards of Mareterra, not to mention the comforting tones of her own language.

"I think you won." Syf conceded as she settled into the great marble tub next to Marséna. Isobel's words and hand still stung her.

"Shut up." Marséna said, between gritted teeth, her throat knotted, "Shut up and come here."

Syf obliged, sidling closer, the shallow water lapping around her knees. Marséna leaned her head against Syf's shoulder.

"You're good." Syf repeated, "Had it been a real fight, you would have won."

"I'm glad you think so. Sometimes I feel like a complete fucking idiot here."

"Your mouth! And you're exaggerating. I don't think there is anyone here who does not admire you. And even if everyone were against you, I would always be at your side. I was honoured to fence against you today and it's an honour to be in your same detachment."

"I've had a bad last couple of weeks." Marséna sniffed,

"I know, but tomorrow our life will change and I am privileged to be Consecrated at your side." Syf confessed, wrapping an arm around Marséna's waist.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Syf reassured, "Now get into the bath, we really ought to get the sweat and dust out."

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

"Say, Min, you don't happen to have a couple of Marks for some bread and honey?" Shesayne queried anxiously as she and her tiefling friend sat down for an afternoon snack at a market stall. A crow of humans, demihumans, fiends and celestials milled around.

"You know, I asked whether you had any money whatsoever and, as usual, you haven't got any." Min complained. But she had to make her way home soon if she was going to meet Aerylle in good time - knowing full well that the grey elf was a stickler for punctuality.

"C'mon Min, I promise, my word and honour, that you'll get the money if you win." Shesayne pleaded.

"Fine, fine." Min conceded as she flagged down a serving maid for an additional order.

"So, how's Her Majesty treating you?" Shesayne said with ironic reference to Aerylle.

"Actually, I haven't felt this good in a long time. She fills me, in a strange way, but she just keeps growing on me."

"There you are, you always said you'd never find someone you could stick to, need or love. Got her now, don't you?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Min cautioned as Shesayne's bread and honey arrived. Predictably, the half-elf also quickly ordered a half-flask of sweet wine, just quickly enough for Min to be unable to object,

"Anyway," the tiefling continued, "how's it with you and your good lady knight?"

"I don't know," Shesayne confessed, resigned and frustrated at the last few days, Marséna had simply not had the slightest patience for her, "she just doesn't want to hear me out. I think she has hang-ups, issues or something like that. Whatever I say, she becomes more mysterious or more distant, as if I could never understand what was bothering her." Though she and Marséna had begun their relationship almost on the spur of the moment - more specifically at the victory celebrations of a mission which had involved both the Order of the Radiant Path and Shesayne's company - the paladin had almost always seemed distracted, or distant.

"Why don't you just go home to her, put on that little red dress of yours and make up?" Min asked, poaching a piece of Shesayne's bread. As far as the tiefling was concerned, it was always best to eat something before going out to dinner with Aerylle because, inevitably, the more she ate the more vulgar she looked in the eyes of the grey elf.

"I'd like to, I'd like to so much it hurts." Shesayne conceded. Meeting Marséna had been by far the most interesting thing that had happened to her in the recent past. The paladin had all the reassuring strength Shesayne needed - a stable point of reference in an otherwise disorganised and aimless life. It turned out, however, that Marséna had weakness, issues and complications of her own. Everyone brought weighty baggage with them, Shesayne mused, what Marséna had shown her so far was, no doubt, just the tip of the iceberg.

"Then go, since when are you anything less than impulsive?" Min had no intention of getting bogged down into a long drawn out conversation about Shesayn's victimisation. She had taken her fill of that last night."

"Because she's always got something, or somebody, else on her mind. You know, I actually think she's still pining for that Virginia bitch." Shesayne said bitterly.

"If you go on like that, you'll end up almost as cynical as me." Min quipped, though it was a shame to see the normally buoyant Shesayne mired in self-pity. Just another of her mood swings, the tiefling supposed.

"Anyway, I can't go in there pretending I'm the culpable-at-fault-party. What if she imagines she's with Virginia when we're..."

"That would take quite a bit of imagining." Min interrupted.

"Look, you get the point. I think something's died in her the last few days."

"All good things..." Min began before deciding to be uncharacteristically sensitive, "you'll kick yourself afterwards if you don't at least try to patch things up. Then if it all goes to sod, you can always use my room."

"You won't be home, though, I imagine-presume."

"No." Min said with almost heavenly relief, "You'll have the place all to yourself."

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

Syf returned to her quarters tired but immensely satisfied with a disappointed Marséna in tow; she had won the bout, as usual, but marginally enough, as usual, for her opponent to vociferously demand a rematch. It had almost become a ritual between the two. On those occasions in which Marséna did win, Syf was likewise granted first priority the next time they enjoyed free practise.

"I need a bath." Marséna said curtly, her misjudgement in parrying one of Syf's more insidious blows still tormenting her.

"Oh come on, don't be such a sore loser, better luck next time." Syf teased, stealing a quick kiss from Marséna's cheek.

Muttering darkly in Mareterran, Marséna withdrew to the bathing chamber.

Her mood significantly lightened, Syf walked to her bedchamber door only to find it locked. That could only mean one thing.

"Friyya, when will you grow up? Open the door!" It had been a long duel and Syf really needed some rest.

"You know I can't." Friyya objected, her voice plaintive as if she were ashamed of her compulsion.

"Friyya, I'm tired and I personally guarantee there is absolutely nothing that I have not seen before or, for that matter, many times."

"You know it's not that Syf..."

Syf leaned forward heavily against the door, a long sigh of resignation escaping her lips. Friyya - the vain, obsessive compulsive Friyya which regrettably came as part of the package - hated being watched when she tried clothes on. Syf could dress her and undress her all she wanted, but never interrupt the solitude of selecting an outfit. This sort of hysteria, Syf imagined, was what gave all women a bad name in some cultures.

"Friyya," Syf began slowly, "you are truly unique in your ability to test my patience."

The key then clicked in the lock and Syf gratefully stepped in.

"Well..." Syf had started with the impression that she was going to talk about putting Marséna's disorderly fencing style in its place, but the apparition of Friyya in a silky autumn-orange dress caused the dark-haired paladin's tongue to cleave to the roof her mouth. Tastefully low cut with short sleeves and slit down the whole, delectable length of Friyya's pale thigh, the dress was doubly impressive because it coyly highlighted the woman's figure: there was no artificial support so it flowed freely, like a breeze which naturally caressed the contours of the body.

"Well what?" Friyya queried, feigning innocence as she pushed Syf back against the door and locked it again.

At that point, Syf realised that rest of any description was, in the short term, out of the question.

"I am your slave when you wear that." Syf began, gasping softly and despite herself as Friyya's lips busied themselves down her neck, the auburn-haired girl's tongue reaching to lick teasingly down the hollow of Syf's throat.

"I should wear it more often." Friyya's fingers skilfully unbuttoned Syf's tunic, revealing her small, gracefully firm breasts, pink nipples stiffening at the mere promise of further attention from Friyya's tongue.

"You aren't seriously going to put it on...ah!" Syf's question was cut off by the gentle pressure of Friyya's teeth on one of her exposed nipples.

Friyya replied by applying gentle pressure with her tongue against the engorged little peak, all the while alternating the pressure of her teeth and lips. Syf felt heat like electricity between her legs, her skin felt hypersensitive, reactive to every single expert touch by Friyya's able fingers.

Sliding a hand between Syf's thighs, under the hem of her tunic, Friyya found hot, aching wetness. Sinking lower, her tongue trailing down Syf's belly as she undid the tunic, inch by inch, Friyya finally loosed the entire garment, letting it fall to the floor. Syf stood naked but for her boots, her eyes almost delirious with desire.

Friyya knelt in front of her, ravishing in that godsforsaken dress, a smile on her rich, painted lips, "Have you returned victorious?"

"You could say so." Syf sighed, stroking Friyya's silky, autumnal tresses.

"Then this is your reward." Friyya's said huskily, her lips kissing Syf's sex with burning passion, her tongue eagerly probing, parting the sodden folds with great ease. Syf, Friyya thought, had rarely been this excited - normally she was collected, and very efficient, even in their lovemaking, but in that particular moment, there were no limits to her arousal. Whimpering almost inaudibly, Syf thrust her hips further towards Friyya's infuriatingly sensual mouth - she was embarrassingly wet and even the dark curls which ringed her sex were flecked with her nectar. Friyya, though, was irresistible, her beautiful face was fully concentrated on Syf's sex, eyes closed, letting her tongue and lips guide her through those familiar folds, each spot receiving careful, loving attention. Syf just hoped that she wouldn't slam too loudly against the door. It would have been unbecoming. As would have been the sharp cry she was on the verge of emitting as Friyya's tongue began to concentrate on her clitoris, with two pale, delicate writer's fingers holding the petals of her sex open. Syf could only grit her teeth and clasp Friyya's head in her hands, fingers sliding through those magnificent strands of burnished gold.

The sheer potency of her climax became evident to Syf only when Friyya teasingly, maliciously began to work two fingers into her sex. The auburn-haired paladin's digits almost splashed in, mercilessly caressing the swollen inner flesh of Syf's innermost sanctum. Syf had molten lead in the pit of her belly, the tension in her sex winding up tighter and tighter with each teasing little stroke of Friyya's tongue on her clit. Then it unwound itself in the flash of release, Syf taking a few long, deep, strangled breaths, her sex contracting spasmodically against Friyya's fingers, a radiant feeling of utter relaxation flooding her limbs.

Friyya rose to her feet languidly to face Syf, "Look at what you've done to my lips." Friyya said in mock irritation, referring to slight smudging of her lip rouge.

"I think I should be responsible for cleaning it up, then." Syf said as she seized Friyya, holding the smaller girl's waist firmly in her hands as she began to use her tongue to gently lick around Friyya's lips, cleaning away all the traces of her nectar from her lover's face. Syf took the opportunity to seize back the initiative, leaning into Friyya to kiss her passionately before quickly divesting herself of her boots and lifting her lover onto their bed with consummate ease.

Squealing in surprise, Friyya was quickly silenced by a renewed assault by Syf's lips which kissed with smouldering intensity. Syf reached under, the silky smooth material of the dress, feeling her way up the familiar path of Friyya's long, supple thigh to finally come to rest against the downy auburn patch on her sex. Pressing her sex against one of Friyya's milky thighs, Syf effortlessly slipped two fingers between her lover's silky nether lips and began an undulating, thrusting motion. Each time she penetrated the blossoming flower of Friyya's sex, Syf could hear the girl moan softly into her ear. For her part, the dark haired paladin was more concentrated on Friyya's chest, the thin, flimsy material of the saffron-orange dress easily brushed aside to reveal the perfection of beautifully rounded, harmoniously full breasts. Syf devoured them with her eyes, tongue and lips, her senses entranced by the soft, sharp gasping rhythm of Friyya's breathing, the slightly sweet taste of her freshly washed body, flawless pearl-like quality of her skin which at the very peak of her breasts gave way to nipples like strawberries ripe for the plucking.

Thrusting herself with passionate determination against Friyya, Syf found herself fascinated by the delicious contrast of textures against her skin: the hot wetness of Friyya's sex, tight against her fingers, the relatively cool softness of her thigh against her own yearning nether lips, and the amazing consistency of the dress which caressed like the lightest of human fingers. Friyya came with a tight, inchoate cry which burst out of her throat, hips bucking frantically against Syf's hand. Her cries became louder still as Syf maliciously grated her teeth against one of Friyya's painfully engorged nipples, accentuating the roiling pleasure the auburn-haired paladin felt flowing out from her sex. Syf thrust her sex against her lover's thigh a little longer, leaving hot, wet trails and enjoying Friyya's last, thrilling little cries.

Settling atop her lover, head resting between Friyya's breasts, her short, ink-black hair spread like a shadow over the paleness of the skin beneath it and the orange of the dress, Syf gathered her breath and her thoughts. She had just felt proof of the stupidity of her recent actions, of the profound irrationality of that Elyszara business. Irrational because, as far as Syf was concerned, the world could have ended in that moment and she would have gone to her final rest the happiest soul in the Multiverse. She knew, however, that she would be a fool to imagine that the solution to the problem would be brief or painless.

"You see, my love, that's the beautiful thing about this dress," Friyya began, her voice still caught in the dreamlike state she often lapsed into after making love, "it allows intimacy without it ever needing to be taken off."

Glad that Friyya had changed the subject for her, Syf repeated her earlier reservations, "Maybe you should think twice about wearing that particular dress...you know, outside."

"Are you accusing me of immodesty?" Friyya asked jokingly, running a hand through Syf's hair.

"No, but an over-garment may be a good idea."

"What, you want to cover me up? You're so boring sometimes, I know you're going to turn up tomorrow in your dress uniform."

"Not everyone has relatives in the planar trade business."

"I hope you won't hold that against me for the rest of my life." Friyya said wearily, "I wasn't exactly spoiled as a child."

"You're right, I am sorry." Syf had perhaps gone too far. Though Friyya's family was fairly affluent, her childhood had been, to put it euphemistically, difficult.

"One of the main reasons for me applying to the Order was to escape."

"I know." Syf said, placing an apologetic kiss on Friyya's breast.

"You still don't wear that pendant I gave you." Friyya sighed, thinking of the amount of time, much of it in contravention of the Rule of the Order, looking for the right sort of garnet stone to complement Syf's hair and complexion.

"You're being foolish again. It would be a liability in battle and if I lost it in the heat of the fighting I would never forgive myself."

That, Friyya thought, was the spartan, thrifty Syf who disliked all cosmetics, jewellery, and 'worthless accessories', sometimes even complaining that Friyya was well in excess of the sumptuary limits on non-uniform clothing allowed by the Radiant Path.

"You're not being very romantic." Friyya complained, idly stroking her lover's cheek.

"I think that has always been obvious enough." Syf commented; she loved deeply, but, by contrast, did not enjoy superficial effusions. Friyya, in Syf's view, however, was still caught up in a world of literary courtship, ritual and romance the details of which escaped Syf, who felt that she had more important things to do than contemplate any kind of literature, let alone the flowery, fictional type.

"I really wish you'd soften up from time to time, you're beginning to scare the novices."

Excellent. Syf thought with much self-satisfaction, "I really wish you hardened yourself a little."

"What for? Everyone knows I'm going to end up teaching novices." Friyya said bitterly. With Isobel resolutely against her, there was very little she could do without Syf's constant and insistent endorsement of her skills which, if somewhat deficient in terms of swordsmanship, were well above average in the arts of healing and divination.

"Not as long as I live. Despite what Isobel says, healing and restoration are just as important as destroying evil. That philosophy is what separates us from most other militant orders: we acknowledge the importance victory in battle only as a means to lasting peace."

"You read that last bit out of my notes, didn't you?" Friyya teased, running the tip of her finger down Syf's lips.

"I think I must have at some point. But that is precisely what I was saying. We need each other."

"In the beginning," Friyya noted, "it was I who wanted you."

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

In the beginning it had been flattering. Now, however, Friyya reflected, it was positively unhealthy. Every time she returned from training or lessons, Marséna would rush into the cubicle, separated from the others by a white curtain, which housed their bunk beds and call out mockingly, "You're being courted again, my fair donaisela. What are you doing with us lowly novices when you should be up in the palace?"

On cue, her bunk would have some letter, sometimes anonymous sometimes signed, some flower or some combination thereof. Sometimes it was a matter of three or four consecutive days of useless, embarrassing presents. In reality it was pointless for her admirers to even try. She would certainly not be swayed by clumsy attempts at courtship and less still by empty declarations which ranged from the crude to the incomprehensible. Friyya, however, was a gracious person and always declined advances with great magnanimity. Older novices tried to convince her that it would be in her best interest to choose one of them, but there would have been no dignity, insofar as she was concerned, in such an arrangement.

Thankfully she had come under no such pressure from anyone in her dormitory cubicle. Virginia was already building bridges with Marséna and Syf was, regrettably, far too in love with her sword to consider devotion to anything else. Then, there was Marséna: they both slept in the bottom bunk of their respective beds and Friyya was certain that she had once caught Marséna surreptitiously admiring her from across the cubicle, curled up with her hands sliding as subtly as possible between her legs and pretending to sleep. But then that did not come entirely as a surprise to her; Friyya had been referred to as a classic Ortho beauty and she no doubt filled the dreams of quite a few other novices as well. But her frustration had become an element of the long-running sensation that she was not being taken seriously, but had merely become the prize in yet another of long-running rivalries which formed between aspirant paladins. Marséna had told her, cruelly, that there had been bets placed on who would bed her first. Friyya had retorted, quite appositely, that those kinds of competition were more like something the boys of Marséna's village would indulge in as opposed to novitiates of the Order of the Radiant Path.

Marséna's poisonous little lies aside, Friyya was becoming progressively more irritated with the situation. Kneeling by the side of her bed on a lazy feast day afternoon, she carefully gathered an unsigned letter and a bunch of rather exotic looking flowers with petal like diamonds. These she stored in a simple ceramic vase - there was no use in letting good flowers go to waste - whilst the letter was unceremoniously dealt with in three sharp tears, reducing it each time in half. In the bunk above Syf rested, half asleep. Taking off her boots and loosening her tunic a little, Friyya lay back, propped up on a pillow. Perhaps she would read, perhaps not.

"Syf..." Friyya tried, her voice almost a whisper.

"Hmm." Syf stirred.

"Do you think Virg and Marséna tried to sneak out of Quarters?"

"Probably." Syf replied, disinterested, but mentally preparing to intervene on their behalf should they be caught and caned by Isobel.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing."

"Why don't you come down here, it's so impersonal talking to you through your mattress."

Syf leapt down in one bound; Friyya had always found the dark-haired girl's commanding posture and athletic reflexes fascinating.

"Come here, sit down," Friyya invited, moving over her bunk to room for Syf, "we might as well keep each other company."

Syf complied, stretching herself out on Friyya's bed, relieving her muscles of the stiffness of inactivity.

"Another admirer?" Syf inquired, noting the flowers.

"Yes, but at least they keep the room decorated." Friyya replied tersely. Though their friendship had matured in the last three years since they had first met as roommates, Friyya was afraid that the

attention she was receiving would give Syf the impression that she was somehow a vain and superficial person.

"They don't deserve you." Syf muttered, staring at the mattress on top of her.

"Why have you never courted me, don't you find me beautiful?" Friyya asked suddenly, wishing to relieve her curiosity.

"You are. Very." Syf said, and would have added painfully had it not sounded so abject.

"Thank you, it means so much more when you say it."

"Why?" Syf asked, bemused.

"Because I admire you and I wish I were more like you: strong, respected."

"Thank you." Syf, however, was clearly taken aback by the compliment.

"So why did you never court me?"

"Because it would not have been my place. I'm hardly in your...class."

"You're joking! I find you very..." Friyya began indignantly.

"Not in the same way." Syf interrupted.

"There's a school of philosophy, Syf," Friyya began tentatively, "which says that only what is whole and complete can be beautiful. An arm or leg cannot be beautiful unless measured as a

proportion of a whole, so, right now, I don't feel all this radiance in me which everyone else seems to admire. I feel like I still have some great, empty void to fill."

"Friyya?" Syf did not have a mind for philosophy, but the apparent inclination of her friend's argument was clear enough.

"What I would like to say is that I feel far more luminous sitting here, right next to you which is why I told you that you were..."

"Friyya..." Syf relented softly. If this was a dream, the cynical part of her mind told her that her cotton undergarment would be very damp indeed when she woke up.

"What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?" Friyya asked, her whisper layered with emotion.

"I..." This was the first time Syf had felt confused and flustered in a long time. Her normally dispassionate exterior had softened.

"Kiss me."

Syf complied, passionately but clumsily, positioning herself above Friyya, their lips locking fiercely - Syf's tongue eager and curious but inexperienced in her newfound lover's mouth. For the dark-haired novice, though, the world had stopped. Fire shot up her spine and her skin tingled with latent electricity as she was overwhelmed by a great surge of raw, smouldering emotion which filled her breast and loins with boundless energy.

"I'm sorry," Syf said, breathlessly, finally breaking the kiss she thought had lasted hours, "I'm not that practical..."

Friyya silenced her with a delicate finger to the lips, "We'll learn together. But now it's been decided. You've made me yours and yours alone. And," the auburn-haired beauty said, a wide smile forming on her perfect lips, "I expect you to defend my honour and your own."

Syf nodded gratefully, her mind racing. In her fevered thoughts, she would be Friyya's sword and shield, her lover and her knight-at-arms, "I too pledge myself to you."

"That," Friyya concluded, "is wonderful, because I know that you would die before breaking your word."

No one ever bothered courting Friyya again.

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

Marséna rose from her bath, still irritated at the perfunctory mistake she had made in her bout with Syf. That was Syf's advantage, she was simply more consistent, more concentrated and more focused. That said, Marséna was convinced that some day she would learn all of the other woman's tricks and then...Draping a white bathing shawl over her shoulders, Marséna made her way back to her room. There she could dry her hair with the attention it deserved. As she pushed open her bedchamber door, she was not especially surprised to find Shesayn lying on the bed, waiting for her - the petite half-elf was flighty enough to come and go as she pleased, but that irreverent rootlessness which had been charming in the beginning had begun to grate in recent times. What did, however surprise the Mareterran paladin was that Shesayne wore only that sheer red dress, with a heart shaped bodice woven in the pattern of dragonscales, and flimsy, almost transparent, but voluminous vermillion skirt. That had been the dress which had first drawn Marséna's eye; the dress which had drawn her into a lighthearted, pleasantly aimless conversation which came as such a relief after the agony of Virginia's indecision. The chatting had turned to flirting - Marséna had been impressed by the half-elf's energy, her streamlined yet feminine body, the irascible, impish curiosity which burned in those striking eyes.

It was the eager, yet slightly saddened look in Shesayne's eyes that made Marséna's disposition soften. She was clearly, and despite everything, in need of her lover, but so fearful of disappointing.

"You know me so well," Marséna admitted, allowing herself a smile, "a little relaxation is exactly what I needed."

"Long, difficult, disappointing day?" Shesayne queried, cocking her slightly to one side, that impish grin Marséna found so endearing lighting up her face again.

"Yeah. But I wouldn't say it's a lost cause." Marséna dropped her bathing shawl to the ground, her long, corvine hair was still dripping, the droplets flowing down her olive skin in tiny streams. She approached the

bed and knelt on it in front of Shesayne, her soulful brown eyes contemplating her lover.

"I have another surprise, treat and present for you." Shesayne said, stroking a carved ebony box she had left near the pillow - her voice was had a natural musical quality to it, like tinkling windchimes.

"Oh you didn't..." Marséna began, feeling her anticipation grow.

"Yes, yes, but only for you my dearest." Shesayne said.

Marséna could only sink gratefully into the slender half-elf's arms, kissing those deep red lips hungrily, seeking solace in the warmth of the girl's mouth. Shesayne sighed to herself, Marséna's damp body was on top of her now and she could smell the typical citrus perfume her lover always wore, so sharp, yet sweet and fresh. The half-elf's dextrous hands, so fast and skilful, delicately traced the generous curve of Marséna's swaying breasts, light brown nipples hardening enticingly under Shesayne's touch. Kissing lower, lips fervent and passionate, Marséna began to slowly unwrap Shesayne, untying the deep crimson bodice with short, expert strokes of her fingers before letting the top part of the garment fall away, revealing firm, perfectly rounded breasts which, when liberated, where not quite as small as suggested by the half-elf girl's skintight outfits. Shesayne let out high, tight little gasps with each stroke of Marséna's patient tongue against her breasts, and with each gentle suckling motion of the Mareterran's fervid lips against her nipples, pointed in excitement.

With the utmost care, Marséna undid the final clasp at the waist of Shesayne's dress, letting the vermillion skirt fall away as if it were air, revealing slender, athletically toned thighs. Shesayne's sex was hairless, as befitted her elven ancestry, but her figure, though petite, belied surprising strength and flexibility. Now free to press her body against her lover, Marséna felt the water begin to dry on her heated flesh; she could feel the tantalising gliding motion of Shesayne's able hands brushing the tiny droplets away from her breasts and bottom. Shesayne adored exploring Marséna's curves, to feel the harmonious juxtaposition of firm muscle with feminine softness.

"You still have to take out your present." Shesayne provoked, her body burnt in a nexus of passion on the inside, yet was cooled from its feverish heat by the moisture of Marséna's skin and hair.

"Right away." The raven-haired paladin obliged, sitting up for a moment to flip the ebony box open. Shesayne seized the opportunity to ensnare the engorged, light brown peak of one of Marséna's nipples, her tongue working with the same dynamic intensity as her fingers. Inside the box, Marséna found one of Shesayne's countless little toys; a thick, smooth red imitation of a phallus with a rough, root-like structure at its base.

"I hope you've gained some practise-training from the last few times." Shesayne said, her voice filled with lustful anticipation. Marséna leaned back a little and swept some unruly, midnight-black tresses from her face. She worked the root part of the shaft into the hungry lips of her sex, already copiously moistened with nectar, feeling the enchantment of the object take effect, the root connecting and spreading into the flesh and nerves of her sex, building little sympathetic links deep inside the paladin's core. Shesayne reclined back on the pillow and watched the scene with amusement, the impish smile never leaving her face. Teasingly, she ran a delicate foot between the valley of Marséna's breasts, enjoying the feeling of their taut buoyancy, before running her toenails with the utmost fluidity, up the paladin's throat.

"Impatient are we?" Marséna smiled as she felt the wand take root in her. She seized Shesayne's errant leg and firmly placed to one side, spreading her lover's sex for her, opening up the pink hothouse flower of the half-elf's dripping nether lips.

"For you, very." Shesayne said, lifting her hips slightly to invite the paladin closer to the molten core of her sex.

"Sorry," Marséna began awkwardly as she tried to position herself to enter Shesayne, "I still...need to get used to this."

Shesayne giggled softly as she wrapped her legs around Marséna's waist before clasping the dildo in her hands, those long, dextrous fingers exerting a firm, wrenching pressure. Marséna groaned, it was as if Shesayne's hands had wrapped around the inflamed bud of her clitoris and were stoking the fire in her loins, spurring the wetness which now moistened her nether lips, nestled beneath the fringe of raven-black curls around the paladin's sex.

"Goddess!" Marséna sighed as Shesayne applied a gentle, tugging pressure on the shaft, drawing her hands up and down, fingernails scraping ever so lightly on the red surface of the surrogate organ, "Easy or I won't be able to control myself much longer."

"That's not a problem." Shesayne said lasciviously, tugging the dildo closer to the pouting lips of her pink sex.

Marséna felt as though she was on the verge of reaching her climax immediately as the head of the shaft gently parted the sodden lips of Shesayne's sex, the shaft travelling effortlessly deep into the half-elf's hungry, aching canal.

"Now make love to me as if it was your last time." Shesayne invited. The dildo had stretched her sex as far as she thought possible and every single motion which Marséna made with Shesayne impaled on her felt like an electric stab deep in her loins, as if the universe had become focalised on the juncture between her sex and the shaft.

The paladin happily obliged Shesayne, beginning a tentative thrusting motion, each time the surface of the shaft tugging at the half-elf's nether lips, each thrust filling Marséna's sex with a new burst of blinding-white pleasure, accompanied by a soft, satisfied cry liberated from the paladin's sensually parted lips. Starting to build up a rhythm, Marséna thrust forwards further and deeper, propping herself with arms on either side of her lover's sides, her mouth now burning on hungry on Shesayne's to silence her delightful, girlish cries which filled the air each time her sex was brought into full bloom by the insistent motion of the dildo.

Burying herself hard and frantically with each thrust, Marséna began to lose track of time or her surroundings, all was now the burning wetness of her sex, with all its pent up tension building at the base of the shaft, and the indescribable feeling of Shesayne's own womanhood conveyed directly into her. Marséna felt every single contraction, every single tense moment in which Shesayne's hips bucked, wanting ever deeper and harder penetration.

Knowing herself to be on the verge of a sublime climax, Shesayne clasped the perfect cheeks of Marséna's bottom in her hands, drawing the paladin in, gasping spasmodically as she felt her sex contract along the invader, her cries of pleasure silenced by the hunger of the Mareterran girl's lips. Shesayne's orgasm told Marséna that she too, could now release the tension which had wound itself tight in her loins. Thrusting with wild abandon, feeling Shesayne squirm in mixed pain and pleasure beneath her led Marséna over the edge of the precipice.She bit down on the half-elf's ear, howling her passion in long, ragged breaths as she felt the pressure of heat and liquid which had built between her thighs released down the shaft.

Shesayne sobbed breathlessly against Marséna's shoulder, allowing her lips to trail between the paladin's abundant breasts, "I missed this, I missed this so much."

It was only when she had fully recovered from her climax, still feeling the molten stickiness of Shesayne's sex around the shaft, still sensing the pebble-hard nipples pressed against her own breasts, that Marséna realised that her lover was weeping.

"Shesayne..." Marséna could simply not find the correct words, she merely chose to cling tightly to her lover, to feel this profound, visceral pain which, in spite of all their difficulties, she wished could simply be communicated so that they could be at peace.

"I would like to love you, but you don't love me."

"No, please, don't say that." Marséna pleaded, holding Shesayne's trembling form close.

"Do you know...do you know how much it hurts to show myself like this, in this condition? I don't need this, I don't deserve this and you don't deserve to put up with me like this." Shesayne said through her tears, her sobs calming down a little.

"You know I love you."

"Yes, but you love her more." The half-elf's nails dug painfully into Marséna's back.

"My life's a fucking mess," Marséna admitted, "in the last few days I've managed to offend you and Virginia and Friyya; all the people I can't live without. But I know this, whatever the situation is I know that I adore being with you, joking with you, making love to you...when I found you here, I knew that you had made my day."

"But I need a life, I need stability, reference..."

"Tonight," Marséna interrupted, "I need to fall asleep with you at my side and wake up with you smiling at me in the morning. Let's just take this one day at a time."

Shesayne just nodded, after all, she knew that she and Marséna both understood the pain of solitude.

"I've never been this forward or direct with anyone I've known so far, except maybe Min, but that's another story." Shesayne confessed as Marséna busied herself with tidying up the bed, neatly folding the half-elf's stunning dress so that it would not crease - a rare attention insofar as the paladin was concerned.

"I hate to see you suffer." Marséna said, drying the remaining moisture in her hair off a little, before sliding the ebony box beneath her mattress. Shesayne had insisted that she keep it.

"If we can be happy together, even for just a little while, it would be so much better than nothing."

Marséna nodded in agreement, "Will you come tomorrow, then, as my...companion?"

"Of course." Said Shesayne, her smile returning, "Now come here and tell me all about your day."

Marséna eagerly leaped into bed, clasping Shesayne tightly between her arms and planting gentle kisses down the length of one of the half-elf's softly delicately pointed ears, "Well, I made a stupid mistake in fencing practise today..."

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

"We should start an insomniac's club." Syf said dryly as she sat down at Marséna's side on the divan of the common room and took an almond and honey biscuit from embroidered box which the Mareterran paladin had received as a gift from her family.

"Yeah..." Marséna said absentmindedly, taking a substantial bite out of a biscuit, seeking relief in its familiar sweetness.

"I'm afraid of tomorrow." Syf whispered.

"What, the party?"

"Yes, I'm afraid tomorrow will be the last day of the rest of my life as I know it."

"Why?" Marséna asked, all of a sudden worried by the darkness of Syf's tone.

"One day, Marséna, I swear I'll tell you. I think you will hate me or curse me for it, but I'll tell you anyway and beg for you to forgive me."

"Syf, what's going on?" Marséna said, turning to face her friend.

"Life." Came the cryptic reply.

"Syf, whatever it is," Marséna began, remembering what Shesayne had said earlier, "I want you to know now that I love you, now and always."

"You don't need to tell me that...I know..."

"Yes, I do. Earlier this evening, I realised that I had failed in my duties as a friend and a lover. I took something for granted which I shouldn't have. Now I tell you that I don't want to fail in my duties as a sister and a friend."

"Marséna, you never have." Syf reassured.

"Then never despair, whatever happens, you can trust me to be on your side."

If only, Syf thought, her mind still agonised by the prospect of confession and exposure If only you knew what a complete worm I can be.

Sigil Book One, Chapter III

A single, rhetorical question: have you ever regretted going to a party?

- The Archivist, your narrator

"L'enfer, c'est les autres."

"Isolde, there is a task with which I would charge you." Dassau said, not bothering to look up from his reading. Comparative dwarven linguistics were a fascinating topic which merited his - almost - undivided attention.

"Sir?"

"You are to proceed on a unofficial operation on my behalf."

"But sir, I am your secretary...I am not authorised..."

"Authorisation granted. Cross-reference Article 172, Paragraph 2 of the Personnel Regulations for Civic Security. You will find that Bureau chiefs are entitled to deploy non-operation personnel to operational positions should there be reasonable cause to do so."

"Reasonable, sir?"

"Reasonable, of course, at my discretion." Dassau affirmed, raising a long, gloved finger to emphasise his point.

"How then, sir may I be of service?" Isolde asked, very wearily indeed.

"I have been informed that there may have been some illegal movement of goods and/or persons into the city. You are to proceed to the location disclosed in the sealed envelope on my desk and not inform anyone either that this order has been promulgated or of your ultimate destination. At that location you are to evaluate all activity you deem suspicious - incognito, of course - carefully annotate it and present this office with a written report within two days. At such time I shall audit your report and make recommendations as required." Dassau continued reading. This, to Isolde, was a relief because it spared her the sight of the arcanoloth's snarling, canine visage, pointed ears alert, elongated muzzle always twisted in an expression of either hate or contempt. Reformed indeed.

"But sir, surely matters as triv...I mean as minor as these should be handled by the Second or Fifth Bureau."

"Isolde, how many times has this city faced an actual external threat in recorded history?" Dassay asked rhetorically, marvelling at the richness of consonant shifts in the Late Thorbardin Commonwealth era.

"None sir, because the Lady of Pain..."

"Exactly, this position is a sinecure. I wish to take some of the sine out of my professional activities."

"Huh, sir?" Isolde had lost Dassau's rambling argument.

"A pun, Isolde, a pun. Let us say that I wish to have my curiosity assuaged. You are to comply. Dismissed."

Isolde sighed and took up the sealed envelope from Dassau's desk, already laden with that day's borrowings from the library.

"Is there anything else..."

"Single Vineyard Tarczal Sapravedi, '781. Decant it."

"Yes, sir." Isolde replied, her fist clenching so hard that she thought she might draw blood.

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

"Lys, I have had something on my mind for quite a while now." Cirily confessed. Elyszara lay sprawled on a vast, padded, armchair-cum-bed which lay against the far wall of their Sigil home's living area. The tables for the evening's festivities had been set and those canapés and tidbits which could be left out had already been predisposed in carefully choreographed, artistic patterns so as to clear the kitchen for Cirily to finalise the cooked dishes. For her part, Elyszara was enjoying a leisurely read, clad only in a virtually transparent, short dressing gown.

"What would that be, my love?" Elyszara said languidly, stretching slightly so that the light pink of her nipples pressed enticingly against the thin fabric of her gown which was more draped around her than worn.

Cirily swallowed. There was no really delicate way to put it, but her sleepless night and days spent thinking of the myriad of possibilities which may have concerned Elyszara's secret life had begun to take their toll. Even when cooking, an activity which Cirily found profoundly therapeutic, not to mention artistically stimulating, her thoughts had veered back to the torn dress. Why, she did not know, but it was no doubt the culmination of a long, mounting process.

First, there had been Elyszara's general evasiveness whenever they came to Sigil, as if she wished to live paralell lives, one in Arborea and one in Sigil. Second, there was the simple fact that Elyszara was most assuredly not a clumsy person, it would have been unthinkable that she would have torn any item of clothing in accident. Third, and most pressingly, had been the smell of the dress. Cirily had not dwelt upon that at first because of the sheer unthinkable vulgarity of the thought, but there had been this smell of metal, leather and...another. She did not quite know how to explain it to herself, but her intuition told her that something was amiss.

"So?" Elyszara asked, impatiently, returning to her reading.

Cirily realised she was still thinking and cleared her throat, swallowed again and thought of another approach, "Is it me, or have you been a little...uh, distant since we arrived?"

"I wouldn't think so, no." Elyszara said dismissively.

"Well there was that evening you went out..."

"Yes, for food, Cirily." Outwardly cool, Elyszara's heart began to beat a little faster.

"That's the question, Lys. You were out at least two strikes of the Bell Tower and...well, I found a tear in the dress."

"Oh, dammit, I must snagged it on something. Sigil is a little worn around the edges, must have been a nail, or a drainpipe or something." Elyszara said, regaining composure. It would be relatively easy to bluff her way out of this one.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have fixed it straight away."

"Sorry, must have forgotten." Elyszara said, feigning distraction.

At that point Cirily realised that her argument had been skating on very thin ice indeed. Nevertheless, if there was something that her celestial heritage had given her, it was a sense of when things were amiss. Though the evidence, in and of itself, of any malfeasance on Elyszara's part was lacking, just staring at the dress had given Cirily a bad feeling. Just as Elyszara was, quite clearly, hiding something now. To say that Cirily knew Elyszara well was reductive: she had begun to detect even slight variation in her lover's tone, vocabulary, prosody...Attention to detail, as befitted the artistic calling of her firre blood, was one of Cirily's most astounding intellectual qualities. Or perhaps she was just being paranoid. Time, Cirily thought, would tell.

"Well, be more careful next time." Platitudinous, yes, but at least it made the conversation sound innocent. Cirily did not want to admit it to herself, indeed she had relegated that thought to the very back of her mind. But, deep in her subconscious, she knew full well what Elyszara was suspected of; she knew what was amiss.

"You've been working so hard...come over here and rest for a moment." Elyszara invited, her voice laden with honey-sweet promise.

There she goes again. Cirily thought, but she complied, happy to at least take a seat after having spent most of the day back and forth between the kitchen and dining area. Sitting down at Elyszara's side, Cirily immediately felt cool, firm hands caress her shoulders in a gentle, rubbing pattern which immediately began to dispel the accumulated physical stress, if not the anxiety, of the day.

"I'm so grateful that you've put so much effort in for the celebrations tonight..." Elyszara's voice trailed off into warm, titillating licks on Cirily's sensitive, pointed ear, "everybody is jealous that I have such a loving friend." Cirily was flattered and she had to admit it. Elyszara had this way of making her feel the centre of the Multiverse, a sensation which she had always craved. Before she knew it, Elyszara's hands had worked all but the most stubborn tension from her shoulders and had proceeded lower down the bronze-tinted paleness of Cirily's skin, sliding the simple white blouse from her shoulders and revealing soft breasts capped with bright red nipples riding atop aureolas of polished copper.

Elyszara knew Cirily set fire to her loins in a way she had never experienced, she knew because as she gently caressed the squirming girl's breasts, she could smell the slight perfume of spices from the kitchen which had seeped into Cirily's clothing, taste the sweet, yielding warmth of the heated skin beneath her tongue and know that all her senses were being exalted. Making love to Cirily, though sublime, was not the beginning and end of Elyszara's desires. It was a good start, though, which would, as far as the dark-haired aasimar was concerned, reach its culmination later that evening.

Cirily moaned softly, undulating rhythmically under Elyszara's touch, those expert fingers caressing her breasts and belly in, long, teasing patterns. Settling on her knees behind Cirily, Elyszara eased her lover into a prone position onto the elongated chair, face against the velvet padding. The sensation on Cirily's nipples was astounding, the smooth, textured surface beneath her an almost agonising stimulation as her breasts swayed back and forward, Elyszara planting long wet kisses down her neck and back. Dancing and playful, Elyszara's indigo lips and pink tongue played down the length of Cirily's spine, the dark-haired aasimar's fingers skilfully undressing as she descended, before proceeding to tug her lover's skirt off, casually tossing aside the light blue fabric. Cirily sighed, her sex finally exposed to the cool air, Elyszara was behind her, on top of her, controlling her with effortless, delicate ease.

Contemplating the spectacle of soft, feminine curves before her, Elyszara revelled in the anticipation she was generating in Cirily; it was so profoundly arousing to see her lover lie there, breathing heavily, her breasts heaving against the velvet fabric of the surface beneath them, her sex already moistened with salty, floral nectar.

"Now don't be a naughty girl and peek." Elyszara teased, her tongue hungry as it licked down Cirily's sacrum. There she paused, casually stripping off her dressing gown to kneel naked behind her prone lover,

"You've been so good, I think you deserve a reward."

Elyszara fingers carefully parted the lips of Cirily's sex, feeling the rush of heat and warmth which emanated from the pink, blooming core. Cirily gave a sharp cry, the muscles in her thighs and bottom tensing at the initial impact. Just the thought of being under the gentle direction of Elyszara's feather-light touch was deeply exciting to Cirily; it built heat and pressure in her chest as her heart hammered in her temples. Sliding the two fingers along the soft, pink contours of Cirily's inner lips, Elyszara allowed the very tips of her fingers to graze the exposed clitoris which had already slipped its bud and now stood stiff and tense at the peak of the redhead's sex.

The circular action of Elyszara's fingers was tortuous and even more so as Cirily cried out again, this time in surprise as she felt Elyszara's tongue lap in the valley between the curved half-moons of her bottom to settle on the tight, pink muscle of her nether portal, slowly teasing and coaxing. Cirily tensed under the dual assault, her breasts swaying rhythmically with the firm, massaging action of Elyszara's hand subtly ruling every movement of the redhead's body.

Elyszara plumbed the secrets of Cirily's sex and bottom with consummate ease, her tongue gently working its way deeper into the moist, earthy recesses of her lover's nether portal. Cirily felt only her laboured breathing and the beating of her heart in her head, every other sense was sublimated into the indescribably delightful sensation between her legs. Sliding her thumb into the sopping wet core of her lover's sex, Elyszara renewed her assault on Cirily's clitoris, sliding the stiff little bud between the pads of two fingers. Her tongue was still busy exploring the delights of the redhead's bottom, the globes of her buttocks so harmoniously feminine, yet the muscle nestled between them so tight and reticent like a little flower which needed to be opened with just a little tender attention.

Cirily writhed in ecstasy, feeling the onset of her climax as her sex began to spasm, bucking hard against Elyszara's fingers. Her sharp, wailing cries filled the room, as her hips moved frantically back and forth, thrusting herself further against the invading digits and tongue. Elyszara happily allowed her lover to ride out her orgasm, relishing the sensation of control she obtained from opening up and pleasuring her lover on a whim.

Cirily collapsed on the armchair, her mind still reeling and dizzy, but lightened of its load of sensual tension. Elyszara lavished a few more lazy, teasing licks on her lover's sex and bottom before embracing her lover from behind, holding her close.

"Never leave me. Ever." Cirily said fervently, turning around to kiss Elyszara's, softly at first, then more passionately, inviting the dark-haired girl's tongue deeper into her mouth.

"I won't. Now we better get prepared and dressed, we wouldn't like to be caught like his."

"You would." Cirily said, smiling teasingly, placing tender little kisses on Elyszara's pale throat, "And since you were so considerate, I'll do anything you want me to tonight."

"Anything?" Elyszara said, almost moaning in anticipation, her arousal still fresh, hot and pulsating between her legs.

"Anything." Cirily specified, her voice rich and sensual. Passionate did not, however, mean stupid and the aasimar reminded herself that she had to be alert with regards to whatever had been...bothering Elyszara recently.

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

"So you affirm that you have no further interest or sympathy for drow society or interests." Isobel observed, the words rolling dryly out of her mouth. Sitting behind the great marble table at the Altar of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden, the Vice-Commander was not entirely amused. Indeed, the more she thought about it the less, she found the situation endearing. Around her were the vividly carved statues of previous Abbesses and High Commanders of yore, standing around the main apse of the Temple. Elegant but simply carved columns supported a great ceiling of stained red, blue and white glass carved in the form of a radiant beam of light slicing through two concentric circles.

This was surely not the place for a creature of evil. As a matter of fact, this was not the place to be dealing with hare-brained ideas. Isobel had expected some comparably stupid behaviour from Friyya down the line, but Virginia had so far been unimpeachable, straight as an arrow and almost certainly leadership material. Now she had been forced to take time from he schedule to deal with the - ridiculous - question of whether the Order of the Radiant Path should take it upon itself to facilitate the transition of a dark elf from the depths from whence she came to the light of the Vigilant Maiden. This, to Isobel, was a case and point instance of there being harm in trying.

"Madam, I suspect you would not have much sympathy for a system which annihilated your family and deprived you of all your worldly possessions." Lily said with some self-confidence, though she could not help but be wary of two fully armoured senior paladins on either side of her, their swords at the ready. Virginia cringed, Lily's sense of humour was one thing she knew for a fact would not go down well with Isobel. But this had been Virginia's last resort. Now, standing beside Lily, she realised that it would be hard to get around the simple fact that Isobel's contact with drow so far had been limited to the blade of her mighty greatsword. Lily, however, looked self assured, though awkwardly dressed in one of Virginia's military tunics. The dark elf, Virginia supposed, was used to dealing with potentially arbitrary authority figures.

"No I wouldn't," Isobel snapped impatiently, "but I fail to see how this is not some sort of elaborate ploy."

"Well, assuming this was a well thought out plan..."

Don't humour her! Virginia found herself shouting in her mind.

"...sending a junior priestess of meagre talents such as myself with no form of enchanted disguise and presenting her, as I am, at your mercy would be quite a...circular method of doing things." Grovelling to this painted, barbaric human with the same tone she would use to win the favours of a high priestess galled Lily to no end, but necessity, of course, trumped all else.

"Virginia has sworn by your character..."

How nice. Lily thought, a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction forming on her lips.

"But I remain unconvinced. My duty is, however, to the Founding Axioms of our faith and its Rule. So I can extend a probationary ruling on your behalf. Be advised, however, that you will be under surveillance. Most importantly, remember that novices and paladins alike fear me in this order. Relapse even slightly into your wicked, depraved past and I guarantee that you will be terrorised of me. You may go."

Virginia drew a sigh of relief. Lily took a low, obsequious bow and backed out of the Temple. The blonde paladin turned to follow her.

"Not you, Virginia." Isobel said imperiously.

"R-Reverend Sister." Virginia acknowledged nervously.

"Care to explain what's going on?"

"Reverend Sister, I thought it my duty to support the redemption of the..."

"Silence!" Isobel growled, rising to her feet. Her stature and lean, powerful musculature were truly imposing, "Who do you take me for, a fool?"

"No, Reverend Sister." Virginia said, not without desperation.

"She's your kind of thing, isn't she?" Isobel said venomously.

"Reverend..." Virginia was interrupted by Isobel's haughtily raised palm.

"I suppose finding a nice human girl is too much to ask of you, isn't it? Be that as it may, I must say that your record so far has been good. So good, in fact that I'm going to stick my head out and trust your judgement, for now, though, of course, with appropriate caution. Naturally, this is not the first time we obtain a conversion of this kind, however, this may well be one of the first times the subject in question found her faith under the bedcovers. Since it isn't my policy to intrude on the private lives of my subordinates, however, my final decision has to be impartial. But I am watching."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister."

"Dismissed."

Virginia gratefully withdrew to the temple door, almost running down the marble paving. Lily was outside to greet her with a hungry kiss, the dark elf's violet eyes already alive with passion - not so much for Virginia, though the paladin was arousing enough, but for her resounding success which went to prove that, despite the destruction of her House, she, and she alone had the ability to survive and start anew. More relieved than excited, Virginia was nevertheless grateful for her lover's first show of affection outside the confines of her bedchamber.

"I would like you to come with us tonight. To celebrate." Virginia said as they walked back to Quarters, passing through the walled fencing yard which, by that time, had already been vacated, and the refectory.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be a liability?"

"No, not at all," Virginia said airily, "but I'm sure I'd make a lot of people jealous if I showed up with you at my side."

"You're too kind." Lily said, not without irony.

"Anyway, the point would be for you to meet some people who could help you know Sigil better."

"That would be interesting." Lily mused, the more contacts she had, the better.

"Well, it's settled then," Virginia said, before reflecting on rather ill-fitting tunic she had leant Lily, "there is one problem though..."

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

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Friyya complained, tensely rifling through her wardrobe - not her official, registered one, but the containing a few choice outfits stowed carefully at the bottom of her equipment trunk.

"Nobody's forcing you." Lily snapped, as embarrassed as Friyya was, if not more. Marséna and Syf looked on, utterly bemused at the spectacle. Virginia had begged Friyya to lend the dark elf and appropriate outfit for the evening, but the results had so far been farcical. Lily leaned sullenly against the wall of Friyya's bedchamber, clearly irritated, whilst the auburn-haired paladin, who found the thought of sharing her clothing with - potentially - a being of pure evil unsettling at best, felt the mounting stress of being observed as she unpacked a selection of items which were, self-evidently, well in excess of the sumptuary regulations of the Rule.

"I don't see why I have to lend her something. Anything of mine is going to be five inches too long."

"Yeah, but the bust and hips are about right. And, of course, your dress sense is flawless, my fair donaisela." Marséna commented, adding a mock bow.

"Same can't be said for you." Friyya snarled between gritted teeth.

Marséna could not help but look at herself, self-consciously, once again in the mirror. She thought she had made perfectly presentable use of the material available to her: her favourite white cotton blouse, worn half unbuttoned, ankle length black skirt slit to the waist, and her good black boots. What did Friyya expect? Marséna remembered that, as a child, she had to help in the grape harvest, bring olives to the mill to be crushed and tend to the ducks and geese just for there to be enough to eat, with some set aside for feast days or weddings. She was grateful whenever she had new clothing at all and simply did not see the appeal of cycling through hundreds of different colours or styles.

"Look, this is desperate." Friyya said, exasperated. She had considered a green Shou Lung silk dress for a moment, but decided that it should only know one owner.

"Give me a shirt." Lily interjected, tired of the pathetic display. Friyya was obviously irredeemably ineffective and venial.

"What?" Friyya said, her surprise evident.

"Give me a shirt." Lily repeated, slowly.

Assenting, Friyya tossed her one of her good silk blouses, so blue it was almost violet. Lily undressed matter-of-factly, deposited Virginia's tunic on the side of Friyya's bed, briskly pulled the blouse on and, seizing the simple black belt of the tunic she had just removed, tied it around her waist.

"All done now." The dark elf said curtly. It had not been a bad idea, the extra five inches was more than sufficient to make Lily presentable, but Virginia suspected that the drow knew how the silky hem would flow around those perfect, obsidian thighs with every step she took.

"Looks wonderful." Virginia complimented and even Syf granted a slight nod of her head in approval. Not that she had much sympathy for such unedifying activities, like Virginia, she considered the quiet formality of the Radiant Path's dress uniform more than adequate: a form fitting, long sleeve white tunic with golden buttons and golden trimming, white leggings and dark brown boots. Simple, elegant, and so much more dignified.

"So are we set?" Syf said, assuming leadership of the outing. She was nervous, not quite knowing what sort of irritating ploy Elyszara had no doubt planned. Festivities were, moreover, not her thing. She would have much preferred a quiet dinner and a nice, restorative bath with Friyya. Now she was being co-opted, once again, into what she could only define as a circus. A circus with a very entrancing ringmaster, though, in the shape of the accursed sorceress, Elyszara.

"Yes, Shesayne will meet us there." Marséna said, hoping that spending some time with the half-elf with some company around would broaden the scope of their communication. Oddly, she had felt no recent resentment towards Lily, even as her desire for Virginia continued to burn. Marséna was level-headed enough to realise that the break with Virginia had occurred long before the drow had tumbled, unexpectedly on the scene; she was no more of an irritant, in that respect, than Shesayne.

"Well, we should be on our way then." Friyya concluded, careful to take on last look at herself in the mirror. Logically enough, she had chosen to wear Syf's favourite: the silky, airy orange dress which wrapped around her sculptural figure - like a flowing stream of saffron - rather than clothed her.

"Friyya, dearest, are you sure you don't want anything over that?" Syf insisted. The last thing she wanted was for Friyya's decidedly provocative dress sense to somehow inconvenience them. Certainly, if Isobel caught her wearing that, it would give the Vice-Commander exactly the excuse she needed to truly make Friyya sorry she had been born.

"Oh well," Friyya said teasingly, addressing Syf and Virginia, "with two fair knights-at-arms from the Order of the Radiant Path by my side, I think I would make just the perfect impression."

"Yeah, just like being arrested by two guardians of the moral order for publicly soliciting." Marséna insinuated.

"How dare you...you vulgar peas-...!"

"Enough!" Syf commanded, "Come on, everyone out before this degenerates further." In retrospect, Syf mused, she did not need to go to Elyszara's parties to find a circus, there was perfectly viable one conveniently situated in her quarters.

As they filed out the apartment door, Marséna shot Friyya a look of burning resentment. The auburn-haired paladin smirked back before mouthing an almost inaudible "jealous". The need to be at the centre of attention was certainly one of Friyya's intrinsic vices. Her permanence in the Order had repressed, but not entirely eliminated that tendency.

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

"Splendid, as always." Min commented in admiration as Aerylle finally declared herself ready after ensuring that both she and the sky-blue evening gown, cut in a classic grey elven design with loose, filmy sleeves and a low neckline with a darker blue trim around it to underscore the pale milkiness of the skin beneath, were in perfect condition. The tiefling, for her part lay stretched out naked on Aerylle's plush, overstuffed bed, enjoying the fluid softness of the bedcovers under her bare skin.

"You think so?" Aerylle queried, looking at herself once more in the mirror and adjusting just a hint of cobalt-blue powder to the area around her eyes and the skin between her breasts, the dust falling like tiny azure crystals on the pale, flawless skin.

"Never in my life did I think I'd be bringing a girl like you to a fancy party."

"I should take that as a compliment." Aerylle said, ensuring that the blue powder was thin enough to be invisible on first impact, yet subtly evident enough to develop a chromatic symmetry with the dress upon close observation, "When are you intending on getting dressed."

"It won't take me long." Min said, happy enough to surround herself in the fresh clean smell of the bed.

"What were you thinking of wearing?"

"The usual."

"Oh, Min." Aerylle sighed in frustration. The tiefling would, as always, probably go for her usual functional preference of a skintight sleeveless vest, dark leggings and boots.

"I'm not wearing the sodding skirt. I mean d'you think I really look like someone who ought to be wearing something like that?"

"Min!" Aerylle chided, "There's no need to use expletives, I can understand you perfectly well without them. In any case, you have such lovely legs, why not frame them better in some more...tasteful attire."

"Wasn't I pretty enough when we first met?"

"Of course you were."

"Well, what was I wearing." Min concluded pointedly.

"That is not the point," Aerylle said, rising to her feet and walking over to her bed to sit beside Min, who was still stretching lazily like some large hunting cat.

"Look, it's just not me. When I was growing up in the Hive, the chant was survival and not much else. I don't think I could ever see being 'ladylike', or whatever that means, the same as you."

Aerylle nodded, somewhat understanding of Min's notion of self-image. One simply could not take arbitrarily take people from their social or cultural forge, "Be that as it may, you are my lady now." The elf said, leaning forward to kiss Min on those smouldering, deep red lips.

The tiefling was all too happy to kiss back, her tongue parting the grey elf's delicate lips to find its playmate. in had found Aerylle to be a capable, conscientious lover with whom intimacy was sometimes a little drawn out, but never boring, "Are you trying to make us late?" Min said teasingly, rising languidly to straddle Aerylle, the tiefling's delicately slanted eyes, mysterious as ever, betraying only a hint of the desire which welled deep within her.

"I suspect that would be a little rude of us," Aerylle sighed, burying her face between Min's warm breasts, inhaling the comfortingly spicy-cinnamon smell of the woman's skin, and revelling in its softness, "but tempting nonetheless." It was times like these, Aerylle thought, that she would spend the whole night in Min's arms, chatting, making love, or just feeling the rise and fall of the tiefling's chest.

"Right you are then," Min said with as she rose to her feet, reluctantly, "what would your ladyship prefer I wear?"

Aerylle allowed herself a slight smile, it hadn't taken her long to realise that Min's joking was in no way malicious, "The usual."

"Wise choice." The tiefling said smugly, quickly pulling on oily black leggings crafted from the skin of the stealthy busen and a steel-grey, semi-transparent figure-hugging top. Despite the fact that her aesthetic preferences would have dictated another choice of clothing, Aerylle was fascinated at how Min managed to generate almost effortless presence, if not elegance, with such a simple wardrobe. In elven culture, clothing was a nuanced, highly complex set of signals which were founded on chromatic variations, patterns, materials and even the manner in which a particular garment was worn. It would have been inconceivable for Aerylle to have been effectively courted by someone who did not know the subtleties of this code; now, however, the elven girl found herself fascinated by the objective aesthetic complementarity between Min's supple, almost feline muscularity and her choice of clothing.

If she was to live a reasonably happy life in Sigil, though, Aerylle knew that adaptation would be indispensable. Old habits were, as always, difficult to kick, "Can I at least brush your ha-..."

"Don't push your luck." Min growled, affecting menace. To her mind there was absolutely nothing wrong with her hair: it was naturally straight and well-disciplined and certainly required no tampering with,

"Anyway, so this woman who's invited us, she send money your way?"

"Well, the library's way to be precise." Aerylle said, quickly adjusting the nearly imperceptible creases Min had inflicted on her gown.

"A Sensation enthusiast?" Min asked, pulling on her boots.

"Donor to and member of the Society, yes."

"More money than sense, no doubt. Lots of leatherheads like that around." Socialites and poseurs did not generally enjoy Min's sympathy, but at least based on what Aerylle had told her, this gathering in particular was to be particularly interesting and definitely atypical in terms of its guest list.

"Never judge a book by its cover." Aerylle commented, the phrase making her think back poignantly to the time she and Min had first met. How thankful she was for that instant in which she had decided to try the Waterside Inn tavern for the last time. That decision had already began writing a crucial chapter in the story of her life.

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

"What a great pleasure to welcome the noble paladins of the Order of the Radiant Path into our humble home, please, please come in." Elyszara said with well practised effusion. The art of verbal manipulation was one she had begun to excel at. Of course, it had not always been that way for she had begun her adolescent years as a bitter introvert. Times change, she thought, and people with it. In this case, it was for the mutual benefit of all.

"It's lovely to be here again. Your hospitality is legendary," Virginia complimented warmly - she did not buy Elyszara's setup for a second, but was certainly wise enough to reciprocate the aasimar's apparent affection, "may I introduce Lily who has recently joined our Order as a convert." The dark elf gave a short, dispassionate bow - convert was decidedly too strong a word. Nevertheless, if Virginia thought it most acceptable to explain the situation in those terms, all the better.

"Lily...how charming! And what astute dress sense." Elyszara was decidedly impressed by the newcomer, not to mention surprised. All for the better, she thought, as the dark elf definitely added an air of additional mystique and sensual exoticism to the evening. To Elyszara's jaded taste, there was little better.

Lily, on the other hand had to restrain every drow instinct in her to repress the creeping fantasy of slitting Elyszara's throat. If Friyya was inane, there was no word in any language to describe the aasimar. Pretty specimen, though, the drow was forced to concede.

"Oh, and Syf and Friyya, the loveliest of couples," Elyszara gushed, extending a dainty, pale hand for Syf to kiss. The paladin felt something turn in her stomach. Maintaining her cool, collected exterior almost intact, Syf bowed fluidly to kiss the outstretched hand.

"What a gallant lover, you have Lady Friyya, I'm so jealous, oh...and of that dress too, its positively delightful." Elyszara gushed as Friyya blushed slightly. Elyszara's choice of a dress composed of thin, criss-crossing strips of a voluminous, effectively transparent, black gown fixed with a tiny, intricately wrought silver chain between the aasimar's pert, rounded breasts was certainly competitive, but for tonight, Friyya knew she must have the edge in terms of elegance - or so she hoped. However, if Syf had been telepathic and had read Lily's mind in precisely that moment, they would have found that they were thinking exactly the same thing. The aasimar was hopeless narcissist and Syf had no idea what in the Nine Hells was in the process of being concocted. Whatever it was, Syf reflected, it almost certainly involved plans for her with which she had intention of complying. That, however, was a promise Syf had made to herself before.

Elyszara, in the meanwhile, was busy complimenting Marséna and Shesayne, "Cirily, our guests have arrived." She called.

Cirily walked into the dining chamber with self-possessed elegance, the iridescent fabric of her pearly white dress exalting the slightly bronzed accent on her otherwise pale skin. Syf felt her belly turn once again. In the worst of circumstances, this had the potential be the most humiliating night not only of her life, but a few other unfortunates as well.

"Heartfelt greetings," Cirily began formally, the dulcet tones of her musical voice pleasingly soft but clear across the chatter, "may I bring some refreshments? Dinner will be ready for service at your discretion shortly." Although it may have been a stressful task, there were few pleasures greater to Cirily than being the perfect hostess and the most gracious companion to Elyszara. It was, as all things could be if sufficiently loved and practised, an art.

"Aerylle, my treasure, what an honour, and what a stunning companion you brought with you!" Elyszara gushed from the doorway. Syf, and she was not alone, resolved that a very long night had just begun.

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

Quite a few bottles of good Arvandor feywine, Cirily's faultless, light cooking with its delicate combinations of sweet, spicy and savoury, and the soft, musical chiming of a summoned and bound air spirit trapped in a prison of silver bells soon loosened the atmosphere. Having detached herself briefly from Aerylle, who was involved in a particularly intense discussion on the significance of landscape painting in elven art with Cirily, Min had managed to catch up with Marséna, who was refilling her glass for the umpteenth time from the silver pitcher of golden feywine.

"Having fun yet?" Min asked, for lack of anything more intelligent to say, enjoying the breathtaking sight of Marséna slightly bent over the table.

"Improving with every glass," Marséna replied, turning around to place a light greeting kiss on Min's lips, "can I refill yours?"

"I won't stop you." The tiefling said, smiling enigmatically as Marséna filled the delicate crystal goblet with the cool, aromatic liquid.

"Nice catch, but I never thought she would be your type." The paladin said, nodding her head in Aerylle's direction.

"She makes me happy, she makes me wet, what else d'you want from life?"

"How's the recovery and retrieval business going, then?" Marséna inquired, always fascinated by the presence of the mysterious tiefling. Min had this infectious, endearing self-confidence which never veered too far towards unpleasantness. On the contrary, with time, she seemed positively charismatic and refreshingly unaffected.

"Dangerous, underpaid and frustrating. As usual. Shesayne says you've been taking good care of her, though. She's really into you." Min could not help but turn her gaze to the rich iodine tan of Marséna's breasts, partly exposed in all their naturally bounteous firmness by the half-unbuttoned blouse. It was so white that the cafe-au-lait nipples were easily perceptible to Min's keen eyesight below the fabric.

"Well, I must say," Marséna began, the alcohol had already loosened her tongue somewhat, and filled her head with a light, pleasant warmth, "I would have liked to have spoken to her more, but she keep moving back and forth. I don't think she's ever held a conversation for more than a few minutes."

"Hmm, but if I'm here it's because of her. She handles artifacts like spinning tops, must be some sort of sixth sense or something." Min said, her gaze lowered to where Marséna's slender, athletic thigh peak peeked through the slit of the paladin's long, black skirt.

"Do you want to get some fresh air?" Marséna said quietly, her big, deep brown eyes finding Min's, "There's a balcony in the loft."

The tiefling nodded subtly, her heart's pace quickening, her throat drying somewhat. She quickly drained her glass, feeling the sensual, fruity sweetness of the wine wash over her tongue like welcome spring.

Min followed the paladin up the internal spiral staircase at the far wall of the dining chamber, through the bedroom and into the almost pitch blackness of Sigil's cool night. Only fires blazing in the distance and the enchanted illumination of the streets below provided lighting.

"You're stunning." Min said reverently as they both peered out into the city below. Luminescent globes, placed down the boulevards and larger alleyways like monstrous fireflies lit up the Lady's Ward, giving the impression that Sigil was one enormous, lambent wheel of light. Crowds still thronged in and out of establishments, spilling forth into streets, testament to Sigil's vivid nightlife. Min, however, was far more interested in the scenery immediately in front of her. The tiefling's hand travelled down the freely flowing raven tresses of Marséna's hair, down her back and under the slit of the skirt, grasping a perfectly flared, toned globe of the paladin's legendary bottom. Marséna stood still, silently contemplative, allowing herself to be touched. Even this contact, filled with the passion of admiration as well as lust, was a form of emotional warmth to her, comforting because it came from a woman she .

As the tiefling caressed, she explored more of Marséna's secrets hidden beneath the recesses of the black fabric of her skirt. She felt the tension in the slender muscles of Marséna's thigh, the tightness and firmness of the girl's bottom as she ran a finger down its crease, the midnight-black curls of hair beneath which nestled the lips of an already humid sex.

Turning suddenly to face the tiefling, Marséna cupped Min's cheeks in her hands, her fingers lovingly running down the finely chiselled, enigmatically beautiful features.

"You can have me now, if you want. We can stay here until light breaks again, and do everything you've ever dreamed of doing with me. Or we can stop fucking our lives up, enjoy the scenery and a few jokes, go back and stay friends who like to admire each other every now and then. You choose, as far as I'm concerned, I can go either way."

"Marséna, what's wrong?" Min said, very softly.

"I've been living the strangest few days of my life and I'm tired. I have so much love to give and I don't know who to give it to anymore and I'm angry and I'm fucking confused." Marséna said desperately, hoping

Min didn't see the tears streaming down her cheeks - but knowing the tiefling's perfect eyesight would catch them anyway. "C'mon Marséna," Min said, her tone becoming firmer all of a sudden as she drew the

Mareterran girl into a tight embrace, "I don't fall head over heels for weaklings, you're stronger than that."

"I'm sorry I'm troubling you with this." Marséna said, trying to prevent it from sounding like a whimper.

"Nah, don't mention it. I'll take this as my reward." Min said jokingly, planting a soft but loving kiss on Marséna's lips, "Now go and find your happiness...and thanks for reminding me that I should also go find mine."

"Hmm, your elven friend probably wouldn't have appreciated what you were doing down there." Marséna said, a smile returning to her lips.

"I know, but she doesn't have your ass." Min quipped back.

"She doesn't deserve us behaving this stupidly. No one does."

"I know." Min agreed, before taking Marséna by the hand and leading her back downstairs.

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

Aerylle was convinced that Sigil's cosmopolitan tolerance had its profound advantages: it made life more interesting, more varied and opened one's horizons, intellectual or...otherwise. Aerylle's tolerance, however, stopped at drow. The very fact that she had been co-opted into the proximity of one by Shesayne was galling, to put it mildly. The half-elf chattered on as if nothing were the matter, seemingly uncaring that a specimen of a race which had been rejected by the light of day itself was within earshot. Shesayne's mother, Aerylle imagined, would have paled at this thought. The dark elf was, furthermore, genuinely unctuous: vague, evasive, and when it suited her, charming enough.

Most annoyingly, she had a sharp little tongue which had been throwing little barbs in Aerylle's direction all evening, insinuating that the drow alone knew the boundless power of elven femininity. Politeness, however, dictated that in the house of another, she could never step beyond the bounds of cultured civility.

"So, Lily, what is it that draws you to the magical containment and retrievals business?" Aerylle asked, gracefully crossing her legs and leaning against the side of her armchair farthest from Lily.

The dark elf turned her head slightly, her eyes imperious and haughty, "I think that would be where my natural talents lie." The drow's lilting accent had become progressively uncongenial to Aerylle's ears.

"Yes, yes, I think we could make really efficient use of someone with such natural, spontaneous magical affinity-attunement such as yourself." Shesayne agreed as she sat forward in her own armchair, her elbows propped on her knees, peering curiously at the dark elf. Alcohol made her speech even faster.

"I find it reassuring that you would so readily recognise the value of my innate abilities." Lily said, scrutinising Shesayne carefully. She had to learn every single detail of her surroundings, remember faces, names and preferences. This was all part of the necessary process of adaptation. Lily's adaptation, however, stopped with surface elves.

"Oh well, Shesayne, I do hope you find dark elves to be every bit as reliable as collaborators as they are made out to be." Aerylle said, forcing a fake, ironic smile.

"Drow." Lily snapped.

Shesayne could only stare on, dismayed at the tension of the conversation. It had been no problem whatsoever for her to offer Lily a trial period in her retrievals team. Drow did, after all, have a powerful affinity to all things enchanted. Nevertheless, she had spent all of her life in Sigil where such ancestral hatreds, though by no means nonexistent, were at the very most muted. She personally saw nothing intrinsically wrong with interacting with a member of any given race. If Sigil had taught Shesayne anything, it was that the good, the bad and the ugly could be found in any species or culture.

The conversation proceeded with the underlying note of tension, but all would have been restrained enough had Virginia not suddenly appeared behind Lily. Having been suitably relaxed by a few glasses of feywine and a couple of amiable conversations, the paladin was in an enthusiastic mood. She made sure Lily knew by leaning on the side of Lily's armchair, craning her neck slightly to share a short, but wetly passionate kiss with the drow, one hand sliding ever so slightly under the fabric of blouse to caress the top of her generous, obsidian breasts.

To say that something in Aerylle snapped would be reductive, "Virginia!" The grey elf hissed, her voice louder than she had hoped, her nails digging savagely into the red fabric padding of the armchair.

Startled and confused, Virginia whipped around to face Aerylle. It was then that the effects of the alcohol very rapidly faded into a cold, unpleasant awkwardness. She realised then that she had definitely forgotten to put two and two together; but that the grey elf, who had clearly been disappointed with Virginia's clumsy efforts at courtship, could still feel irritation that she had found another lover, drow or otherwise, seemed inconceivable.

"Aerylle...I...thought that you had, uh, moved on." Was all Virginia could manage. The paladin had the impression that whatever she said would only serve to irritate the elven girl further.

Aerylle stared lividly, her face suddenly paler than usual. Typical, she thought, this slattern is a temptress as well as an instrument of conniving wickedness. There is truly no vice of which the drow are innocent.

"I apologise, but regrettably, I must leave you." Aerylle said tersely, rising to her feet, "Excuse me, Shesayne." Moving angrily back into the dining area, she hoped to find Min as soon as possible. It was time to go home.

"Virginia?" Lily inquired quizzically, she knew surface elves to be highly strung, but surely Virginia's relationships were well outside Aerylle's remit to judge.

"Ah..." The paladin began, not quite certain how to avoid further disaster, "There was a time in which I courted her."

"Right, terribly, terribly sorry, but I should find Marséna." Shesayne said, wanting only to escape being ensnared into another tense conversation. She rose quickly from her armchair and scampered off. In reality,

Marséna could wait; the half-elf had a craving for one of Cirily's elderberry syrup pastries and desperately hoped some had been left on the table.

"Her?" Lily sneered. The very thought was inconceivable. What was there in a bland, anaemic surface elf to like?

"Yes, but some time ago." Virginia conceded.

"Well," Lily said huskily, seizing the front of Virginia's tunic with her dextrous fingers and drawing the paladin in for another kiss, "it looks like your re-education still has to be completed."

Lily's kiss was electric, her violet lips soft, yielding and moist, her tongue wantonly curious, teasing, fencing and coyly withdrawing from Virginia's advances. With her free hand, Lily guided Virginia's fingers to her silky, exposed thighs, before drawing them higher, under the blouse, to the warm, wet mons of her sex. Virginia moaned into Lily's mouth. The contrast between the soft skin, silky fabric and the yielding, damp sex was divine.

"Lily, not here," Virginia said breathlessly, hoping no one was paying too much attention, "We could..."

Virginia was silenced once more by hungry lips, "Later, I think I will have to show you the infinite advantages of drow women." Lily said, flicking her tongue one last time over Virginia's lips before loosening her grip on the paladin.

"I am honoured." Virginia said, feigning indifference. Inside she could hardly wait. Just disengaging her hand from Lily's sex was a struggle.

"I warn you, paladin," Lily said, her voice full of lascivious menace, "it will not be a short night." The drow emphasised her comment by raising Virginia's hand to her lips and hungrily licking off the residue of her own nectar from the pale fingers.

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

"What a rare privilege, my lady knight wants to speak to me in the privacy of my bath chamber." Elyszara said, locking the door to the spacious stone and red-tile room behind them.

"Stop it. Stop it now." Syf said firmly. She had not eaten, she had not drunk. She just wanted to rid herself immediately of this gnawing guilt at the pit of her stomach and at the edges of her conscience.

"Stop what, my lady knight?" Elyszara asked innocently, beginning to unbutton Syf's tunic.

"This," Syf snapped, angrily seizing the aasimar's hands and thrusting them aside, "we can't go on like this."

"Why not?" Elyszara pouted.

"Does this look healthy to you? Or fair, to Cirily or Friyya?" The paladin became progressively indignant, there was a limit to all selfishness but Elyszara clearly had yet to discover it.

"But isn't it wonderful to be able to choose?" Elyszara insisted, moving back against Syf, resuming the unbuttoning of the paladin's tunic, "How many would envy you for the opportunity to choose between Friyya and me at your liking. Hmm...I bet with a little talking to, Friyya could join us..."

Syf slapped Elyszara, harder than she had wanted to, sending the aasimar crumpling to the floor, "You don't deserve to touch her."

Indignantly, Elyszara rose to her feet, a slight redness forming on her otherwise pale cheek, "Don't you dare try that with me. I might like you, but I'm not stupid for you. You can put your queen on as high a pedestal as you want, but you wanted me. Twice, Syf, twice! Each time you came mewling like an adolescent girl. Look at me and look at you: one strike of your hand and I'm on the floor. So tell me, my lady knight, who deserves to touch what or whom."

"I didn't mean to hit you so hard." Syf relented, "Forgive me, but I...just cannot live with myself like this." Inside she felt like crying out in hot, boiling weeping frustration.

"Oh, there's no need to apologise," Elyszara said, her tone changing, become more pliable and less confrontational, "as a matter of fact, I should apologise for so shamelessly seducing you. But I think that shouldn't be enough either, I think I can only repent once I've been sufficiently punished." The aasimar's lips and tongue found Syf's exposed neck, kissing in slow, sensual brushes of the lips and tongue.

"Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?" Syf protested, but the fire in her loins was spreading. She tried to think of Friyya, of her smile, of her orange dress, of her melodious voice rousing her in the morning with sweet nothings. But all her mind could see was Elyszara, slender, elfin limbs and pale skin against the impenetrable darkness of her robe, the perfect, feylike beauty of her form, those beautiful, soft, indigo-painted lips. Hatred swept through the paladin, hatred and hot impotent anger. Hatred of Elyszara, hatred of herself, hatred of the stupidity of her past decisions.

"You always come round..." Elyszara teased, finally unbuttoning Syf's tunic and letting it drop to the floor, before latching her teeth around the waist of the paladin's leggings and gently pulling them down with the aid of curious, dextrous hands.

"Hmm," Elyszara mused, contemplating the soft black thatch atop Syf's sex - she could smell the enticing fragrance of the paladin's arousal, "I bet Friyya never gets you this wet."

"Shut up!" Syf growled, seizing Elyszara's hair roughly in one hand and forcing the aasimar's face against her sex.

Elyszara cooed, her mind now at ease with the pleasure of reconfirming her hold over Syf. The aasimar sprung admirably to her duty, lapping hungrily at the nectar drenched lips, coaxing the soft silky folds open to reveal Syf's core. The paladin could only emit, short strangled cries as the aasimar's tongue probed the pink juiciness of her inner depths, prizing apart the slick folds and caressing the hot, tortured flesh with the cooling malice of her tongue.

Syf felt her world closing in on the juncture between her blooming sex and Elyszara's curious tongue. She was so shamefully wet and tense between her thighs, her hips thrusting against her will, begging Elyszara to lick ever harder and deeper, to lap up every last drop of passion which sprung forward from the sodden nether lips. The combination of suffocated rage and passion was not a healthy one as far as Syf was concerned.

The moderate affection she had once felt for Elyszara was now gone, replaced only with a base, visceral desire to fuck the girl, to make her answerable to all the agonising emotional games she had unleashed on Syf. Grinding her sex harder against Elyszara's mouth, Syf gave a sharp, involuntary cry as the aasimar lightly bit down, with the very tip of her teeth, on the paladin's engorged clitoris. Lavishing her attention on the tiny bud which had coyly but decisively slipped free from its hood, Elyszara tongued Syf's sex in quick, expert licks, feeling the first pained contractions in the depths of the paladin's hips.

Syf felt the hot, leaden stirrings of her final release, the knot of tension in her belly tightening. She knew she had reached the brink when Elyszara effortlessly inserted a single, probing finger into the furnace of her sex. Syf felt the rush of the first flushes of her climax; it was as if the world, if briefly, were at peace. All her universe was Elyszara's bobbing mane of black hair with its naturally silver, blue and violet highlights, the slender girl's elfin, oval face thrust passionately and hungrily against her sodden sex, a single curious, irreverent digit parting the puffy, swollen folds of her sex to find and tease her most sensitive spot, deep inside her core.

Syf rode the waves of her peak, each thrust bringing back a flashing memory of the past she had briefly, but blissfully, forgotten. By the time she slumped back against the door, Elyszara still busy between her thighs, Syf hated herself more than ever before.

"So...who’s the loose woman now?" Elyszara sniped, looking up from Syf's sex, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

She could not gloat long because soon Syf was on top of her. Kicking off her boots and leggings, Syf effectively ripped off Elyszara's robe in one sharp jerk, casting it aside.

"Are you..." Elyszara began, somewhat surprised if excited by Syf's determinate passion. She was silenced by the paladin's lips, hungry and demanding rather than affectionate.

Kissing her way down Elyszara's flawless skin, Syf dragged her lips over the rounded peak of the aasimar's breast and seized a bright pink nipple between her teeth, biting spitefully. Elyszara writhed in response, her squeal one of mixed pain and pleasure. Syf was so predictable, the aasimar thought, so easy to control, so wild and reckless in her passion. But then again, she knew the paladin better than Syf thought. Elyszara knew what it meant to be in bad faith with oneself, to have duties and expectations which forced one to repress desires, needs and passions.

Kissing back up Elyszara's throat, Syf contemplated her with a long, cold stare. It was wordless, the only sounds coming from Elyszara's sensually parted lips as she sought to catch her breath from the shock of Syf's initiative. Rising to her knees, Syf reached to grasp an ornate vial of reddish oil from the side of the great tub of red tile which lay at the centre of the room. Pouring a liberal quantity of the dense, rose-smelling oil on her right hand, Syf briskly lifted Elyszara's left leg over her own shoulder, holding the aasimar's pale sex wide open, the silky wet lips, pink like peaches, covered in dewy moisture. Placing herself atop Elyszara, Syf forced the aasimar into a kiss, her tongue hard and insistent, tasting the residue of wine and honey on the girl's tongue.

Elyszara felt deliciously exposed, her smooth leg eagerly hooked around Syf's smooth, muscular back; surrendering herself to the sheer power of this woman was intoxicating, filling her sex with copious, sticky nectar. Two of Syf's fingers began to probe between the pouting lips of Elyszara's sex and the aasimar sighed in pleasure. After easing two fingers in, Syf began to add a third and then a fourth, each time spreading the silky, pliable lips further, coaxing the muscle gently to relax and accommodate around the intrusion, the mixture of copious wetness and rose oil filling the room with a slight floral scent.

"Oh, Syf, careful there..." Elyszara gasped, two tears rolling down her cheeks as she felt Syf's thumb join the other four fingers deep into her sex, spreading her wider than she had thought possible, slowly, but inescapably working in deeper and deeper in agonising, tiny thrusts. Biting down, savagely on Syf's shoulder, Elyszara felt the most sublime flash of pain mingled with deep, toe-curling pleasure as she drew the paladin closer. Syf needed no encouragement and continued to work all of her hand into Elyszara's sex, easing it in with firm, twisting motions until she had impaled the aasimar almost to the wrist.

"Syf!" Elyszara sobbed, feeling the paladin's knuckles hard and squirming against her innermost core, every single subtle movement of Syf's hand felt like agonising electricity in the recesses of her sex.

"You wanted it, now you have it." Syf said dispassionately as she gave a few more firm thrusts with her hand, sending Elyszara over the brink in a gasping, breathless frenzy. The aasimar's body spasmed, hard, but impotently against the invader in her sex. Syf held on to her purchase in the girl's sex and did not relent until she was certain that Elyszara's protracted, agonised orgasm had definitively passed.

Thoroughly filled and left with a deep, dreamlike satisfaction, Elyszara lay on the cool stone surface of her bathing chamber, breathing in the residual perfume of the rose oil and of damp tiles. She exhaled deeply as Syf carefully withdrew her hand from her sex.

"That was fabulous." Elyszara said; the combination of agony and ecstasy had been sublime.

Syf ignored her. The paladin rose to her feet and dressed quickly before rinsing her hands in the scented water of the washbasin at the entrance of the bath chamber.

"You're in a hurry." The aasimar noted.

"Did you enjoy it?" Syf asked brusquely.

"Oh yes, but I don't see why..."

"Remember it, this is the last time I touch you. Ever. The less I have to do with you in future, the better." Syf turned her back to unlock the door.

"You've said this before." Elyszara snapped, gathering up her robe.

"This time I swear by the Vigilant Maiden herself that I would rather thrust a dagger into my own breast than ever kiss or lie with you again."

"Bitch!" Elyszara growled, knowing the potency of the oath, "I'm sure Friyya will take due note of your promise."

"I probably won't have her by tomorrow, either. But at least I will be rid of you." The door slammed behind Syf.

Elyszara dressed quickly, adjusting her hair and rinsing her mouth and sex out with some cool water. In the end, though, the aasimar admitted that, simply put, Syf was an infinitely better person than she was. At no time had she threatened to tell Cirily, nor, probably, would she ever. But then Elyszara was also resentful of Syf's refusal to understand the emotions that flowed within her. Syf was an ideal of power, confidence and commanding beauty; she had been resplendent, like salvation in a sea of uncertainty.

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

It had begun to drizzle. Not an ordinary drizzle, but the long, cold, Sigil drizzle of thin, dirty droplets which fell like needles. Fortunately for her, Isolde was indoors, crouched in front of the window of an upmarket tavern in the Lady's Ward looking out on the attic apartment immediately opposite her position. Dassau's black-and-gold telescope firmly in hand, she scrutinised what appeared to be festivities in the brightly lit dining chamber.

The telescope's enchantment allowed her excellent definition and she was quite able to pick out the subjects involved and the general tone of their interaction. Of course, it had not been necessary to rent a room in New Aura Tavern, but since the Bureau would be picking up the tab, she thought it the ideal place to set up camp. Now, kneeling on a pile of plush cushions, a pot of triple filtered glucose-sweetened tea by her side with a sterile silver cup, Isolde thought the amenities almost worth the inconvenience. Lirai would have been jealous.

As she observed, Isolde jotted a few notes down - just enough material to present Dassau with a report which would placate the sadistic old dog. Just as she had finished remarking the withdrawal of what appeared to be the host and a human female clad in the dress uniform of the Order of the Radiant Path into the bath chamber (presumably to be intimate, was the euphemistic annotation), Isolde spied something else which almost made her drop the telescope.

Focalising long and hard on the figure as it interacted with a dark elf, another human in what Isolde could only describe as a scandalous orange dress, something dawned on her. The conclusion was hesitant and quickly dismissed at first. But upon closer inspection of the figure, after long, hard thought, that same conclusion became ineluctable. Isolde's mouth dried, her heart began to sink slightly in her chest, her stomach turning as if she needed to vomit.

"Virginia." She mouthed in disgust.

Leave me alone, will you? Leave me alone with her and then go off to become a Consecrated Paladin. How convenient. You could have taken me, but no, you left me alone with her. Isolde rarely felt rage of this sort. Not even when Dassau had her perform the most appallingly repetitive, demeaning, humiliating tasks. She never felt rage, only weary frustration. In that moment, though, not even the plush silk, mahogany and velvet surroundings of the Imperial Suite of the New Aura Tavern could assuage the burning dragon of unutterable rage which hatched in Isolde's breast.

You'll get your report, Dassau. A very long and detailed report. So long and detailed that even you will be surprised. Then, Virg, we'll see who got out.

Isolde gathered herself and continued watching. Her pen flew like the raging storms of Pandemonium over sheet after sheet of paper.

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

The festivities, in the end, turned out to be something of a minor disaster for all concerned, the only exception being Cirily who, shielded from the subtle - and not so subtle - intrigues around her, was widely and honestly complimented for the quality of her catering, the care with which she had selected food and wine, and the irresistible pleasantness of her company. She had spoken to Friyya about religious doctrine, to Aerylle about literature and aesthetics, and to Lily about the social and political system of Sigil. All in all, Cirily thought that the experience had been a great social mixing event and vociferously recommended another such event in the near future to an evasive and pensive Elyszara.

Back in the Radiant Path Quarters, Marséna had essentially collapsed, face first on her bed, instantly asleep despite Shesayne's protestations that they should talk for a while. Virginia found herself virtually thrown into her room by Lily, leaving Friyya to change into her nightgown at a leisurely pace, carefully folding her dress for storage. Syf looked vacantly on. Her piercing blue eyes looked as if they were staring into another dimension. She undressed slowly, carefully, rinsed her face and mouth and slid naked - as was her preference - under the sheets. She simply did not know what to tell Friyya, how she could look her lover in the eyes and tell her that she had betrayed her trust and devotion for an exotic thrill with Elyszara. It was inconceivable.

The very thought pained Syf as her mind raced, desperate to find some sort of palliative which would break the shock, or at least render it more palatable. She would sit out Friyya's rage, her recriminations, her insults and tell her she loved her, tell her she needed her, tell her that Elyszara was but a memory. But then Syf was Syf; she was supposed to have been beyond moral reproach, one of the most upstanding paladins of the Order. The very thought of confessing her weakness, even to Friyya, was painful in the extreme. More so because she feared Friyya would reject her - as she would have every right to do - and Syf would, once again, be left to the solitude of her sword. As the thought, Syf counted the moments she knew it took Friyya to prepare for bed, each a further step down into the Abyss. It was agonising, like waiting for an execution.

"Is there something wrong?" Friyya asked as she stood over the bed, giving her lustrous auburn hair a final brush down.

Syf gazed back into Friyya's tender, loving smile and felt like the pit of her stomach extended into the Abyss.

"There is something I need to tell you." Syf said, enunciating each word as if it were a painful birth.

"Tell me tomorrow," Friyya said, laying down her brush and climbing under the sheets to embrace Syf tightly, "I had a good time tonight, but right now I'm absolutely exhausted. I'll probably think better in the morning."

As Friyya huddled closer to Syf, her autumn-blonde tresses spilling all over the dark-haired paladin's breast, her only thought was that she was thankful her relationship with her lover was free from the travails she had observed in other couples during the night. At least, with Syf she was happy.

"I really need to..."

"Tomorrow, Syf, please tomorrow."

Syf, most assuredly, did not sleep a single minute.

**********

Sigil Book One, Chapter IV

I think there is always one thing we would go back and change. Even if fully satisfied with our lives, we always have this irritating, nagging impression that there may have been greater happiness, greater riches, greater success somewhere, out there, over the rainbow or beyond the clouds. Happiness is always best thought of as lying somewhere else. Then there are the truly stupid things we do. Those things that haunt our minds for the rest of our lives. These are crucial, vulnerable moments, not so much because of our mistake, but because of our vulnerability. Redemption from truly great mistakes lies only in the goodwill of others and, the way societies appear to develop, that is not exactly a reassuring thought. Ultimately, the best we can hope for is a fair hearing from those whom we have hurt or disappointed before we throw ourselves at their mercy and hope for the weight to be lifted from us. Those who are fortunate enough to get such a fair hearing must know two things: that they are doubly lucky for knowing a person who is willing to forgive even the most unforgivable of crimes; and that they are doubly guilty of having betrayed the trust of some of the best souls of the Multiverse in the first place.

- The Archivist, your narrator.

"After such knowledge, what forgiveness?"

"Leave, please, leave now." Friyya said, her voice almost inaudible. She sat on her bed, her face turned from Syf, eyes fixed against the wall.

"I...don't know what to say, I just thought I should tell you that what is done is done, but I am so deeply sorry..." Syf could not finish what turned out to be a unduly contorted apology. Her tunic felt as heavy as solid lead. She had never seen Friyya so paralysed by anger in her life.

"Leave now." Friyya interrupted, the rage welling up inside her again. All that time, all that devotion dedicated to Syf and she wasn't good enough? Friyya was not good enough? The bile in her throat rose again, like hot, roiling acid. She had tried to be calm, but Syf had taken any pretext for civility away. There was only incandescent, primal rage now.

"Friyya, it was my fault...but I..."

"Leave now you whore!" Friyya howled, seizing the ceramic flower vase at the bedside table and hurling it in Syf's direction. It shattered against the wall.

Syf stood absolutely stunned for a few moments. She had never imagined that such burning hatred could have resided in Friyya's breast, but, and it bore remembering, her reaction was to be expected. So Syf complied, leaving wordlessly only to find a somewhat groggy Marséna, still dressed in her clothes from the previous night, standing perplexed in the common room. Syf cursed silently to herself; she had expressly waited for the other occupants of the apartment to leave for their daily duties before confronting Friyya with the evidence. The idea, of course, had been to minimise the scene she knew was coming.

"What in the Nine Hells is going on?" Marséna inquired. Her head hurt slightly with an irritating, dry pulsating throb and the shouting had certainly not helped her case.

"I really have to go." Syf said tersely, "I'll explain later. Please, do not be too harsh in your judgement." She leaned forward and surprised Marséna with a soft kiss on the lips, then turned and left.

Feeling disorientated and thoroughly confused, Marséna decided to press the matter further and entered Syf's room. Friyya sat on the bed, clasping a pillow so tightly that Marséna thought she must be on the verge of ripping it. Her visage bore the expression of such livid, violent anger that the Mareterran was at first frightened to approach. Had they quarrelled? Perhaps, but there was no quarrel Marséna could even begin to imagine would cause Friyya to look like she was the walking dead. The auburn-haired paladin's eyes were wild, fixed on the wall, seemingly lost in another time and place.

"Friyya?" Marséna probed, taking a seat the girl's side.

"I need to be alone." Friyya replied coldly. Her fingers felt rigid, hard and violent, like the claws of a raptor clutching its prey.

"What happened?...It couldn't have been that bad."

"Syf is a whore." Friyya said, each word rolling off her tongue like a poisoned dart.

"What?" Marséna said, surprised that Friyya had chosen to express herself in such terms. In her experience, she had never heard the paladin use anything which could even be broadly defined as crude language.

"Elyszara."

"Are you certain?" Marséna felt as if something had struck the doors of her consciousness, forcing them open. All of a sudden, it was as if the world she thought she knew so well, the world of transparent relations, of transparent emotions, had been swept away, only to be replaced by a new realm of grey-shaded ambiguities. That Syf would even consider betraying Friyya's trust had been beyond Marséna's rational conception.

"She told me." Friyya said, her voice lower now, almost a confidential whisper.

"Goddess..."

"Three times." Friyya specified.

"I don't think you should dwell on the details..."

"Whatever you give, it's never enough...right? Your soul, your heart, your body. When they've taken everything you have, they leave you on the side of the road - alone and naked."

Marséna would have loved to deal rationally with this most delicate of crises. Unfortunately for her, she was neither in the physical or intellectual condition to do so. Nevertheless, it was her duty to at least make an attempt.

"I'm sure she's sorry." Marséna began, the banality of the statement struck her as potentially insulting, but she had to begin somewhere.

"I don't care. I curse her, may her heart and womb and liver rot." Friyya spat venomously.

"Hush!" Marséna interjected, somewhat frightened, "You mustn't, the Furies oblige the curses of lovers. You can't take them back."

"There are too many things we can't take back. Then there are times like these when you just wish you could take back your whole life and crawl back into your mother's womb; to be safe, nestled in a soundless of ocean where no one can touch you, no one can hurt you."

"Goddess, Friyya..." Marséna said, uncertain of how to deal with the increasingly apocalyptic tones of Friyya's rage. All the Mareterran girl could do was wrap her arm around Friyya's shoulder and draw her into an embrace, hoping that, in some small way, it would help.

Friyya found comfort in Marséna's warmth, in the rhythm of her breath and the gentle stroking of the Mareterran paladin's hands as they glided through her auburn hair. All she could see now was the darkness of Marséna's hair and the rich tan of her breasts. Friyya gradually let go of her anger and frustration; deciding to set them aside to recover her strength and to undo the profound enervation of Syf's confession. That she found solace in, of all people, Marséna was not so much ironic as especially fitting: it was all too easy to be a friend in good times, but a friend in need...

"Come, lie down." Marséna said, her voice soothing in a way Friyya had never heard it. There they lay for long moments, Marséna propped up against the headboard of the bed with Friyya lying wordlessly on her breast, wishing for her universe to shrink to encompass only the two of them so to shut out the pain which lay outside. Although Friyya often irritated her beyond all rational comprehension, Marséna hated seeing her friend and sister-in-arms thus reduced.

"Marséna?" Friyya said quietly.

"Hmm?" The Mareterran had begun to doze off again, the headache between her temples subsiding to a dull throb.

"Shouldn't you report to Isobel?"

"No, I've got something more important to do." Marséna replied, feigning indifference. She felt hot, dripping moisture on her breasts. Friyya was not sobbing hysterically as Marséna had expected, just weeping silent tears of impotent rage.

"Marséna?"

"Yes, Friyya." Sister or no sister, Marséna sensed it would be a long day.

"I must confess I feel guilty."

"Why is that?"

"I wished I told you how much I loved you more often, just so it didn't sound so contrived now." Friyya blurted.

"I can live with that."

"Forgive me." Friyya whimpered softly.

"I do...I do, come on now, just rest with me as long as you need." Marséna would have given anything to prevent the situation from collapsing into a hysterical - and loud - scene.

"Don't abandon me. Don't abandon me like she abandoned me." Friyya implored, snuggling closer to Marséna's soft, comforting breasts.

"I'm here." Marséna said simply. In reality, she had no idea how to respond to Friyya or even whether it was wise to respond at all. What she did know as that wheel of fate seemed to have turned again and that this was just the first drizzle of a coming storm.

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

"Goddess, Syf, you look terrible." Virginia could not help but saying as Syf slumped miserably over a workbench in the armoury, running a whetstone down her longsword in a pained, almost mechanical motion.

"I am a worm." She said simply, with no trace of emotion in her voice. She continued sharpening her sword, taking comfort in the tiny red and yellow sparks which flew off from the silvery blade. The scraping sound of stone on steel was hypnotic and it drew Syf a world away from the crushing weight of her guilt.

"It's Friyya, right?"

"Yes. I suppose good fortune was simply not good enough for me, so I had to squander it. Only perverse people enjoy destroying something beautiful...no, only wicked people do."

Virginia then knew without being told, "You...Syf?"

The paladin nodded glumly, never once raising her head from her work, "It just takes a few moments for years to be lost."

Although Virginia had never imagined Syf capable of hurting Friyya so profoundly, there was no sense in recriminations, no sense in disappointment. She had never taken Syf to be anything more than human, a truly admirable human, but still a mere mortal. In the end, there was nothing stunning or unnatural about a mortal erring. The important thing, of course, was to find the right path straight away. Guilt would merely keep Syf on the erring path, absorbed in the demons of a past which could not be changed - so why bother suffering throughout the future for it?

"No, years are never lost." Virginia said, sitting next to Syf on the workbench.

"What?" Syf abruptly stopped sharpening, laid down her sword and looked Virginia straight in the eye. There was not a trace of mockery in those lively, brilliant emerald eyes.

"Your memories and your past are those that you have. You don't lose them, they are yours to reclaim."

"Will Friyya allow me to reclaim them?" Syf asked, her voice low and sullen.

"We're all flesh and blood. The best of us try to do something about it. The even better ones pick us up when we fail. I think Friyya is one of the best of people; but you must give her time - the wound has to heal first."

Syf allowed herself a wan smile, "Are you on my side?"

"I honestly thing we all are." Virginia said, taking Syf's hands into her own.

"I think Friyya and I both need space to think." Syf said pensively, her mind already contemplating a suitable penance for her to perform. No, there would be no easy way out of this predicament. She had sinned again and again and for this she certainly required punishment.

"When you're ready, you should speak to her. But for tonight, I'll put out a blanket and some pillows on the divan for you. Also, come back a little later for dinner, I'll make sure there's something warm for you. The important thing is to put your faith in her heart; but, she is, after all, flesh and blood herself so..."

"The less she sees me the better. I know." Syf smiled again, leaned forward to give Virginia a light kiss on the lips and returned to her sharpening.

Virginia left the armour satisfied. She knew Syf well enough to read her mood from the way in which the paladin interacted with her weapon; in the beginning, the whetstone had dragged across the blade in an almost funerary trail of sparks, now it was gliding.

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

"I'm awful sorry, Miss Librarian, but I think I've got an overdue book."

"By Sehaine, Min! You scared me, you have to stop..." Aerylle's protests were silenced by Min's lips on hers as the tiefling pushed the smaller girl against a bookshelf.

"I don't have the jink for the fine, will this do?" Min said, her rich melodious voice low and seductive as her tongue teased Aerylle's, kissing the breath out of her lungs.

Min's hands were quick, firm and expert; she had no difficulty unhooking Aerylle's simple librarian's dress, letting the unflattering garment fall to the floor, exposing the perfect, pale slender form of the grey elf.

"Min, I'm at work...somebody may see us." Aerylle protested, sighing softly as she felt Min's hands cup her bottom and raise her against a bookshelf.

"Don't be silly, in this labyrinth? I swear it's harder to navigate than the Lady's sodding Mazes." Min said, tugging Aerylle's boots off to leave her completely naked.

"If they dismiss me..." Aerylle's protests were suffocated once again by Min's smouldering lips, their deep, vermillion-red richness pressing against the lighter pink of the elf's mouth, now open and yielding for every wet lick of the tiefling's tongue. Aerylle realised there was nothing she could do. She was already unbelievably wet, the thrill of being caught by surprise in the library by Min was already powerful enough, but to defencelessly naked and at the mercy of her lover was arousing beyond description.

Making herself comfortable on the bookshelf by pushing a few books back was not difficult for Aerylle, considering her petite frame. She hooked her slender, pale legs around Min's waist for support, as the tiefling frantically divested herself of her form-fitting vest and leggings. Finally undressed, Min leaned in for another kiss, savouring the moist warmth of her lover's mouth, the gentle friction of their lips brushing together, sometimes with sharp passion, sometimes with feathery gentleness.

"Well," Aerylle said, her eyes rolling in pleasure as Min's agile tongue darted to tease a hard, rosy nipple sitting astride its small, alabaster mound, "I suppose I can accept some cleaning work in lieu of payment." The tiefling suckled passionately on the tumescent peak, firm and sweet like rosehip, adoring the elven girl's taste, the quivering little moans she emitted each time Min's tongue dragged itself roughly over the sensitive flesh.

"Thanks, Miss Librarian, I promise it won't happen again..." Min said seductively, her tongue trailing down the grey elf's navel as her hands spread Aerylle's thighs, revealing pink, juicy folds, fragrant with the floral scent of an elf's arousal and in full, tropical bloom. Instead of going directly for the kill, Min decided to tease a little, planting soft little kisses on the insides of Aerylle's smooth thighs, just letting the tip of her tongue touch the tortured, inflamed pink flesh of her lover's sex, catching only the slightest hint of salty-sweetness on her lips. The elven maiden squirmed; Min had learnt well, her lovemaking had become slightly more patient, but no less passionate or...unconventional.

Min continued her delicate work, lapping up at the edges of the hairless outer lips, carefully collecting each bead of elven nectar, her lips just grazing the tiny clitoris which now stood resolutely outside its hood. Aerylle leaned back further, hearing a book fall behind her, her breathing accelerating as she felt the fire of passion ascend her spine. Her heartbeat was deafening.

The tiefling's languid, carefree pace was maddening. Min continued to lick around the perimeter of Aerylle's sex, sometimes titillating her clitoris with a few quick licks, but never enough to lead the elf down the road of climax. Each swipe of the tongue was timed to extend and escalate arousal and Aerylle was conspicuously aroused, her copious nectar licked up thoroughly by Min, even if a few, sticky drops fell on the books on the shelf below.

"Min...the books," Aerylle sighed, blushing at the thought of having to explain any damage, "I..." She was lost for words: there was no especially ladylike way to describe the situation.

Min helped her out, "I know...you're dripping, aren't I the lucky one?" The tiefling inquired sardonically, placing a couple of long, firm licks on the tight, pink star of Aerylle's bottom.

The librarian could only groan as Min began to increase the tempo against her sex, the tiefling's skilled tongue now parting the velvety lips of her sex, breath hot on her clitoris. Placing one foot on the shelf and the other on Min's shoulder for support, Aerylle began to move in rhythm with the tiefling's invading tongue.

For her part, Min worked hungrily, the veil of her ember-red hair spread over the paleness of Aerylle's thighs, her tongue now a hard point against the grey elf's clitoris, licking in short, sharp strokes. Holding one of Aerylle's thighs aside with a hand, Min worked the thumb of the other into the elven girl's sex, pinning her down against the shelf to hold her hips straight for the final assault. Aerylle had effectively lost control, her hips thrusting desperately, her throat struggling to keep in the cries of pure, white-hot passion which flashed before her eyes. Somebody would hear, she was sure of it, and this added to the arousal, the unspoken danger of being caught with Min between her legs in the throes of passion.

"Min!" Was all Aerylle could say before she bit down on her lip, riding the waves of her climax as they lapped across her belly and sex in hard, muscle jarring spasms. The tiefling continued her work, adding another finger into the elven girl's sex, feeling the silky lips pout and open further under every touch. Min had become intoxicated with the texture, scent and flavour of Aerylle's sex, with the soft, ethereal pliability of its folds, the mixture of floral sweetness and light salinity. It was not long before Aerylle was overcome by a second, less vital orgasm which coursed through her at a more leisurely pace, loosening her muscles of all tension and relieving her mind of any sentiment but contented passion. Min stood up again to kiss Aerylle, her face and mouth covered in the grey elf's passion.

"Who'd have thought you were such a naughty one inside?" Min provoked, gently biting Aerylle's lower lip.

"It is you who have intoxicated me, you sorceress."

"Glad to see you're unwinding." Min said smugly, kissing down Aerylle's smooth throat.

"I must say I have never quite unwound like this before...is there anything I can do for you?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Min said, affecting a reprimand, "Y'see, there is that thing you do with your thumb and..."

"I know. I know." Aerylle said quickly, blushing furiously, "Come, lean forward against the shelf."

Min complied, arching her back somewhat, her slender, feline muscles rolling under her reddish skin, her deep-red veil of hair spread around her shoulders and arms.

Pressing against Min, Aerylle began to plant tender wet kisses on the woman's back, one hand snaking around the tiefling's thigh to cup her sodden sex, the other running down the crease of the athletic, yet feminine globes of her bottom. For a librarian, Min thought, Aerylle certainly had a lot of tricks up her sleeve.

Moving the hand on Min's sex in a slow, massaging, circular pattern, Aerylle began to part the nether lips - vibrantly dark red and spicily fragrant - kneading the pads of her fingers into the sensitive flesh while her thumb pressed firmly on the tiefling's turgid little clitoris. Aerylle continued kissing long, wet patterns across Min's back, taking advantage of the fact the tiefling did not have a clear view of anything she was doing.

This technique, Aerylle noted, reinforced and stimulated Min's curiosity by ensuring that the grey elf's actions were always unpredictable. As her massaging of Min's sex increased in tempo, Aerylle traced a hot, wet trail with her other hand from the bottom of Min's juicing sex, through the tight valley of her bottom and up to the base of her spine.

Min purred to herself in pleasure, feeling the slightly painful but immensely pleasurable insistence of the fingernail of Aerylle's thumb against her clitoris, a sensation which doubled in intensity when the elven girl slid two fingers into the depth of her sex. The tiefling gasped as Aerylle expertly parted her folds, spreading open the silky flesh, filling the air with a light scent of heated cinnamon. The fingers of Aerylle's other hand continued to weave their magic around Min's back, bottom and breasts, their motion accompanied by the gliding, lubricating wetness of the tiefling's own sex. Aerylle's fingers were magical, tracing patterns of Min's nectar on the tiefling's dark red nipples, running in hot, wet trails on the undersides of the girl's breasts, around her perfectly firm abdomen, to once again dip into the well of her arousal.

The grey elf kept Min alert; the tiefling did not know whether there would one or two or three fingers wending their way into the silky depths of sex, all that was constant was the insistent scraping of Aerylle's thumb against her clitoris. It was maddening, the tension building in Min's loins, stimulating her hips to thrust themselves against Aerylle's invasion. Her toes curled, digging into the carpeted floor of the library, her feet arched, the tension causing her calves and thighs to tense up, only to be released in one raw, cry. Aerylle felt the climax almost immediately, her sensitive fingers detecting the contractions of Min's sex. She revelled in the melodic cries of the tiefling, in the long ragged breaths she drew through those sultry, red lips.

Min turned around to kiss Aerylle once more as they both sunk down onto the floor, leaning back, panting against the bookshelf, the elf nestled in the tiefling's arms.

"I hope you realise we're naked in your library." Min teased, her breath still a little short, as she stroked Aerylle's long, honey-blonde hair.

"It is my pleasure when it is with you, my love." Aerylle sighed, nuzzling Min's breast. The tiefling began to soothingly stroke the grey elf's sensitive, pointed ear, running the pad of her index finger down its contours.

Min had not really caught on to the 'my love', or 'my treasure' or whatever business. Terms of endearment were meant to be spontaneous, not articulated formally as if they were a title. At least, Min considered, the grey elf did not have some embarrassing pet name for her - that would have no doubt been the worst case scenario, especially if she let it slip in front of Shesayne. Then, she may as well have forgotten ever having been called Min.

"Say, Aerylle," Min began, her post-coital satisfaction fading into curiosity, "I don't suppose you'd want to reconsider what I suggested..."

"Min!" Aerylle said reprovingly, "You know that is hardly ladylike and certainly not for two women who are romantically engaged."

"But that's exactly what it was made for!" Min protested.

"Women are women and men are men. Which is precisely why we have developed arts of lovemaking which harmoniously and naturally integrate individuals whether between or within genders. We see no need for surrogates." Aerylle had certainly never heard of elven men using a simulacrum of a female sex when they were intimate with one another.

"Don't be so snobbish," Min continued, "you could at least try, since you're into the culture thing."

"How is that cultural?"

"Never did me any harm." Min said, lightly kissing the tip of Aerylle's ear.

Well, well, let's see then - Aerylle thought - relationships are made of compromises, right? Well, we shall see how far dear Min takes it.

"All right, Min, next time we can try it. I trust you to make me enjoy it." Aerylle conceded, a smile building on her delicate pink lips.

"Bells of the Nine Hells, finally!" Min said, stretching back languidly in satisfaction. She couldn't wait.

"But before, you will take me out to dinner; a nice place in the Lady's Ward and you will don attire suitable for the occasion."

Fuck. Min thought, as soon as she had deduced from the context what 'attire' meant. She had been trapped.

"You mean..."

"Yes and I am certain you will look absolutely beautiful in it as well." Aerylle said as she rose to dress.

Min groaned, she knew by Aerylle's wide, sardonic smile that she had been beaten. Rising wearily to her feet, the tiefling began to dress.

"Which restaurant d'you have in mind?" Min asked sullenly.

"Peryroyal's." Aerylle replied airily, adjusting her hair.

It was then Min realised that she would be a fair bit more than three hundred Marks down the next time she met Shesayne.

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

"Virginia, I hoped you could explain what this tension between Syf and Friyya is about." Lily said, a trace of curiosity in her normally collected voice. They were lying in the simple wooden tub of Virginia's bathing chamber. The steam from the water and from the heating stove filling the air.

"That? Oh...I didn't think you would interested..."

"I noticed." Lily said, a smile of satisfaction spreading across her face even as her shoulders tensed slightly under Virginia's caress. She still had not gotten used to being stroked from behind - in her society, to be

able to turn one's back on someone meant a bond of deep, reciprocal trust.

"I see you are always on top of the situation, so to speak." Virginia said, rinsing some residual suds of sweet-smelling detergent from Lily's long, silky white hair.

"If you are to survive in drow society, you need to have an eye on everything which happens around you. Any change in a given relationship can potentially affect you. Which, I imagine, is the case for both of us."

"No, you mustn't worry." Virginia reassured, "They just need time to piece things together after a fight." She certainly did not want to give Lily the wrong impression about the Order.

"Has Syf fallen out of Friyya's favour? I find that strange, I was under the impression that Syf was Friyya's patron."

"It isn't like that here, Lily," Virginia said, wrapping her arms around the drow's slender waist, her lips trailing softly down an elegantly pointed ear, "it's a matter of trust. They need to know they can trust each other."

"I see," Lily began, guiltily enjoying Virginia's attention, "So Syf found another lover, where is the complication in that?" In drow society it was perfectly normal for lovers to change, often rapidly - perhaps in the order of one or two decades - to adjust for priorities and ambitions. Society was fluid, so relationships had to be as well.

"When we have affection for another, it is difficult to let go." Virginia sighed, running her hands down the undersides of Lily's full, obsidian breasts, feeling their firm weight under the soft caresses of her fingers.

"I understand, but Friyya should have no problem in finding another patron."

"What if she really only wants Syf? What if Syf only really wants Friyya?" Virginia said, raising a wet hand to tilt Lily's head slightly in order to kiss the dark elf, full on her full, violet lips. Lily sunk into the kiss, her tongue probing Virginia's mouth.

"Then they should find a way to trust one another." Lily said, feeling her heartbeat quicken. This paladin was so commanding, her touch irresistible, her lips soft and hungry but full of sensual promise. She had clearly underestimated some inhabitants of the surface world.

"Trust?" Virginia inquired, somewhat surprised, between kisses.

"Yes, the drow trust, whether you choose to believe it or not. No society exists without some trust. It is a matter, however, of whom we trust. Love, as you understand it, is blind trust. We cannot accept anything to be blind, so when we love and trust, it is for reasons we can be certain of and understand. I know that I can trust a good patron because we give each other what we need."

"Do you trust me?" Virginia asked softly, trailing her tongue down the dark elf's delicate jawline.

"Yes." Lily said, not untruthfully, "As you said, I am yours."

"Could you love me?" Virginia said, a hint of trepidation in her voice. She did not even know if the dark elf understood the concept, or realised its implications. Love was such an imprecise word, with so many nuances, so many shades of meaning which ultimately did not reflect any genuine emotion; just letters on a page.

"As drow love each other, yes, but as you love each other...well, I have yet to understand what you mean, so I cannot answer you."

"Do you want to make love?" Virginia offered, now passionately kissing Lily's throat.

"Of course. With you, always."

The rose from the steaming bath, Virginia's lips hungrily devouring Lily's, the paladin holding the shorter girl close to her, feeling the heat and wetness of the drow's beautiful form against her skin. Virginia wrapped a large bathing shawl over both of them, relishing in the intimacy of holding Lily close to her, her hands wandering to cup the drow's magnificent bottom, so magisterially feminine and rounded for an elf. The paladin looked into Lily's eyes and saw the flames of passion stirring in the violet irises, already incandescent with desire. They withdrew quickly into Virginia's room, the pitch blackness of the bed chamber a comfort for Lily's eyes.

"Wait, I'll turn the light on." Virginia said, moving to break her embrace with Lily.

"No, leave it dark." Lily said, her voice dripping with sensuality.

"But..."

"Leave it dark." Lily said, and Virginia moaned, sinking her lips into the drow's fragrant silvery hair, as she felt a warm set of lips latch onto her engorged nipple. The combined heat and pressure on the excited little bud was sublime, like a rippling, nervous jolt of electricity through her breast and into her heart each time Lily suckled.

"Will you trust me?" Lily asked, curious to gauge Virginia's answer.

"Yes." Virginia dared, drawing Lily closer, eagerly presenting her breasts to be ravished by the agile curiosity of the dark elf's kisses.

Lily could see perfect in the heavy blanket of obscurity which surrounded them. She could perceive the points of warmth in Virginia's body, detect the mild enchantment in the lamp, Virginia's personal sword, and the even more personal box the paladin kept under her mattress. This twilit darkness was comforting to her, it was like returning to the womb of the Underdark, where every movement and hint of warmth became a focal point. On the surface, Lily concluded, the light created too many distractions. The darkness was so much more of a loving mother.

"Oh, Lily..." Virginia sighed as the dark elf clasped the globes of the paladin's athletically toned bottom in her dextrous hands, her mouth now planting teasing kisses on the clear, blonde curls atop Virginia's sex. In the darkness, Virginia's nether lips were positively radiant to Lily's heat sensitive vision. They spread out before her like a hot, burning fruit, even though she knew them under the light as perfectly compact, pink juicy folds, so full of promise, so inclined to cause Virginia to let those vulnerable, little moans escape her lips which reminded Lily that she, too, could be in control. Virginia felt herself pressed back on the bed. Blinded by the darkness, she simply spread her thighs as wide as they would go, her curling toes finding purchase on the bedcovers, and awaited Lily's attentions.

She did not have to wait long. The drow was upon her with a malicious, provocative attack, purple lips kissing Virginia's nether lips passionately. Virginia bucked beneath Lily's ministrations, her hips striving higher, demanding that the drow's tongue penetrate deeper, spread more of the syrupy folds to reach the sensitive, lust-inflamed flesh within. Lily was patient, though. She allowed Virginia's initial intemperance to subside, leaving the paladin in a slow-boiling frenzy of unfulfilled desire.

Knowing that the initiative was once again hers, Lily resumed her attack, this time embracing Virginia's endearingly turgid clitoris in her lips, her breath hot and hard against it. The human paladin tasted like no drow Lily had ever tasted; earthy and slightly salty, so different, but not at all unpleasantly so, from the heady bitter-sweetness of her own kin. But Virginia was wet, and passionately so, the petals of her sex lips easily parting for one of Lily's tensed fingers.

Virginia growled, her passion inflamed by her blindness, the sensory deprivation making every single contact of Lily's curious little tongue on the folds of her sex feel like a sharp little tremor of pleasure through her loins. Then, when the drow brushed over her clitoris, the lips so sensual, firm and decisive on the sensitive little bud, she felt as if a white light flashed before her eyes. She was at Lily's mercy and the sensation was pleasurable in the extreme, as it allowed the dark elf to express the full range of her expertise.

Virginia lovingly stroked the dark elf's thick, white mane, her sex thrust firmly against Lily's energetic mouth. Virginia felt her orgasm approaching in the tightening feeling in her loins, the knot of her passion drawing closer in and upon itself before its release. She cried out, her voice disinhibited, her climax heightened beyond expectations by the darkness which surrounded; the darkness which ensured that her universe had become the juncture between her sex and Lily's searching tongue.

"Goddess, Lily..." Virginia sighed, the overwhelming sensation of inchoate heat which had engulfed her sex now just a dull, post coital throbbing. She had rarely felt so sensually fulfilled.

"You see, my paladin, drow women know no equal." Lily crowed.

"You're still angry about last night?" Virginia asked solicitously, drawing Lily's soft, elegant form into her arms.

"No, but I insist I show you that my arguments are founded on reasons and not just empty talk."

"It's my pleasure to be the subject of your demonstration." Virginia said, feeling Lily's lips on her own, a caressing hand sending little jolts of electrical pleasure as it stroked her breasts.

"Now, paladin, show me the advantages of being the lover of such a mighty warrior." Lily invited, her tone low and sultry, the soft, lilting tones of her accent adding to the compelling exoticism of their lovemaking.

"I'll take that as a challenge. But you have to light the room for me a little." Virginia said, shifting Lily aside and rising to her feet.

"As you wish" Lily assented. She concentrated on the edges of the bed around her, summoning up her internal reserves of magical energy to release a lambent, heatless glow around the contours of the bed which lit the room up in a ghostly, violet glow. The motes of light hovered lightly around the white bedspread, flitting like hordes of willow-o-wisps.

"You never cease to amaze me." Virginia said, reaching under her mattress to retrieve an inlaid, wooden box, "But now, allow me to amaze you." From the box, the paladin extracted her intricately carved olisbos, seemingly crafted out of living wood. It was stylised, its shape ridged, rather than naturalistic, the wood still young and supple, for it had been carved from a dryad-tree. "Come now, Lily, spread for me." Virginia invited lasciviously, inserting the stem of the dildo into her own sodden sex, feeling its enchantment take root in her, linking with every tiny nerve ending.

Lily was all too happy to comply, propping herself up against the pillows, she spread her thighs and lifted her hips, presenting her sex, light violet like a midnight flower, for Virginia. The paladin could not help but admire the beauty of Lily's glistening sex in the lambent glow of the faerie fire: the colours complemented one another beautifully, so that the palette was a muted blue-violet, exactly like the hothouse flower spread before her, fragrant in an odd, intoxicating sort of way, like the addictive lotus of some forgotten vale. Placing herself between Lily's perfectly sculpted, onyx thighs, Virginia positioned herself, trying to make sure the penetrating end of the olisbos lay above Lily's needy sex.

It took a few moments of adjusting, but the tip of the instrument was soon pressed against the tight entry of the drow's sex. It was now only a matter of plunging in, but experience told Virginia to do it slowly, especially because she had yet to get fully used to the dynamics of the dildo. She remembered one unfortunate experience with Marséna when they had tried to make love against the side of the bed and she had slipped, falling embarrassed but laughing, onto the floor.

"So...you intend to torture me." Lily said, her passion mounting as she felt the textured, wooden tip of Virginia's instrument brush against the lust-heated lips of her sex. Adjusting her legs to lean and wrap around Virginia's shoulders for support, the dark elf bucked her hips upwards, indicating her desire to be penetrated.

Virginia then decided to make her move, sliding the olisbos slowly, inch by inch into the sopping depths of the drow's sex, feeling it through the mindlink part the velvety smooth walls of Lily's sex with slow, agonising firmness. Fortunately, Lily's mounting arousal had provided ample lubrication so that Virginia was soon pressed, sex to sex, against her lover. The sensation could only be described as enlightening. Lily was tight, but yielding, the muscles of the drow's sex contracting rhythmically, seemingly in synchronism with her breathing. So she began to move herself in and out of Lily, very carefully to avoid slipping or mistiming a thrust. Each time she entered Lily, she made sure it was perfectly timed: a slow, languid thrust which did not so much as thrust the wet nether lips apart and spread the canal nestled between them as coax the flesh, parting it gently and naturally.

Lily could not contain her pleasure, her gasps sharp and high with each entry, which culminated in Virginia's sex brushing maddeningly against her engorged clitoris. In the faerie fire, Virginia reflected, Lily was stunning, her obsidian skin was lit with the deep glow, her nipples looked like budding violets lying atop perfect, full hillocks shrouded in darkest night. She could not help but clasp a firm breast in her hands, feeling its weight under her touch, the softness of its skin in contrast with the warm hardness of the sensitive nipple. Thrust followed thrust as Virginia's mouth covered Lily's, her deep green eyes staring into the dark elf's enigmatic, violet pools. For a moment, just as she felt Lily come under her, hips bucking savagely, desperate for the last few thrusts which would bring her over the edge, Virginia thought she saw something akin to love in those boundless eyes.

But it was only an instant, Lily climaxed hard, her sex contracting painfully against Virginia's dildo, the waves of pleasure triggering a hot, burning spasm in the paladin as she collapsed, panting, on top of her drow lover. It took a few more good, firm thrusts to relieve her of the last traces of tension, now all dispersed in hard, keening cries suffocated only by kisses to Lily's neck and ear. The dark elf's breath was still irregular, her elegantly generous breasts rising and falling under Virginia's pale, caressing hand, "Not bad, paladin, not bad." Lily admitted, kissing Virginia's cheek, "There is much we have yet to discover about each other."

"There's no hurry." Virginia said, releasing the dildo from her sex and setting it back aside in the box, "But for now, I think we should get under the sheets."

"Agreed."

Virginia opened up the bedspread to allow Lily to crawl in, before following her drow lover under the comforting, soft warmth of the sheets, their silkiness so much in place with the sensation of the other girl's skin. She wrapped her arms around Lily's waist, holding her close enough to smell the perfume of her freshly washed hair.

"Remember, you have that trial retrieval with Shesayne tomorrow." Virginia reminded, her legs twining at a leisurely pace under the covers with Lily's.

"I know...I hope to make myself useful." After all, Lily thought, Virginia was nice enough, but there was no benefit in being utterly dependent on another person. A professional role would certainly give her more security, though it remained unclear to her what exactly Shesayne expected her to do. That would have to be clarified in the due course of the following morning.

"Lily, you are beautiful, fascinating woman and I am happy to have met you." Virginia said, more as a confession than a profession of love. She hoped the drow understood, or at least sympathised with Virginia's emotions which were, doubtless, unfamiliar to her.

"Had I not met you, I would probably have died. Had I not met you, I would not have felt the joys of victory or intimacy again. I think, Virginia, I too am happy to have met you." Lily said, feeling slightly moved when Virginia snuggled closer, one of the paladin's hands reaching to tightly clasp one of the drow's.

"This means I won't let go." Virginia said, tenderly kissing Lily's ear.

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

Whatever Marséna did, she found herself unable to address her relationship with Shesayne as she wished. That evening was an emblematic case. Friyya had lain in her arms weeping - sometimes silently, sometimes sobbing softly to herself - until she had no more tears left. Then she had slept. By the time they awoke again, a little after the middle of the day, they bathed together and finally sat down for a sullen dinner with Virginia looking on, somewhat worried by the unfolding crisis, and Lily and Shesayne looking on perplexed.

The tension had been made doubly palpable by Syf's absence and Friyya's sepulchral silence. Marséna, of course, could not leave Friyya alone for the night so she had begged Shesayne to allow her to sleep in the same room. The half-elf had assented amiably enough, though she suspected it sounded like a setup for a very odd menage-a-trois, but in the darkness of the room that evening, Marséna was certain that Shesayne had regretted the decision.

Friyya slept on a makeshift bed on the floor, improvised from some sheets and pillows, but her presence definitely put both Shesayne and Marséna off any amorous or intimate activity. Indeed, it even inhibited conversation since Marséna could simply not bring herself to speak, lest she wake Friyya who - and Marséna would hate herself for days afterwards for even contemplating such a thought - looked adorably angelic in her sleep. Shesayne was not of a similar opinion and, as the petite half-elf lay in the bed, hearing Marséna turning once in a while to cast a concerned glance over the side of the bed, she could not help but ask herself why her presence was still required.

Then again, Shesayne thought, she was a strong girl. She had certainly put up with worse neglect and with more difficult people and Marséna had so far shown herself to be a considerate and thoughtful lover. Her patience, though, was beginning to run thin. Perhaps it was her fault for seeking out a paladin of the Radiant Path. After all, they came with their highly distinctive and complicated emotional baggage. Sometimes, Shesayne could not help but think that Min would have been a better choice. A wise woman, though, had no doubt once said: "never date your colleagues". As far as Shesayne was concerned, the tragic case of Syf and Friyya was ample proof of the eternal validity of that statement.

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

"Very through, Isolde, very thorough indeed." Dassau mused, taking a sip of a particularly mature Athasian fortified red - Green Age vintage of course - which had spent the last five centuries - by the reckoning of that world - in hermetic storage. He did not have Isolde's report in front of him, having memorised and filed it long ago; instead, he was intent on concentrating on a particularly dense piece of Saurian prose which had been transcribed directly from the original reptile-skin scroll. Dassau found translations from Saurian cumbersome at best. He would probably try his hand at producing a more felicitous one at a later date - time, after all, was certainly not something he was pressed for.

"Thank you, sir." Isolde replied, a half smile creeping across her lips as she stood to attention in the middle of Dassau's office. The arcanoloth never asked her to sit.

"I find that your skills of observation, deduction and rational argument to be rather impressive. Perhaps I shall, in due course, consider some sort of commendation. For the moment, however, if there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

"Well, sir, there is the business of my report."

"Yes, I have read it." Dassau commented, distracted by his interpretation of Saurian chromatic metaphors.

"I believe that there ought to be recommendations..."

"Ah, yes." Dassau began, raising a single long, gloved finger, "You assert, not without reason, that there may be untoward movements of sentients in contravention with the Provisional Civic Code, specifically Articles 477 - 478. Furthermore, you assert that, and I quote: 'I am left with the strong impression that illicit activity involving the embezzlement or misplacement of funds allocated for artifact retrieval may be traced back to sources such as these'. Surely, this is - prudentially speaking - a stretch, so to speak."

"Sir," Isolde continued, trying to draw Dassau into her net, "perhaps if you allowed me to investigate further, I could provide you with ground for an arrest and, if you would allow me, sir, those have been few and far betw-..."

"Indeed." Dassau interrupted, "The idea of actually performing some sort of edifying service to this Bureau is tempting. Technically speaking, since it does involve the movement of sentient life-forms to and from Sigil it could, broadly, be viewed as a within this office's remit." Of course, Dassau was perfectly aware of the fact that Isolde had ulterior motives. He had not spent an eternity corrupting all manner of intelligent life to be led by the nose by some impertinent girl, but Dassau was above all bored. Bored and depressed with the sheer, mind-numbing pointlessness of his work, irritated at his 'superiors', disappointed in his subordinates and generally disillusioned with this redemption experiment which had so far been only marginally preferable to the crushing stupidity of tempting equally stupid mortals. So, he decided on a whim, he would humour her. Mortals could be so fascinating at times, they never ceased to amaze Dassau with their pettiness, their greed, their hate.

"Very well." He enunciated, utterly nonchalantly, taking another sip of wine, feeling the pleasant spice, damson and hydrocarbon flavours flood his palate.

"So do I have dispensation to..."

"Yes, you are to pursue the investigation as you see fit and liaise with me every three hours during your day shift."

"That is...very generous of you sir." Uncharacteristically generous, Isolde would have added, but she had no particular objection to Dassau's mind games as long as she obtained what she most desired, Virginia's comeuppance. That would be the driving force of her life, that which would fill the void of her being with meaning. With that prospect of vengeance, she could easily put up with the indignities Dassau inflicted on a daily basis. Indeed, it almost made her position at the Civic Security offices worth living for.

"I know." Dassau said dismissively with a wave of his hand, "Before you leave the Bureau, do take these rather dreary compilations of drow poetry back to the library. I detest billing the Budget Department for my overdue fines."

"I obey, sir." Isolde said, with more heartfelt conviction than she had ever mustered since she had entered into Dassau's service.

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

Min took a deep, sighing breath as she looked at herself in the mirror of Aerylle's bedchamber. The cream-white blouse had an irritating, redundant frilly border around the neckline and the fabric was almost painfully smooth, feeling unfamiliar on the tiefling's rose-marble skin. Worst of all for Min's dignity was the godsforsaken skirt which Aerylle had foisted upon her. The miserable little elf had outmanoeuvred her so masterfully that the tiefling felt used. Now she stood glumly, staring at the gauzy, frilly monstrosity which stopped at the middle of her long, slimly muscular thigh in multilayered, tissue-like pleats of red, rose and white. The same chromatic pattern was repeated throughout the garment, giving the impression of stylised, impressionistic roses rising forth from a snowy winterscape.

Even her usual, comfortable knee-high boots were gone, replaced by a frightfully impractical, ivory-white model which reached only a little above the ankle. Min could only conclude that she looked utterly, irredeemably ridiculous. But a compromise was a compromise. Aerylle would pay for dressing her up like a doll from an adolescent elven girl's fantasy.

"Oh, Min it is lovely." Aerylle swooned as she entered her bedchamber.

The tiefling cringed. She had to admit that she liked Aerylle - a lot - but that tone was always sent an irritated shudder up her spine. This, of course, Min reflected, was cosmic punishment for a life which, since adolescence, had been misspent chasing skirt. That last phrase had been one of Min's classic one-liners whenever she was asked what her hobbies were. In retrospect, the irony of that particular pickup line was all the more painful in her current predicament. She had, it appeared, after some years of chasing it, finally caught it.

"That's music to my ears." Min finally said - tersely - surveying herself once more. Aerylle had insisted on adding the lightest touches of vermillion powder around her eyes to better complement the colour of her hair and skin. Yet again, Min found herself helpless before the course of momentous change. Before she had met Aerylle, she had prided herself in the fact that she never used or required cosmetics of any sort. That had been another integral line in the seduction process: as soon as the conversation shifted, as it often did, to the deep, red richness of her lips or nails, Min would lean forward fluidly, sultry lips close to her prey's ear and whisper in sensual tones: "this isn't lip paint, you know...". If she was not between the girl in question's thighs after a few more sentences, Min would consider it an unlucky night.

"Sarcasm is not becoming of a lady." Aerylle corrected, running a knowing, punctilious eye over her own honey-yellow evening robe which seemed to fuse seamlessly with the colour of the grey elf's hair.

"I swear, if anyone I know sodding sees me..."

"Yes, I know you will slit their throat with your dagger so there will be no evidence to present against you." Aerylle said wearily. To say that Min had been nervous about this wardrobe experiment would have been a grotesque understatement.

"Fuck," Min growled, "this is barmy." Not only did she feel ridiculous, she felt vulnerable - as if her natural dexterity and lightning-quick reflexes would be dulled by the atrociously ornamental nature of her clothing.

"Min!" Aerylle reprimanded, giving the tiefling a sharp, playful slap on the rump.

"Right, a deal's a deal. You ready, then?" Min decided that it was best to resign herself and take the evening with good grace. Aerylle's part of the deal filled her with a certain anticipation and almost enough sensual tension to offset the humiliation of being forced to don that costume. If it had been a private fantasy of Aerylle's to see Min thus attired, then the tiefling would probably not have had too many problems complying for the benefit of her lover - in the privacy of the bedchamber, though. Outside exposure was another matter entirely.

"When you are, my love." Aerylle said, smiling so sweetly Min almost forgot her embarrassment.

Peryroyal's was predictably busy. A moderately famed tavern at the edge of the Lady's Ward, it boasted an attractive view over a vast marble fountain complex, magically carved to stunning levels of accuracy and depicting a wide menagerie of rare beasts, and a dynamic kitchen. S. P. v. Dassau, a ranking member of the Civic Security department had written an especially complimentary review in the Sigil Oenophile Annual, praising the "exhaustive wine list, in perfect gustatory synchronism with the gastronomic experience" and the "commendably excellent selection of old vintage Tellurian and Oerth whites - with some in the latter instance dating to the Suel Imperium - which I had previously been unable to successfully track down". Min felt immediately out of place, the plush furnishings and the tables, constructed like immense, low silken couches were very much unlike her preferred locales. The place, for one, was too bright and there was far too much ostentatious banter going on around her.

Much to Min's relief, they quickly found an isolated table at the far end of the dining room, near the entry to great wine cellar which opened like a yawning chasm into what seemed like an infinity of immaculately polished wooden racks and bottles of every size, shape, material and description, some requiring their own enchanted micro-climates to be preserved in optimal condition. That was not, however, Min's concern as she threw herself down against the couch, stretching languidly, trying to enjoy its luxurious softness.

"Min," Aerylle hissed softly, "legs."

"Huh?" What now? The tiefling thought.

"You are...ah, inappropriately seated." Aerylle struggled for a suitable euphemism.

"Oh fu..." Min bit her lip and quickly readjusted her posture upon noting that she had been giving anyone who passed by a fairly detailed view of her inner thighs.

"You may cross your legs if you like..." Aerylle stopped her budding lecture as soon as she perceived Min's glowering gaze settling on her, the tiefling's eyes like burning coals.

"I think I need a drink."

"Right away, my treasure." Aerylle agreed.

They ordered a decent bottle of aromatic Thayvian wine and, by the main course of lightly dressed Bytopian vegetables and flower petals, Min was beginning to ease herself into the flow of the evening. Her self-consciousness had been mitigated by the effect of the wine, which she had drunk quite liberally, and the dawning realisation of how subtly provocative Aerylle movements were. Each movement of the elven girl's fingers, each coy little smile and each gentle, brushing motion of her smooth, pale legs as they crossed and uncrossed intermittently betrayed a profound, smouldering eroticism. Though the meal was insubstantial by Min's standards, she had begun to look forward in earnest to the far more satisfying meal which awaited her.

Leaning forward slightly on the table, her fine, rounded breast pressing sensually against the light fabric of her blouse, deep red nipples barely perceptible in their silky white prison, Min decided to turn the conversation to more interesting directions.

"D'you have a lover, or something, back in Imej? Before you came here, I mean."

Aerylle smiled enigmatically, her eyes - cool and azure blue seemingly staring back in counterpoint to the rich, orange tone of the tiefling's irises, "No, nothing so formal. It is normal for us to form intimate friendships, but a lover is something else and a life-companion something else still." There was no easy way to explain it, especially with the imprecise translation from High Grey Elven to Sigil's lingua franca. Aerylle realised that Min viewed all intimacy as, broadly speaking, the same activity, whereas it was nuanced and laden with significance insofar as her own people were concerned.

"Intimate friendships...like what?" Min asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"My closest friend at the Academy of the Second Sun was, you could say, a kind of lover."

"Was she beautiful?" Whatever she was, Min thought, she was almost certainly more strait-laced than Aerylle.

"Yes, very." Aerylle said, taking a sip of her wine from an intricately cut crystal goblet, before almost imperceptibly grazing her bottom lip with the tip of her thumb, "But I already knew my home to be a place of beauty when I left, which is why I left it to search the Multiverse for things even more beautiful."

Min smiled enigmatically, Aerylle certainly knew how to flatter, "I just can't understand where you're coming from - culturally and everything," the tiefling admitted, "for me love was something which could burn and die in a few days."

"I understand." Aerylle replied truthfully, it was perhaps a touch unfair to demand the same patient, ritualised approach her culture own culture favoured.

"I've had good ones and bad ones. Before I met you, there was this lovely girl, human, I think, - wiry like a dancer with blonde hair, all in braids - I met in a shop of enchanted trinkets. I heard her complain about how much an ioun stone was going to be costing her, so I went up to her and told her that since she was so pretty, I'd buy it for her. She smiled at me with her eyes, not her mouth, and put her hand in mine. We fu..., made love for the rest of the day and most of the night. By next daybreak she was gone. Just emptiness in my room where she used to be. I felt sad, then, sad 'cause I wanted to talk to her so she could tell me where she came from, what she wanted; so I could tell her how pretty she was and how I'd have liked to take her out and how jealous everybody would be when they saw us together. Later, I found a note she'd scribed under my pillow. It said: 'thank you, see you'. It was then I realised, that's just how she communicated. What she'd done, I did with so many girls. But it was only then that I thought of how many of them would probably have wanted to wake up with me at daybreak, tell me I was beautiful, tell me they wanted to see me again."

Aerylle nodded wordlessly, understanding full well the significance of Min's account.

"I was about to do the same to you. Then I realised that I didn't want you to feel like I did that day." Min confessed.

"Min, I think I have only Hanali to thank that I met you."

"Hmm, don't go all storybook on me now, you hear?" Min said, her smile widening into a malicious grin as she slipped a foot out of its boot and delicately ran her bare toes across Aerylle's exposed calf in a

circular, stroking motion.

"I would not dream of doing that." Aerylle sighed, her eyes half closed in sensual tension as she felt the tiefling's slender foot part her thighs.

"Good, I like streetwise more than book-wise." Min purred as she felt wetness and soft, yielding, silky flesh at the tip of her toes.

"Oh?" Aerylle gasped, blushing hotly as she felt her nipples begin to stiffen against the fabric of her robe.

"But you're the exception that proves the rule." The tiefling felt her lover's nether lips spread into a pocket of delicious, moistly luxuriant warmth.

Aerylle did not even hear Min call for the bill.

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

"Good luck." The wide-eyed novice said as Syf waited patiently for Friyya's class to disperse. Syf could only nod gratefully; she recalled the novice's name, Ithunn. She was a charming, promising swordswoman, who wore her wheat-blonde hair in the traditional Ortho fashion: in one long braid.

"Thank you." Syf mouthed, virtually silently. Ithunn was quiet, determined and a classically beautiful Ortho girl, the sort of person who, in less troubled times, had occasionally managed to distract the paladin with her disarming smile.

"If I may, sister," Ithunn continued, her sapphire eyes sparkling, "I know she still loves you. As do I, for I dream of becoming like you after my Consecration."

Syf smiled, leaning forward to kiss Ithunn on the forehead, "When I have more time, I promise we'll talk; just you and me."

The novice nodded, her enthusiastic youthful face reminded Syf of paintings of the sylvan goddesses of her homeland. Ithunn was perhaps the only novice Syf did not wish to be feared by, so much as admired.

Her support was like a refreshing, vital breath of pure air for Syf.

Rumours, however, of a rift between Syf and Friyya had been quick to spread. Now, Syf felt as though she was accompanied by the silent encouragement, or silent reproach, of the novices who exited the chapel annexe of the main temple where doctrinal lessons were held. Friyya had always been good with all things written and to be committed to memory, so much so that she had been charged with teaching some minor courses.

Once Syf was absolutely certain that the novices had left the cool, shaded chapel, she began to mentally prepare herself as she knocked cautiously on the open door, awaiting an invitation to enter. In her other hand she clasped a bunch of fresh, pink tulips - Friyya's favourite - which a sympathetic Shesayne had obtained for her through various connections. They had certainly not been cheap.

"Come in." Friyya's voice was sullen, heavy in thought.

"Friyya, my beloved..." Syf began, a knot of emotion tightening in her throat.

"So it's you." Friyya said coldly, still looking at the book open in front of her. She was sitting in a simple wooden chair behind the altar, consulting the material for her next lesson.

"Please, just hear me out."

"Fine." The auburn-haired paladin still did not look up from her reading. The chapel's cool air weighed heavily on Syf. It was as if she could see every single crack in each stone, every single shard in the stained glass window, the detail of every single bead of wax coming from the aromatic candles on silver supports by the far wall of the room.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say anymore. If you never want anything to do with me anymore, I can understand that. It would be perfectly comprehensible because I failed - failed in proving to you that you are my goddess, the centre of my world, and since you deserve nothing less, if you wish to forget me, you would be justified in doing so." The words spilled from Syf's mouth like a torrent from her heart. She hoped Friyya would understand that her mind was simply not in the right condition to produce anything more coherent, or more eloquent.

"Was I not enough for you. Was my touch not pleasurable enough, were my kisses not sweet enough, was my love not deep enough?" Friyya's hands now gripped the sides of her chair so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

"I need nothing aside from you, Friyya." Syf said quietly, kneeling before Friyya and placing the bouquet of fragrant tulips on the cool, marble floor in front of her lover.

"Is that what you think I'm worth, a bunch of flowers?"

Syf froze, she remained on her knees, her limbs paralysed by the terror of uncertainty. Of course, there was no apology which could fully atone for her sins, but she had expected Friyya to at least make an effort to understand the sentiment of her apology.

"No, my beloved, I just thought..."

"You all seem to think that I am some silly girl, easily swayed, easily bought off with superficial presents. They all thought that and I thought you were different. But evidently I was mistaken." Friyya said through gritted teeth. In what way was Syf different from all those who had sent her pointless, anonymous messages or bunches of meaningless flowers when she was still a novice?

"You're right." Syf said, suddenly raising her head, her piercing steel-blue eyes boring straight into Friyya, "You had become my flesh and blood, my soul. These material things are meaningless. So allow me to show you what you mean to me."

With that Friyya drew her glistening silvery dagger from its scabbard and slashed it down, hard and fast, the length of her inner forearm, from wrists to elbows. The torrent of blood was immediate and copious, spurting out in rapid, dark red streams, pouring down Syf's pale arm, into the palm of her hand and down onto the cool marble below, running in crimson, live rivers into the interstices in the marble floor.

"Syf, fuck." Friyya heard herself say as she fell to catch her lover, the blood staining her tunic in a vital, red hue. Syf was impassive in her arms, only a thin smile on those soft, elegant lips Friyya had so often kissed, "Syf, I'm here, you know I forgive you, I'll always forgive. Just don't leave me you stupid, stupid girl."

Friyya felt her words spilling out like a torrent as she ran her hand down the sticky, pulsating wound, silently invoking the favours of the Vigilant Maiden, hoping that her healing skills were as good as she thought them to be.

The muscle began to suture and close, the veins squeeze shut, the skin slowly fall back into its original shape under Friyya's careful, insistent care. She concentrated as she never had before on the healing enchantment, but she knew that, in the Temple of Vigilant Maiden, her prayers would not go unanswered.

***********

As Syf awoke in the infirmary, she immediately thought herself in her own bedchamber, awaking at the first break of light with Friyya on her side. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around her lover's waist, drawing her in close, so as to immerse herself in Friyya's fragrant, autumn-golden tresses. It was then she realised that her arm was bandaged and the recollection of the day's events began to flood back into her mind.

"Friyya?" Syf inquired, almost in surprise as she felt her lover next to her in the bed.

"Syf..." Friyya stirred, still somewhat disorientated from being awakened from a fitful slumber. Earlier that day, she had thought she had wept all the tears she had, but to see her lover in such a state had driven her to the exhaustion of despair.

"I don't think I will ever stop apologising..."

"No, no, it's all forgiven, I swear. I just want to go back to quarters, make love, make up and never speak of this day again." Friyya said fervently, turning to kiss her lover passionately on the lips.

"My beautiful Friyya..."

"Is now going to leave us for some more serious matters." Isobel interjected from the entrance to the infirmary.

"Reverend Sister!" Syf exclaimed, her surprise evident as she struggled to sit up in her bed. The blood loss had been substantial and she still felt faint, her limbs heavy and weak.

"Be at your leisure, we already risked losing you once, I don't want to push the case any further."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister." Syf acknowledged, gratefully, her head still felt light and dizzy.

"What are you still doing here?" Isobel growled, noting Friyya lay resolutely immobile in the bed by Syf's side.

"Apologies, Reverend Sister, but I cannot move. Punish me if you will, but I will not budge." Friyya said defiantly, her voice welling up with the heat of passion, though she felt the terror of Isobel encroach into the pit of her stomach. Fear be damned, Friyya thought, this where Syf and I start anew, as a true unit, an indivisible pair.

"Good," Isobel conceded, nodding her head in approval, "it looks like you may finally be showing yourself worthy of your woman, but I shall wait another time before deciding that I misjudged you altogether."

Isobel strode forward to fix Syf in the eyes, her hands on her hips, her gaze less fiery than usual though and, perhaps, a little more curious.

"As you know, Syf, this is no place for crimes or acts of blind passion. Nor is it a place for free and open philandering - the clerics of Hanali and Selune are more than sufficient for this city to have its fill of those sorts of activities. You are, however, an exceptional paladin and I confess that the thought of losing you was worrying, to say the least. From what I understand, you are also possessed of a good soul and much admired. See to it that this does not change. I won't make an issue out of this incident, but Syf, hear me well. Do not even think of disappointing me again."

"Yes, Reverend Sister." Syf said fervently.

"Good, I trust your word. I trust the word of anyone willing to shed her blood for what she believes in. It bodes well for your service to the Order."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister."

"Now you may return to where you were before I interrupted you." Isobel said, imperiously striding out of the chamber in long, powerful strides.

"Friyya..."

"Let's get back in, my beloved," the auburn-haired paladin interrupted, kissing her lover with fiery passion on the lips, "we ought to show everyone that it's back to normal. What has been done cannot be undone, but what is tied in blood and tears can never be loosed. Understood?"

"Yes," Syf said passionately, before deciding to bring some levity back into the conversation, "and I also understand you have to start being nicer to Marséna."

"When Phlegeton freezes over." Friyya joked, holding Syf close.

"I know every Radiant Path detachment thinks itself unique, but we really are special, aren't we?" It was in the most bizarre and unpredictable of times that Syf realised the value of having a stable base with her fellow sisters-in-arms, of knowing that she had the unconditional love and devotion of three other women.

"Without a shadow of a doubt." Friyya said as she rose to her feet, Syf smiling wryly and leaning against her for support.

Syf’s smile broadened further still when, upon returning to her bedchamber, she found her pink tulips resting happily in a new ceramic vase, half-full with fresh, pristine water.

Sigil Book One, Chapter V

It is nice to see that people can forgive, right? Forgive and forget, that is, because - even though some philosophers would disagree - the process of forgiveness between two closely bonded souls is one which is best expedited through the judicious use of memory. One could hardly be considered happy if she knew that those closest to her were constantly re-imagining the sins and mistakes of her past. Of course, forgiveness entails a degree of trust: trust that someone can change, learn and move forwards. I suspect that some change simply because they finally realise how ridiculous it is to expect the world to change for them. To be able to adapt to new environments, new lives, new relationships - these are the characteristics of truly successful life-forms. Sentients, I suspect are intelligent first and (cruel, kind, scholarly, empathic) second. Even the cruellest of beings knows when the time for wickedness is over because it is, first and foremost, an intelligent being. This is a lesson that many, and not only the cruellest of beings, need to learn.

- The Archivist, your narrator

"Se vogliamo che tutto rimanga come e', bisogna che tutto cambi."

"You ready for your part of the deal?" Min said breathlessly, her sultry, crimson-red lips hungrily devouring Aerylle's.

"Naturally." The elven librarian answered, still somewhat unsure, but suitably stimulated by Min's attention and the wine.

Aerylle's bedchamber was twilit, with long shadows interspersed with the dull light of a single lamp placed on the windowsill. Min had her lover against the fine-grained wood of the chamber door, her hands exploring the subtle, slender curves of the elven girl's body, barely hidden beneath the smooth fabric of her evening robe. The heat of passion had been smouldering in them since they departed from Peryroyal's Tavern, Min's loins burning in anticipation at the thought of initiating Aerylle to yet another form of sensual pleasure. The petite elf was, however, infinitely surprising and no less so in the arts of love, as Min realised when she felt Aerylle's delicate, teasing fingers slide up her thighs and under her skirt, cupping the taut, but feminine curve of her bottom.

"You could say this is one advantage of wearing something more ladylike, Min," Aerylle said, her voice soft and coyly innocent, "easier access."

Min sighed as she felt Aerylle's finger gently part the moistened outer lips of her sex, the very tip of the elegant digit slipping into the recesses of the silky folds.

"I'm still not convinced." Min said between gritted teeth as Aerylle gently worked a finger deep inside her sex, the hot, swollen folds parting easily under the grey elf's expert touch.

"Allow me to convince you." Aerylle replied whimsically as she knelt in front of Min, gently raising the tiefling's flower patterned, red and white skirt to expose the hidden blossom beneath. Min was soaked, the deep ruby-red lips of her sex glistening in the dull lamplight with a fine sheen of dew, her tiny clitoris stiff and inviting. The tiefling shifted so that her back was against the door and spread her thighs, crouching slightly, to grant her elven lover full access.

Aerylle did not need to be asked. Her tongue was like solid electricity on Min's aching sex, its gentle, lapping motion filling the tiefling's veins heady pulsations; Aerylle never went directly to stimulate a climax - the elven girl was patient, diligent and frustratingly thorough. Min could only gasp with needy desire as she felt Aerylle's tongue lavish its attention in firm, circular patterns on her outer and then inner lips, penetrating deeper with each searching kiss.

The tiefling slick folds were tart, spicy and deliciously eager under Aerylle's mouth. Now lapping with patient, slow-burning hunger at the tiefling's core, Aerylle knew that her lover had intoxicated her, exposed her to a new realm of senses and pleasures which she had never dreamed could be so richly vivid and powerfully erotic. Min interrupted Aerylle's considerations by passionately running her fingers through the elven maiden's long, light honey-blonde tresses, drawing the girl's mouth in closer as she ground her sex against it.

"I...I think I am ready." Aerylle said, quite suddenly, looking up from between Min's firm, rose-marble thighs.

"Right," Min said, with some trepidation, hoping not to disappoint or unnerve her lover, "maybe it's best if you make yourself comfortable on the bed."

Aerylle nodded, "Ah...on my back or...face down?" She was blushing intensely, an endearing shade of red spreading over her pale, alabaster-white cheeks.

"Let's just start with you lying down normally, facing me, then we'll take it from there." Min simply could not believe that elven culture had such a complex system of intimacy by which Aerylle had never even contemplated being penetrated in this fashion; however, the tiefling concluded, different folks different strokes. She undid a red velvet pouch she had stored by the side of Aerylle's bed and retrieved a cream white olisbos, firm yet supple, but seemingly fashioned out of ivory with a thin hilt and a thicker shaft. In the meanwhile, Aerylle accepted Min's invitation and lay back on her over-stuffed bed to watch her lover prepare, a hint of slight anxiety creeping into her mind. Nevertheless, she obediently spread her thighs, revealing the light peach-pink folds of her humid sex.

"This one's got a minor enchantment," Min explained, working the thin base of the dildo into the depths of her sodden sex, the enchantment immediately springing to life, causing the artifact to take root in her sex, so she could feel the cool air of the room along the surface of the instrument as if it were on her own sex, "it'll act as a link between us, so it's not like I've become a male or something."

The conservative, traditionally elven side of Aerylle's consciousness begged to differ. Nevertheless the proposition was intriguing, but only to the extent that it was part of Min. In reality, Aerylle could see no legitimate reason why Min had to make use of a surrogate when their lovemaking had been extraordinary up to that point. In Imej, what Min was proposing would have been considered barbaric, a resort of less refined races, but, upon further contemplation, there was pleasing hint of transgression in the act which spurred Aerylle on.

"May I touch it?" Aerylle inquired curiously as Min knelt on the bed between the elven girl's spread thighs.

Min suppressed a giggle, "'Course." She invited, slipping her frilly blouse off, revealing the fine, firm mounds of her breasts, her nipples, crimson like ripe-raspberries, hard as arrowheads.

Very tentatively, Aerylle ran the tips of her fingers down the ivory shaft, feeling the organic texture, its pulsating warmth. Min sighed, her delicately slanted eyes pressing shut for an instant, just to concentrate on the sensation of Aerylle's hands; it was as if they were directly caressing her sex. Suddenly, the grey elf clasped down, hard, with both hands around the instrument and, upon hearing Min gasp in pleasure, decided that her curiosity had been satisfied and that it was finally time to commit herself to some serious cultural exchange.

"Now show me." Aerylle said, her toned determined.

"It shouldn't hurt 'cause you're pretty wet, but if it does, tell me." Min said, positioning herself between Aerylle's legs, taking a moment to admire the blooming lips of the elven maiden's sex, its light, floral fragrance intoxicating like the promise of those silky-smooth, juicing depths.

For her part, Aerylle cringed internally at Min's 'wet' comment. It was yet another taboo in polite grey elven society to discuss intimacy in such...prosaic terms. Predictably, and frustratingly, the appropriate Elven term had no direct translation into Sigil's lingua franca. 'Blooming' would have been a not excessively inaccurate rendition.

All linguistic considerations ceased, however, as soon the tip of the dildo pressed against the outer lips of Aerylle's sex. The elven girl tensed slightly, trying desperately to discard the last traces of residual inhibition just so that penetration would not be painful. Min, however, was already overcome by the desire to take Aerylle, the olisbos relaying the indescribable sensation of the elven girl's slick, hungry lips to the pulsating pleasure centres in her loins, belly and mind.

"Relax..." Min cooed softly as she began to slide in, slowly, leaning atop Aerylle, the dildo parting the pink, tender lips with effortless ease, slowly easing forward through the slick, honey drenched canal. Aerylle could only bite her lip and watch the ivory length of the instrument disappear into her, filling her with a sensation she had never before experienced; pleasurable, but profoundly unfamiliar. Once she had sunk in to the hilt, so that the thin, deep red curls of her sex were pressed against Aerylle's hairless nether lips, Min eased herself, face to face, against her lover to plant a searing kiss on the elven woman's rosy lips. Then she began to move her hips, a slow, deliberate thrusting and grinding motion.

"Min..." Aerylle sighed as she felt the tiefling's lips plant hot, wet kisses down the length of her sensitive, pointed ear. Although absorbed by the oddly mounting sensation of pleasure deep within her sex, Aerylle could not resist running her hands down the perfectly streamlined, firm sides of Min's flank, up to feel the heat, weight and feminine softness of the tiefling girl's breasts, so much in contrast with the athletic resilience of her belly and arms.

"Toldya, you'd like it." Min said huskily, continuing her trail of little kisses down Aerylle's ear, relishing in the sensation of the elf's nimble fingers gently tugging on her engorged nipples while the tension in her sex built further with each, slow, deep thrust into the moist, maddeningly hot recesses of her lover's sex. The grip of Aerylle's sex was like paradise, tight and firm, but yielding to every thrust, so eager to be spread aside for Min, to reveal its innermost secrets to the tiefling, to pour forth its salty-sweet nectar onto her thighs, a few stray drops slipping further onto the tight, creased bud of the grey elf's bottom and onto the pristine, clean white bedspread.

Min felt her climax approach in ever tightening waves of pleasure each time Aerylle's sex spread and contracted in response to the dildo's penetration, but when it did overtake her, it was like a welcome rain of white fire in her mind. Releasing all the tension in her loins in one long, hard thrust into Aerylle, Min cried out her pleasure into Aerylle's throat, passionately kissing the milky-white skin as her lust slowly subsided, her heartbeat still ragged as she loosed a few more, unhurried thrusts into her lover.

It did not take Aerylle too long afterwards to reach her peak; it was a new sort of orgasm, more visceral and less manageable, to be sure as she felt herself contract around the deep, thick intrusion in a hopeless, almost painfully pleasurable struggle, but it was certainly nothing she had been accustomed to. She was, however, more vocal in her pleasure than Min, her high, wailing little cries filling the chamber, much to the tiefling's lascivious amusement.

"Sounded alright to me." Min said, disengaging the olisbos from her sex and setting it aside before letting herself fall back into Aerylle's arms. The elven girl was exhausted, but satisfied that she had been up to the challenge.

"I could get used to it from time to time." Aerylle admitted, wrapping her arms around Min's waist, feeling the vitality of the tiefling's body heat.

"So we'll keep it in the rep...uh..."

"Repertoire." Aerylle corrected, giggling softly as she kissed Min's beautiful, sultry lips.

"Apologies, my princess, I must be used to a different sort of girl." Min said with gentle sarcasm, kissing back with sensual, post-coital abandon.

"Must you insist on calling me that?" Aerylle questioned with mock irritation.

"Only 'cause that's what you are to me." Min replied before she could stop herself.

"So now, who is going 'all storybook' on whom?" A smile of intense satisfaction spreading on the grey elf's lips.

If Min could blush visibly, she certainly would have in that moment, but the penumbra of the room and the natural rose-agate tint of her skin saved her from further embarrassment, "Fuck," she mumbled, slumping forward in desperation, "must've been drinking so much."

Aerylle did not even bother reprimanding the tiefling for her lapses into the vernacular; it was always amusing to see Min's softer side after lovemaking.

*****

"Lys, this is ridiculous...you've been up all night." Cirily protested, huddling under a blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. Sigil's urban environment and lack of natural sunlight meant that the temperature tended to drop very quickly indeed during the darker hours. Now, as she stood on the balcony of their bedroom, Cirily could only see Elyszara, clad only in a thin silvery nightgown, looking out on the fires and lambent illumination of the wheel-city below.

"I need to think." Elyszara snapped back, irritated at having her contemplation disturbed. Observing the last revellers returning home, the first signs of normal, daytime life returning in the form of bakers, tradesmen, bodyguards - of all races and descriptions - assembling at their workstations, she felt the life of the city beneath her. The density of humanity, demi-humanity and outright inhumanity. Everything was in movement, everything more frantic, active and varied than the vales of Arvandor where changes could last seconds or take centuries, depending on the whim of goddesses and gods. Here, it was sentients who carved their own destiny, without outside interference, without the crushing prospect of infinitely superior beings surrounding. And, Elyszara knew, just what a disincentive to a productive, decent life that was.

"You're smoking again, aren't you?" Cirily reprimanded sternly.

"Cirily," Elyszara replied tersely, "go...back...to bed." For the record, she had been consuming a rather substantial quantity of Dreamsmoke stems and resin, compacted into a long, thin, hollow pipe which was carved to resemble a forked, serpent's tongue. The trail of multichrome smoke was barely perceptible from its tip.

"I know you too well," Cirily snorted, "I hope that's making your pain easier. I'm just surprised you're not drinking too."

"Done that, out of feywine."

"Lys, before I go, just one more thing." Cirily said, her resentment finally welling up through her well-rehearsed stoicism. There were limits to everything, but Elyszara simply wished to smash them left and right. Limits, of course, meant nothing to her. They were hideous reminders of her mortality, of her own physical, intellectual and emotional limits.

"As long as you promise to disappear afterwards." Elyszara said, taking a deep, aromatic puff. The hallucinogenic and mildly stimulant effect of the drug made Sigil appear particularly vibrant, its sounds magnified, its lights distorted like smudged paint, its form extend into infinity like a great, cosmic snake biting its own tail.

"I may be patient, but I am certainly not stupid. Why did milady Syf smell like our rose oil? And why, oh why, did I think back to your famous dress when I was cleaning the bathchamber this morning?" Cirily was not particularly angry, just profoundly contemptuous at the thought that Elyszara believed she could deceive her. Though not overtly punctilious, Cirily's senses were endowed with a uniquely well-developed recognition of detail, nuance and composition. This was both the blessing and curse of her firre ancestry. Most importantly, Cirily knew everything about Elyszara; it was not so much a compulsion as a result of having a perfect eye for detail and having lived, eaten and slept with her for years.

"Because we fucked." Elyszara said, the Dreamsmoke sharpening her sadistic streak.

"I suspected as much. Apologies for not having been able to provide what you needed." Cirily was surprised by her own calm. Once laid bare, the truth had no further potential to hurt.

"Aren't you angry?" The dark-haired aasimar inquired, never once turning around.

"Believe me, Lys, I'm livid. But there seems to be no point in drawing this out any more. What am I going to do? Leave you, make a scene, kill you out of jealousy? Where would that leave you and where would that leave me? Since we are both entrusted with this cruel destiny by which neither one of us can live without the other, I'm afraid you won't get the satisfaction of me making a scene, or slapping you or throwing things."

"So you don't hate me?"

"Does a mother hate a lying child?"

"Oh...Cirily." Elyszara moaned, suddenly repentant, the Dreamsmoke encouraging unfortunate mood swings. She reached turned around gracefully to embrace her red-haired lover.

Cirily sidestepped with ease, "Finish your pipe, close the window and don't even think of coming to bed. There's a perfectly decent divan downstairs." Mothers, Cirily thought with some satisfaction, certainly did not hate their children for lying, but they could - and indeed should - punish them.

"But..."

"But you're shameless." Cirily decided that this time Elyszara was certainly not getting off easily at all, "Clean yourself up, stop behaving like a layabout, socialite whore and come back to me. This relationship will work, on my honour, but I will not be humiliated. You should know better, Lys, we're both from Arvandor. I can easily tolerate your dalliances, as long as I know and I agree. That you choose not to trust my good judgement is the real root of my anger."

Elyszara remained silent. She knew all of this, she knew it from her first days with Cirily that her lover was not possessive as much as she was affectionate. But Elyszara had wanted Syf to be hers and hers alone, something unique and secret which could be kept hidden - something powerful. Deception, after all was one of the most empowering means of interaction she knew.

"Good, I'm happy we're in agreement." Cirily concluded, turning back into the bedchamber, "For your information, Lys, had Friyya given her consent, I would have been happy for you to have Syf as your bedmate. You clearly needed the discipline I was unable to give you."

That last part - Elyszara pondered - was absolutely, irrefutably true.

*********

Lily felt nervous and out of place. Not in a vulnerable sort of way, but more in a tense, potentially violent frame of mind. The preparation room at one of, or so she had been told, Sigil's most active hazardous enchanted items, artifacts and assorted extraplanar menaces firms was claustrophobic. Just a small ragged couch, a clothes chest, a table with some opened, half-finished bottles of some best unidentified liquid all compacted into an irksome, tiny space. And this was the evaluation of someone who had lived her entire life in underground caverns.

"So, Lily this Min, my lovely colleague, co-worker, all-purpose friend and so forth etcetera. We'll be uh, evaluating your team performance-capabilities in light of our team specification-requirements." Shesayne said, far too quickly for Lily to fully understand, even though her fluency in Sigil's lingua franca was improving by the day.

Min looked dejectedly around herself, with one more on the team, their prep room, grandiloquently called the common room, would be, for all intents and purposes, a prison cell. But at least, so she had heard, dark elves had an exceptional natural affinity to magic and enchantment. Even the least spellcaster amongst them knew some impressive incantations. Min, however, tended to remain sceptical until proven wrong.

"I know, I remember you." Lily said tensely, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgement in Min's direction.

"C'mon more life." Min chided, inspecting their newest recruit. She seemed prepared enough, Virginia had said that she had trained as a priestess in her homeland - if that was indeed the case, she would definitely be of use.

"Life?" Lily repeated, somewhat perplexed.

"Figure of speech, idiom or just Min being Min, who knows?" Shesayne said whimsically, amused at Lily's disorientation.

"Nevermind her, she's always like this."

"Anyway, allow me to explain what our enterprise-mission is going to be today," Shesayne began, smiling impishly, her vibrant blue eyes lighting up with boundless excitement, "we have a containment device..."

"Sod it..." Min mumbled.

"Containment device," Shesayne continued, glaring at the tiefling, "in the remains of an old shrine to Tharizdun, god of death on some Prime world they tell me at the library, in the Clerk's Ward. We retrieve it, deal or dispose with it, and hope that what's inside needn't come out."

"Wouldn't some berk have noticed it lying around the sodding Clerk's Ward?" Min inquired wearily.

"No, no, no! They built over it, thinking it was a ready-made, all-set ready-to-go foundation." Shesayne specified.

"Not another underground one." Min groaned, "Right, well no use to talking 'bout it. Lily what's your poison?"

"Ah, poison?" The irritating, enervating feeling of disorientation was growing in the dark elf.

"Weapon, side arm, y'know." Shesayne clarified.

Knife, a tiliel sacrificial knife Lily thought, before deciding that it was probably not the most reassuring choice, "Short sword, preferably with a curved blade."

"Easily done, you seem dressed right, too...that's more than I can say for someone else here, though." Min said, appreciating Lily's functional black leather and fabric full body complement - which had surreptitiously been billed to the firm itself -, not unlike an assassin's ensemble with plenty of hidden pouches and pockets.

"What, me?" Shesayne protested. There was nothing, to her knowledge, wrong with her succinct, burgundy top with matching skin-tight - and almost unbelievably short - leggings. Nothing wrong with showing a little thigh, Shesayne had thought earlier that morning, especially with fantastic legs like mine.

"Yeah, sorry you have to put up with this, Lily, but Shesayne sometimes confuses our line of work with another. Let's go."

The half-elf scowled angrily at Min, just because the tiefling's approach to all matters aesthetic was monotonous and understated did not mean she had to follow that dreary example.

They deployed quickly from their headquarters and launched themselves into the Clerk's Ward, the bureaucratic nerve centre of Sigil. The streets were filled with the constant comings and goings of high-ups clad in elaborate robes, their clerks in more modest attire, and heavily armoured, menacing bodyguards who ranged from the brutish, to the reptilian, to the insectoid. Although by far one of the better maintained quarters of Sigil, an air of latent decay hung in the atmosphere. Buildings, though outwardly impressive and constructed in the typically spiny, vertical architecture of the City of Doors, were worn around the edges and seemed to cling to each other, like decrepit old giants.

It was Lily's first proper excursion into the city and, to her relief, her appearance drew no attention whatsoever. Creatures far more suspicious and monstrous patrolled the streets: mollusc-headed mind-flayers, bulbous, fishlike kua-toa, tall, regal, blue-skinned mercane. The sensory assault was overwhelming to the dark elf, as if all the Multiverse had converged into a single spot. But then again, Lily reflected, such were the vagaries of Fate, who was, at the best of times, a fickle mistress. The planar gate which had taken her to Sigil could as well have dumped her in the icy, eternally suffering glaciers of Caina.

Min walked with self-assured grace, her movements so fluid it appeared that the air and creatures around her moved to make way for her, the air of mystery around the tiefling compounded by the fiery veil of deep-red hair which hid the sides of her face from the casual observer. Shesayne skipped and pranced rather than walked, her hands, back and hips in perpetual motion, sometimes silently smiling to herself, sometimes badgering Min with truly inane banter.

Her appearance did certainly draw attention to her; she was, after all, gifted with slender, girlish proportions which had a sort of wiry, energetic femininity to them and which both humans and elves - and not only - found attractive. Shesayne's was a perpetual motion which Lily could not stand; it was superfluous, it drew undue attention and it was distracting. As far as the drow was concerned, the sardonic, enigmatic Min was far more appealing in a vulgar sort of way. Drow prized priestesses above all, with thieves, assassins and their ilk somewhere close to the bottom of the social totem pole. At least, to look on the - so to speak - bright side of things, Lily thought, they were now male and, most importantly, there was no sun in Sigil to overwhelm her delicate eyes. Some light, though, was generally too much light.

"Should be right here." Shesayne finally declared upon reaching a vast, forbidding building with a concave facade adorned with angular, jutting spires like the teeth of a vast, primordial monster.

"Under this?" Min queried.

"Uhm...so it seems and so it would appear."

"Let's get it over with, then." The tiefling declared, climbing the steps to the entrance in graceful, effortless bounds. Lily followed her with trepidation, not quite certain what to expect. Entering a building uninvited in the Underdark meant almost certain death, unless one went in adequately prepared, that was. In that moment though, without her priestly spells, without her sanctified equipment, she felt decidedly vulnerable.

They were let into the foundation cellars by a nervous caretaker whose primary concern was to leave as soon as possible since he was clearly terrified of what his 'master' would do to him if he didn't dust his wine cellar on schedule. Lily immediately found the place comforting, almost a shadow of home. The darkness was soothing to her eyes, though Shesayne's irritating movements could still be detected as jarring, shifting little heat signatures, and the cool silence was reminiscent of an Underdark cavern.

"Shesayne, light." Min ordered.

The half-elf complied immediately, muttering a short, sharp incantation which caused a mote of shimmering light, much to Lily's disappointment, to manifest in front of the party. Beneath the first two levels of the foundation cellars was a half-submerged floor where the quality and nature of the stone changed from forbidding granite to something entirely more sinister, like black volcanic rock slick with mouldy humidity and perhaps something less benign still. Their footsteps were wet and heavy against the cool water which flooded the paving. As expected, at the very centre of the flooded level lay a circular chamber, long forgotten, which bore the remains of what had clearly once been an obscene altar to the forgotten god Tharizdun: a great skeletal hand, now in grievous disrepair, which had clearly previously clutched a skull-shaped phylactery which lay ominously, half-sunken, on the floor before it.

"Why in the Nine Hells did they only realise this now?" Min growled. The carelessness of some building developers really defied belief.

"They thought they could hide the evidence by walling it over. A maintenance-repair team found it only a couple of days ago."

Lily tensed, out of instinct and out of intuition. She knew the sensation which emanated from the phylactery, a vaguely cylindrical container carved out of what appeared to be yellowed bone.

"The mildew really stinks..." Shesayne complained, taking one splashing step closer to the altar.

"What do you expect?" Min snapped - the smell was not only mildew and it was making her uneasy.

"We'll disarm it first. Min, why don't you set up the antimagic field rod? Lily, I'll approach to the left and you approach to the right, don't touch it before Min gives us the all clear. Right-understood?"

"Understood." Lily replied, feeling a familiar sensation overtake her, like something cold and wet gripping a subconscious section of her brain.

Min set the ornate antimagic crystal to project a spherical field of green metaphysical interference around the altar, hoping that it would scramble the artifact's enchantment. This was the crucial part of the containment process before retrieval could be effectuated; the malignant influences within would almost certainly break free upon contact with the phylactery. Crouching close to the ground in order to survey the projection field, Min gave Lily and Shesayne the go-ahead to approach.

Even the normally restless Shesayne found herself drawing slow, deliberate breaths: these operations were all a matter of timing; timing and luck. The pair came closer, Shesayne with her nimble hands outstretched, as if to clutch the phylactery in the most delicate of grips, Lily approaching with one hand on the pommel of her shortsword. It was then that it dawned on her, "Interrupt the antimagic field." The dark elf said, interrupting the tense silence which had filled the abandoned chamber.

"What?" Min's surprise was almost palpable.

"I feel it...I know it, it awaits a return to the surface." Lily explained.

"It?" Asked Shesayne.

"I have felt this feeling before, it is almost certainly what we call ia-thaill. Deceptive, but not very powerful. It will exploit us to get back to the surface, after its imprisonment, it needs to feed."

"Are you sure, certain, positive?" Shesayne inquired nervously.

"I will never forget that sensation."

"Right, so what do we do about it?" Min interjected.

"If I release it correctly by shattering the phylactery rather than opening it, the ia-thaill will leap out, almost always towards the surface. You should have sufficient time to strike at it."

"You up to it?" Min needed Lily's confirmation even if she had already made her mind up. The tiefling gripped two throwing knives between her fingers, still crouching low, her keen eyes already charting a hypothetical vertical path the presumed creature would take out of the phylactery.

"Yes." Lily said simply, drawing her crescent-bladed shortsword, its blade dully reflecting the shimmering light of Shesayne's conjured orb.

"Let's play some." Shesayne said, half enthusiastically as she finished loading her miniature crossbow which, incidentally, was her pride and joy: so much more convenient in Sigil's cramped quarters than the cumbersome Elven longbow.

"On my signal." Lily ordered and, for a moment, she was an Initiate again, dictating the terms of a summoning to her classmates.

She struck hard, but accurately, instinctively identifying the fissure point in the phylactery where an enchantment had sealed it shut; the blade penetrated the bone easily, sending shards flying and a monstrous apparition, like that of a deformed, hunched goat with sucking, eyeless mouths squirming like tentacles where its snout should have been, flying into the dank air of the cavern, its many, malformed arms flailing as if it were in eternal agony.

Min did not miss, the two daggers planting themselves in the creature's withered midsection, drawing out fetid ichor. It was at its most vulnerable as it was materialising, having just been released from its prison and starved of souls, so that when a pair of carefully aimed silver crossbow bolts struck it in the side of its abominable head, it knew no more. The apparition vanished at the speed with which it manifested, its vile ichor falling like green dust into the water below, its body dispersing in vapour and rank air. Only a low, dying moan echoed through the chamber and it was as if nothing had ever transpired before the altar of the forgotten god, Tharizdun.

"Easy, easy, easy." Shesayne said, drawing a sigh of relief. It was normally best to retrieve rather than confront.

"You're hired." Min said curtly, smiling in satisfaction.

"My pleasure to be of assistance." Lily crowed - finally, after what had felt like an eternity, she felt useful. Useful and upwardly mobile. The more she considered, the more it appeared that her familiarity with entities the surface world loathed or feared were an asset rather than a liability. In this instance, a vengeful, escaped ia-thaill was an unpleasant thing indeed to deal with. Especially when it completed its materialisation process.

"Drinks?" Shesayne said suddenly, sounding very much like a non sequitur to Lily.

"On me" Min snarled. She still had a very substantial debt to Shesayne to pay off.

*********

After filing the retrieval report and taking their leave, Min, Shesayne and Lily found themselves an agreeable table at the Styx Boatman. This was a low-key and suitably anonymous tavern at the edge of the Hive Ward, patronised by a diverse, but generally sedate clientele. Lighting was provided by overhanging lamps and dark tallow candles which occasionally dripped wax onto the dark, weathered wood floor. The general impression of a semi-lit dreamworld permeated the place and was reinforced by the subtle drumming of a fensir troll crouched over his giant-hide drum set, feeling the sensation of each pulse and each beat under his great, wide hands and ears. In time, the Styx Boatman had become one of Min and Shesayne's favourite locales: neither too pricy nor too chaotic, just the right dose of quirky bustle.

Frequenting public establishment was yet another habit Lily found herself taking objection to and, ultimately, being forced to accept. In her previous life, it would have been unthinkable for the daughter of a noble household, a potential ruler of the city, to frequent the lowly establishments reserved for commoners and non-drow. She had, however, felt a burgeoning pang of camaraderie with her new colleagues, so she settled for a hasty compromise wherein she would at least give the tavern a chance. Min and Shesayne seemed enthusiastic enough though, the tiefling throwing herself with visible relief against the back of her upholstered chair, long, slimly muscled legs resting on the table, whilst the half-elf hovered around restlessly, scrutinising the day's clientele.

"Oh, I just remembered..." The half-elf began.

"Shesayne!" Min warned.

Shesayne turned to face the tiefling, then approached, taking slow, deliberate steps, her barely-clad hips swaying provocatively to emphasise each word, "Min owes me three hundred marks!" She said in that mocking singsong tone which was guaranteed to irritate Min to no end.

"So you do gamble?" Lily interrupted, suddenly curious.

"On certain things, matters or propositions, yes, yes." Shesayne clarified, playfully mounting onto Min's chair, knees on either side of the tiefling's thighs.

"Really stupid things that aren't worth your time of day to hear." Min clarified hastily.

"Min, dear lovely Min, you need to stop worrying so much. I bet you looked absolutely adorable that evening." The half elf said as she leaned forward against Min to plant a long, deep kiss with her cherry-red lips on the tiefling's mouth. Min acquiesced and sunk her tongue into Shesayne's mouth, their kiss becoming hungrier and more passionate. The tiefling's hands rose up Shesayne's slender, exposed thighs to cup the scarcely-covered swell of the half-elf's delectably pert, firm bottom.

"Nice to see you appreciate the very best in Sigil." Shesayne said teasingly, breaking the kiss and withdrawing slightly so she could lick Min's sultry, vermillion-red lips.

"When you dress like that, so does the rest of the city." Min said with a malicious, enticing smile forming on her lips, her dextrous hands still running down Shesayne's exposed abdomen, thighs and the perfect swell of her bottom.

"Jealous, little Min? So which is better, mine or Marséna's?" Shesayne said, affecting a seductive tone as she continued to kiss Min.

"I've only had...in depth experience with yours...so far, so it's hard to tell."

"Apologies if I interrupt," Lily interjected - she was not one to disrupt such matters, but some of the customs she had encountered thus far were so incomprehensible they required immediate clarification, "but I thought that such behaviour elicited violent reactions if pursued when associated with another." Lily could not help but think of the rather bizarre confrontation between Syf and Friyya; she had evidently misjudged hierarchy once before and was reluctant to make the same mistake again.

"Oh, c'mon Lily," Shesayne reprimanded gently, "we're just playing, it's nothing serious, just a little quality time with delicious Min."

That Lily could understand, though certainly never in such a public setting, however the inconsistency of the relational interaction she had observed so far had been frustrating. Nevertheless, it was no longer her place to judge, merely to observe, interpret and learn.

"By the way, Lily, how did you know what that thing in the phylactery was?" Min asked curiously as Shesayne began to move in rhythmic, dancelike motions to the hypnotic beat of the drums in the background.

"It was actually quite simple. Before being selected as a priestess, I and some other Initiates had to take a test. We were brought to the summoning pool which lies beneath the main court of the temple of Lloth where we were told to combine our power to call and control a ia-thaill. It was a particularly difficult test: one Initiate was devoured, her soul forever lost, another was ripped open by the creature's mouths, her bowels flowing out like worms. In the end, we succeeded in controlling it by force of will, though I remember the experience was draining. I may have slept for many cycles of our Black Moon afterwards. I never forgot the feeling I had in my mind the day we summoned it, though, and that was the same feeling I got from being in front of that altar."

"Tough childhood, troubled times, past not done with you yet?" Shesayne commented, unnecessarily.

"Join the club." Min said dryly.

"You could say so," said Lily, "but now I was led to believe that there would be drinks. I am...ah, eager to celebrate my new social network."

"Coming right up this instant." Shesayne declared, flagging a serving maid down, "But you really have to drop the accent and the weird phrases."

"Is my language inappropriate?" The dark elf queried, before it occurred to her that the register she used with Virginia was probably not as appropriate to this more urban social setting. Cities, even drow cities, evolved their specific speech patterns over time.

"No, don't worry about it," Min reassured, "you'll pick up what you need soon enough. You're not the only dark elf in Sigil, y'know."

"Drow." Lily snapped, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"Oh, touchy-sensitive." Shesayne commented, effortlessly leaping off Min's chair in one bound and approaching Lily, "We're all friends here, so we don't want to cause or encourage offence." The speed of the half-elf's speech still had Lily confused, the general sense was perceptible, but the words just flowed as indeterminately as droplets in a torrent of water.

"I think you need to unwind a little," Shesayne purred, mounting suddenly with her sharp, darting reflexes, into Lily's chair and straddling her, "isn't Virg helping you with that? 'Cause I'd be happy to fill you in on anything you think you're missing out on."

The dark elf sat still, utterly perplexed and more than slightly unnerved at Shesayne being so forward. This demi-elf was certainly no ranking priestess who could take such liberties.

"I am uncertain if I am to be flattered or insulted by your...presumption." Lily managed, despite herself admiring the elegant lines of the half-elf's bared midriff and nicely proportioned, compact breasts, only barely concealed by the scandalous burgundy top.

"Oh, come on, come on we both have an interest in keeping our lady-knight lovers happy," Shesayne insinuated, leaning in close against the drow, almost face to face, "if one of us falls, we both fall together and get tragically left in the dust." Shesayne lunged forward to run her tongue playfully down Lily's pointed ear.

The dark elf bit her lip to keep herself from gasping in surprise and - guilty - pleasure.

"Don't mind her, she's always like this," Min said nonchalantly, calling for a couple of bottles of spiced liqueur as the serving maid approached, "didn't get enough attention as a child."

"Oh, dear Min is being bitter again, hmm? But you, you need to brighten and perk up too - nothing kills the party more than a dreary drow." Shesayne cajoled, taking Lily's hands into her own and bringing them to her hips, "Where they go from there is up to you." She teased.

Eccentric as the half-elf was, she had a certain vital charm to her which softened Lily's approach. There was no point in expecting any dignity, ritual or decorum under these circumstances and Lily herself felt somewhat encumbered and inelegant in her functional, black outfit. Of course, Shesayne wasn't entirely unappealing either, if in a vaguely irritating, trivial way.

"I am flattered that you trust a drow enough to give her that liberty." Lily replied amiably enough, a slightly perverse smile forming on her sensual, violet lips as she stared into Shesayne's bright blue, impishly curious eyes.

"My duty, pleasure and pastime." Shesayne said, relishing the movement of Lily's soft, nimble hands, stroking and lightly scratching with the very tip of her fingernails, down the exposed skin of the half-elf's taut belly, moving fluidly to cup the perfect globes of her bottom.

"You see, Min, she has taste; a first class artistic eye for the truly beautiful things Sigil has to offer." Shesayne called.

"Shame I'm missing out." Min said sarcastically, observing the slightly absurd scene. Surely Shesayne was hardly the ideal person to give Lily an introduction to responsible life in Sigil; having said that, she was unsure whether she or Shesayne had ever actually lived a responsible minute in their lives. Responsible people, apparently had normal jobs, saved money, started families or generally engaged in productive socially constructive activities. Too bad for them, Min thought wryly.

"I admit that for a half-breed you are quite...impressive." Lily purred, beginning to overcome her irritation at Shesayne's constant movement - on closer inspection, the swaying of the half-elf's hips had a spontaneously erotic quality to it.

"I like to think that I've got the best of both sides." Shesayne quipped before giving a slight squeal of surprise as she felt the searching tip of Lily's finger slide under the waistband of her leggings - a sort of an oxymoron because they did absolute nothing to cover her legs.

"How arrogant of you...I like that." Said Lily, privately enjoying the satisfaction of finding Shesayne damp under her finger.

"Then let me make you more comfortably relaxed." The half-elf replied, her voice now almost a sensual whisper, her words slower so Lily could finally begin to fully understand what her newfound friend was saying. Shesayne proceeded to open the front of Lily's full-body suit, easing aside the form-fitting, if somewhat unflattering, black leather and canvas to reveal the tops of the drow woman's generous obsidian breasts.

"That's why drow are my favourite elves." Shesayne joked.

"I think the idiomatic expression is: 'don't push your luck'." Lily said, her smile turning dangerous.

"Oh, c'mon sense of humour, sense of irony, self-deprecation...you people have none of that?"

"As always, there are limits."

"Well, well for being such a good sport so far, I think you deserve a little reward." Shesayne said, hastily changing the subject as she tentatively pressed her lips against Lily's.

The dark elf kissed back, hungrily at first, her lips devouring Shesayne's, their tongues duelling with ardent energy. As soon as she concluded that Shesayne had become comfortable, Lily bit down, hard on the half-elf's bottom lip so as to draw the slightest trickle of blood, "As do you." Lily said with a self-satisfied smile on her lips, quickly lapping up a few red droplets from Shesayne's mouth.

Shesayne shuddered, recoiling slightly in pain, before cocking her head curiously at Lily, her charming, elfin face seemingly unperturbed, "Looks like your bite's worse than your bark."

"Always catch your enemy unprepared: it usually prevents you from having to fight." Lily commented.

"My, my, my are you a fascinating one. D'you drink, our stuff, I mean?"

"I might as well start." Lily conceded, as Shesayne dismounted and poured her a glass.

Min, who had been watching the scene with bemused interest, took note of Lily's character: clever, devious, but potentially very useful. Good company too, since she could handle Shesayne, freeing Min to vary her schedule a little and engage in such interesting activities as watching the world go by. Of course, Shesayne was far more than the occasional irritation, insensitive - or nonsensical - comment, or embarrassing public display. She was probably the only decent thing Min had from her past, the only truly firm point of reference. As convoluted as their emotional lives had been, Min and Shesayne had never left each other's side.

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

The light of Sigil's early day filtered through the red thick red curtains which had been improvised from some scavenged fabric. They turned the light's glow a dull red, which spread across the tiny, cramped bedchamber. At least, Shesayne reflected, they had a window. She often awoke early, certainly much earlier than Min, only to be haunted each time by the stillness around her, by the prospect of the voice she never wanted to hear. It was cool that morning, so she drew the blanket closer to herself, wondering how Min could insist on sleeping naked. The tiefling stirred only slightly next to her, the veil of ember-red hair spread over her face so only the faintest hint of her face beneath was visible.

Soon it would be time to work again; the city was ripe for the picking and Min and Shesayne had become quite an efficient thieving team. They had long graduated from the pickpocket league - that was for children -, now the prizes were bigger: ever more complex setups, ever more dangerous 'excursions' into shops and residences which required perfect reflexes and perfect timing. Thankfully, they were both possessed with the former, though the latter could be as much a question of luck as of planning. Their line of work was not, additionally, without its drawbacks. The previous night, Min had dispatched a hyena-headed gnoll who had been hired to guard a glass and crystal ware storehouse. The tiefling, alarmed at having been caught in flagrante, lashed out with her daggers; one cut the artery in the gnoll's bicep, the other planted itself in its windpipe.

It had gagged, briefly, then collapsed, bleeding, snorting out air mixed with tiny droplets of live blood. Shesayne remembered that all she could mouth was "fuck, Min", almost spasmodically, as if it were a prayer. Stealing was one thing, killing quite another. The tiefling had looked unphased, cool and enigmatic as usual as the red-furred gnoll wheezed its last gasps, the reddish tide of its blood running down the smooth stone surface of the storehouse. Shesayne had hated herself for having been so hesitant, but Min had made nothing of it and, that night, they had slept curled up against each other as usual, struggling for rest under the incessant chaos of the Hive Ward.

The Hive, after all, was their home. Shesayne a half-breed like Min, they had lived in the great, steaming melting pot of Sigil's slums. Lived, laughed and suffered together in all the intriguing, energetic cruelty of the labyrinthine recesses of Sigil's root backsides. Thievery was not a pastime and decidedly not a moral quandary: it was life. Now even more so that Shesayne's mother had begun to tolerate their presence less and less in the tiny, cramped apartment on the second floor of an ailing building. When Shesayne was bored, she would sit on the steps in front of her door and shoot cranium rats with her hand crossbow as they ran up the walls or scampered up the stairs.

As far as Shesayne's long-suffering elven mother was concerned, she and Min were idle and useless. That was the voice Shesayne dreaded hearing in the morning - or any other time of day. The voice that told her that she was a disgrace, that Min was a miscreant, that neither of them had ever studied or done something constructive with their lives. In frustration, Shesayne had once shouted back that an elf who fucked humans and still dreamed only of returning to forests which had long ago burned down, to cities now in ruin, had no right to supply life-advice of any kind.

Min's fitful awakening disrupted Shesayne's recollections, "Shesayne...breakfast." The tiefling moaned - if she could afford to, she would lie in bed all day. Waking up was positively painful.

"We'll find something quick, cheap and cheerful outside. First things first, though, if the baths are clear you take first guard, I hate that sodding gnome leering at me." Shesayne cringed, they were never far from a close call in the Hive: no woman, girl or young boy was.

"Whatever." Min complained, rising to her feet. She sensed Shesayne was still nervous about their run in with the gnoll the previous night, "You ready for the job today? It's the Red Flag emporium, the one that sells ceramics."

"Yeah, we went over this hundreds of times. But Min, cool it, calm it and keep it under control, I don't want blood today, alright?"

"Fucking gnoll." Min growled, pulling on her leggings.

"What are you two still doing here?" A voice called menacingly from beyond the locked door of Shesayne's bedchamber.

"Leaving." Min said curtly.

"Don't even think of coming back. You two are misbegotten, wretched failures, you bring disgrace to this house."

"What, like more than this?" Shesayne snarled back savagely, "Fuck you, fuck off and die."

The voice went silent. Shesayne burned on the inside, her mother always managed to drag out the depressive side of her, that which was hidden beneath so much effusive energy and playfulness. Once it had been particularly difficult: elves looked down on her, humans just wanted to bed her, only Min understood her. Then, with time, she decided to take the Hive in its stride, to take no-one and nothing particularly seriously. Except, of course, for Min, who had been her faithful companion since they had been playmates on the streets. In all the mutable chaos of the Hive, in all its follies, Min was the only thing which remained constant and comforting.

Later that day, a rather charming young lady turned up at the Red Flag emporium. Her raven-black hair was neatly collected in a fashionable dragon-turtle shell comb and she was dressed in a simple white lace corset with matching skirt, in the fashion of some of the more respectable families of Sigil's merchant class.

"Greetings, Madam, how may I be of service?" The shop assistant, a rather stiff woman with elaborately coiffed blonde hair, inquired.

"I was looking for a gift." Shesayne said, affecting her best bourgeois accent and deliberately slowing down her speech to enunciate each word clearly.

"Certainly," the shop assistant responded, smiling, "what type would Madam desire?"

"Oh, well, I really had my mind set on the blue-green celadon vase with the phoenix design."

"Unfortunately, madam, I was not aware we stocked those."

"Well, are you certain? Perhaps you have some in storage, because your colleague yesterday told me that you still had some in the back. I'm certain I could identify the type at a glance." Shesayne insisted, flashing the sweetest smile she could fathom.

"Well it is our policy not to let anyone in..."

"Oh, please, miss, I really had my heart set on it. It is for a very important person, you understand, and you would make a young girl very happy if you helped me out." The half-elf smiled again, more seductively this time, her fingertips running gracefully down a vast, triton-shaped soup bowl on display at the centre of the emporium.

"Well..."

"You would earn my gratitude, miss, and that isn't something to be underestimated." Shesayne pressed, continuing to stroke the rim of the soup bowl.

"All right, follow me." The shop assistant decided, mentally activating the lock to the storage room. Only the most reckless still used mechanical locks to store valuables.

Shesayne laughed inwardly as she skipped into the vast storage chamber, filled to the ceiling with impressive - and extremely expensive - ceramic bowls, vases, jars and ornaments. What they were really after, of course, were the tiny, exquisitely carved ornamental jars which could easily be carried without drawing attention, fetched a good price and could readily be offloaded onto the market. Most importantly, they did not have alarm wards enchantments placed upon them like the items in the shop display. In the meanwhile, with the shop assistant away from her post, Min would have snuck in to the store to cover Shesayne's back.

"Right, madam, so where do you see this plate?"

"Oh well, around here with the other..."

"Madam, I thought you wanted a vase..."

- Sod it - Shesayne thought as her blood went cold.

"My mistake, sorry..." She mumbled, her careful gaze noting that the woman had drawn a shortsword from a scabbard concealed behind the storeroom door.

"I've been around too long for that to work on me, madam." The woman's voice had become more threatening now as she closed the door behind them.

"Is there anything I can do...to make it up to you, miss." Shesayne said, quite desperately, backing up against a wall. She brushed against a stack of plates, causing them to shatter against the ground in a loud crash, fine shards scattering across the floor.

"I am afraid not."

It was only when Shesayne realised that the thrust of the gleaming shortsword was inevitable that she instinctively drew her hand crossbow - which she kept tucked neatly under the folds of her skirt, strapped to her thigh - and fired. The bolt struck the blonde woman in the throat, by chance rather than by design. The shortsword dropped to the floor, as did the shop assistant's body, dying cries choked by the welling blood. The bolt had torn easily through the soft flesh of the throat, settling in the hard bone of the woman's neck. It was as if she had been skewered.

Shesayne sat there for long, wordless moments. Her heart felt like an earthquake beneath her, her fingers trembled almost spasmodically. She could barely hear Min in the distance, calling frantically, she could only barely feel the tiefling's arms wrap around her, a gentle, soothing voice in her ear whose words seemed to far away to make out. Her universe flashed red, white and deep black for what seemed like an eternity.

In the evening, much later, when the light had faded to a deep, twilit grey - like sunset on a cloudy day, Shesayne stood in front of Min, surrounded only by the silent wooden walls of the tiny bedchamber they both shared.

"We need to find something else, Min." The half-elf said softly, her mind still overwhelmed by the experiences of the day.

"What?"

"We need to find another job. I can't keep on like this." Shesayne felt hot, angry salty tears form in her eyes and pour slowly down her cheeks.

"Shesayne..." Min said softly, unsure of how to proceed, as she took the trembling girl into her arms, holding her close, feeling the wracking sobs run through her friend.

"We need to find another job, Min, because this is just too fucked up. We need another life, you and me, we need to be happy and we can't be fucking happy when we're risking our lives every single sodding day just for food and clothes."

"How?" Min asked bitterly, cradling the weeping girl in her arms, "There's only one other thing we could do besides thieving and I think we ruled that out ages ago."

"Anything's better than this, Min." Shesayne whimpered into the tiefling's breast.

"No, not that."

"So what then?" Shesayne said, her wild eyes, so curious and lively in the past now overcome with sorrow.

"We'll find something. You and me, just wait. We just have to find something we'd be good at. But, whatever happens, I'm with you. We swore by blood and that's forever."

******

It was Lily who drained the last glass of the third bottle of spice liqueur, but before she could even contemplate objecting to another one being brought to the table, the deed had already been done. In spite of her inhibitions, the dark elf felt profoundly satisfied by her night out. For the first time since being driven from her ancestral home, she felt a sense of belonging. Virginia was pleasant enough - and an excellent lover - as she was, but Lily had never felt in good faith with herself surrounded by self-appointed paladins of goodness. Here, though, in the midst of those who, like herself, had live an experience of marginalisation, she felt whole and comfortable again.

Naturally, it was not as though she felt less drow, on the contrary, her contact with sentients with inferior aesthetic sensibilities made her particularly proud of her heritage, but it also simultaneously opened her up to new approaches.

Now, her thoughts well lubricated by the alcohol, she contemplated a lively scene before her. Sigil at the beginning of darkfall was as vibrant and lively as it was throughout the day, if not more so. The tavern, though never overcrowded, was characterised by the coming and going of patrons. But finally, even in a drow sense, Lily realised she had made true friends. It was not an easy feeling to deal with because her drow upbringing told her to distrust those who would aim for what she had; nevertheless, she was certain that there was no ill will in Shesayne or Min and that was a reassuring concept. It meant that she could afford to relax her guard. And concentrate on Shesayne. The petite half-elf had grown on her throughout the night, her incessant teasing and attention ever more stimulating.

Shesayne was flitting idly - and restlessly - between Min and Lily; taking pleasure in being as irreverent and provocative as possible. That, naturally, would never have been acceptable in drow society: Lily felt a mounting desire to thrust Shesayne against a wall and take her there and then in the tavern. It was, upon further consideration, probably just an alcohol-induced consideration, and caution dictated that Lily not let herself be swayed into showing any weakness. Min for her part was somewhat taciturn, interjecting every now and then with some dry remark to take the absurd edge off Shesayne's interminable chattering. Insofar as the tiefling was concerned, she enjoyed these evenings out because they meant company with people she appreciated; quite simply, she saw sharing her time with her friends as a sort of affection.

"Well, well, well what do we have here, my dear little Lily?" Shesayne said airily as she spied a figure entering the tavern.

"I suspect you are about to tell me." Lily replied. She had quickly learned to humour the half-elf: it was the best way to enjoy her company.

"If I'm not fooling myself or mistaken, she just skipped Quarters. I can recognise that weave of blouse anywhere...watch this, ladies, watch and learn for the greater glory." Shesayne said, leaping off Lily's lap and skipping towards the bar.

Shesayne had immediately recognised the newcomer as a novice of the Radiant Path. The simple white blouse and brown skirt were dead giveaways - more specifically, the inlay on the girl's side-arm bore the starburst insignia of the Vigilant Maiden. Pretty thing too - long blonde hair gathered in one braid, wide, leaf-green eyes, a slender, well-proportioned figure which, in time, would fill out more. Definitely a novice, Shesayne decided, the girl's appearance reminded her of the fresco paintings of the Virgin Goddess and her nymphs in the Temple of the Radiant Path.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I couldn't help but notice the presence of such a distinguished paladin from the Order of the Radiant Path." Shesayne began effusively, helping herself to a seat next to the girl at the bar.

"Ah...still a...novice, actually." The blonde girl replied, almost embarrassed. Evidently, Shesayne had already deduced that. It was quite evident from the sort of weapon that was carried: it was a training sword which was halfway between a longsword and a shortsword and intended for fencing practise rather than actual confrontation.

"Well, could have fooled me and I'm not easy to fool." Shesayne lied, her smile broadening, "I'm Shesayne."

"Ithunn, pleased to meet you." She replied quickly. As a novice, it was strictly forbidden for her to leave Quarters, much less frequent taverns. But as with all things that are forbidden, the yearning and the temptation associated with prohibition quickly win over even the most determined of souls. As much as Ithunn wanted to become an exceptional paladin, in the mould of her personal hero, Syf, she was tired of being taunted by her roommates that she had never once skipped Quarters or done anything on 'the outside'. If the tradeoff was between their mockery and a serious thrashing from Isobel, Ithunn had, in spite of all her good sense, begun to prefer the latter.

"And so, what mission, task or quest brings you out into the city?" Shesayne asked, feigning innocence. Ithunn, on closer inspection, had an impressive figure and that always caught the half-elf's attention.

"A little time for myself, perhaps." Ithunn answered evasively. Upon scrutinising Shesayne, she was forced to re-evaluate her preconceptions. It had never occurred to her that some actually chose to dress like that.

"Oh, how boring, boring, boring." Shesayne commented, "Time's always spent better in company and, as well all know, the common knowledge of all societies is: two's company, three's a crowd."

Ithunn swallowed, there was something entrancing about the half-elf's movements, the sparkle in her steel-blue eyes, the slight tan of her skin which was perfectly complemented by the dark red of her - though it was a stretch to call it that - outfit. The more rational side of the novice's mind reminded her of the scandal which could potentially be incurred if she allowed herself to be drawn into this world of iniquity. She was, upon reflection, a decent girl from a decent family who had no place in a tavern in the Hive.

"Hope I haven't made you uncomfortable, miss..." Shesayne said, flashing a concerned glance as she leaned forward in her stool, "Sometimes, when I'm distracted, I forget my manners."

"That is perfectly understandable." Ithunn said, simply because she could not think of anything else to say, all her world was now focused on Shesayne's impish grin, lips like ripe cherries, and her big, expressive eyes which were almost hypnotic.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry, I forgot that a lovely lady-knight such as yourself must have many admirers. Regrettably for me, but fortunately for you, I am merely one of many."

"You flatter, me, really..." Ithunn said, shifting nervously in her chair.

"Surely you have some special friend, or beloved. I wouldn't believe it otherwise." Shesayne said, teasing the novice's reactions out with practised ease.

"Actually, not yet..." In an ideal Multiverse - one which was so distant it did not even bear contemplating - Ithunn would have been making love to Syf, with her mentor staring her deep in the eyes as they came together what an honour it was to have such a promising student and such a beautiful lover all rolled into one. That was her favourite fantasy for when she lay in her bunk, curled up against the wall so no one could see her.

"I can't believe it...it's impossible, it goes against the rules and laws of the Multiverse!" Shesayne exclaimed.

"Maybe I need more time...you know, to find the right person." Ithunn said, though she was eager to change the topic, she did not quite know how to seize the initiative in the conversation.

"But that's no excuse for inexperience, you wouldn't want to disappoint that special person when you found her, right?"

"I don't know about that. It would be...inappropriate for me to succumb to desire. Our Order has high moral standards."

Whatever that means. Shesayne thought maliciously, "But such a charming lady-knight such as yourself has never once been sought out by an admirer? Have you never once stolen a kiss from a pretty little

novice who sometimes catches your eye?

"I am afraid not." Ithunn lied. But, she had to admit to herself, if Shesayne was flirting, as seemed almost certain, she was flattered.

"What a crying shame," Shesayne sighed, "here I was - silly me - thinking of learning a trick or two and maybe getting to know a nice girl a little better..."

"Well," Ithunn interjected hastily, "we can always do that last part."

"I would be pleased, honoured and flattered, my fair lady-knight." Shesayne said, gently taking Ithunn's left hand into her own, "So tell me, this is your sword arm, correct?"

"How..."

"Scabbard." Shesayne said, "It must be an advantage, but I imagine such a skilled, top-class fighter such as yourself to be virtually unbeatable, whichever hand you prefer." The half-elf was running a slender finger in a gentle, caressing motion down Ithunn's outstretched palm and wrist.

"I am also competent with a right-handed style, should the need arise..." Ithunn boasted, feeling paradoxically more and less comfortable at the same time.

"Then we have so much in common: we're both women of talent." Shesayne said, more seductively this time as she leaned forward to kiss Ithunn's upturned wrist, her tongue just darting out slightly as her lips touched the soft, pale skin.

Ithunn shuddered at the contact. There was a rational voice in the back of her head which was telling her desperately to bolt and run, but she was like a fly in a web - enraptured and held captive by Shesayne's magnetism.

"So there's a lot we could teach each other..." Shesayne breathed, tilting her head upwards to admire the novice's impressively rounded breasts, her enchanting, green eyes. It was then that the half-elf made her move, inching forward with her lips slightly opened, her gaze never leaving Ithunn's eyes. Predictably, the novice met her halfway, almost as if in a trance; her lips were hasty and inexpert, but hungry - her mouth, at first hesitant, finally yielded to Shesayne's tongue, allowing the half-elf to sink into the kiss, shifting her weight forwards so that she was leaning into Ithunn's chair. A dextrous, expert hand found its onto the novice's knee, teasing fingers creeping up the simple brown fabric skirt to slowly, methodically part her slender thighs. By the Nine Hells, some of these Radiant Path girls are repressed, Shesayne mused, sensing heat and moisture even before reaching Ithunn's sex.

One thing that Shesayne had not calculated into her polished seduction routine was the hard, jarring slap she suddenly felt on the side of her face.

"Such liberties!" Ithunn sputtered, rising to her feet, her pale face flushed in embarrassment (or was it something else?), "Shame on you!" The novice turned angrily, exiting the tavern as quickly as she could. Shesayne sat motionless for a few stunned moments, before turning around to look back at her table. Lily bore the broadest, most natural smile Shesayne had ever seen from the dark elf, but Min was doubled over, her face in her hands, trying to contain her uncontrollable laughter.

******

"Milady Marséna, I'm home." Shesayne called jovially, throwing open the door to the paladin's bedchamber.

Marséna, who had already been asleep for an hour, stirred, thrusting her face deeper into her pillow and hoping it was just a dream.

"Oh, what a shame, sweet little Marséna is sleeping, and I was going to show her such a good time..."

"Speaking of time, do you know how late it is?" Marséna moaned groggily, "Just get into bed."

"Oh you're not getting off that easily." Shesayne said, her tone playful and sensual at the same time as she stripped off the sheets and climbed onto the bed, kissing up the back of Marséna's calf to her thigh. The paladin sighed and relaxed slightly, hoping only for a relapse into sleep. Shesayne was not in the mood to allow that, though, as her kisses became wetter and more insistent as she trailed up the back of Marséna's iodine-tan thigh, gently lifting the Mareterran girl's nightgown to reveal the black curls which covered her sex and the perfect twin globes of her bottom. Shesayne moved ever upwards, her tongue now running its hot, wet trail up the firm, tautly feminine curve of Marséna's sculptural bottom, before playfully licking down the tight crevasse between the firm buttocks.

It was at that point that Shesayne caught Marséna's attention. By the time Shesayne had gently parted the globes of Marséna's bottom with her gentle, dextrous fingers to gently tease the tightly puckered muscle of the paladin's nether portal with the tip of her tongue, sleeping became totally out of the question. Marséna stirred, lifting her hips slightly and parting her thighs to allow Shesayne better access.

"Such a naughty girl." Shesayne chided, her lips planting soft kisses between the magnificent curve of Marséna's bottom, her tongue diligently at work, relieving the paladin's rosebud of all tension in long, insistent licks.

Marséna drew a sharp breath as she felt the tip of Shesayne's tongue ease into her rapidly relaxing nether portal, and instinctively bit down on her pillow when the sensation of two fingers gently parting the sodden lips of her sex was added to the already exquisite pressure in her bottom. She spread her thighs further, beginning to thrust herself back against Shesayne's mouth, demanding more of the curious, questing wetness within her. The half-elf was all too keen to indulge her lover's wishes further, continuing to work her tongue against the tight rosebud of Marséna's anus whilst applying gentle, but mounting friction against the silky wetness of the paladin's inner lips, revelling in the sensation of the hot, swollen flesh parting to accommodate her expert fingers.

"Fine, fine, you win." Marséna said softly, turning around languidly and pulling off her white cotton nightgown. She leaned forward to kiss Shesayne, her exhaustion temporarily vanquished as she found new energy in the welcoming warmth of her half-elven lover's eager mouth, "But I hate your wardrobe, it's too damn difficult to take off." Marséna joked, fumbling to strip off the smaller girl's burgundy top before finally tugging off her leggings and drawing her into a passionate embrace, their mouths locked in a sweet, sensual duel. Shesayne pressed herself close to Marséna, feeling the human girl's fuller breasts against her own, taking comfort in the warmth and the soft skin which now held her tight.

Allowing the revived Marséna to take the initiative, Shesayne took the occasion to luxuriate under the paladin's ministrations. Marséna's sensual, expert lips kissed down the half-elf's ear, trailed the curve of her throat and traced the contours of her collarbone. There was no urgency in Marséna's lovemaking, just slow burning passion as she fully awoke to the joys of Shesayne's body.

"Take me." Shesayne whispered huskily, into Marséna's ear as the paladin kissed the tops of her petite breasts, the cowl of raven black hair shifting like a midnight cloak over the half-elf's lightly tanned skin. The latent desire which had been building Shesayne all day finally struggled to find its release, but of all the sensual titillation that the half-elven girl had enjoyed so far, none was more erotic than Marséna: her sun-kissed skin, her perfect, elegant curves, the rich, black softness of her hair and the sweet salinity between the slick folds of her sex.

Marséna nodded in assent, sliding one thigh underneath Shesayne's, sighing in pleasure at the delectably electric sensation of the half-elven girl's flawless skin, and hooking the other around her lover's waist. Her copiously juicing sex, deep pink lips moist and eager, now pressed against Shesayne's equally hungry nether lips. Contact was almost mind-bendingly tense, each time the sensitive inner lips brushed together, each time the friction of Marséna's coal-black curls was brought to bear on Shesayne's inflamed little clitoris, it was as if a shock traversed their bodies. Shesayne moaned softly as the paladin began to grind her sex with long, circular thrusts, only to be silenced by Marséna's sultry lips, hot and searching.

Their hands explored each other's bodies with wild abandon, Marséna cupping the elegant perfection of her lover's breasts, feeling the stiff, pink little nipples in contrast to the soft, yielding skin beneath them, while Shesayne worshipped the curves of the paladin's flanks and bottom. They moved almost as if in synchronism, Marséna leading the long, agonising, grinding thrusts, the friction delicious like molten syrup between her thighs, Shesayne's velvety inner lips so satisfying, so yielding, so full of juicy promise. The slender half-elf was all too keen to follow, only breaking her deep, smouldering kisses for breath, the aching, sensual kiss of their nether lips, however, remained uninterrupted.

Marséna's pulse quickened as she felt the onslaught of her passion, building like a tight knot in her loins. Her lust ignited, she broke her kiss with Shesayne and pushed the petite girl forward so that she could be unequivocally on top, dictating the rhythm and pressure of her sex against the half-elf's. Relishing in the sensuality of her surrender, Shesayne could only give herself over to Marséna's expert control as she felt the fire in her belly mounting with each long, slow, wet thrust, the friction building on the inflamed bud of her clitoris was unbearable, as was the teasing of the paladin's hands, now stroking the half-elven girl's firm belly with sensual abandon, pulling her up and forwards as whim dictated.

Marséna finally came with deep, ragged breaths, releasing all her passion in hard, jarring thrusts against the silky lips of her lover's sex. She only had to wait a few more moments before Shesayne joined her in the heights of ecstasy, the half-elf's hips bucking spasmodically, back arching as the molten fire of her passion shot up her spine, filling her with a profound, rolling sense of satisfied pleasure, her lips releasing high-pitched, rhythmic little cries. Then there was only heavy, laboured breathing and the moisture of satiated sex against sex, of passion-moistened thighs pressed together.

Shesayne slumped back, Marséna falling on top of her, covering her cherry-red lips with kisses, "Long day, my sweet Shesayne?"

"You could say so, but this was definitely worth the wait."

"Do you think we're getting back on track...you know, the right direction?" Marséna asked softly, as Shesayne wrapped her legs around the paladin's waist, drawing her close.

"I've been through harder times, if we want, we can make this beautiful, memorable, magnificent." The half-elf sighed dreamily.

"Do you believe that we're made for each other?" Marséna said, a trace of doubt in her voice.

"Yeah..."

"Don't lie, Shesayne." Marséna said quietly, gently planting a kiss on the girl's lightly pointed ear, "You once accused me of loving another more, but I think the same's true of you. I think that we're both confused and sometimes frightened, but I'm also confident that we'll find the right solution in the end."

"Aren't you being a bit vague, evasive, cryptic? Can't we just enjoy the evening?" Shesayne reprimanded. All she had wanted was a good orgasm and some generic cuddling, not an update on the grand scheme of their relationship.

Marséna paused to look Shesayne in the eye, before sinking forward to kiss the half-elven girl's lips with affection as much as passion, "You're right, another time."

Sigil Book One, Chapter VI

I do not think Sigil is a unique city so much as a city par excellence. Wherever you have a high density of human interactions: case, coincidence, chance and all the vagaries of Fortune are magnified thousandfold. So cities are the epicentres of pain, pleasure, concealment, exposure: everything which makes life fascinating enough to live or just watch go by. If, to this point, our (anti)heroines have learnt anything, it is that Fate has little patience for mortal plans and that Fortune is a trickier mistress than all her flesh-and-bone analogues put together.

Well, I do not suppose we are in tragic fall territory - yet - here, because that would after all be a tad self-important. The point is, that whereas the unfortunate - or very fortunate, depending on perspective - who live uninteresting lives are rare, even - cosmically speaking - unimportant or unexceptional lives are often very interesting. Hence one has 'realism' as an artistic genre. Of course, in Sigil the definition of 'realism' does not quite match those of most worlds.

- The Archivist, your narrator

"Do not let the will play gardener to your soul

Unless you are sure

It is wiser than your soul's nature"

"Always keep your guard up; if there is one thing you take from these lessons is that in actual combat, a quick offence is only suitable if you know yourself to be better than your opponent. Most times, you will not have that guarantee, so a healthy defence is they key to survival, especially when working in a team. It is only when you know your opponent that you can outwit her."

Syf had prepared her concluding remarks to the day's fencing lesson as a sort of prelude to an intensive training in counter-attack routines. This particular batch of novices seemed to be well placed and on top of its game. Syf was certain that they would all be more than worthy combatants after their Consecration, nevertheless, one could never be too certain. Preparation, dedication and practise were the basis upon which she had built her fearsome reputation as the Temple's most promising young fighter and her capabilities reminded many of the infamous Isobel at the same stage in her development. Syf liked to think that she was a more elegant fencer, specialising in the longsword and sabre - weapons which allowed her to manoeuvre and make full use of her routines, rather than rely solely on brute force. For her dedication to the art of the blade, the more belligerent novices held her in great admiration - none more so than Ithunn.

From her position in the front row of the training novices, Ithunn could not shake her gaze from the perfect sight of Syf demonstrating each guard, each stance and each response to a hypothetical attack. Even with the dust of the fencing yard, the ache in her muscles and the uncomfortable perspiration of a long day's training, Ithunn felt that - if given the highly improbable chance - she could have kept Syf awake making passionate, breathless love until the following daybreak. That had become the agonising by-product of her heroine-worship.

Though she could have potentially had her pick from a number of fellow-novices, Ithunn wanted only Syf. Of course, she respected Friyya and very much liked the auburn-haired paladin's lessons on doctrine, but Syf - well, Syf was something else. Her piercing blue eyes, her severe, yet coldly beautiful visage, that perfect, tall, lithely muscled body. There was no escaping it, Ithunn's fantasies late at night, when she was secreted under the covers or when she thought she was alone in the communal bath had only one topic: Syf. When the novice felt romantically inclined, she would imagine Syf congratulating her after her Consecration with a long, searing kiss and a slow, consummate evening of lovemaking on the cool, stone pavement of the Temple; when she was feeling particularly perverse, she imagined Syf taking her forcefully, perhaps in the armoury after practise, perhaps in a darkened hallway, from behind, with a dildo. Whatever the case would have been, Ithunn would have been eager to serve.

"Ithunn!" Syf called, interrupting the novice's latest daydream of Syf's shoulder-length, midnight-black hair nestled between her thighs as the paladin initiated her to the most divine of pleasures. Just the thought had made her embarrassingly wet.

"Yes, Sister!" Ithunn replied, stunned and blushing visibly.

"What did I just say?"

"Apologies, Sister, I admit my mind was elsewhere." A few other novices could barely restrain their laughter, causing Ithunn to redden still further - something which was quite in evidence on her pale skin, almost like marble.

"Remain afterwards, I need to have a word with you - the rest of you are dismissed. We will pick up directly from defensive parries tomorrow. Come prepared and serious." Syf called and the crowd of novices eagerly dispersed, accompanied by their agitated chatting. Ithunn got more than one salacious wink as her fellow novices filed past her.

Once she was certain that the fencing yard was empty, Ithunn approached her mentor, "You wanted to see me, Sister?" She asked with trepidation.

"Ithunn, what's the matter. You are, put simply, the finest fencer of your year, but the last few lessons you've been distracted. This is an art which is more than raw talent, you know, you will need constant practise and dedication if you are ever to become truly legendary. Take note, though, this is not just encouragement, I'm certain you have all the ability to become one of the best this Order has seen."

The novice blushed furiously at the compliment, her eyes downcast, "I have had something on my mind, Sister."

"Ithunn, you can call me Syf." The paladin said softly. Her policy was not show favourites, but it was useless to resist - she did have a soft spot for the pretty novice. To be sure, there was a strong admiration element which featured in Syf's positive appraisal of Ithunn, but the paladin had also been moved by her student's soulful green eyes, her classical Ortho beauty, the spun-gold beauty of her long hair, always kept in a single, meticulously knotted, traditional braid.

"Thank you, Sis...Syf. I am so very grateful for your confidence in me." To say that Ithunn was in awe of being alone, speaking to her personal heroine was an understatement. If Syf had ordered her to march down into the Abyss, she would have done so without even thinking twice.

"So tell me what troubles you." Syf invited.

"I must confess that I am ashamed to say it." Ithunn replied, her eyes still squarely on the dusty surface of the fencing yard.

"Don't be silly, child, tell me." Insisted Syf, as she gently cupped Ithunn's cheek to tilt the girl's head upwards so her piercing blue eyes could meet the novice's nervous gaze.

"I am alone, I have no beloved." Ithunn said, almost inaudibly.

"Ithunn, you could have any novice you chose and there are many Consecrated paladins who would be honoured to have you as a lover."

"Not the one I yearn for, Syf." The novice finally admitted, dejectedly, her eyes reluctantly meeting Syf's gaze to emphasise her point.

Syf stood motionless for a long moment - she knew there had been attraction, indeed mutual attraction, but that Ithunn was so infatuated (or perhaps in love?) to take it to that level had never occurred to her.

"You flatter me, child, believe me. Were it not for Friyya, I swear that you would be sharing my bed tonight, but I'm afraid I have already promised myself to her." Syf felt a pang of regret, but she realised that if she indulged that feeling, it would grow into a smouldering, repressed desire which would only end the same way the whole Elyszara fiasco had ended: in a truly epic mess. She had promised Friyya that she would remain faithful and that, Syf decided resolutely, was exactly what she would do.

"I know, I mean no ill will to Friyya." Ithunn said, quite truthfully, for she was a good natured person who was genuinely free from hatred or resentment, however subconscious.

"Of course you don't," Syf reassured, placing a soft, chaste kiss on Ithunn's pale rose-flushed lips, "but you know that Friyya and I have had some difficulties lately and I think I owe it to her to make sure she's as happy as I can make her."

That sentiment of devotion, combined with the electrifying contact of the kiss, filled Ithunn's soul with admiration and her loins with fire. Even though she knew she was being rejected, Ithunn had never felt so excited in her life. Her heartbeat throbbed ominously in her temples, her inner thigh already shamefully wet, "I understand," the novice managed, her voice muted by the stirrings of passion, "but remember that you will always be second only to the Goddess in my heart."

Syf smiled to herself: such adolescent exuberance, such burning hyperbole. Ithunn would mature into a fine paladin and a fiery lover, no doubt, but for now Syf was eager not to disappoint too much, especially in light of her special affection for the novice.

"Thank you, Ithunn, that means a lot to me and I think we can be the best of friends. Why don't we take a bath together so we can talk some more?" Syf proposed, not wanting to stand in her own sweat and the dust of the fencing yard for the rest of the evening.

"I would be honoured." Ithunn nodded eagerly, thinking that she would awaken anytime, as if from a dream, as she had so many times before.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Syf said, smiling earnestly as she took Ithunn by the hand and led her through into the Temple building.

The bathing chambers were quiet now that the bulk of the novices had refreshed themselves, though a few stragglers and bath connoisseurs had remained, mostly chatting and gossiping in the great, communal central tub. Steam pervaded the room, making clear visualisation of objects or people more than a few feet away virtually impossible. Ithunn's heartbeat accelerated in her chest as she watched Syf undress by the benches at the entrance to the main bathing chamber. There was such elegance in her movements, such self-assured grace which complemented her long, pale athletic limbs, her high, firm yet compact breasts, her proud, beautifully haughty neck. The novice was desperate to conceal any signs of her arousal as she fumbled to remove her clothes, folding them neatly on a pile beside Sfy's: a white novice's tunic besides the green and brown of a Consecrated paladin.

Syf, for her part, was overcome by her own appraisal of Ithunn: the novice was simply remarkable. She had a more feminine figure than Syf, slightly rounder and fuller at the breasts and hips, her body more like the depictions of blonde-haired, armoured Ortho goddesses or einheriar - warrior spirits - than that of an athlete. It occurred to Syf that Ithunn reminded her of Friyya, though where her lover was slender to the point of being delicate, the novice clearly had the potential for great physical prowess.

"Can you help me undo my braid?" Ithunn asked, almost bashfully; her fellow novices often fell over each other for that honour.

"With pleasure." Syf's touch was firm, but quick and effective. The sensation of the paladin's skilful hands on her wheat-blonde hair was divine; Ithunn felt her heart leap into her throat, the relative darkness of the bathing chamber only heightening the sensitivity of her skin. Once the braid had been freed, a fountain of long, straight hair, fine as cornsilk, spilled forth. Even Syf, despite her best attempts to remain indifferent was impressed.

They proceeded to the small, peripheral cleansing tubs where Syf began by diligently scrubbing away the residue of long hours of exertion from Ithunn's body, her touch firm, as always, but also steady - as if she were taking her time to fully appreciate each curve, each inch of perfect skin on Ithunn's body. By the time Syf had begun to run a fragrant sponge across the tops of her breasts, Ithunn was a bright crimson, mortified beyond belief by the insistent hardness of her ripe-strawberry nipples and by the fact that she could barely contain her moans each time the dark-haired paladin touched her. As Syf ran the sponge in a long, aching caress between Ithunn's thighs, the novice thought she was going to reach her climax there and then, for she could not contain a gasp of surprise and pleasure.

"I...I'm so sorry, Syf...I'm shameless..." Ithunn whimpered.

"Come now," Syf said, her voice low and reassuring as she planted a kiss on her student's head, "it's normal."

By the time it was Ithunn's turn to scrub Syf down, her hands were trembling, the slippery sponge, infused with cleansing oils, was unsteady in her grip.

"I hope you won't be this nervous when the time comes for you to draw your blade on an enemy. I may be intimidating, but I don't think that I'm so tyrannical as to inspire terror in my students, especially not in my most talented students." Syf joked.

Ithunn nodded wordlessly, her hands taking the opportunity to explore the firm, lean muscle of Syf's belly and thighs, her fingers just brushing against the dark curls atop the paladin's sex. The novice felt her heartbeat propel magma, and not blood, through her veins, as a knot of unspeakable passion formed in her throat.

After carefully rinsing their bodies of all cleansing oil residues, Syf and Ithunn stepped into the great central tub at the very centre of the bathing chamber, directly beneath the domed ceiling. The water was warmer there, more soothing, long, misty tendrils of steam extended from the almost motionless surface of the water to waft into the air. In the heat of her arousal and the heat of the chamber, Ithunn almost felt faint, but she managed to lower herself into the tub by Syf's side. Her heroine's proximity sent shivers up her spine.

"What are you afraid of, come closer." Syf invited, drawing Ithunn into an embrace and allowing the novice to lean back against her breasts. A curtain of fragrant, pale blonde hair poured over Syf's pristine white breast, "You see, I may be strict when I lead training, but that is my work. Life should never revolve around relaxation, but even the sternest of priestesses must know when it is time to recover from the weight of the day."

"You are wise, Syf." Ithunn said dreamily, feeling the regular pulsation of the paladin's heartbeat.

"Again with the flattery...you will one day make your lover very happy, I am certain of it."

"I tried to go out recently...I mean, I went out recently," Ithunn confessed, "I know it's against the Rule, but I did it because I felt as if I had to. Many of my fellow novices like to look upon me as a sort of a leader, so I didn't want to disappoint them."

"So did I, back when I was a novice." Syf replied, her tone complicit. She had, after all, only been Consecrated quite recently.

"That makes me feel better."

"So tell me, what happened?" Syf said, a hand absentmindedly caressing her student's firm belly.

"Well, I was almost ashamed. I didn't think I was very well dressed; my family gets by the best it can, sending me here was a relief for them."

"I know exactly how you feel." Syf had never possessed - both by choice and by necessity - a single item of clothing besides her official tunics, armour and dress uniform, nor even contemplated wearing jewellery, not even the pendant Friyya had given her.

"But...despite everything, there was this young woman. She was elven, or something, and very...controversially...dressed. But she took an interest in me. She made me feel pretty and esteemed so when she tried to kiss me, I let her. And then...she put her hand between my thighs and I just couldn't contain myself. I slapped her and left...I know I was perhaps a little hasty, but I felt taken advantage of, you know, manipulated." Ithunn hesitated throughout her story, her voice trembling and confused. There was such a vast world out there of which she had very little knowledge.

Can't be, Syf thought as she contemplated the character in Ithunn's account, or could it? Stranger things have happened, I've got to ask Shesayne.

"Ithunn, child," Syf began her tone almost maternal as she drew the novice in closer, "there are many who would flatter you to seize an advantage for themselves, or create illusions without the aid of magic, just with the skill of their tongue. It's important that you learn to tell the difference between real feelings and curiosity, or desire."

"I understand, I still have so much to learn." Ithunn sighed, taking immense pleasure in the increasingly intimate contact with Syf.

"There's time, but in the meanwhile, I want you to meet with me and Friyya, just for a chat somewhere."

"Really?" Ithunn said eagerly.

"Of course. If you like, you can ask Friyya to help you out. She knows many priestesses, not only of our Order, but of the temples of Hanali and Sune. I'm sure you will soon find a nice, devoted girl who will make you happy...with your Consecration coming up, they will be fighting to get to you."

"Perhaps it's too early," Ithunn sighed regretfully, "I need more time to think."

"Oh, there's plenty of time." Syf said, a little preoccupied by Ithunn's quickening breathing and the general tension in the novice's muscles each time she was stroked.

"I'm sorry, Syf, I really am very...tense." Ithunn said with palpable awkwardness.

"I know," the paladin said knowingly, feeling the fires of her own passion somewhat kindled - Ithunn was certainly very pretty indeed, but not worth risking her unique relationship with Friyya for, "but the mark of a good fencer, as well as that of a good lover is to know when it is time for restraint."

They lay together for a few more long moments, their minds wandering with the boundless curiosity of imagination. Even Syf, who knew how vital reticence with Ithunn would be, found herself imagining the novice's beautiful face contorted in pleasure, the softness of her mouth, the hot, moist paradise which lay between the folds of her sex.

Then they rose, almost by unspoken consensus, from the pool to dry each other off, Syf dutifully beginning to re-assemble Ithunn's braid.

"You're going to have to guide me here, I was never really in touch with Ortho culture so I don't know where this begins or ends." Syf said, bemused at the - superfluous - complexity of having such an elaborate coiffure.

Ithunn allowed herself an irreverent giggle, "You'll get the hang of it. I'm surprised that Friyya never asked you to do this for her, though."

"No never, she prefers it free flowing, which is ridiculous and a liability in combat if you ask me, but maybe I can convince her when we go out on more demanding tasks."

"Syf," Ithunn began, revelling in the comforting, if not sensual, experience of even the lightest of the paladin's touches, "I'm glad we had this time to ourselves and I'd be happy to spend some more time with you soon."

"Me too," Syf admitted, "I feel so much better after a long day's work now."

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

Friyya was reading peacefully by candlelight, comfortably curled up in her nightgown and sitting in a simple wooden chair in her bedchamber. Syf was late from practise, but she could smell the welcome aromas of Virginia's first-rate cooking from the nearby kitchen. There was at least a strike of the Bell Tower before dinner would be ready, so she had decided to pass the time with a guilty pleasure: a return to the wide-eyed literary romances she so loved in early adolescence. Friyya had become so absorbed, and not for the first time, in the suspense of the wicked Prince's plot to force himself on the innocent, but heroic stableboy, that she did not notice Syf creep up behind her with well-practised stealth. Then, when her lover was upon her it, was too late for Syf had her lips firmly and passionately planted on her neck, her hand already under the auburn-haired paladin's nightgown, cupping a firm, majestic breast.

"Oh, Syf..." Friyya sighed as she felt her lover gently tease her peach-pink nipples with firm, slow tugs.

"Still reading that rubbish?" Syf said, her voice passionate as she left a warm, wet trail with her tongue down Friyya's throat.

"Well, I was waiting for you to show me real romance." Friyya said, her breath quickening as she felt her nipples stiffen under Syf's touch, the combination of insistent roughness with loving pressure was something the raven-haired paladin always managed to execute perfectly.

"Is that so? How's this then?" Syf inquired huskily, thrusting her lips against Friyya's, effortlessly opening the auburn-haired girl's mouth to the smouldering curiosity of her tongue. The kiss was powerful, so laden with unspoken erotic tension left unfulfilled after her bath with Ithunn that even Friyya was surprised at Syf's passion. Their mouths fought desperately, Syf desperate to surround herself in the warm, welcoming moisture of Friyya's perfect lips.

"Hmm, my little Syf, I was thinking of romance a little further down..." Friyya teased.

"How delicate and ladylike of you." Syf growled with mock sarcasm as she playfully seized one of Friyya's nipples, hard and evident against the plain white fabric of the girl's nightgown, between her lips and bit down.

"You started it, so it's your job to clean it up." Friyya said snidely; she knew that Syf found it arousing to see her normally demure lover so wanton, especially after a long day's training. Must have been something related to the excitement of swordplay.

It did not take the raven-haired paladin long to comply as she reverently lifted the hem of Friyya's nightgown to expose the girl's treasure hidden beneath a delicate thatch of auburn curls. Friyya eagerly repositioned herself on the chair, thighs apart, knees raised, to grant her lover easier access. Hardly needing the invitation, Syf sunk into the world in which she so desperately needed to lose herself: into the fragrant, saline wetness of her lover's sex, her tongue hungry against the copiously juicing nether lips.

Friyya sighed at first, adjusting herself further against Syf's face to allow for the deepest penetration possible, her hands almost subconsciously raising the hem of her nightgown further, so that it bunched up in little pleats of white fabric around her waist. Syf was already hungrily at work, her tongue probing the swollen, silky flesh of her lover's flowering sex, each lick a long arch across the tortured, sodden surface.

"Syf..." Friyya sighed in contentment, gently stroking her lover's short, yet enticingly soft hair between her fingers as she drew Syf's head in close, so as to feel the stirring sensation of her beloved's breath on the inflamed flesh of her sex. Syf was beyond reasoning, though, the accumulated sensual tension of having been so close yet so far with Ithunn overwhelming her, sending her into spasms of inchoate desire. She lapped almost savagely against Friyya's sex, eagerly tasting her lover's arousal, feeling the girl's engorged clit bloom and slide free from its hood under the gentle insistence of her tongue. The pressure on Friyya's clitoris mounted as the auburn-haired paladin, eyes already half-closed in the ecstatic throes of pleasure, began to buck her hips rhythmically against her lover's face, her firm breasts moving in tight little arcs under the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Settling in a comfortable, kneeling position in front of her lover's splayed sex, Syf used her hands to ease Friyya's thighs definitively apart, before inserting two fingers with ease into the girl's sodden sex. The taller woman's digits easily parted the velvety flesh to enter deep into the slick canal; there was no resistance, it was as if Friyya had gone slack, as if every single muscle in her body were ready to open further accommodate more of Syf. It was only a matter of time before Syf found Friyya's secret spot, nestled deep inside the smaller girl's sodden canal; she knew her beloved too well for there to be any secrets anywhere between them. Friyya, though, was too far gone to consider the depth of her bond with Syf. In that moment, she wanted only to discharge the mounting tension between her thighs, the burning flames of passion which had flooded her loins with the sweet-salty nectar of womanhood.

"Syf, you shameless girl." Friyya sighed between gritted teeth as she felt her lover gently work her thumb into the tight, puckered rosebud of her nether portal.

"It's your fault, your wetness overflowed and you're making this far too easy for me." Syf replied smugly as she gave her thumb, now pressed knuckle-deep inside the tight, deliciously moist recesses of Friyya's delectably feminine alabaster bottom, a quick, hard twist.

"Syf!" Friyya gasped in indignation. There was, however, nothing more she could add as she felt the taller woman's tongue press like the hard point of a lance against her clitoris, fingers still insistently massaging the most sensitive reaches of the canal of her sex. It was only a matter of a few more thrusts before she came, her cries loud and sharp, her sex contracting almost savagely around Syf's fingers. The raven-haired paladin did not stop at that, but rode the powerful waves of her lover's orgasm with hard, insistent little licks on her clitoris. Friyya felt as though the spasms which caused her body and sex to convulse would never end, each time she thought they would subside, Syf added another malicious little lick of her tongue or twist of her fingers and the sensation was prolonged into another little, less vital but no less sublime, burst of hot, satisfying pleasure.

Friyya struggled to regain her breath as Syf lay expectantly between her thighs. Her lover's piercing blue eyes stared into her own with a sensual wildness she slowly become accustomed to seeing. Syf was not only a brilliant lover, she was a truly passionate one who managed to fill Friyya's loins with burning, sometimes perverse, but always intense desire.

"Come here, sit with me." Friyya invited softly, her heartbeat still like a hammer in her chest.

Syf complied, wordlessly undoing her tunic and allowing the simple garment to fall to the ground, the fabric edging off the tight, stiff buds of her nipples. She took her place on Friyya's lap, immediately revelling in the sensation of her lover's hands cupping her small, perfectly firm breasts, nipples already aching under the slight pressure of the auburn-haired girl's fingernails.

"Dinner will be ready soon, I don't think you want Virg to catch us like this." Friyya warned, her voice soft and sensual against Syf's ear as the taller woman adjusted herself into a fairly comfortable position atop her lover.

"Hmm...I suspect you don't want Marsena to catch us like this."

"Yeah, you're right," Friyya agreed maliciously as she moved one hand down the firm, flat expanse of Syf's belly to cup the taller girl's sex, only to be immediately stunned by the hot wetness she found there, "it wouldn't be the first time that girl gets the wrong idea."

"You're always under the impression Marsena wanted you." Syf reprimanded, knowing full well the extent of Friyya's vanity.

"She did, I swear I saw her taking her own pleasure under the covers while watching me." Friyya insisted, gently working two fingers into Syf's lusty sex. There was no resistance whatsoever, the raven-haired paladin's nether lips were like a primordial sea: feminine, yielding and impeccably soft.

"Well, I don't suppose you ever thought of her that way, did you?" Syf said absentmindedly as she felt Friyya press hard on her clitoris with the palm of her hand whilst working a third finger deep into the velvety canal of her sex.

"Of course not!" Friyya lied.

All Syf could do was moan in defeated agreement as Friyya inserted a fourth finger, followed by the thumb into her sex. Upon reflection, Syf knew that Friyya may not have been overt about her romantic life or preferences, but she certainly knew exactly what she was doing. Even when she had assumed the auburn-haired girl to be a virgin, Syf had been impressed by her lover's skills. Obviously a little reading and a little practise on oneself went a long way. That, of course, was Syf's conclusion as she felt Friyya's digits slowly spread and massage the innermost depths of her sex, the base of the palm still grinding mercilessly into her inflamed clitoris. As the fingers within her sex flared and retracted, easily pulling apart the soft, pliable tissue of Syf's sodden core, the dark-haired paladin could not help but ask herself why, with such a skilled and affectionate lover, she still needed to indulge her fondness for Ithunn.

That was, however, a peripheral thought as she felt more of Friyya's hand part her swollen folds like a hot needle through honey. Syf squirmed in Friyya's arms, her back, firm with lean muscle, rubbing sensually against the swollen nipples of the shorter woman's statuesque breasts, her athletic, yet feminine, bottom finding sweet purchase in the silky softness of her lover's thighs. As always, Syf preferred to keep her climax discreet, allowing herself a few long, breathless moans, before slumping back, her sex still stretched and in gentle spasms around Friyya's fingers.

Syf slumped back against her lover's chest, feeling the sensation of Friyya's relentless kisses on the top of her head and of one hand still cupping her sex and the other gently stroking a small, firm breast.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I ever made you doubt me." Syf sighed as she turned to embrace her lover, straddling Friyya's thighs and planting affectionate, conciliatory kisses on the girl's sensual lips.

"Syf, my beloved, we never need to talk about that again. What's done is done. I don't think I could ever, ever stop loving you, though."

"Forever, Friyya?" Syf asked. The experience with Ithunn had made her vulnerable, made her fear for the future. Only Friyya - and, in a different way, Virginia and

Marsena - were in a position to offer certainty and support in a sea of turbulent emotions.

"Of course, silly, forever." Friyya reassured, kissing back with passionate abandon.

Later that night, however, after they had all shared an amiable meal in the common room of their apartment, Syf lay at Friyya's side as the darkest hour of Sigil's tenebrous night drew close. Friyya stirred softly in Syf's arms, like a child needy of its mother's touch. Syf, though, could not help but ask herself what would have been if Friyya had never approached her. Whether or not she would have been happier with Ithunn. In retrospect, though, there was no sense in creating counter-factual accounts. The time she had spent with Friyya had unequivocally been the happiest of Syf's life. She could only be grateful to the Vigilant Maiden for that; as much as she liked Ithunn, the very thought of not being able to hold beautiful, sweet Friyya as she slept was painful to consider.

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

Ithunn lay curled up against the wall, sheets pulled over her head as she held herself in a foetal position, both hands under her nightgown and between her thighs. It was shameful, it was lascivious and it did not even come close to doing her feelings for Syf honour, but Ithunn was flesh and blood and there was no denying the fleshly side of her attraction to the sternly beautiful paladin who haunted her living dreams. As she ran two fingers down her moist, inner lips, Ithunn could not help but predispose the scene in front of her. Syf taking her, making love to her in the armoury, in the library, even in the fencing yard in front of the other - jealous - novices. The rhythm of her hand accelerated with each thought, the palm of her hand now grinding frantically against the swollen little bud of her clitoris, her breath growing shorter in each motion as she felt her hips begin to roll and buck in response to her fantasies, as if Syf's head were really now immersed lovingly between her thighs.

"Ithunn..."

"What!" Ithunn snarled, sheer frustration spreading across her face. She had been so close, she had felt the approaching fire of the conflagration of her climax. In her dreams Syf was landing firm, but playful slaps on her exposed bottom for failing to complete a weapons drill successfully. The fantasy always ended, when not interrupted, with Syf taking her, either with her fingers or with an olisbos, anywhere she chose.

"Ithunn, if you're lonely, I can help you with that." The voice was soft, timid, but sincere.

"Go away, Inge, I need to be alone." Ithunn snapped. Although Inge was one of her best friends; a quiet, petite - to the point of being frail - bookish girl who was training for the priesthood of the Vigilant Maiden and not to become a paladin, she was not high on Ithunn's priority list at that point.

"Ithunn, please, let me help you...I may not be much, but I know I can show you so much affection, so much love."

On rational consideration, Inge had a pretty, oval face, a very slight and delicate figure, long platinum-blonde hair which she dyed a tasteful light blue, and mournful, grey eyes. She may have been cute, but she was certainly not Syf.

"That's not what I need right now." Ithunn said, more callously than she had intended. She could hear Inge draw a soft whimper in response.

"You're so cruel to me. I would give you all the love in the world, not leave you halfway and frustrated like Syf. If only you knew how much you make suffer."

"Oh, Goddess, don't cry...climb in here, then, if it means so much to you." Inge was such a sweet-natured girl that even the thought of hurting her sent pangs of painful remorse through Ithunn's conscience.

Under the sheets, Inge seemed even smaller, more immaterial, like a sylph or some other air spirit - so light and delicate you were afraid to touch it for fear of damaging its fragile perfection. Before long they were kissing: Inge out of passion, Ithunn out of necessity, the heat and desire for Syf returning like a powerful torrent breaking open the ice of mid-winter. But as Inge sunk beneath the sheets, her mouth hot, insistent and passionate - if not especially skilled - against Ithunn's sex, the fantasy began again. Although it was Inge's tongue coaxing her sopping sex with endearingly clumsy licks, Ithunn could only return to Syf: Syf smiling at her, pinning her against a weapons rack, braiding her hair, whispering sweet nothings as they rested above a silk pillow in an imaginary castle built only in the novice's fevered imagination.

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

Von Dassau was having a particularly good day. The '71 Alberada from Catofini which he had thought must have peaked some time ago turned out to be perfectly drinkable and very substantial, especially considering the bottle's age. Reports to approve of and sign had been few and far between; Isolde had registered and liaised in on time twice already and his article on archaic proto-Halfling linguistics on Athas was proceeding apace. Finally he would have something to publish in Sigil's Review of Philological Studies. That, if not his immobile career, would put him on the - so to speak - map.

"Sir, I am reporting in." Isolde called from the doorway of Dassau's office. Her mood had improved substantially since Dassau had given her carte blanche to investigate on her own initiative.

"Good, good, all is in order then." Dassau replied, his mind carefully re-editing each sentence in his third draft. Nothing could be left to the vagaries of Fate. Everything had to be brought under control, organised and marshalled into perfect order for the perfect article.

"Sir, I thought you also needed me to liaise with you."

"Ah, you are - naturally - correct. Proceed." Dassau invited, though he was disinclined to listen.

"Sir, I believe I have traced some to the suspect activity to the Order of the Radiant Path."

"What?" Dassau inquired absentmindedly; he really did not want to lose his current stream of thought.

"Yes, Sir, the Radiant Path. I was wondering whether you knew..." There was, of course, the library as well, but Dassau was normally faster and more accurate.

"Self-evidently. Though I am somewhat surprised that some of their members - whom I expect to be named very soon if this is going to function as a legal investigation - are involved in activities which, even broadly speaking, can be deemed untoward." Anything which involved the recall of recondite of knowledge had Dassau's interest.

"Perhaps such aspects of their activity are unreported, or perhaps we are talking about individual actions, Sir."

"Well, as I was saying, the doctrinal tenets of the Radiant Path - defined as the Founding Axioms - together with the Rule - that is the propriety required of life as a Consecrated paladin or priestess - are the foundational structure upon which the edifice of the Order is built. It is, needless to say, a fairly dreary set of prescriptions which, whilst no where near as severe as those imposed by even more militant or more legally inclined orders, nevertheless requires a certain minimal level of moral probity."

"I do not doubt that, Sir, my supposition is that some may be under the impression that their religious prerogative trump our legal duties."

"How very astute, Isolde," Dassau commented, his tone as contemptuously patronising as usual, "but I suspect you shall encounter much difficulty in seeking to undo their networks. The Order fosters proximity - if not outright interdependence - between its members; there are powerful injunctions concerning the methodology and ritual associated with the formation of emotional or - indeed - sexual bonds between individual members. Of course, they are not the first militant or religious order to pioneer such a programme of psycho-emotional solidarity. On the world of Krynn, the Solamnic Knights were historically much known for their..."

"Sir, a thousand apologies if I interrupt, but perhaps if we could stick to the Radiant Path." Isolde said, nervous that Dassau was going to lapse into another rambling digression which would, in time lead to another digression still. Perversely, by force of digressions, the conversation - if it could be called that - occasionally returned to its original topic.

"Yes, yes, of course," Dassau snapped impatiently, "in any case, comprehensive research - of scholarly nature of course - into the Order suggests that their priority is the defence of the innocent, the cultivation of the self as an independent and social being, the exaltation of certain mysteries of femininity and the cult of the Vigilant Maiden, a deity which has been documented on a number of worlds so far under various guises. An interesting analogue of the Vigilant Maiden would be the deity known as Artemis or Diana on certain worlds who is likewise presumed to prefer the company of her own gender."

"Gods have genders, Sir?"

"Not as such, though it appears that as eternal spirits, some manifest a preference which may or may not vary over the aeons. The case of the Vigilant Maiden is emblematic, as is one of the apparent paradoxes of her cult - notions Althusser and Riesse call 'qualified virginity' and 'spiritual motherhood'. Of course, I do not exactly agree with their definitions - they strike me as insensitive to the multiplicity of cults associated with the Vigilant Maiden -, however, I strongly suspect there are elements to their doctrine which have yet to be fully investigated and would, should you chance upon them, make for a highly interesting article."

"That is most helpful, Sir, but I was wondering whether you had any practical advice."

Dassau smiled, a hungry, toothy, canine smile, which was more like a snarl, that exposed his perfect white fangs, his eyes gleaming with demonic light, "In my professional experience - that is, in my previous professional experience - I had the opportunity to encounter some members of this Order of yours."

"And your conclusion after such interactions, Sir?" Isolde asked, somewhat curious despite her suspicion of Dassau's infinite lecturing.

"Flesh and blood, Isolde, flesh and blood like any other mortal."

******

There was nothing more miserable, Elyszara decided, than dinner for two after an acrimonious quarrel. Sitting at the large, empty dining table, absentmindedly picking at her food, the aasimar considered her options: apologising yet again and thus incurring yet another lecture, or not apologising at all and wallowing in silent guilt. Naturally, insofar as Cirily was concerned, it was not a quarrel at all, just a little well placed discipline to ensure Elyszara knew never to doubt her good judgement again.

There had been something gnawing at Cirily's mind for some time, though: the very strangeness of her lover's behaviour ever since they had started taking time away from Arvandor in Sigil. There was something Elyszara was not telling her, for no sentiment could escape her perception.

"You still have to tell me what was going through your mind then." Cirily commented. She was no longer angry at her lover, nor was she interested in further recriminations, her primary interest now lay in discovering the roots of Elyszara's reasoning; the appeal she saw in a secret, potentially self-destructive affair.

"I thought you didn't care about the fidelity bit." Elyszara said glumly, staring at her plate. Normally Cirily's cooking was faultless, but that evening it all tasted like ash, as if there was no further pleasure to be had from the day.

"I don't," Cirily specified, "it's the fact that you keep on hiding things from me."

"Like what?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Cirily invited, her tone more conciliatory. She had no intention of remaining angry. As a matter of fact, she had been planning a nice little make-up session later that evening - something she knew would pick Elyszara's spirits up. Punishments, by definition, could not last forever.

"I can tell you a story," Elyszara ventured, "I think you'll find it strange and confusing because I do too. But there is an important point to it."

"I'm listening."

"Do you remember when we were first introduced to the Order of the Radiant Path on Arvandor, not too long ago - in the days when the sky briefly became like midday and the light flooded the hills?" The memory was one of Elyszara's fondest; for the first time the grass had not felt cool and contemplative under her, it had been warm, almost soporific, as if it were inviting her to sleep on it.

"Yes, of course, when Virginia came as a representative for the novices of her order - to fetch water from the Maiden's Fountain for the Consecration."

Elyszara managed a pale smile, her eyes now lifted slightly to meet Cirily's, "So that's when my story begins."

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

- I remember -

All Elyszara could see was light - it filtered through the trees and fell upon the rolling, idyllic hills like an ocean of light. Her region of Arvandor had never, in her memory, seen anything like it - as if the goddesses and gods of that domain had finally decided to bring the dawn to its final culmination. The aasimar knew the change would be temporary, most likely a passing vagary which would persist but a brief while before returning to the rosy-hue of endless dawn.

Then her contemplation of the light was broken - quite suddenly - by hoofbeats on the soft ground.

- Must be that emissary of the Radiant Path - Elyszara mused, reclining comfortably against the grassy knoll by the embankment of the singing stream. The fresh water glistened, almost as if it were crystal. The stream led down through forests and glades into a deep cavern where it finally flowed into a well of deep ground water. There, devotees of the Vigilant Maiden had erected a great fountain of pale marble so they could celebrate at the confluence of the two sources of water, for the first came directly from the realm of the Maiden herself and the second from a spring sacred to Artemis. A place of great sanctity, no doubt, but of little interest to Elyszara.

After all, basking in the presence of divinities led one to, inevitably, take them for granted. As far as Elyszara was concerned, they were just very powerful spirits indeed. But there was nothing substantively different about them.

As the hoofbeats drew closer, Elyszara decided, as she always did, to indulge her curiosity, so she rose to her feet, and called out in greeting, "Milady knight where do you ride to in such haste?" The archaicisms were all part of one of her favourite acts.

Virginia reined in her horse to bring the beast to a halt by the side of the stream, not distant from the strange, elfin figure - clad only in a quasi-transparent light green gown.

"Apologies, miss," Virginia said dismounting, her bay horse waiting obediently by her side, "but would you be one of the fabled inhabitants of this place - a spirit of this Plane?" The novice's curiosity had been stirred, not least because she had heard that such ethereally beautiful women inhabited the depths of the forests of Arvandor, acting as guardians and keepers of the trees. The strange woman certainly fit the description: skin like moonbeams with bright, clear eyes and iridescent hair which ranged from midnight black to strands of purest silver depending on the light and angle.

"Why, naturally, milady knight." Elyszara affected her softest, airiest voice. These visitors were always easy to fool, though she almost regretted enjoying herself at this one's expense. She had a pretty, youthful sincerity about her which Elyszara sympathised with, perhaps even liked.

"Then it is an honour to meet such a fabled spirit." Virginia said, taking a bow of reverence.

"Oh, please, you embarrass me." Elyszara said with mock reticence, though she was all too happy to allow Virginia to kiss her hand.

"In answer to your first question, miss..."

"Elyszara." The aasimar clarified.

"Miss, Elyszara, I have been charged by my order to retrieve some water from the Fountain for our ceremony of Consecration. I am soon to become a full paladin of my Order." The last part Virginia added with a touch of satisfaction - it had been a long and at times frustrating wait, but she had finally reached the goal of her burning ambition.

"Oh, how foolish of me, many like you have passed before...but I have been here so long, I have grown indifferent to the passage of time and of all but the most ancient of beings."

"Certainly, I understand." Virginia said softly, clearly in awe.

"I suspect, though, that I shall not soon forget one as majestic as you. So please, tell me your name so that I may know what to remember you by." Elyszara proclaimed, a mirthful laugh soundlessly flooding her mind.

The novice blushed visibly, a rosy tint flushing her pale skin. A compliment such as that from so divine a being was certainly a matter of great significance, "Virginia...and I am honoured that you would see me in such a flattering light." Her tongue cleaved to her palate, as if she were in a dream in which was left both speechless and immobile in stunned amazement.

- How sweet...- Elyszara thought, not without some pangs of guilt. This Virginia girl certainly had a sense of purpose and she had presence: her physique was fine and athletic, her emerald eyes intense with a sense of mission. For lack of a better word, Elyszara found her charming, "Come, milady, sit with me, you must be tired from your ride."

Virginia was stunned at the invitation. She was certainly not excessively tired, not having ridden very far at all, but she certainly thought of herself in no position to refuse. So she followed Elyszara to the grassy embankment and took her seat by the aasimar's side, allowing herself time to admire the passage of the sparkling water, illuminated by the bright shafts of light which filtered through the rich canopy.

"Please, I insist, call me Virginia." The novice said, breaking the silence of water flowing and leaping against stone.

"Well, Virginia," Elyszara began, taking her own time to admire the smart, immaculately white tunic the girl wore - the cut formal, almost military, but not unflattering for it allowed her to fully appreciate the slender tautness of Virginia's legs, "would you like to make yourself more comfortable, it is a warm day after all."

"I don't know..." Virginia trailed off as she felt herself shudder involuntarily. Elyszara's cool, dextrous hands were now pressed soothingly against her shoulders.

"Virginia, allow me, this is a place of great beauty, but your presence is nevertheless of great service to it." Elyszara adored parodying the formal, courtly language of her mother - it was so satisfying to see it corrupted to such a devious end.

"As you wish..." Virginia sighed, as if in a dream. Elyszara's hands were comforting as they undid her tunic, very slowly, sliding the garment off her body with consummate ease and laying it carefully on a moss-covered stone. Now naked, she could help but feel comfortable. The heat of the sunlight, the cool, moist spray from the stream and the soft grass beneath her were like a sensory blanket which covered her, deepening the trance instigated by the gentle caresses of Elyszara's hands.

"You have to take the time to meld into this place. To feel yourself overcome by its peace." Elyszara whispered soothingly into Virginia's ear, her hands firm and expert as they loosened any residual tension from the human girl's muscles. The aasimar had to admit that Virginia was quite a catch for her day's work: she had a dignified elegance to her and, of course, looked irresistible in her nudity.

Now Elyszara's hands trailed down lower to cup the gentle swell of Virginia's small, delicate breasts, the rosy-pink nipples stiffening slightly at the touch, down against the human's belly - flat and tight as a drum - and towards the golden-haired juncture of her thighs. The novice allowed herself to luxuriate under the sensation of those feather-light fingers against her skin, but just as she felt herself melt into the sensation, the touch was gone as abruptly as it had begun.

Turning to inspect her surroundings, Virginia could see nothing but trees and grass. In the distance, though, a faint laughter echoed like tinkling crystal. Though Virginia did not know it then, that was the basis of Elyszara's prank - seduce and coax a stranger to the point of perfect relaxation and then render herself invisible by enchantment and disappear back into the forest. It was always entertaining for the aasimar to observe the confused, slightly embarrassed expressions of those whom she left in that state.

Virginia was no different as she rose and dressed as quickly as she could, eager not to be caught in such a vulnerable position by anyone else. The novice proceeded apace to the Fountain while Elyszara reflected carefully on what avenue of mischief she would undertake for the rest of the day. As she mulled over the day's success, though, the aasimar found herself somewhat ambiguous with regards to Virginia. On one hand, the novice paladin had been her typical sport, on the other she had this effortless nobility about her which Elyszara found intriguing. It was an attraction which was less emotive and more hungry than what she felt for Cirily.

Later that day, after retrieving the required silver flask full of water, Virginia prepared to leave back through the portal into Sigil. The mistress of the demesne, the ghaele knight Nerissa, had magnanimously granted her a fresh horse from her personal stable which Virginia was in the process of saddling. It was a fine beast, to be sure, with a coat of midnight black, but she had preferred the Temple's horse. Although the equestrian knight still had a ceremonial role, there was little, if any use for fine horses in Sigil.

The stable was an elegant stone and wood building a little distant from Nerissa's residence. It was kept impeccably clean and filled with the cool smell of hay and wet stone. Almost unnatural, Virginia concluded, for a stable to be in such a quiet, orderly condition - as if the horses needed no incitation to behave and did so out of their own good natures.

"So Lady Virginia, leaving so early?" Elyszara called in her normal speaking voice which, though still graceful, had nothing of the supernatural affectation of her 'wood-spirit' persona.

"Sorry, who's there...you!" Virginia exclaimed as she took a deliberate step back.

"The one and only. Disappointed?" Elyszara said advancing playfully on Virginia.

"But...you're supposed to..."

"Supposed to be the halfbreed daughter of one of your Order's foremost patrons." Elyszara corrected, not entirely unselfconsciously. It was only fair she told Virginia, though, the girl had won her appreciation.

"You mean, Lady Nerissa..." Virginia was too stunned to know what to say, but there was a welling sensation of resentment at having been led by the nose.

"Is that what mother dear has you mortals call her?"

"It occurs to me, you're a mortal too." Virginia said tersely, increasingly irritated at the situation. Being made a fool of was not something she was particularly fond of.

"You don't need to rub it in, you know." Elyszara said darkly.

"So is that how you pass your time, making light of passers-by?" Virginia said, all too eager to return home.

"No...I mean, I wanted to meet you before you left because I wanted to tell you about...you know, my game. I didn't think it would have been fair for you to leave with the wrong impression. That and...maybe I thought you'd enjoy my company, it's a bit lonely down here after all." Elyszara had not meant to sound apologetic, but she did feel that there was something reassuringly pleasant about Virginia's presence, something that put her at ease. It was as if she had misled a truly good person and that thought was something which, despite her occasional lapses into bitterness, Elyszara was not comfortable with.

"Why should I? Is there some more entertainment you want out of me?"

"No, no more games, I swear. It's just that sometimes it really isn't easy to be a mortal in a world of eternal spirits. I mean, if you think about it, I was mystically entrancing to you when you thought I was a spirit of the forest, now I'm just that little bitch who had you on for a joke." Elyszara explained, her tone almost remorseful.

"I never said that," Virginia relented, "I still find you most beautiful."

"Oh thank you!" Elyszara said, the relief in her voice evident as she wrapped her arms around Virginia's waist, "And I think I know just how to thank you for your patience today." The aasimar planted a soft kiss on the hollow of Virginia's neck for emphasis.

"You...don't have to do that." Virginia's refusal was, at best, halfhearted.

"I want to. You're the first person I tricked that way that I've wanted to see again. No - ignore what I just said, I simply wanted to see you again." Elyszara confessed, not quite sure what had overcome her, as she began to open Virginia's tunic, her touch more frantic and less deliberate than it had been before.

Virginia could find no objection to Elyszara's initiative. The aasimar had undressed her before she could even begin to phrase a sentence of protest, her gold-bordered white tunic falling onto the stable's stone floor. So she kissed Elyszara, leaning down to press her lips against the shorter girl's mouth and immediately discovering a new, and unforgettable sensual pleasure. Elyszara's lips, then painted a bright red were hungry, yet skilled, the aasimar's tongue playing a gentle, coy game of hide and seek with Virginia's.

Breaking the kiss only to strip off her gown, Elyszara eagerly returned to her passionate embrace with Virginia. The aasimar's lips descended with each kiss, pressing softly against Virginia's chin, now kissing down the smooth, pale skin of the human girl's throat, then to land slow, wet kisses in the valley between her breasts. The only reaction to Elyszara's sensual, expert lips wrapping around the engorged, pink buds of her nipples was a strangled, guilty moan, as if Virginia felt that she should not be enjoying herself so on official business. The aasimar was, however, too persuasive for such reason to triumph, her tongue now flicking regularly over an inflamed nipple, before snaking further down.

"No, Elyszara, please, let me." Virginia interjected, her sense of gallantry getting the better of her. She could hardly let the daughter of one of the primary benefactors of her order take the initiative in such a way. She cupped Elyszara's face in her hands and leaned forward to kiss her with a slower, more romantic intensity, "Make yourself comfortable on the work table and I will be happy to attend to your pleasure."

That was an invitation the aasimar could not refuse. She backed up towards the table normally used for the repair of bridles and stirrups and cleared away a few residual scarps of metal, her eyes never leaving Virginia's burning, emerald gaze. Raising herself on the smooth-hewn wood of the table, Elyszara knew that her wetness and arousal were in evidence for the paladin to see - the air felt cool on her sex, cool and dry against the tense moisture building between the folds of her sex. She spread her thighs for Virginia, almost lovingly, positioning her delicate feet on the rim of the table and leaning back against the wall - not exactly comfortable, but more than adequate for the human girl to begin the work Elyszara so anticipated.

From her vantage point, Virginia could not help but be held in awe at the sight before her. Elyszara's slender, elfin frame tense with arousal, rounded, feminine breasts with the most beautiful strawberry nipples Virginia had ever seen and, of course, the peach-pink softness of the aasimar girl's sex, so strangely fragrant and covered in the dew of her excitement.

When the novice paladin knelt in front of Elyszara's spread sex, it was almost in reverence; the aroma was like nothing she had ever experienced before: only slightly saline, with a pronounced floral note, like a budding blossom. Virginia buried her face in the pink, velvety folds, her tongue savage and desperately ravenous against the aasimar's inner lips. Each lick separated the silky inner flesh, drawing fresh, breathless gasps from Elyszara's perfect lips.

An almost unconscious rhythm began, with Virginia thrusting her tongue firmly into the waiting, moist depths of her newfound lover's canal, skewering the sweet, inflamed flesh and forcing it to part to make further room for her ministrations. Elyszara's toes curled to grip the wooden edge of the table, her eyes closed in the throes of passion. All she wanted to feel was the wanton, curious insistence of Virginia's tongue spreading her puffy nether lips apart, lapping up all the moisture which - it had to be said - was undeniably the human girl's fault. Although she was at the centre of attention, Elyszara could not help but feel dominated: she was at the mercy of Virginia's expert tongue; each time it flicked against her stiff little clitoris, the paladin novice won a little victory over her, forcing revealing, high-pitched cries from her lips.

The sensation was in no way unpleasant, on the contrary, it spurred Elyszara forward, compelling her to buck her hips against Virginia's face, to draw the paladin's attentions closer to her burning core. Virginia devoured Elyszara's proffered flower as if her life depended on it. The human woman had never tasted anything so powerfully sensual, so rich and fleshy yet light. Then, of course, there was the moist heaven nestled between the slick inner lips of the aasimar's sex, the easily manipulated stiffness just below a tiny hood of skin atop the girl's sex. Virginia redoubled her efforts, profoundly eager to bring Elyszara to an orgasm that would be memorable, that would add yet another dimension of pleasure to a day which had already seen the novice paladin gain the honour of bringing back water from the sacred Fountain of the Vigilant Maiden.

Elyszara knew she could not last longer. She felt the burning in her loins and the itching fire in her spine blaze with renewed energy as Virginia now pressed her tongue against the aasimar's clitoris, a single finger sliding between the soft inner lips of her sex to reach deep within and stir up the most inflammatory of pleasures. Alone, in the stable, there was no inhibition for Elyszara so she allowed herself free rein as her climax overtook her, tensing every muscle in her body and sending her into wild, desperate spasms of ecstasy. Her cries filled the stable, though the horses seemed unperturbed as they continued to chew on their hay, her lips silently intoning Virginia's name.

As the waves of her climax cleared into a calm sea of wellbeing, Elyszara allowed herself to slump back against the wall. A few moments before, her world had been on fire, now she felt pleasantly fulfilled; warm, but no longer overwhelmed by the heat of passion. Just a slow burning need to experience Virginia to the fullest.

"Second drawer, there's a box under the notebook." Elyszara instructed breathlessly, her eyes still slitted with the afterglow of her orgasm.

Virginia looked up from between the aasimar's perfectly slender, pale thighs and complied with almost mechanical devotion. As promised, under a fairly prosaic notebook, she found a simple wooden box containing a slightly curved, red olisbos inlaid with cursive Elven script.

"Try it on...it's one of my favourites." Elyszara instructed, her mind already seizing upon the most lurid of fantasies.

The paladin novice examined the dildo for a moment - it weight felt organic, rather than artificial, in her hands and, as she scrutinised the script carved on its surface, she felt a rush of sensual heat, as if the enchantment within the instrument were spurring her on. Bringing the base end of the dildo to the lips of her dripping sex, Virginia felt the instrument thrust itself into her, moving into a suitably deep penetration to anchor itself in the very centre of the human girl's canal. Before even bringing the olisbos to its intended function, Virginia felt a pulse of pure, intense pleasure flow up her spine and ignite the desire already stirring in her loins.

"Take me." Elyszara instructed, her voice cloyed with passion. The aasimar hooked her arms under her knees and pulled her legs forward so that her thighs were pressed against her breasts. She was now fully exposed and at Virginia's mercy.

The human woman shifted forward slightly, adjusting herself to the relatively unfamiliar feeling, running the very tip of the dildo down the length of Elyszara's copiously juicing sex. Virginia decided to tease for a while, just to prolong the aasimar's pleasure, so she ran the tip of the olisbos down her lover's sex, gathering dewlike wetness, before slipping it between the perfect furrow of the girl's bottom.

Elyszara gasped as she felt the tip of the instrument run between the taut valley of her firm bottom and brush against the tight, light pink star of her anus, "You can take me there if you want."

Virginia swallowed in trepidation. The sensations being communicated by the dildo were intense beyond description; it was if her sex now rested directly against Elyszara's, as if each point on the aasimar's sex mapped perfectly onto a corresponding point on hers.

"It might hurt a little." Virginia warned, unsure of how to proceed.

"Doesn't matter," Elyszara said wryly, "I've been a naughty girl after all, haven't I? I think milady knight should show this wanton, shameless little princess a little discipline."

The paladin required no further invitation as she gripped the shaft of the olisbos and pressed it firmly against Elyszara's puckered anus. It was now Virginia's desire to bring the tiny, tight rosebud into full bloom as she applied a steady, relentless pressure. She was as gentle as possible, easing slightly as she felt the muscle begin to relax and give way, before thrusting in decisively as soon as she had the slightest purchase within Elyszara. The aasimar let out a long, ragged sigh as she felt her bottom give way to the dildo's invasion, the tight star of her sphincter spreading aside to allow inch after gloriously agonising inch to slide in.

For Virginia, the sensation was indescribable. It was as if the full, moist tightness of Elyszara's bottom was shooting through her sex into the pleasure centre in her loins and at the base of her spine. She was literally being enveloped in the aasimar's most private recesses. Virginia leaned forward to kiss Elyszara, allowing the aasimar to wrap her legs around the paladin's neck, drawing her in closer. It was then that Virginia began her thrusts; slow and deliberate at first, just to remind herself of the rhythm appropriate when using a dildo, and then hard and deep, once she was certain Elyszara had relaxed.

The aasimar pushed back, the muscle of her sphincter working the shaft as it slid in and out, forcing low, involuntary moans from Virginia's mouth as she moved with self-confident pace, her torso pressed against Elyszara's as she leaned into the table to regulate her thrusts. As the thrusts began to build, Elyszara felt a deep, tingling sensation in the recesses of her sex, so she indulged it by surreptitiously sliding her fingers between her thighs to stir her clitoris to life in rhythm with each of the human girl's thrusts.

Virginia was too concentrated on her task to even consider Elyszara's move: her Multiverse was now the aasimar's tight, clenching bottom and the smouldering passion of her lips which kissed with boundless energy, eager to absorb the breath of each pleasured gasp.

Virginia came almost as a matter of course. There was no way she could have held on much longer, for Elyszara's bottom was truly divine - soft and yielding yet deliciously tight enough to convey the greatest of pleasures. For her part, the aasimar held Virginia close to her, even when she knew the paladin had come in deep, ragged gasps, just so she could finish her own second orgasm with her own fingers. This time it was less energetic than the first, but Elyszara finally felt a sensation of deep, sensual relief wash over her as she contracted spasmodically around Virginia. The paladin could only shiver and sigh in mixed pain and pleasure as she felt the harsh contractions of Elyszara's bottom surround the dildo - and, by extension, her sex.

Never had Elyszara felt so profoundly stretched before. Never had she felt such satisfying domination; the hand of another woman in such expert control that her pleasure, her motions were dealt on a whim over which Elyszara herself had no control. Finally, she had attained the spontaneous submission which she had so often desired. That was not to say, of course, that she was a masochist, but she had so desperately wanted to change her role in lovemaking, to rely on another she trusted and held in esteem to take her with both power and passion.

Now, with Virginia resting atop her, Elyszara felt both fulfilled and satisfied, "No, stay like this for a while." The aasimar implored as Virginia began to disentangle herself, "I want you in me a little more."

Virginia nodded silently, leaning forward to kiss Elyszara tenderly on the lips and settling on top of her lover more comfortably so they could remain joined, "Thank you, I'm sorry if I was cold to you before." The paladin said between kisses.

"No, I deserved it. Sometimes you just don't know how lucky you are to meet a good person once in a while."

"I don't want to overstay my welcome, but if you are lonely tonight, I would be happy to share your bed." Virginia ventured boldly.

Elyszara was immediately tempted to agree, but then she thought, more rationally, of Cirily. Her lover had always been open and permissive insofar as relationships between Elyszara and third parties had been concerned, but only on a sensual level. She would certainly have disapproved of her forming such intense emotional bonds with a stranger.

"No, maybe another time. But this is what I will suggest, I'll come and pay a visit to your Order one of these days. Then we'll be free to meet up again."

"I would be delighted to see you again. Make it soon." Virginia said, somewhat disappointed, but pleased enough that she would have more than one beautiful memory to take back to Sigil after her excursion to Arvandor.

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

"So, you're telling me that you've needed to vary your intimate life?" Cirily ventured in response to Elyszara's narrative.

"Yeah, but only in that sense. That is, you always allowed me to take control, but, to be fair, that is the hardest part. To be responsible for another's pleasure. I wanted someone who would take that burden from me."

"Lys, my treasure, you know that's not a problem for me..." Cirily began.

"I know, I needed to keep it a secret from you, though."

"Why?"

"Because it was something I needed for myself. You know everything about me. You can feel the slightest change in my mood or character. Goddess, you even know when my cycle begins and ends without having any physical evidence. I just needed something to call my own." Elyszara confessed with confused resentment.

"I understand, but I sometimes wished you spoke to me more. I'm here for that. I've always been here for that." Cirily said as she rose from her chair to wrap her arms around Elyszara's neck, leaning forward into her lover's fragrant, dark multichrome hair to plant an affectionate kiss. s

Elyszara relented a little, Cirily was, of course, right. There was no rational need to hide anything from someone who was so impeccably tolerant, "Forgive me, I think I just needed to explain where my...desire came from."

"You're always forgiven," Cirily reassured, "but I'm curious, why did you end up with Syf and not Virginia?"

"Because, in the end, Virginia was the wiser one - she told me the next time I met her that it was impossible, that we were too different. She knew then and there that we would just end up hurting one another more, not to mention the ones we loved. Syf, though, she was gallant and charming - but, when all was said and done, we had more in common than she would have admitted. We were both so insecure and for different reasons, so it was easy to find solace in each other." Elyszara reclined gratefully into Cirily's embrace. She had begun to take her lover for granted, but it was moments like these in which she realised that the point of Cirily's 'punishments' by distance was not so much to make her suffer, but to make her understand the importance of their relationship.

"Nevermind now, that's in the past. We should live after it and not relive it. Now come to bed, there's too much emptiness without you."

Not for the first time, Cirily led and Elyszara, grateful for her lover's patient understanding, followed.

"One last thing," Cirily said as the approached the bedchamber, "I would like you to apologise to Friyya."

"What?" Elyszara stood still, somewhat dumbfounded.

"Whatever you did with Syf is fine by me now, but I don't think that is the case with Friyya. Be the decent girl I love and do the right thing." Cirily invited, planting her lips wetly against Elyszara's.

"Oh...fine," Elyszara conceded between gritted teeth, already imagining the sheer humiliation which the situation would incur, "I'll go myself."

"Tomorrow." Cirily ordered, a hand creeping up Elyszara's gown to cup the soft curve of the aasimar's taut bottom.

"As you wish, my love." Elyszara sighed only to be quickly silenced by the heat of Cirily's lips.

"I knew I could count on you...now allow me to show my gratitude." When Cirily assumed that tone, Elyszara automatically knew that she had a long and joyous night ahead of her.

**********

Ithunn thought that it was just a cliche'. The cliche' of waking up with someone you simple didn't want to see in that capacity in the morning, She had thought that it was something confined to complicit stories with bunkmates at night, or to third-rate romances which, in any case, she did not have either the time or inclination to read. Unfortunately, that sentiment was precisely what was worming its way into her mind the instant she realised that, upon waking, Inge was curled up against her - so small and fragile - smiling, her arms wrapped around Ithunn's waist.

"If only I could wake up like this every morning." The trainee priestess sighed in reverence, her deep, grey eyes, normally so sedate and mysterious briefly sparkling with a joy Ithunn had never before observed in them. It had certainly not been the first time they had shared a bed, but it was the first time they had shared such intimacy and awoken with such a vivid memory of it.

"Oh, Inge..." Ithunn sighed, almost groaning as she fell back against her pillow. She did not want to wake her roommates - not least because she had no intention of bearing their snide comments - when they thought her back was turned - about her and Inge.

"My sweet Ithunn, did I not please you last night...was I too inexpert or clumsy for you?" The smaller girl asked nervously, already feeling a welling sense of rejection building in her.

"No, no," Ithunn consoled, straining her eyes as she recalled exactly what had happened, "as a matter of fact, I should apologise I...uh, well is there anything I can do for you since...ah, well...I was absolutely exhausted last night and..." There was no simple, or face-saving way to put it. Inge had patiently and enthusiastically pleasured her - granted not with much skill - but as soon as she had reached her climax, she had allowed herself to fall back into much needed sleep. Now, of course, Ithunn's predicament was embarrassing and damning to say the least.

"Please, Ithunn, it really is nothing. It was a great pleasure and honour to be of service to you last night. All that I would humbly ask in return is...well, perhaps some flowers after lessons today and a little time together, just the two of us." Inge's smile was so innocently sweet that Ithunn, generally speaking a sucker for that kind of manipulation, readily agreed. After all, it was the least she could do. The last thing, however, she wanted was for this arrangement to come to Syf's attention. Ithunn had not objection to spending time with Inge, but to give Syf the wrong impression would be both grave and unforgivable.

"Only the Goddess knows how lucky I am," Inge said fervently as she kissed Ithunn's soft lips with all her passion, "there were times when I would have given all that I had for just a little attention from you."

"It's nothing." Ithunn said, eager to get at least few more moments of rest before the call to first prayers rang. But, at that point, she knew it was inevitable that the others would see Inge still in her bed. With that broad, contented smile fixed on the trainee priestesses' lips, there would be no doubt whatsoever as to what had transpired.

Naturally, Ithunn knew that her sisters-at-arms admired her to the point that they would not make any open comments, but she could already imagine what they would be thinking. That, however, would - in the end - only be a minor irritation. The real problem lay in what Syf would end up thinking when, inevitably, she learned about Ithunn's increasingly convoluted sentimental predicament.

Sigil Book One, Chapter VII

Writers of fiction are often presented with an interesting quandary. What I mean is, they draw from life. Even the wildest fantasy comes from some intellectual root which in turn is based on, or is an extrapolation of, something which has been seen, felt, heard or said. But fiction is all too often decried for being "implausible". Some claim that it is not "true to life", whatever that means. Life, in reality, is often disconcertingly stranger than fiction because it is less predictable. My point is that life is full of strange, unnerving, uncanny coincidences, meetings, happenings and conversations. Most just refuse to think about them and move on. Some contemplate, some elaborate. The latter class of person often chooses to become a writer, a storyteller, or simply mad. Some philosophers have sought to ban everything which had nothing to do with the physical or natural sciences, because writing and poetry "tell lies about the gods". They probably do, but reveal so many more things that they may just be worth putting up with.

- The Archivist, your narrator

"E vos etz lo meus jois primers,

E si seretz vos lo derrers,

Tan com la vida m'er durans."

"Reporting in, as required, sir." Isolde announced as she stepped into Dassau's office. The arcanoloth's desk was in its usual state of disarray. He had ploughed through the best part of a decade's worth of statistics annuals just as readily as he had consumed close to a decade of vintages from an extremely rare denomination situated on a world Dassau had mentioned and Isolde long since forgotten.

"So, I see." Dassau replied, engrossed in mentally calculating the standard deviation of the average age of death of human-celestial hybrids in Sigil.

"It occurs to me, sir, that the Radiant Path has been quite active recently in a presumed slaving ring connected to the radical atheist faction..."

"Athar." Dassau corrected.

"I know, sir...in any case, operatives of the Order of the Radiant Path have been present throughout the Shattered Temple district and in the Great Bazaar. I have documented their activities thus far, though I must take the opportunity to draw attention to the sanitary conditions in the..."

"Eumenorrhea - second day, if I am not mistaken." Dassau remarked. One of his favourite mental games was keeping track of Isolde's cycle.

"Yes, sir, but I think it's hardly relevant..."

"Nonsense, there is no reason you should be in discomfort. Order some menial to clean it up to sufficient standard."

Isolde cringed, her definition of sufficient standard was simply not possible to replicate, "I can survive, sir," she continued, with burning irritation - she loathed it intensely when her body acted up on her in such a way: it was morbid and utterly disgusting - "what I meant was whether you ought to inform the Fifth or the Seventh Bureau about such activities which, strictly speaking at least, are paramilitary in nature."

"They have our informal authorisation. To my knowledge, that is the only compromise by which we can keep a semblance of order in this unfortunate city. Nevertheless, your suggestion is duly noted just as my curiosity is piqued. You are free, no - actively encouraged - to find any incriminating information on this Order of yours, especially with reference to malpractice. You hinted that they may be involved in illegal displacements of goods or persons - capitalise on that, make sure I have something suitable as a pretext to issue search and arrest orders." Dassau's voice was more sanguine and enthusiastic than Isolde had heard it in a long while. It appeared that her plan to co-opt the old dog was working.

"As you wish, sir, but, one question, how exactly do you intend to pin the Radiant Path down?"

"I do not recall enjoining a crusade," Dassau specified, his demonic mind churning, "I have no target in particular, indeed, no grudge against any given organisation. I merely believe that is in the interests of this fair city and my good conscience to appropriately punish all malfeasance and, by extension, those individuals and organisations that abet it."

"So, why the Radiant Path and why the pretext of this Shattered Temple business?" Isolde inquired, thoroughly confused.

"Isolde, you misunderstand me. I do not seek culpability in and of itself. As far as I a concerned, all of these organisations are equally low and worthless. Their love of their own, risible doctrines repels me in the extreme. No, I need something. A reason to exist after abandoning my natural, essential vocation as a corrupter of mortals. Their demise, like the demise of any other organisation whose doctrine I find repugnant and whose influence I find subversive, is a benefit to Sigil and, most importantly, my dear Isolde, to me."

"But sir, I don't think we should necessarily undermine the Order in and of..."

"Isolde, I fear it is too late. You raised this issue for, as I have deduced long ago, your own personal reasons. Unfortunately, such is the way of the Multiverse, that once plans are passed on to a higher power, the supplicant has no further control over them. You began the game, my dear Isolde, but you shall play by my rules for my amusement."

Isolde tensed only slightly. She could live with that. It had not been her intention to implicate all of the Radiant Path, her issues lay with Virginia and Virginia alone. Nevertheless, there would be no harm in indulging Dassau. After all, although she bore the Radiant Path no particular ill will, she also had no especial sympathy for it. Now that she thought of it, she found herself not having any sympathy for anything. With the possible exception of her 'acquaintance', Lirai, but that was a matter of mutual benefit rather than any active, heartfelt sentiment.

"Is there anything further, sir?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I have recently read through a rather interesting commentary on the doctrine and history of the Radiant Path. It appears that their methods of recruitment, training and operation are not at all dissimilar to those of other militant orders which, broadly speaking, share moral-ethical outlooks associated with the Plane of Arborea. However, in the appendix, I was fascinated to find a reference to a disquisition on the recruitment aspect which, it is claimed, is striking in identifying and cultivating merit over selection by ancestry, as has been the case in quite a number of chivalrous orders. Of course, I dispute this comment in and of itself, as egalitarian orders have existed and are indeed widespread, though not necessarily in this writer's homeworld..."

"Sir, if you don't mind..." Isolde ventured.

"Ah, yes, the point. Well, the point is that which will kill the noble art of conversation. My point is, as my previous professional experience has taught me, to work through the context of your target and not against it. There is so much to be found in reflecting on what sentients want, need and desire."

"Worthy advice, sir."

Isolde knew that Dassau knew. His remark about selection, recruitment and the constitution of the Radiant Path's membership had been a subtle comment. He had known all along and Isolde suspected that there was very little, if not nothing at all, the arcanoloth did not know about her personal life, her history or her mind. The 'reformed' demon's efficiency in performing a demonic job made her wonder why he had resigned his commission, as it were, in the first place.

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

In Sigil, it is said that there are some basic laws to the vast, quasi-infinity of the Multiverse. Some claim there is the so-called "Rule of the Threes", that is, all major functions and agents in the Multiverse entertained triadic relationships: chaos, order, neutrality; body, mind, soul and so forth. Other claimed there was a grand scheme of causality; that everything from the Abyss to the Seven Heavens was connected with even the slightest event in the first generating unforeseen consequences in the other. Ithunn, however, could only conclude that the infamous and culturally ubiquitous rule that if something could go wrong, it would, was the true root of all the Multiverse's workings.

The novice had complied with Inge's over-enthusiastic request and graciously brought her flowers, escorted her from her lessons and taken her for a recreational walk through the Temple complex. Inge had been lively and enthusiastic throughout, clinging onto Ithunn's arm and chattering amiably about nothing in particular. For her part, Ithunn had taken it all in good grace; she actually enjoyed spending time with Inge, though the circumstances - with the trainee priestess occasionally looking up at the taller girl, expecting a kiss or some other gesture of affection - were compromising, to say the least. Inge's wide, grey eyes, already seemingly perennially pensive, almost sad, were positively heart-rending when she felt starved of romantic attention and Ithunn, cursing the ease with which her emotions could be manipulated, complied almost spontaneously with little caresses, and soft, placatory kisses.

That had been bad enough. Ithunn felt that every novice she knew had passed them by, no doubt exchanging knowing smirks as soon they were beyond visual range. But now, none other than Syf, the sun around which all of Ithunn's desire helplessly rotated, strode down the main courtyard in front of the great Temple gates. Ithunn felt her heart sink. There was a selfish part in her that wanted to thrust Inge to one side and take refuge somewhere far away so that Syf would never think that she had even contemplated the idea of replacing her idol. Of course, that was a non-option. There was, in Ithunn's more sensitive and moral mind - that which was almost always dominant - no reason for which Inge should suffer for the preferences and choices of others.

"That was a good practice session, today Ithunn." Syf commented as she crossed Ithunn and Inge's path, "You were much more focused on your swordplay. If you keep that up, you will almost certainly be one of the best this Order has seen."

"Many thanks, Syf, I am always honoured to be complimented by you." Ithunn said hastily. Under normal circumstances she would have basked in the glow of the paladin's praise. Now was not, however, the time to allow Syf to reflect too much on the circumstances.

"Oh, and who is this with you?" Syf inquired with playful curiosity, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"This..." Ithunn began heavily.

"Ingeborg, Sister," Inge interjected enthusiastically, eager to show herself off to Syf, "though I prefer Inge."

"Yes, I remember...you're in the Temple's seminary, it is a pleasure to meet a future custodian of our faith." The irony, Syf reflected, was that although many novices training to be paladins thought the path of the priesthood to be boring and study-intensive, it was the priestesses who were the ultimate guardians of the secrets of the Radiant Path and who, by extension, were responsible for administering it.

"We were just taking the opportunity to enjoy a walk together." Inge crowed, much to Ithunn's dismay. The novice would have objected, if she could find the words in the nervous, convoluted sea which was her mind.

"I'm happy for you Ithunn," Syf commented approvingly, relieved that the novice had found someone else upon which to lavish her attention, "you make a beautiful couple and I wish you a long and joyful time together."

Ithunn cringed inwardly, Syf had used the formal blessing of well-wishers to a bonded couple. Although Syf's smile was radiant in the novice's eyes, she could help but feel something sinking in the pit of her stomach. Now she would be nothing more than a student to Syf, a friend too, perhaps, but nothing more. But it was the opposite that she had wanted. She loved Inge as a friend, a confidante and even found the trainee priestess very pretty in an endearing, cute sort of way. There was, however, no way she could fill the void that Syf would leave.

"Many thanks, sister." Inge answered in Ithunn's stead, "Convey my greetings to Friyya. I too wish you much happiness."

There was a part of Ithunn that wanted to erupt, to seize and shake the delicate Inge demanding to know when, exactly, did a little clumsy fumbling under the sheets - so common amongst novices - constitute the official beginning of a bonded relationship. Granted she had always been a close friend of Inge's and granted they had, out of loneliness one night, exchanged their first kiss, but this was taking the issue further than Ithunn could have imagined.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow on the training court, then. Have a nice evening." Syf said as continued on her way.

"You...too, Syf." Ithunn mouthed dejectedly. Inge huddled closer, her head leaning on the novice's elegant, statuesque breasts, her shoulder-length sky-azure hair draped over Ithunn's pristine white tunic. The trainee priestess realised that there were no further obstacles in her goal to find her other, cosmic half. Syf had given them their blessing and that, she thought, would close the case once and for all.

"If you like," Inge began, her voice typically soft and innocent, "we can take a walk in the garden later this evening, sometimes there is so little privacy in the dormitory..."

Ithunn burned with hot frustration inside. Frustration at Syf for being so superficial that she failed to realise how contrived the situation had been, frustration at Inge who appeared to believe that all her adolescent fantasies had come true, and frustration at herself for being totally unable to address either issue. In short, a romantic escapade with Inge in the shade of the garden was the last thing on her mind, "Maybe not this evening, today's training was a little hard on me, perhaps I should rest."

"Oh, I know Syf drives you hard, but I can at least try to make you feel better." Inge suggested, an edge of sensuality creeping into her voice. As expected, it was not that hint of desire which changed Ithunn's mind, but Inge's wide-eyed, expectant gaze and her eager, innocent smile. Against those weapons, Ithunn knew no countermeasures.

*******

The Great Bazaar was abuzz; both figuratively and literally for there was a pronounced insectoid presence that day. Great mantis-like thri-kreen exchanging sculptures of their crystallised saliva for Sigil currency, vaguely humanoid ant-like formians protecting the precious egg sac of a bloated queen as they made their way down the Bazaar's main promenade. All around goods and services of every description were on sale; from magical trinkets in dusty shops run by blue-skinned mercane, to - more human - hawkers from at least two dozen Prime worlds selling the most prized produce of their region. That of course, was the upmarket section of the Bazaar.

Lower down the main promenade, closer to the Hive, Virginia's squad made its way through ever tightening, labyrinthine mazes. With each step the buildings became more decrepit, the wares on sale more bizarre, unsettling and downright vile, the denizens ever shiftier and less readily identifiable. The trail of a group of slavers was still hot; one of the Order of the Radiant Path's contacts had been notified that some illegal transits in 'live material' had taken place at a planar portal near the Bazaar and Syf was certain that she had caught glimpse of what appeared to be a couple of lookouts who had, upon detecting the presence of four paladins of the Vigilant Maiden, quickly turned to inform their superiors.

It was difficult to coordinate in the din of the marketplace, though Syf and Virginia remained ever focused, peering into the crowd, squinting through reeking smoke and low-hanging fabrics. Friyya followed behind, a little disorientated though she was getting used to work in the less reputable parts of Sigil, with an outwardly relaxed but ever vigilant Marséna at her side. The Mareterran paladin operated more by intuition than by concentration, paying only cursory attention to the art of detection and listening primarily to what her senses told her.

"On the left, in the side alley." Syf suggested. She had definitely detected the movement of some beings in dark robes in the corner of her vision.

"I'll go with Virg, take Friyya and continue down the main street. Weave left at the next side alley and cover us." Marséna replied, her hand firmly on the pommel of her longsword.

"Agreed." Syf nodded, as Virginia and Friyya also made signs of agreement.

"Right, Virg, you take point." Marséna instructed. In the open, Virginia preferred to use a footman's lance; it gave her better reach in long, dark alleyways and allowed her to keep opponents at a safe distance.

The blonde paladin nodded in acknowledgement and moved forward, easing her way through the crowd into the relative calm of the side alley. Dilapidated wood and stone peered down on them ominously and a few equally decrepit merchants, flogging their unsavoury wares, looked on in apprehension. The presence of self-professed defenders of good were never welcome in those parts of Sigil where the light could barely peer through the sunken, stooping gables of the buildings.

"See anything?" Marséna inquired anxiously, drawing her sword in a single, clean motion.

"I'm certain I saw movement, we can keep moving to the base of the alley and hope Friyya and Syf can flank anything that's down there." Virginia noted tensely. She readied the gleaming head of her lance so that it was perpendicular to her body, a good two three feet in front of her. In close quarters, she always kept her longsword in reserve, though it was always better to press the advantage against foes with less formal weapons training, just so they did not capitalise on the cramped environment around them for strategic positioning.

"There!" Marséna cried as something scampered in the shadows between two makeshift stalls on the roadside.

Virginia dashed forward, overturning a stall carrying bright red exotic fruit just as she detected the figure move into the narrow entrance of a building. She pursued, Marséna behind her, the emerging sense of tension becoming a deep, methodical pulsation in her chest. Each breath, each movement began to fall in synchronism with her thought and heartbeat, so she knew exactly when the dark-robed figure would lunge forward with his cruelly curved shortsword - no doubt coated with poison. It was easy enough for Virginia to sidestep, but it was with the counterattack that she came into her own, exploiting the momentum of her evasive movement to thrust back into the darkness of the hallway and catch the figure at the juncture between the shoulder and chest. The blonde paladin could not see the result of her strike, but could hear the blood trickle wetly on the creaking, wooden floor and the figure slump forwards to impale itself further on the shaft of the lance.

"One down." Marséna commented straining her eyes in the darkness, she knew he was dead because she could hear no breathing but her own and the familiar sound of Virginia's.

"Was there another?"

"Yes, he must be further down the alley, I'm certain of it."

They continued their descent into the bowels of where the Bazaar met the Hive. Now the smoke had become thicker and more noxious as they approached the tanneries and the charcoal-burners.

"Goddess, the air is heavy!" Virginia complained. Though it was not in her character to complain about the circumstances of her work, the odour was truly intolerable.

"You're such a city girl." Marséna chided playfully, hoping at least to defuse some of the tension.

"This is the city. In any case, I hope you don't actually find this smell pleasant."

"No, but you get used to it."

"Hey, Marséna, over there, by the fortune teller's stand." Virginia warned as the pair rushed down further into the depths of the alleyway, so much, indeed, that they ploughed through low-hanging curtains and fabric to scramble in the penumbra, hoping to find their quarry.

"Damn, it's dark." Marséna commented ruefully as she cut through a low-hanging clothesline. That did not improve her visibility, for the wreckage of ancient buildings stood between her and the sky. Nevertheless, she sensed movement in her proximity. Her sword at the ready she lunged forwards into the furthest recesses of the alley, sensing the heavy breathing of another being. Now, Marséna knew she was at a disadvantage. She could not see in the dark, whereas many of Sigil's denizens, their nature heavily influenced by the energies of the Lower Planes, could. But, she knew she could rely on her perception and reflexes. It was dark, between buildings and in the cool, dank, shady air where open sewers ran together with the outflow of butcher shops and tanneries. The smell was overwhelming, but Marséna knew better than to the let that affect her.

The raven-haired paladin paused a moment to gain her bearings, before deciding that she was not going to panic and call out to Virginia. That would merely betray her position. She had to remain calm, composed and on guard. So when she heard the slightest hint of breath, she knew where to move, back up and counterattack. By the time her longsword had caught another blade, she knew that the playing field had levelled somewhat. In the darkness, she could not see him, but she could estimate the slaver's distance. He was almost certainly to her right and, as Marséna rightly predicted, he could at least faintly see her because he thrust his weapon in exactly the right place, slicing under her guard and against her thigh.

Although the pain was sharp, Marséna knew she could tolerate it. For a glancing blow, the slaver had traded knowledge of his position, so the Mareterran girl knew her current placement put her in threat range. Steadying her longsword as she had done many times before in practice, she estimated his size, his position and his guard, before slicing her weapon back into the darkness and sensing, with a sigh of satisfaction, the steel finding purchase in flesh. It was almost certainly the slaver's arm, for she heard metal drop against the cobblestones of the alleyway and a low groan. That was her signal to bring in the finishing blow, which she did with a wide, arching slash into the slaver's neck. Once again, there was a dense thud as the metal of her blade sliced into fabric, skin, flesh and bone. Marséna knew the iron smell that followed. It did not trouble her in the least. It was the same smell she noted whenever she had cut the throat of lambs at slaughter time in her village or cut a goose's head clean from its neck on feast days. Nothing to be worried about, just flesh and blood like any other animal.

"Virg, this one's down too." Marséna called proudly. There was no reply.

"Virg?"

**********

Virginia looked around herself, the gleaming bloodstained lance firmly in hand. It was dark but for a lambent, green-blue glow emanating from a single sphere in the middle of the chamber. What chamber? This Virginia did not know, though she steeled herself against any potential threat. It was long, rectangular, and dark except for a sphere floating as if hanging in nothingness. A sphere so perfect, so hypnotic that the blonde paladin thought it some device of the afterlife. Perhaps she had been backstabbed, or shot with a crossbow and now, dead, was forced to confront the judge of all eternity.

She took a deep breath, felt the cool room around her, the faint smell of incense and burning lamp oil. Just moments ago she had been with Marséna, now she was alone, covered in cold sweat, dimly illuminated only by a low, haunting light.

"Fear not." A low, feminine voice called from the darkness and Virginia turned, startled, to see a green-skinned humanoid woman with a perfectly hairless head look up at her with milky, sightless eyes.

"What?" Virginia gasped, more afraid than she would ever have admitted.

"Fear not, you are not dead...or at least, not quite yet." The woman commented, sitting on an invisible stool near the glowing, pulsating sphere. She was slender, with long, black nails, fang-like teeth, and a strangely reassuring voice.

"I was out..."

"Not anymore."

Virginia then realised that she must have stepped sideways. Sideways into another pocket dimension, like the innumerable little hiding holes in space and time which dotted Sigil. This must be a demiplane, the abode of a strange, yet powerful being whose very whim had brought Virginia through the fabric of existence and time into another world.

"Why did you bring me here?" The blonde paladin asked with trepidation. There was little she could do against such a being, even with her weapons and her knowledge of the arcane, some beings were simply too powerful to even countenance a confrontation with.

"Listen to me," the green skinned woman began as she stroked the green sphere, its vibrations apparently sending her into some sort of trance, filling her mind with insight which Virginia could not even imagine, "because there is nothing that happens in this Multiverse without a reason, nothing."

Virginia nodded and observed carefully. Her throat dry and her mind so achingly confused that she wished she could be with one of her comrades, any one, just to have the security of one of them supporting her in this strangest of places.

"There shall come a time in which you shall have to choose which path is yours. And no, young paladin, this is not the empty platitude of a fortune-teller, but the words of a prophet. I know that now there are two in your heart, but that one can only be loved more than the other, because that one is bound to you. She was bound to you before you were born, so will she be bound to you in death." The green skinned woman said this with almost ecstatic abandon, as if she were drawing upon an otherwise hidden source of energy deep within the glowing sphere.

"I...don't quite know..." Virginia began, already realising the fortune teller knew what she claimed to know.

"I see you, I see you by the seaside in a great ocean of golden corn under a blue sky and a burning sun." The voice replied, as if ignoring each and every one of Virginia's comments.

"What? Please, tell me, I don't understand."

"I see you, under silver-green trees, where it is warm and the air is filled with the light, salty spray of the sea. Go to it, for it calls like nothing else."

"But why did you bring me here to tell me...this?" Virginia asked, her disorientation all too evident.

"Because there are things that are known to the Multiverse and the Multiverse alone. These are not things that mere mortal discover, they stumble upon them like a blind woman searching for gems amidst a sea of pebbles. The Multiverse has its reasons and I follow them and them alone."

"So what am I to do?" Virginia asked plaintively. Though her fear was strong, her curiosity and resolve to know were stronger still.

"Go to the sea and see its white-blue spray crash against rocks. Go under the sun and see its rays crash against the silver-green leaves and off the golden ears of ripe corn. So go now, for this is not what I say, but what is."

"Madam, please tell me..." Virginia began, before realising that she was, once again, in the middle of the darkened street, with no sound around her but the movements in the distance and soft breathing.

*********

"Virg?" Marséna called desperately into the darkness, groping blindly. She could not even imagine it, though the thought had crept into the back of her mind.

"Marséna?" Virginia answered, before feeling a tight, hard, hungry grip around her waist as Marséna collapsed into her arms.

"Virg...my treasure...child...kitten, never do that again...fuck, Virg, never again." Marséna sobbed, almost hysterically into Virginia's arms. The blonde paladin could feel her friend's hot, desperate tears on her neck.

"I...don't understand." Virginia said, perplexed, as she held Marséna close to her in the near pitch-blackness of the street, cradling the raven-haired paladin in her arms.

"I thought I'd lost you, then I saw you...saw you, but you seemed...different, like I never want to see you again."

"Never mind, never mind," Virginia said soothingly. Marséna was not the unprofessional type, so whatever she had seen, it had been a powerful vision indeed, something which had stripped the paladin's usual sangfroid from her, "come on, I'm here now, pull yourself together. You don't want Friyya to see you like this, do you?" Virginia reprimanded, half jokingly.

"I saw, it Virg, I saw it: it was like red on black." Marséna said enigmatically as she buried her face against Virginia's breastplate, drawing in the aroma of her friend's body, the cool steeliness of her armour, the sweetness of the leather beneath.

"Hush, come on now, this isn't the time."

Marséna snuggled closer against Virginia, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth, the heartbeat, the soft, fragrant smell of the blonde paladin's skin.

"Hey, come on Marséna, Syf and Friyya will be here soon...come on, we can talk about this later."

"I need you, Virg, I know this because I felt it like never before a few moments ago. I need you."

"Me too, but there's something else I must ask you."

"What?" Marséna inquired, recovering from her outburst and settling by Virginia's side.

"Soon we'll have two days' leave. I think I would like it if you took me to Mareterra...you know, perhaps to visit."

"I haven't been back in so long." Marséna sniffed, composing herself a little.

"I know, and I would love to go back with you. Just the two of us."

"What about Lily?"

"Can you get Shesayne to look after her?"

"Yeah," Marséna said, allowing herself a smile as she quickly ran her leather-gauntleted hands over her cheeks, "I can do that. I'd really like to show you my home and my village, so I suppose, there would be nothing better than you coming with me."

"Great, so it's a deal. But pull yourself together now, Marséna, we're still on duty."

"Understood." The Mareterran girl said, resuming her combat-ready guard stance.

"You always were a cry-baby, you know." Virginia joked, patting Marséna on the shoulder.

"Yes, and you an icy-hearted Ortho bitch." Marséna growled playfully. She knew, without hearing it, that Virginia was laughing silently to herself.

*********

"Is everything to your liking, Min?" Cirily inquired, sensing the tiefling's discomfort. Like Elyszara, Cirily liked to entertain - especially interesting, well-educated guests like Aerylle who always brought something new and fascinating to the conversation. That day, just a few tolls of the Bell Tower before the time Elyszara - reluctantly it had to be said - had agreed upon as suitable to visit the Order of the Radiant Path in order to offer her heartfelt apologies to the paladin Friyya, the two aasimar had decided to receive a representative of one of the foremost recipients of their family's grants. In her capacity as Assistant Librarian at the Library of Sensation, Aerylle was charming in a way Cirily envied. Her newfound tiefling lover, on the other hand, clearly felt out of place.

"Yeah...really, it's great." Min said, sounding unconvinced. She did not like the taste of herbal tea - too abundantly sugared and her palate responded poorly to sweet things - and the flower-petal preserve tartlets were even worse. How anyone could consume anything so cloying beggared belief.

"Oh, excuse her," Aerylle interjected gracefully, leaning forward slightly in her armchair, "she takes lunch late at work, so I suspect she may not be very hungry." They were in the comfortable drawing room adjacent to the great rectangular dining room of Elyszara's Sigil apartment. The airiness and light of the room, in and of themselves, put Min in an unfamiliar environment.

"Please, don't trouble yourself," Cirily reassured with great hospitality, "you do us honour with your presence."

Elyszara reclined comfortably on a red-padded divan, dressed in a functional set of black, skin-tight leggings and a dark bustier made to simulate the effect of a breastplate. Her definition of entertaining guests was somewhat different to Cirily's; it was less an occasion to serve and converse and more an opportunity to amuse herself, "So, what has been your most fascinating record to date in the Library?" She inquired, stretching slightly on the divan, eying Min curiously. She had seen the tiefling at that disastrous party a few nights ago, but had not been given the chance to scrutinise her properly. Now, on further examination, Min was certainly a fine specimen; like Syf, she had power, dynamism and menace beneath a graceful exterior.

"Definitely recorded testimonials from the Pillar of Skulls in the Nine Hells; some are decidedly harrowing, but we have patrons who seek precisely that sort of emotionally challenging experience." Aerylle said, taking a sip from her crystal cup.

"How awful." Cirily commented - it was always good to let a guest know that they were being listened to.

"I'm sure it is, but this Multiverse is full of dangerous, disturbing things, wouldn't you agree, Min?" Elyszara inquired playfully, still taking her time to measure the tiefling up. She brushed back some strands of corvine hair streaked with silver and deepest blue from her delicate, elfin face.

"Sure." Min replied curtly. She felt awkward sitting the in the chair and even more awkward being put under the spotlight. What she really needed was a drink; something, anything, to loosen her up.

"Come on, you look like a woman of experience, you must have seen you share of harrowing spectacles."

"I...guess." Min was beginning to question the insistence with which Aerylle had encouraged her to attend this social event. It was certainly not Min's sort of thing, nor was it something she took particularly well to. Simply put, the tiefling had no answer to Elyszara's question not so much because she did not know of a strand of conversation, but because she felt ill at ease, certainly not disinhibited enough to speak freely. Though she had always navigated the difficult social environments of the Hive with great ease, Shesayne had always been the truly social one out of the two. Min preferred a more enigmatic and restrained approach.

"Well, one easy way to find out." Elyszara continued provocatively, seizing upon a bright pink tartlet and consuming it in one bite.

"So what's that?" Min replied, somewhat irritated at Elyszara's insistence. Aerylle gave her a disapproving, sideways glance: she had asked the tiefling to hold back her sharp tongue and sharper temper.

"How are you with daggers?"

"Throwing, curved or punching?" Min replied instinctively, bemused at Elyszara's question. She had not gathered from her surroundings that her host would have any interest in weaponry, least of all the sort of arms used in darkened alleys or under the cover of shadows.

"Any and all, I suppose." Elyszara led on, pleased that she had caught the tiefling's attention.

"I can hold my own."

"Show me." Elyszara challenged, rising to her feet.

"What? Here?" Min inwardly thought the aasimar was joking; there was no way Elyszara could seriously intend to match her speed or reflexes.

"Yes and don't you think it will be a walkover." Elyszara said with defiant playfulness as she opened two ornate, wooden boxes to reveal two identical sets of magnificently forged, silvery daggers, wrought so that their blades almost resembled a dragon's fang with intricate, calligraphic carvings on the flat on the blades.

"Lys, please, not with our guests." Cirily reprimanded, rising to her feet.

"Nonsense, I'm a big girl, I can handle any challenge." Elyszara replied dismissively.

"That is exactly the problem, Lys, I think I am still waiting for you to grow up. How is this any different from a children's game?"

"Cirily, my love, aren't you flattered that I am willing to go to such lengths to win your favour?" Elyszara said with mock panache as she handed the stunned Min a box and offered instructions on how the bout was to take place, "We'll do it on the table, so it will also be a matter of balance. First one to position an undisputed critical strike wins. How's that sound to you?"

"I..." Min began. Aerylle was already glowering at her, but there was very little she could do now that her abilities had been called to the test. She certainly had no intention of being caught off guard by this libertine socialite, "I agree. So let's see this table."

"Min!" Aerylle said menacingly between gritted teeth.

"Her idea." The tiefling replied airily, following Elyszara into the dining room. This would be interesting, the tiefling thought: the daggers were of fine craftsmanship indeed, well balanced, the edges clearly sharp and intricacy of their workmanship did nothing to reduce their obvious functionality as weapons.

"Really, Lys, I just had the table waxed." Cirily complained as her lover leaped on to one side with Min on the opposite end, perhaps twelve feet away.

"Oh, just cast another cantrip and stop playing the suffering housewife." Elyszara snapped.

Cirily pouted and looked away to one side. Aerylle stood close by, dumbfounded at the spectacle which was about to unfold. Sometimes she really failed to understand Min's reasons. Did she think to impress her?

"Right, on my signal then." Elyszara announced, sinking into a classical two-handed style position, her guard high, legs placed one in front of the other.

"Ready." Min replied. The tiefling preferred a more free flowing pose, her guard running the diagonal between her chest and lower thigh with her legs positioned further apart. This allowed her to exploit the momentum of each movement and turn parrying or positioning manoeuvres into potential energy for counterattacks. It was not something she had learned formally so much as deduced over time. There was, Min reflected, nothing quite like the school of hard knocks.

"You think this impresses me, Lys?" Cirily called as she saw her lover sink into her combat ready position, "Honestly, sometimes you're worse than a boy...'oh, Lys my heroine, I'm so wet'..." She mimicked savagely.

"Cirily!" Aerylle scolded, almost out of force of habit.

Ignoring Cirily completely, Elyszara gave the signal with a nod of her head and lunged forward. Min parried her first two thrusts with ease, quickly wheeling around the aasimar, sidestepping her, and slipping behind her back, each movement deliberately calculated to dance around the edges of the table. Elyszara, much to Min's surprise, had already detected that tactic and adjusted to compensate, lashing out in a wide, open arc and forcing the tiefling to ready her daggers to parry.

The speed with which the aasimar had reacted was not quite what Min had been expecting. After all, Elyszara appeared to be a good for nothing spoiled brat, but she did have natural as well as technical talent. Min was, however, certain that no one could match her for speed so she shifted into an attacking mode, trying to force Elyszara off the table by sheer force. The aasimar's eye was at least as fast as the tiefling's blade, because Elyszara anticipated the low, cutting strikes with enviable intuition and managed to sidestep back towards the middle of the table. Min pursued, knowing that for every dodge, Elyszara had to adjust her movements, lose time to seek balance and position and therefore have less space to develop a counterattacking strategy. She knew that the best technique would be to keep the aasimar constantly moving before hooking in an unpredictable attack which would throw her once and for all

That was easier said than done. Elyszara managed to weave skilfully through round after round of seemingly random high and low, undulating and jabbing attacks. Though this promptness of reaction frustrated Min, she knew that Elyszara would have to come up with a counterattacking strategy soon because she could not hope to match her on physical stamina As predicted, the aasimar began to tire, her breath shortening with each succession of parried blows, so that she finally readied her last gambit. Feinting to the left and shifting the dagger in her right hand for a - hopefully - unexpected downwards strike on Min's thigh, Elyszara realised too late that she had concentrated too much on the tiefling's weapons and not the rest of her body. Min, quite simply, kicked Elyszara's foot from under her, sending the surprised aasimar tumbling down on the floor.

Min was upon her like a pouncing hunting cat, her daggers planted in the immaculately waxed wooden floor on each side of Elyszara's shoulders, "Nice try, my sweet girl, but it takes more than a little training." Min admonished, smiling as she planted a kiss on the pale skin of Elyszara's forehead. For her part, the aasimar was treated to a mesmerising view of Min's perfectly firm, beautifully feminine rounded breasts and taut, flat belly.

"Since you won, I think you get to steal a kiss." Elyszara said huskily, her indigo-painted lips curling into a rich, sensual smile. It was as if she did not care for the presence of Aerylle or Cirily in the room.

Min was sorely tempted. Under different circumstances, Elyszara was the sort of girl she would have spent whole days making love to, only sitting back against the headboard of the bed to eat, drink, exchange their most passionate fantasies before sinking onto sheets and acting them out. Most importantly, Elyszara was probably the playful type who entered into a tryst only for what it was worth and not what it had been forced to signify. Nevertheless, she felt strangely constrained with Aerylle now peering down on them with curious, if slightly disapproving, concern.

"Maybe another time." Min concluded with another one of her ambiguous, enigmatic smiles, before rising to her feet. Elyszara remained on the floor a few more moments; her pelvis and lower back still smarted a little from the fall.

"Serves you right." Cirily said in annoyance as Elyszara slowly, painfully picked herself up.

"Come on, Cirily, it was worth it: I made a friend...right?"

"You could say that." Min said wryly, taking a long hard look at Elyszara in order to fully appreciate the almost otherworldly grace of the aasimar's limbs, the slender, appealing roundness of her hips and bottom.

"Your movements are beautiful," Elyszara complimented, "you don't only fight with skill, you fight with intelligence."

"Yeah, I learned fast."

"In the Hive?" Elyszara asked curiously, tilting her head to one side as Aerylle and Cirily looked on, intrigued despite themselves. Aerylle in particular had not heard much of Min's past aside from her dryly cynical assessments of life in Sigil's well-worn quarters and her amorous exploits.

Min nodded. There was no way to tell that particular story, she could only allude to generalisations and leave her audience partially satisfied. To fully understand as she and Shesayne did, one had to have walked the same streets and breathed the same air.

**********

They had drawn the red curtains again, so the tiny, cramped room was flooded in a faint, deep crimson light which, at the very edges of the walls faded into the darkness of the corners. Min preferred it that way; it made sleeping easier and life more private. In that sense, they were lucky enough to have their own room, for privacy was at a premium in the Hive.

Shesayne was still a little under shock as she sat sullenly on the bed they shared, staring at the featureless wall, watching red light creep across it in narrow bands. There was no room for her to pace nervously, so Min sat listlessly by the side of the bed, her hands clasping the old sheets. She could hear Shesayne breathe, she could almost hear the petite half-elf think, contemplate the day, imagine the future and despair. In that moment, though, all Min could do was wait for Shesayne to say something; the very fact that she had to wait for her friend to open her mouth was proof enough that nothing would be the same again.

"I don't think I've ever had such a long, strange day." Shesayne said quietly, without her usual exuberance. She still wore - somewhat to her discomfort - the matching white lace skirt and corset she had used to impersonate a respectable lady earlier that day; that was, of course, before the incident. Unlike Min, who seemed indifferent to killing - provided, Shesayne hoped, it was in self defence - the half elf had been profoundly struck by what she had done. She had never thought herself capable of taking the life of another; the inherent respect for all living things in her elven ancestry must have had something to do with that. Now she felt neither angry, frightened or depressed, just confused. Life itself had this fragility which she had never even considered.

Min sat pensively a moment before mustering an answer, "Nah, you're right, I've thought 'bout it too. I don't think I can keep this up myself. Sodding Hardheads at Civic Security will get us one day if something else doesn't. What I'm thinking now is what exactly are we going to do for food and kip?"

"I don't think my mother will have us here much longer. I think...she thinks I'm the biggest fuckup imaginable."

"Besides me, that is." Min said dryly.

Shesayne allowed herself a little ironic laugh. That was more than enough to raise Min's spirits, "D'you know, I heard that they're actually using people with...uh, talents like ours nowadays. Dig stuff out of the ground, clear out dead temples and the houses of fucked up old magicians who've departed to higher planes...something like that." The tiefling tried, at least, to float the idea.

"Yeah, but why would they take us?" Shesayne asked sceptically reclining slightly on the pillow she had propped up against the wall so she could turn her vivid blue eyes to contemplate the ceiling.

"No harm in trying." Min said as she made herself more comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the wall at the side of the bed and taking Shesayne's athletically slender legs in her lap, "I never thought I'd see you wear stockings." Min teased, eager to change the subject just for a little while, as she ran her hands curiously down the white silk fabric on the half-elf's thigh.

"I hate, loathe and detest the damn things, but a disguise is a disguise." Shesayne said, relaxing under Min's touch.

"D'you want me to make you feel better?" Min asked softly.

"Hmm...that always sounds like a good proposition," Shesayne replied seductively as Min pounced on top of her, tiefling's burning lips against her own almost before she realised it, "but admit it, the thought of fucking a high-up girl makes you all hot and wet."

"Maybe a little," Min conceded with a barely veiled smile as she felt Shesayne's fingers run loving down the flat, tautly muscular expanse of her belly, "but I don't think any excite me as much you."

"You clever little bitch," Shesayne joked, sliding her hands over the magnificent curve of Min's bottom, "that's exactly the same line you used to get me to let you lick me out in the store-room behind the schoolhouse."

"Well if it ain't broke..." Min said lasciviously as she sank back hungrily onto Shesayne's mouth, her tongue passionate and burning against the half-elf's.

"I can't believe we stuck around that place for so long;" Shesayne said bitterly between kisses, "six fucking semesters to learn nothing."

"Only 'cause your mother insisted." Min replied, shifting slightly to run her tongue down the length of Shesayne's sensitive ear.

"Yeah, and see where that got us...Min and Shesayne, ladies of breeding and education." The half-elf said, reprising her carefully-enunciated affectation of a bourgeois accent.

"Hey, y'know Shesayne," Min began playfully, "it kind of turns me on when you do that..."

"Oh all's good and well, 'cause I know just the thing then." Shesayne said quickly, pressing an finger against Min's lips, "You stay here." The half-elf said as she slid out from under Min and rose to her feet.

Shesayne moved to the centre of the room, directly in front of Min and struck a pose of bemused perplexity, "Oh my oh my, I think I was supposed to take the road to the left, what ever shall I do now?" She said resuming her affected propriety.

Min giggled knowingly; Shesayne was certainly never boring. Springing to her feet, Min moved up behind Shesayne who pretended to ignore her, "Couldn't help but overhear your distress miss," the tiefling started, her tone low and sultry as she whispered into the black-haired half-elf's ear, "could be that you need a tout, someone to guide you 'round."

"Oh, Madam, you frightened me, why your help would be most appreciated." Shesayne's white corset, Min noted, was extremely flattering to the half-elf round breasts which, in reality, where more than adequate in size for her small frame.

"'Course, miss, my services come at a price." Min continued, sliding a hand against the swell of Shesayne's skirt.

"Oh, well, money is no object, you know." Shesayne replied haughtily. Min had to agree that it had been an inspired idea to have Shesayne act as the public front of their thieving activities: the girl was a natural actress, who could easily slide into a variety of roles.

"Honestly, miss, I wasn't thinking of jink..." The tiefling's hand slipped up Shesayne's thigh, fingertips gliding over the silk and under the skirt, up to the juncture between the thighs. Silk undergarments too, Min noted - Shesayne had the act down to a tee; with, of course, the involuntary contribution of the tailor's shop.

"Oh really, how crude!" Shesayne protested; her theatrics were in order, but Min was happy to smile conspiratorially to herself when she sensed the dampness in her friend's undergarment.

"C'mon, miss, it's only a small price to pay." Min's lips were kissing the breath out of Shesayne's as the hand up the half-elf's skirt pressed firmly against the moistened sex through the delectable sensation of the damp silk.

"As you wish...I yield." Shesayne said breathlessly, heat stirring in her loins and between her temples. Min's hands were expert, agile fingers undoing the corset in firm, careful tugs, each successive round of laces coming undone to finally allow Shesayne's marvellous breasts, slightly tan like the rest of the half-elf's smooth skin, to spring forth. Her dark pink nipples, like ripe raspberries for the plucking, were achingly hard, so sensitive to the agonising brushing of the lacy garment against them as it came undone.

Min remained behind Shesayne, her hand still searching teasingly against the fabric of the half-elf's undergarments. Shesayne squirmed in the tiefling's arms, feeling the building tension swamp the wet juncture between her thighs, each movement complicated by the sliding of silk against hot, wanton flesh. Min gently cast the corset aside and began kissing down the curve of Shesayne's neck, her deep-red fingernails brushing with sharp little touches across the half-elf's skin which had seemingly become hyper-sensitive with desire. Trailing her tongue down lower, Min adjusted herself so she could crouch in front of her lover, just low enough take an enticing nipple between her lips, her tongue lapping hungrily against the engorged bud.

The raven-haired half-elf moaned, softly, leaning back against the wall of the cramped room, surrendering herself to Min's familiar touch. Min kissed lower down, brushing her lips against the rounded swell of Shesayne's breasts, before running a trail of hot, wet kisses down the girl's taut abdomen until she reached the frilly, lacy waist of the skirt. Hooking her dextrous hands under the folds of the garment, Min seized the edges of Shesayne's slip and began to pull it down at an agonisingly slow pace.

"Oh, Madam, I think it would be indecent in public like this." Shesayne protested breathlessly, still immersed in her role.

"Don't worry miss, I don't think you'd want to leave it on...y'know, soaked as it is it mightn't be too comfortable." Shesayne gritted her teeth as Min pulled the sodden undergarment down to her ankles so she could step out of it. The half-elf's heart hammered in her chest, the dense, sultry eroticism of Min's movements, gestures and voice was like a sensory assault on her. Min lunged under the skirt, her lush, deep-red lips now pressed against Shesayne's blooming, pink sex, the tiefling's mouth worked with passionate abandon, eagerly lapping at the lust-swollen folds, happily collecting the salty-sweet moisture therein.

Shesayne leaned back and spread her thighs further to give Min the fullest access possible. The tiefling kept her pressed against the wall, hands raised to stroke Shesayne's lean flanks and firm, buoyant breasts, her tongue busy at work coaxing the silky folds of the half-elf's sex open. Shesayne's sharp, high-pitched little cries began to fill the air as Min's hungry, passionate lapping increased in tempo and precision, closing in ever more on the swollen little bud between the hairless lips of her sex. Min knew of no greater pleasure than plunging into the delicately aromatic depths of Shesayne's sex, to nestle her head in the firm, welcoming nook between her lover's thighs; the girl was a beautiful synthesis of the two strands of her ancestry. Delicate, soft and floral like an elf, but with the wiry yet feminine athleticism Min more often found in humans.

Clasping Min's soft, ember-red strands of her in her fingers, Shesayne drew her lover in closer, beginning to thrust her pelvis with burning, passionate determination against the tiefling's invading tongue. She could feel Min deep within her core now, lapping at her innermost folds, lips locked, as if in a passionate kiss, with the folds of her sex. It was almost as if she could sense the tiefling's smouldering eyes, bright like two coals, scrutinising the wet feast before them in the dark, silken recesses of her skirt. Min knew exactly how to tease; how to scrape her fingernail deliciously under the tip of Shesayne's nipple, drawing out a renewed yelp of pleasure and surprise or how use the very tip of her tongue navigate the innermost folds of the half-elf's sex and to graze, ever so gently, against the tiny hard bud which had long since slipped its hood and now stood out stiff, as if begging for attention.

Min was all to keen to take her time and lavish her petite lover with all the attention she deserved as she slowly built up to the final push that would send Shesayne spiralling into her abyss of pleasure. It was, of course, Min's responsibility to remain calm and calculating, Shesayne, however, had already lost herself in the throes of passion. All she knew was the undulating movement of her hips, wantonly presenting her juicing sex to Min's attentions, and the pulsations in her chest and in her loins. As she felt the electric spasms of her climax overtake her, Shesayne realised that her mother was, in all probability, home, but she did not care. She allowed herself each and every sharp, passionate gasp as she felt the waves of her peak wash over her, flooding her belly and spine with hot, tension releasing pleasure.

The tiefling rose, quickly running a hand over her sultry lips to brush away excess moisture, before leaning in to kiss Shesayne and appreciate the last ragged breaths of the half-elf's orgasm, "I always leave the customer satisfied, miss." Min commented sensually as she kissed down her half-elven lover's neck. She wanted to be close to the girl's chest, just to feel the wild, primordial beating of her heart.

"Yeah..." Shesayne replied, lost in the spontaneity of what had, ironically, originally begun as an act, "But it's my turn now. Sit back on the bed, I want to make this extra-special for you." The half-elf ordered passionately.

Min complied, hastily pulling off her top, boots and leggings, her eyes never once leaving Shesayne. She usually preferred taking the lead when making love, but, then again, living with Shesayne she had to be flexible. As the tiefling settled back against the pillow, legs spread to reveal the crimson lips of her sex, already permeated with the nectar of her passion, Shesayne rummaged through a ramshackle drawer of the tiny bedside table and withdrew a dark blue vial.

"Well, well, it looks like sweet little Shesayne always knows what mood I'm in. So, where are you going to go this time?" Min sighed contentedly as she spread her thighs further, absentmindedly running a hand down the graceful swell of her own breasts, relishing the sharp sensation of the contact between fingernails and engorged, deep-flame red nipples.

"I still have to decide, but since it's my choice and my turn, I think I'll just take my time." Shesayne taunted as she poured the clear, oily contents of the vial onto the palm of her left hand and then spread it carefully on her right. Min could only bit her lip in anticipation, the tangy-spicy cinnamon scent of her sex filling the air just as the reddened light passing through the curtains appeared to emphasise the rich, red tinge of her skin.

"You ready?" Shesayne asked softly.

"Never been more ready in my life." Min replied with a wolfish grin as her half-elven lover moved on top her lips locking passionately once again.

Shesayne's lubricated right hand slid down the taller girl's belly, before gently teasing the sparse red curls on the tiefling's sex. The half-elf's movements were slow, sensuous and deliberate, as if she were deliberately decreasing her naturally hyperactive rhythm of life just to savour every single moment of intimacy with Min. Their kissing became more passionate as Min began to undulate her body against Shesayne, feeling the delightful sensation of her nipples brushing against the soft, yielding flesh of her lover's breasts. It was then that Shesayne decided it was time.

The half-elven girl slipped two fingers into the velvety, crimson folds of Min's sex, eliciting a sharp gasp from the tiefling. Silencing Min with a passionate, breathless kiss, Shesayne began to use her fingers to coax the canal into relaxation, gently spreading the sodden, swollen flesh apart. Her penetration was effortless even as she inserted a third finger. The lubricant she had applied had been concocted to maximise the sensitivity of the skin and flesh onto which it was applied, so it was not long before Min, despite all her efforts at dignified restraint, surrendered to low, lusty moans. Shesayne allowed Min to revel in her own passion, her lips now focused on the tiefling's exposed throat.

A fourth finger was added so that Shesayne's hand was bunched up in the steaming, welcoming recesses of Min's sex, her thumb still idly stroking the tiefling's inflamed clitoris. Shesayne allowed Min time to adjust and relax, her kisses between her lover's throat and shoulder becoming almost soothing as she disengaged her thumb from the girl's engorged little bud and gently brought it to join the other fingers in the depths of Min's canal. The tiefling drew a sharp intake of air as Shesayne worked herself in, worming in a half-inch at the time, pausing to allow Min to take enjoy the full pleasure of the penetration.

The ember-haired tiefling bucked her hips slightly, her hungry sex finally swallowing Shesayne's slender, delicate hand to the wrist. Her pleasure was indescribable, it exploded before her like a curtain of white, blinding light and, as she twisted her fingers cruelly into the tiefling's sex, Shesayne knew that Min was caught in an instant of pure, molten pleasure. For her part, Min almost felt as though she were about to choke, each intake of air in her lungs in no way sufficient to fuel the blazing flames of pleasure in her loins. When the pad of Shesayne's thumb found her most sensitive spot hidden deep in her sex and pressed, Min abandoned herself to the sharp, jarringly intense spasms of her climax, her sex clenching savagely around the half-elven girl's hand.

"Fuck! Shesayne..." Min gasped, her words almost inchoate as the great knot of tension in her loins was suddenly released in a stream of ecstatic contractions.

Shesayne eased her hand out of Min's still contracting sex, feeling the velvety walls close around her exiting fingers, "It didn't hurt too much, did it?" The half-elf inquired, concerned for a moment that she may have been too vigorous. Min's lower planar - some would insensitively say demonic - ancestry granted her some added flexibility, but Shesayne was always careful to ensure that particular procedure was always executed as carefully as possible.

"Nah, it never does." Min said almost dreamily, taking Shesayne into her arms.

"Hey, Min..."

"What?"

"Could you help me get out of this skirt and stockings, I look fucking ridiculous."

"Sure...sure." The tiefling replied, smiling as broadly as she would allow herself, as she untied the complex laces of the skirt and carefully peeled down and set aside the silken hose.

"Careful with those, they were sodding hard and a pain to steal."

"So we are going back to thieving?" Min inquired, planting a long, playful lick on Shesayne's big toe.

The half-elf squirmed slightly at the tickling sensation, "No...I mean, I don't know - haven't a clue. We could think about, other options...I mean...." She paused for a moment.

"You mean what?" Min said, leaning forward to draw Shesayne into her arms, sensing the girl's unease.

"I was thinking that...it's no big deal in the end, if you don't want to do it, I can do it for the both of us...really...you wouldn't have to do anything, just look out for me, y'know, select the..."

"I'm sick of this discussion, Shesayne, there's no way I'd do that...I'd fucking kill anyone who put a hand on you like that." Though she knew Shesayne to have a strong character, there was a hint of deep vulnerability in her. Now cradled in the tiefling's arms, she looked strangely small and wounded. That, in itself, was enough to irritate Min - they had fought together throughout childhood and adolescence to try to ensure that life - as they understood it - never overwhelmed them. Sometimes life was difficult, Min reflected, but never desperate - never that desperate.

"So what then?" Shesayne said anxiously, drawing closer to Min for warmth.

"We can go to this place tomorrow. Show 'em what we can do and if they tell us to sod off, we leave - no harm done."

"Min, we know absolutely nothing and nothing at all about magical items, spelunking or whatever. Why in the Nine Hells would they hire us?"

"'Cause we're cheap and eager to learn; we've got the speed and the quick thinking, I'm sure they'll like that." Min reassured.

The door to the bedroom suddenly sprung open, creaking at the hinges.

"Oh, fuck, Alaia, in Sigil we knock!" Shesayne shouted, springing to a kneeling position and seizing a pillow to cover herself. Min remained defiantly naked, it was not the first time Shesayne's mother caught them - far from it, it was almost as if she took pleasure in confirming her daughter's depravity.

"Is that any way to speak to your mother?" Shesayne's mother looked tired. Min always thought of her as rather pretty, in an aloof, elven sort of way and Shesayne quite obviously took a lot after her, but Sigil had apparently sapped much of her will to live, a decline which had worsened markedly over time.

"What do you want?" Shesayne snarled. Min lay back in the bed and decided to let them quarrel, as she always did, there had never been any point in interfering.

"I cannot allow you to stay anymore. You are an utter disgrace and you have brought me nothing but worries. You refuse to study, refuse to work or dedicate yourself to a craft, refuse to find a decent elven..."

"They don't fuck halfbreeds Alaia, get it? But you do, don't you? That's why you're here, still all alone, you'll always be the slut who had to go fuck a human!" Shesayne's eyes were vivid with resentful fury.

"If you knew..." Shesayne's mother began mournfully. It truly pained her to hear her daughter speak in such a manner, not least to her own mother.

"Yeah, you told me a countless thousand of times, and I still don't fucking feel sorry for you."

"Shesayne, easy..." Min interjected, although her policy was one of non-interference, the scene had become one of hysteria as opposed to rightful indignation.

"Look at yourself, my daughter, a tiefling has to tell you to hold your temper. Ethai tuun ahmeily..."

"I don't speak Elven." Shesayne interrupted brusquely, clutching her pillow with hot, angry violence. Min knew that to be a lie, though they seldom talked about it. Shesayne was actually fairly proficient in the language but generally refused to speak or give sign that she understood it.

Shesayne's mother shook her head sadly, her cause was lost, "It pains me, my daughter, but I would like you to leave by next daybreak. I can only hope we meet in happier times." With that, she turned and left.

"How much do we have in the stash?" Shesayne asked after ascertaining that her mother had left.

"Four, maybe five hundred."

"That little?"

"Don't worry, it'll last a while if we go stay at Khaida's, she'll cut us a deal on a room."

"Right," Shesayne said, a little spark of her normal, determinate self resurfacing, "so how do we get to this retrievals place?"

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

Elyszara drew a deep breath as she waited outside the side chapel in the great Temple of the Vigilant Maiden. The class of novices Friyya taught had yet to disperse and time seemed to drag on. Upon reflection, she still had the opportunity to leave, though Cirily would no doubt find out and come up with yet another means of chastisement. Although it was large, sleeping on the divan for three consecutive days could take its toll and no amount of seductive play on Elyszara's part could make Cirily change her mind. If there was one thing the aasimar was good at was firmness of convictions and that included punishment. In reality, Elyszara thought, Cirily would probably make a good mother.

The Temple was cool, its stone and marble structure conveying an elegant, but solid beauty. Although the columns were, in Elyszara's view, a little overwrought, the Temple itself seemed to breathe an effortless, minimalist dignity. Hearing stirrings in the side chapel, Elyszara steeled herself, reclining on the side wall to let the novices walk out. She could have approached this matter more directly, but on second thought, the more responsible side of her - that side which she had very often neglected - told her that she had caused Syf far too much embarrassment already. It would have been inhumane to drag her for a formal meeting - a surreptitious apology to Friyya would be all that was required and that would be the end of the story. Or so Elyszara hoped. In retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea to provoke anyone with good proficiency in the longsword.

A wave of white-clad novices passed Elyszara by, most immediately setting out back to their daily chores, even as one remained to steal a curious glimpse at the aasimar. Elyszara could not help but smile enigmatically in return and the novice, a charming girl in the aasimar's eyes blushed visibly, averting her deep, green eyes.

"Have a good lesson?" Elyszara called, nodding her head in greeting.

"Yes, thank you," Ithunn replied, somewhat perplexed at the strange woman, fascinating, fae-like woman who looked like something she had seen in a storybook, "Friyya always explains things quite clearly. She knows how to communicate with the novices." Although it was only a minor doctrinal lesson on the rules of propriety, Friyya's course was one of Ithunn's favourites, certainly less dense than her other courses. Of course, this assessment was contingent on Ithunn not thinking too hard about how Syf was, and since the recent, infamous incident with Inge, would probably always be Friyya's.

"Sounds great...say, what are you doing after..." Elyszara almost had to bite her tongue to contain herself - force of habit, "sorry, nevermind. Anyway, I must be holding you up. So it was nice meeting you, have a nice day."

"Nice to meet you too, my name is Ithunn and if you want, you can always find me here or near the armoury." The novice replied as she turned to leave; good fencers were normally quite perceptive.

"Elyszara..." The aasimar specified almost out of instinct, she really had to begin to control herself. But, in a sense, it had been inevitable. Ithunn had viscerally, deep down in her subconscious, reminded her of Virginia when she was still a novice and when they had met in Arborea. The happiness of that moment had never quite slipped from Elyszara's mind.

"See you then, Lady Elyszara." Ithunn called out as she made her way down the Temple's nave. She did not quite know whether that was a promise or a platitude.

Deciding to sideline the matter - hopefully once and for all - Elyszara turned and entered the side chapel. Friyya was gathering up a couple of leather-bound books, preparing to leave.

"Uh, milday Friyya..." Elyszara began tentatively.

"What can I do for you?" The paladin interjected, not coldly, but simply matter-of-factly.

"I think I owe you an explanation. What I mean is, there is something I ought to..."

"You need to apologise?" Friyya again interrupted, turning to face the aasimar, "Your lover sent you, didn't she?"

"How do you..."

"She is a good person, she has a conscience and cares very much for individuals besides herself." Friyya replied tersely, standing impatiently in front of Elyszara, her eyes, as blue as a glacial river seemed to sear into the aasimar's.

"I can understand your distress, milady Friyya, but if you would give me the opportunity to speak, I would be grateful." Elyszara said apologetically.

"Go on."

"You and I clearly have different takes on this. But what I do know now, just as I knew it then, was that this would probably cause you and Syf both much pain. So I apologise both for my intemperance and my stupidity. Never for a moment did I intend to replace you in Syf's heart, it was just a silly little dalliance. Of course...that doesn't, uh...excuse me, but please understand that there was no malice." Elyszara, who had never been one for lessons in humility, found herself quite irked at her own grovelling.

"Do you hate yourself?" Friyya asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Do you hate yourself so much that you cannot accept that you are enough to fill another or that another is enough to fill you? When you tell me it was but a dalliance, you are telling me that you view yourself as incapable of making others love you...as if your affection had no lasting effect."

"But why would Syf take one thing to be another?" Elyszara asked, not quite sure where Friyya intended to go with her line of argument.

"Because, you have your good qualities as well. When you want, you can be witty, charming and loving. And you and I both know that you are very beautiful. My point is that you have great gifts and so this situation is a twofold shame because, as far as I'm concerned you cheapened yourself with Syf and, by unfortunate extension, with me."

Elyszara looked down on the stone flagstones of the chapel dejectedly. There was so much she would have wanted to explain to Friyya, but then there were some things she could not even confess to Cirily, though she had suspicion that she knew already without being told, let alone a virtual stranger, "Sometimes," the aasimar began tentatively, trying to translate her troubled thoughts into audible words, "I feel this emptiness in my conscience, so sometimes my selfish, shameless side slips in and I can't control it. It seizes control of me."

"We all hurt." Friyya replied tersely, "But you have been fortunate all your life, you have never wanted for anything, you have a devoted lover and, from what I understand, a very doting mother. You, of all people, the daughter of celestial being should know the importance of dealing fairly and ethically with your emotions."

"Sorry." Was all that Elyszara could conjure up. She just wanted the lecture to end, to sink into the earth and never be seen for a thousand revolutions of Sigil's wheel.

"You have already apologised and I have already accepted your apology, so let us be at peace." Friyya said calmly.

"Understood."

"Elyszara, please, don't misunderstand me. I have no intention of lecturing you. We are all flesh and blood and live with the consequences of our - often foolish - choices. Now come, if you have time, I would like to offer you a cup of tea, you are technically my guest here, after all."

"That would be lovely." Elyszara said, perking up a little in response to Friyya's softening approach.

As they proceeded into the communal dining hall, Friyya decided to be civil and put the incident behind her. So they spoke of nothing in particular - an art in which Elyszara shone. The whole incident had, however, opened up another, more secret and personal, debate in Friyya, something that had been haunting her for quite some time. Every, of course, was inter-connected and no one event was free from the distant causal effects of another. That was one of main theories to explain the vastness and order of the Multiverse and one which still left Friyya perplexed and fascinated. So she tried to remember that time when the sensation had first started.

***********

"This is awful." Friyya moaned. It was only going to be thirty days before their Consecration ceremony and she had, of all things, been assigned with Marséna to undertake a survival exercise on a Prime world. Friyya was certain that the assignment of her partner had been Isobel's doing, the Vice-Commander's sadistic streak when it came to her knew no bounds. Now she was immersed in almost pitch blackness, under the pouring, freezing and almost torrential rain in a world she had never seen in an area she had never even imagined the gods and goddesses could have bothered to create.

"Stop whining," Marséna said tensely - Friyya may have been a pain, but she did have something of a point, "just help me with the tent." The Mareterran girl could not help but notice that she must have gotten the worst possible pick of a world merely because she was partnered with Friyya; Isobel did not care who suffered alongside Friyya, as long as she suffered.

"I can't see the blasted thing, and I can't feel my fingers." Friyya whimpered, groping the in the near darkness, her frozen hands only illuminated by a single, magically levitating mote of light.

"You're useless." Marséna snapped. She was certainly not used to these temperatures and could only wish to once again see the bright, hot sun of her native land, but under the circumstances it was her duty - or so she understood - to stretch her capabilities to the fullest. How they would get through the night was another matter. Although they had been fortunate enough to find a relatively sheltered rock outcropping in the wood into which they had been gated via planar portal, the wind was cutting and lashed the droplets of rain into their faces.

"I hate you," Friyya said desperately, "you have no compassion." Her fingers fumbled once again with the fabric of the tent, letting it slip into the muddy ground.

"You stupid bitch!" Marséna snarled, pushing Friyya aside. If you want something done properly, she thought, always do it yourself.

"How dare you address me that way, peasant, I thought you would have been at home in the mud." Friyya sniped viciously.

Marséna reluctantly swallowed the urge to wring Friyya's neck and ignored her. There was no way the tent was going to find purchase in the muddy ground - it was far too wet and the wind far too insistent. She could not even hear herself think; all she could hear was the howling of the wind, the moaning of the trees and, most distracting of all, Friyya's petulant whining. Marséna decided to give it one last try by planting the central wooden support into a patch of earth she hoped would be more resilient. It wasn't and the wet wood slipped from her hands, sliding down to one side of the outcrop.

"I give up." Marséna said darkly. They would simply have to sit it out; wait till after noontide the next day and hope for a planar gate out.

"What do you mean you give up?" Friyya shouted, almost hysterically, "Do something!" The wind had saturated her long auburn hair and it clung to her pale face in long, kelp-like strands.

"Why me?" Marséna replied defiantly.

"I don't know...you're...good with these things."

"And what exactly, may I ask, are you good with?"

"How did you do in your last exam?" Friyya said snidely.

"Whatever, great...you'll make a wonderful priestess, no doubt, so why don't you stop playing the paladin? You're not a child anymore and this isn't a game of 'let's pretend'."

"What, and give you the satisfaction?"

"Nevermind," Marséna said, keen to interrupt the bickering for a moment, "did you bring any extra supplies, we finished the ones they gave us at lunch."

"No, but I do have two hundred Sigil marks."

Marséna took a long, hard stare at Friyya. It was a look of utter, dumbfounded confusion, "What the fuck for?"

"You should really hold your tongue, it's unbecoming of a lady, let alone a paladin."

"No, really, what for?" Marséna felt the rage she had repressed rising back into her throat.

"Well, my mother always used to say to carry some spare change around, there is no situation you can't buy your way out of, to paraphrase one of her lectures."

"What do you expect us to do with that over here? Look, just wait here like a good little girl while the adults look for something to improvise a shelter from." Marséna had taken quite enough of Friyya's farcical behaviour. She rose to her feet and looked around, her eyes lashed mercilessly by the flailing droplets. She took a few steps forwards, away from the outcropping and towards a particularly dense cluster of trees she had seen in the distance. Her tunic and cloak were utterly soaked, but there was no point in sitting down and resigning herself to her fate.

It was then that she spied something in the corner of her eye.

"Friyya, how many enchanted motes of light did we bring with us?" Marséna called back into the night.

"One, why?" Came the faint reply.

"Get up here, now! Bring our packs." Marséna ordered as she began to approach the gleam she had detected in the darkness. Friyya followed breathlessly close behind, her footsteps heavy and sloshing in the waterlogged mud.

"What...oh....is that...." Friyya began. It must have been a mirage.

"Yes," Marséna said with barely contained satisfaction, "I believe, my sweet Friyya, that to be an inn."

They ran towards the light in almost frantic anticipation, approaching a low, warmly lit wooden structure placed just behind a wall of trees so that it was not immediately visible to those off the trail.

"Do you reckon we can pay with your money?" Marséna asked, concerned that they may have built up their hopes only to see them frustrated.

"Well...gold is gold, right? They can weigh it if they want."

"I never thought you could be so useful." Marséna said with a smile she hoped was veiled by the night.

Slowing down to a more leisurely jog as they approached the large, simply carved wooden entrance to the inn, Marséna and Friyya thought they had found the realm of the Vigilant Maiden herself as they stepped inside. An enchanted fire that gave no smoke burned in a blazing pit at the centre of a moderately busy dining room, lighting the wooden furnishings and hunting ornaments hung on the wall with a dim, fiery glow.

Although neither of the two spoke any of the languages of that particular Prime world, which its natives called Toril, Friyya's eager gesticulation pointing to her coin purse and simulating the motion of one falling to sleep soon got them an appropriately cosy room with a tub of steaming hot water near a pleasantly warm fireplace.

Though the room was spartan, it was well-maintained and beautifully appointed with rich wooden walls and flooring and an overstuffed bed with pristine linen sheets.

"Bed's mine." Friyya called in a airy tone as they entered the room. She undressed almost desperately, stripping off her wet cloak, tunic and boots and thrusting her hands into the steaming water of the pewter tub.

"What?" Marséna protested, all too eager to pull of her own clothes and cast them aside with visceral relief.

"And who, pray tell, is paying for the room?" Friyya taunted.

"You would have me sleep on the floor, you heartless bitch?"

"The bedrolls are still dry, our packs are waterproof if I'm not mistaken. You can curl up next to the fire like the big, dark cat you are while your mistress takes her well deserved rest." Friyya continued with glee as she climbed directly into the bath. The metal tub clearly possessed some sort of minor enchantment to keep the water warm throughout the night.

"Salopa." Marséna growled between gritted teeth as she retrieved the bedroll from her pack and draped a white bathing shawl around her shoulders.

"What was that?" Friyya was, in reality, too absorbed in the comforting warmth of the bath to care too much for whatever Marséna had said. If that was the Mareterran's little satisfaction, so be it.

Taking a seat on the corner of the bed - and ruefully noting its heavenly, buoyant softness - Marséna waited for Friyya to finish bathing. It was bad enough that she was being effectively treated as the auburn-haired novice's scullery maid, but the indignity of having to use the same bathwater as well was almost inconceivable.

"What are you looking at?" Friyya inquired, cocking her head slightly to look at Marséna. The warm glow of the fireplace was flattering on the Mareterran novice's sun-kissed, olive skin, illuminating the wonderful curves of her full, perfectly proportioned breasts, of flared hips that ran directly into firm, athletic thighs.

"Don't flatter yourself." Marséna said dismissively. Friyya, however, even in Marséna's sceptical eyes, had good reason to flatter herself: unblemished skin like milk, a perfect, sculptural frame complemented by the firmness granted by the demanding physical training of a novice paladin, and auburn hair which was like a cascade of autumn-golden apples.

"Oh, flatter myself?" Friyya began, resuming her taunting tone as she splashed some warm water over her perfectly rounded breasts, "You know, I saw you that time with your hands under the sheets and between your thighs...Goddess knows how many times you did it when I was asleep."

Marséna hoped it was dark enough in the room that Friyya could not see her blush, "I don't know what you're talking about." She mumbled hastily.

"You know, sometimes it's tiring to have so many lusting after you. They fail to appreciate my other talents."

"Like what?" Marséna said sarcastically.

"You know...grace, charm, intelligence, good conversation and the rest of it."

"Friyya, I hope you realise that when people at the Order think about you, they are normally see themselves on top of you rather than having an intellectual debate with you."

"Some are just weak minded." Friyya said rising from the tub, the water falling off her pearly skin like rain. Seizing a bathing shawl by the fireplace, she stepped out of the tub and began to dry her shoulders and hair, "You can use the tub if you want." She added, almost as an afterthought.

Marséna swallowed a curse so vile she surprised even herself. Muttering angrily to herself, she tentatively knelt by the side of the bathtub and tested the water. Friyya finished drying herself off and sat by the side of the bed, a contraband portable mirror in hand as she began to clean her teeth with a detergent pick. She settled for nothing less than a perfect, pearlescent smile. In the corner of her eye, though, she spied the harmonious, feminine curves of Marséna's sublime bottom as the Mareterran girl knelt by the tub.

"Why are we always quarrelling, Marséna?" Friyya asked suddenly, still concentrating on her handheld mirror.

"Good question." Came the cool reply as Marséna finally decided to step into the tub for at least a quick soak.

"I mean, who started it? It seems to me that we've worked each other into a vicious circle." Satisfied with her handiwork, Friyya put away the detergent stick and retrieved her hairbrush.

"I think you did when you insisted on bringing up my...emotional response to being away from home the first few nights in the dormitory." Although Friyya had enjoyed it first, the warm water was indisputably relaxing.

"But that was just teasing..."

"And when you claimed that I wet the bed."

"Yes, alright, but each time you sent me to the infirmary during practice...and what about the time you said that Isobel hated me because I slept with her lover?" Friyya replied indignantly.

"Yeah, I may have gone overboard sometimes, but you know I have something of a temper." Marséna said, the bath was putting her in a better mood.

"But it's not just that." Friyya said, her tone more conciliatory, "I also think about those times you were kind to me, despite everything, so kind, in fact, that you made me feel terrible."

"Don't mention it."

"I remember that time, not too long ago when my cycle hurt so much I thought it was going to kill me. It was late at night and you must have seen that I wasn't in my bed, so you found me doubled over in the bathing chamber. I begged you not to tell anyone, because I hated myself then...I didn't want to appear weak, because, you know, that's what they say behind my back - that I am weakling. Then and there, I thought you were going to mock me, but you took me in your arms and brought me to the kitchen and I told you we would get in trouble if they caught us there after curfew. But you didn't care and you made me that tisane of yours to drink...to soothe my womb." Friyya had set aside her mirror to look Marséna straight in the eye.

"I guess even the daughter of peasants can be of use." Marséna said with irony, even though she was smiling.

"You don't think this is cheating, though," Friyya said, suddenly changing the subject, "I mean, staying at an inn when we should be engaged in a survival exercise."

"In my part of the Multiverse we have a saying that if the eye doesn't see, the heart isn't troubled." Marséna preferred to leave the doctrinaire interpretations of the Vigilant Maiden's ethos to Syf and Virginia, she was, first and foremost, a pragmatist and Friyya...well, Friyya was just Friyya, for better and for worse.

"If you want, Marséna, we can share the bed, we shared a room for so long, it really doesn't matter." Friyya conceded, almost despite herself.

"How generous of you." Marséna said wryly.

"No, it's a pleasure. Now come here and let me dry your hair." Friyya invited.

Somewhat surprised at the novice's change in mood, Marséna made herself comfortable by Friyya's side as the auburn-haired girl positioned herself behind and began massaging the Mareterran's scalp and long, coal-black tresses with the bathing shawl.

"You know, Marséna," Friyya said as she admired the iodine-tan hue of her friend's skin, "I was actually flattered, in a sense, that you thought of me in that way...you know, that night when I saw you..."

"Yes, yes," Marséna interjected quickly, "but most of the dormitory must have at one stage or another."

"But it's special that you find me beautiful. Because, and I think I'll only say this once, I admire you...you're like Syf in so many ways." Friyya paused briefly, setting aside the bathing shawl and placing her slender hands on Marséna's shoulders.

"Thanks, I don't think I could ever imagine our little foursome without you anyway."

"Marséna," Friyya began softly, her heartbeat accelerating a notch, "I think I'm about to do something I may regret..."

"Kiss me."

"The romantic thing, for future reference," Friyya said as Marséna tilted her head to one side to greet the auburn-haired novice's sensual, moist lips with her own, "is to wait for me to finish."

Friyya kissed passionately, seeking fulfilment in the sensual, sultry warmth of Marséna's lips. The Mareterran girl was soon upon her, thrusting Friyya down onto the bed and renewing the kiss with burning fervour, exploring the that mouth she had so longed to consume. Friyya's hands instinctively gripped Marséna's bottom, slender, white fingers running down the bronzed curves, gliding over the tight valley between the perfect, feminine buttocks.

"You like it, don't you." Marséna teased between kisses as she ran her hands under Friyya's breasts, feeling their firm softness before grazing the taut, cherry-red peaks of the girl's nipples.

Friyya moaned softly, only to be suffocated once more in the smouldering, lusty embrace of Marséna's full lips, "You're beautiful, all of you is." Were the only words she could let slip as her hands continued to travel aimlessly between the taut musculature of Marséna's thighs and the delicious, inviting swell of her bottom.

"Don't worry, you'll get to know it much better." Marséna said huskily, her kisses trailing down lower. The Mareterran girl ran her tongue up the gentle curve of Friyya's breasts before taking a stiff, achingly hot nipple between her lips and applying a lovingly gentle, sucking pressure. Friyya squirmed, Marséna appeared to her as raw sensuality; tanned skin glowing in the firelight, full breasts swaying with each movement, their cafe-au-lait nipples hard and eager under her fingers. Friyya drew in her breath as Marséna moved down, her long raven-black tresses trailing down, almost tickling the auburn-haired girl's pale skin. By the time Marséna lay poised between her thighs, breath hot on the dark blonde curls atop her sex, Friyya cared for nothing but complete surrender to the expert, playful tongue she knew would soon part the lips of her sex to find the treasures nestled within.

"Marséna..." Friyya sighed, eyes closed, bucking her hips upwards a little to invite the novice's attentions. There was no response. "Marséna?" Friyya looked up to see the Mareterran girl looking down at her with deep, sad, brown eyes.

"I...simply don't know."

"Marséna, what's wrong? We can do it any way you like it," Friyya said, concerned that she may have been too demanding or abrupt, "if you prefer it like this..."

"No." Marséna interjected, grabbing hold of Friyya's shoulder as the auburn-haired girl tried to roll over onto her belly, "I won't be your plaything."

"Marséna, sweetest, please, it's just a peace offering now that we have some time to ourselves."

"You forget Syf and Virg and so it's just as I thought, you will always think of yourself as the axis around which the Multiverse has to spin. You think you can have your fun far from your responsibilities, forget about it and revert naturally back to being a bitch tomorrow morning?" Marséna said softly, dismounting from the bed.

"Oh..." If she had to be perfectly honest with herself, the thought had slipped from her mind for the briefest instant. It was not that she was in love with or even infatuated with Marséna - to be sure, she felt deep affection for her, but her attempts at intimacy had been based on pure curiosity. Upon more rational analysis, that was the problem.

"Nevermind, it would be best if we went to sleep. We started something stupid and now we should just forget about it" With that Marséna unfurled her bedroll on the floor and slipped under its rough covers. It was, she reflected, always better than staying outside. At least they had shelter and the fire was invitingly warm.

"No, it's my fault...but please, don't be silly, come to bed."

"You wanted it, you have it." Came the cold reply. Marséna, too, was somewhat disappointed with herself, but at least she had kept the bulk of her desire in. Friyya had objectively offered her the culmination of her guilty little fantasy, but it would have been something she would have hated herself for, especially when she returned to Virginia. Now her only imperative was to sleep and forget the evening had ever happened.

There was silence in the room for long, almost agonising moments. As the last hours of the night approached, the fire was dimmed from some central source, so that the hearth now framed only glowing embers, whose radiating heat kept the room more than comfortable. Marséna could only stare into their deep redness and try to read rhyme and reason in their glow, in the tiny sparks which occasionally sprung from their surface. She curled into the bedroll, almost defensively, trying to understand whether there was any sense at all in sentiment or desire, or whether they were just cruel contrivances inflicted by divinities to torment mortals.

Suddenly, the bedroll stirred behind Marséna and she felt warmth and breath behind her.

"What are you doing here? I already said no."

"That's not the only thing we can do." Friyya said softly, her voice trembling.

"Go to bed."

"I'm not moving." Friyya said resolutely, draping an arm around Marséna's waist, taking her time to feel the gentle rising and falling of the Mareterran girl's firm belly in rhythm with her breathing. Marséna could only nod wordlessly - very much touched by the gesture - and clutch Friyya's hand in hers.

"I wish...I wish you had done this sooner. I always wanted to be liked by you." Marséna confessed, feeling Friyya's warm, naked body press against her back, the girl's breath soothing on her hair and shoulders.

"You always were." Friyya only hoped that Marséna did not see her tears of regret that she had ruined the evening and missed so many opportunities to show her friend how she really felt.

"You do know that tomorrow, we'll be at each other's throats again, right?" Marséna warned, half-jokingly.

"One step at the time, Marséna, one step at the time."

Sigil Book One, Chapter VIII

Why choices? Why one and not two? Why division? Why pain? Why ecstasy? Why disenchantment? The way of the heart is a way of questions whose answers are not in words. That is, of course, ideally speaking. In reality the mess we so often drive ourselves into should last us ten lifetimes. Everything in life can be romanticised to an absurd degree even if nothing should be. Like birth, life is long, bloody and painful. Most of the times we just do refuse to think about it. Other times, however, some things, no matter how painful, have to come to the light of day and so healing begins.

- The Archivist, your narrator

"Où sont nos amoureuses?

Elles sont au tombeau."

"Shesayne, my sweetest, I have a favour to ask you." Marséna said in her most honeyed voice as she placed soft little kisses on her half-elven lover's neck. It was just daybreak and the paladin's bedchamber was filled with the bluish light of an early Sigil morning.

"What this early...?" Shesayne groaned, stirring under the sheets and clutching the Mareterran paladin closer to her, hungry for warmth and affection, but especially sleep.

"Yes, well it's something of a big favour."

"Hmm...go on then - I'm listening and at your service." The petite half elf clutched Marséna tightly, wrapping her slender legs around the paladin's waist and running long, dextrous fingers through her lover's charcoal-black hair.

"I was thinking of going back home, you know, to Overnha for two days and a night or so. It has been such a long time, after all."

"Great, but how can I help you with that?" Shesayne asked, absentmindedly twirling a corvine lock of Marséna's hair in her fingers. She really could have done with a little more sleep; it was not often that she felt so relaxed, especially now that Friyya and Syf had made up so she had Marséna all to herself.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe you could take Lily around in the meanwhile...you know, you're an expert on every single alley in Sigil. Just show her around, take her out..."

"Isn't that what Virg should be doing and pursuing?"

"Well..." Marséna realised at that point that there was no delicate way to put it, so she said it to the hollow of Shesayne's throat without daring to look her in the eye, "Virginia...sort of had the idea of coming with me...."

"What?" Shesayne snapped, suddenly very much awake, "What, what, what...just a moment, milady knight..."

"Oh, Goddess, I know it sounds terrible, but really, she just apparently had this urge to visit. Don't ask me, because I could never explain it, but she was very insistent that we go together." Marséna said desperately.

"Do you know how this sounds to me? Suspicious doesn't even begin to describe or explain it, more like plotting and conspiracy and backstabbing to me."

"Shesayne, sweetest..."

"Sweetest nothing, get off me this instant!"

"Come on, my treasure, please...hear me out." Marséna implored, holding the half-elf tight to her despite the objections.

"Fine, fine, fine." Shesayne conceded, calming herself a little. She had been caught somewhat unaware by the proposition. But it was, after all, unsurprising. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Virginia and Marséna sought to rekindle their friendship - and perhaps more - it would only have been counter-productive to object much more. Shesayne had to admit, not for the first time in her life, that her fate was entirely out of her own hands.

"It's just a silly little visit," Marséna began cautiously, "and it would give you the opportunity to...well, bond with Lily. You are working together, now, aren't you?"

"Yes, I s'pose, but...you have to understand that I'll spend all my time imagining, visualising and thinking about you and Virg getting all hot, wet and intimate while poor little me waits for you in Sigil like an abandoned child."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Marséna said jokingly, "and since when are you so jealous?"

"It's not that I'm jealous, I just don't like things happening behind my back."

"So I promise," Marséna said, shifting her gaze so she could look Shesayne straight in the vivid blue of her eyes, "that there's nothing to worry about." She was, however, unsure. Her desire for Virginia had lingered like a lambent flame deep within her, occasionally rekindled and sometimes muted by other concerns, but never extinguished. She had always loved and thought that she would never cease to love Virginia on every possible level: a friend, a sister and a lover and more besides.

'"I give up Marséna - I pack up and surrender." Shesayne replied, her tone resigned, "Do whatever you need to do and come back to me if you still want me. I think I'll be here. Provided you don't find a spider shaped knife in my back."

"No, Shesayne...kitten, it's not that." Marséna struggled desperately, knowing full well that the damage had been done. Of course, that was what damage limitation exercises were for.

"Stop the pet names, they're ridiculous coming from you." The half-elf tone was sharper than Marséna had heard it in a long while.

"Don't hurt me like this, please."

The half-elf relented, after all, it was not entirely the paladin's fault, "Marséna, I know I cannot be Virginia to you. I always knew this, but I tried and did my best to pretend it wasn't the case, so we could at least try to be happy. But now I'm not bitter or angry at you, sometimes fate, life and the ways of the Multiverse flow that way and we've got no choice but to follow. I'll take care of Lily, but I want you to take of yourself and Virg, so when you come back you can tell me what you want to do. But get this, Marséna, make it a point in your mind and never let it go, whatever you choose to do, I'll be fine with it; if you want to come back to me, half of any bed I sleep in will always be yours - or Min's, but that's another story." Shesayne smiled wanly, if only to tell Marséna that there were no ill feelings, just quiet resignation.

"Do you love me?" Marséna asked, perhaps unnecessarily. Her deep, brown eyes betrayed both her confusion and sadness and Shesayne, ever perceptive, realised the point of the question even as it was being asked.

"Of course and without a doubt," Shesayne said eagerly, sitting up to kiss Marséna's sensual lips, "but I'm prepared to accept and live with the fact that there others who love you as much, even more. But that's for you to judge."

"Thanks..., sometimes I think you're too kind, too understanding."

"No, it's just me and the way I am. What I think is really strange, though, is how you once told me we you were a jealous person. Sometimes, and I guess it's normal, you expect things from others that you would never put up with yourself."

Marséna objectively felt terrible. Shesayne was absolutely right, there was at least an element of profound selfishness in the proposal she had just inflicted on her lover. Deep down, however, the Mareterran girl had never truly understood Shesayne; all she saw was a carefree, eccentric and temperamental mask. The real Shesayne, the real heart that beat in her chest, the real soul that filled her veins, those things were secret, locked away in a box to which only Min, in all probability, had the key. In their brief time as a couple, they had laughed, quarrelled and made love with equal frequency, but each time Marséna felt no closer to Shesayne's true self.

"I'm sorry, Shesayne, I'm being selfish." Marséna confessed.

"No, no, no. Don't let it trouble you or weigh on your mind, if I were you, I'd do the same thing. We all need to decide sometime, better now than let this drag on forever, right?" Shesayne was smiling again; had she reached an epiphany, a final understanding of the nature of things to come? Marséna did not know, she could only imagine the world which had just opened up; a world where, perhaps, her weary soul could finally find its twin.

"Sometimes I don't know how to thank you..." Marséna said, almost reverently as she kissed Shesayne again, grateful to feel the slender half-elf's soft, naked body beneath her.

"Well, you can take me out for breakfast, I had a craving for rose-water jelly." Shesayne answered playfully.

"Hmm, you naughty girl, you know I'm not supposed to leave the Temple at this hour."

"I don't think we ever let that stop us."

"Well, get moving and get dressed, if that's the right word." Marséna commented snidely, referring to Shesayne's questionable wardrobe sense. The paladin was convinced that the outfit Shesayne had casually cast on the room's single, wooden chair the previous evening could have fit into a coin purse.

"Oh how amusing, witty and funny," Shesayne said with gentle sarcasm, rising to a sitting position on the bed as she gave Marséna a passionate, deep kiss, "by the way, how do you think Lily will take the news?"

***********

"So?" Lily said nonchalantly. The dark elf shifted slightly under the sheets, the tips of her toes gently teasing Virginia's calf.

"Look, I must confess I know nothing about drow culture," Virginia said, somewhat surprised as Lily snuggled closer against her breasts, the drow's breath warm on her pale skin, "but I introduced the subject with a little...well, tact because I imagined you might be jealous."

"Of what?"

"Well, some might say that I could be planning to be intimate with Marséna behind your back." Virginia said, not without embarrassment.

Lily shifted again as she pulled the bed sheets tightly over herself - she still had to get used to the cold nightfalls and cool daybreaks of Sigil - and gently nuzzled the valley between Virginia's breasts, her thick, silvery-white hair spilling freely over the paladin's chest and abdomen, "So?"

"Does that not trouble you?" Virginia inquired, decidedly perplexed and somewhat unnerved by Lily's utter lack of concern - if anything, the dark elf was more affectionate than ever.

"Why should it? You are priestess - are you not - and one of some rank. It is only natural that you have many clients who seek to use your status or favour. As long as I remain your favourite, though, I have no objection."

Virginia was, to put it mildly, taken aback. She did not know whether to be grateful or frightened, "So having numerous lovers is natural in your society?"

"In truth, it depends," Lily explained, running her hands down Virginia's taut, muscular flanks, down to the gentle swell of her athletic bottom, "a male found servicing another besides his Matron would certainly be killed, unless, of course, it were another male. But that is our way, males have neither subtlety nor discrimination, so they must be kept in line. We females, though, have the wisdom to choose those whom we know will guarantee our advancement or our survival - however, there are some Matron-Mothers and High Priestesses I have heard of, to whom it would be wise to devote yourself entirely - male or female." The dark elf's lilting accent and occasionally oddly formal register always struck Virginia, but it was a wonder she had managed to become so proficient in Sigil's lingua franca in such a brief space of time.

"I understand. But Lily, I must ask you, is that the way you see me, as one who can guarantee your status?" Virginia said, somewhat concerned that her feelings, as confused and budding as they were, may not be reciprocated.

"Of course."

Virginia sighed melancholically to herself, "I simply do not know what to say to that."

Sensing the blonde paladin's distress, Lily sought to better convey the sentiment, "Remember the first night we coupled? You said I was yours and that, for us, is a very powerful statement. I was very proud."

"But what of feeling, what of emotion?"

"What do you mean?" Lily challenged.

Virginia would have once been uncomfortable having such a frank and difficult conversation with Lily, but the narrowly-averted crisis between Friyya and Syf had taught her the value of a degree of emotional honesty, "What I mean is that when I wake up in the morning, I feel joy because you are at my side. When I return from my duties, it is a relief to bathe with you, to caress you and make love to you."

"As it is to me, but we drow are more pragmatic. When a child is born, it needs its mother, when a child ventures out, it needs its allies, or it will be beaten by its playmates, when an Initiate joins the college of the Temple, she must find a priestess to be her lover and protector, or her jealous rivals will bring about her downfall. These are all powerful relationships where deep attachments are formed, but they are relationships of need and dependence. We know them for what they are and not what we hope them to be. That is the problem with you beings of the surface, you create sentimental images of life, but refuse to stare it straight in the face."

Virginia smiled wryly to herself. She learned something new from Lily virtually every day. Stroking the silky, soft white mane of her lover's hair, Virginia drew the dark elf close to her and exhaled softly as she felt Lily's violet lips gently begin to kiss a soft, wet trail up the pale mound of one of her breasts, "In a sense, Lily, I suppose you have a point, but do you not like me for who I am?"

"Of course I do," Lily snorted, almost as if Virginia's proposition were ridiculous, "how could I, a daughter of the Spider Goddess, give myself to a woman I did not hold in the highest esteem? I would never insult my dignity as a drow by falling to such a level."

Virginia gasped sharply as she felt Lily's lips wrap around the stiff nipple at the peak of the breast which had been enjoying the dark elf's attention.

"Lily, I have to tend to my duties soon." She warned, eyes already half closed in pleasure as the drow's skilful, malicious little tongue began to flick the engorged bud beneath it with firm, wet pressure.

"Spoken like a true priestess, I am honoured to grant you my favours." Lily said approvingly. In her culture, dedication to one's religious vocation was paramount and Virginia's commitment struck the dark elf as commendable.

"I promise I will make it up to you." Virginia consoled, cupping Lily's chin, "But today I really need to show myself on top form, Isobel said that she will announce who our squad leader will by next daybreak. If there is anything to do to sway her opinion, it best be done today."

"If you were to be chosen, I would lavish such rewards on you that you will regret not having been born drow." Lily said seductively, her voice tinged with a deep undercurrent of passion. Little excited her like the prospect of power or advancement. So she kissed Virginia passionately, her tongue indomitable against the paladin's lips and into her mouth.

"I don't need to be born drow, I already have you." Virginia said softly as Lily broke the kiss for breath.

"But I am your favourite, am I not?"

"Of course." Virginia said, hungrily meeting Lily's violet lips again with her own, the drow's eyes, almost purple from Virginia's perspective, appeared to shimmer in anticipation.

"If there is but one request I can make, Virginia," Lily said, sliding one delicate, stealthy hand under the sheet to cup the blonde paladin's sex, "is that you consider ridding yourself of surplus, ah..., what is the word..."

Virginia squirmed slightly under the hand pressed against her warm sex, Lily's fingers were always brought with them a deep charge of erotic tension - as if they could lunge deep into her at any moment and plumb the rich, velvety depths of her sex at a whim, "You mean shave?" The blonde paladin had always been reluctant to entertain that request, despite Lily's protestations that the blonde curls atop her sex were chafing when they coupled. It seemed unnecessary; when the skin was potentially in evidence, as it was under the arms or on the legs, then it was only right and proper to maintain the highest standard of purity, but to shave one's sex seemed contrived, perverse even.

"Yes, I think it would make our coupling more enjoyable and be far more elegant." Lily suggested, running her fingers with bemused curiosity over the outer lips of Virginia's sex. Personally, she had always found the idea of body hair of any description utterly repellent, though she had made an exception for Virginia on the grounds that surface dwellers were, after all, barbarians or, at the very best, beings of lesser aesthetic taste - she imagined that there was far worse still and that the blonde paladin represented the upper end of the spectrum.

"Only if you are an el-, uh drow." Virginia said, quickly correcting herself, "Then it comes naturally, but then I would have to...ah, scrape it off with a razor and I think you know that even we humans are a little sensitive there."

"You could aid yourself with a minor incantation." Lily suggested.

"Well, that would be a fairly trivial reason to use one. But if you insist, I could give it a try."

"I insist." Lily said, lightly biting Virginia's bottom lip and gently grazing two fingertips into the wet crevasse of the paladin's sex, gathering up the nectar in an achingly slow, sweeping motion.

"Well, then it's settled." Virginia sighed, revelling in the exquisite friction of the contact of Lily's fingers with her sex.

"I hope no-one will vex me while you are gone." The dark elf maliciously lifted the moistened fingers from Virginia's sex and brought them to her lips, lapping the moisture off in long, sensual licks.

"No, I have arranged for Shesayne to show you around Sigil a little, just so you can get your bearings." The blonde paladin felt increasingly inclined to spend the day in bed ravishing Lily as if there were no tomorrow; the dark elf was almost unbearably seductive.

"Shesayne; the halfbreed you mean." Lily said contemptuously.

"Be nice. I'm sure you will both enjoy the time together, you are settling in with her at work, right?"

"Yes, I suppose it could be bearable."

"Buy yourself something nice to wear too, you are still a little short on clothes," Virginia said, before adding a salacious smile, "but you did look incredibly arousing that night at Elyszara's party."

"As I said, we drow have unique artistic sense." Lily said, leaning closer to Virginia as the paladin's hands ran down the full swell of her breasts; she could never have imagined that an elf could have such magnificently bountiful yet harmonious curves.

"That's reassuring, but now, I really must dress, do you want me to become squad leader or not?" The paladin teased.

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

"Shesayne? Am I disturbing you?" Aerylle asked softly as she peered into the common/locker room the half-elf shared with Min and Lily at the retrievals agency. Shesayne was curled up on the divan, trying to regain some sleep after her early awakening by Marséna and was trying compress as much rest as possible into her lunch break.

"No..." The half-elf lied, as she stirred groggily on the battered old divan, absentmindedly adjusting the dragon-turtle comb she used to keep her midnight-black hair in order. Although the room was tiny, little more than a cubicle, it at least offered a semblance of silence.

"May I come in?" The elven librarian had taken a couple of hours off just to attend to this matter, for Shesayne's predicament had been haunting her ever since Min hinted at their shared past the previous day at Elyszara's.

"Yeah, sure, sure, dear Aerylle," the half-elf made an effort to rouse herself as she sat up on the divan, "come here, take a seat, make yourself at home and comfortable."

Aerylle complied, carefully predisposing the folds of her plain, long librarian's tunic before sitting down so they did not crease before sitting down at Shesayne's side, "I apologise if I woke you up."

"No need to worry, Marséna's lucky I'm not Min or she'd have her throat cut by now, I'm not the type to get violent, angry and irritated when I'm woken up...so what can I help you with, or, if you're just lonely, I'm alone here too so if you want to talk, that's fine as well."

"Slower." Aerylle chided gently, Shesayne's hyperactivity did not quite fit the tone she wanted to set for their conversation.

"Oh, but you understand me fully and a hundred percent, right?" Shesayne said cocking her head curiously to one side, Aerylle seemed somewhat troubled.

"Of course, dear."

"Good, sometimes I get frustrated when people don't understand me, y'know, what I'm really saying and not just what they think I'm saying. But if Min likes you, I know I can trust you to understand me." Shesayne said enthusiastically - she did genuinely believe that Min was an excellent judge of character, the tiefling had always possessed the right, cynical counterpoint to her own boundless optimism.

"Recently there has been something on my mind," Aerylle began, "Min told me a little of your time together, when you still lived with your mother."

"Hmm, yes?" Shesayne said, stretching back onto a side arm of the divan and extending her lightly tanned, slender legs over Aerylle's lap, "You don't mind, do you, 'cause if you do, I won't be offended."

"Of course I don't mind." Aerylle reassured. As if to emphasise her statement, she began to lightly stroke the half-elven girl's exposed thigh with the softest brushes of her fingertips.

Shesayne reclined further back, surrendering herself to the soothing, comforting sensation of Aerylle's touch, "Feels nice...so what was it you wanted to know, the thieving, the setups, life on the cold, hard streets of Sigil?"

Aerylle steeled herself. There was no point in being excessively elusive. Indeed, she felt she could be honest with Shesayne; the half-elf seemed to be secure enough and certainly not too sensitive about the issue anymore. Nevertheless, caution dictated that the elven librarian proceed with tact lest she touch any raw nerves, "I thought I needed to speak about your mother, Shesayne."

"Oh?"

"Min told me she caused you much suffering and for this, I feel in part responsible. Her people are my people and I wanted to say that whatever her opinion was of you, it does not reflect the opinion of our race as a whole. I, for one, admire you greatly and am ashamed that one of my fellow elves could have treated you in such a way."

Shesayne smiled wryly to herself, "It's all to easy, easy for you to say that. Don't worry, I know you're trying to be nice, but you are nice, so you don't have to make the extra effort. Truth is, that's one way to look at it, the way you've just described it, I mean, to say it was all my mother's fault and that's the end. The part that really fucking got to me, Aerylle, is that every single elf I met before meeting you treated me like something less worthy, less beautiful, less elven. So, y'know, when you're a child it all goes as it does and it's just like being teased, But when you start growing up a little, those words just get harder and then they just form this barrier, this wall between you and everyone else you thought was like you."

"I am sorry, I should not have made such a sweeping statement." Aerylle reflected that Shesayne must have lived a double uprooting, the first, like many other elves in Sigil, for whatever reason, from her ancestral homeland, from the woods, mountains and streams their culture held dear; the second, from her own people. There had been, to her knowledge, no half-elves in Imej, her home city, but the plight of such individuals was known, but treated with almost mythological distance, like the human myth of changeling children.

"Nah, you're right too, it was my mother's fault in the first place, she shouldn't have fucked a human, end of story. Come to think of it, she shouldn't have treated me like any other elven daughter to start off with; bring me up in Sigil in a neighbourhood where everyone thinks you're a whore 'cause your mother's a whore for having been around humans and expect me to be a perfect little elven maiden? She really does live on another world."

"Are you certain you are comfortable telling me this?"

"Yeah, 'course. As I said, I know you understand me. But don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I was starving or dying at the side of the road or anything. My mother made, and as far as I know still makes embroidered fabrics in the Moon Elf style of her home-world. Not many people like that left in the Multiverse, so she always made just enough jink. I never really went hungry and we got our own home - two rooms and a tiny kitchen with a charcoal stove. But it was sad and lonely and depressing until I found Min and we've never been apart since."

Aerylle was pleased that Shesayne had seen fit to confide in her. It was rare for the half-elven girl to reveal more than incidental facets of her true self. Upon reflection, though, this was not necessarily her true self so much as a narrative of a past which was much part of Shesayne as it was part of Min. Aerylle knew that if she wanted to know Min better, to understand the root of the complex (or was it painfully simple?) relationship the tiefling had with Shesayne, then she would need to start from some sort of historical foundation. No doubt, that was her librarian's mind speaking to her, but it was, the elven woman concluded, comforting to note that her professional training had at least some relevance to real life as opposed to the vicarious life provided by books.

"And what of Min?" Aerylle finally asked.

"Dunno how to answer that one. It's a bit like asking 'what about Shesayne'; we just became a part of each other...it drove my mother crazy, mad and hysterical because she always used to catch us kissing on the stairs in front of our apartment and she was still all worried about what everyone else would think that her daughter was sleeping with a tiefling. She never sodding realised that it was the Hive and that it was Sigil."

"So what happened?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Why are you and Min not a couple?"

Shesayne paused, her eyes raised contemplatively to the ceiling as she crossed her arms over her chest, "We never were the way you understand it, I guess. Min was always lucky with the girls and I never minded, not for one instant, 'cause out of all of them, I was the only one she never grew bored of fucking...and every time, every single nightfall, she'd come back to bed with me. Even it was near daybreak and I was already half-awake, she'd come back from her latest fling and get under the covers and hold me in a way I knew she never held anyone else...but don't you dare tell her I told you that last part."

Aerylle swallowed, this news of Min's philandering did not bode well, "And now?" She asked faintly.

"Now...ah, now, now Aerylle, now you should stop worrying. She knows what you think, so she hasn't had anyone else since she met you, I swear, not even me. I guess she's found something in you that makes her stick. Lucky you should have found it, there are dozens, maybe scores of girls in Sigil who'd kill for that same thing. And in case you're wondering, 'cause you're too polite to ask, but deep down I know you're thinking about it, I don't think you've taken Min away from me. If anything's the case, you're going to become part of me and I think that's wonderful." Shesayne was sincere, she had gained such utter confidence in her relationship with Min that she knew she could not demand for it to be exclusive. She was certain - and it was one of the few certitudes the half-elf had - that nothing in the Multiverse could drive a wedge between Min and her.

"I must confess that I appreciate what you just said very much." Aerylle said, still somewhat surprised that Shesayne should feel no ill will towards her despite her treatment at the hands of full-blooded elves.

"Oh...well, it's just the truth and that's free between you and me, so don't worry about it. But don't think that's a invitation for some sort of three-ways thing with Min and me, 'cause it isn't, unless, of course, you want to, and that's alright too, if you're into that..."

"No, I think everything is fine and improving daily as it stands." Aerylle said quickly, hoping not to give out the wrong impression, "I must thank you, Shesayne, for having been so honest with me and I look forward to knowing you better."

"Look forward? Where's the fun in that? No time like the present, so what do you say you buy me lunch and we talk some more?" Shesayne suggested enthusiastically pouncing with almost blinding speed to a sitting position and straddling Aerylle's lap, hands on the elven librarian's shoulders.

"That could be arranged..." Aerylle's voice trailed off as she was presented with the full view of Shesayne's pert breasts, barely concealed under a dragon-red bandeau, the peaks of the half-elf's nipples were evident through the thin fabric.

"C'mon, Aerylle, more life!" Shesayne enjoined as she swayed her hips - covered only by the most succinct skin-tight stretch of crimson fabric - in the elven woman's lap, moving in synchronism with a soundless rhythm.

Aerylle swallowed softly, both nervous and embarrassed. It was quite normal for elven women in her culture to exhibit physical displays of affection - in private, of course -, but Shesayne was a tad direct for her standards, "Sorry, I am not quite certain what to..."

"Oh you'll figure it all out and learn it in time," Shesayne said, her impish was wickedly suggestive, "So, what are we waiting for? I'm starving." The half-elf dismounted with lightning-like poise so that even Aerylle was impressed with the speed of her movements.

"So where to," Aerylle said and paused, more familiar words sliding with relief from her lips, "Elah ai li?"

Shesayne's impish grin turned softly ironic, as she unexpectedly took Aerylle's hand into her own, "Y'know, it's funny, I want to speak Elven for the first time in ages, in so long I can't remember, but I can't understand you."

"Apologies, I should have remembered, your mother was Moon Elf," as a librarian and a stickler for precision, she was decidedly irritated that she had let that detail slip, but then something else entirely dawned on her, "Shesayne...that would be the name your mother gave you, right?"

"Who else? The rest is a long story of woe and drama with yours truly as the heroine and I'll tell you all about it over lunch."

"In our language, your name would be Sehaine, after the Mother Goddess."

Shesayne paused and looked directly into Aerylle's eyes with a sort of curious intensity, "You're the first person besides my mother to tell me that."

"All elven languages have the same distant root. You bear an important name, and carry it well."

Shesayne nodded, more moved than she dared to make evident, "Can I ask you something, Aerylle, I mean something that's kind of strange, but really important to me?"

"Of course, dear."

"D'you, as an elf I mean, think I'm pretty?" Shesayne almost blurted the words out; she had never remembered blushing so evidently in her life.

"I think you are as lovely as a flower in Hanali's garden." Aerylle said, alluding to the elven goddess of love and beauty.

"Honest?" Shesayne said excitedly, squeezing Aerylle's hand.

"You have my word." That much was true, Shesayne may have been a little forward in terms of dress, but she was striking, with an impeccable, wirily energetic figure. Naturally, there was also a deeper point to the half-elf question and one which Aerylle had deduced immediately. Shesayne had spent her life being looked down upon by other elves, unloved and criticised because her breasts were slightly larger or her skin but a shade darker. Aerylle knew that the sad truth was that her aesthetic appreciation of Shesayne was hers and hers alone. There were countless less open minded elves she knew - who would never leave the golden-spired city of Imej anyway - whose assessments of Shesayne would have been far more damning even that those of the half-elf's childhood tormentors.

"That's wonderfully fantastic to hear!" Shesayne said hyperbolically after a few moments silence, she had already known Aerylle to be sincere even before asking for confirmation, "Now let's hurry before the queues build up...say, did I ever tell you 'bout the time Min was just about to fuck a succubus and I had to step in to save her?"

"There is the term 'make love', you know." Aerylle reprimanded gently as they moved out into the chaotic, bustling streets of Sigil.

"Yeah, but in this case, I promise and guarantee you that 'fuck' is the right word."

Aerylle sighed, albeit happily, to herself: lunch would not doubt be very interesting indeed.

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

"Welcome home, Isolde." Lirai said amiably, "Would you like me to melt a glucose tablet for you?" The light-blue skinned air genasi - descendant of the union between a sylph and a mortal - had just finished folding the most recent batch of Isolde's laundry. Since Isolde insisted that every change of clothes had to be washed after a single day's usage, Lirai had taken the time and effort to learn specialised enchantments from the library specifically to attend to the human's needs.

"Yes, I feel faint. Shuffling back to Dassau every three strikes of the Bell Tower is a chore, to put it mildly, especially when I have more important business to deal with." Isolde said dispassionately. She removed her boots and Civic Security bureau uniform and folded them with punctilious precision into the washing basket. The room was hers, though Lirai often came earlier to do some of the cleaning and the laundry. Isolde may not have been overly fond of her work at Civic Security, but Dassau often kept her for - unpaid - hours of overtime, often to discuss his newest oenological discoveries.

"I shall just be a moment, then, you can go wash in the meanwhile." Lirai invited, knowing better than to expect an emotional response from Isolde. The genasi flicked back a strand of her deep sky-blue hair from her face to better concentrate on itemising the laundry. Isolde may have been a little excessive in some respects, but Lirai was herself meticulous in the extreme, something which lent itself well to library work. Aside from Aerylle and Isolde she had no significant friends, only a few acquaintances and endless mounds of books in the library - those were her most numerous and perhaps most loyal companions.

"Prepare a saline with one-thousandth a part of antiseptic while you are at it." Isolde ordered as she withdrew into the tiny bathing cubicle behind a wooden screen and tested the water in the sterilising tub for temperature. Almost self-consciously, she sneaked a glance of herself in the small mirror hanging by the side wall of the cubicle. Isolde did not suppose herself to be unattractive, as such things went: a harmoniously thin frame, small, pert breasts (who would want them any larger, she thought), and wheat-blonde, hair cut above the shoulder, so homogenous in its colouration that it looked like something out of a stylised painting. What Isolde never realised was the hunger in her azure-eyed gaze; not just the physical hunger of rarely, if ever, consuming solid food, but a burning, inward resentment towards virtually every sentient being in Sigil.

Lirai appeared behind the cubicle with the saline solution, as ordered. The genasi was something of a relief to Isolde's weary mind, even though she wore an unnecessarily extravagant dark blue evening robe, like the sky at twilight. But then again, to Isolde, colour in itself was extravagant.

"Would you like me to help you with the saline?" Lirai inquired solicitously.

"No, I will attend to it by myself, pass the sponge." Isolde ordered. Lirai complied and the human woman soaked the light-brown sponge thoroughly in the proffered basin of saline solution before stepping into the antiseptic tub and beginning to scrub her sex in a fastidious, almost irritated motion. It was imperative that she clean every single, last imaginable trace of blood and residual tissue. The very thought of even a particle clinging to her was utterly revolting.

Lirai watched intently, leaning her soft, slender frame against the wooden screen of the cubicle. Isolde continued her work wordlessly.

"So, how is this special task of yours proceeding?" Lirai inquired.

"Although I am not at liberty to disclose the full details, suffice it to say that I am investigating an organisation I suspect of being responsible for the illegal movement of a drow, vulgarly known as dark elf, into Sigil with a subversive objective."

"I thought Sigil had an open immigration policy."

"It does, but not to seditious, rebellious or criminal ends." The city, Isolde thought, was filled with such garbage that she sympathised with revolutionary movements who wished to cleanse it with fire, as the Anarchists did, or by divine light, as some of the more demagogic religious factions maintained. The first head to roll, of course, insofar as Isolde was concerned, after Virginia's, was Dassau's. Her Director's vile, black-and-tan, long-muzzled, pointed eared, canine head lifeless on the floor; that was her dream.

"And you are certain that this organisations of yours is seditious?"

"It could be interpreted as such." Isolde said as she began to rinse her hair with a separate, antiseptic shampoo - most of her modest salary went into detergent products, but it was worth it. To live in filth was to not live at all.

"So why do you? I mean, interpret it as criminal? Does Dassau perhaps have grudge, do you?"

"Why the questions." Isolde asked dryly.

"I would like it if you felt free to speak more openly of your work."

"I think I have spoken more to you than to any other living being." With the unfortunate exception, Isolde surmised, of Dassau, but even she, in her general indifference to the emotions of others, felt that such a comment would have been out of place in Lirai's presence.

"So make me understand your reasons."

"Mine are the reasons of the Civic Security department. We both seek to rectify wrongs inflicted on others."

"You mean a wrong inflicted on you?" Lirai probed.

Isolde scowled, she was not accustomed to such invasive, or prolonged, conversation with Lirai, "Also." She said succinctly.

"When?"

"In a time I do not care to discuss, neither with you nor with anyone else." Isolde snapped as she fastidiously scrubbed under her nails with a fine-bristled brush.

"I apologise." Lirai said softly, lowering her gaze.

"Just refrain from mentioning it."

"Anyway, I thought your duties as a secretary were mainly clerical in nature." Lirai commented, swiftly changing the subject. Isolde frightened many; she had this menacing, almost emotionless presence which generated immediate unease wherever she passed. The air genasi was, however, convinced that Isolde had her better side - granted, she did not show it often, but she felt something bordering on genuine affection for her nonetheless.

"Yes, but the old dog has seen fit to employ me in one of his rambling plots. I sometimes wonder why he claims he is a reformed demon. There is very little indeed which seems reformed about him. Dry me off." Isolde said, rising from the bath, the water dripping off her pristine, utterly unblemished and meticulously clean white skin. Lirai noted with concern that she looked too thin to be healthy.

"You ought to eat something, Isolde, it need not be much, but please, have a little..."

"No, perhaps tomorrow." Isolde interrupted as Lirai sighed in resignation and began to dry the human's shoulders and neck off with a newly washed and ironed bathing shawl.

Lirai's touch was comforting to Isolde; it was gentle, almost like a spring breeze and reassuringly feminine, complemented by the genasi girl's naturally soft, flowery scent. It was so far from the vile odour of alcohol, dust, paper, ink and leather in Dassau's study as to feel like another world. Isolde, for once, allowed herself to relax as the cloth of the shawl travelled lower to clean off her flat, almost concave, abdomen and the virtually imperceptible swell of her hips.

"Have you cleaned yourself yet?" Isolde asked suddenly.

Lirai nodded enthusiastically as she finished her work with loving dedication, "I prepared everything as you like it...for when you are ready."

"Good." Isolde said curtly, walking naked into the bedroom, which, aside from a tiny kitchen corner was the only room of her lodgings and quickly consuming her glass of dissolved glucose. It tasted vile - everything did except for the vaguely chemical flavour of her tooth-cleaning powder, which she relished, "I am ready."

Lirai took the cue and pulled off her blue evening gown and folded it with obsessive precision before placing it on a stool by the side of the bed. The lights of Sigil by nightfall were brilliant through the small, but immaculately transparent window by the side of the bed. The genasi's form pleased Isolde inasmuch as anything could please the secretary; the curves were soft, but suitably slim and linear to betray a good part of the girl's sylph heritage, the skin was tinged with a faint blue, but her shoulder length hair and indigo eyes gave immediate indication of her elemental affiliation.

"Would you have me kneeling or take me face to face?" Lirai inquired, only the slightest hint of desire creeping into her voice.

"Kneel and prop yourself up with some pillows." Isolde replied coolly as she observed Lirai comply. The air genasi carefully stacked two pillows and lay forward against them so they supported her abdomen, presenting her bottom and sex to Isolde. She then spread her thighs slightly in invitation, her hard, deep blue nipples already pressing achingly into the starchy fabric of the sheets.

"I have already prepared myself for your touch, please take me." Lirai said, her voice cloyed by the intense arousal of her submission to the human girl's whim.

Isolde wordlessly climbed onto the bed behind Lirai and traced the curve of the girl's bottom, the soft, pliable skin of her slender thigh, before running back into the warm valley of her bottom; she noted with pleasure that the genasi had already thoroughly lubricated herself there. Lirai could not help but squirm slightly, all she could see were the white sheets beneath her eyes and feel the unpredictable touch of Isolde's firm, precise fingers as they began to slide provocatively between the light, dawn-purple lips of her sex. Isolde increased her tempo, her fingers sliding against the genasi's velvety inner lips in slow, hard thrusts, before suddenly arching upwards to penetrate the depths of her sex with three digits, held rigid and firm so that they forced the swollen flesh apart, eliciting a quiet gasp from Lirai. She knew enough to keep quiet; Isolde was not fond of noisy or 'theatrical', as she put it, copulation.

The blonde human felt her own heartbeat quicken as she mastered Lirai's passion with practiced ease. It was her prerogative give and withhold pleasure as she chose, so that her fingers would withdraw and continue to explore the mounds and curves of the genasi's body or return with renewed vigour, even violence, to plumbing the silky-wet secrets of her sex. Isolde always ensured that Lirai cleaned herself appropriately before copulation; although the natural fragrance of the genasi's arousal was light and airy, like something out of an apple orchard in early spring, the secretary found that the more muted the aroma of excitement, the better.

As she felt the crescendo of Isolde's merciless provocation grow, Lirai began to thrust her hips back against the invading fingers, inviting the climax she knew Isolde could set off in a few moments, such was the peak of her mounting pleasure. It seemed divine to give herself to the stern, unyielding ministrations of Isolde's firm hand - finally, order in the relentless, wicked chaos of Sigil, order at the tip of maddeningly hungry, invasive fingers. Isolde, however, knew that this was her opportunity to take her time.

"Spread for me." Isolde ordered.

Lirai complied immediately, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she thrust her torso further down against the bed to raise her bottom higher and sensually eased the cheeks of her buttocks apart to reveal the tight bud of her anus, pouting like a spring violet. Isolde's two penetrating fingers passed effortlessly in, tugging apart the pliant muscle of the nether portal to plumb the moist depths within. The genasi had lubricated herself well in preparation and Isolde felt the stress and the frustration of the day melt away as she was finally back in control of something important: she decided where, what and when to touch - her room was the little Multiverse no disorder, no arbitrary madness and no lecturing, Dobermann-headed demon from depths of Gehenna would be able to send into disarray.

"Isolde, may I?" Lirai asked desperately, jerking Isolde from her self-satisfied reverie. The blonde girl had been plunging four fingers in steady rhythm into both the genasi's sex and bottom for an agonising, even by Isolde's standards, length of time. Each time the digits met each other, separated only by a thin membrane of flesh and skin, Lirai felt like screaming in agonised ecstasy. Trembling, aroused beyond belief, and sweating with desire, Lirai only wanted her climax, she could think of nothing else but the dull, throbbing sensation of pleasure in her sex which only needed its last spark for fulfilment. Isolde, however, enjoyed the sensation of imposing herself on the instinctive, pained contractions of her lover's sex and bottom; she was the mistress and Lirai's flesh had to submit and mould itself to her desires, to accept to be filled with her authority.

The air genasi was bucking almost spasmodically against Isolde's fingers, her desperation evident in the suppressed cries of frustrated pleasure that were building up in her throat, only to be suffocated by the stiff, white linen of the bed sheets. Almost reluctantly, Isolde complied with Lirai's request for release, the thumb of the hand servicing the genasi's sex began to press down hard on the painfully engorged bud of her clitoris. The effect was immediate, Lirai came spasmodically, in deep, repressed, suffocated gasps as she bit down on the sheets of the bed, her orifices contracting wildly against Isolde's fingers. Finally, after ensuring that the waves of the genasi's peak had subsided into a series of more regular, ragged breaths, Isolde withdrew her fingers in one, harsh tug. Lirai whimpered in response.

"Stay exactly as you are." Isolde ordered as she began to frantically pleasure herself whilst taking in the full view of the delicious curve of Lirai's bottom, the gaping lips of her sex and the slightly distended violet bud of her anus. The secretary's hands moved hard and fast, one focusing two fingers on her stiff little clitoris, whilst the other gripped Lirai's bottom for support so tightly that the slender genasi girl felt her lover's nails dig hard against her lust-inflamed skin. Isolde's sex was still sensitive from the vigorous scrubbing she had given it in the bath, so when she came, it was mixture of white-hot, electric pleasure coursing through her spine and of sticky, itching pain as she thrust her fingers against her soaking inner lips. There was pleasure to be had in the sharp, irritating feeling emanating from her convulsing sex - like a paper cut, only better.

Isolde allowed herself a moment of emotional exposure, as she felt more energised by her climax than after the consumption of any quantity of glucose. She slumped forward, taking Lirai's hand into her own as she placed firm, needy kisses on the genasi's arched back, settling atop her lover. Lirai sighed in contentment, still holding her position, waiting for Isolde to take her pleasure.

"I enjoyed that, as always." Lirai said quietly, holding Isolde's hand tight in her own.

"Help me change the sheets." Isolde ordered, her breath still short. There was no way to enjoy intimacy when even an errant drop of sweat or moisture from an aroused sex had been allowed to soil the sheets of the bed. Lirai eagerly and obediently complied.

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

In order to reward Elyszara for having been so forthright in apologising to Friyya, Cirily had prepared her beloved's favourite dish which had involved a half day's work and the meticulous placement of layer after layer of syrups, preserves and creams, all held together in a great crystal bowl. Although Cirily had counted on eight servings when producing recipe, Elyszara had managed to demolish over three quarters of it in such a short lapse of time that Cirily had been forced to intervene and return the depressingly light bowl to the kitchen. Even if she could not cure her sugar addiction - nor any of her other addictions, now that Cirily though of it -, she was at least proud that Elyszara seemed on her way to becoming a companion who would be envied throughout the Upper Planes.

That would take time, but Cirily had it all planned out from a few days after she had met her lover. Perhaps it was because her meeting with Elyszara had coincided with the full blooming of her adolescent impulses, but there was no denying that they would grow as a couple, continue to undertake much of Nerissa's public relations work and eventually start a happy, respectable family together. That much, Cirily had decided, was final and non-negotiable. Of course, 'respectable' by Arborean standards was relative and Elyszara would be free and encouraged to be a gracious and generous lover to all who caught her eye...as long as they realised that they were but tiny comets wheeling around the mighty cosmic union of...

"Cirily!" Elyszara called abruptly, interrupting the red-headed aasimar's daydream.

"Yes, sweetest." Cirily made sure she stowed away the crystal bowl in a location so remote in the wide, rectangular kitchen, that Elyszara would never bother to look for it. Then perhaps its creator would then be in a position to enjoy a spoonful or two.

"Can you come into the dining room a moment?"

"Coming, sweetest." Cirily said, taking her time to ensure that everything was in order in the kitchen before sauntering at a leisurely pace into the empty dining chamber.

"I just wanted your opinion." Elyszara said, turning around slowly so Cirily could inspect her. She was wearing her shimmering light violet gossamer gown with minuscule and weightless flecks of diamant worked into the fabric, to give the whole a light, glimmering quality, like dew at dawn. It was also one of Elyszara's stylistic favourites, with a slit in the knee-length skirt reaching to the waist and ample open space on the chest. Cirily also noted that Elyszara had varied her colour scheme somewhat to conform to the exigencies of the dress, painting her lips and nails dark blue bordering on violet and having applied a deep, cerulean shade of powder on her eyelids.

"It's sublime, but just about anything is on you, my real question is, however, where are you going tonight?" Cirily inquired accusingly.

"A nice date, I hope." Elyszara replied airily, taking a brief look in her handheld mirror to ensure that her midnight-black hair, tinged with iridescent strands of silver and dark blue, fell in an appropriately spontaneous, yet organic order.

"There is such a thing as too soon, Lys." Cirily reprimanded. What she found doubly irritating that she had never quite managed to wean Elyszara from her dark colour scheme. Having said that, the dark-haired aasimar had always defended herself by claiming that it complemented the natural paleness of her skin and the chromatic depth of her eyes and hair.

"But I'm telling you this time." Elyszara protested.

"And who, may I ask, is she?"

"Don't know, just met her the other day."

"That's why I love you, Lys," Cirily said, relenting a little and approaching Elyszara to plant a gentle kiss on her lips, "you never change."

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're jealous."

"No, actually, thanks for telling me, though it isn't nice to leave here all alone tonight."

"You can go out...take a walk, take some fresh air..."

"We just came from Arborea and you're telling me to find fresh air in Sigil?" Cirily's laugh was soft and melodious.

"You know what I mean. Then some other time I promise we'll go out somewhere, do something special just for you." Elyszara said, taking Cirily into her arms. The flame-haired aasimar detected a rich, youthful, floral scent - a perfume her keen, accurate senses immediately identified as a Bytopian blend from Elyszara's extensive selection.

"Well, I suppose I can take that as a guarantee. But are you sure you should be leaving this early?"

"Yeah, that was the problem when I said I met her the other day. I never actually formally asked her out, so I'll probably have to compress two things into one."

Cirily never ceased to be amazed, and amused, by her lover's self-confidence. What if she was turned down, unlikely as that was, "Well, make sure you don't frighten her, not everybody has our approach to romancing, understood?"

"Has anyone ever complained?" Elyszara said in a half-exasperated tone. Cirily was becoming something of a surrogate for Nerissa which, regrettably, had almost certainly been part of her mother's plan in the first place.

"No, but behave yourself and make sure you're back at a decent hour tomorrow, I need your help at the Bazaar again."

Elyszara groaned with feigned irritation and kissed Cirily once more on the lips, this time more passionately, "See you tomorrow, my treasure."

"Keep saying it and one day it won't happen." Cirily replied, amiably enough. It was good to see Elyszara back to her routine of spur-of-the moment one night stands since Cirily was keen to avoid any repetition of the long-term, secret and morbid relationships her lover had entertained with Syf. Nevertheless, Sigil seemed to scramble everyone's minds. Although she occasionally sympathised with Elyszara's insecurities since their status as halfbreeds was comparable - even in the highly tolerant societies of Arborea - she was always under the impression that things were safer and more predictable on their home Plane.

As soon as she was certain Elyszara had left, Cirily returned to her duties. Perhaps she would cook; she found that particular activity therapeutic and, at the rate Elyszara consumed sweetmeats, she thought it appropriate to make another selection in time for next daybreak. Cooking also gave her time to think and to ponder the 'how' and 'why' of her bond with her beloved. The answers to those questions, Cirily was certain, lay in the past, beginning from that first fateful day in the garden when she had met Elyszara for the first time. It had all sprung from there.

***********

"Lys, maybe we shouldn't be here." Cirily warned as they headed deeper into the ruined tower. The reddish light of the Dawnlands reflected warmly off the dew-covered stones and the dark patches of moss which dotted the roofless, stone building. Despite its appearance, the tower had not be ruined by war or the ravages of time, but purposefully constructed by some whimsical divinity to give the impression of antiquity to her realm. Similar ruins dotted the rolling, grassy landscape as far as the eyes could see, all under the radiance of perpetual dawn.

"Probably not, but it beats being at home. At least here I have my dignity and we have some privacy." Elyszara said between gritted teeth. She found a suitably stable floor near the top of the tower and sat down wearily, leaning against a wall, the moss and stone cool on her bare arms and thighs, her loose but flattering black tunic moist with the air's humidity. It had been quite a trek from her mother's demesne, but Elyszara was pleased to have some time without undue intrusion or interference.

"Are you sure about this, what's wrong with the garden?" Cirily inquired, somewhat worried, carefully taking a seat on a flat rock by Elyszara's side. Some time had passed, perhaps a year in the reckoning of some mortal worlds though it was difficult to keep track in Arborea, since she had met Elyszara and the more time progressed, the more her friend's antics troubled her. At first, she had been sullen, rude and temperamental - now she was positively verging on the self destructive.

"At least here we won't have unwelcome intrusions." Elyszara snapped, "Did you bring the feywine?"

"Yes, but your mother is going to know you took it from the kitchen, as she always does and then we'll be in trouble again." Both the 'we' and the 'trouble' part of Cirily's sentence were inaccurate. Nerissa had taken a profoundly sympathetic liking to the demure, obedient and artistic Cirily in contrast to her burgeoning irritation at Elyszara's behaviour. Cirily knew full well that Elyszara had decided to exile herself from her mother's demesne over some recent unpleasantness regarding Elyszara's vices. Nerissa had personally undertaken a surprise inspection of Elyszara's room and come up with such a quantity of Dreamsmoke and Astral Pollen that she had given her daughter a thrashing that made Cirily, petrified as she watched, seriously fear for her friend's wellbeing.

"Fuck it." Elyszara snarled and Cirily winced at the vulgarity.

"You know, your mother never had a problem with the Paradise Moss, because at least that's from around here, but if you insist on getting Dreamsmoke from the Abyss, then you're asking for it."

"The Lower Planes are more fun." Elyszara replied, without knowing what she was talking about. Deciding that she was already bored, the dark-haired aasimar quickly seized Cirily's hair and shoulders in her hands to draw her into a fierce, needy kiss. Her tongue quickly found Cirily's, a curious hand moving down from her friend's hair - iridescent with many shades of flame-red - under her gossamer, bronze-coloured skirt to cup the round swell of her firm, youthful bottom.

"You could be more romantic about this, you know." Cirily said quietly as Elyszara's lips, painted a rich magenta purple, trailed down her throat, kissing the pale skin tinged with the warm, reddish glow of brass that betrayed her celestial eladrin ancestry, "Like you are to all the others, but since you already know you have me...I suppose I can be taken for granted."

Elyszara ignored Cirily's comment and rapidly unbuttoned her friend's blouse. Cirily's breasts, Elyszara noted with pleasure, were developing nicely, firm yet larger than her own. For herself, though, Elyszara thought as she absentmindedly planted wet little kisses in the valley between Cirily's breasts, she preferred a more elven aesthetic and hoped to preserve as streamlined and slender a figure as possible, in the style of the fae goddesses she had so often seen and lusted after in books. So far, so reasonably good, Elyszara concluded, hiking up Cirily skirt and spreading the flame-haired aasimar's thighs slightly with cool, gentle fingers.

Cirily was nowhere near as aroused as Elyszara thought her to be. In reality, she found these almost mechanical escapades to relieve Elyszara's boredom artless and demeaning. To be sure, they had enjoyed spontaneous, beautiful and increasingly adventurous lovemaking since Cirily had allowed her friend to go beyond kissing her, but there were times in which Elyszara simply did not understand that the build-up to lovemaking was not only physical, but a meeting of minds and souls as well. Now that she felt her companion's lips, warm and infuriatingly expert, planting deep sensual kisses on her sex, Cirily decided that it was time to end that sorry excuse for intimacy.

"Lys, no, not like this." She said firmly , taking the silver streaked midnight-black hair of her lover, so similar to a starry sky in the blackness before dawn, and easing Elyszara's head back a little from between her thighs.

"What? I can't even fucking lick you anymore? What exactly do you want?" Elyszara said with venomous frustration.

"First of all, never use that tone or that language with me again, understood? I may not be as angry and bitter as you are, but I think you that I'm a sensitive person, more than you could imagine, and it hurts me deeply to be treated like this by someone I love."

"You sound like my mother." Elyszara said contemptuously, rising to her feet, "You can finish it yourself, you obviously prefer your own company...boring bitch..."

Cirily's slap hit Elyszara so hard she fell onto the cold, rough-hew stones of the floor. She had not even seen it coming, but it made sense, Cirily too had eladrin ancestry and was faster than Elyszara had assumed.

"Say that, say that just once more." Cirily said, neither sad nor hurt, but furious in a way Elyszara had never seen her. The more the dark-haired aasimar thought about it as she looked up from her supine position, the more she realised that only her own angry mother had terrified her more. Cirily's eyes, normally a charming shade between red and orange were now blazing, quite literally, with glowing rage, and all the normally muted metallic bronzy tinge to her skin had begun to glow in righteous anger.

"S-s-sorry." Elyszara stammered, keeping herself close to the ground, her cheek stung with agonising intensity. The firre, the eladrin caste from which Cirily's mother had been drawn from, was known for both its artistry and its passion, so it was perhaps unsurprising that passion could so easily be translated into, quite literally, burning rage.

"Just give the word and as far as you are concerned, I will drop off the edge of Multiverse. I am most definitely not here to be abused or humiliated by you in such a manner," Cirily's voice, though perfectly musical, was more powerfully authoritative than it had ever been, "I will love you with all my soul as a friend, a sister and a lover, but you will treat me with the respect due to those roles."

"I...understand, really, I'm sorry." Elyszara said, profoundly shaken, "But I need, you, I really do, I needed you from the first day and I need you now more than ever."

"Prove it." Cirily ordered. Her anger subsided somewhat, as her eyes regained their usual kind, introspective edge.

"What?...I mean, could you...uh, maybe be slightly more specific."

"Court me, seduce me...actually read my poetry from time to time and, most importantly, stop acting as if I were just another of those silly forest spirits of yours..."

"Cirily, you know that's just for fun." Elyszara said desperately.

"Of course, though I don't think there's a single dryad, nymph or naiad in the Dawnlands who hasn't gotten to know you quite...thoroughly, be that as it may, I adore making love to you, but it has to mean something."

"It does, sweetest, it does, I promise I'll show myself to be worthy of you." Elyszara whimpered defensively.

"I believe you, and, though you find it hard to say, I also know you love me. So now let's go home and forget about this." That much Cirily knew to be true; Elyszara was terrified of revealing her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities - it was as if she did not want to declare herself dependent on anybody, but stumble through life in a haze of drugs, questionable magic and even more questionable reading, and relentless sensual experimentation. In her own way, Cirily thought wryly, a good little Arborean girl.

"Forgive me?" Elyszara said timidly, rising to her feet.

"Of course, my love, and to prove it to you, I will give you a second chance tonight to show me how bright your passion burns." Cirily said, her tone once again warm and seductive as she took Elyszara's hand into her own to lead her out of the ruined tower.

"Maybe I could button your blouse back up..." Elyszara said, trying to atone for her hasty intemperance.

"Well, something tells me that I'll have to unbutton it again soon enough, so why bother?" Cirily said with a suggestive grin, bringing her friend's hand to her lips. That had always been Cirily's way: slow to anger and quick to forgive.

**********

Ithunn felt paranoid. Throughout the lesson, she had the creeping suspicion that Friyya was staring at her with incriminating eyes from the teacher's desk at the front of the side chapel which acted as a classroom. When she raised her gaze from her book, however, to confirm whether or not this was the case, the auburn-haired paladin was inevitably doing something entirely more prosaic, like reading over her notes or indicating another novice to continue reading from where the previous one had left off. The sensation, however, never entirely went away so that Ithunn felt an immense wave of relief wash over her as Friyya finally informed the class that it had been dismissed.

That relief turned to black anxiety when she heard a debonair voice call out from the bustle of the departing novices, "Ithunn, could you stay behind, please?"

The novice's blood almost ran cold - so her intuition had been correct, "Yes, Sister." She replied with practiced calm as she carefully made her way to Friyya's desk.

"Your work has improved dramatically and I'm not the first to notice." Friyya said as she began to stack up her books.

"Thank you, sister." In reality the improvement had nothing to do with any increased dedication on Ithunn's part. Spending more time with Inge, who as a priestess in training had an exceptional mind for doctrinal matters, had its advantages.

"So I take it that it's working well between you and Ingeborg."

Ithunn bit her lip so hard she thought it might draw blood. Not only did she consider it unprofessional for Friyya to be her usual gossipy self and take an interest in the private lives of others, but the woman was dangerously perceptive. Either that or Syf had told her.

"Oh, no need to be embarrassed," Friyya said amiably, sensing the novice's discomfort, "she's quite adorable, I am certain you help each other out in so many ways. You remind me of Syf when we were novices, always too busy to do the reading..."

Friyya's voice trailed off in Ithunn's mind. She had the very mild inclination, for she was not a violent person, to wring Friyya's elegant swanlike neck with her own two hands. She may have been a good teacher, but the paladin was also unbelievably intrusive and, all of a sudden, unnervingly interested in her convoluted sentimental life.

"Well, my blessings, then." Friyya concluded as she gave Ithunn an affectionate caress on the cheek and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Sister." Ithunn replied distantly. Had there been an incipient threat in Friyya remarks? Did the paladin know something about Ithunn's obsession with Syf? If so, then there truly had been an underlying current of menace. Ithunn tried desperately to steady her mind - perhaps she truly was being paranoid beyond reason, but those thoughts had been haunting her for some time.

Making sure to leave ample space for Friyya to leave the Temple, Ithunn cautiously poked her head out of the deserted side chapel to see whether the coast was clear.

"Anyone here?" A gentle, playful voice called from what Ithunn presumed was a position around the nave of the Temple. The voice was familiar.

Ithunn shifted uncomfortably, her suspicion was getting the worst of her and there was no dignity in skulking around in the shadows like some sort of assassin, so she emerged, her deportment noble and self-possessed in the manner that had certainly caught they eye of many novices, not to mention, of course Inge. Sidelining that thought which had wormed its way into her head with painful consistency, Ithunn detected the strange elfin woman from the previous day out of the corner of her eye. She was standing by one of the pillars, leaning casually against the cool marble and seemed - for that was the only way Ithunn could describe it - dressed to kill.

"Yes..." Ithunn ventured, approaching the centre of the nave.

"Oh well," Elyszara said with rich satisfaction, "looks like you weren't just misdirecting me when you said I could find you here."

Ithunn had no pre-packaged answer for that particular situation. It had appeared that the aasimar had been flirting with her the other day and, to be sure, Ithunn had been flattered, but when she had said that she could be found in the Temple, she was saying it in a vaguely platitudinous, as opposed to committed, sort of way, "A pleasure to see you again...Elyszara." Ithunn finally said, pleased that she had recalled the name so swiftly.

"Milady knight!" The aasimar said with mock indignation as she stepped forward to stand before Ithunn, "Is that any way to greet me?" Elyszara raised a slender, white hand to accentuate her point.

Ithunn blushed fiercely as she bowed, as gracefully as the circumstances allowed, to kiss the proffered hand, "Apologies, as you can see, I still have much to learn before I can truly call myself a paladin of the Vigilant Maiden."

"Come now, it's my fault, I shouldn't have surprised you here all of a sudden." Since she had made her first inroad, Elyszara could afford to be as magnanimous as possible.

"How may this humble novice be of service, Lady Elyszara?" Ithunn said in her most formal tone.

"Well, I was thinking that I may have the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening."

"L-Lady, Elyszara," Ithunn hesitated, "I am still but a novice, I am not allowed to leave the Temple without dispensation."

"Then we'll keep it our little secret."

Ithunn's mind roiled nervously. Elyszara had thrust her into a tight spot, after all, in the broadest possible terms, telling the aasimar where she could find her was tantamount to an invitation to do so and levity with her word was certainly not one of the vices Ithunn wished to be identified with, "Vice-Commander Isobel takes a headcount before lights out - when we must, we normally...evade afterwards."

"But milady knight," Elyszara protested, affecting disappointment, "I'm here all dressed up for the occasion, for your pleasure. Would you have a lady wait?"

Ithunn's mind went into overdrive. She was not normally the intemperate sort, but Elyszara's beauty was blood-quickening. Just seeing those pale, slender limbs move gracefully under the dark violent of the gown, each movement so perfect, so seductive and so graceful, was enough to send much good judgement fleeing from her mind. It was a very simple thought in reality: skip lights-out and make some half-hearted excuse about being late in the library and falling asleep, hoping that Inge would cover for her. The likelihood of that plan working, though, was minimal. Isobel knew no rhyme or reason when it came to exceptions to the rules. Was a date with Elyszara - and time off from Inge's cloying, syrup-sweet attentions - worth some potentially very unpleasant punishment? Whilst Ithunn was deliberating as quickly as she could, Elyszara crossed her arms impatiently, and shifted her stance so that her shoulder was against the pillar; the slit of the dress fell apart like a curtain to reveal a slender, feminine thigh and just the slightest hint of the flare of the aasimar's bottom.

"Give me a few moments to change." Ithunn said, a knot of tension forming at the base of her throat.

"Sure, I'll wait for you by the exit of the dormitory." Elyszara said, a satisfied smile spreading across her sensual lips.

Ithunn scrambled into the dormitory as fast her legs could take her, thankfully none of her roommates from her cubicle had returned yet. Not wishing to test their timing, the novice hastily changed into her gold-bordered white dress uniform, adjusted her single, intricate braid as best she could and seized some of the perfume she knew her bunkmate, Greta, had illicitly stowed away in her chest of personal effects. Like Syf, Ithunn was not one for cosmetics, jewellery or perfume, but the circumstances appeared to warrant it. Finally, whispering a prayer to the Vigilant Maiden that Isobel would refrain from killing her the following morning, Ithunn made a surreptitious but speedy exit to rejoin Elyszara.

"How distinguished, milady knight." Elyszara said, scanning Ithunn's figure with an expert eye. She had a truly appealing frame, classically beautiful but well tempered and taut from her novice's training. Charming eyes too, green like a leaf in summer and sparkling with youthful eagerness.

"Please, Ithunn will do, I am not a Consecrated paladin yet."

"Ithunn it is, so perhaps you would like to escort me to our destination?" Elyszara invited. Ithunn complied, allowing the shorter girl to take hold of her left arm and lean in on her shoulder. The sight of Elyszara's chromatically nuanced hair, so rich, silky and fragrant with a fresh, airy perfume was more than enough to compel Ithunn to shelve all her misgiving and lead the way out of the Temple compound.

"I have our venue booked for tonight, follow the road north out of the Temple Ward and towards the Clerk's Ward, it should be just on the corner opposite the alchemist's laboratory." Elyszara instructed, pressing her cheek against the novice's shoulder. Ithunn instinctively felt awkward, but at least had the petty satisfaction of noting the occasional glance of admiration as she walked down crowded, cobbled streets. The Temple Ward was much quieter than most of Sigil, even in the early evening when the day began to give way to nightfall. Only a few cadres of priests of the numerous cults represented in Sigil dotted the streets, clad in robes of all description and representing most of the humanoid races of the Multiverse.

As they approached the restaurant in question, a large three-storeyed building with extravagant, stained glass windows, Ithunn became increasingly aware of the fact that she actually had no money. Indeed, the whole excursion had been decided on the spur of the moment, so that now, upon further reflection, the novice tensed at the potential humiliation of not being able to contribute anything to the no doubt extortionate bill. Novices, technically speaking, were not even allowed to possess money of any description, though the rule was laxly enforced.

Elyszara subtly steered Ithunn into the main entrance of the restaurant, grandiloquently named The Surging Phoenix, where a pretty serving maid with golden skin and deep black hair arrived to greet them. The aasimar gave only a confidential nod and before Ithunn new it, they were being led upstairs.

"I know the management." Elyszara said with notable satisfaction as Ithunn barely had a chance to marvel at the opulent ebony-and-mahogany luxury of the main dining area with its distinguished smell of smoke, leather and fine wine. At the periphery of her field of vision, Ithunn caught her first glance of the true array of Sigil's well-heeled demimonde which ranged from the conventional to the truly exotic: a metallic silvery-scaled dragon-like being reviewing its financial portfolio by telekinetically turning the pages, and a tall, thin humanoid with the head of a fierce, black-and-tan dog, dressed in an immaculately tailored black uniform of a military cut, with his muzzle sniffing deep into a long, thin chalice of wine. Ithunn did not even dare estimate how much the place charged.

Rising up a further flight of brilliantly waxed stairs, the serving maid led the couple into a long, red carpeted corridor and from thence into a spacious, well-appointed private dining room. There were no chairs, only a low, mahogany table and a vast array of silk pillows in a number of deep, rich hues placed on an intricately woven, soft carpet. Ithunn felt decidedly uneasy surrounded by such opulence, though Elyszara's presence reassured to an extent; the place would have been far more intimidating had she been alone. The serving maid quickly activated a number of enchanted candles that burnt no wax, filling the room with a soft, wooden-brown glow.

"Be at ease, everything will be taken care of, I have already arranged for our dinner." Elyszara said, pleased at the expression of marvel on Ithunn's face. The serving maid gave a discreet bow and exited, closing the door soundlessly behind her, "Make yourself comfortable and take your boots off." Elyszara suggested. Ithunn complied wordlessly, still feeling as though she were in a dream, and placed her high brown boots carefully a the entrance next to Elyszara's more fashionable low cut black model with high heels. The latter was yet another fashion contrivance that Ithunn simply could not understand.

"Please, Ithunn, sit down and relax." Elyszara said with a reassuring grin; of course, she understood that the novice was somewhat taken aback by her surroundings, but that was no excuse for protracted tension.

Not quite knowing how she was to take her place without chairs, Ithunn carefully slipped into a half-seated kneeling position, leaning back on a luxuriantly soft set of large, embroidered green cushions as she carefully ensured that the skirt of her dress uniform tunic did not crease. It was, after all, a dress uniform precisely because it was meant to be worn with military precision each time. Doing otherwise would have been a disservice to the Order.

Elyszara smiled, more broadly now, as she watched Ithunn take her place. The aasimar then gracefully reclined at the novice's side, leaning her head on the human girl's breasts and shoulders. Ithunn felt her heartbeat quicken slightly, something that Elyszara was quick to detect, and a blush spread across her cheeks. In truth, at least she had an excuse, the room was quite warm by any standards.

"So, what do you think." Elyszara inquired softly as she shifted slightly against Ithunn, as if trying to encourage the novice that she should not shrink from physical contact.

"I can only say it is lovely, though I fear that I may not be the best company for places such as this." The novice replied with some embarrassment. She lived in mortal fear of committing some faux-pas or offending her generous host. She had certainly not envisioned her night out going to such levels of luxury of which she could scarcely have dreamed.

"Allow me to disagree, I think that I should be quite proud of being escorted here by such a valiant and beautiful warrior such as yourself."

"There are so many more who are finer paladins than me." Ithunn said - not least, she concluded ruefully - because they had actually been Consecrated.

"That's not what I heard," Elyszara said, her gaze locked on the pale, slimly muscular thighs beneath her eyes, though the tunic infuriatingly covered their top half, "I heard that you were quite the promising swordswoman and that few are your equal in beauty."

"Then they flatter me." Ithunn said faintly. If this was not a dream, then she had died and ascended into the Seven Heavens.

Elyszara stirred some more against Ithunn.

- At least take me into your arms - she thought, but then again, a novice was a novice, "So, have you ever wondered what I am?" Elyszara said, deciding to break the ice a little and make the conversation more personal.

"Well...yes, I mean no!" Ithunn shuddered, not quite knowing what the polite answer would be, though she had privately wondered about the elfin girl's multichrome hair, strangely entrancing eyes and delicately pointed ears.

"Ithunn...my treasure, relax." Elyszara said, somewhat bemused. She had imagined Ithunn to be more like Virginia when she was a novice; a little naive, perhaps, but certainly sharp enough to catch the signals. Though she was, on all accounts, an excellent fighter, Ithunn appeared to have this endearing innocence when it came to romance, "Allow me to explain, my mother is a celestial being, an eladrin from the Plane of Arborea, though my father - I think - was a mortal."

"Arborea, as in the Vigilant Maiden's domain?" Ithunn asked, all of a sudden excited.

"Yes, naturally, which is why I have become so closely...uh, affiliated with your Temple."

"How wonderful! I bet it is truly magnificent." The novice had been overcome by a sort of child-like joy. Her greatest devotion had always been to the Vigilant Maiden and to meet someone who had actually visited those lands she had only read about in books was a stroke of unbelievable good fortune.

"Well...I suppose you get used to it." Elyszara replied. Her first inclination had been to rattle off some sarcastic remark about the Dawnlands which, though magnificent at first sight, very quickly got boring, especially if one was, ultimately, a mortal. She was, however, reluctant to break Ithunn's illusion.

"Oh, you must tell me more."

"With pleasure, but I believe our food has arrived." Elyszara said, glad that she would at least have some alcohol to be able to better feign a positive assessment of Arborea.

They did, however, talk about it extensively over dinner with Elyszara throwing out a few choice morsels of information and Ithunn then replying with a longer barrage of questions. The food had put the novice in a decidedly upbeat mood, for it was both of a quality and a sophistication she had never before experienced just as the wine, which she had never been accustomed to drinking, was soothing without being overpowering. The banquet carried on apace and, much to Elyszara's relief, Ithunn actually managed to relax enough for the aasimar to rest her head on the novice's lap.

"Ithunn, could you be so kind as to pass me a fruit pastry?" Elyszara said, her voice strategically tinged with sensuality as they began to work their way into the dessert course.

The novice nodded and took one of the light, artistically structured pastries from the silver serving dish and conveyed it to Elyszara's level. The aasimar sighed, almost in desperation, "I can't reach, Ithunn." She said as sweetly as possible.

"Oh...oh, right." Ithunn said, once again unsure exactly how to proceed. The wine, however, had loosened some of her inhibitions of propriety so she decided to take the gamble and gently brought the pastry to Elyszara's violet-painted lips. In two bites, the pastry was gone, which left the aasimar's lips wrapped around Ithunn's index finger, her tongue gently lapping off the icing sugar.

Ithunn's pulse quickened dramatically as she felt a creeping sensation of heat building in her loins, "Is there something else I can get for you, Elyszara?" She asked, her tone a little more daring, now though still a tad nervous.

"No, but I think you must be a little stiff from training today, what would you say if I volunteered to help you loosen up a bit?"

"You need not trouble yourself." Ithunn said softly, though the knot of tension in her throat was growing wider by the second.

"Please, it would be my pleasure." Elyszara insisted, rising to a sitting position and kneeling behind Ithunn. The novice nodded silently in assent and Elyszara's touch came immediately, and with electric sensuality, afterwards. Gently, the aasimar opened the top few golden buttons of Ithunn's tunic to reveal her pale, strong shoulders and the tops of her full, rounded breasts. Elyszara then began to trace her hands down the curve of the novice's neck, her fingers instinctively seeking out the most sensitive points of muscle and tissue and teasing them gently to a state of deeper relaxation with precise, delicate little touches.

Ithunn felt herself float into another world. The effect of the wine had already loosened her significantly, but the action of Elyszara's hands was positively a godsend. Each motion from those long, delicate fingers found yet another tiny knot of muscle and gently coaxed it apart with firm, yet ethereal pressure.

"Doesn't that feel better?" Elyszara inquired seductively, her tone honeyed and soothing.

"Yes..." Ithunn said, almost hissing.

"You have lovely hair...and such an intricate braid."

"It is traditional, the women of my family have always worn it that way, they say it is after the fashion of the Wheat Goddess."

"Wonderful..." Elyszara breathed, planting a soft kiss on Ithunn's light blonde hair. The novice shivered in response.

"Good," the aasimar commented, her voice almost hypnotic, "I feel that you are just about beginning to relax, so if you have finished eating, why don't you like back on the cushions and just take some time to appreciate the calm."

The blonde novice nodded and obeyed, shifting backwards so she could rest stretch her self out in a reclining position against a hillock of cushions so comfortable she thought she could have died there. Elyszara smiled conspiratorially and moved, on her hands and knees to take Ithunn's side, this time raising her slender, pale legs and placing them in the novice's lap. The skirt of the aasimar's violet dress fell back provocatively as Elyszara lifted her legs, now only cloaking the uppermost part of her thighs. By now, Ithunn's pulse was racing both in her chest and in her head. She knew she should not have drunk so much because she felt her skin, not to mention her loins, was on fire.

Deciding to tease a little, Elyszara shifted her legs subtly from side to side, allowing the fabric to fall and gather in translucent, gossamer folds. Ithunn could no longer resist the urge to turn and take a good look at the scene unfolding beneath her. Elyszara took that as her cue as she gracefully raised a pale foot to brush up the fabric of Ithunn's tunic, the tips of her toenails brushing up the valley between the novice's breasts, up the soft skin of her throat, only to pause under her chin. Every limb, Ithunn remarked, of the aasimar was perfectly proportioned and delicate, as if carved out of white porcelain, with the deep violet of the varnish she had applied to her toenails contrasting intriguingly with the moon white paleness of the skin.

As if in a trance, Ithunn decided that it was now or never. She had taken her fill of subtleties and signals, now all she wanted was to partake of this embodiment of beauty and see whether the dream evaporated there and then or whether this was, and she still dared not believe it, reality. Gently clasping Elyszara's delicate foot in her hands, Ithunn planted a soft kiss on the pale skin, before sinking in with a hungry lunge, capturing the aasimar's toes between her lips and passionately lavishing her tongue on each digit.

- Finally! - Elyszara thought, beginning to squirm as she felt the hot moisture of Ithunn's mouth on her foot - Now we're in business. -

Ithunn felt the hot, passion-thick blood in her veins flood her very being, tearing away each last facade of self control and sending her lunging on Elyszara. She pinned the aasimar against the pillows and under her weight, her limbs strong and supple from entire days dedicated to perfecting her bladecraft, and began to kiss Elyszara passionately but clumsily, her tongue eager but inexpert. Sliding a curious, almost trembling hand down Elyszara's slim thigh, Ithunn scrambled to find the moist juncture between the elfin girl's legs.

"Wait, wait, sorry...Ithunn, treasure, stop a moment." Elyszara said wearily. This was certainly not the way she had envisioned it, to say that Ithunn had decided to jump in the deep end was putting it mildly.

"Oh, Goddess, I am so sorry..." Ithunn apologised desperately as Elyszara's interruption gave her time to take stock of what had been doing, "I am so terribly sorry, I...must be a disgrace, please forgive me I was not thinking..."

"Shhh..." Elyszara comforted, placing two fingers on Ithunn's lips, "Now listen. You didn't do anything wrong, it's just that what you just did would have been fine if you had been playing the conquering heroine taking her deserved spoils of victory. Which is fine and very sensual...if you have a little more experience. For now, let's just say that I'm the princess you rescued from the Great Fire Wyrm."

Ithunn nodded in embarrassed silence, still looking crestfallen into Elyszara's enchanting, blue-violet eyes.

"Right," Elyszara said - it was only fair that she had to give lessons from time to time, Ithunn was, in the end, a sweet girl who, the aasimar felt, deserved every moment of her patience, "since you're my gallant lady knight, it's obvious that you have the privilege of taking me, so you don't have to force yourself on top of me. Especially because your princess is grateful and very much in love with her brave rescuer, so it is only proper that she freely submit to the lady knight's pleasure. But since I am your princess after all, you have the duty to attend to my pleasure first and make sure you take me with the proper delicacy."

"I understand." Ithunn said almost bashfully.

"Good," Elyszara smiled warmly as she wrapped her arms around Ithunn's neck, "now, my fair lady knight, please take your reward."

Smiling gratefully at her second opportunity, Ithunn sank into a softer, less demanding kiss, this time feeling Elyszara reciprocate passionately. Exploring the aasimar's warm mouth was like heaven, the elfin girl's lips so soft against her own yet so rich and satisfying. Elyszara sought to steer the young novice in the right direction, her tongue patiently leading a soft dance, whilst her fingers gently finished unclasping the buckle of the human girl's belt, letting the tunic fall to one side, before helping Ithunn ease it off. The novice blushed again, her eyes wide open when she realised that she was all of a sudden naked and out in the open on top of Elyszara. The sensation was nothing like her clumsy attempts at lovemaking with Inge under the covers.

"What's wrong?" Elyszara asked gently as Ithunn broke the kiss. She did not normally take such a charitable approach to hesitation in the midst of passion, but the novice certainly had her heart in the right place.

"Sorry, sometimes you have something in your mind and then, when you finally get to do it, it never feels quite the same." Ithunn confessed, only to gasp with surprise as she felt Elyszara's hands run up her flanks and cup the full, buoyant firmness of her breasts, the tips of the aasimar's violet-painted fingernails ever so gently teasing the dark pink peaks of her nipples.

"You're such a beautiful girl and there's nothing to be ashamed of. That's why you caught my eye that day. That's why I turned up when you told me where I could find you, because I never forgot how pretty you looked, with your white tunic and perfect braid." Elyszara said - she, of all beings, knew that a little flattery went a long way.

Ithunn could only respond with another kiss, this time more needy, more passionate and, Elyszara was pleased to note, incrementally more skilful. It was only a matter of time before the blonde novice gathered up the courage to try undressing the aasimar again. This time, she proceeded gently, carefully freeing Elyszara's breasts from their gossamer web and trailing hot, enthusiastic kisses down her neck. Although she had her malicious side, especially when it came to sensual matters, Elyszara had no intention of misleading Ithunn, she would be as direct and honest and the best of teachers - the novice would thank her for it in future. So it came as something of a surprise when Elyszara failed to withhold an unforced moan of pleasure as Ithunn's eager, energetic tongue lapped hungrily on the underside of one of the aasimar's beautifully proportioned breasts, pink lips then settling to grasp a stiff, taut nipple.

All too pleased to allow the eager young novice to explore her body, Elyszara contented herself with tenderly stroking Ithunn's hair, her hands moving down to gently cup two ivory cheeks reddened by the warm, pink blush of desire. Ithunn, on the other hand, could only think of how wonderful Elyszara tasted, how delectable each inch of skin was under her lips and how rewarding it was to draw her mouth against those inflamed, pink nipples and savour their pliant stiffness with the accompaniment of low sensual moans. Spurred on by her apparent success, the novice kissed lower, ever so gently raising up the hemline of Elyszara's skirt. The aasimar spread her thighs slightly in invitation.

"May I?" Ithunn said, almost inaudibly with her face poised just above the thin fabric that separated her from Elyszara's sex.

"Ithunn, treasure, when you make love, that's a question you never ask. Remember, you just saved me from the Great Fire Wyrm, I'm happy for you to do whatever you want."

The blonde novice nodded energetically and reverently lifted the fabric, bunching it up around Elyszara's waist. Leaning forward, Ithunn could smell the rich, floral, almost fruity scent of Elyszara's sex which, she was relieved to note, was already wet and in full bloom, the light pink lips covered in dew-like moisture, swollen and ready. Kissing down that juicy, velvety crevasse was like diving into a forbidden garden, Ithunn realised that she could quite possibly have spent the night there, just savouring the juxtaposition of fruity and mildly salty tones, the silky, pliant texture of the inner lips as they parted under the touch of her tongue. At least, Ithunn thought, Elyszara's sex was similar to Inge's, so that, in any case, she had a point of reference. So she redoubled her efforts, bringing her tongue to bear against the tiny, stiff little bud which had slipped its sheath at the apex of Elyszara's sex, lapping with wild abandon.

Drawing in a sharp intake of air, the aasimar pressed her heels against Ithunn's back, drawing the novice further in as she began to buck her hips slightly, raising her open wet, sex for the blonde human to feast upon.

"Easy, you need to pleasure me, not clean me, try to stay focused." Elyszara chided, somewhat annoyed that she had to say it. It was more like something Cirily told her when they were first experimenting in their first flush of adolescence.

"Sorry..." Ithunn felt as if she would never be able to stop apologising, "what do you...uh, prefer...I mean, no! Forget what I just said, just let me..."

"For future reference, Ithunn," Elyszara said, hoping the lecture would not diminish her libido beyond repair, "it varies. As far as I'm concerned, though, what you were doing was just fine."

Ithunn fell back into Elyszara's sex, this time with a more calculated, strategic approach, with her lips and tongue gently applying focalised pressure on the aasimar's stiff little clitoris. Once again gaining in confidence, Ithunn's rhythm increased as she extended an arm upwards to lovingly clasp Elyszara's firm, rounded breast in her hand, her fingers rolling the engorged nipple with the softest touches the novice had so far managed. As her approval of Ithunn's actions mounted, so did the fire in her Elyszara's loins, a knot of tension forming deep in her pelvis as the aasimar sought to quench it against the blonde novice's probing mouth. Of course, it took a little longer than normal, but Ithunn was a tireless worker and Elyszara found the human girl's youthful, classically beautiful and diligently concentrated face between her thighs decidedly adorable.

The aasimar's breath quickened with each passing instant as she found the first spasms of her orgasm begin, slowly at the periphery of her mind at first, before finally falling into a long, deep release of tension. Elyszara could only punctuate the waves of pleasure rippling through her with short, sharp moans and such was Ithunn's dedication that she did not once look up until she was certain that her newfound lover had taken her full pleasure. Elyszara's hips slumped back into the cushions, with Ithunn following, placing loving kisses on the exposed lips of the elfin girl's sex.

"Thank you for that, milady knight, it was lovely, now come and kiss me."

Ithunn blushed violently, crawling up Elyszara's torso to meet her gaze, "No, please excuse my clumsiness, I was no doubt unworthy of a discerning lady such as yourself."

"Hush, milady knight, allow me." Elyszara said, this time taking the lead in the kiss. Her movements were more fluid, expert and nuanced that Ithunn's, her lips just as passionate, but more focalised on their objective. Clasping Ithunn's hanging breasts in her hands, Elyszara grazed the stiff, pink nipples with the sides of her nails, before running the palms of her hands in a gentle massaging motion from under the swell of the human girl's breasts, to her flat, taut midriff, before brushing around the golden curls atop her sex. A curious finger found its way between the petals of Ithunn's sodden sex, carefully plying the lust-swollen flesh apart. The novice bit down heavily on her bottom lip and gasped in awe as Elyszara brought the nectar drenched finger to violet lips and licked the moisture from it hungrily, all the while looking into Ithunn's eyes, "I think, milady knight, it is time for me to be made yours." Elyszara said wryly as she shifted her legs, hooking one around Ithunn's shoulder and helping the novice settle into a position atop her so they both lay sex to sex.

"You know how to do this, right?" Elyszara asked as gently as possible so as not to embarrass Ithunn. Her own desire was building again as she felt the heat of the human girl's sex so close to her own. It was pleasing to feel so open and vulnerable, Ithunn's strong shoulder supporting her graceful thigh, whilst her sex lay open in all its flowering glory, the candlelight reflecting off the moisture that had accumulated over the light-pink lips.

"Well...sort of...I mean I can try." Ithunn said hastily.

"Don't worry, treasure, just go easy and I'll show you something really special later." The aasimar ensured she was firmly planted against the cushions supporting her back and bottom and began to gently suggest a rhythm for Ithunn to follow. At first the novice reacted a little haphazardly, her sex running as much against Elyszara's smooth thigh, leaving hot, wet trails of nectar on the pale skin, as against the elfin girl's own nether lips. With each thrust though, she came ever closer to bringing her sex in communion with Elyszara's. The human girl's natural athleticism helped too in balancing her weight against Elyszara's, each time the juicing folds of their nether lips kissed, it was like a wholly unprecedented sensation of erotic liberation for Ithunn. Never had she experienced the same spark of hot, intimate magma boiling in her veins each time she felt the pliable, sodden lips of Elyszara's sex coat her inner thigh with nectar before grinding, hard, with shocking pressure on her engorged clitoris.

The mounting pressure deep in her sex gave Ithunn the impetus to seize control, beginning to impose something of a pattern of force and timing, each time emitting a little voluntary gasp of pleasure, despite her best efforts keep a dignified air, as she felt her sex thrust and grind against Elyszara's slick, fragrant nether lips. It did not surprise Elyszara in the least that Ithunn came first, her breath quickening with each sharp thrust as she let out a low series of ragged moans. Nevertheless the novice continued her work, eager to please her newfound lover with a passion worthy of the occasion. That dedication, Elyszara thought, as she felt the sparkling crescendo deep in her loins, would make Ithunn a faultless lover in due course. Even though the novice's was rough against her hairless sex, Elyszara had developed a taste for a slightly rougher variant of lovemaking than was the norm with Cirily, so that the friction, in itself acted as a spur to her pleasure, soon bringing her to an unexpectedly pleasant, mewling peak as she pulled Ithunn closer, encouraging her to be more incisive.

When she was certain that Elyszara's climax had subsided somewhat, Ithunn allowed herself to embrace the aasimar again, helping her settle in a more comfortable pose so that they could lavish one another with more casual, affectionate kisses.

"Not bad, Ithunn, not bad at all." Elyszara complimented, before ravishing the novice's soft lips with her own, "Now I promised you a surprise and I'm a woman of my word. Now lie back on the cushions and open yourself to me."

The blonde novice complied eagerly, propping herself up in a sitting position against a pile of cushions her legs only slightly parted - anything more and she feared she may strike Elyszara as wanton. Smiling at Ithunn's reticence, Elyszara rose to her knees and gently patted the novice's thighs, "There aren't supposed to be any secrets between us." She said, gently parting the human girl's pale, athletic legs. Ithunn blushed what she thought must have been a bright scarlet, not so much because of the exposure, but because she knew she was extremely wet.

Setting aside any residual remnant of prudishness, Ithunn watched, fascinated as Elyszara briefly rummaged in her tiny travelling satchel and withdrew a thin metallic object the novice had never seen before fashioned out of a silvery material and forged in the shape of a forked, dragon's tongue.

"Just give me a moment, treasure, this will increase the intensity of the experience." The aasimar said, carefully pouring tiny granules of sparkling red powder into the tip of the item before touching the two tips of its metallic tongue. Suddenly, the silvery metal glowed red and tiny wisps of multichrome smoke began to waft from what, Ithunn concluded, must have been a pipe of some sort. With marked satisfaction, Elyszara took a puff of the Dreamsmoke and immediately felt her senses intensify in both magnitude and clarity as she crawled back over to where Ithunn was sitting.

"May I tempt you with a puff or two?" The aasimar inquired as she eagerly inspected the moist, spread lips of Ithunn's sex.

"I really should refuse...we are not permitted to make use of such substances." Ithunn said, hoping that she did not offend her host.

"Oh, come on, all the big girls are doing it." Elyszara teased as she set the pipe aside and began to plant soft, probing kisses on the outer lips of the novice's sex, "Don't worry about it, though, it's not necessary, it just help you to concentrate a little."

Ithunn nodded gratefully, closing her eyes and biting down on her lip at the sensation of Elyszara's lips gently teasing the petals of her flower open. The aasimar's mouth moved with such grace that Ithunn thought it to be divine, something out of a dream - a soft, yet firm point of pressure against the most sensitive parts of her nether lips, kissing, probing, parting and coaxing to life.

"Elyszara!" Ithunn cried, despite herself, as she felt the dextrous tongue lick and then press gently against the puckered rosebud of her bottom. The sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

"Am I being too naughty for you, milady knight?" The aasimar asked sardonically as she brought her mouth back up to the spread feast of Ithunn's sex.

Ithunn shook her head vigorously, anything to get Elyszara's tongue back to its magical work, "So I take that to mean you're ready, just relax." The aasimar said as she concentrated intensely on the space in front of her eyes before quietly muttering an incantation to generate a small, invisible ball of force which she subsequently manoeuvred with her mind to the lips of Ithunn's sex. The novice gasped sharply at the contact, only to look down and see Elyszara smiling and motionless before her sex even as she felt her innermost lips part and something firm, slightly vibrating and very insistent begin to slide into her.

"You're a sorceress!" The blonde novice gasped.

"Well, I dabble a little." Elyszara replied with false modesty. She was far more intent on the work at hand as she slid the ball of force deeper, enjoying the view of Ithunn's sex dilating slowly, inch by pleasurable inch, until she knew it had lodged deep inside the human girl. It was then that Elyszara's more sadistic streak took control as she mentally compelled the ball of force to increase the tempo and intensity of its vibrations. Ithunn's head shot back, her lips mouthing a powerful cry of desire as she felt firm, quivering pressure on her most sensitive spot hidden deep in the recesses of her sex. By the time she felt Elyszara's tongue complementing the action of the sphere with passionate, expert licks on the tiny bud of her clitoris, Ithunn felt no reason and no memory, just the single, distilled instant of pure, illuminating ecstasy. She climaxed violently, thrusting her sex against Elyszara's face, hips bucking, tiny droplets of her nectar staining the cushions under her.

As the aftermath of her peak faded, Ithunn could only lie back against the cushions, contemplating the warm air and dim candlelight around her. It was as if nothing else existed, "Was that to your satisfaction, my sweet?" Elyszara asked, a satisfied smile on her lips as she took another puff from her Dreamsmoke pipe and settled by Ithunn's side, mentally dispelling the sphere of force lest it cause complications later on. The novice could not find the words to reply, but instinctively fell into Elyszara's arms, nestling her wheat-blonde hair on the aasimar's breasts.

"Silly," Elyszara reprimanded lightly, interspersing her sentences with deep drags from her pipe, her world all of the sudden more luminous and brilliant than before, the sounds richer and more articulate, "you're my brave knight, you're supposed to cuddle me, not the other way round."

Ithunn's head slumped forward in embarrassment, "Sorry, Elyszara." she said, rising to her feet and quickly gathering up her uniform: she had humiliated herself far too much for one night.

"For what, treasure?"

"I...I am afraid I am not much of a lover, not much of a paladin, not much of anything, really. Perhaps you thought I would have been able to treat you with all the romantic attention that should be yours by right, but I...I am just a simple girl and you deserve so much better." Ithunn said, not a hint of bitterness in her voice, just a quiet, if regretful, statement of the facts.

"You can leave now and I would never dream of holding it against you. But you would also be leaving your princess, who really enjoyed the evening and would like nothing better than to fall asleep in your arms." Elyszara said. She knew she was being manipulative, but Ithunn was simply being silly. Everyone had an awkward first few times and there was no reason to spoil the evening because of it.

"Really?" Ithunn breathed, almost inaudibly, the tunic of her uniform clutched firmly in her hands.

"Of course, now come here and hold me."

The blonde novice obeyed, almost in disbelief, as she settled by Elyszara's side and very gently took the aasimar in her arms, holding her close so she could smell the fresh, airy fragrance of her multichrome hair. In reality, she felt that the whole evening had been surreal; not only had she been sensually satisfied more than she had ever thought possible, but now she was cradling one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen in her arms.

"Tomorrow, I'll buy you breakfast and then you can escort me home..." Elyszara said dreamily, the effects of her pipe beginning to sink into every level of her being.

Ithunn cringed slightly, Isobel would make her suffer, no doubt, but she was certain that the night had been worth whatever punishment the Vice-Commander could concoct. Then of course, there was Inge, who would be full of questions. Ithunn was not, as a rule, the dishonest type so she knew only of one answer, as painful as it would be to the initiate priestess: the truth.

Sensing a degree of discomfort in the novice, Elyszara ventured a question, "Are you promised to someone else?...I ask only because I made this mistake another time and ended up hurting someone I actually cared for. Sometimes I'm foolish to assume that the Multiverse is like Arborea."

"No...I mean, not really...she thinks we are." Ithunn said evasively.

"If there's one thing I can suggest from my experience, Ithunn, it is to sort it out as soon as possible. The less you communicate, the more liable things are to fall apart."

"Will I see you again?" Ithunn asked anxiously. If not as a lover, she increasingly felt she needed Elyszara as a guide.

"Yes." This time the promise was most certainly not a platitude.

Sigil Book One, Chapter IX

What have we given? What have we lost? Who are we to think that time sits aside and waits for us to decide? Who are we to think, as a great philosopher once said, that Fate acquiesces to the plans of mortals instead of shattering them into a thousand pieces? In the end, when the time will come to make the sum total of your life: what, in terms of net gain or net loss will have been added and what taken away? To put it another way, if life were fair, it would all, in the end, even out to zero. More probably, it evens out to zero cosmically and not, unfortunately, personally. For every beggar there is a prince(ss) and the Great Wheel spins on and on...

- The Archivist, your narrator

"Tempus edax rerum."

"What do you think you're playing at, Ithunn?" Syf inquired sharply. She had already experienced one severe frustration that day and was not in the mood for another. Now that Isobel had ordered her to discipline the recalcitrant novice for violating curfew, the paladin realised that it was not going to be a particularly pleasant day.

"I beg your forgiveness, Syf," Ithunn said, at least her tone was contrite and her eyes downcast as she scrutinised the stony floor of the armoury, "I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. I deserve both my punishment and your reprimand."

"I have a suspicion that it was more than your curiosity." Syf replied, not unkindly. She loathed being put into this position; any other novice would have been fine - there would have been less emotional attachment, but with Ithunn, Syf could not help regretting any harsh words or actions she was forced to undertake.

"Forgive me, Syf, but she was so beautiful...it was dazzling and she treated me with such kindness..." Ithunn trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say. It had already been inordinately painful to confess this to, of all people, Syf. Elyszara had been magnificent, like something out of a dream, but the paladin would always be the centre of Ithunn's attention, her one and only transcendental obsession.

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, I think I know what you mean." The raven-haired paladin responded softly, almost with sympathy. All novices made mistakes, some, granted, more serious than others, but Ithunn was very young and wisdom could only come with experience.

"I swear that it will never happen again, believe me, Syf...and, that, whatever happened, you still remain first in my heart. I would do anything to make you believe me." The novice felt a tightening lump of emotion in the base of her throat, but she knew better than to make her feelings to evident. She was strong and had to be stronger still to show Syf that she was still the finest potential Consecrated paladin of her year.

"I already believe you, child." Syf replied with a wan smile. Perhaps it was unprofessional to use a term of endearment under the circumstances, but on that occasion, she decided that though it was universally true that an elder sister ought to punish her junior when the latter stepped out of line, the act, in itself, did not diminish the bond between them. Indeed, it ought to reinforce it.

"Syf, I am grateful that it is you who has to discipline me today." Ithunn whispered, her eyes still firmly planted on Syf's boots.

"Don't think I will hold back any more than Isobel, you are my beloved sister and, as a consequence, it is my duty to make sure you learn your lesson, now take your tunic off."

Ithunn complied, "I know you would never hold back just for any sympathies you may have. That is precisely why I admire you more than any other." She neatly folded her white novice's tunic on a workbench and leaned over an empty weapons rack, gripping the polished wood tightly under her fingers.

Syf could not help but take a moment to admire the rich beauty and grace of the novice's frame - the sensual, rounded breasts that reminded her so much of Friyya's, and, of course, the equally magnificent bottom now presented before her. There was a part of her that wanted to do anything but beat Ithunn, to bury her face between the tight crevasse of the novice's firm bottom and the sweet sex beneath rather than mar it with her cane. Duty was, however, duty. The paladin readied her reed cane - for she disapproved of the excessive brutality of Isobel's braided, leather variant - and landed a swift, powerful, blow on Ithunn's upturned buttocks. It was like swinging a sword and Syf carried out her task with comparable force, the sound of blow after blow echoing throughout the room as the skin on Ithunn's back, bottom and thighs began to redden, then bruise and finally bleed. Syf made sure that she drew blood, just to show Ithunn that what she did, she did with love for the greater good of her career as a paladin. To endure pain was the key to walking the Radiant Path.

For her part, Ithunn remained wordless throughout, she merely steeled herself and gripped the weapons rack tighter, cringing at each blow, but never betraying any sign of distress. With gritted teeth, she reminded herself not to let a single tear spill lest Syf take her for a weakling; only the sound of the cane cutting through the air and its ultimate, sharp impact on lean, muscular flesh could be heard. Crying for such stupid matters as a beating was something Ithunn would leave to Inge and her ilk; women already silently bore the greatest pains humans could conceive of, but she, like Syf, wanted to show herself to be stronger still.

With dedicated precision, Syf counted out forty blows, before relenting. Her handiwork had been swift and bloody, though it seemed a pity to watch a great, bloody purple bruise creep from the base of Ithunn's back to her lower thighs, ruining the effect of the unblemished, white skin.

"You may stand." Syf called and Ithunn complied immediately, turning to look back dispassionately at her idol.

"Will that be all, Syf?" She asked, the pain in her back and bottom agonising like she had rarely felt it, but bearable. It was if she were on fire and that fire had subsequently been quenched with acid, but the smile of satisfaction on Syf's face when she noted the novice's stoic composure after her punishment was more than enough to compensate for any physical discomfort.

"You are a strong girl, Ithunn, and you will make us all proud one day." Syf said as she lightly caressed the novice's cheek, "Now go to the infirmary and have a priestess heal you. I expect to see you later at practice and in top form, understood?"

"Yes, Syf." Ithunn said enthusiastically, temporarily forgetting her aches and pains.

"Tomorrow, Marséna and Virginia are taking some leave, so Friyya will be making dinner. Why don't you and Ingeborg join us in our quarters?" Syf imagined that it would be nice to have a little company, since prolonged exposure to Shesayne made her nervous, to say the least. As far as she was concerned, if Shesayne did not take Lily out that night, she would ask Friyya to bribe them to leave, just so she could avoid the awkwardness of dealing with a drow of dubious inclinations and a half-elf of dubious morals at the same time.

"With pleasure, Syf." Ithunn said, wincing as she felt the fabric of her tunic make contact with her inflamed, bleeding flesh. Aside from the wounds of her beating, what really troubled her on a higher level was the prospect of an extremely awkward meal with Friyya on one side and Inge on the other. Moreover, the novice felt some unease at the suggestion that Friyya may actually be allowed to handle food. Tales of her kitchen duty exploits when she had been a novice were legendary and had been passed down from year to year.

"Good girl, now hurry along." Syf ordered as Ithunn walked away with as much dignity as physically possible considering her bruised state. It occurred to Syf that Ithunn was very much like herself at a similar stage, but more innocent still and perhaps sweeter-natured. Even in her earlier days, Syf had enjoyed surrounding herself with an air of menace, but of controlled, incipient menace and not the in-your-face retribution Marséna doled out in the fencing yard to anyone who, in reality or only in her mind, had slighted her. Ithunn, however, had none of that ostentation and concentrated entirely on making herself as effective as servant of the Vigilant Maiden as possible.

There were times when Syf wished that Friyya were just a little more like Ithunn. Naturally, she appreciated her auburn-haired lover's sweetness, her quick mind and gentle charm, but there were moments when she also resented Friyya's weaknesses; her pettiness, her vanity, her incipient snobbery. Syf was not the only one to have issues. Having disciplined, Ithunn, Syf could not help but cast her mind back to when she had been subjected to a similar treatment along with Friyya, Virginia and Marséna for having similarly skipped curfew for an exploratory night on the town. Syf remembered that she had begged Isobel to punish her alone on the grounds that she had been the instigator of the escapade. Isobel had not bought the story for one second and, especially disgusted by Friyya's silence on the matter, decided to be especially hard on the latter. Despite prompt curative attention by a solicitous temple priestess, Friyya had whimpered almost hysterically throughout the day, clutched in Syf's arms and much to Marséna's visible disgust.

That was the only time Syf remembered being angry at Marséna. But only because it had been their fault that the group had been caught in the first place. That evening, their agreed cut-off point had long been exceeded as a lightly intoxicated Marséna struggled to undo the laces of a seductively voluptuous, green-haired half-elf's blouse while Virginia looked on with bemused tolerance. Syf, too, had been guilty of reliving her happy childhood experiences in the more animated and lively districts of Sigil's rougher quarters. She certainly found the time to exchange a few words with the boys who had always been her playmates and who now had branched off into petty crime, law enforcement, mercenary work or adventuring in equal measure. In time, the evening had ended when it was far too late to even muster a plausible excuse. Not least because by that time the light had begun to break and Syf recalled only an irritated, reptilian day-shift manager hissing that they should leave while Friyya slept peacefully, slumped over a table, and Virginia and Marséna argued loudly over the rights and wrongs of 'a little fun'.

Those, in retrospect, had been the days and Syf could consequently genuinely empathise with Ithunn. Sometimes, in her moments of darker reflection, the paladin could not help but ask herself, looking back to when she had been a novice, if the four of them would ever be friends in the same way again. Things had been simple then: Virg and Marséna, Friyya and Syf with nothing in the Multiverse to come between them. Even the little spats between Marséna and Friyya were more amusing than tragic and it had soon come to Syf's attention that Friyya was doubly spiteful and petty to any novice who started a rumour about Marséna which did not directly emanate from her in the first place. But immediately before and after their Consecration, things had just progressively become more complicated and more bedevilled by the vagaries of fate.

If there was but one thing Syf fervently wished for as she left the armoury, her mind still very much immersed in the remembrance of a past which seemed ever more distant, though it had objectively been so recent, it was this: that the Wheel of Creation spare them its cruellest tricks and that in some unnamed future they could always meet with the knowledge that the past had taken nothing away and given everything.

**********

Virginia felt like a new woman. Not just elated, but positively fulfilled in her mission - and ambition - to confirm herself as the brightest star in the Radiant Path's firmament of promising young paladins. Isobel had, as expected, summoned the four members of the squad to the main Temple immediately after breakfast where she had first gone over a highly positive performance evaluation, before, almost as an afterthought, declaring Virginia to be the official squad leader. Syf had taken the new with impeccable stoicism and warmly and sincerely congratulated Virginia. Friyya, whose main interest was leaving Isobel's presence as quickly as possible, had felt sorry for Syf, but trusted in Virginia's competence just as much - she never knew the long-standing and unspoken friendly rivalry between the two. Marséna had remained silent, but once they exited the Temple, Virginia suddenly found herself pushed against a wall, exchanging a guilty, if pleasurably passionate open mouthed kiss with the Mareterran girl.

"It's a shame," Marséna had said regretfully as she broke the kiss and gently stroked Virginia's cheek, "we would have spent the rest of the day in bed and done anything that popped into your head, no questions asked. Congratulations, ciara."

Virginia had only nodded silently as Marséna departed. That had been the only ambiguous moment that marred an otherwise flawless day. There was, she thought, not need to feel guilty, they would have had plenty of time to talk it over during their excursion to Mareterra. Despite the tensions associated with the trip, Virginia had genuinely been looking forward to it, first and foremost as a way to clarify and strengthen her relationship with Marséna. With that thought, Virginia strode triumphantly back into her quarters, ready to prepare herself for the day ahead and eager to tell Lily the good news.

Much to her surprise, the door to her room was slightly ajar - a dim, violet glow emanating from the darkness within: Lily still insisted on keeping the curtains shut whenever possible, prompting Friyya's unkind remark that the dark elf needed the spiders to gather there before she made herself truly at home. Edging closer, unsure of what exactly the drow had concocted this time, Virginia slipped the door open and quickly closed it behind her. Lily was lying seductively on the bed, the blouse which Virginia had loaned her and which she wore as her only item of clothing was half undone, her full breasts spilling out, violet nipples standing hard to attention. The whole chamber was flooded with the glow of the faerie fire the dark elf had strategically predisposed around the bed. Such magical lighting lent the white sheets of Virginia's bed and the plain wooden walls of the room an eerie, violet glow.

Lily herself lay back with her eyes half closed, her lips parted, legs held ever so slightly apart so that Virginia could just catch the slightest glimpse of the folds of her sex shimmering with moisture like some dark, midnight lotus under the moonlight. The aroma of the drow's arousal had already tinged the air with an odd, slightly spicy exotic scent. It was proof of Lily's wetness and the eagerness with which she would soon welcome Virginia's caress.

"My noble priestess returns." Lily said softly, spreading her thighs even more, the beds-sheets ruffled under the movement of the dark elf's sensual, feminine limbs, the blackness of her skin contrasting deliciously with the pure white of the cotton sheets.

"How...how did you know?" Virginia asked, as shocked as she was aroused. Before Lily could even begin her answer, the paladin was unbuttoning her tunic. Virginia had been suddenly seized with the compulsion to bury herself in the warmth of Lily's breasts, to seek the solace of her heartbeat and the softness of those perfectly formed, obsidian mounds.

"That rival of yours came in a few moments ago. Her face did not show it, but when your survival depends on it, you learn to read hidden emotions very quickly." Lily said, running her fingers through Virginia's soft, blonde hair, drawing the paladin's lips closer to the sensitive flesh of her breasts.

"Oh...Lily." Virginia sighed, for the dark elf was truly a sight to behold, her rich, silky silver hair spread over the pillow as if in the throes of passion, her delicate toes curled in burning desire against the bed sheets, twisting them with ever involuntary movement of her legs. The blonde paladin discarded her tunic and stepped out of her boots before kneeling between her lover's legs. Lily was sodden, so wet that a little patch of moisture had formed on the sheets beneath her juicing, violet sex. Virginia hiked the hem of the blouse up higher, the faintly exotic smell of Lily's arousal surrounding her as she lowered her head slowly to plant a reverent kiss on the drow's straining, taut abdomen. Inching lower, the blonde paladin ran her tongue hungrily down the slit, dripping in nectar, revelling in the intoxicating nuances of its oddly bittersweet taste - it was almost like eating a wild peach. Nevertheless, the drow's nectar was addictive: rich and copious and full of sensual promise. Lily shuddered at the first contact and, much to Virginia's surprise, began to convulse spasmodically the moment the paladin's eager tongue, searching in the darkness for the tiny bud of her lover's clitoris, finally found its target.

Lily gasped frantically, her eyes closed, her sex grinding against Virginia's face, the torrid essence of her arousal eagerly lapped up by Virginia as stray droplets fell onto the sheets.

"You're a little sensitive." Virginia said as Lily continue to offer her nether lips for further attention. The idea of power clearly aroused the drow to no end and Virginia was all too keen to indulge it by trailing long, lustful licks down the silky, violet nether lips of her lover's flower. Virginia had never quite experienced anything like it: the taste and sensation was addictive, like a forbidden fruit that only she had access to - to tease open and lap the juices whenever she desired.

"Always for my conquering priestess." Lily sighed, feeling herself overcome by the waves of her hard and fast climax, sensing only the delectable pressure of her lover's tongue and the hammering of heartbeat in her chest. Virginia had learned quickly how to pleasure her, the right timing, the right breathing and the right pressure with which to nudge the stiff bud of her clitoris into a sparkling sensual peak.

"Well, I can see that and so can the bed." Virginia teased, undoing the final two buttons of the dark elf's blouse and tossing it aside.

Wrapping her arms around Virginia neck and raising herself to a sitting position, Lily planted a burning kiss on her lover's lips, her tongue savage and relentless against the paladin's, revelling in her own taste combined with the familiar warmth of her lover's mouth, "Apologies, I will make amends immediately." She said, pushing Virginia back and crouching low against the sheets, her eyes raised seductively to meet the paladin's. Lily then began to run her tongue slowly and sensually across the wet patch she had created on the sheets, lapping up any residual moisture, all the while staring provocatively at Virginia.

"Hmm...a good start, but not good enough," Virginia said, sinking into the rhythm of the game, "there are so many other ways you can make it up to me. Lie down." She enjoyed taking control of lovemaking and even more so with Lily, who proved to be a wanton and eager follower to any commands she issued.

Lily did as she was ordered and quickly reclined on the pillows as Virginia positioned herself carefully with her sex, already visibly excited, just above the dark elf's mouth, her knees planted on each side of her lover's shoulders. Balancing herself with her arms against the wall, Virginia began to gyrate her hips just above Lily's face, her sex open, pink and inviting as the dark elf raised her head slightly to catch the outer folds with her tongue. A few stray drops of the blonde paladin's nectar trickled down to grace Lily's lips in tiny, fragrant droplets. The dark elf eagerly lapped them up and hungered for more.

"Good girl, now be nice and thorough." Virginia said playfully. She did not need to extend the invitation: Lily suddenly gripped Virginia's taut, athletic bottom between her hands, nails digging so deep that the paladin though they might draw blood as she was pulled against the dark elf's hungry mouth. Lily serviced Virginia as if she were possessed by some supernatural force, her tongue savage, invasive and devastatingly accurate as it caressed each little crevasse of the swollen, velvety nether lips. It was not so much exploration as domination, for Lily mastered every single nerve ending of the human girl's sex, moving in precise, devious patterns which only heightened Virginia's anticipation.

Virginia was almost immobile, the drow's grip was tight on her bottom, her tongue even more compelling as it began to focus malicious little licks on the human girl's clitoris. Sighing softly, working her hips in a circular rhythm to exploit the expert motions of Lily's tongue, Virginia shifted all her weight forward on the wall, concentrating on the mounting sensation of deep, visceral sparks each time she felt Lily lave the innermost lips of her sex before titillating her clitoris with agonising nonchalance.

It was only a matter of time before Virginia came, thrusting wantonly against Lily's mouth, her loins melting into a delicious sensation of satisfaction and her dark elf lover diligently finished her impeccable work with sharp little flicks of her tongue. Sighing in relief, as if her day could in no way improve, Virginia allowed herself to relax and fall back down on top of her lover, her lips hungry and searching as she kissed Lily, tasting the residue of their combined passion.

"Your coupling begins to befit your station." Lily said approvingly, biting her violet lip softly as she felt Virgnia's firm, curious hands explore the heavy globes of her breasts. The drow's nipples were sensitive in the cool air of the room and every instant of friction under her lover's fingers felt like an agonising extension to the knot of desire that still burned in her breast; so she made Virginia know just what a good job she was doing by raking her nails long and hard down the paladin's strong back.

"Lily!" Virginia gasped in surprise, as she took a sharp bite at one of the dark elf's nipples in retaliation.

"Good." Was all Lily could say, feeling the blood mounting in her temples as she clutched the paladin's bottom. Virginia continued to struggle against Lily, hungrily devouring the full obsidian globes of the beautiful drow's breasts, oblivious of the black index finger which slid between the athletic curve of her buttocks and pressed wickedly against the tight, puckered rosebud of her anus.

"You wanton girl." Virginia growled and gritted her teeth as she felt the digit penetrate her in one, sharp jerk, tugging the sphincter apart and sending the rosebud into full bloom. Lily was provoking her by going in dry.

"You are eager for it, though." Lily replied sarcastically, relishing the sensation of Virginia's nether portal contracting spasmodically around her finger.

That was the last straw for Virginia, she seized Lily by her mane of silky, silver-white hair and spun the drow around, eliciting a gasp of excited surprise. Now thrust belly down against the bed, all Lily could see was the white pillow illuminated by the lambent glow of the faerie fire. Virginia still gripped her by the hair. Lily did not even have to be told what to do, she simply raised her hips, thighs spread, and waited. The paladin's fingers followed: four thrust in hard and sharp, almost splashing into the drow's juicing, violet sex, and mercilessly fanning out into the inflamed tunnel while Virginia's thumb rammed almost brutally into Lily's nether portal, easily parting the sphincter and finding purchase in the moist warmth within. To the blonde paladin, the vision before her was sublime: her pale, white fingers spreading the innermost flesh of her obsidian-black drow lover open, her own taut, lithe body atop the delicious, soft yet dangerous femininity of Lily. Then there was the indescribable clinging sensation of Lily's sodden sex lips against her knuckles, the deep, tight, reassuring warmth of her rosebud around Virginia's thumb, and the sensual heat of the dark elf's bottom and thighs against her hand.

"Yes..." Lily hissed as Virginia began to thrust her fingers with a mercilessly tempo in and out of her sex, her thumb plunging deeper still into the drow's bottom to meet its four sisters against the thin membrane that separated them. Lily was clearly in ecstasy as let out long, ragged breaths against the pillow, Virginia's thrusts hard and merciless against her. With a sharp jerk on her hair, Virginia raised Lily up again, the dark elf's back arching in response.

"You brought this on yourself." Virginia said, her voice thick with passion as she ran her tongue down Lily's sensitive, delicately pointed ear. The pad of the paladin's index finger had found a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her dark elven lover and had began a hard thrusting pressure against it. Lily moaned with intense, almost sublime pleasure. She had rarely felt so spread, so satisfied and appeased by the increasingly reassuring desire she detected in Virginia. It was almost like being home again. Abandoning herself to the molten sensation in her loins and wetness on her ear so sublime she felt her shoulders shiver each time Virginia kissed her there, Lily felt her climax overtake her. Arching her back against Virginia, encouraging the deepest penetration possible, she thrust her hips back a few times, just to milk the last contractions of her ecstasy. Virginia felt as though she were gripping Lily from inside, capturing any remaining secrets her drow lover might have had and making them her own.

Virginia jerked her hand out of Lily's orifices and brought it before the dark elf's lips, the digits still glistening in moisture. Lily did not need further prompting and she diligently and hungrily licked each digit clean, with long, provocative licks, Virginia still clutching an improvised braid of her hair in her free hand. For a moment they knelt, almost immobile, on the bed, breathing heavily: Lily's firm, full breasts rising and falling erotically in rhythm with her breath. Then the dark elf lunged, catching Virginia unprepared and planting a searing kiss on the human girl's lips, Lily's hands desperate and needy as they clasped the paladin's sides, running up desperately to seek her compact yet elegant breasts. Not allowing herself to be outdone, Virginia seized Lily by the waist with the intention of pulling her down on the bed. The paladin, however, in the heat of her passion, miscalculated the force of her motion and the couple went tumbling onto the floor.

It was then that Lily deployed her secret weapon. She slid a hand between Virginia's thighs as the paladin pinned her down to the ground for another round of fierce, needy kisses, and cast an electricity cantrip, sending sparks of harmless magical energy flickering over her lover's sex. The effect was immediate, Virginia howled as she felt one of the most intense peaks of her life overtake her. Tiny motes of magical energy played across the lust-inflamed passion-pink flesh of her sex, sending such jolts of pleasure that the blonde paladin had never experienced in her life. The sensation of the crackling, tickling energy was overwhelming as it flooded every part of her sex, filling her with a radiant glow of pure bliss. She slumped forward, her sex still agonised by the sensory assault, but every other part of her relaxed as if floating in the Deep Ethereal Plane.

"Oh, Goddess...Lily, careful with that." Virginia groaned as she realised the imminent side effect of the dark elf's magical play. She rose and sped out of the room at full haste, leaving Lily lying back on the wooden floor, bemused, but very satisfied. Virginia may have dominated her in the bedchamber, as she had every right to, but it was Lily and Lily alone who was custodian to secrets which would always make her human lover desire her. As with all relationships, secrets had to be conceded inch by painstaking inch and never surrendered immediately. In due time, Virginia would know that there was infinitely more to drow lovemaking than she could ever have imagined and Lily would be there to initiate her into a world of superior sensuality.

Virginia returned a few moments later, a look of relief on her face now that the crisis was averted. Lily had caught her off guard and the most perverse parts of the paladin's had, in the heat of the moment, been inclined to punish the drow girl accordingly. That, however, would no doubt have been part of Lily's plan and, as adventurous as Virginia was, the full extent of Lily's erotic experience was still a little too much for her.

"Why did you leave?" Lily asked, a smirk on her face as she looked playfully - or, indeed, as playfully as drow can look - into Virginia's perplexed emerald eyes.

"Lily!"

"I would not have minded." The dark elf replied without a hint of irony.

"Please, I don't want to know." Virginia said with a sigh of resignation. There were no doubt dimensions to drow lovemaking she did not even want to consider.

"But did you enjoy my attentions?"

"Of course, Lily, of course, come here." Virginia invited as the dark elf rose to her feet and, still somewhat unaccustomed to the gesture, allowed the paladin to embrace her.

"So now I know how to inflame your libido." Lily said wryly, kissing the hollow of her taller lover's neck.

"One day, Lily," Virginia said with mock threat, kissing the drow's fragrant silvery white hair, "when you least expect it, I will thrust you against the wall and take you there as hard as I like and for as long as I like."

"Will you make it hurt...make it bleed?" Lily said, licking her lips in anticipation.

Virginia could only cradle the dark elf closer and resign herself to the fact that, as wild as some of her lovemaking sessions with Marséna had been, there was a Multiverse of infinitely more perverse acts to be explored. What only Marséna used to be able to say without blushing and scampering for a euphemism was probably tame insofar as Lily was concerned.

"Lily...thank you, you have made a good day a lot better." Virginia said softly, tenderly stroking her lover's hair.

"Good. So you will know to live up to your rank and climb higher still. This, I understand, is but the first step."

Virginia could always trust Lily to provide the pragmatic, cynical perspective. Nevertheless, something had begun to occur to Virginia, as much then as it did those cool, dark morning with the curtains closed when she would wake up to find Lily still asleep, but snuggled close and smiling. That revelation was that there would inevitably have to be a choice, not immediately, but soon, between Lily and Marséna. Unfortunately, Virginia had never been good at such choices: she had left Marséna halfway between her best friend and her beloved and Lily somewhere between passionate friendship and genuine love. To be sure, Lily could not match the depth of emotions Virginia felt for Marséna - but there were other issues there too and, as she clutched the voluptuous, sensual dark elf in her arms, it was Lily who always looked like the easy option out of a serious decision.

**********

"Reporting in, sir." Isolde said with military precision. Her work was proceeding apace. Finally, she had nailed down the whereabouts of those elements of the Order of the Radiant Path and their associates whom she believed to be the most easy pretexts for legal action. She knew that it all hinged on identifying the purpose to which this drow was being harboured in the headquarters of the Order. That would act as reasonable grounds for a detailed investigation which, in Isolde's experience, always yielded something incriminating. What happened from there had to be carefully coordinated to ensure that Virginia suffered the full brunt of the consequences.

"I am pleased with the progress of your daily status reports. I am happy to say that there is very little to which I can object, or, indeed, very little I can gainsay. The rarity of such occurrences, Isolde, indicate that you have dedicated both mind and soul to this endeavour and I am very satisfied that you have finally resolved to play by the rules of my little game." Dassau said, never once raising his elongated muzzle from yet another article he was in the process of drafting. This time, he thought it profitable to focus on the development of localised microeconomics in the Hive Ward as a sub-system of de-centralised perfect competition models.

"I only obey, sir." Isolde replied dutifully.

"Good, good. Now a contact has brought to my attention the supposition that there may be an extra-planar movement involving some members of the Order we have under surveillance. This clearly falls within the remit of this Bureau, since it does, technically, constitute external affairs. Once you determine the nature of this transit, I believe we should be well on our way to accumulating a sufficient quantity of evidence to make a case."

"As always, I am very much amazed by your information gathering abilities, sir."

Dassau laughed. It was not a human or mortal laugh, but a gross parody of one, "Isolde, I have existed for aeons. Information is to me like the air you must breathe for subsistence."

"Anything further, sir?" Isolde queried, anxious to leave. Any recollection of his demonic past sent Dassau, predictably enough, into a demonic mood.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is," Dassau's low, cultured voice weighed heavily in the air with each word, "another reduction in the basic rate of pay of all security operatives was announced this morning in the Hall of Speakers. I believe the majority was four hundred and twelve to seventy-nine with three abstentions."

"That, sir, is quite an irritation." Isolde winced internally. The loan she had taken out for the deposit on her room would probably be over-extended. Her current salary was just enough to pay the rent and keep her alive.

"If your concern is the loan you took in order to settle the deposit on your lodgings, that has been attended to."

"Sir?"

"I suspect you know that I shall not have my enjoyment tampered with. I need your mind clear, unprejudiced and focused on the task at hand."

"That is immensely generous of you, sir." Isolde said, with at least a hint of sincerity. Whatever the reasons, Dassau had just liberated her from a substantial worry.

"I imagine it is," Dassau said absentmindedly as he edited a somewhat inelegant paragraph in his article, "this may, however, entail a reduction in my rate of wine consumption."

Isolde controlled the urge draw attention to the fact that Dassau made at least fifteen times as much as she did and had no rent to pay. He, quite literally, lived in his office. Requiring no sleep, he was paid for his overtime night shift and spent most of it reading and drinking wine; much in the same way most of his day shift went. In the end, she resolved for a simple, "That is a shame, sir."

"Indeed it is. Next time you report in, please return my long coat from the cleaner. I believe I shall go for a brisk walk in the near future." Dassau never took his regular walks without his full length, military-cut coat. It made him appear more intimidating still, an effect he relished. To Isolde's knowledge, it had been tailor-made at enormous expense and bore some powerful enchantments which Dassau had devised specifically for the occasion.

"Very well, sir." Isolde said, with a degree of relief as she turned to leave. The stench of wine and old books had become overwhelming.

"Isolde, one last thing."

"Yes, sir." She answered wearily, turning around to face the dog-headed demon as he raised his cruel, Abyss-like eyes to meet her gaze.

"You never studied, why is this?"

"I believe you know why, sir." Isolde replied, irritated that Dassau was bringing the past she wished to keep buried back into the light.

"Your school reports from the Sigil Lyceum of Physical and Metaphysical Studies state that you were an extremely promising student: specifically, top marks in Mathematics, Geometry and Logic and the only perfect score of your year on your final exam in Physical and Chemical Sciences. You could, however, have done better in Grammar, but let us ignore that discrepancy for the moment." Dassau ran extensive background checks on everyone he knew.

"I repeat, sir, I believe you know why further studies would have entailed an impossible tradeoff."

"Were you never tempted? To my knowledge, you would have passed the entrance exam to the Academy or the University of Technics with consummate ease. Should you have taken this route....Well, Isolde, I need not be the one to tell you that you would not be here in the capacity of my assistant and secretary."

"And a great shame that would be too, sir."

Dassau snarled. Isolde knew that this was not a threat. Often, when Dassau tried to smile he snarled; it must have been something to do with the shape of his muzzle: "A career as a Logician abandoned in favour of a career as a secretary?"

Isolde knew it was pointless to fight. She knew that Dassau already knew all the ins and outs of the debate. He had known the day she had joined the Civic Security department, "Anyone would have done the same thing in my position and in my circumstances, sir."

"Yes," Dassau said with profound satisfaction, "your circumstances. I know that you would take objection to me dwelling too extensively on those."

"If it can be helped, sir."

"You may wish to one day make your peace with your very particular domestic issues, if I am not mistaken."

"I try to by not mentioning or reflecting too long on them, sir."

"So, Isolde," Dassau began, an edge of intense sadism creeping into his normally flawlessly composed, apathetic tone, "what do you imagine she would say if she saw you here?"

"Sir...please, sir, I beg you..." Isolde said softly, her mind already reeling from the suggestion.

"Do you presume she would be proud and satisfied that her..."

"Sir!" Isolde shouted, almost hysterically. It was the first time she had ever dared raise her voice with Dassau.

Dassau snarled again. Inwardly, he decided to keep his nature locked up in a little more. These sadistic indulgences were doing little for his path to redemption, "Very well, dismissed." With that he resumed his work.

Isolde felt the hot, hysterical fear subside in her. That thing, that mass of memories which Dassau had sent creeping out of her subconscious were hastily pushed back in. The secretary turned and exited the room. Her next few steps into the busy hallways of the Civic Security department were like a dream. A few colleagues greeted her, passed her by, looked at her curiously out of the corner of their eyes as they always did. But she proceeded oblivious to all that. She needed a bath, darkness and silence.

***********

Ithunn cringed inwardly. Inge had been weeping against her breast for the best part of a stroke of the Bell Tower. Each time she tried to interject into the desperate, muted sobs, she was greeted with an interminable, high pitched "Why?".

"Inge, treasure, please, it was not as you think." Ithunn said desperately. The particular corner of the library that she had chosen to disclose her little adventure with Elyszara to Inge had been chosen expressly to ensure that any subsequent scene drew as little attention as possible.

"Why?" Inge whimpered, predictably enough, clutching Ithunn with all her strength, her tears soaking the novice's tunic, "Is she more beautiful than me? Does she satisfy you more?"

"No, child, no." Ithunn said, with no great honesty.

"Liar!" Inge sobbed, yet, in doing, so she only clasped Ithunn tighter.

"Hush, Inge, come, let us talk about this." Ithunn said gently, stroking the trainee priestess' light, azure coloured hair with soothing tenderness.

"Why? So I can remain your fool?"

"Hush, child, I will not leave you." Ithunn comforted, somewhat more sympathetic than she had expected to be. Having said that, one glance at Inge's big, sad, tear-streaked grey eyes and the novice felt like weeping herself.

"Do you love me, Ithunn...please say that you love me." Inge begged, sensing an opening.

Ithunn felt herself tense inwardly. Yet again, Inge had manoeuvred her into an emotional trap, "Of course, sweetest, of course, I just thought that you would not mind...I mean, at this stage you know that I will always come back to you, but perhaps I could also have some time to myself - to come back to you as a more skilled and conscientious lover."

"Really, you would always come back to me?" Inge sniffed.

"Yes, but enough now or you will be late for your lessons." Ithunn knew that if there was any way she would be rid of Inge, it would only be by killing her.

"Oh, Ithunn, my love..." Inge cooed, nuzzling the novice's breast and abdomen. The tone Inge used when expressing her affection made Ithunn want to drink a pint of vinegar to offset the syrupy sweetness of the trainee priestess' voice.

"What in the Seven Heavens is going on here?" A voice, which Ithunn immediately recognised as Friyya's rang out in the darkened corner of the library.

"Nothing, Sister, just a little clarification." Ithunn replied, desperate to prevent Friyya from becoming involved as well. Inge merely clutched her friend protectively, burying her face into Ithunn's tunic as if burying her head in the sand.

"What are you two doing here?" Friyya inquired snidely as she arrived on the scene, "There are other places for that, you know..."

"No, Sister," Ithunn began wearily, "I think it just a little misunderstanding."

"Why so?"

Ithunn gently detached Inge from her so she could stand and look Friyya straight in the eye, "When relationships are young, there are often misunderstandings, so we are trying to settle one."

"Ithunn," Inge whimpered on, seemingly oblivious to Friyya's presence, "may I be at your side tonight?"

"Yes, of course, treasure, now be on your way." Ithunn admonished hastily and Inge complied, a half-satisfied smile forming on her lips as she left.

"What, may I ask, happened there?" Friyya said once she was certain Inge had left.

Ithunn's first instinct was to tell the paladin that it was absolutely none of her business, but, on second thought, keeping in mind Syf's invitation, she decided to keep things civil, "We were just clearing up the details of our relationship."

"Oh?"

"Inge took objection to me spending time with another...an aasimar who was kind enough to ask for the pleasure of my company. I merely clarified that it was nothing that would undermine our relationship."

The comment about the race of the person in question hit Friyya like a mace blow to the head. All of a sudden, memories of Syf, memories of Elyszara and her own repressed fears and neuroses came to the surface, "You made that sweet, loving girl weep for that? Why you slattern..."

Ithunn caught Friyya's hand in mid-flight and, before she knew it, the auburn-haired paladin was slammed against the bookshelf, her arm twisted behind her back as the novice held her down with such strength that even the slightest movement was painful. Friyya knew only Syf to possess such force, but now, face down against dusty books, her arm already aching from being held, hard, behind her back, she began to realise the absurdity of the situation: she was being pinned down by a mere novice.

"Let me go this instant! How dare you treat your fellow Sister in such a manner...how dare you treat a Consecrated paladin in such a manner!" Friyya snapped indignantly, only to gasp in pain as she felt her arm being twisted further. She did not even possess a fraction of Ithunn's strength and was accordingly forced to submit with only verbal threats as a defence.

"Some paladin." Ithunn said spitefully, pushing Friyya harder against the shelf, "Being held down by a novice. Shame on you."

"Ithunn, what in the Abyss has come over you?" Friyya said desperately. This was very much unlike Ithunn who was, even in the worst of times, obedient, gentle and tolerant of everyone. To see such rage and violence from the novice was disconcerting - not least because Friyya herself was on the receiving end of it.

"Never call me that again, understood? It does not matter whether you are my lover, my Sister or the Abbess herself, you will never call me that again."

"Ithunn, what's going on?"

"Get out and leave me be." Ithunn said sharply, releasing Friyya. The paladin instinctively leapt back, rubbing her sore arm. Ithunn's grip had been every bit as powerful as Syf's, but malicious to boot.

"I'll tell Syf," Friyya ventured spitefully, retreating into the aisle, "see what you hero will think of you once she knows what you did to her beloved."

"No!" Ithunn interjected desperately. She already sincerely regretted what she had done, but Friyya's reaction had triggered something primal and uncontrollable in her. The violence of her reaction had been based purely on instinct and not on hatred. As a matter of fact, she normally liked Friyya and certainly did not wish her any harm.

"You should have thought of that earlier, shouldn't you." Friyya said, sensing she was winning the upper hand. Ithunn, the upstart novice, would not get away lightly with this insult.

"No, Sister, please forgive me...I did not know what I was doing...punish me, force me to do whatever you wish, but never tell Syf...please." Ithunn said, trying not to beg.

"Fine," Friyya said, feigning magnanimity, "explain yourself, then."

"Sister..."

"Either you come up with a very convincing explanation for your behaviour or I will have no choice but to tell Syf."

Ithunn paused then met Friyya's gaze directly, "Very well. Know that what I am going to tell you know is nothing but the truth and may the Goddess strike me from her favour if I lie."

Friyya nodded, acknowledging the sincerity of the invocation.

"Before I came here, my father was an armourer and my mother stitched clothes. I first learned to handle weapons in my father's workshop and in the evening I would help my mother with the embroidering, because my brothers and sisters were younger than me and needed to be fed."

"My heart is breaking." Friyya said with cold sarcasm.

If Ithunn had taken a weapon to the library, she was convinced that Friyya would have been on the end of it, "As I was saying, Sister, I had little time for leisure. But one day, I met this girl near the Bazaar when I was bringing some fabric to sell at the market...she must have been my age, or thereabouts, and had the most beautiful dark eyes I had ever seen. We struck up conversation and met up whenever we had time. She was always up to no good, but it was just playing, really. One day my parents realised I had a new playmate and told me that they did not like the fact that she was not from Ortho, let alone that she was not fully human. But my mother, who was always tolerant, said to leave it be."

"Get on with it." Friyya snapped, though with less malice this time.

"One day, we were in the firewood storehouse behind my father's workshop and she kissed me all of a sudden. I thought I loved her so I kissed back and we sat there, on the cold floor for what seemed like the longest and most beautiful moment of my life. Then my father caught us. My friend scampered away in time, but he beat me until my mother threw herself between us and begged him to stop. I think I already lost consciousness, because my little sister had to tell me that last part. All I can remember was him calling me that, over and over again - saying that I was a slattern, a whore, a disgrace to my people and other things I could never repeat. So, Sister, that is how I was sent here: my mother said this would be the only way to make a decent person out of me and my father, as horrified as he was, knew of my potential with blades, so he agreed. So there, Sister, tell what you will to Syf, but do not neglect to include, on your honour, what I have just said."

"We have all lived through difficult times, Ithunn." Friyya said, her voice softening a little, "Syf tells me that you're a good novice and will make a better paladin, but you have to learn to master the past and not be slave to it. I understand that you are bitter and resentful at having been treated that way, but here you are among Sisters and you should never vent your frustrations on them. I know you to be a wonderful, good-natured person and there is no need for you to let your past undermine your character."

"With all respect, Sister, who are you to say that?"

"One day, Ithunn, perhaps after your Consecration, I will tell you a story and then, and only then, will you know whether to ask that question again." Friyya's gaze never once left Ithunn's.

The novice nodded. She only wished Friyya could understand her pain, the wounds that had been ripped open, "Please...I meant you no ill will. I have always admired you as a teacher and as a woman."

"Is that so? Do you find me beautiful?"

"I find you magnificent, Sister, and am happy that Syf has the delight of your company each night." Ithunn said, the words spilling uneasily from her lips.

Friyya blushed lightly, flattery was always a weapon to which she was vulnerable, especially when it came from a person whom she had begun to perceive as a rival of sorts, "You love Syf very much, don't you?"

"Yes, Sister."

"Know that your love is reciprocated. Now let us never speak of this again: I am satisfied with your explanation and see no reason why we should discuss this matter further." Friyya decided that Ithunn's gesture of deference was worth a reprieve.

"Thank you, Sister and, again, apologies." Ithunn said gratefully, hoping that dinner with Syf the next day did not bring up anything which had so far transpired.

"You can go now. But heed my suggestion and find Inge. Tell her that she's loved and hold her close to you. I know she can be a little on the sentimental side, but Syf thinks the same thing of me. In the end, Ithunn, Inge is one of the best of people, those who would never harm anyone, regardless of provocation or anger or resentment. These people - and if only you and I were amongst them -, these are the ones who will save us."

*********

Aerylle felt uneasy in the Styx Boatman - its bustle of life, low-life and, in some instances, un-life struck her as chaotic and threatening in the extreme. Still, the elven librarian was prepared to go to any lengths to prove to Min that she was not a closeted, frumpy type who allowed herself to be put off by a little of Sigil's night life. That particular evening, the tavern was experiencing a full house, so, much to Aerylle's wonder, Min was in a position to greet an acquaintance at disconcertingly regular intervals. At least, Aerylle reflected, it was nice enough to recline against a well-worn but comfortable couch with Min's reassuring arm around her shoulder, even if the clientele of the locale was suspect. In truth, Aerylle felt over-dressed and awkward under the circumstances. She had decided to make an impression and wear her good silk and pearl evening gown which reached to her ankles but was totally slit down the sides. The two halves of the dress were connected only by a dense network of thin, platinum chains around her waist.

She need not have bothered, for Min was busy exchanging pleasantries with a burly, coal-black minotaur who insisted on snorting every time he needed to emphasise a sentence - which was often enough. Aerylle found herself put off not only by the minotaur's worn battle-axe, which he carried around as if it were his dear life, but by the unpleasant mixture of mucus and cud which dripped down the creature's bovine snout. That was not the image she wanted to bear in mind for a romantic night out with Min. As far as Aerylle was concerned, an evening meant dinner, a walk in the Botanical Gardens followed by a good session of lovemaking. She was even prepared to appreciate Min's more energetic and forward style in the bedroom, but hanging around the Styx Boatman was a step too far.

Nevertheless, Aerylle resigned herself to the inevitability of it all. She had well and truly fallen in love with Min, so anything the tiefling did could be excused. She could only wonder if Min felt the same about her, but although she kept to herself, Aerylle knew her lover to have emotions deeper and more powerful than what appeared on the surface. In a petty way, it pleased Aerylle to see some of the tavern's patrons look jealously in her direction now that she had pride of place by Min's side, the tiefling's dextrous hands stroking her hair, as blonde as clear honey, or tracing the gentle curve of her collarbone with a long, deep red fingernail.

"How's the wine?" Min inquired as the minotaur, much to Aerylle's relief, turned back to obtain another drink at the bar.

"Fine, my sweet treasure, just a little strong." Aerylle said affectionately, leaning back further against the couch as Min's fingers worked their way through the intricate bundle of small braids and free-falling tresses.

"Aerylle...not in public." Min whispered fiercely - she did, after all, have a reputation to uphold.

"Oh, don't be such a child, Min," Aerylle reprimanded softly, "everyone respects you in this place, I surely do not make a difference."

"Yeah...well, just keep it down." Min concluded, though she knew the struggle was futile. Aerylle's slim, pale legs were perfect as the elven maiden settled into a more comfortable position as she stretched herself out on the couch.

"As my sweet Min wishes." Aerylle teased as she detected just a hint of a grimace on her lover's lips.

"So," Min began, changing the subject, "how d'you find this place."

"Fascinating...though, I feel somewhat in evidence."

"What?" The tiefling said, her tone perplexed.

"It means I feel awkward, Min. I shouldn't have dressed so formally."

"Oh, yeah, sorry, we don't all work in a library. But I think you look wonderful." Min said fervently leaning towards Aerylle to gently kiss the elven girl's pointed ear.

"Thanks..." Aerylle gasped as she felt the contact of Min's lips on her skin, "just remember that we elves are a little sensitive there, so maybe now is not the best idea." The elven librarian knew that 'a little sensitive' was a euphemism: her mother had always told her that decent girls left their ears at least partially covered for modesty, just as they would their breasts. It was a habit Aerylle found to be sensible enough since being put in a situation where Min's powerfully arousing lips would be deployed in public against one of her most sensitive spots was unfair, to say the least.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting."

"You will learn in time," Aerylle replied, sliding a dextrous hand into Min's lap and gently caressing the tiefling's lean, muscular thigh under the brown canvas of her leggings, "so when do you plan on dressing in a more...appropriate fashion again?"

"Appropriate?" Min snorted, "You mean all frilly and open so the wind and rain can fly up my..."

"Min!" Aerylle warned, taking one of the tiefling's hands into her own, "All I wanted to say is that I am proud to call you my lover and that you are essential to me no matter how you speak or what you wear, but it would be nice for you to change your style from time to time."

"Nice try," Min challenged, "but suppose I started changing my style to something like Shesayne's, you'd still have a problem with that."

"Well..." Aerylle conceded, feeling a little defeated, "Shesayne is not necessarily the best frame of reference..."

"Hah!" Min pounced, "Knew it, what happened...d'you lose your doll collection recently?"

"No," Aerylle replied, somewhat irritated - especially because, as a child, she had indeed possessed a very substantial collection of such items, "but speaking of which, you never did tell me about your family life, before Shesayne, I mean."

"That's 'cause there's nothing to say." Min said, all of a sudden more pensive, "Never knew either of them."

"Oh, I'm sorry Min, I remember you told me you had reservations about talking about it." Aerylle said, affectionately squeezing the tiefling's hand as she gently kissed her on the cheek.

"Nah, my mother dumped me before I could even remember her face, and a good job it was, too. Sometimes it's better to learn how to live than being told how with a silver spoon in your mouth."

"But you must have..."

"Institution of some sort - dark and cold - 'till I fucked off as soon as I could. Afterwards, you learn fast. Stay out of big trouble, take only what you need, stay out of the way of people with strange ideas about you, and the rest is Lady Luck." Min said, not a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"I understand, sometimes I really have no idea." Aerylle said. Truthfully, she could not even begin to understand Min's life or its workings, she could only listen and, like any good librarian, classify and archive the information.

"Don't worry about it, whatever you ask, I'll tell."

"Min," Aerylle began, emotions she would have preferred to have kept under control spilling forth, "I would like to say...that, well..."

"Min!" A voice interjected suddenly. It had a playful, pleasant quality to it and Aerylle noted traces of an intonation so distantly familiar that she could not quite recall it.

"By the Nine Hells, Verden, where have you been all this time?" Min replied with genuine surprise.

"I might ask you the same question, you worried me, it's been over thirty days or so." Turning curiously to scrutinise Min's friend, Aerylle immediately knew what she had recognised. Verden was a half-elf, but clearly leaning more towards the elven side and a half-wood elf at that. She had a lush appearance, with lustrous, chestnut brown hair streaked with shades of natural, moss-green that framed her delicate face, and deep, coffee brown eyes. The wood elf, though, showed through, as Verden was distinguished by a short, voluptuous body with rich, woodland tan skin, all clad in brown leather top and leggings.

"I'm touched," Min began sardonically, but smiling broadly - she was genuinely pleased to see Verden again, especially because she looked like she had news, "come, come sit down."

Verden moved with a certain intensity of purpose which was reflected in the strange glimmer in her eye, as if she were always hiding something. Leaning forward on Min's couch, she planted a soft kiss on the tiefling's lips, somewhat to Aerylle's disapproval. Min, however, was briefly too focused on the abundance of Verden's breasts as they strained against the tightly knotted leather top to take any notice.

"Oh, and who's this pretty little thing you've added to your collection..." Verden began, noting Aerylle in the corner of her eye.

"Aerylle." The elven librarian snapped, deciding not to wait for Min to introduce her, "And I would inform you that I am part of no one's collection."

"Can't you take a joke?" Verden replied, a little indignant, "I didn't know you went for uptight ones, Min."

Aerylle could only examine Verden closely, very closely indeed because the sight of the half-elf sent something welling up deep within her, something which brought her back in time and space.

"Hey Verden, easy," Min chided, not wishing for the situation to degenerate into a confrontation, "we're a little rough around the edges for her, but she means no harm."

"Look, Min, could I talk to you in private a moment? Something's come up."

"Right you are," Min agreed, Verden never wasted her time, "Aerylle, I'll only be a little while, just make sure no one takes my place." The elven maiden glowered briefly at Min, but assented. She was certainly in no position, nor did she have the inclination, to question any of Min's friendship.

As far as Min was concerned, it was truly a relief to have a little time to catch up with Verden, who may well have been her best friend after Shesayne. But whereas she had formed an intense bond with Shesayne, Verden was always a little more distant; too intense, too taken with her various, dubious, activities. That was not to say that she didn't care for Verden, indeed their lives had crossed often enough in the past for them to have become more the friends. Back in the day, Verden had been an integral part of Min's troupe, often posing as Shesayne's lover or business associate when they needed an elaborate setup for one of their thieving operations. Those were also the days in which the full-blooded elves of the Hive, always contemptuous of half-breeds, used to call her The Verden Mountains. The half-elf adopted it as a badge of pride and of defiance, so the nickname stuck. Not without good reason, Min concluded, because Verden had a perfect, sensual hourglass shape with gently flared hips and full breasts so that the tiefling could never recall having seen such curves on any offshoot of the elven race.

So, it was much to Min's pleasure to once again sit down by the bar with her old friend, and even more so when Verden ordered a half-bottle of Elysian brandy which normally sold at seventy marks a piece, minimum.

"You're flashing the jink, what place d'you hit this time?" Min inquired. Verden's palms were like sieves, to say that she was ostentatious with money was a gross understatement under any circumstances.

"Mercane shipment of spices...cleaned them out when we exchanged a coin box...look, Min, what the fuck are you still doing in that retrievals business? We could really use you and Shesayne again...and I miss you both." Verden did not normally manifest genuine emotions, but only affected them to make her routine more convincing, but with Min she made an exception.

"We had second thoughts."

"'Cause you put that ceramics store bitch in the dead-book? Are you barmy? How many did you and I stiff back in the day, Min? How many?" Verden had a point, like Min, she did not have too much trouble killing. Especially in the Hive, where the general assessment was that the loss of anyone else's life was better than the loss of one's own.

"I didn't, Shesayne did."

"Min, fuck!" Knowing of Shesayne's sensitivity to such things, both Min and Verden had done their utmost to keep the more violent side of their trade hidden from her.

"I know, so she packed things in and so did I."

"You could have brought her too, y'know, we could have had a little reunion..."

"She's got other things on her mind, but do her a favour and go visit her, she always loves to see you."

"Yeah, in time." Verden said with some regret. She had always had a special bond with Shesayne, for they could both relate to the same problems, even more so than Min. The tiefling did not need acceptance, but imposed it; half-elves, on the other hand, the products of a union between two naturally gregarious species, always strove, to an extent, to win the recognition of their peers, human or elven.

"So what's chant?" Min said, deciding to get down to business.

"Get this, you're being shadowed." Verden said conspiratorially as she poured two glasses of the clear, ruby-red brandy.

"Me?"

"Yeah, and your girl too. Apparently, Ivor and Belkiss said they kept noticing this creepy woman, Civic Security or something, hanging 'round their market stall. She started tailing Shesayne at the retrievals company, which led to you, which led to your friend over there. So I checked it out, and true to form, there she was, taking notes and hidden to the side in front of your work place."

"Who is she?" Min queried, draining her glass in one mouthful. Verden was quick to refill.

"No idea, but fucked up as Pandemonium, just to look at her."

"D'you reckon it's still the thieving stuff? An outstanding warrant or something?"

"No, this is where the story gets strange. I followed her on her daily rounds, and she's not doing a Hive sweep sort of thing to dig up a few thieves here and there, 'cause she regularly goes over to the Temple Ward and spends at least half the day there, moving back and forth from there to the Civic Security building every now and then."

"Temple Ward? Don't tell me..."

"Yeah, you got it, the same one where Shesayne's new fling lives."

"What does this woman want, though? I mean, they're pretty much on the straight and narrow, those Radiant Path girls." Of course, rational explanations were often insufficient to account for the general weirdness Min had observed in Sigil.

"I can try to find out...I have my ways, y'know." Verden winked suggestively and took a sip of her brandy.

"Be careful, now that you don't have me watching over you..." Min teased.

"Speaking of which," Verden said, trailing a delicate finger around Min's glass for effect, "I think it's high time for your next 'mountain exploration'."

"Maybe another time." Min said quickly. She was, as always, sorely tempted. Verden adored being submissive to Min in the bedroom and the half-elf had some seriously arousing routines which made Min's throat dry and pulse race just to think of them.

"Fuck, Min," Verden complained, "what's the matter, switching from semi-skimmed to full cream?" The half-elf had no interest in being outdone by a scrawny librarian.

"Don't insult your intelligence." Min replied as she stood up to leave, "Thanks for the heads up."

"'C'mon, Min, seriously," Verden whispered sharply, "Shesayne never minded."

"She's not Shesayne." Min said curtly.

"But I've missed you," Verden said seductively, running her fingernails down the back of Min's hand, before adding with a lascivious smile, "and I really need a good fuck."

"Then you know the street, someone's sure to pick you up." Min replied, turning around and moving back to rejoin Aerylle.

"You never spoke to me like that," Verden said loudly, rising to her feet, "why are you being such a cold bitch all of a sudden?"

It was then that Min realised she had gone overboard. Verden was known to be the one whose feelings simply could not be hurt because she kept them bottled down and hidden. Min, however, a spiritual lone wolf of sorts, had never quite realised the effect her actions could have on others.

"Verden, easy, it was a joke." Min said, raising a conciliatory hand.

"Fuck you," Verden snarled back, "you're all high-up since you found the only elf in the Multiverse who likes tiefling cunt."

"Hey! Verden, that's enough!" Min shouted; it was the closest to being offended she had come to in a long time. Verden, however, had already made a hasty and furious exit.

Min quickly hastened to Aerylle who, having overheard the loud confrontation, was profoundly shocked, "Sorry you had to see that." Min said, somewhat apologetically, kissing Aerylle's forehead.

"I'm sorry I had to hear that." The elven girl replied, hoping that her lover had not been excessively hurt by Verden's comments.

"She's never been like that."

"Glad to hear it." Aerylle said wryly.

"Look, Aerylle, just give me a moment, I really need to sort this out." Min said guiltily. It would have been stupid to compromise an old friendship for such a silly misunderstanding.

Aerylle looked plaintively at Min, "Am I to wait here all alone?"

"Just a moment, I promise." The tiefling said quickly, kissing Aerylle, this time on the lips, and leaving with her usual feline grace. Aerylle resigned herself to the fact that if she tried as hard as she could, there were barriers she was not meant to cross and lives she would never know more than superficially. What lay under Min was an ocean which she had only just begun to sail. Shrugging her shoulders, the elven librarian ordered another bottle of feywine and decided to pass the time by observing the Multiverse go by.

Outside, the night was already cold. A myriad of fires, lights and various magical illuminations burned in the distances and Sigil was awash in an odd glow, that illuminated its Great Wheel in contrast to the vast, empty void on either side of it. Only the Spire, the axis around which the Great Wheel turned, was faintly visible in the distance of Sigil's ring.

Min knew where to find Verden; she had always known since they were little more than children. The half-elf was slumped miserably in the darkness against an old storehouse, as if deep in painful contemplation.

"Verden..." Min said softly. She allowed her voice to be infiltrated with just a hint of concern.

"What do you want?" The darkness was heavy, though there was the occasional sound of revellers passing nearby, singing in a multitude of different languages, some at pitches not even audible to human ears.

"Verden, I'm sorry I said that. You'll always be Sigil's most beautiful landscape to me." Min joked, placing a hand on the half-elf's shoulder; only then did she notice the profound sadness which had replaced the intensity she had always associated with her friend's eyes, "Verden, don't..."

"Don't fucking say it." The half-elf growled, quickly running the back of her hand over her cheeks.

"C'mon, let's go inside, there's no reason to be out here, I'll buy you back a few drinks and you can update me on everything that's happened, sound fair?"

"You knew where to find me."

"Yeah, you like this place, or so it seems."

"It helps me think." Verden said quietly, regaining some of her collected composure, "I'm glad you remembered it. I only wish I had the same old Min and the same old Shesayne again; those people you picked before you left, they're sodding amateurs. We, well we were a team."

"I know, but times change and the Wheel spins on, and something tells me Fate and Lady Luck, nasty bitches they are, don't care much for the likes of us."

"Yeah, I know, I made my peace with that a long time ago. What I'll never do, though, is throw away the little she has given me, that'd just be sodding barmy."

"I agree and that's exactly why I'm here. Just 'cause we don't see each other as often, doesn't mean you stop mattering to me." Min said, her tone conciliatory now, as she drew Verden into her arms, the shorter girl's face buried in her shoulder.

"Yeah, as if you need to ask Lady Luck's help," Verden said sardonically, "you'd probably just end up between her thighs."

Min allowed herself a soft chuckle before leaning forward to gently kiss Verden's hair; it smelt of smoke and the expensive perfume the half-elf slathered in ostentatious quantities, but there was something fresher beneath, like the wet earth of the forest or the dawn mist on the leaves.

"By the Abyss, Min, not in public!" Verden protested.

"Well, that's why you chose this place, right?" Min teased, "So when you're all weepy and looking for a cuddle from dear little Min, there won't be a soul around to see it."

"Yeah, yeah, say what you want, but I'm still Verden and no one in the Hive would dare cross-trade me, unless they really like knives in odd places, that is."

"So are we going back in? Aerylle's going to have my head if we stay out much longer, you know."

"Sure," Verden said, quickly composing herself, "I should probably say I'm sorry too, she looks like a nice girl...I've got nothing against her. Even though she seems to mean that your latest expedition will have to wait." The half-elf had returned to her usual, mysterious smile, much to Min's pleasure.

"Seriously, though, I want to meet up again. I sort of felt guilty when I saw you...I understood that maybe I wasn't giving you the attention that our friendship deserved." In truth, Min had tried to sideline her past as much as possible, more for Shesayne than for herself.

"Anytime, I'll catch up with Shesayne, too, I swear, but for now," Verden said, reaching into her coin purse to retrieve two small, oblong black tablets, "how about a peace offering?"

"Sounds good to me." Min conceded, taking a tablet from Verden's palm and ingesting it, "Black Lotus...is it pure?"

"Only the best." The half-elf replied, swallowing her dose. Even that tiny dose would keep the going for most of the next day without sleep, as well as heightening the accuracy of all motor coordination skills. The downside, of course, was a crash of truly epic proportions, but Min planned on spending that on Aerylle's ludicrously plush bed, lying naked on the luxuriantly soft sheets, sleeping for a day without interruption on a soft, clean surface. It had been her first, coherent dream when she was a child and it had remained her foremost vision of bliss.

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

Back in the Styx Boatman, Verden almost seemed to return to normal. She was seductively conciliatory with Aerylle, apologising quickly for her remarks and proceeding to compliment the elven librarian for the beauty of her dress, and delightfully amiable to Min who suddenly realised she had found her old friend again after too much time.

"So, it's just hard running things without you two." Verden said - she had bought another round of expensive drinks, though that was not to Aerylle's liking. As far as the grey elf was concerned, prodigality with money was next to vulgarity.

"Really? Ilthis and Yedde are that incompetent?" Min inquired in disbelief. She had always been a good hand at selecting the ideal personnel.

"Yeah, Ilthis bungled up his last job. Still hope the sodding Hardheads won't be after us, 'cause they saw him. Problem is, they fall apart without you to give them orders, you always had a better mind that me at organising these things." Verden said. Much to Aerylle's irritation, the half-elf had taken a seat on the couch next to Min and occasionally graced the tiefling's long, ember-red hair with a loving caress.

"Why didn't you ever think of changing line of work...we offered back in the day. We really wanted you to come with us." Normally, that had been the great bone of contention between Min and Verden. The half-elven thief had simply refused to quit what she thought to be a highly profitable and rewarding profession. They had fought acrimoniously about it while Shesayne looked on with deep sadness in her eyes.

"It's the only life I know: the only thing I was good at, y'know all about this, though." Verden said softly. Aerylle looked on sceptically: there was something about Verden that troubled her and she could not tell Min why. It was not so much a bad feeling as a feeling of deep, bleeding guilt and resentment which overwhelmed her when she looked upon Verden, when she heard the faintest traces of that long-lost melodic intonation she knew she had heard.

"Offer's always open, though. You need anything, come to me. Things change, Verden, but you and me...I think that's set in stone." Min reassured.

The half-elf nodded gratefully, but added, "You never know, you might be the one coming to me. Now, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get something else to drink. Another brandy?"

"Sure, why not," Min called as the half-elven girl rose and made her way to the bar, "but, like I always said, don't spend it all in one go."

"A good friend of yours, I presume." Aerylle said coolly as soon as Verden was outside earshot.

"C'mon, princess, she's like family. I know that she can rub people the wrong way, but trust me, deep down, she's a good girl."

"You really do not need to call me that, you know." Aerylle said wearily.

"Yeah, but when you're dressed like that, I just can't help myself." Min said with her classically enigmatic smile as she leaned over on the couch to kiss Aerylle on the lips.

The elven librarian blushed a little. Min did have a point, as usual her presence was decidedly out of place in the locales the tiefling preferred to frequent, "How did you two meet, if I may ask?" Aerylle queried, deciding to change the subject. Min was intractable when it came to her light teasing.

"Y'know, it was strange. It was a little before I met Shesayne and I must have been just a little more than a child, 'cause I still remember I had my first bleed at about that time..."

"Min!" Aerylle interrupted desperately. That was certainly not the topic of polite conversation.

"Hey, can I tell the story or what? Anyway, I remember the poor girl was begging for a living. She did the sweet, innocent girl thing and got a few handouts, then, when it was darker, she picked a few pockets. But she was fast, really fast, and I liked her style...fuck, I liked her, so I approached her one day at the Bazaar and asked whether she'd like to go into business with me. We did more or less the same stuff - 'cept I never even thought of begging - and she agreed. We never looked back...until now, that is." What Min did not say, for she thought it too early, was how one day, some time after they had met Shesayne and formed an intrepid thieving trio, Verden had found a friend and almost as quickly lost her. She had never been the same since; afterwards she was changed - more cynical, more introspective, more solitary, as if she could never trust a soul again the same way she used to.

"Why her?" Aerylle asked curiously. Min's past never ceased to fascinate her.

"Because I saw a piece of myself in her. That's a hard feeling to shake, 'cause it comes back to haunt you. I only approached Verden after few a days of watching her and every single night of that time, I lay awake wondering if she was all right, if I should be there in case anything happened...y'know, the Hive's tough if you're small and pretty."

"I can imagine." Aerylle said, though, in all honesty, she realised she probably could not.

"Listen, then, 'cause I need to tell you this." Min said as Verden returned to take a seat by her side, a cut-crystal bottle of brandy in her hand.

Min realised that the story she was about to tell was not merely narrative. She needed to tell Aerylle something before their relationship went any deeper. She needed to tell the elven girl that there was a part of her which had little to do with fairy tales.

***********

Sigil was cold that evening, so Shesayne huddled close to Min under the icicle-sharp drizzle. Before them, the twilit sky was grey and overcast.

"Sod it, we're soaked, you're mother's going to have another go at us for this." Min said, teeth clenched. It was cool even for her.

"Just ignore her; don't pay her any mind and maybe, just maybe, she'll go away." Shesayne replied, comforted at least by Min's arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close.

"It's getting heavy, Shesayne, she even refuses to give us food now...it's only a matter of time before she tells us to sod off."

"Yeah, I thought she might, but at least we have work nowadays - nothing my dear mother would be proud and happy about, but we get by."

"D'you reckon Verden is all right? Under all this rain, I mean." Min thought back with a twinge of regret of how they had parted after a moderately successful operation. Verden had sworn she had somewhere safe to sleep, even if Shesayne, as usual, desperately offered a corner in her room and Verden, as usual, refused.

"She's always all right." Shesayne said, more in hope than in conviction.

"Hey, Shesayne," Min said suddenly, "let's take this side alley, at least it's a little covered. If we catch something, we'll be out for days." That was only a partial truth, Min noticed she was far less inclined to feel the effects of the weather than Shesayne - it must have been something to do with her Lower Planar blood.

The petite half-elf nodded in acknowledgement as the couple turned into the humid darkness of another crooked side-alley in the Hive. Decaying buildings hung over them like the carcasses of long dead giants. They moved soundlessly over ruined cobblestones interspersed with puddles of filthy water. It never really rained in Sigil: all that came down was a regular sheet of tiny, irritating, dirty needles of water and soot from the great foundries and tanneries in the industrial districts.

"Fuck, Min, what was that?" Shesayne exclaimed, immediately feeling worried in the darkness. As a tiefling, Min was better equipped to see.

"What?"

"Someone just grabbed me." Shesayne whispered, huddling close to her friend.

"You ladies sellin'?" A voice came from the darkness, low and guttural.

"Sod off, berk." Min snarled.

"Shouldn't let your friend out dressed like that, then."

"Hey, fuck you!" Shesayne snapped, only to feel Min's hand firmly squeezing hers, telling her to desist.

"You ladies sure 'bout that, how's three hundred for the little one?" The voice said, though only Min's eyesight was good enough to discern that it came from burly humanoid with a porcine snout, an orc, perhaps, or a hobgoblin.

"On your way, berk, before there's trouble." Min cautioned, a hand finding her dagger in its sheath.

"Nine Hells, you two sure are uppity for whores." The being croaked.

"Say that again." Min challenged, an edge of danger creeping into her voice.

"Min, no..." Shesayne begged, sensing her friend's temper flaring, "let's just go home, we can have a nice hot meal and warm ourselves by the..."

"Say that again." Min repeated, oblivious to Shesayne's protestations.

"Whoah, easy, just a thought." The creature said.

Min said nothing, but her dagger sailed through the darkness, striking the green-skinned humanoid on the shoulder, drawing forth a hot gout of deep crimson blood. Shesayne could hear it dribble on the paving like droplets of water. The creature howled in agony, reeling back - only to realise that Min was upon it, the full force of her leap pressing it back against a rotten, stinking wooden wall.

"Min!" Shesayne cried desperately, "It's over, fuck it, let's just go."

"You need to learn where to keep your hands, berk." The tiefling said, staring deep into the humanoid's piggy eyes and noting, with satisfaction, intense, visceral fear, "And you need to learn how to treat a lady." With that, Min extracted her second dagger and planted it with full force against the humanoid's straining wrist, nailing it to the wall. More howls of pain filled the darkness.

"Please, miss, have my apologies," the humanoid groaned as it gasped for air through its boar-like muzzle, "I should be on my way."

"Too late," Min said, her tone almost sadistic as her flaming eyes contemplated the quivering being beneath her - that was all there was to it, accurately placed shock and surprise and creatures far stronger than she was on a purely physical level could be reduced to whimpering masses of leather and flesh, "looks like I need to teach you that particular lesson." The tiefling twisted the dagger savagely in the humanoid's wrist so as to shatter the bone and then proceed to slowly slice off tendon and muscle, letting the limp hand fall wetly against the cobblestones. More hot spurts of live blood followed. Min leapt back, balancing herself on the creature's abdomen for leverage and allowing to fall to its knees, desperately clutching its bloody stump, moaning in pain.

"Min...you could have left it." Shesayne whimpered as she felt the tiefling's arm around her shoulders, "What was the use in that? We could have been on our way and everybody would have been fine...you crazy bitch." The half-elf abruptly pushed Min away and began to walk off, quickly, so as to evade the enduring screams of the being her friend had just mutilated.

"Shesayne..." Min called desperately, as she ran down the alleyway in pursuit.

"Why? Don't we see enough sodding blood already?" Shesayne sobbed, turning to grip Min tightly, only to be rewarded by a thick, metallic stench on the tiefling's hands.

"Shesayne, I did it to protect you. I would never let anything bad happen to you...I'd kill myself first."

"One thing is if he's holding me down, Min, but he was just asking...you know how many real whores there are in this place?"

"I'm just sick of you being treated that way..." Min said, though, in truth, she could not really explain it to herself either. That anger, that sadism had come from deep inside her, welling up like the bile of her fiendish ancestry and briefly seizing control of her.

"Yeah, me too, but that's no reason for anyone to lose a hand."

"I'm sorry, Shesayne." Min whispered softly, her voice rich and soothing, "How about we get home, take a warm bath and get under the covers?"

"A bath, huh? So you can slice someone else's hand off for a stupid comment?" Shesayne said accusingly, thinking of the rather frightful communal bathing area in the housing block where her mother lived.

"Then let's just get under the covers...I'm still Min, you know."

"I know, I know...just don't do this to me again. There's no reason for us to become cutthroats or murderers."

"I don't want to put anyone in the dead-book, Shesayne, but sometimes, they ask me to write their names in it."

**********

Min's narration became the bottom line of the evening as far as Aerylle was concerned. From then on, deep into Sigil's night, all the grey elf could think about was the Multiverse she had read so much, but knew so little, about. Whatever the case may have been, Aerylle was happy that Min had seen fit to confide in her; it just confirmed her hope that they were well on their way towards a budding, beautiful relationship. Ultimately, what Aerylle found herself fantasising about shocked even her. It was certainly nothing she was inclined to tell Min in the near future and, by and large, it was something she preferred to keep deep within her, so as not to disappoint that profound, guilty desire that thrust her forwards into some unnamed future. In those fantasies, all Aerylle could see were white, billowing curtains, soft silk sheets, rich sunlight streaming through open windows with Min asleep by her side, and soft laughing voices in the distance coming from the adjacent room.

By the early hours of the following day, almost as Sigil neared daybreak, Min put a sleeping Aerylle to rest under the sheets of her bed, making sure the elven girl was sufficiently warm and comfortable. Then she undressed and took her lover's side, still very much awake from the effects of the Black Lotus, and pensive. It had pained her to bid Verden farewell and did so only when she realised that Aerylle had fallen asleep in her lap. The tiefling knew that, as the first rays of light broke into the small, but comfortably appointed bedroom where Aerylle slept, that she would soon have to leave for another day's work and that if she could take any lesson from what had transpired: from meeting Verden, thinking about Aerylle and reminiscing about the past, it was that choices were constantly being made. Each day that passed merely made those choices more painful still.

In an ideal world, everything would be clear, happy and effortless for herself, for Shesayne and for everyone else she knew she loved. Such were the ways of the Multiverse, however, that she could only touch this ideal world briefly, in those carefree moments between Aerylle's sheets where there were no choices to be made, but only slow-burning passion to be consummated.

Sigil Book One, Chapter X

In any relationship, in any walk of life...indeed, in any life at all, there always comes a time in which the present must give way to thoughts of the future. Some believe this to be a great, seamless web of being: the past is necessary and, by tautological deduction, since the necessary cannot lead into the unnecessary, we are all trapped into a chain of causality over which we have very little control. We are woven into the great fabric of the Multiverse and where the fabric flutters, so do the individual strings. Now, as the first great arc of our narration draws to an end, our (anti)heroines must begin to take stock of the past as a step up towards the future. Thus they begin to grope in the dark.

- The Archivist, your narrator.

"We always did love the very same one,

We just saw her from different point of view,

Tangled up in blue..."

"Be a good girl while I'm gone." Marséna joked, affectionately kissing Shesayne's raven black hair as the half-elf happily embraced her lover.

"Yeah, you take care of yourself and come back to me a full, complete and convinced woman, so we no longer need to hurt each other with choices." Shesayne said softly, burying her face between the Mareterran paladin's soft, full breasts. As always, she detected that reassuring citrus sent of Marséna's perfume and the warmth that her breast had given her so many times when she had been angry or frustrated at life.

"You two are adorable." Friyya said sardonically while Syf stood aside in the little kitchen of their apartment in Quarters and pretended not to have an interest in proceedings.

"Why don't you come?" Marséna challenged, "Your skin could use a little colour. As pale as you are, we would say you look like death." She was in no mood to fight with Friyya, though, just to leave as quickly as possible. Like Virginia, she thought it appropriate to wear her white and gold dress uniform before leaving, though could not wait to slip into something more comfortable; the starchiness of her current outfit stifled her.

"Oh no," Friyya retorted in kind, running a playful hand up the skirt of Marséna's tunic and placing a playful slap on her legendary bottom, "Mother always said that ladies ought never to go out into the sun."

"Play all you want, I know you wish it were yours." Marséna snapped back.

"Marséna," Shesayne interjected, raising her head to invite one last kiss from her lover's lips, "no fights, no quarrels, no fuss, just have a great time."

It was the Mareterran girl's pleasure to kiss the shorter-half-elf back, clutching her petite frame tightly against her.

"Good for you, Shesayne." Friyya said airily, "Teach the big, tawny cat to hold her tongue."

"Friyya...I am not that fucking dark!" Marséna snarled, moving forward to face her auburn-haired tormentor.

"All I wanted to say is good-bye and see you soon, no need for violence." Friyya replied, playfully kissing Marséna on the lips, leaving the dark-haired paladin somewhat lost for words.

"She's toying with your mind, as usual." Virginia chided. She too felt that she was leaving in fulfilment of something and it was not only the strange woman's prophecy, though there remained something uneasily suspect about that episode, as if someone were steering her in that direction. Nevertheless, it was Virginia's pleasure to spend some time alone with Marséna and, better still, to learn to know her friend better. All she had heard of Marséna's home-world, Mareterra, and the country of Overnha came from her friend's stories. Virginia thought it ironic that only then, when Marséna had finally won her homesickness, did they decide to return.

"I will wait for and celebrate you upon your return." Lily said with unnecessary formality as she stood in the doorway of Virginia's room, a little aside from the rest.

"Don't worry, I would think it inappropriate to ask your for a good-bye kiss." Virginia replied.

"It is good that you know me at least that well." Lily replied, a bemused, almost affectionate smile creeping onto her lips. Relations between drow females always manifested privately; it was the duty of each female to carefully inform herself of a given relationship network and not make do with superficial signs of desire or affection - those were easily manipulated and could lead to disaster.

"Be nice to Shesayne, Lily, please..." Virginia implored one last time. No matter how many times the dark elf promised to be civil, Virginia did not quite believe her.

"Oh, don't worry-worry, Virg," Shesayne reassured amiably, finally letting go of Marséna, "we'll have a great time, won't we Lily?"

"If you insist." The drow replied dismissively, crossing her arms over her ample breasts. Virginia could not help noticing that her lover was still wearing only a white blouse and nothing else; the very thought of those stiff, violet nipples straining against the fabric was enough to make her set the trip aside in her mind and let her thoughts wander somewhere else entirely.

"Make sure you buy yourself something nice." Virginia invited, "I left you two hundred marks, as a gift, I am afraid it isn't much, but it was the best I could do."

"There was no need to do so, I can adapt." Lily said coolly. It was, to put it mildly, embarrassing for Virginia to disclose the fact that she had given Lily presents in publics. In drow society, that was the way one treated subordinates which, the dark elf concluded, unfortunately for her, appeared to be the case under these circumstances.

"I am certain you can," Virginia said with a smile as Marséna led the way out, travelling pack clutched firmly in hand, "but let Shesayne help you when you choose, she knows the right places."

"Uh, Virg," Marséna interjected as she opened the door, "is that a...good idea?" The rare times they had gone out to the Bazaar together, most of Shesayne's wardrobe recommendations had been too scandalous even for Marséna to begin contemplating.

"Maybe," Virginia said, her tone sinking to playfully lusty pitch as she edged Marséna out the door, "as far as I'm concerned, it is."

"Have a nice trip." Syf said amiably before preparing to leave herself; she would soon be called to lead a formal weapons drill and decided that it was high time to polish her armour, "by the way, Friyya," she said, turning to her lover, "I hope you are well on your way to preparing something for tonight. Ithunn and Inge are coming."

"I know." Friyya said, a malicious, satisfied smile spreading across her lips, "And I promise you, my sweet Syf, I have never been more ready in my life." Old habits died hard and the auburn-haired paladin knew that this was the ideal opportunity to exact retribution from Ithunn for the humiliation she had endured. Refraining from telling Syf was one thing, but she had never promised not to take revenge in some other way.

"What are you so happy about?" Syf inquired curiously as she proceeded to make her exit, "I thought you hated cooking."

"Not when it's for you, my treasure." Friyya lied.

"Right, see you this evening then." Syf was perplexed: she knew that Friyya loathed all menial chores with the exception of anything that had to do with clothes or her own appearance. Ever since their Consecration, when they had finally obtained a small apartment within Quarters for the four of them, it was Virginia who had cooked virtually every meal with impeccable skill. Conversely, Syf remembered the pall of desperation which fell on the kitchen duty detail - when they were novices - whenever Friyya was assigned to it.

"So..." Friyya began, turning to Lily and Shesayne as soon as Syf had left, "what are you two ladies planning on doing tonight?"

"Leaving." Lily said curtly. This social gathering between priestesses and underlings struck her as a sort of courtship ceremony: surely Syf and Friyya had decided to enlarge their patronage networks with new allies and/or lovers. Given the unpredictability of these processes, Lily decided that it would be wise to make herself scarce, especially since Virginia would not be there to protect her. Realistically, she thought herself capable of fending off and defeating Friyya with ease, but Syf...well, even the drow knew when it was better to fight another day.

"Oh, what a shame, I thought of setting the table for the both of you as well." Friyya said, yet again lying through her teeth.

Shesayne was not fooled, "Nice to see that you love us so much." She chirped.

"What?"

"Well, sending us away so we won't be poisoned or made permanently unwell by your necromancy...er, cooking." Shesayne joked, her impish smile broad and irreverent as ever.

"You vulgar little girl." Friyya said with a haughty shrug of her shoulders.

"Thanks, thanks, you'll make an awful mother some day." Shesayne wanted to add 'almost as bad as mine', but stopped herself. Not even Friyya deserved that insult.

"Shesayne, if we must go, shall we go now?" Lily said wearily. She had already changed into her functional black leather and canvas full-body complement.

"Please...do." Friyya said. She was trying to remember where she had put that cookbook she had taken out of the library, despite the fact that her intentions for the evening did not revolve around eating, she was inclined to at least make an effort. There was no reason Inge and Syf should suffer for the little evening she had planned for Ithunn.

"Good idea, Lily, let's let Friyya play the housewife...oohh, I bet that it gets Syf all hot and wet when Friyya wears an apron..."

"Out!"

***********

Following their rapid escape from Quarters, Lily and Shesayne found much to talk about. More specifically, Shesayne spoke much and Lily listened in irritated silence. There was simply no point in replying because the dark elf knew of not strand of conversation which she found a suitable pretext for discussion with hyperactive Shesayne. In the first place, the speed of the half-elf's speech was still something Lily was trying to become accustomed to, and secondly - and more humiliating still - came the fact that Shesayne's liberal use of physical expressions of her affection seemed to arouse the curiosity of passers-by. Lily had cringed internally when she heard a distinguished-looking - as distinguished looking, she decided, as human women could be - lady comment to a friend: "Is it not wonderful that this city brings us all together?...they look just perfect as a couple...". Lily begged to differ.

"Hey, so you hungry, thirsty, curious?" Shesayne asked, suddenly realising that Lily was more unresponsive than usual.

"No." Came the succinct reply. Shesayne's perpetual motion was distracting to Lily, as was the half-elf's outfit which involved a vermillion corset-like top laced at the back and a matching skirt with such a radical slit it was effectively a loincloth which reached halfway to the knees.

"Lily...c'mon, I'm trying to be friendly here, we can do anything you like...I'm buying, just perk up a little." There was a side of Shesayne that really wanted to know Lily better, perhaps even become friends with her.

"Perhaps you ought to 'perk down' a little."

"Lily, treasure, that isn't an expression - at least, not one we'd understand in Sigil." Shesayne corrected, winking playfully.

"I go by deduction, excuse my imprecision," Lily said coldly, "and why do you use what I understand to be terms of affection when you speak to me?"

"'Cause I like you," Shesayne volunteered, "and 'cause I know Virginia well enough to know and be convinced that if she likes someone, deep down that person has to have a good side."

"I do not imagine Virginia has taken a liking to me for my good side." Lily snapped, increasing her pace. They were going nowhere in particular, just walking through the vast array of stalls, vendors and side-alleys that constituted the Great Bazaar. The smell of a varied selection of products, shopkeepers and customers was more than a little offensive to Lily's sensibilities but, she supposed, she would have to get used to it in due time.

"What?" Shesayne asked in disbelief.

"When we first met, she had no opportunity to know me as an individual. She found me beautiful, as well she might have, and decided that she wanted to make me hers. I realised that she was a priestess - or your equivalent - of some status so I allowed it." Lily did not believe that she had to teach Shesayne even these basics of social interaction.

"Now that's nasty, unfair and really cynical, even for you, Lily." Shesayne said sharply.

"But true." The dark elf concluded, "And rightly so, I would have it no other way. I am pleased to call Virginia my mistress and protector, for she has shown herself worthy of my favours and my obedience."

"Alright," Shesayne said, deciding to defend her turf, "let's just say that that's true and taken for granted and everything: maybe the first few nights, she wanted to fuck you and that's understandable 'cause you're a pretty impressive piece of drow architecture, if you catch my drift, but after that - well, she could have just tossed you back on the street, no questions asked, after growing bored and fed up with you."

"Of course, but, shallow girl that you are, you assume that what I give in return is limited to a few days. In truth, I suspect that Virginia has taken a liking to me because she thinks that she can form me in her image. This would be a long and complicated process."

"So you admit it's not just the friction between the sheets?" Shesayne said triumphantly.

"Now...perhaps no, but bear in mind that we drow have no sentimental illusions about the reality of things. Had I been a hobgoblin or a kobold when we first met, do you think Virginia would have been equally swayed to take me in, bathe me, feed me and couple with me instead of running me through with her blade where I stood?"

"But Lily, isn't that a sad, depressing and oh-so-dreary vision of the world?" Shesayne asked, desperately hoping for some redemption in the argument.

"Yes, but that is how it is and I, of all beings, know this to be the case."

"And why's that? Pray tell, my sweet drow cynic extraordinaire."

"I came to the surface because I had to, not because I chose to. When I still lived my life as a Priestess of the Spider Queen in the city of Ille-Athalath, deep within the heart of our world, I knew all of power and status. My House stood proudly over the trade in the rare substance Tidzidh which brings its users in close communion with the Demonweb Pits so that no Priestess can properly call herself such without having sanctified herself by its use. There was no drow city for a hundred thousand leagues that did not contract with us for the best price on Tidzidh. I was not First Daughter, but Sixth of seventeen..."

"Wow, seventeen, how d'your mother..."

"Fertility," Lily snapped, "is the Goddesses' favour. In our city, each Matron must, by tradition, bear child once every ninety-nine cycles of her womb."

"Nice...so lots of brothers and sisters, right?"

"Sisters," Lily corrected, "my Matron-Mother would never have deigned to carry male offspring; they are dispensed with soon after conception." In Lily's House, as with most reputable families in Ille-Athalath, only the Matron-Mother, like a Queen of sword-spider hive, was permitted to bear offspring; when male seed was required, it was normally provided by lesser households. For the male concerned, the honour of insemination was a dubious one, for his sacrifice would promptly follow. By the time her seventeenth sister was being born, Lily was old enough to participate in that ceremony: she vividly remembered her eldest sister extracting the hapless male's still beating his heart from his chest. It had been a strangely arousing sight and she had pleasured herself at the thought of it for many day afterwards.

"Bells of the Nine Hells, I feel real sodding sorry for your men." Shesayne said, making a face. Cruelty in all its guises made her uneasy.

"Regrettably," Lily continued, "this time was to come to an end. I had always known my elder sister - our House's Second Daughter - who had been charged with our network of information and contacts to be useless. I knew this because she was more interested in coupling with a fellow Initiate of mine from the Temple who was well known for being inane, ineffective and primarily distinguished by her pleasing appearance and little else, not unlike that Friyya...This lack of attention caused her to neglect the warning signs that a coalition of three lesser Houses had risen up against us so that, when their combined forces besieged our home, we were caught unprepared. Rest assured my second sister and her worthless lover died the most abominable deaths before the final assault began, but, in the end, we were overwhelmed by numbers alone."

"Hey, Lily...I'm sorry, I didn't know." Shesayne said, apologetically sliding an arm around the drow's shoulder. They had stopped for the moment near the entrance of the clothing emporium Shesayne had intended to recommend to Lily, though the half-elf was too entranced by the story to dare interrupt it.

Stiffening slightly under Shesayne's touch, Lily continued, "Under the combined force of their magic and their summoned servitors, our House was eradicated and our home and all its assets cast in the depths of a sunless crater which is now the only testament to the existence of my family. I...I am the only one left. There was but one scroll with a gate spell inscribed on it so I used it to activate a portal just as the forces of our enemies had gathered outside my room. My thirteenth sister, who was quite comely and had great potential, was with me and begged me to take her. Although she had been my bedmate, I shall never forgive her for that moment of weakness, for she knew as well as I that the portal would have been destabilised if two had travelled through it. So I left her to her fate."

"No, Lily, really, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I don't care, 'cause, as I said, I like you. Maybe I can relate to you, though..."

"How so?"

"My mother always used to tell me that our world - the world on which she had been born - had been green, and forested and full of life and the rest of that artistic elven stuff...and one day, the great red dragons that some elven goddess had trapped under the earth, hoping they would just sleep on forever, awoke. They were really ancient, really powerful and really fucking pissed off so they wrecked everything; destroyed whole cities, whole forests, sent the elves scattering and all, my mother said, was lost. Those who got the chance picked up and packed up to Sigil or other places. Which is why she came here and why I'm here." Shesayne said, hoping to at least have formed a link of empathy with Lily.

"I see, but you are a halfbreed." Lily said, unsure of how to express that particular thought without offending Shesayne more than was necessary.

" 'Mother dear' was really lonely and really scared when she came here. She just fell for the first one who offered protection, shelter, comfort, whatever...and that person just had to be a sodding human. She never thought about it, though, never thought what she'd do with a half-elf daughter and a street full of people who did nothing from daybreak till nightfall but call her a whore." Shesayne said bitterly, her hand clenching reflexively around Lily's shoulder.

"I see you are saddened." Lily said, somewhat indifferently. Empathy was not a strong point of drow culture and much less so when the suffering of surface elves was involved. In less testing times, Lily would even have been immensely pleased to hear Shesayne's narrative which, considering her present circumstances, ran too close to the bone to her to draw any real enjoyment from it.

"Nah, sometimes it was just tough, 'till I met Min, then she sorted anyone who had a problem with me out right quick...you know, Min, the tiefling girl with the long red hair..."

"Yes," Lily affirmed with a certain degree of approval, "I remember from our outing and from our work. She is most, what is the word..."

"Beautiful?"

"Not quite the word I was looking for."

"She made you want to be in a room alone with her so you could try out all the crazy, fucked up stuff you ever dreamed of and have someone pull it off better than you ever imagined possible?" Shesayne ventured at such speed that it took Lily a long moment of reflection to make sense of the sentence.

"Something like that." Lily conceded, perplexed.

"Yeah, Min does that to you. We used to say that she was like a Viper-Tree flower: the most beautiful and most dangerous thing to grow out of the Hive."

"So why does she allow that loathsome elf to couple with her?" Lily inquired, the bile in her throat rising at the mere thought of Aerylle.

"Lily, I'm only going to say this once. My mother's a surface elf too, Moon Elf, if you need to know, and she'd probably want to kill me more than she already does if she knew that I was talking to the likes of you. But the point is, Lily, that I really, truly, honestly don't care what she thinks. She told me all the horror stories you can imagine about how your kind does strange, creepy and spidery things, but right now, I'm not thinking about that."

"So, pray tell, what are you thinking about?" Lily challenged.

"I'm thinking that you're actually really decent - as drow go - and that you've heard me out, and that's more than most surface elves have ever done for me, and that you're really pretty and I wasn't just playing that time I kissed you in the Styx Boatman. I really, truly liked it and it made my spine tingle and if I could, I'd do it again." Shesayne said, without a hint of embarrassment. She was never shy with her emotions. Some chose to call this attitude of hers temperamental, as far as Shesayne was concerned, though, she was just being honest.

"I will bear that in mind," Lily said, warming slightly - Shesayne may have been irritating, but she did have a certain strength of conviction which was not without its merits, "but now, perhaps, we should proceed with this clothing business."

**********

Inside the tailor's shop, Lily was both fascinated and taken aback by the fashions on offer. It was certainly nothing like what she had been accustomed to, though Shesayne appeared to be in her element, navigating the different shelves with ease and enthusiasm.

"May I help you ladies?" A fairly distinguished, middle-aged human woman with a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles inquired with almost obsequious interest.

"Yes, certainly, madam." Shesayne replied in her well-polished, affected bourgeois accent - she did not have a costume, but that, she had learned in time, was not necessary. There were many daughters of wealthy households who had begun to dress in alternative fashions as a sign of rebellion, all she had to do was convince the saleswoman that she and Lily did not have to be thrown out as a matter of course.

"And what would that be for?"

"Well, my friend here was inquiring after something casual, but elegant, we have already been around to see some other specialised tailors, but have yet to find something to our satisfaction." Shesayne said with a gentle smile which immediately and predictably disarmed the saleswoman. Lily could only look on in partial admiration: she had, of course, deduced the nature and general direction of Shesayne's ruse almost immediately, but was curious to see where it would all end.

"I believe I have just the thing. Darkweaver spidersilk in white or blue just in from Pandemonium, these are especially popular with our drow clientele so we tailor them accordingly." That came as a relief to Shesayne, she had feared that, going by elven sizes, Lily would have been hard to fit at the bust and hips.

"If you could be so kind as to show us a sample." Shesayne requested in her sweetest voice.

"With pleasure." The saleswoman briefly disappeared into the storeroom at the back of the shop. When she returned, Lily could hardly contain her satisfaction: a patterned white and black spidersilk dress with a plunging neckline and four slits in the skirt. It was almost something a true Priestess of the Lloth herself would have been proud to wear.

"What do you think, Lily?" Shesayne queried, hoping the dark elf understood the nuances of the game.

"I suppose it could be considered adequate, how much?"

"One thousand seven hundred, though, at a stretch, we could settle for a thousand five." The saleswoman offered.

"A kind offer indeed," Shesayne said, never neglecting to smile, "but my friend was also interested in something a little less formal, perhaps some leggings and a blouse."

Running a practiced eye over Lily, the saleswoman had no problem selecting a plain but very chic white blouse which Shesayne was certain would be most flattering on the dark elf, and a pair of skin-tight, smooth and oily-black leggings.

"Your skill, madam, is commendable," Shesayne beamed, laughing inwardly at the truly absurd script she had written for herself, "but I must ask, do you carry any of those blouses in my size, just one look at them and I am convinced that they are to die for."

"I may just have something of that description, but I shall have to consult the resident air mephit who is in charge of our catalogue."

"We are in no hurry." Shesayne said, beaming broadly with the sparkling eyes of a spoilt girl on a shopping spree.

Reassured by those familiar signals, the saleswoman quickly scampered into the back of the shop. At that point, Shesayne knew coordination and speed to be essential. Most shops of a certain level had inbuilt magical wards which prevented sudden escape - but only if activated. They merely had to show themselves to be faster than the saleswoman herself. Seizing her opportunity, Shesayne grabbed all the articles of clothing concerned and, with practiced haste, dashed towards the door and slipped out. Much to her relief, Lily had come to the correct conclusion long ago and, as they ran down the maze of side-alleys next to the Grand Bazaar, which few mortals knew better than Shesayne, the half-elf was reassured to hear her companion's graceful steps immediately behind her. They only stopped to catch their breath beneath the ominous signpost of the Styx Boatman tavern, which depicted a skeletal oarsman standing next to a skiff fashioned entirely out of skulls.

"You're quick." Shesayne said in admiration, still clutching the day's haul tightly in her arms.

"I am drow." Lily replied sardonically, a smile spreading across her lips. The intrepid little half-elf had impressed her for the better with her display of well-practiced deception. Perhaps, the dark elf thought, she did have some redeeming features after all.

"You have those two hundred marks on you?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you buy us lunch?"

**********

Virginia did not know quite what to expect from Mareterra or Marséna's home country, but all she knew after stepping through the portal was that there was light. It was as if there had been an ocean of deep, sunny energy that flooded her vision with such brilliance that would have been unimaginable in Sigil. That was her first impression, the she realised that it was warm, almost hot and that the ground was rocky and grassy beneath her. It took a few moments for the blonde paladin's eyesight to adjust to her surroundings before the sea of luminescence began to give way to a clearer picture of a world she never thought could be so odd yet fascinating. Before her, in the distance, endless, rolling fields of wheat, orchards, vineyards and low knolls with yellow-brown grass were all that could be seen in the horizon. Only a few farmsteads and tiny villages all built in elegant stone and red tiles and often huddled atop the larger hills, gave sign of civilisation.

"My home welcomes you." Marséna said softly, a little moved to have finally returned. She had deliberately avoided interrupting her life at the Order of the Radiant Path, though there had been times when she had been overwhelmed by homesickness. Sigil was just too grey, cold and miserable for her tastes. But at least in Sigil she had found the love and recognition she would never have found had she remained in her home country of Overnha.

"This would be the first time I step through a portal to go on holiday as opposed to a survival mission." Virginia quipped, her eyes still focused on the strange yet enchanting landscape before her. The sky was aqua blue and a great, yellow sun beat down incessantly, but not unpleasantly.

"Yeah, but you always got lucky on those. Isobel liked pairing you with Syf so she could use me to get at Friyya."

"Is your home far?" Virginia wondered aloud. The space before her was so vast and wide, as opposed to circular and narrow like Sigil, that she did not know how Marséna would even begin to navigate it.

"I gave the Portal-Keeper the best indications I had. For a hundred marks, though, I think he did a reasonable job," Marséna said smiling, the lay of her land gradually returning to her with each glance, "follow me, it's perhaps half a mile."

They walked on stony ground inhabited only by tough grass and weeds for a few paces before reaching a trail that led down into a wide expanse of orchards of what Virginia assumed to be peaches and low, tightly packed vineyards. She had never experienced air so fresh, heavy with a bittersweet aroma of fruit and the sharper smell of hot grass.

"This all used to maquia, scrubland, before we irrigated it. I helped plant this vineyard with granatxa vines three seasons before I left." Marséna said nostalgically.

"This land is your family's?" Virginia asked in amazement.

"No, it's the Commune of Overnha's, so it is owned by the great merchants and landowners who live in the town. They rule us through the Consell de Cent, the city council, so while they waste our time and theirs with politics, we farm their land and keep half of what we tend to. With the other half we pay our taxes."

"Half...that would be quite a lot to give to those who refuse to work the land."

"Yes," Marséna said ruefully - she had never quite lost the anarchist streak which the conditions of her upbringing had instilled in her, "but thankfully the land is good, so we never went hungry."

"Marséna..." Virginia said softly, pausing to crouch by a vine and inspect the swelling fruit, so red they were almost black.

"Yes, Virg?"

"I'm happy to be here with you. I wanted to come because someone or something insisted that I should and I still don't know whether or not that was but a dream that overtook me while I was conscious. But what the strange woman said is true, I feel right here. To me this place is distant and strange, but your presence makes me part of the natural order of things, here where we stand." Virginia hoped her friend understood, for there was no clear way to communicate the feeling that being on Mareterra was almost like discovering Marséna all over again.

Marséna remained silent, but placed an affectionate hand on Virginia's clear, short blonde hair, cut a little above the shoulder. Like a sheaf of wheat under the sun, it had already grown warm, "Come," she said finally, "let me show you where I grew up...that and I'm dying in this uniform. We should probably get into something more comfortable, the sun has just past its peak and the afternoon will be hotter than you imagine."

Nodding eagerly, Virginia followed the raven-haired paladin's lead down to the end of the path and into a clearing dominated by a small, stone farmstead surrounded on every side by orchards. A field of wheat was visible in the distance behind the simple, but sturdy structure which Virginia imagined to be Marséna's family home. As they stepped into the clearing, Virginia's ears were greeted with the unfamiliar sound of small flocks of geese and ducks calling to one another as they hurried down the dry, rocky earth.

"Mare? Prisca?" Marséna called out tentatively, moving closer to the farmstead. The response was almost immediate: two girls, dressed in plain white cotton dresses came running excitedly out of the front entrance, calling Marséna's name as they fell into her arms, clutching onto her as if for dear life. They were soon followed by the altogether more dignified presence of a well-built, matronly middle-aged woman who wore a similar white dress with an elaborately knitted blue shawl around her shoulders. It was at that moment, when the simple yet terrifying deductive exercise of realising that she was faced with Marséna's mother, that Virginia began to feel painfully awkward again.

"Virg, these are two my sisters: the little one is Lenora, the older one is Prisca." Marséna said, smiling broadly. Her siblings were already bombarding her with questions so that she too felt somewhat out of place, for when she had left, Prisca had been a child and Lenora an infant. Much to her satisfaction, though, her mother nodded her head approvingly in her direction upon seeing the dress uniform of the Order.

"How do you say hello?" Virginia said, fascinated by the turn of events. Marséna's sisters were, on closer inspection, evidently so, but the older one looked like she would soon become every bit as impressively statuesque as Marséna, though her frame still needed to fill out a little.

"Salve." Marséna replied as she briefly disengaged herself from her sisters and went to greet her mother with an effusive embrace at the doorstep.

"Salve." Virginia called tentatively, lightly waving her hand as she approached Marséna's sisters.

"Salve te." Prisca replied shyly, Lenora clinging tightly to her older sister, seemingly fearful of the pale, blonde visitor.

"Virg, come here, my mother would like to meet you." The invitation jerked Virginia from her quiet contemplation of the two girls. Unsure of how to proceed lest she offend her hosts or, by cultural ignorance alone, commit some breach in politeness, the blonde paladin made sure she approached the doorway slowly and took a respectful, low bow as greeting. Both Marséna and her mother began laughing almost at once and Virginia was decidedly surprised to feel a strong, calloused hand on her shoulder as she was drawn into an embrace with a woman she had never met before in her life.

Marséna's mother was strong and carried her years well, for she chattered energetically in her own language whilst Virginia nodded politely, hoping for some outside intervention to at least clarify the situation.

"She says we should get changed and in the meanwhile she will prepare something for us." Marséna clarified as they moved into the farmstead's spacious stone kitchen with a simple wooden table at the centre. The smell of garlic, dried peppers and dried herbs permeated the air.

"Tell her she does not need to bother with us, I brought some provisions." Virginia said, indicating her travelling pack.

"Trust me, Virg, she does." Marséna nodded knowingly, "Now follow me upstairs, I'll see if I can find something for you as well."

In a perplexed daze, Virginia followed Marséna up a sturdy wooden ladder to the living quarters which consisted of two rooms. One, Virginia presumed, for Marséna's parents and the other laid out with six tightly packed beds. A little light filtered into the loft-like chamber through small, open windows placed strategically at an angle, so as to prevent too much rain from sweeping in.

"You better change," Marséna instructed, "you could well sweat to death in your uniform."

Gingerly, Virginia began to undress, unclasping her belt and loosening her dress tunic before gently folding it atop her travelling pack. As Marséna did the same, Virginia could not help but admire her friend, more radiant than she had ever been under the Mareterran sun. She was so strong, yet so feminine, her muscles lithe and supple under sun-kissed skin, her breasts full but graceful and beautifully framed by charcoal-black locks as she knelt down, naked to rummage through a wooden clothes chest. Every motion of Marséna's appeared sensual, effortlessly at ease with her surroundings, causing a certain dryness in Virginia's throat and quickening in her chest.

"Perfect...catch!" Marséna called as she tossed Virginia a light, almost flimsy, sleeveless cotton shift with a circular neckline. The Mareterran girl was already busying herself with stepping into a similar garment and, all of a sudden, she looked more graceful and more at ease than ever, as if she had finally returned to her element.

"Uh, Marséna, how do you think I look? I mean, does it suit me?" Virginia inquired curiously. There was no mirror and though she was perpetually fascinated by other cultures, the sudden transition had been speedy, even for her.

"You look wonderful. Se bela que me pena." Marséna said reverently, the deep, brown pools of her eyes looked directly at Virginia in a way the blonde paladin had rarely, if ever seen before.

"What does..." Virginia began, before stopping. Some things did not need to be translated; that would just have spoiled the moment.

"You're so beautiful it hurts." Marséna said quietly, before quickly turning around to close the clothes chest and arrange the uniform she had hastily discarded next to Virginia's.

"Thank you." Virginia said simply, her heat beating faster still. In truth, she felt somewhat vulnerable in the light dress, but at least, she imagined, it as appropriate for the climate.

"Well, hurry up then," Marséna chided, her voice becoming energetic once more, "I'm starving. Goddess, I think I've been starving for years if you call what they gave us in the mess-hall food."

"You miserable, ungrateful girl," Virginia joked, a smile spreading across her lips, "all the times I cooked for you..."

"There's always room for improvement." Marséna replied as she led the way back down the ladder. It took Virginia's breath away to see the Mareterran paladin's magnificent curves beautifully framed by the pliant dress. She would have given anything to become that dress but for a moment, to contain every part of Marséna and hold her close.

"Virg!" Came the insistent call, waking Virginia from her reverie.

"Coming."

*******

The meal Marséna's mother served was as epic as it was unfamiliar to Virginia's senses. They ate in the shade of some trees in the orchard on a makeshift table that had been garnished with fruits, cheeses and preserved vegetables of every description, baked dried fish, wheat noodles cooked with beans and tomatoes and strong-smelling meat dish which Marséna had cryptically, and ominously, identified as 'goose preserve'. Throughout the meal Marséna appeared happy to switch intermittently between her native tongue and Sigil's lingua franca, sometimes translating choice pieces of information either way and sometimes not bothering to do so at all.

"Sorry it's a little empty here," Marséna said, devouring her second lump of yellow sheep's cheese preserved in oil, "my father and brothers are in town for market week with my older sisters."

"Don't you want to meet them?" Virginia asked. The food was objectively quite savoury and very flavoursome, if heavier than what she had been accustomed to. Every dish was punctuated by the liberal use of olive oil, walnut oil or goose fat.

"And say what, ciara?" Marséna replied smiling, "If I must be honest, I feel as awkward here as you do. I left little more than a child: two of my sisters and two of my brothers have been married since then and gone off Goddess knows where. You can't uproot a vine and hope it will grow right back."

Virginia nodded, pleased that there was no regret in Marséna's voice. The Mareterran was, after all, a pragmatist and Virginia knew this. She clearly felt affection for her family, but that was because, despite an occasionally abrasive exterior, Marséna was a loving person. As Virginia reflected, however, she could not help but see Prisca staring curiously in her direction, even as Marséna spoke with animated enthusiasm with her mother.

"You see, she appreciates you." Marséna said, patting Virginia on the thigh.

"What did she say?" Virginia said reflexively as soon as she heard Prisca commenting about something to Marséna.

"She said you need more sun, you look like a fresh cheese." The Mareterran answered, smiling broadly.

"Well, tell your dear sister it isn't my fault that Ortho is a misty, rainy world. " Virginia said with affected sensitivity.

"It wouldn't matter, I am the first member of my family to leave Mareterra, they simply could never understand how vast the Multiverse is."

"Say, I hate to impose, but you would not, by any chance, happen to have some wine..." Virginia said, hoping that at least some alcohol would mitigate the stiffness she felt surrounded by a language she did not know in a country she had only seen in her dreams.

"You see, Virg," Marséna said, a laugh building deep inside her as she put down the piece of brown bread she was using to scoop up some preserved duck liver, "that's the funny thing I always meant to tell you. Women in Overnha aren't supposed to drink..." That comment, when associated with Marséna's infamy as the primary source of contraband wine in the Order, sent Virginia into quite undignified hysterics. Marséna's relatives could only look on in bemused curiosity, seemingly taken aback by the pale, eccentric girl from another world.

Later, as Marséna's mother cleared the dishes, Virginia sat in contemplation under the shade of an old plum tree. She had insisted, through Marséna, in helping with any household chores, but the response had always been a staunch refusal. So, in the heat of the late afternoon, grateful for the calm and shade offered by the tree's wide branches, Virginia decided to watch the stream of time flow by. She was focusing on Prisca, as the adolescent girl busied herself with plucking a freshly-killed goose in the shade of a little tool-shed by the side of the farmstead. The motions of her fingers were so precise, so entrancingly rhythmic that Virginia found herself caught up into the process almost as if it were hypnotic.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Marséna said, taking a seat next to Virginia and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The blonde paladin leaned back gratefully onto Marséna's shoulder.

"Yes, she looks so much like you did the first few weeks. Shy, but strong, mysterious, but beautiful."

"I think I will always be grateful for all you did for me. You will never know how difficult it was when I was all alone." Marséna said, tenderly kissing Virginia's hair.

"Please, it was only natural, you were heartbreaking when you looked sad, your eyes betrayed all the suffering of your soul...but you know what, you were pretty cute as well." Virginia said, allowing herself a chuckle and returning to her careful observation of Prisca's expert movements.

"Thanks," Marséna said sarcastically, "and, before you get any ideas, remember that my father is trying to have Prisca married."

"Who said anything about that? Do you genuinely believe that is all I have on my mind?"

"Of course not. If I recall correctly, I had to be the one to teach you how everything worked." Marséna said snidely, remembering her first year as a novice when, in the communal bathing chamber after lights-out, she had unsteadily, but ultimately successfully, guided Virginia to her first climax.

"My mother certainly never told me." Virginia spat bitterly. Marséna had never quite understood the resentment the blonde paladin felt for her mother, but she knew it wise not to ask. Virginia's normally pleasant and charming demeanour were seriously undermined whenever the subject came up.

"Hush, Virg, we shouldn't talk about it." Marséna said soothingly, drawing Virginia's head into her lap.

"Perhaps not." Virginia sighed. Now she realised why the strange woman had said it was the will of the Multiverse for her to be on Mareterra. Lying in Marséna's lap, close to her heart, seemingly enveloped between firm breasts and thighs, Virginia suddenly felt as if she were one with her world. It had been too long, she decided, that she had been separated from Marséna's loving embrace, her warmth, her unforced laughter and irreverent sense of humour. She needed to reclaim what was hers and give back what was Marséna's.

It was Prisca's curious voice that stirred Virginia from her thoughts.

"Qu'al portra'?" The girl repeated curiously, eyes fixed on Marséna, who laughed gently, patting Virginia's bottom.

"Care to translate?"

"She asks which one of us would wear the wedding dress."

"Oh, Marséna...I sincerely hope you didn't tell them that we were intimate." Virginia said disapprovingly. Under those circumstances, the thought of meeting Marséna's mother again became positively unpleasant.

"Yes, but only because my father wasn't here."

"Is it forbidden?"

"No, but many, especially the men, consider it shameful. My father and brothers always respected me and held me in the highest esteem, they were saddened enough when they learned that I could never marry because no one in Overnha would take a woman said to have Furies' blood. It's strange, though, because they say that in ancient times, the daughters of the Furies brought retribution on those who committed crimes against the Law of Nature: that they slew mothers who smothered their children and butchered sons who dared raise a hand against their parents."

"I see," Virginia said, "then it is your calling. I know your conscience is often angered by so much that you see in Sigil." Perhaps only Syf equalled Marséna for crusading zeal against the exploitation and enslavement of the weak or vulnerable. She may have been a pragmatist, but Marséna was a pragmatist with an end.

"Yes, because my conscience knows that there is so much good we can do...even Friyya."

Virginia laughed softly - sometimes Marséna's humour was just infectious, "So what are you going to tell Prisca?" The slender girl stood expectantly, curiously scrutinising the couple.

"You of course, you look better in white. I would wear my dress uniform and..."

"No," Virginia interrupted gently, "first, as far as I know, Ortho women don't wear white, but gold, and secondly, and most importantly, I have never desired you more than I have now. I think I once saw your dressed like you are now in my dreams." Virginia, of course, neglected to mention that the dream in question was after the traumatic night when she had expressed a desire to Marséna to know herself and others better before deciding on a commitment. That unfortunate series of events had been the genesis of their currently ambiguous relationship.

"Then so be it." Marséna said, running a palm gently down Virginia's cheek before meeting her sister's gaze, "Io lo portrej." Nodding happily in satisfaction, Prisca returned to her chores, content in the knowledge that her sister remained the fine woman she aspired to be some day.

"I told her I would wear it." Marséna said softly. All that could be heard was a light breeze stirring some of the leaves in the orchard.

"I know."

"If you would have me..."

"Come," Virginia interjected quickly, sensing the potential for the situation to go far faster than she was prepared to envision, "is there some place we can take a bath?"

*******

There was a secluded stream which served as the fount for the irrigation works which gave verdant life to the vineyards and orchards around Marséna's home. After a long walk in the fields, where Marséna seemed to know everyone and everything, there was little Virginia was looking forward to more than a cool immersion in the clear water. There were no proper evenings in Sigil, so the sight of the sun beginning to set, bathing the fields of wheat and the great, silvery olive trees in a deep, orange glow was something entirely new and singularly beautiful in Virginia's eyes. Marséna had brought her travelling pack with her and was busy searching for some cleansing oils and a sponge to relieve them of the exertion of the day.

Overnha seemed too idyllic a country to Virginia, though she knew that was the case because she was a mere visitor. Life may well have been harder than she imagined, nevertheless, staring at the great reddening horizon with few signs of human life, unlike the bustling, grey streets of Sigil, she thought she may as well have been in Elysium. Since the evening was much cooler, Virginia almost felt her simple white dress too light, but pleasantly so, for the chill of the sunset breeze was a relief on her hot skin.

"Marséna, I can see your farmstead from here." Virginia said, leaning back against an ancient, gnarled olive tree, admiring the panorama that spread before her. The trek up the hill had been long, but it was well worth it to find a place of such peace.

"It was one of my favourite places as a child. We used to come up and play here and, twice a year, I would pick olives on this hill to bring to the grinding stone. It was hard work and even the boys were amazed at how many olives I brought in and how much I managed to eat afterwards..." Marséna was interrupted by Virginia's lips against her own. The kiss was savage and needy, like a parched traveller arriving upon a spring in the middle of a desert. The blonde paladin's tongue was as persuasive as ever, it sensual rhythm easily persuading Marséna to follow its lead.

"Are you certain," Marséna said, her breath short as the heat of passion cloyed her throat and filled her with suffocating fire, as she cupped Virginia's delicate, fine-boned face in her hands, "are you absolutely certain, because I will not be able to stop myself."

"I need you...and, it was torture to wake up each morning without you at my side." Virginia sighed, the noise of her heartbeat flooding her ears.

"Then why did you leave me?" Marséna said softly, her sensual lips nearing Virginia's again.

"I never said I wouldn't come back, never for a moment." The kiss was renewed and it was electrifying and it was once again Virginia to take the lead, desperate to atone for what she now knew had been a mistake mere days before her Consecration. The blonde paladin thrust Marséna forcefully against the gnarled olive tree, her hungry lips kissing the delicate, iodine-tan skin of the Mareterran girl's throat, trailing lower to nestle in the valley between those magnificent, sun-kissed breasts. Marséna had no choice but to lean back and allow Virginia to unleash her pent-up desire. She needed no invitation, for Virginia had freed Marséna's breasts from the loose cotton of her dress, the light brown nipples stiff from arousal and the cool evening air. It was as if each stiff little peak sitting atop Marséna's beautifully rounded, soft breasts begged for Virginia's lips and the blonde paladin lost no time in obliging them. The first contact of her lips on the sensitive nipples was sublime, a refreshing touch of sensual wetness which enveloped the sensitive flesh.

In that instant, Marséna realised exactly what she had been missing: the sensation of Virginia's diligent tongue on her breasts was something she had never forgotten. Virginia knew Marséna's body with such precision and intimacy that the Mareterran had no secrets left to disclose. Marséna sighed softly, the gentle, only slightly painful strategic grating of Virginia's teeth against her nipples was delicious, but a mere anticipation of what she knew was soon coming. Virginia plunged lower, falling to her knees as Marséna desperately hiked up her dress, bunching it at her hips as she leaned back against the tree and spread her thighs. She was sodden, so wet that even the raven-black curls atop the juicing, pink lips of her sex were slick with nectar. Wasting no time in diving in Virginia was rewarded by a deep moan from Marséna as the Mareterran girl encouraged her lover, clasping her hands around Virginia's soft, blonde hair and pulling her closer in.

To once again lose herself in the velvety, moist warmth of Marséna's sex was paradise. There was no other word Virginia could use to describe the sensation of wetness, the taste of salt and sex, the tender, familiar folds of lust-swollen flesh which now parted eagerly under her expert tongue. Marséna could only mouth Virginia's name in half-suffocated gasps as the blonde paladin set to work, re-discovering the sensual, juicing flesh which had been her joy for many nights when they had been novices. Marséna had not changed one bit, always reacting with passionate gasps and sighs each time Virginia struck a particularly sensitive spot as she trailed her eager, teasing tongue in wide arcs, grazing only briefly over the tiny engorged bud of the Mareterran's clitoris. If Virginia had wanted to once again drink from Marséna's fount, the raven-haired girl had been no less eager, as Virginia noted when she raised her hands to open her lover's bronzed thighs even more only to find moist droplets of arousal on the soft skin.

Marséna thrust her hips rhythmically against Virginia's mouth, her full, tanned breasts heaving with the motion of her pelvis and the almost painful tempo of her breathing. Deciding that it was time to close in for the kill, Virginia parted Marséna's slick inner lips with two fingers, sliding the tense digits effortlessly into the flooded canal. Once she was satisfied that she was lodged deep in Marséna, Virginia began to apply a firm, intermittent pressure on the Mareterran girl's pink clitoris, her tongue flicking in rhythm with the patient grinding of her fingers deep in her lover's sex. When her sensual peak hit her, Marséna was already one Plane removed towards the Seven Heavens, the sudden release of the knot of tensions in her loins flooded her mind with white energy as she shamelessly cried out her orgasm for the fields and trees to hear. Driving herself once more against Virginia's lips, Marséna felt the secondary contractions of her climax overtake her, replacing maddened passion with a more mellow sensation of well being. Virginia made sure to keep her fingers deep inside Marséna for good measure, just to remind her lover that they belonged to one another, joined together by the bridge through which all life had to pass.

Utterly satisfied with her climax, Marséna slumped back as Virginia quickly pulled off her own dress. The sight of her lover naked and obviously aroused was a dream that had haunted the Mareterran's mind for too long. Although she had always admired Virginia's lithe, slender frame, her compact, but noble breasts with their impeccable, pink nipples, and that adorable patch of golden hair between the pale girl's muscular thighs which hid a treasure Marséna knew she could lose herself in forever, just feeling the velvety moistness around her cheeks and hearing Virginia's mewling sighs.

"In the pack, Virg, I brought something special for you." Marséna said dreamily, her deep, brown eyes fixed on Virginia's elegant form as she tossed her own dress aside.

"I love you because you're an eternal optimist." Virginia said, frantically searching through the leather satchel and finally retrieving the familiar and intricately inlaid white olisbos they both knew so well. Just feeling its abstract patterns under her fingers was something of a trip into the past. There was, however, little time for reflection as Virginia eased its root end into the sopping juncture between her thighs, the firm yet fleshy material quickly adapting to the aperture and taking root, spreading its enchanted feelers deep into Virginia's being. Now it was as if the cool air which caressed the dildo filtered directly into Virginia's sex, filling her with a renewed spurt of passionate desire.

"It's been too long." Marséna said almost inaudibly, for the passion in her throat choked her words. Virginia was almost instantly there to kiss her once more, the residue of the Mareterran's passion still on her lips, "And I need you so much." Marséna continued between kisses, running her fingers down the slick surface of the dildo, waiting for its enchantment to generate the requisite moisture.

"Are you ready?" Virginia asked passionately, her lips kissing Marséna's chin as she brought the slick tip of the thick olisbos to the outer lips of Marséna's sex.

"Yeah, wait a moment, though." Marséna replied, shifting so she could turn around, engorged nipples pressing against the rough bark of the olive tree, and lean forward, her hands gripping two low lying branches.

"Goddess..." Virginia gasped at the sight of Marséna' perfect - no, more than perfect - sculptural bottom upturned and presented to her. Two tan, half-moons so firm, yet so feminine following on perfectly from the slim flare of the Mareterran's hips. Between them, and Virginia knew this only too well, nestled the tight, pink pucker of Marséna's wild rosebud, a flower in early spring while her sex was a blossom in full summer bloom.

"You missed that, didn't you?" Marséna said lasciviously, biting her lower lip in anticipation as she lightly swayed her hips back and forth, encouraging Virginia.

"You always make me do the most wanton things." Virginia said between gritted teeth as she slid the tip of the glistening olisbos between the firm musculature of Marséna's bottom. The sensation, communicated down the shaft and deep into the blonde paladin's sex, was already almost unbearably arousing. As she felt the warm tip of the firm implement pause at the tight pucker of anus, Marséna prepared herself, hugging the tree against her, revelling in the sensation of the bark against the sensitive skin of her breasts.

Gritting her teeth, Virginia thrust in with more force than she had planned. Marséna could only give way under the power of the assault, her rosebud blooming and popping open to accommodate a good half of the thick, textured shaft.

"Goddess!" Marséna whimpered. It had hurt much more than expected.

"Oh, Marséna, treasure, I'm sorry," Virginia said apologetically, moving to withdraw as she affectionately caressed the Mareterran girl's smooth, arching back.

"No!" Marséna gasped in response, gritting her teeth, "Take me. It's just that it's been so long that I'm not used to it anymore, so start slow." Despite the pain, she was possessed with an overwhelming desire to be please Virginia.

"As you wish, my love, but tell me if it hurts too much." Virginia cooed as she began to work the white dildo in slowly, deliciously parting the stretched, pink rosebud, filling the blonde paladin's sex with such a sensation of moist, gripping tightness that she thought that it would only be moments before she came. The enchantment was as reliably accurate as usual, for Virginia's clitoris was in flames, as if it were literally being enveloped in the glorious recesses of Marséna's bottom. When Virginia had sunk in to the hilt, she waited for Marséna to grow accustomed to the intrusion, taking her time to kiss down the Mareterran's back, her hands caressing muscular flanks before moving forward to cup her lover's soft, swaying breasts.

"Right," Marséna said with determination, feeling Virginia hugged close against her, "now you may do with me whatever you wish."

Virginia required no further invitation as she withdrew and thrust back in with some force, beginning to establish a brisk, needy rhythm, gripping Marséna's warm body close to her with each thrust. The sensation of the Mareterran's sucking, clenching rosebud against the olisbos was ecstatic, so pleasurable it was almost painful in its sensory assault. Clutching the tree, Marséna allowed Virginia to take her pleasure, encouraging her lover with low, ragged moans and grunts each time she thrust back in, parting the sensitive inner flesh with long, decisive strokes. As Marséna squirmed and moved in rhythm with Virginia's penetration, the blonde paladin immersed her face in the raven-black curls of her lover's hair as it flowed down her back in a long cascade. There she could smell the faint smell of citrus perfume mingled with traces of sweat and dust. Lost in a sensual paradise, Virginia did not last much longer, the slight tugging motion of Marséna's anal ring against the dildo was infuriatingly pleasurable - so much so that it verged on the painful, for the shaft communicated the sensation as if the blonde paladin's clitoris was being likewise pulled free of its hood. She laid in her last half-dozen thrusts, before feeling, quite literally, the explosion of a small sun of hot passion deep in her loins which sent almost painful electricity coursing into her belly and deep in her sex, as she howled her passion into Marséna's back. Quite simply, Virginia had not had a climax like that in a long time, with the possible exception of Lily's electrical trick.

Lying slumped over, her breasts rising and falling rapidly over Marséna's back, Virginia knew that the distance of time and other lovers had only magnified their passion. When she was certain she would be steady on her feet, Virginia withdrew gently from Marséna's bottom, planting soft kisses on her lover's back with each slow, methodical inch.

"The things we do together." Virginia said as the dildo finally slipped free, eliciting another gasp from Marséna.

"That was wonderful. We can be so spontaneous, you and I...I tried taking Shesayne that way, but she's so slender, so delicate, I was afraid of hurting her." In truth, it was Shesayne who had offered on the spur of the moment to try something different. When Marséna had objected that it might be painful for her lover, the petite half-elf just shrugged and added, somewhat disconcertingly: "I've done it loads of times with Min and yeah, of course it kind of hurts at first, but in a good way...".

"No, Marséna, let our intimacy be just that - the two of us and on one else." Virginia said gently, indicating the stream, "We could both use a dip."

The water was cool, but that was a relief to Marséna's skin, still flushed with the heat of her arousal. Virginia had carefully set aside the olisbos and crouched into the flowing current, sighing in relief as she felt it wash against her inflamed sex.

"Come, sit here." Marséna invited as she planted herself near a familiar spot near the bank and began to splash herself, just to get accustomed to the sudden drop in temperature. Her midnight-black hair was already matted from the spray of the stream. Virginia was only too happy to comply and sit between Marséna's legs, allowing herself an irreverent giggle as soon she felt her lover nuzzling her hair, planting soft, enthusiastic kisses on the blonde mane.

"You have no idea how happy I am, just to be here with you." Virginia said, biting her lip as she felt Marséna's hand spreading her sex, parting the lips wet with water and arousal.

"It would have been sad visiting my home again had I been alone," Marséna confessed, cupping one of Virginia's firm breasts, her fingers trailing teasingly over the engorged, pink nipple as her other hand busied itself under the blonde curls of her lover's sex, "in Overnha, family is everything - or almost -, but the fact is, that I've found another family somewhere else." The Mareterran's strokes were soft and languid at first, easing Virginia's sex to a state of arousal, before becoming more intense as they circled in firm, precise arches around the clitoris.

"But you are happy to see your home, if only briefly." Virginia commented, more interested in the increasing tempo of Marséna's fingers on her breast and between her thighs. By then the Mareterran was devouring Virginia's neck with wet, passionate kisses, her voice sultry and low as she spoke.

"Of course, but the truth is that Prisca is my flesh and blood, but I don't think I could say that I love Friyya any less." Marséna had slipped two fingers deep inside Virginia and had begun to use the heel of her hand to grind against the blonde girl's sex.

"I know that you are afraid of telling her how you feel, because you ahhh," Virginia said, interrupted momentarily by the vigorous twisting of Marséna's fingers deep in her sodden sex - the combined pressure of the darker woman's hand and the steady flow of the current was maddening, "because, you are sometimes afraid that she feels something less for you. But believe me, that truly isn't the case."

Marséna increased her rhythm, biting down gently on Virginia's shoulder as she felt her lover's first contractions around her fingers. Ever responsive, the Mareterran dug down into the sensitive inner flesh of the blonde girl's canal, all the while grinding her palm vigorously against her stiff, eager clitoris. Virginia's peak was less intense this time, but no less satisfying, her pleasure conveyed in harsh, ragged breaths as all remaining traces of tension were seemingly washed away from her by the stream's current. She slumped back, snuggling against Marséna's soft, tan breasts and surrendering herself to the Mareterran's caresses.

"I'm in love with you, Virg," Marséna began, repeating the litany that her brought her so much pain, "what I said then, in the Baths before our Consecration, that's all still true. Just stronger today than ever."

Virginia thought for a moment, allowing Marséna to run gentle, eager fingers down her pale, taut belly and high, aristocratic breasts, before formulating a reply, "When you said that we can do so much good, I think you did not only mean the weak, the enslaved, the exploited. They are our priority as paladins of the Radiant Path, but we also have other duties; duties to those who love us every day."

"You're not answering me, you're evading, Virg, as usual." Marséna said sadly. Virginia just huddled closer, placing gentle kisses in the valley between Marséna's breasts.

There was a pregnant silence before the blonde paladin replied, "My treasure, I am sure we could be so happy together, but we have to show ourselves worthy of our responsibilities, as individuals as well as devotees of the Vigilant Maiden."

"I...I could wear that dress for you, white or gold, it doesn't matter," Marséna ventured desperately, wrapping her arms tightly against Virginia's waist, "I would take care of your every desire..."

"Marséna, I do the cooking." Virginia said, smiling sadly.

"I just want you to be mine forever, just as I would be yours if only you asked me."

"That would not be fair to Shesayne."

"Don't misunderstand me, I love Shesayne, but I don't think I'm in love with her." Marséna said, almost inaudibly.

"Then you have to tell her, because I think she is just as confused as you are."

"Fuck, Virg," Marséna snapped impatiently, planting an affectionate kiss on the blonde girl's head, "I hate myself when I do this...I should be stronger, but sometimes I need you to be strong. Like when I first came to the Order; it was maybe fifteen days after I became a novice and I was...well, a little homesickness was keeping me awake. You climbed down from your bunk and asked me if there was room for two, because you said you were afraid to sleep alone. Only that it was you who held me close until I was at peace and not the other way round...clever girl, you always knew that flattery would get you places. But that was when I knew that our paths were set to flow together."

"Maybe you should give me a little time to think about Lily."

"Does she love you as I do?" Marséna said fiercely.

"Probably not, but I have a duty towards her. I know you love me, Marséna, so please allow me to fulfil my duties to others first - that is the sacrifice we must make as Paladins of the Radiant Path."

**********

It privately pleased Syf to return to her lodgings and find Friyya cooking: it was a happy, almost stereotypical image of domesticity and one which Syf had remembered with some fondness from her early days, when she was still living with her family. Leaning over the kitchen table, Friyya was dividing her time between trying to combine the requisite quantities of vegetables in a pot and checking the stove to ensure that it had enough charcoal to keep the heat constant. The ideal, at that point, was to compliment Friyya on her efforts, inform her of how one could hardly wait to consume such a sweet-smelling repast. Syf, however, preferred not to push he dubious skill in lying too far and contented herself with wrapping her arms around Friyya's waist as the auburn-haired paladin desperately sought to make rhyme or reason of the cookbook, and kiss her lover's fragrant hair.

"You look so sweet when you read." Syf said quietly, sliding a hand up Friyya's alabaster thigh and under the skirt of her tunic.

"Thanks, but under no circumstances think of getting used to me cooking." Friyya replied, glad that Syf had returned to at least give her some relief from the frustrating, humiliating exercise for which she had volunteered and which she was in the process of bitterly regretting. At least, she thought, Ithunn would have her comeuppance.

"I would not dream of it. As a matter of fact, I think you need a break." Syf commented sensually, craning her neck to kiss the shorter girl's cheek.

"Is that so? Do I look flustered to you?" Friyya had turned to meet Syf's lips; the dark-haired paladin had already begun to trace two fingers down the crevasse of her lover's delectable bottom to the base of a rapidly moistening sex.

"No, but I think you deserve a little treat for being so kind as to prepare dinner tonight." Syf's words were punctuated by increasingly wet and sensual kisses that trailed down Friyya's soft, snow-white throat.

"I would have settled for a little kiss," Friyya said coyly, turning to face Syf and lifting herself on the kitchen table with her thighs spread, her bare feet gripping on the edges of table for support, "but if you insist."

Syf knelt between Friyya's thighs and slowly hiked up the skirt of her lover's tunic. She took her time to admire the reddish-blonde curls in perfect contrast with the pure white skin of Friyya's inner thigh and the soft, juicing velvety warmth of her sex, already pouting and eager for attention. Deciding to heighten the sensuality of the occasion by teasing her lover a little, Syf began to slowly trace a pattern of kiss down Friyya's inner thigh as the auburn-haired girl drew a sharp breath of anticipation. It was then Syf knew it was time to dive in, to once again taste that vital, tender warmth and that intoxicating moisture redolent of her lover's arousal. Syf lapped at Friyya's spread sex with passionate determination whilst her hands held her lover's thighs apart, her thumbs gently spreading the outermost labia to allow better access to the sweet, flowering centre within.

"Hmm, Syf, you will spoil your appetite." Friyya moaned, as her beloved tongue probed her sex with expert energy.

Ignoring Friyya completely, Syf resolved to redouble her efforts, knowing that she would have been happy to skip dinner altogether and spend the evening exploring the auburn-haired girl's impeccably elegant body. There was always immense pleasure to be had from a slow, methodical exploration of Friyya's body, because every nook and cranny of it revealed something beautiful and sensual. Each curve, each fold of Friyya's sex was a sweet little secret to be coaxed out with gentle licks of the tongue while the auburn-haired paladin squirmed, her melodious voice filling the air with whimpering little cries.

"Syf..." Friyya gasped as she felt her lover's tongue begin to trill rhythmically against her clitoris. It took every ounce of self-control in Friyya's body to stop her wrapping her legs around Syf's neck and grinding her sopping sex violently into her lover's face. Friyya's most passionate side wanted to see Syf's sharp, noble features covered in the slick residue of her arousal, to kiss her own fragrant nectar off her lover's lips. On second thought, though, Friyya decided that she was equally aroused spreading herself for Syf and letting the taller girl do the hard work. Which was something Syf was doing commendably as she gently worked a thumb into Friyya's juicing sex, inwardly pleased that her lover responded with a sharp gasp, the inner flesh parting effortlessly under the assault. It did not take Friyya much longer to reach her peak, mewling in deep satisfaction as Syf finished her off with sharp, little strokes against her clitoris coupled with the gentle thrusting of the thumb against the inner walls of her canal.

Friyya took a few moments to catch her breath while Syf absentmindedly placed casual little licks on the swollen lips of her sex and the soft insides of her thigh. To come into communion with Friyya's body was an experience which Syf guarded jealously, for only she knew her lover's sex like the back of her hand, only she knew the right moment to strike and the right moment to hold back. Making love to Friyya was an art, like fencing, and one which Syf would never tire of mastering over and over again.

Once her heartbeat had returned to a more relaxed rate, Friyya dismounted gracefully from the table and fell into Syf's arms, nestling her head against the familiar softness of her lover's small but pert breasts.

"Now my cooking won't taste as bad." Friyya joked as Syf's lips met hers in a deep, intimate kiss. She could taste herself on Syf's lips, so she knew she was privileged to share in the gift she had offered her raven-haired lover.

"If only some of your admirers knew the things you say when we make love." Syf reprimanded gently, clasping Friyya's slender, statuesque form close to her.

"You're the only reason I allow myself to be so overcome with desire."

"Are you not disappointed that Isobel did not declare me squad leader?" Syf asked quietly. In retrospect, Isobel had discreetly approached her to explain her decision, specifying that whilst Syf was excellent leadership material, she was, first and foremost, a warrior and would always remain on the front line. Virginia, Isobel had said, was better rounded - definitely Ceremonial Guard material and it was the sad destiny of warriors to be, at least in name, outranked by those closest to the High Priestesses.

"No," Friyya replied truthfully, clasping her lover's hands in her own, "I understand the logic of Isobel's decision. She sees something of herself in you: she too is content with being Vice-Commander and being the Maiden's strong right arm, while Virginia is destined to be Her eyes and her judgement. You have different paths that you must follow, but no one, least of all Virginia, will have any doubt of who will lead the paladins of the Order into battle."

"I'm glad to hear that. If you want to take a bath and get changed, I think I can handle the kitchen for you." Syf offered. She was relieved that Friyya did not think to attribute the blame to the bloody incident in the side-chapel, especially because Isobel had given her word that Syf's personal life had exerted no influence over the decision.

Considering how wet she had been, Friyya decided that it would be best at least to rinse herself out a little, perhaps wash her hair, even apply some lotion to her heels since she had noticed her boots chafing there...in conclusion, "Are you sure Syf, I might be a while."

As far as Syf was concerned, of course, that was never in doubt. There were times when she thought the process of brushing down Friyya's hair before bed and in the morning was something normally associated with the torment of the lower layers of the Abyss. Nevertheless, she was happy to help out in any way she could, "Certainly my beloved, take your time. I'm certain you will be more stunning than ever." To invite Ithunn had been most unorthodox, but Isolde had once shown Syf similar kindness by spending half a day in the inner recesses of the armoury with her, letting her handle the finest swords in the inventory, normally reserved for senior paladins, as a reward for the novice's dedication to bladecraft.

"Why thank you." Friyya said, as if the compliment had been expected, "Now are you certain you don't want me to apply just a little powder to your cheeks, or perhaps the faintest trace of lip..."

"No." Syf interrupted before Friyya's imagination wandered too far.

"You have such pretty, noble features, Syf that..."

"That they are more than adequate without cosmetics, now go take your bath. We would not want to keep our guest waiting." They had discussed this issue before and Syf, as much as she loved Friyya, had little sympathy for the latter's vanity and obsession with expensive, superfluous items.

"Oh, certainly not." On that issue both Syf and Friyya were in agreement.

**********

Ithunn had to admit that Inge looked very cute, charming even when she presented herself in the novice paladin's dormitory in the more formal white trainee's robe, her light blue air allowed to flow freely around her shoulders. That instant of aesthetic appreciation, however, did not diminish the dread she felt at facing Friyya again. It was a visceral fear that almost offset the prospect of sitting in front of Syf for the entire evening. Inge was, as ever, effusively affectionate, much to Ithunn's irritation - as far as the novice was concerned, the less evident their 'relationship' was the better. It had been bad enough that Inge had begun to expect intimacy on a regular basis and even when she did not, she invariably sought refuge in Ithunn's bed under the feeble and absurd pretext of 'a bad dream'. Not that lovemaking with Inge was necessarily unpleasant; it was more awkward and potentially embarrassing, not least because when the trainee priestess reached her climax, she made sure Ithunn knew with a whimpering, high pitched cry which was audible, no doubt, halfway across the dormitory.

"How do I look, my sweet Ithunn? Do you think I am presentable as the most promising novice's beloved?" Inge queried eagerly, turning around to give Ithunn the full view. The robe, at least, went some way to complement Inge's delicate, willowy frame.

There was no single word to describe the novice's sensations. Under the circumstances, she simply felt ill at ease and Inge's almost childlike enthusiasm was only making matters worse, "I think it...wonderful." Ithunn finally blurted, failing to find some other less banal compliment.

"Then that is more than sufficient for me." Inge said, smiling broadly, her large, grey eyes overflowing with genuine happiness. Had Ithunn been any more cynical or pragmatic, she would have considered any sudden disappearance on Inge's part a gift from Goddess insofar as it would take away the daily assault of - granted, involuntary - emotional blackmail which the trainee priestess inflicted.

"I think we are ready to go." Ithunn said curtly, briefly re-examining herself in a handheld mirror she had borrowed from her bunkmate.

"Well then, my love, please lead the way." Inge said enthusiastically, extending her hand for Ithunn to take. The trainee priestess was upon her in an instant, arms clutched tightly around her waist. At this rate, the night, Ithunn concluded, would be longer than a mapping expedition into the Astral Plane and potentially just as frustrating.

The brief walk up the winding staircase that led to the lodgings reserved for Consecrated paladins was one of the longest in Ithunn's life. Inge chattered on mindlessly about how all the other novitiate priestesses in her year were jealous of their relationship. All Ithunn could think of was that incident when she had lost her calm in the library. If there was one stupid thing she had done in her time as a novice, it was that: and it was needless stupidity as well since Friyya was, objectively and regrettably, the person Syf trusted most of all.

"So some even asked about the details of our lovemaking...can you imagine that?" Inge said with excited satisfaction, "How rude and shameless can one be? Really, but, though I know that I cannot be the woman of your dreams, at least I am a lady of integrity who knows how to treat her lover honourably."

"I see..." Ithunn said, not really paying attention.

"Ithunn, my love, you are listening to me, right?" Inge said, her eyes once again wide with expectation.

"Yes, Inge, of course." The novice reassured quickly, planting a quick conciliatory kiss on her friend's cheek.

Thankfully for Ithunn, any further tension was temporarily defused by the sight of Syf standing at the threshold of her lodgings. Like all the other apartments reserved for junior Consecrated paladins, it lay on a wide, semi-circular hallway, one floor below the personal cells reserved for commanding officers and above the novice's dormitory complex. Syf stood waiting for her guests, her arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes as stern and compelling as ever.

"I am pleased to have the pleasure of your company tonight." Syf greeted.

"As we are honoured to be your guests." Ithunn took a shallow bow in recognition and stepped into the apartment's small common room, Inge still clutched firmly to her.

Friyya, immaculately groomed and dressed in an elegant white gown, was just setting the bread on the table - it had come out a little hard, but it was, at least in her estimation, edible, "How lovely to see you both," she called out, a broad and not entirely genuine smile spreading over lips, "please sit down. I fear that I may not be the best of cooks, but I hope that what I have prepared is adequate for your tastes."

Thankfully for Ithunn she was not compelled to formulate a insincere reassurance; Inge did it for her, "I am certain that it will be every bit as delicious as you are beautiful, Sister." On further consideration, Ithunn decided that there was simply that Inge's cloying, innocent sweetness would finally find a use in - hopefully - diverting Friyya's attention. She only hoped that the auburn-haired paladin was as susceptible to Inge's cherubic smile and sad, grey eyes as she was.

"How sweet of you, Inge; Ithunn," Friyya's voice was pointed with only the slightest emphasis on the novice's name, just to remind her that all was neither forgotten nor forgiven, "perhaps you would like to take a seat. It is my pleasure to serve you tonight."

Ithunn could only steady her nerves and comply, grateful for the fact that Syf immediately began to discuss her brilliant future as a paladin, telling her that she should continue to practice a two weapon style in light of her virtual ambidexterity.

"If done properly," Syf specified, ensuring that she took the seat directly in front of Ithunn, "a longsword-shortsword style or even sabre-short rapier technique often throws opponents. In our line of work, you will often be confronted by multiple opponents, having a weapon in each hand, I am told, often makes things easier in cramped quarters, as long as you know what you are doing."

Dinner proceeded relatively painlessly for Ithunn. As she had predicted, Syf spent most of her time chatting amiably to her whilst Friyya pressed Inge with banal, but sociable, little questions which the initiate priestess eagerly answered. Predictably, the meal itself was close to the disastrous, though Ithunn made every effort to work her way through a bland, watery soup - which at least took the hardness out of the bread - and an equally watery brown stew in which the meat and sausage had been overcooked to the point of being leathery and the vegetable burnt. It was just when Ithunn thought, amidst Inge's smiling and - inconceivably - apparently sincere compliments, that she had managed to make Friyya forget the worst that the novice was proven wrong.

"So, Ithunn," Friyya's voice was like honey laced with poison, "I hear you like to be quite helpful in the armoury. Syf tells we your weapons sharpening skills are second to none."

"I like to do what I can." Ithunn said evasively, staring into the smoky-smelling remains of her stew, forcing herself to ingest each coal-tasting mouthful.

"Sorry to ask, but perhaps you can help me. You see, I seem to have ripped one of my dresses at the seam and, well I know Syf thinks I'm awfully vain, but I was wondering since, you are such a good seamstress, whether you would mind fixing it for me."

There was an awkward pause. Ithunn gripped her spoon so hard her knuckles went white.

"Ithunn, child, I did not you were skilled with needle." Syf said incredulously.

"I...I had some practice." Ithunn said softly.

"Is that so," Friyya said, feigning interest, "did your mother teach you?"

"Yes." Came the virtually inaudible reply.

"So, did you never think to enter into a less dangerous profession, perhaps enter the 'textiles trade' yourself." Friyya suggested, affecting innocence.

"Don't be foolish, Friyya," Syf interjected, raising a dismissive hand, "it would have been a loss to the Order had Ithunn never followed her calling. She is one of the finest swordswomen I have ever seen."

"Oh, well, of course, you need not remind me of that," Friyya said amiably, pleased to see Ithunn tense and pale, "I suspect you will also make an excellent instructor some day...did you not have experience taking care of children?"

"I have three younger sisters and a younger brother." Ithunn said curtly. Though normally not a violent or resentful person, Ithunn felt a mounting need to silence Friyya - in whatever way possible. The double exposure with Syf and Inge present had slipped from the embarrassing to the humiliating. When she had joined the Order, she had sworn she would never spend another soul-draining night by the fireplace darning torn garments to buy milk for her sister. Friyya, no doubt, had probably deduced something to that effect.

"Oh, how sweet," Friyya said, the danger in her voice just barely perceptible, "and do they not miss their big sister? I mean, I realise that you wanted to find a...new life for yourself," the paladin continued, carefully emphasising choice words, "but if I were them, I would like to see my diligent, loving sibling from time to time..."

"Friyya, what are you talking about?" Syf said, perplexed both at Ithunn's barely repressed anger and the voice she had thought Friyya would never use again. It was the same, poison-sweet, spiteful tone she had used so often, and to devastating effect, as a novice.

"Oh, nothing, just letting my thoughts carry me away." Friyya said dismissively as she rose to her feet and began to clear the plates.

"Ithunn, my love," Inge said softly, turning her expectant eyes to the novice, "perhaps you could have a look at one of my robes, I tried to fix it, but I keep getting the stitches..."

"Shut up, Inge!" Ithunn snarled under her breath and the trainee priestess recoiled in dismay.

"You must excuse her," Syf told Ithunn apologetically, "sometimes she allows her...imagination carry her away. Now come, child, do not be ill at ease."

Ithunn nodded miserably, happy to at least have Syf on her side. Friyya, however, had yet to ready her killing blow.

"I heard you took a little evening out recently, Ithunn," Friyya began, extracting the rich dried-fruit and rosewater cake Virginia had baked before leaving from the pantry, with every intention of passing it off as her own "it reminds of the days in which Syf and I and a couple of friends escaped for a few hours of fresh air."

It took every single ounce of self-control in Ithunn's frame to stop herself overturning the table and lunging directly for Friyya. She hated both herself and Friyya for the situation: Friyya for humiliating her, and releasing the anger, frustration and violence she had always kept bottled up, and she was angry at herself for succumbing so easily to the challenge, for letting her lower emotions get the better of her.

"Friyya, perhaps we should talk about something else." Syf said firmly, beginning to grow uncomfortable with Ithunn's tense silence.

"Oh no, I thought Ithunn could tell us all about it, after all, Sigil has such wonders to offer. It is the gateway to the Multiverse, so any pleasure from any Plane of existence one seeks, one is sure to find it here." Friyya's smile could as well have been demonic as it spread across her sensuous lips.

"Apologies, Syf, but I fear I must leave." Ithunn said, her throat tightening. With almost nervous haste, she turned and left, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

"Ithunn, child, please," Syf called desperately, following after her out the door and down the stairs, "I am certain she meant nothing by it."

Inge remained motionless, shocked and surprised beyond words, hoping that a little reflection would cast some light on what had just occurred. Friyya continued smiling with perverse glee as she plunged a sharp knife into the fragrant cake and cut a generous slice.

"Some cake, Inge?"

*********

"Ithunn, wait!" Syf called desperately as the novice descended the stairs, running with desperate, furious leaps through the deserted courtyard towards the Temple, "Ithunn, stop now! That is an order." The paladin shouted. She was in no mood to play.

Ithunn stopped dead in her tracks under the great colonnade in front of the temple. The power of Syf's order was more greater than the force of her anger and her frustration, "It simply is not the right night, Syf. So before Friyya tells you, I think I should tell you that I behaved stupidly in the library and reacted with violence to her provocations."

"Violence?" Syf pressed sternly, closing in on Ithunn.

"I pinned her against the bookshelf. She called me a whore and was about to strike me. I reacted on impulse and for that I apologise. Punish if you wish, I do not care. That does not matter now." Ithunn said dejectedly. Much to her surprise and joy, Syf promptly gathered her into a tight embrace.

"I suspect what happened stemmed from Friyya's desire for vengeance. I know she can be petty and spiteful at times, but she is a good person - though I am sorry that you had to bear her in her worst guise." Syf reassured, both pleased and somewhat embarrassed as she felt Ithunn sinking against her breast.

"Why was she so cruel to me, Syf?" Ithunn said softly, happy to be deep in Syf's strong, comforting arms.

"Is your past truly that sensitive for you?"

"Yes, I volunteered to join the Order not only to take the burden from my parents, but to never again be forced to do the work of a serving-girl, never again beg for a better price for fabrics at the Bazaar."

"I understand," Syf said - she could feel empathy for Ithunn in so many ways, not least in terms of the difficulty of her life before joining the Order, "my parents could never spare much for me either..."

"No, Syf...you had to live it...I love every single one of my brothers and sisters with all my heart, but I could not be called onto to be a mother. You cannot ask a girl, barely more than a child, to put away everything, to live by tradition and to be a second mother to her siblings all at once. It simply was not fair. I had my own needs, my own loves and desires, but those were brushed aside."

"But that is behind you now, child, I will be the first and most enthusiastic supporter of your life as a Consecrated paladin. If there is anything you ever need, you can come to me." Syf comforted as she overcame her inhibitions and finally planted a soft, affectionate kiss on Ithunn's head.

"Syf..." Ithunn said quietly but clearly, "I am in love with you."

"I love you too, child."

"No, Syf, I am in love with you and I was delighted for both you and Friyya, because she seemed to make you so happy. But now, I can only look at her with nothing but resentment. She made a mockery of me."

"Ithunn!" Syf said sharply, "We already discussed this. It isn't to be. In another world, perhaps, but not now and not here."

"I...I understand, will you at least hold me tonight?"

"I think Inge would be grateful to do that in my stead." Syf said calmly.

"Inge can go hang!" Ithunn snapped, clutching Syf tightly around the waist. It was then that she felt a sharp jerk as Syf thrust her out of her embrace and struck her hard across the cheek, sending her reeling against a column.

"This is the Ithunn I cannot love. How dare you say you would protect the weak as a paladin when you cannot even protect the one who loves you the most?"

"So you say. But you were the first to fall into temptation." Ithunn replied, with more malice than she could ever have imagined from herself.

"Had I been a novice, we would have been fighting hand-to-hand by now, but the first rule of being a paladin is self control, never forget that." Syf admonished sternly.

"Really? Tell me all about it." Ithunn challenged.

"No, this conversation ends here. I clearly placed too much trust in your good judgement and good character." Syf said coldly, taking her leave. Ithunn merely remained leaning against the column, her breath short as she felt the cool night surround her. She wished that light would never break so that the shame of the evening would never be revealed to the eyes of mortals.

It was at least a strike of the Bell Tower before Inge found her. The trainee priestess promptly wrapped her arms around her lover, burying her face in Ithunn's firm, rounded breasts, "Ithunn, my love, it grows cold, come in and I will make us something warm to drink." She invited softly.

"Inge, I will only say this once: leave." Ithunn snapped.

"Oh, Ithunn, if you need to weep, I would be the first to comfort you..."

"Just because," Ithunn said spitefully, "you are whimpering child who thinks that a well placed tear will solve all of life's problems does not mean that there aren't other women dedicated to more serious tasks than playing out pathetic, adolescent romances. Now disappear before you humiliate yourself more than you already have."

Inge stood motionless, stunned to the bone, before turning and departing quickly - and wordlessly - into the darkness. Finally friendless for the night, Ithunn felt free to wallow in her self-pity and consider how useless her benevolent optimism had been. Syf did not love her, Friyya downright hated her and Inge's love was immaterial and worthless at best. In short, the Great Wheel of Ithunn's existence had reached its nadir. Now her soul was vast, empty and formless like the deepest recesses of the para-elemental Plane of Vacuum.

********

Cirily always woke up before Elyszara, even in Sigil. The very first tendrils of formless light had begun to filter though the silken curtains in their spacious bedroom and Elyszara was, predictably, still fast asleep, clutched loosely around Cirily's waist. As far the flame-haired aasimar was concerned, trust had been restored in the relationship when her lover had even insisted on presenting her newfound conquest, Ithunn, whom Cirily had evaluated as a very pretty but clearly inexperienced novice of the Order of the Radiant Path. Order, however, was not sufficient, what Cirily wanted was far more pressing, far more visceral. In times past, her mother had unceremoniously unloaded her, the product of an experimental venture with mortals, into Nerissa's care and from thence she had been assigned to be Elyszara's playmate, confidante, lover and general assistant. That was what had been established and Cirily had never once taken objection to that.

Elyszara had given her a niche and a social role she felt to be profoundly important. Now that she was needed, no one would ever unceremoniously unload her anywhere else again. But in time, Cirily was certain that her bond would have to be sealed and, for that, at least she had Nerissa's blessing. Elyszara's mother had always been sceptical of her daughter's ability to function responsibly and independently without falling into a catastrophic and spectacular spiral of self-destruction and she thus hoped that Cirily would force greater commitment and greater responsibility. So far the plan appeared to be working.

Very gently disentangling Elyszara' arms from her body, Cirily stepped out of bed and onto the cool floorboards. She was naked. They had made passionate love for much of the previous evening, with Cirily keen to show her lover just why she, and no one else, was worthy of Elyszara's unceasing romantic attentions. To that end, Cirily had deployed all her cunning and artistic vision, making sure she satisfied each component of her petulant companion's desires. As a special treat, she had even opened a few vials of highly expensive, enchanted oil specially concocted to heighten sensitivity and revelled wantonly at the sensation of Elyszara slowly, but passionately entering her sex or bottom with a slender, skilled hand.

As she wrapped a rosy, almost transparent dressing gown around her shoulders, Cirily made sure that Elyszara was fully covered under the sheets and comfortable, before making her way downstairs to begin preparing breakfast. She briefly considered bringing it to her beloved in bed, but decided that it was not constructive to spoil her too much. That and Cirily had more shopping to do in the Bazaar. Knowing Elyszara, breakfast in bed would be a pretext to lie back on the headboard and sensually spread her pale slender thighs, exploiting Cirily's tidier impulses by pouring a thin but constant drizzle of syrup or honey or her glistening sex and watching gleefully as her flame-haired lover desperately lapped it up.

"Good morning, Cirily." A tired and somewhat dejected voice came from the entrance to the elegant wood and stone kitchen. Cirily had just activated the produce fire enchantment to light the stove and heat some bread.

"Good morning, my love." She replied airily. There was something about the quiet atmospheres of mornings far away from the occasionally overwhelming tension that occasionally formed between Elyszara and Nerissa back in Arvandor.

"It started again." Elyszara growled, taking a seat at the polished, rose-granite kitchen table.

"Lys, treasure, it's like the full moon - it will happen whether you like it or not." Cirily said patiently, spooning an especially generous portion of crystallised rose petals into Elyszara's berry salad. She had, of course, known without Elyszara needing to tell her.

"There should be an enchantment to prevent it: it's disgusting."

"No it isn't...and we all know what happens when you fall down the slippery slope of using magic to tamper with life's rhythms: that's how liches come about, you know." Cirily began to set the table with a jug of herbal tea, biscuits, cream pastries and fruit. Her motions were deft, precise and delicate, like those of a good mother.

"Yes, yes...uh, Cirily, sorry, but I think we may need to change the..." Elyszara began bashfully.

"I'll take care of it." Cirily interrupted, turning back to the stove to carefully retrieve the heated bread and place it on the table.

"Cirily...I wouldn't know what to do without you." Elyszara conceded. Her last few days had almost been surreal. In all that maelstrom of memories, desire and longing, her beloved had been the only foundation to remain firm and never disappoint.

"Don't be silly, Lys, you need never do without me." Cirily reassured, "By the way, that night you were away, I took the opportunity to paint a landscape of Sigil by night. I left it in the studio. When you have a chance, take a look at it and tell me what you think."

"I'm certain it will be magnificent." Elyszara said, smiling gently. She had already started on her second cream pastry.

"Thank you, I try to please," Cirily said, approaching Elyszara lover to plant a soft kiss on her lips, "by the way, I need you to drop into the Library of the Society of Sensation. I still need to pick up that volume of audiovisual avariel poetry. It's supposed to be quite lovely, I hear."

"Cirily..."

"Yes, Lys."

"Have you ever thought of the future? I mean, where it will all end. Where you and I and everyone we love will end?" Elyszara asked, her tone more introspective than Cirily had heard in a long time.

"Of course."

"Doesn't it frighten you?"

"No." Cirily responded truthfully, tenderly running her fingers through Elyszara's soft, dark hair, "Because I face the future with you."

"And what do you see for us?"

"Let's see," Cirily said gently, eager to reassure her lover that there was no need for an existential crisis, "I see a nice, well-tended home, a good library, a rich garden with a fountain...a nice veranda on a hillside where we can have breakfast when it is light outside but the air is still cool; children you can spoil and I can educate..."

"Good..." Elyszara said faintly. With Cirily's plans for the future so concrete, so terrifying and overbearing, there was little Elyszara could do but fear still more for her place in a Multiverse that grew ever wider and more daunting.

Sigil Book One, Chapter XI

Here ends the first great cycle in the revolution of our narrative. Soon another will begin and, finally, the dark void that is the future can become a little brighter.

- the Archivist, your narrator.

"E 'nt'a barca du vin ghe naveghiemu 'nsc'i scheuggi
emigranti du rìe cu'i cioi 'nt'i euggi
finché u matin crescià da puéilu rechéugge"

Although Shesayne and Lily had originally stopped at the Styx Boatman for lunch, the two hundred Sigil marks they had been left were more than enough to carry them on into the evening, so that when the lights in the tavern were turned on, they both realised that they had managed to make a good day out of their excursion. Shesayne was pleased that Lily had decided to loosen up a little. Though the dark elf remained fairly cold about certain issues - most specifically surface elves -, she had begun to show herself to be very interesting company. Naturally, Shesayne had chosen the battered old couch, which was Min's favourite place, as their seat. Lily, in the meanwhile, had changed into the white blouse and black leggings they had stolen from the clothing emporium and though she felt awkward - for she had never worn anything but robes her entire life - she was at least content to fade more effectively into Sigil's cracks and begin to resemble one of the locals.

"I was thinking, Lily, how about another bottle of Bytopian Cider?" Shesayne inquire enthusiastically. They had been drinking at a steady rate for most of the day, but in no great quantity. Lily proved to be fascinating in terms of conversation, provided the information could be teased out of her.

"Too sweet. Since this city thinks of itself as the crossroads of worlds, I am certain they stock eilikh." Lily replied, amiably enough. She had surprised herself by the tolerance she had shown to Shesayne's eccentricities and even permitted the half-elf to ask some fairly personal questions.

"What's that?" Shesayne asked curiously.

"Uh...what is the word...it is like a plant, but grows in the darkness, by the glow of faerie fire."

"Mushrooms?"

"Yes, mushroom wine." Lily concluded with satisfaction.

Shesayne made a face, "Mushroom wine how really odd, weird and potentially disgusting."

"Trust me." Lily said, her violet lips drawn in an enigmatic smile.

"Here goes nothing, hopefully." Shesayne said in resignation, rising from the well-worn couch to make her way to the bar.

Lily watched in the distance, careful to examine each of the lithe half-elf's energetic little movements. It was as if her body had been locked in a perpetual, understated dance, but there was a certain playful sensuality in the movement of her hips and the impish smile on her face that even the drow could appreciate. Shesayne, she concluded, had her merits, even if she was frivolous and occasionally irritating.

Meanwhile, and much to her surprise, Shesayne found that the Styx Boatman did indeed happen to have a few bottles of Lily's mushroom wine, though forty marks was generally more than she was inclined to spend on a single bottle of alcohol. Lily's company had, however, put Shesayne in something of a curious mood. She was eager to learn more from the dark elf and decided that it was best to raise her spirits with a taste of home.

"A rare choice, we don't get many drow clients." The brutish, four-armed barkeeper commented, presenting a clear, oval bottle containing a translucent green liquid which appeared to glow in the penumbra of the tavern. Shesayne examined it curiously, paid for the bottle and rejoined Lily, who looked on in eager anticipation.

"So you found it." The dark elf said, barely masking her glee. It had been a long time since she had savoured the comforts of home: she missed the chaos, the uncertainty and the constant activity of her previous life. She missed her status, the services of her House's vast array of slaves, she even missed some of her sisters, though not in any profound way. Virginia was more than sufficient a replacement.

"Yeah, well, anything to please Lily and make her feel comfortable and at home." Shesayne said, carefully extracting the cut-crystal stopper from the bottle and pouring a large glass for Lily and a much smaller one for herself.

"Your hospitality is much appreciated." Lily replied, gratefully taking a sip of the familiar liquid from her glass. For a moment, she was once again under the comforting darkness of her Underdark home, wrapped in a blanket of silence where the only sounds were the almost imperceptible chattering of the giant spiders which were housed not far from her room in her House's shrine.

"Don't mention it, my duty, my pleasure." Shesayne chirped, carefully scrutinising the faintly glowing green liquid before sniffing it. The smell was sharp, metallic and overpowering, like nothing she had ever smelt before. Nevertheless, her curiosity once again seized control of her, so Shesayne put herself in the hands of the powers that be and hastily took a sip of the liquid her eyes closed as she prepared for the wave of nausea she was sure would come. In truth, Shesayne could simply not describe how the wine tasted because it was so sharp and potent, almost like ammonia, that it dulled her tongue, filling it a numb sensation which reminded her of the healing potion a priest had given her when one of her teeth had become infected as a child.

"Is it not to your taste?" Lily inquired, an edge of sadism in her voice. Only the drow palate was refined enough to capture the little nuances of good eilikh.

"It's a little strong..." Lily said, her eyes beginning to water as she felt the insidious, almost chemical sharpness hit the back of her throat, "I'll leave you the bottle...all yours..."

"I regret that it is not to your taste, but at least you have the pleasure of my company for the evening."

"Y'know, I never thought I'd end up talking alone to a drow over a drink. Life's strange, huh?"

"There is no need to tell me that." Lily said sardonically, tensing a little as Shesayne took the liberty of leaning her head against her shoulder.

"Lily..." Shesayne began tentatively. There was something Lily had said earlier that day which had remained seared into Shesayne's mind. Though she knew that it was potentially dangerous territory to be treading upon, Bytopian Cider and her curiosity were a dangerous combination.

"Yes?" Lily replied, still somewhat uncertain as to how to react to the half-elf curling up against her shoulder, raven-black hair neatly arranged under the usual dragon-turtle shell comb and almost pressing against her generous breasts.

"I was just wondering about what you told me earlier, y'know, about your...uh, thirteenth sister."

"What of it?"

"Well maybe I misunderstood or misheard you, but didn't you say that you two were...like, well..."

"Bedmates?" Lily interjected impatiently.

"Yeah..." Shesayne concluded, slightly embarrassed.

"Forgive my ignorance of surface customs, but what is your point?"

- But she was your sister - Shesayne thought, before deciding a more diplomatic approach, "Tell me about her."

"What is there to say? She was gifted with a very pleasing appearance and much talent as a priestess, so she sought me out as someone who could support her rise through the ranks of the Initiates of the Temple. As a junior priestess, I was merely a first step, but had the added advantage of being her sister, so she could trust me a little more than an outsider. In return I expected her obedience, affection and attentions."

"Do you...well, do drow girls normally sleep with their sisters?" Shesayne asked, phrasing each word as delicately as possible.

"Why do you make this distinction between sisters and other forms of lovers? Understand that I am not referring to couplings intended to create offspring - for we, above all races, are well aware that the strongest children come from the union of unrelated bloodlines, but to a physical relationship that was an added dimension to our relationship as Daughters of the same House." Lily explained, though there was no simple way to describe the convoluted nature of drow society to an outsider. As far as Lily was concerned, there was no element in sisterhood which precluded erotic relations - family ties were just another social network, like the Priesthood of Lloth or affiliation to a House.

"Sorry, I don't want to offend you or anything, but to us surface dwellers that all sounds really strange and a little creepy. At least, as far as all those I've met are concerned." Shesayne confessed.

"That is, in a sense, natural. I too am repelled by much of what I see here in Sigil. I cannot demand you to share drow sensibilities - though there is no reason a comparatively intelligent being such as yourself you should not - because you were never given a chance to experience their true superiority."

"I'll take your word for it...but, don't you ever miss your sister, since you two were...uh...so close?"

"No." Lily replied coldly, "She should not have made impossible requests of me. She was not even a full priestess, still an untrained adolescent. She would have been a liability wherever the gate spell took me to. I knew because I had only very recently been an Initiate myself and I could not allow my survival to be compromised by her weakness."

"I...guess." Shesayne was, for once, lost for words. She could not imagine anyone being so callous with regards to a brother or sister. But, in the end, the half-elf decided that it was not her place to judge. Her mother had done far too much of that for there to be any appeal in universally condemning someone or something on the grounds of background or race alone. As far as she was concerned, Lily had so far shown herself to be pleasant - in her own particular way - and that is what Shesayne decided to judge her on.

"I know you think me cruel," Lily began, draining her glass and quickly pouring herself another, "but that is the only way one survives and prospers in drow culture. Here, however, I have no intention of doing you any harm. Now that I think of it, you have shown yourself to be worthy of my trust and, perhaps, my admiration."

"That's always fine and good to hear." Shesayne said contentedly, shifting into a reclining position on the couch and stretching so that her head was planted firmly on Lily's chest.

"Are you always this forward?" Lily inquired. Though drow had few, if any inhibitions, to their sensuality, expressions of admiration were usually confined to the private sphere, since public displays were considered evidence of weakness or lack of caution.

"Oh, well, I suppose drow culture isn't big and overenthusiastic on a little cuddle now and then, huh?" Shesayne said, somewhat disappointed. In reality though, she was quite aware that it was unreasonable to expect Lily to provide the same sort of physical affection she received from Min.

"Virginia uses this term and I understand it to mean a physical display of affection which does not necessarily lead to coupling, but is somehow linked to it." There were nuances of surface society which simply evaded Lily. Virginia's attentions were, to be sure, quite flattering, but at times, they seemed more sentimental than erotic.

"Yes...y'know, you could stroke my hair, or my cheek or, now that I mention it, just about anywhere you like since it's you. You could hold me and..."

"Then the answer is no. We do not emphasise superfluous physical affection. We are passionate lovers, but artistic and efficient and never trapped in foolish emotions."

"It's not foolish!" Shesayne protested, "Doesn't Virginia ever hold you and tell you you're beautiful and doesn't that make you feel good, wanted, loved?"

"Yes, of course, but she is Virginia." Lily said dismissively. There was no reason why she should treat a halfbreed with the same respect and deference she reserved for her priestess.

"What? Look, Lily, you've really got to loosen up...just 'cause we exchange a little friendly affection here and there doesn't mean we've got to go in all deep and serious with power relations, politics or religion or whatever. It just means I'd like to have a little fun and feel good with you, end of story - what I'm saying, Lily, is like the other time we were here at the Boatman and we kissed: that didn't mean that I wanted my relationship with you to replace your relationship with Virg, it's just a little game between friends. Then if you get all wet and excited and want to fuck, that's alright with me too, but if you don't like me or Virg doesn't want you to, nobody's going to force you."

"These are games children play." Lily replied matter-of-factly. Between one nostalgic sip and another, she had already managed to drain half the bottle of her fungus wine.

"Fuck, Lily!" Shesayne said impatiently, leaping into Lily's lap and straddling the bemused dark elf, "D'you like me or not? D'you even sodding listen to me or understand that I'm trying to be friends with you the way I understand it, simply 'cause I like working with you and talking to you? Is it that sodding hard to accept and realise that I really don't want to use you, I just like being with you...that's what friendship means."

"Have I offended you?" Lily asked impassively.

"No, it's just a little frustrating when you're so cynical all the time."

"In answer to your question," Lily began calmly, "I guarantee you that I have been listening to you all day. I would be foolish not to, since you appear to be very well aware of the nature of society on the surface world. I also think I...like you because you appear to have a swift mind and are effective at what you do. You are not, and I believe I have said this before, unattractive either."

"Oh...well, I guess I think that's best compliment I'll be able to squeeze out of you." Shesayne said, pouting a little. At least in her sitting position on Lily's lap she was treated to a very comprehensive overview of the dark elf's magnificent, onyx-black breasts.

"I know you find my appearance pleasing." Lily ventured, taking another sip of the mushroom wine. Its effects were not merely alcoholic, but also stimulant, inducing a mildly euphoric state after a few glasses.

"Are you fishing for a compliment?" Shesayne said, smiling a little - Lily was clearly at least making an effort, "'Cause if you are, I'm warning you that you're about to catch a big one."

"What?" The speed and colloquialism of Shesayne's speech had bedevilled Lily's linguistic mind for most of the day, but in that moment, the half-elf appeared to be spouting pure nonsense.

"It's an...uh, well, what's it called...where's Aerylle when you need her...an expression." Shesayne offered, "What I mean is that my mother always used to tell me that drow looked all horrible and spidery and evil, but when I saw you for the first time wearing that blouse and nothing else, I suddenly forgot all my mother's stories and all the drow cutthroats they talked about in the Hive."

"You flatter me, but it is not directly in your interest to do so. It is you, after all, who recommended that the company hire me." Lily said, internally regretting the fact that even insofar as a half-(surface) elf was concerned she was still in a potentially precarious social situation.

"Lily, just accept that I mean it and that it's true."

"Why is it so important for you to be my friend?"

"I think you're fascinating, a genuine individual and someone who's actually interested in me and wants to know what I'm saying and not what you think I'm saying." Shesayne said with a certain intensity which struck Lily as uncharacteristic of the normally flighty half-elf. Now with Shesayne's clear, blue eyes staring into her own, the dark elf realised that every day on the surface would entail a new discovery.

"Thank you." Lily said, almost lost for words.

"C'mon, there's a place I'd like to show you, since you're all into this discovery and exploration business." Shesayne invited enthusiastically, rising to her feet to take Lily by the hand and guide her out of the tavern.

Reluctant to abandon her half-finished bottle of eilikh, Lily was nonetheless at least a little intrigued about what Shesayne had in mind. So she followed the half-elf's lead, winding through darkened alleyways, deep into the Hive. The darkness - that familiar, comforting darkness which reminded Lily of home - enveloped them, but Shesayne knew where she was going by memory and intuition alone. Their footfalls were light on the broken cobblestones and on the small puddles that had formed where the streets had been undone altogether by the action of weeds and of the passage of countless citizens. After wending their way through the narrow mazes of Sigil's darkest quarters, the couple found themselves in a small, deserted square, practically overwhelmed by thin, decaying buildings which seemed to peer over them malevolently.

At the centre of the square was a small, but exquisitely carved fountain of an exotic water flower which still stood proudly, though partially obscured by a thick growth of sharp Razorvine, on a pool of surprisingly pristine water.

"This area was abandoned ages and ages ago," Shesayne explained approaching the fountain, "the buildings were all declared unsafe so most just moved out, I heard there were ideas to redevelop it, but nobody's going to put money into the Hive. It's really quiet here, most of the things that you've got to watch out for 'round about here don't like fresh water, but the fountain's enchanted...I think, so the water always runs clear."

"Is this place important to you?" Lily said, curious to understand why the bastard daughter of a surface elf and a human would so relish darkness and deserted ruins.

"Yeah, it's just about one of the only little pieces of peace, quiet and comfort you're going to find in the Cage. Plus it's one of the few nice places Min and I could go to where they wouldn't tell us to pike it and leave." Shesayne took a seat by the border of the fountain, careful not to cut herself on the Razorvine, "Hey, Lily, c'mon have a seat, we can talk some more."

Lily complied, pleased to be surrounded in the womb of darkness. Her sensitive darkvision and hearing could only note silence and the scampering of a few cranium rats in the distance. Outside the invasive glare of light, Lily was free to appreciate that Shesayne looked appealing enough in her succinct, slit skirt and equally revealing top. A little slender and waifish for her tastes, perhaps, but the half-elf's human ancestry had, at least, granted her some alluring curves.

"You like it better in the pitch-black darkness, don't you." Shesayne said, smiling as she detected that Lily was at ease. She could only barely make out the drow's figure next to her, cloaked as she was in the night, with only the light red-violet glow of her eyes in evidence.

"The darkness helps you see that which the light overwhelms. If you had my eyes, you would see this square, this fountain, this water with such subtlety, such detail that you would never again wish to step in the painful glare of light."

"You forget and ignore the fact that I find it difficult just to see you here beside me." Shesayne said. She fondly remembered similar evenings she spent with Min and, often, Verden as well by that fountain talking about nothing in particular far from prying ears.

"But you sense me: your senses are sharp, so you feel my presence, hear my breathing, maybe even detect the warmth of my blood."

"I do...and I'm glad I took you here, 'cause it's nice to see you feel at home and you're always really interesting and intense when you're in a good mood, so I'll take that a sign that my little idea worked."

"My House had a fountain, larger than this one, too. We kept filled with water from deep within the Underdark, so deep that when it came up it was warm and you could bathe in it. But I know this not to be the same fountain, the sound of the drops of water is different. Each fountain, each stream of groundwater has its song." Lily said introspectively.

"Wow, Lily, I really never thought you took the time to think about these things..."

"When your life depends on it, you learn to observe everything around you." Lily interrupted, curiously trailing her fingers in the fountain's pool. It was cold, but it felt clean and clear.

"Lily...there's something I've been meaning to ask you again..." Shesayne began softly.

"You may." Lily replied, her intense, burning eyes never leaving Shesayne's. She had finally decided to reveal just how much she had managed to detect about Shesayne.

Very slowly, almost as if in a trance, Shesayne ran her fingers down Lily's cheek, just to feel the soft texture of the skin and the delicate bone structure underneath. She then moved forward, eyes half-closed, lips slightly parted until she felt Lily's mouth against them. That instant was a like a revelation to Shesayne, as if the curious tension which had always built in her when she admired Lily evaporated in a single wisp of steam. The dark elf's mouth was hungry, willing and aggressive, her tongue dextrously dancing with Shesayne's, her lips soft, yielding and sensuous. Lily sank into the kiss, drawing Shesayne closer, her sensitive ears detected the increased rate of the half-elven girl's heartbeat.

As gently as she could, Shesayne slowly began to unclasp the knot on Lily's blouse, eager to release one of those gloriously full, onyx breasts. She did this with trepidation, eager to bring the heavy, magnificent orbs of the dark elf's breasts spilling forth, to feel the stiff little violet nipples under her fingers and most, importantly, to hear Lily's breath quicken in anticipation. It was then that she felt the drow's hands clasp her own and set them aside with surprising gentleness.

"Let us enjoy this for what it is." Lily said with more understanding than Shesayne had ever thought possible.

"I'm sorry, Lily, you're right...silly me, I can get so carried away sometimes." The half-elf mumbled apologetically.

"No, your desire is to be expected. It is only natural that you seek beauty in this decaying city." Lily said - Shesayne, it appeared, also had taste, but it would have been most unbecoming to grant her favours to one who was not even a priestess.

"Why don't we get home now? I feel like a warm bath and I know where Marséna stashes her biscuits so there'll be loads to keep us going...talking, I mean, though if you change your mind and reconsider, I'm always up for it."

"I am flattered." Lily said with a wry smile as she rose to follow Shesayne back to the Temple, "But must it be something sweet again?"

"Oh, c'mon," Shesayne said, happy that she had not offended Lily, "what do drow snack on in the middle of the night?"

"What do you call the plant that grows low and thick on rocks?"

"Wha- you've got to be kidding and having me for a joke...moss?"

"Yes, moss preserved in spices."

"Just one thing then," Shesayne said, grimacing, "never-never cook for me."

"Cooking is for slaves and males, I fail to understand why Virginia finds it comforting."

"You know, you could loosen up with the language just a little...learn some cant, you won't stick out and be so obvious if you do." Shesayne suggested, weaving her way back through the streets of the Hive, instinctively remembering which way was the shortest back to the Temple Ward.

"Obvious?"

"As in you'll fit in better and be a real Sigil girl in no time. Start by dropping the accent..."

"Believe me, Shesayne, it is a good deal easier said than done." Lily replied dryly.

"Problem is, Lily, you've got to realise that in this place only the teacher at the useless old school my mother sent me to and Friyya - when she wants to show off - speak like that. If you want to dive in and feel the life of the Cage, you've got to start blending in."

Lily sighed inwardly. She had once been the daughter of one of the most powerful noble Houses in Ille-Athalath and now she was reduced to having to learn the popular vernacular to get by. Upon further reflection, though, Shesayne made a good point: there was an abyss that separated the Drow tongue she had spoken at home and the language spoken by the masses of Ille-Athalath. Since she was no longer, effectively a noble, excessive formality would get her nowhere. Nevertheless, Lily was, by all her considerable powers of deduction, inclined to believe that Virginia was a better linguistic guide than Shesayne.

********

That night, Shesayne and Lily, in their limited, sometimes, awkward capacity, did at least a little something to confirm Sigil's reputation as the crucible of the existence and the slow destroyer of cultural boundaries. Indeed, Shesayne was surprised at how forthcoming Lily was with answers about her past and her current expectations. So, as the half-elf reclined on Virginia's bed, Lily unselfconsciously naked and under the sheets next to her, she felt that, ultimately the day had been a productive one.

The same, however, could not be said of Syf and Friyya. The evening, as far as Syf was concerned, had been an unmitigated disaster. She had instantly regretted speaking so harshly to Ithunn - even though she had been severely provoked, it was her duty as the senior Sister to tolerate the shortcomings of novices. Moreover, Friyya greeted her back in their lodgings with that irritating, smug smile which reminded Syf so much of the times when her lover had a savage little verbal dig prepared for virtually every other novice.

"So did you manage to tame the beast?" Friyya asked playfully. She was sitting, already changed into her nightgown, on the side of the bed she shared with Syf, carefully examining her teeth in a handheld mirror for even the slightest impurity in their pearly whiteness.

"Friyya, what is wrong with you?" Syf snapped, barely containing her anger.

"Oh, come, my treasure, if she is to be the finest paladin of her year, surely she can tolerate a little gentle teasing."

"Do you ever stop and think how much you can actually hurt other people?"

"You see, Syf," Friyya said, satisfied with the flawless condition of her smile, "that girl is just a little sensitive. But that was no reason to burst out so rudely..."

"Friyya, that's enough. She told me about the library...I thought you had stopped being so petty."

"Hmm, depends, I don't take well to physical threats." Friyya said airily. She retrieved her ivory-inlaid hairbrush and began to put her rich, autumn-blonde hair to meticulous order.

"You have to grow up." Syf said firmly.

"What?"

"You have to grow up. It was all very well when we were novices, but now we are responsible for the life and soul of the Order. We simply can't go around treating others, least of all the novices we should be nurturing, as if we were spiteful, adolescent girls."

"Fine, you're right." Friyya said sullenly.

"Ithunn isn't like Marséna," Syf commented quietly, sitting by Friyya's side on the bed, "she has wounds that run deep."

"I know, I'm sorry I spoiled it for you, I know that you two are close...and I think I am perfectly happy with that. I'm also sorry I spoiled it for Inge; she is such a sweet girl, I would have liked to have spoken to her in happier circumstances."

"Look, Friyya, I am not condemning you. I don't have half of your brilliance: all I have is my sword arm and my devotion to my Sisters and to the Vigilant Maiden. My point is that I know only one thing: that your anger should be diverted towards our enemies and not our Sisters, those who would love you if only you gave them a chance."

"So you say Ithunn admires me?" Friyya inquired, hoping for a compliment.

"Of course she does, my treasure, she always tells me what a good couple we make and what a wonderful teacher you are."

Friyya could not help but blush slightly. Flattery, as always, was a weakness of hers. If only Ithunn had apologised in those same terms, then perhaps that evening's situation could have been avoided. Ithunn, however, was like Syf: proud and firm in her beliefs, "I'll talk to her next tomorrow after lessons." She finally conceded.

"Thank you. I don't want you to apologise, since you were both at fault, but I would like you to tell her that what happened tonight is behind us, and that there will always be a place by our side for her."

"Sounds reasonable enough to me." Friyya said, finally laying aside her hairbrush. She rose to her feet and began to turn out the bed.

"Thank you, Friyya, I truly appreciate it." Syf said, a calm smile spreading across her lips.

"Syf...Syf, I don't know how to say this without embarrassing myself," Friyya said, pausing for a moment to look her lover straight in the eyes, "the truth is, I would do anything you asked me to. I know I can be a spiteful wretch but..." Friyya's contemplations were silenced by Syf's passionate, needy lips.

"We can only grow together and that means knowing ourselves through each other's eyes. So I want Ithunn to learn the same lesson you and Marséna learnt: that sisters can quarrel, but, in the end, the bond grows always stronger."

"Hmm...I never through you were so wise, Syf." Friyya said teasingly, tracing her tongue over her lover's soft lips.

"How's this for wisdom?" Syf said, her voice thick with passion as she devoured Friyya's mouth. Her hands slid up the auburn-haired beauty's nightgown, clasping her perfect, alabaster bottom.

"Worthy of the finest paladin of the Radiant Path: squad leader or no squad leader, you will always be my heroine," Friyya breathed, her lips wet and demanding as she drew her kisses down Syf's throat, "and to show my appreciation, I think I'll let you do whatever you want tonight."

"You can start," Syf replied, her voice heavy with desire, "by showing me just how much you appreciated my little surprise earlier today."

"Oh well," Friyya said lasciviously, helping Syf lean back on the bed and spreading her lover's slim, muscular thighs, "I already had dessert, but I suppose I could go for a second helping."

Syf smiled, undoing her buttons to her tunic and helping Friyya to gain access to her sodden sex by pulling its hem around her waist. It always aroused her to hear Friyya make her wanton little comments: in that sense, it was reassuring to see that her lover had an irreverent, slightly perverse side. In due time, Syf's suspicions were confirmed by the delectable action of Friyya's lips on her rapidly moistening sex. The auburn-haired girl trailed playful little kisses on the inside of Syf's thigh, circling the outer lips of her blooming flower and the moving in, closer and closer, to her juicing core. Adjusting herself on the bed for comfort, Syf gently caressed Friyya's silky, autumn-blonde hair, drawing her closer with one hand as she ran the other down the gentle curve of one of her breasts, letting out a soft moan as soon as her fingertips made contact with a dark pink nipple. Syf's entire body had become dangerously sensitive, for she could feel each distinct movement of Friyya's mouth on the slick folds of her sex, feel the expert licking motion that coaxed her little clitoris to enraged, lustful life.

Then, as gently as she could, Friyya parted Syf's thighs further still, her fingers lovingly tugging the raven-haired paladin's nether lips apart to reveal the pink, passion-slick heart of her womanhood. Friyya then proceeded to place long, casual licks on the innermost petals of Syf's sex, careful to avoid her lover's clitoris. It was a pleasure to sink back into the familiar warmth, to sense the aroma of her raven-haired lover and to feel the velvety, yielding softness of Syf's innermost secrets under her tongue and lips.

"Friyya, Goddess, what are you doing?" Syf groaned in frustration. Her blood felt as if it was on fire even as Friyya teased her, coaxing her inner folds with insistent, but painfully inconclusive little licks. Syf needed more, she needed to feel the her lover devour her, for Friyya inspired love and lust in equal measure. She was a magnificent woman to be cherished and an equally magnificent body to be possessed.

"Good things come to those who wait." Friyya said smugly, carefully inserting two fingers deep into her lover's canal, easily parting the lust-swollen flesh to find a liquid, molten cavern of sweet, fragrant pleasure. The moist, needy flesh welcomed Friyya's intrusion, eliciting an eager gasp from Syf. Friyya then bent her fingers deep in her lover's sex, delicately searching.

"There!" Syf groaned, her nipples felt as hard as arrowheads under her fingers, for each little grazing touch generated an almost electric shock in response. Her sex felt pulsating, tight and needy around Friyya's playful fingers.

The auburn-haired beauty did not take long to oblige her lover as she began to move her fingers against Syf's most sensitive spot in a firm, circular rhythm, while she busied her mouth around the tiny, stiff clitoris, revelling in the familiar, beloved light muskiness of the raven-haired girl's sex. Friyya had always privately believed that engorged little bud to be one of the most endearing parts of Syf's body. She certainly adored lavishing her attentions on it, just as she adored Syf's gasping cries in response to her playful licks. If only the novices knew, Friyya mused, that their much-feared drill instructor could be reduced to mewling so sweetly in desperate need by a few well-judged flicks of the tongue. So Friyya obliged her lover's heady desire, feeling Syf's hips beginning to buck under her. The dark-haired paladin bit her lower lip - it was mildly embarrassing to be so vocal about her passion, especially because she knew that Shesayne and Lily had returned - but the build-up of molten heat in her loins was undeniable, as was the almost maddening dedication of Friyya's fingers which thrust into her with firm, loving abandon. Syf came gasping raggedly for air. She felt her climax as a spasmodic wave enveloping her sex, followed by a rich feeling of satisfaction as she contracted gently around Friyya's fingers.

"Syf...all this because of me." Friyya teased, raising her gaze to admire her lover in the throes of her climax. The auburn-haired girl's lips and cheeks were sodden with Syf's nectar, as was her hand.

"Sorry..." Syf replied, blushing slightly, "but you know all my weak points."

"Better I know them in the bedchamber than on the fencing yard." Friyya quipped rising to embrace Syf.

"You always have an answer for everything." Syf reprimanded gently, eagerly kissing off her own nectar from Friyya's rich, sensuous lips.

"I know...so, is there anything else my sweet Syf would like her obedient little lover to do?"

"First, let's get you out of this." Syf ordered, pulling Friyya to her feet and almost tearing off the auburn-haired girl's nightgown, tossing it to one side like a rag, "I never get tired of admiring you." She said reverently, leaning in to kiss Friyya passionately once more.

"Of course you don't." Friyya responded haughtily.

"I think little Friyya needs a lesson in humility, bend over the desk." Syf barked in the tone she used to command novices during training. Having Friyya in her power had always been one of Syf's most fervent fantasies.

Friyya felt a pulse of excitement beating in her chest. She was embarrassingly wet and made sure Syf knew this by spreading herself out on the plain wooden desk, legs apart so that her pink, juicy nether lips were slightly parted for her lover's inspection. The wood felt hard and grating against Friyya's stiff nipples, its scent of polish and musty books filling her nostrils. Syf approached from behind and planted two hard slaps on Friyya's perfect, upturned bottom, bringing a bright red glow to the beautifully curved alabaster globes. The impact caused a couple of droplets of Friyya's nectar to trickle down her inner thigh.

Syf was behind her now, the raven-haired paladin's strong hands running lovingly down her lover's statuesque breasts, taking time to tease and coax the red-rose nipples that rode so majestically astride the pure white peaks.

"Do you think I need to be punished?" Friyya inquired breathily as she felt Syf's tender, wet kisses trail down her spine. Being so open and vulnerable, surrendering herself to Syf's attentions was deeply arousing.

"Most definitely." Syf sighed, her tongue trailing down the tight crevasse of the magnificent globes of Friyya's bottom.

"Oh Syf!" Friyya giggled as she felt the tip of her lover's tongue gently play against the tight, pink pucker of her bottom, smothering it with gentle attention, "You're incorrigible. If you're curious about taking me there, all you have to do is ask."

"Maybe another time." Syf replied weakly, her throat knotted with desire at the thought that Friyya was willing to surrender herself completely to her - mind and body.

"So what is my dear Syf's pleasure?"

"My pleasure," Syf declared, regaining her composure and rising to her feet, "is for this disobedient novice to submit to discipline." Three hard slaps rained down on Friyya's upturned bottom. The feeling of those magnificent, firm globes yielding under the force of her fingers was profoundly arousing to Syf, but more still were Friyya's surprised little cries at each slap.

"Spread your thighs further and keep your hands where I can see them. Anything you spill on the floor you will lick up, understood, novice?" Syf growled.

Friyya happily complied, "Hmm...yes, Sister," she cooed, "I am such a wanton girl, I promise you'll never catch me pleasuring myself in the armoury again."

"I better not!"

"But it felt so good, Sister," Friyya purred, spurring Syf on as she arched her back, balanced on the tips of her toes to better receive Syf's blows, "because I was thinking of you."

Syf was in no mood to contain herself any longer. She pushed Friyya down against the desk and briskly inserted three fingers into her lover's sex. Friyya whimpered and gripped the table, the shock and pleasure of the penetration overwhelming after the sensual build-up of the evening. She could feel her tall lover's stiff nipples graze against her back as she allowed herself to be taken vigorously. Syf's fingers were quick, strong and expert, masterfully parting the juicy folds, while her thumb casually strummed the stiff little bud of Friyya's clitoris. She kept Friyya pinned down effortlessly with one arm, her free hand plundering the delights of the auburn-haired paladin's sodden sex, eliciting sharp little moans at each brisk thrust. Had it been up to Syf, she would have kept her fingers or tongue planted in the moist, fragrant paradise of Friyya's sex for days at a time.

Steeling herself against the wooden desk, Friyya moved her hips in rhythm with the thrusts of Syf's fingers, abandoning herself to the agonising desire blocked deep in the pit of her belly, surrendering herself to her lover's ministrations. Then, all of a sudden, the accumulated friction in her sodden canal and deeper in her loins was released in a long, sublime contraction and Friyya came in a low, satisfied wail. Syf ensured that Friyya remained spread out on the desk until the last contractions of her climax had eased. It was her privilege as Friyya's lover to capture all the delights of her peak.

"You really take this punishment thing seriously, don't you Syf?" Friyya said breathlessly as she felt Syf's grip on her arm relax. She turned around to wrap her arms around her lover and trail her lips in the valley between Syf's elegant breasts. Her bottom was still a little sore, even though Syf had clearly held back.

"You also seemed to take a liking to your...role."

"Because I would have been glad to have had you as an instructor. You are always so strong - strict, but ever so loving. Now that I think of it, I understand Ithunn. You know the way to a girl's heart." Friyya knew that Syf would never hurt, never humiliate her. In truth, however, her intimate game with Syf had been one way Friyya sought to make her peace with her experiences at the hands of a much less sympathetic instructor who had, unfortunately for her, been far more real. The most traumatic memories were still like open wounds:

Light had just broken in the Temple and the novices had been roused by the bell for early morning prayers. It was a particularly cool morning, even by Sigil's standards so that the group filed out of the dormitories - freezing and barefoot in their nightgowns - eager to show their devotion. At least, that was the theory. In practice, only Syf and Virginia seemed to take a perverse interesting proceedings. Marséna was utterly miserable from the unfamiliar, biting cold, but held her tongue. Friyya cringed: she had pulled a muscle in her thigh during fencing practice and the humid cold was doing nothing to help the pain. Nevertheless, she soldiered on, happy at least to have Syf and her bunkmates by her side.

The problem of her injury, however, became apparent as soon as they filed into the nave of the Temple itself and were made to kneel on the cold, hard stone floor before a massive, exquisitely carved marble statue of the Vigilant Maiden, her great bow in hand and her sword by her side. Friyya did her best to be bear the pain in silence, especially because Isobel was patrolling the rows of kneeling novices, careful to ensure that each showed the proper composure. It was then that a flash of pain seared through Friyya's upper thigh and she slumped forward for an instant, before desperately composing herself and hoping that her slip in posture had gone unnoticed.

Isobel's eyes, however, were as keen as those of a bird of prey, "Friyya! You useless excuse for a novice." The blood-red haired Isobel snarled, grabbing the novice by her long auburn tresses and throwing her unceremoniously to the ground.

"Sorry, Reverend Sister." Friyya grovelled, whimpering. Fearing a similar fate, the other novices continued to stare straight ahead and pay not attention to the scene.

"Worthless! How will you endure a cut by a blade or a bruise by a mace if you cannot even hold yourself straight after a simple muscle injury." Isobel slapped Friyya hard across the face the moment the novice tried to at least rise to her knees, sending her sprawling back on the floor, "You do not deserve to stand, only to crawl!"

"Please, Reverend Sister, forgive my weakness." Friyya begged desperately. Her cheek felt like it was on fire.

"Get up." Isobel ordered coldly, "Get up and lean against the column in front of the statue."

Friyya scrambled to comply desperately, hoping that Isobel would get on with it so the horror would pass as quickly as possible. Very conscious of the fact that she was directly in front of the other novices, Friyya gritted her teeth and gripped the elegant marble column, mentally imagining herself safe and warm under the sheets with Syf.

Isobel approached from behind, clad in her habitual breastplate, her braided leather cane at the ready, "Lift up your nightgown."

"Reverend Sister!" Friyya objected, despite her abject terror, blushing furiously. She had taken it for granted that Isobel would beat her with her nightgown on.

"Do as I say, you stupid girl."

"Please, Reverend Sister, not here..." Friyya whimpered, tears beginning to pour down her cheeks when she realised the grotesque humiliation of her situation. Bent over as she was and in the bright lighting of the temple, all of her would be laid bare before the other novices.

"Do as I say or, I will tear it off you." Isobel commanded. She did not consider herself to be sadistic, but some novices simply had to learn the hard way.

"Reverend Sister..." Friyya sobbed, clenching the hem of her nightgown in one fist.

"So now she is the modest one all of a sudden?" Isobel sneered, turning to the other novices, "I wonder if what we are about to see is a new sight to any of you."

Friyya stood immobile, crying hot tears of impotent, humiliated rage. She had never touched or given herself to anyone but Syf. Then, as if by miracle, Friyya suddenly heard Syf interject: "Please, Reverend Sister, I think she has learned her lesson."

"Silence, or you will get the same." Isobel snapped.

"Please, Reverend Sister," Syf continued, seemingly unperturbed, "I beg your mercy."

"I know you call this whimpering wretch your beloved. But look well, Syf, you will be one of the finest paladins this Order has produced in generations. This girl, though, weeps as shamelessly as a child and cannot bear a minor injury. You would take her into battle with you?"

"I would follow her into the Abyss." Syf said quietly.

Isobel was inwardly impressed. Syf had nerve and she had dedication. In time, the Vice-Commander felt that she would be able to leaver her position to Syf without regrets, "Very well then," Isobel decided, "compassion is one of the most important of the Founding Axioms, so I will be merciful. Syf, you are warned never to interrupt me again; Friyya, you are on sanitation duty for thirty days."

"Is something wrong, Friyya?" Syf asked with concern when she realised that her lover had been standing silently in her arms for an uncharacteristically long period of time.

"No, just remembering." The auburn-haired paladin replied, planting a soft, grateful kiss on Syf's throat.

"Remembering what?"

"Why I'm thankful to be here."

*********

Von Dassau enjoyed his brisk, morning walks, even though his research had distracted him in recent times so that his most recent excursion was to be the first in many days. He took perverse pleasure in watching the decaying fabric of society around him: individuals he automatically knew to be petty criminals, pimps, prostitutes, pickpockets and rent-boys, all essential components of the grotesque circus of city life. He knew wickedness, knew it from the aeons he had spent corrupting mortals, and had grown to know the passion for possession and for destruction, which were the twin pillars which held up the edifice of evil, as well as the black depths of his own soul. In a time past, too distant for mortal to even contemplate when all that existed was immortal spirits, Dassau had made a choice. At some point in a more recent past, that choice had begun to weigh heavily on him; hence his decision to seek reform through law enforcement. The very fact that he chose this profession, however, was ample proof that he had never quite lost his fascination with the madness and infinite evil of mortals.

Isolde followed three paces behind him, stylus and paper in hand to jot down any observations Dassau made. In reality, it was a charade. Dassau was merely concerned with being seen to have a secretary and in compelling Isolde to perform a task he knew full well to be redundant. At least, Isolde thought, no harm would come to her in the otherwise highly unpleasant streets of Sigil's root backsides as long as she was by Dassau's side. The arcanoloth was impeccably dressed in his black, military dress uniform, his brilliant, eight-pronged Medal of the Order of the Great Wheel around his high collar, the immaculate black overcoat he always wore on his walkabouts fluttering gently in the Sigil breeze around him. Although he had no need for one, Dassau always brought a black and silver cane with him as well.

"Yes, yes, Isolde, behold the boundless joys of Sigil. Behold urban degradation, behold squalor, behold rat-infested slum tenements and the detritus of the Multiverse all swept together under this collective carpet..." Dassau mused on like that, in his pompous, bombastic tone for hours on end.

"I suppose some say it has its charm, sir." Isolde said quietly, not wishing to give Dassau the impression that she was contradicting him.

"I suppose they would. But we speak of those who possess no aesthetic taste, those who from the gutter emerge and, ultimately, to the gutter return." Dassau was tall, towering at least a foot and a half over Isolde, and she found it difficult to match his stride. She did find, however, that there was something vaguely comical about the perpetual snarl on his black-and-tan canine muzzle: it was almost as though she were bringing her ill-tempered dog for a walk.

"Sir, perhaps we should avoid the Carrier's Lane, the Red Eye has been using that area as a base for some time." Isolde said cautiously. She had no intention of running into the enforcers of a narcotics racket.

"Absurd! I shall not have my walk circumscribed by the putative presence of petty criminals. Onwards! I think that, upon my return, I shall have the Olignan '41. Ensure that the bell-decanter is washed, you forgot about it last night."

"Apologies, sir, it will not happen again." Isolde replied, her regret insincere to say the least.

"Right, you see Isolde, nothing at all to worry about. Just more of Sigil's seedy underbelly for us to admire. Look, to your left, you will notice a figure lying in an open sewer channel. Doubtless, the residents of this district believe him to be a sleeping derelict, but, Isolde, judging by the stiffness of his limbs, he is long dead..."

"Hey, dog-boy, got jink?" A crude voice called from the shadows. It was joined by the laughter of two, perhaps three other men.

"I do beg your pardon." Dassau replied, his snarl broadening somewhat.

Four men came out of the shadows, all dressed in red satin jerkins and bearing wicked, curved blades. They were swarthy, with shaved heads upon which spiral patterns of serpents and dragons had been tattooed. The largest of the thugs, a man who by his demeanour and rich, gaudy gold jewellery could have been interpreted as the leader began his highwayman's routine, "We was saying, drop the jink. You're a well-dressed fellow, you're sure to have a few hundred marks lying around. We'll take that and you'll forget you saw us...or else..."

"What?" Dassau replied menacingly. Isolde made sure she was directly behind her commanding officer, so as not to draw unnecessary attention to herself.

"Well, dog-boy, we start by cutting off those pointy ears of yours." The man threatened, drawing closer. He was clearly confident in his skills with the blade. Isolde had heard that the Red Eye trained all their operatives in a particularly insidious style of short-sword fighting which was based on the judicious use of speed, precision and poison.

"I think not." Dassau replied, baring his fangs. Isolde could not see it, but she was certain that the baleful red glow in the old dog's eyes had begun once again.

"Uzo, Akkim, Drelto, let's put this one in the dead book..."

The thug leader took only two steps, Isolde counted them, before he fell to his knees, his viscera - dark red, slimy like fat worms, and steaming in the cool Sigil morning - spilling out on the filthy, broken cobblestones in front of him. Dassau no longer held his cane, but an exceedingly long, thin sabre, seemingly carved out of black, translucent metal, so that Isolde could see her own reflection in its blade. The other thugs turned to run. One was sliced in half at the abdomen, so that hot, bright-red arterial spray danced in the air like a macabre fountain. Another fell to his knees, his back slit open at the spine, the skin flayed away by the demonic power of Dassau's weapon, revealing his rapidly shrivelling lungs underneath. A last would-be-robber fell little more than twelve paces further down the alley, his left leg severed at the knee.

Isolde could barely contain her horror. Dassau's speed with the weapon had been blinding: each strike landed with sublime precision, following directly into the next, so that all four men were killed or incapacitated in two broad strokes. It then occurred to Isolde that Dassau, as an arcanoloth, was probably an archmage of considerable power: the sabre was an extension of his will, a weapon of the mind rather than of metal.

Grunting in agony, the man whose leg had been severed crawled desperately on the sharp cobblestones, searching frantically for a place to find refuge. Dassau approached him, his sabre had returned to the form of a cane.

"You were saying, my dear gentleman." Dassau began, his visage more utterly demonic than Isolde had ever seen it. With a deft motion, he removed the glove on his left hand. It was then that the secretary realised why Dassau always wore his habitual black leather gloves, for his hand was gaunt, almost skeletal, and covered in short black fur. Impossibly long fingers, tipped with wicked, black claws flexed in the light of early daybreak.

"Please..." was all the thug could mouth repeatedly, almost as if he were in a trance - his soul had already been crushed by a mere gaze into Dassau's infernal eyes.

"Yes, indeed, your belated display of etiquette shall save you from immediate death," Dassau began, gripping the man's face with his clawed hand so that the talons sunk into skin and flesh beneath, "but whether that would have been, all other things being equal, your first choice is, I imagine, debatable." With that Dassau tore half of the man's face clean off in one, sharp jerk. The sound was like that of cloth ripping. Isolde could only try to blank out the visceral howls of unimaginable agony as the thug scrambled to gather the loose, bleeding flesh of his face. Underneath, the red strands of muscle were clearly visible, pieces of skin and nerve tenuously holding the face as a whole to the thug's scalp.

Isolde vomited, though she had not eaten anything that morning and all that came out was sickly-sweet glucose and stomach acid. Dassau casually replaced his glove and turned around to approach her, his gaze still burning with the eternal fires of Gehenna.

"Sir..." Isolde began before retching again, doubling over in pain as she leaned against a rickety wall for support. Sharp, acidic vomit cloyed her mouth. She could still hear agonised, gurgling screams, as if the man were choking on his own blood, all around her.

"What, Isolde," Dassau began, his voice was no longer the careful, cultured tone she had been accustomed to, but something deep and sepulchral which chilled the marrow of her bones, "do you find this little incident in diametric opposition to my search for redemption? How naive of you, did you mother never tell you not to 'expect him to change overnight'? In your case, however, I imagine the person hypothetically being referred to would have been a 'her'."

"Sir..." Isolde gasped, abject terror in her eyes. There was no telling what Dassau would do in this mood.

"Fear not. You, Isolde, amuse me. Consequently, you can consider yourself quite safe." Dassau said, regaining a little of his more scholarly composure. Gradually, his voice and demeanour returned to normal, though Isolde never quite thought she would be gratefully using the term 'normal' to refer to Dassau.

"Please, sir, this is not to my taste...please, what you do is your own business, but do not involve me in it, sir..." Isolde begged. She felt like vomiting again.

"Not to your taste...my dear Isolde, I know everything about your tastes. I know every single activity you and Lirai have undertaken together in the finest detail and, furthermore, know exactly where these preferences of yours stem from. If you feel so inclined, I would be most pleased to discuss..."

"Sir!" Isolde whimpered, falling to her knees, cradling her head in her arms, "Please, please, please! I swear, I will do anything you need me to do, just never speak of that. Never!"

"Excellent, Isolde, now be so kind as to compose yourself. We ought return to the Bureau." Dassau said, amiably enough, returning to his brisk stride.

Isolde followed dejectedly. Her mind, though terrified by the butchery she had just witnessed, was more terrified still of what Dassau knew. It was in that moment that the secretary knew that Dassau could conceivably drive her, or just about anyone else in Sigil, mad with a few, well-chosen sentences. More unpleasantly, it now became clear that the moment she had volunteered to become Dassau's secretary, she had lost all claim to a private life. It was conceivable that Dassau, by virtue of his memory and infernal information gathering skills, knew more than she did about herself.

"Now that I consider it, Isolde, " Dassau declared, casually shooing away a beggar-girl with his cane, "I shall settle for the Amnon '312 this morning. Make sure you double-decant it and utilise the hexagonal crystal chalice."

"I...obey, sir."

"Isolde, do you happen to a have a five mark coin?"

"Yes...sir." Isolde responded tentatively.

"Give it to that unfortunate young lady over there." Dassau said with pompous magnanimity, indicating the beggar with his cane.

Isolde complied without answering. Dassau, she thought, was not reformed: he was, purely and simply, cosmic madness incarnate.

********

"Min! Get up this instant!" Aerylle ordered. She had returned from the library, eager for a nice evening out in a cosy, well-priced tavern to find her tiefling lover still sprawled under the sheets.

"Hmm...Aerylle, please, just a few more moments." Min yawned, taking refuge under a soft, plush cushion. Her ember-red hair fell like strands of dyed silk over the clean, white sheets.

"I'm certain that they are going to dismiss you at the agency if you miss another day's work. Shesayne and Lily were worried about you."

"Nine Hells alive...Lily too? Aren't I the lucky girl today." Min said, her voice still tired and distant. Aerylle had light a few candles, so the tiefling sought darkness under the sheets, curling up into a foetal position.

"Yes, I know, it struck me as odd, too, but she has been in a better mood recently," Aerylle conceded, even if the dark elf was always standoffish as far as she was concerned, with Shesayne present, she had begun to refrain from being hostile, "but I think you really need to get up."

"Maybe...maybe you could make me breakfast." Min ventured. There was no conceivable way that she was going to escape from Aerylle's insistence: the grey elf fought all the battles of their relationship on principle and, to her knowledge, Min had yet to win without being forced to make some concession in return. Of course, since it was Aerylle she was dealing with, all their mutual agreements involved activities that were intended to teach Min to become more 'ladylike'.

"It's past darkfall, Min." Aerylle said, her patience tested.

"Hmm..." Min purred, it was not, she thought, advisable to get into Aerylle's bad books considering her vulnerable predicament - the Black Lotus Verden had given her had been of unprecedented purity and strength, "a little tea, my sweet treasure, and some bread and butter to get me going would be nice." The tiefling put on the most affectionate, pleading voice she could muster. That, in itself, was a new record: the most she had managed to humiliate herself in the course of a relationship.

"You only call me that when you need something." The grey elf replied as she busied herself in the meticulously neat kitchen corner of her apartment with making Min's tea. As irritating as the tiefling's demands were under the circumstances, there was a part of her that very much enjoyed spoiling Min.

"I've already got a little pet name for you..." Min teased. It would take some time for the exhaustion of the Black Lotus' after effect to wear off, but she was feeling a good deal better than earlier that day when she quite literally had to drag herself to the bath chamber.

"I know, Min, one that I hate." The librarian replied. She cut three generous slices of bread and coated them with a generous layer of butter and sprinkled some dried spice powder on them. Min detested jam and loathed honey.

"Isn't that the point of pet names in the first place?" The tiefling mused, making an effort to sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard propped on a pillow. As usual, she had slept naked and her fine, firm breasts, topped with deep crimson nipples, stood proudly above the sheets bunched up at her waist.

"Well, look at you," Aerylle said as she finally laid Min's breakfast in front of her, served on a delicate, enamel tray, "I must admit that I'm jealous, you look impeccable even straight after waking up."

"Thanks," Min said, a happy smile lighting up her sharply beautiful face - she had not expected Aerylle to be so tolerant, "you're a good one to have 'round after taking Black Lotus, Shesayne's mother once woke us up with a bucket full of icy water."

"Black Lotus?" Aerylle inquired softly, sitting by the side of the bed, not quite certain what Min was talking about.

"Yeah," the tiefling replied, taking a ravenous bite from a slice of bread and quickly washing it down with half the mug of fresh-smelling herbal tea, "Verden volunteered a dose...kept us going through the night, but it really hits you hard the day after."

"Oh Min...you mean narcotics?" Aerylle asked, more worried than angry.

"If that's what you call it, then yes."

"But...but, they enslave you." Aerylle protested. Back in Imej, horrid stories had circulated about how 'lesser races' chose dependence on certain substances to escape their miserable existence.

"Ah, sod it, Aerylle...do I look burned out to you...uh, maybe now a little, but I can handle it. From time to time it takes the edge off life and that's something I can be grateful for."

"Why would you need to take the 'edge off life' now that you have me?" Aerylle asked, her voice trembling.

"Fuck, that's not what I meant...'course life's better now that I have you, but that Black Lotus business, it was just a little fun with an old friend. I don't do Vacuum Crystals or anything like that."

"Just...just, don't allow anything to happen to yourself, Min," Aerylle said, her voice thick with emotion, "I don't think I could even begin to imagine what...what I would do if..."

"Oh, princess, don't," Min said, her rich voice soothing as she made the monumental effort to raise her arms to embrace Aerylle as soon as she detected the hint of moisture in the elven girl's delicate, almond eyes, "I've survived in the Hive when I was a child with no jink and no kip, just my wits and my speed, so don't you ever worry about me."

"Promise me, Min," Aerylle said softly, almost inaudibly, as she breathed Min's incense-like fragrance, feeling the lithe, taut muscles under the flawless, rose-marble skin, "promise me we will have a future together."

"Sure." Min said, gently running her fingers through Aerylle's honey-blonde hair. The elven girl always thought of a strange, abstract future which Min simply never understood in the same way. Her plans were, at best, short term: survive, have a decent amount of fun and ensure as good life as possible on a day to day basis for the people she loved. Only with Aerylle, it occurred to her that what she had previously only considered on a daily basis would have to be drawn out into some distant, uncertain future.

"Thank you, that is music to my heart." Aerylle said happily, composing herself and gently kissing Min on the lips.

"That's good to hear, though I'm sorry I'm still a little out of it..."

"Oh no you don't!" The grey elf warned, "you are going to take a nice, cold bath and dress yourself, because I fully expect you to buy me dinner."

Min groaned, "Y'see, the probelm's that I'm a bit short on jink."

"What happened to this week's wages?" Aerylle asked, almost menacingly.

"I lost a bet." Min replied darkly.

"Wonderful!" Aerylle said, affecting frustration, "A gambler too, just the girl, no doubt, my mother would want me to be romantically involved with."

"Sorry, it looked like a bet I couldn't lose."

"I hope you have finally realised that there is no such thing as a foolproof wager."

Min sighed patiently and leaned back against the headboard. She felt desperately like returning to sleep, "Say, Aerylle, do we really have to go out...I mean we could just stay in and snuggle up with some warm tea and you could read me something from one of those books of yours..."

"You know, Min," Aerylle said reprovingly, "I know you are truly desperate when it is you who makes those suggestions."

"No, really, I swear. I love to hear you read. You're the first person who's made me love books - well, some of them at least." Min said as Aerylle resigned herself to further delays, stepped out of her boots and reclined on her bed by the tiefling's side.

"I'm glad. But you should read a little more by yourself: it will help improve your familiarity with literature and writing." Min had only picked up the rudiments of literacy at a Civic Administration subsidised school. In that she had been fortunate, because Shesayne had been forced by her mother to attend and wherever Shesayne went, Min followed.

"I can barely read the sodding six-line instructions we get at the retrievals agency, you want me to read actual books?" Min asked in disbelief, drawing Aerylle close to her. The slender grey elf's form was soft and comforting, as was the familiar fragrance of her hair and the warmth of her breath against the tiefling's bare breasts.

"You are a clever girl, Min, there is so much you could do."

"I s'pose," Min conceded, a little flattered, "but I still like to hear you. You're so much better than that bitch who tried to teach us at school. 'Course it was a lost cause and everybody knew it right from the sodding start. Dark, damp class full of Hive urchins...I'll never know the dark workings of those high-up leatherheads who thought this idea up. They used to say at the beginning of every lesson that 'improvement comes through education'. I said, fuck improvement...fuck improvement when I've got to threaten berks with a knife at school 'cause they want to put their paws down Shesayne's blouse or touch my ass."

"Don't worry Min, we can work on it together. I am a librarian after all, if I have one practical purpose, it is to help people access knowledge." Aerylle reassured. She had begun to ignore Min's tendency for strong wording: it was, in a sense, part of the tiefling's genuine, spontaneous charm.

"Well, why don't you take something interesting out of the Library tomorrow and you can start showing me the ropes."

"With pleasure. Now Min, and I hate to insist, get up."

"Fine, fine..." The tiefling grumbled, reluctantly casting aside the bed sheets and rising to her feet, stretching her lithe muscles languidly, like a panther, "But you're going to have to pick up the tab. That is, 'till my next payday."

"You have to start being more careful with money." Aerylle chided, taking the opportunity to make the bed. Min was physically and psychologically incompatible with household chores of any kind, something which drove the normally neat and meticulous Aerylle almost mad.

"Why?...I get by and I'm helping you with rent. There'll be more soon since I don't need my old room anymore." Min replied defensively, as she made her way to the tiny bathing chamber.

"What about Shesayne?"

"She's made her kip at Marséna's. She only comes to me when they have a fight. But we've got room for one more just in case, right?"

As a matter of fact, Aerylle was convinced that since her apartment had been intended for one person, there certainly was not enough room for three. Once again, however, she was inclined to be charitable, "All right," she conceded, "if she needs somewhere to stay, I can put out some blankets and pillows for her on the floor."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Min said between generous mouthfuls of oral solution - Black Lotus always left an unpleasant, acidic aftertaste in the mouth.

"My pleasure. Shesayne will always be welcome here." Aerylle said, though she was more preoccupied with picking up Min's discarded clothes and carefully setting them aside in the appropriate pile of garments to be washed.

"Great to hear that, you two get friendly?" Min teased as she stepped into the wooden bath tub and began to scrub herself down in earnest with cold water.

"Is that all you have on your mind?" Aerylle reprimanded, her voice loud and clear from the bedchamber, "Shesayne is actually a very sweet, sensitive girl."

"I never said she wasn't."

After ensuring that all of Min's personal effects were in order, Aerylle brought a new change of clothes to the bathing chamber.

"Y'see what your cold bath has done to me?" Min said playfully, turning to face Aerylle and making sure that her elven lover had a full view of her deep red nipples, stiffened by the cold.

"You could be more subtle and romantic about these things," Aerylle said softly, kneeling by the tub and placing a wet, passionate kiss on Min's sultry lips, "but then it would not be you. In the end, I suppose the truth is that you never fail to excite me."

"Don't act all innocent and pretend you're a good little elven maiden, 'cause you've got a few tricks up your sleeve as well...I'm not easy to please, y'know." Min said, sighing gently as she felt Aerylle cup her breasts, the grey elf's nimble fingers dancing across the taut, sensitive flesh of her engorged nipples.

"Whoever said," Aerylle said between kisses, her tone more sensual now, "that good little elven maidens shouldn't know the art of making Hanali's flower blossom."

"Aerylle..." Min ventured.

"Yes..." the elven librarian replied, her pink lips trailed gracefully down Min's soft breasts, before gently capturing a stiff nipple and applying a gentle, suckling pressure.

"Hmm...if you do that, you'll be forcing me to change the subject."

"Tell me, I'm listening." Aerylle invited, trailing soft kisses up the curve of Min's breast. She was in no hurry - Min, no matter how tired, always found the energy for lovemaking.

"I just had one thing on my mind. What d'you mean when you say 'future together'?" It was perhaps an awkward time to field the question, but Min's curiosity and desire to know Aerylle's mind better needed to be satisfied.

Aerylle paused and raised her head directly to face the tiefling: "It means I cannot imagine returning to Imej. There, what you and I have could never be understood. We elves are a good people and have never done wilful harm to any living being on our world, but this virtue has made many of us complacent. We live in peace, defended by the power of our magics and our connections with the living earth, so we sometimes look down upon those who are not so fortunate. You and I could not be happy in my home city simply because of what you are and not who you are, so if the choice is between home and you, I would choose you without even thinking about it twice."

"So you're actually going to stay in Sigil? I mean, forget about all the suns rising behind the mountains stuff, the dew, the golden towers and the rest of it?" Min asked incredulously, though inwardly she was more touched than she cared to make evident.

"For you, yes." The grey elf said fervently, her deep blue eyes contemplating Min with sincere intensity.

"Right, but just before I say you've made my day, you should probably know I'm not easy to live with..."

"Shesayne told me, but, frankly, I don't mind."

The tiefling nodded wordlessly and rose from the bath, the water trailing in clear rivulets down her rose-marble skin. Aerylle admired the sight, feeling an intense desire to bury her face in the delicate thatch of ember-red curls at the juncture of Min's thighs.

"Aerylle." Min began quietly, carefully drying herself with a fresh bathing shawl. There was a long pause, as if the air were heavy with anticipation and words unspoken, "Aerylle...I...I just wanted to say thank you. You made me feel wanted - I mean really wanted and not just the quick-fuck wanted sort of way. I think only a couple of others have ever made me feel the same way."

"My pleasure."

"Ah, yeah," Min ventured, a little embarrassed, "there's also something else I've been wanting to tell you..."

"When the time is right, you will find the words." Aerylle said, smiling knowingly. This time, it was Aerylle who did not need to read Min's mind to know exactly what she wanted to say.

**********

"So what are we going to say when we get back?" Marséna queried. She and Virginia were making their way back to the pre-determined portal location. It was mid-morning in Overnha and the sun had turned the great wheat fields and brown scrublands into an ocean of bronze and gold. Only the sound of a passing kite, its screech piercing the air, disturbed the silence of the day.

"I still don't know. But yesterday made me realise that I can no longer hide from decisions or avoid throwing my life out in front of me for examination. I have lived the days after my Consecration as if I had been in a dream. Now I think it time for serious thought." Virginia could not give her friend an answer yet. That would have been a hasty decision, much like that fateful, and perhaps misguided, decision to rebuff Marséna's declaration of love.

"Virg, you know I will trust your judgement whatever conclusions you may reach. But I think I have never been as happy in my life as I was last night. For a moment, I had the old Virginia back."

"Maybe you were happy to be home." Virginia suggested, pausing on the dusty path to take Marséna's hand in her own.

"Home with you." She did not know the next time, if ever, that she would return. What she had left behind, despite a few nostalgic pangs, was swiftly fading into a blurred past. Her mother and sisters had said their goodbyes with effusive affection, but Marséna suspected that they all knew that time carried on regardless and that she had chosen to walk paths so distant that she could never again be the mischievous, temperamental child they remembered.

"I am truly pleased I came: though I still cannot understand why that strange woman took me aside into her world to explain her vision. Surely our lives are not so exciting that the Multiverse itself takes notice." Virginia mused, glad to feel Marséna draw her closer and wrap an arm around her waist.

"Who are we to question the workings of Fate? One spins, one weaves, one cuts and it's all a game to the powers that be."

"Yes, but we have a role. We serve the Vigilant Maiden because we know that there are some fates - because, they are wicked, cruel or miserable - we cannot accept, whether they be those of others, or our own."

"I know, Virg, and I will be the first, sword drawn, at your side." Marséna said, gently drawing Virginia in for a soft, intimate kiss.

"Every time you kiss me is like the first," Virginia admitted, almost guiltily, "you always make me feel like a young, nervous novice after lights-out with her heart beating so hard it's deafening."

Marséna did not reply but kissed Virginia again, this time deeper, her lips as sensual and fierce as the Mareterran sun. The raven-haired paladin dropped her travelling pack to draw her friend into a tight embrace, her hands searching and passionate, demanding to once again feel the familiar, lithe curves of Virginia's body.

"Are you sure, Marséna, you never know who might pass by." Virginia warned as she felt Marséna begin to undo the buttons of her dress uniform. Being undressed by Marséna was always deeply sensual, for the Mareterran girl's hands were always aflame with passion, spontaneous and demanding to feel every inch of Virginia's curves, smooth skin and taut muscles, but always loving, as if the act itself were one of reverence.

"Too close to the sun's zenith." Marséna replied dismissively, finally freeing Virginia's breasts and lunging in, thrusting a surprised Virginia straight into the a field of wheat. The earth was surprisingly cool underneath them, the great ears of wheat providing some shade. Her lips devoured the blonde paladin's throat with wet needy kisses. To Virginia it all seemed perfect: the brilliant sun, the clear blue sky, the golden wheat and her lover's iodine-tan skin, slick with the faintest trace of sweat, but earthy and fragrant just as she had remembered it from her dreams and from those happy nights when they made love as novices.

"You are insatiable." Virginia sighed, letting out a tense gasp as she felt Marséna's lips latch on to a painfully erect, cherry-pink nipple. The raven-haired woman's tongue was curious, yet eager as it lapped energetically against the stiff peak. Marséna had been starved for Virginia's body and she was finally making up for the hunger which had burned deep within her for so long.

"Only for you..." Marséna replied huskily, lovingly biting down on Virginia's nipple, stimulating a familiar moan from the blonde paladin. As the Mareterran briskly pulled up the hem of the skirt of Virginia's tunic, she considered that there was, after all, a case to be made for her having been recklessly passionate. The previous night they had made love countless times, sneaking downstairs so as not to disturb the other occupants of the house. Still, Marséna reflected, that was not enough, Virginia was hers to have, to treasure and to satisfy forever. With those passionate thoughts driving her, Marséna, began to ease open the slick, peach-pink nether lips of Virginia's sex, all the while lavishing her kisses on her lover's pert, elegant breasts.

Virginia was all to glad to submit to Marséna's fiery passion and even more so when she felt her innermost lips finally parted and the tender, delectable stroking of the raven-haired girl's fingers entering her sodden canal. Typically, Marséna began by teasing the edges of Virginia's canal with her fingertips, winding the digits into the blonde paladin's sex with agonising friction. They enjoyed seizing control of lovemaking in different ways: Virginia was more careful and methodical, while Marséna burned with lustful spontaneity.

"Face me." Virginia said breathlessly.

Marséna looked up curiously from her wetly passionate kissing of Virginia's breasts, her deep, brown eyes seemingly perplexed: "Is there something you'd like, Virg?"

"Yes, to look at you in the eyes, so you can see me reach my peak by your hand."

The Mareterran did not need to be told twice. She quickly unbuttoned her tunic, letting her full, tan breasts free, and fell atop Virginia, two fingers now probing deep into the blonde girl's sex. Capturing her lover's lips in her own, Marséna revelled in the attentions of Virginia's expert hands as they stroked her swaying breasts, firm, but ripe and soft, like autumn fruit.

"Is this more to your liking?" Marséna breathed passionately, lunging to stifle any answer Virginia was preparing with searing passion of her sensual lips.

"Yes..." Virginia said, stealing a breath between her lover's assaults on her lips, "now take me."

Marséna thrust her fingers deep into Virginia's blooming sex with fiery abandon, grinding the palm of her hand against the bud of the blonde paladin's stiff clitoris. Virginia writhed, bucking her hips upwards, desperate for deeper, firmer penetration. She regretted not having suggested the olisbos, as she felt Marséna was being left out from the delights she was experiencing. Nevertheless, Marséna's lovemaking had a spontaneity which Virginia had no intention of interrupting. Virginia bit down hard on her lower lip when she felt her loins tensing under the sublime stimulation of Marséna's fingers. She felt not so much filled as opened, all her secrets exposed to the expert touch of the Mareterran woman, who uncovered the sensual treasures buried deep within her sex with enviable dexterity.

"Look at me." Virginia said, more as prayer than order.

Marséna's gaze did not shift for a moment from her lover's brilliant, emerald-green eyes. They remained fixed there as Virginia came in deep, ragged breaths, her moans travelling with the wind across the golden ears of corn and into the distance bounded only by a turquoise-blue sky. In those eyes, Marséna saw what she had seen when they had first made love, clumsily, deep in the darkness of a storage room during their second year as novices. If Virginia's eyes were a lake, what Marséna saw in its depths was a soul which, like her own, was in need of love and healing. Both of them were simply too proud to admit it.

"Thank you, I have had a wonderful excursion." Virginia said, passionately embracing Marséna as the Mareterran girl slumped on top of her, fingers still relishing the final contractions of the blonde paladin's climax. Virginia's sex never lied, even if her words could be evasive even as her eyes betrayed the true leanings of her soul.

"This is the land I have left behind, maybe forever. But I cannot say that I regret it. If the blood of the Furies truly does run in my veins, my mission is elsewhere: it is by your side."

"In time, we will both have answers - soon, perhaps, but not now. But believe me, Marséna, you will be the first to know." Virginia said, grateful for the familiar warmth of Marséna's breasts against her own.

"This land has given me much, but I think it is only natural for the child to finally leave its mother."

"You mean your family?"

"No," Marséna said, gently planting an affectionate kiss on Virginia's lips, "Mareterra means 'mother earth' in our language. She is the Goddess who gave birth to the sea, the mountains, and the trees in between. But now, I am bound to Her only by my flesh and blood, for in my veins runs the blood of Furies and the blood of a thousand generations of Mareterran women. My soul, however...my soul is with my Sisters and so it will remain, even after the final Unmaking of the Multiverse."

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

Ithunn had made great show of her defiance throughout her early evening lesson with Friyya. While the other novices diligently examined their doctrinal books, Ithunn stood straight-backed, poised and ready, her eyes never ceasing to bore into her teacher's. By the time the lesson ended, the tension was palpable in the air, not least because Ithunn had not even so much as opened her book. Most novices took this as a sign of yet another development in Ithunn's revered self-confidence; rumours had already begun to circulate in class, passed through surreptitiously folded pieces of parchment passed by hand, that Friyya and Ithunn would soon compete openly for Syf's favours.

By the time the lesson had ended, rumours and speculation had risen to a fever pitch as the novices began to file out of the side-chapel, eager to leave Ithunn and Friyya to battle it out. Of course, the novice's defiance had not gone unnoticed and Friyya had decided to meet the challenge - all, of course, in the context of her promise to Syf.

"Stay behind, Ithunn." Friyya ordered coolly. She did not need to ask, because as soon as the last novice had filed out, Ithunn strode imperiously to her teacher's desk.

"Are you satisfied now that you have turned Syf against me?" Ithunn asked, her tone cold, but controlled.

"Ithunn, I suspect we did not start off too well, but this is not about us. Syf has the greatest respect for you and her affection has not diminished in the slightest. As long as you and I are clear on who is the favourite younger Sister and who is the beloved, I would like us to at least show ourselves to be civil, for Syf's sake."

"So...I did not offend her..." Ithunn breathed, a thin smile of relief spread across her lips.

"No, Syf is far more forgiving than I could ever be. She also has a soft spot for you; I think she must see a little of herself each time she watches you train."

"Yesterday evening I also said something I now regret to another..." Ithunn blurted quickly. It was humiliating to confide with Friyya, under the circumstances, but she knew that the paladin was one of those best placed to help her.

"Yes, Ingeborg."

"How did you know?"

"Gallia told me that she did not present herself for a Sacred Texts seminar. If I may make a suggestion, I would go fetch her from the library and spend the rest of the day with her." Friyya said, not especially concerned with Ithunn's emotional life, though she did feel sorry for Inge.

"And...do what exactly?"

"Ithunn," Friyya said wearily, rising from her chair and gathering up her books, "there are arts you have to learn and this is neither a criticism nor a condemnation, because, in her time, Syf had to learn them too. Ideally you should find her as quickly as possible, apologise and tell her she is the foremost object of your affection. Then set aside the rest of the day and dedicate it entirely to her. Find a quiet place and make gentle, unhurried love to her...well, what am I saying, you're a popular girl, you should know by now."

"I am not that...expert." Ithunn conceded.

"All in due time, " Friyya said, softening somewhat, "but I imagine your mystery lover must have given you a few lessons."

"I will do my best."

"One last thing Ithunn," Friyya said, looking the novice directly in the eyes, "just so that you know that you are not the only one to have had a difficult time. My father was a widower with a healthy planar trade business, so that when he grew lonely, he decided to marry my mother, who was much younger. I was an unwanted child, for my father had already had two sons and a daughter from his previous marriage: he had no intention of splitting the family fortune further. So, in time, after years of being despised by my half-siblings and ignored by my parents, I was sent here to ensure that I would never claim a part of my father's enterprise. They send me a generous stipend, but at my Consecration, I did not receive so much as a letter."

"I know life is not easy..." Ithunn began. She found it difficult to be sympathetic: whatever Friyya might say about her family life she had no doubt lived supported by servants, nourished by good food and clothed in the fine fabrics.

"That fact, in itself, is not an excuse. Now, unfortunately, I must leave, though as a peace offering, I will always find a spare moment if you ever need to talk." As she turned and left the side-chapel, Friyya sincerely hoped that Ithunn did not avail herself of that offer.

"Thank you, Sister." Ithunn replied indifferently. She was already thinking ahead about what to do with Inge. A prolonged session of clumsy, embarrassing lovemaking punctuated only by the trainee priestess' high-pitched, whimpering orgasms was not Ithunn's idea of a productive evening. The more malicious side of Ithunn was forced to conclude that, short of sending Inge to Elyszara for a crash course in the erotic arts, she would be left with two options: either quickly and surreptitiously finish herself off with her own fingers, or fantasise that it was Syf between her thighs, rewarding her for a particularly scintillating performance on the fencing court. As usual, it would probably boil down to a combination of the two.

***********

So it was that Friyya and Ithunn each set about the day's tasks. Neither detected an intruder in the Temple compound - no one did, for the interloper in question, a half-elf, had much practice with infiltrating even closely guarded targets. She knew her way by instinct, for when one is pursued, spot-decisions are essential for survival. There had been no need for her to sneak in, but she had preferred not to confront the guards at the main gate. Figures of authority ran against her anarchist tendencies. She would even have joined the Anarchist's faction or the Revolutionary League, were she not profoundly disinterested in politics. Moving quietly in shadows, the half-elf made her way up the stairs into the main paladin's Quarters. If the directions she had been given were correct, she would already know the door.

Very carefully and very deliberately, Verden raised a hand to knock on the door. That visit to Shesayne was long overdue.

END OF BOOK I