Tales From the Well of Worlds

by CrimsonLotus

The Tale of Aerylle's Lost Love • Talilissa's Tale • Tales from the Radiant Path • Tales from the Hive

Sigil ... Preludes I-II-III • Book One

The Tale of Aerylle's Lost Love

This is the story of Aerylle, and it relates the events that brought her to find new life and new love in Sigil.

- The Archivist, your narrator

The Season of Renewal had just begun, for the gardens of Imej were in full bloom after a particularly cold Season of the Mother's Sleep. Naturally, the plants within the city walls did not suffer - the arch-mages charged with the maintenance of the city's aesthetics had shrouded the neatly lined orchards, abstract flower beds, and endless hillocks of exotic foliage in a mantle of warmth. But that was the way of Imej, one of the foremost cities of the grey elves, the noblest of the Elven races who, first amongst all, greeted the light of the Three Suns at Dawn in their mountain idylls of gold, ivory and marble. Of all surface elves, it was the grey elves who claimed to be the firstborn of the creator god Corellon Larethian and his consort Sehaine Moonbow, whom the High Elves call Sehanine. That was in myth, but the society of Imej had grown around that myth as its unifying principle: that all elves were but pale reflections of grey elves' direct link with the creator divinities.

So it was that Aerylle, daughter of a family with a long and distinguished history as master bookbinders, returned to the snow-capped peaks which surrounded her native city. The last sun had just begun to set, its warm, red glow covering the fluted, golden spires in a pink radiance and reflecting off the pure white marble paving stones of the great boulevards which lined the thin, winding streets. Her journey had been long through a number of difficult mountain passes which, by the magical genius of the elves, could be navigated by levitating disks of force. Finally, however, Aerylle had returned for a season's rest from the Academy of the Second Sun where she had specialised in Divination and learnt the rudiments of spellcraft, literature and the arts. All, in other words, that an elven lady of some standing would require to undertake a rich, successful life. It had not been without regret that Aerylle had left the Academy, for with it, she had also left her friend and sometime lover, Ennaeli, with whom she had always maintained a close and intense relationship.

In any case, she knew she would return after the end of the Season of Renewal, so there was no profound sadness, merely a sense of bittersweet longing, an emotion for which grey elves had a precise word - isailha - which cannot be adequately rendered in another tongue. Now, though, as the last sun set and the air grew a little cooler, it was time to see her family. Aerylle walked down the familiar paths off the Street of Arcana near the cultural and intellectual centre of Imej. As always, she wore her simple, silver student's robe and matching sandals, fastened with strips of silk to her calves. As befitted a would-be grey elven lady of breeding, she was slender, fine-featured, and elegantly petite with delicate, deep blue almond eyes and honey blonde hair which was arrayed both in free falling tresses and deliberately placed, thin braids. She had certainly had an effect at the Academy, where, as was elven custom, she had been courted by male and female aspirants alike. In the end, she had resolved for the beautiful Ennaeli, whose delicacy, gentle wit and fascinating conversation had won Aerylle over.

So, as Aerylle stepped through the threshold of her family's home and workshop, it was a relief to find herself surrounded by the familiar smell of ink, leather and the fresh flowers her mother maintained throughout the house. Since Imej was a mountain city, space was at a premium, so Aerylle's family home was built more in the shape of a tower, with two rooms at most for each floor. Grey elven taste required the best and most elegant furniture and that was to be had in abundance: slender cherry-wood chairs and tables, rose-granite and crystal vases, fine elven tapestries depicting the moments of the world's creation and the great feasts of the goddesses and gods.

In a small, but elegant appointed drawing room with an enchanted, cut-crystal harp as its centrepiece, Aerylle's mother awaited her daughter's return. Impeccably clad in a pure white gossamer robe, her features were more mature than Aerylle's but in no way marked by age, for the elves were a long-lived race who bore the passage of time well, "Aerylle, my daughter, the evening greets you well." Her mother said upon her daughter's arrival, her voice melodious, almost angelic.

"Thank you mother, you are as radiant as always," Aerylle replied, grateful to be once again in the familiar embrace of the home in which she had spent a happy childhood, "it is always a pleasure to return." She embraced her mother, comforted by the familiar warmth and gentle kiss on her hair.

"You are, as always, too kind, my daughter. Your father will return shortly and your sister with him so that we may all dine together. In the meanwhile, I have arranged for you to freshen up after your journey. Come, follow me." Aerylle's mother invited, leading her daughter up the narrow, winding spiral staircase. Aerylle took her time to sink back into her familiar surroundings: she remembered each rosy crystal vase bearing exotic flowers by the sides of the walls, each intricately cast gilt lamp enchanted with a permanent light effect to illuminate their passage up the stairwell.

At the third floor, they reached Aerylle's room, which her mother had always insisted on keeping in exactly the same condition as it had been left. By the greater force of things, Aerylle had eventually convinced her mother to transfer her old - and embarrassingly extensive - collection of porcelain and silk dolls into storage, but the rest of the small, elegantly appointed chamber was exactly as she remembered it. Carefully removing her sandals before entering, Aerylle revelled in the comforting sensation of the thick, soft carpet under her feet, the aroma from a burning perfume lamp, the sight of her old study desk and plush, neatly made bed.

"Mother, you always know how to make me feel welcome." Aerylle beamed. She could not say that her mother spoiled her, but she did know exactly how to make her feel at home.

"It is a pleasure to have you back, now I would bid you take a few moments of rest and make yourself comfortable. Tonight, I have commissioned your favourite dishes and, in addition, just for my diligent daughter, I have a surprise for you."

"Mother, you shouldn't have..."

"Please, my daughter, your comfort is of the highest importance to us...Mjrina, please come out so that you may finally meet Aerylle."

The door to the bathing chamber by the side of Aerylle's room was gently opened and a young wood elf, perhaps a little younger than Aerylle herself, stepped out. Wood elves were the sylvan counterparts of the urban grey elves and spent most of their lives in the forest - when need dictated that they find work in the cities of the grey elves, they inevitably took on menial roles. Mjrina, though, immediately caught Aerylle attention: she was slight in stature, but lithely muscular, her legs slender yet perfectly shaped from years spent running in the forest, with woodland tan skin, long, light brown hair with pronounced naturally green highlights, and deep, leaf-green eyes which illuminated an incredibly pretty, innocent face. She was clad in a simple green and gold shift with a sharp neckline which drew attention to her rounded, graciously proportioned breasts. Unlike the pale, delicate grey elves, wood elves lived lives in communion with primal nature and were thus never strangers to the elements.

"Good evening mistress," Mjrina began softly, her grey elf was tinged by a marked accent so that her words sounded clipped and endearingly musical, "and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Madam." The wood elf's register was formal as she curtsied respectfully, though the words sounded were unfamiliar in her mouth.

"As am I, Mjrina," Aerylle replied, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgement, "your work on my room is beyond reproach."

"Yes," Aerylle's mother interjected, happy that her daughter appreciated her present, "Mjrina is very industrious; she was strongly recommended by a friend of mine and since you, my daughter, are virtually a lady in your own right, I thought it only natural that you should have your personal handmaiden."

"Oh, thank you, mother!" Aerylle said - for she could hardly contain her joy. With her mother's vote of confidence, she knew that she had finally been accepted as an adult and a lady of the house.

"Anything and everything for my daughter, now I shall have someone ring the bell when dinner is to be served, but before then, please, take some time to yourself." With that Aerylle's mother left. Mjrina curtsied again as her mistress exited.

"I have taken the liberty of running you a bath, Madam. Would you like to take it now?" Mjrina asked shyly, her eyes planted firmly on the blue carpet.

"That sounds wonderful, I know of nothing else I would rather do in this moment." Aerylle said enthusiastically. The clouds of scented steam which had followed Mjrina out of the bathing chamber were tempting to say the least.

Mjrina nodded and approached Aerylle to undo the blue satin sash of her robe, "If I may say so, Madam, you are little tense. Should you so wish, I would recommend a massage after your bath."

"I agree, your suggestion sounds lovely." Aerylle said, noting with pleasure that her mother certainly knew how to choose her servants. Their family was not exactly wealthy, but they always kept a staff of five or six wood elves to take care of the cooking and cleaning.

Mjrina's movements were dextrous and expert as she helped Aerylle step out of her robe. The wood elf then proceeded to fold the light garment neatly on a stool by the side of Aerylle's overstuffed bed so that she would remember to take it down later to have it washed. Aerylle shivered slightly as the cool breeze from the open window caressed her naked body. It was undeniably good to be home. After attending to Aerylle's undressing, Mjrina pulled off her shift, folded it and placed it on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

"Please, Madam, your bath awaits." Mjrina invited, gracefully swinging the tastefully inlaid door of the bathing chamber open. Aerylle took a moment to admire the wood elf's slim frame, her delicate muscle tone, and the gentle curve of her breasts and hips, slightly more generous than Aerylle's, but undoubtedly magnificent insofar as as even the grey elven aesthetic was concerned.

Aerylle proceeded into the warm steam of the bathing chamber. It smelt of lavender - her favourite. A small porcelain tub of steaming, scented water lay to one side of the circular chamber, while a cleansing pool of cooler water lay at the chamber's very centre.

"Would Madam prefer jasmine, eloi lily, or lavender as a lotion?" Mjrina inquired as Aerylle made herself comfortable in the central pool. Though the water was cool, it was not jarring, but refreshing.

"Perhaps lavender. I should stay in harmony with the bath oil." Aerylle replied. The feeling of the cool water lapping against her skin was truly a relief after a day spent on the move.

"As Madam wishes, though I have been told that there are a number of scents which naturally complement lavender." Mjrina slipped almost soundlessly into the water by Aerylle's side, a soft, pristine white sponge in hand.

"Well," Aerylle began - she was intrigued, Mjrina really sounded like she knew what she was doing despite her youth, " what would you recommend?"

"In my experience, Madam, some Phoenix Berry extract lotion is ideal, especially if you are seeking a restorative bath."

"Then I shall place my trust in you." Aerylle said, smiling.

Pleased that her suggestion had been well received by her new mistress, Mjrina reached into the intricately carved wooden lotion rack and retrieved a vial of deep red liquid. She poured some on the sponge and the room was suddenly filled with a light, fruity scent which nevertheless possessed an airy, floral quality to it. After pouring a few additional drops of a neutral cleansing solution on the sponge, Mjrina began to rub the lotion into Aerylle's pristine, ivory-white skin in long, firm, gentle strokes. The wood elven girl's motions were deft and expert, so that the sponge was made to glide over Aerylle's high, compact breasts, light pink nipples hardening slightly under the tender contact, then further down, at the hairless juncture between her thighs. No part of the grey elf's body was neglected by Mjrina's cleansing and, once she was satisfied with her handiwork on her mistress' body, she began to undo Aerylle's braids.

"The air must be a little dry where you study, Madam." Mjrina ventured, carefully blending a selection of cleansing oils in a small, heated marble bowl.

"Yes...a little, perhaps, how do you know?" Aerylle asked curiously.

"You have magnificent hair, but if restored to its natural glory, it would be even prettier. Dry air often takes away the brilliance of hair." With gentle, massaging strokes, Mjrina began to work her mixture of oils into Aerylle's hair, careful to work with the natural weave of the honey-blonde strands. Aerylle did not so much as feel a single hair pulled or displaced.

"You certainly have a good eye."

"Thank you, Madam, you are most kind." Mjrina said, preoccupied by her task at hand. After thoroughly working the oils into Aerylle's hair and scalp she drew her mistress' head into her lap and began rinsing, taking special care not to splash any water into the grey elf's eyes.

From her position, Aerylle could feel Mjrina's soft breathing - the gentle rising and falling of her flat, firm belly and the equally reassuring support of the wood elf's thighs beneath her shoulders. Though it was clear that Mjrina had never meant for there to be any sensuality in her motions, Aerylle could not help but feel that it was like telling a sun not to shine. Each movement was delicate, never invasive, never superfluous, just exactly what was required to put her at ease.

"If Madam is ready, the warm bath awaits." Mjrina said softly, interrupting the reverie Aerylle had subconsciously worked herself into under the wood elf's expert touch.

"Yes...right." Aerylle rose, water streaming down her flawless skin, and made her way to the porcelain tub. A selection of flower petals floated in the crystal clear water.

"Would you like me to join you, Madam?"

"Of course."

Mjrina obediently climbed into the tub behind Aerylle. Using a textured cloth, the wood elf began to scrub her mistress' shoulders, arms and flanks, in deliberate, wave-like strokes. Aerylle felt the warm, heavy air, the hot water and heartbeat - both hers and Mjrina's - fade into a single sensory whole. Time stopped as a universal force and was only dictated by the careful movements of the wood elf's hands and the soothing rising and falling of her breathing against Aerylle's head.

Although there was a part of Aerylle that was tempted to remain in a half-comatose state in the warm, misty womb of the bath, it would have been highly impolite to be late for dinner. Then, of course, there was the tantalising prospect of Mjrina's promised massage, "Could you be so kind as to dry me off, please?"

"Certainly, Madam."

Mere moments after she stood up, Aerylle felt herself enveloped on a soft, heated cloth. After thorough, but feather-light, drying the cloth was substituted by another to absorb all residual moisture and then by another still, which was left draped on Aerylle's shoulders. Back in the bedchamber, Mjrina quickly closed the window and lit two spiral-shaped silver heating lamps on either side of the bed. Aerylle noted that the wood elf had only dried herself in the most superficial manner, for her tan skin was streaked with tiny rivulets of water. Upon further thought, though, she concluded that it was normal for a wood elf to enjoy the sensation of watery drying off naturally. Something of the elven race's much-vaunted relationship with nature had been lost in the creation of the first cities - with greater comfort and sophistication had come the sacrifice of at least some ancestral connections which, to Aerylle's knowledge, only the wood elves still maintained in their treetop villages deep in the forests.

"Would you like your massage now, Madam?"

"Yes, I must confess that I can hardly wait." Aerylle said with a smile, pleased to see Mjrina nod eagerly with genuine enthusiasm. The wood elf removed the soft white cloth from Aerylle's shoulders and carefully draped it on the bed. Instinctively, Aerylle made herself comfortable on the cloth, leaning her head on a pillow for support and allowing herself to sink into the rich, yielding plushness of the bed. In the meanwhile, Mjrina had selected an aromatic oil and heated a small quantity of it on a dish placed on top of a heating lamp. Its aroma soon filled the air with a warm, flowery headiness.

Mjrina gracefully mounted on the bed and knelt behind Aerylle, her hands warm and soothing as they gently sought out the general outlines of the grey elf's back, bottom and thighs, "If I may suggest, Madam, try to avoid leaning forward too much, it puts you under much strain." Mjrina said, her voice was soft, timid and comforting.

"You are quite right..." Aerylle sighed, the sensation of Mjrina's hands made her want to sink deeper into the soft pillow under her face and never wake up.

"I took the liberty, Madam, of selecting the aromatic oil for you. You immediately struck me as a peach blossom type." The wood elf began to work a cupped handful of the dense, perfumed liquid into the base of Aerylle's neck and her upper back. At first, she sought out potential areas of tension in the neck and upper spine, so that she could methodically weave her way through the little knots of muscle, testing each nook and cranny for tension before moving on.

"You certainly know how to make me feel comfortable, so I am more than happy to give free hand to your judgement." Aerylle felt as though the tension in her back were melting. Mjrina's fingers now ran down her spine, separating and smoothing knotted muscles in firm, relaxing motions. As the wood elf's fingers worked lower, Aerylle drew a little gasp of surprise as she felt the slick fingers run down the tight valley of her bottom and into her inner thighs.

"Madam," Mjrina said with a bemused smile, "please try to relax."

"I do not think I could do otherwise - under hands such as yours." The tension in Aerylle's legs began to dissipate under the determined pressure of Mjrina's artful fingers as they coaxed all traces of stiffness from her calves.

"Madam, you flatter me. I only do my duty."

"You are new here," Aerylle began, interested in knowing more about her skilled handmaid, "how are you finding it?"

"Mistress is very kind and patient with my shortcomings," Mjrina said with sincere gratitude, "and I am fortunate that I am to care for her beautiful daughter."

Aerylle hoped that Mjrina could not see her blush. Such frank, unforced compliments were always extremely flattering, "Do you miss your home? Here trees grow according to our will and not that of the Forest Mother, and we have replaced many of them with buildings of gold and marble. I can imagine that it must be difficult for you at times."

"At times," Mjrina conceded, as she gently began to work Aerylle's delicate foot, "but, I hope to find another home here and I would be honoured to continue to serve you, Madam, if you so desire."

"I could hardly imagine a better attendant. My mother has chosen well." Aerylle said and Mjrina almost felt her heart leap in her chest. It was customary for grey elven women of breeding to have a personal lady-in-waiting who remained in that capacity for the rest of their lives.

"Thank you, Madam, you really are too kind." Mjrina said, trying to contain her happiness at having been received so positively by Aerylle. There would be time for her to celebrate later. In that moment, she decided to remain concentrated on tenderly kneading the pad of Aerylle's foot, before gently running her slick fingers to rub around each pretty little toe. It surprised Aerylle to no end how Mjrina's touch could be so soft, yet never tickle.

"You are lodged downstairs, right?"

"Yes, Madam, in the room between the kitchen and the garden. But if you require anything, I will always be at your service."

"That is good to hear." Aerylle sighed. Mjrina had begun work on her left hand. The wood elf knelt by Aerylle's side, her hair, brown and green like a forest canopy, draped in silky curls around her shoulders while her breasts, capped with light brown nipples, swayed gently with every motion.

"Perhaps, Madam, you would like it if I accompanied you into the city tomorrow when you go shopping for clothing and provisions." Mjrina suggested, hoping that she was not getting ahead of herself.

"What experience do you have?" Aerylle inquired, not at all aggressively.

"I had extensive training as a seamstress, and also as a mage's assistant: I can identify and store spell components and potions." The wood elf replied proudly, a little preoccupied with the tension in Aerylle's shoulders.

"Then you and I will have a long and happy partnership." Aerylle said approvingly. She simply could not have asked for more in a handmaid and so the decision was made to officially accept Mjrina as her lady-in-waiting.

"May I...may I call you 'mistress', then?" Mjrina asked tentatively.

"Naturally."

*********

Dinner turned out to be uneventful. Even though a selection of Aerylle's favourite dishes was paraded in front of her, she ate them with her normal inclination and did not stuff herself as she had previously feared. The conversation around the table was also predictable, even if it was in a pleasant, domestic sort of way. Her father lamented the ineptitude of his new apprentices who kept mishandling page alignments, while her mother, who actually handled all the shop's business transactions, complained about how demand seemed to be shrinking because the citizens of Imej were reading less and less. Later, as Aerylle's father retired to complete a urgent commission, her younger sister - who had become more vacuous than ever - confessed that she was considering giving herself to a particularly charming boy from the Guild of Illusion who had been courting her for some time. Aerylle had immediately snapped that it was 'too soon' to be surrendering her maidenhead and her mother had firmly supported her.

"You must continue to tell him where he must stop, since there is no guarantee that he will be your bonded lover." Aerylle had reprimanded sternly. In reality, of course, it was not that simple. Ennaeli had once passionately suggested that they take each other's maidenheads as a sign of their bond, but Aerylle had been swift to clarify that their intimacy was one of friendship and that she would wait before allowing her flower to be breached. That in itself, however, never prevented them from having an extremely satisfying erotic relationship.

After having been comprehensively filled in on all the local news that had occurred in her absence, Aerylle excused herself to return upstairs. Mjrina was already waiting for her with a mug of sweetened, camomile tea. The bed had been turned out and dusted with a few droplets of lavender oil. Without being bidden, the wood elf helped Aerylle change into her blue silk night-gown, loosened her braids and brushed her honey-blonde hair exactly two hundred and fifty times - just the way she remembered her mother doing when she had been a child.

"It was a pleasure to serve you today, mistress, I bid you good night." Mjrina said as she carefully set the white-bristled brush back into its drawer and rose to leave, "Should you need anything else, I am always at your service."

"Thank you and good night to you." Aerylle replied, smiling softly. She had been pleased to see her family again, but Mjrina had definitely been the highlight of her return. Her camomile tea was certainly the finest she had ever had and, after her evening ablutions, she found that slipping under the sheets was like sliding back into a warm, maternal embrace. Mjrina had taken care of heating the mattress beforehand. So it was that Aerylle believed that she would sink into a uniquely deep and peaceful rest. The night, however, weighed heavily on her. When she had been a child, she clearly remembered having been afraid of the dark. So much so that she always kept a two enchanted lamps lit throughout the night, for fear that the many-tentacled Ithyak-Oreel - or Elf-Eater - or the wicked Night Serpent would come to torment her. That evening, however, it was not so much the dark as her thoughts on Mjrina. Never before had Aerylle been served by someone so genuine and enthusiastic, someone who truly appeared to enjoy her company.

Thus it was that after much thoughtful rolling under the sheets, Aerylle decided to rouse herself and descend the stair. The house slept, though a few lamps had been left alight by the side of the narrow stairway to illuminate the way. Moving quietly down the staircase which led into the servant's quarters, Aerylle passed through the cool, silent kitchen and moved towards the garden which she had tended almost religiously as a child. As expected, Mjrina slept under a simple green blanket on a low bed in a tiny, unfurnished room. Even in her sleep she looked radiant, alive with the spirit of the forest and with a profound, energetic vigour that lit her up with feminine vitality.

Aerylle moved with the utmost caution, always careful not to make a sound, but Mjrina's keen senses, honed by years in the forest, immediately detected her presence as she crossed the threshold to her room, "Is there something I can help you with, mistress?" The wood elf asked, sitting up in bed. Her voice was not so much tired as eager to please.

"I...I would very much like you to keep me company this evening. You make me feel at ease and I am certain that your presence would soothe my rest."

"Certainly, mistress, allow me to fetch some pillows and blankets." Mjrina said, rising to her feet. Aerylle had to make an effort to stop herself from gasping. Mjrina had been naked under the sheets and, even in the darkness lit up only by the dull glow of two moons, the wood elf's skin was radiant. Her figure, silhouetted in the dim moonlight was perfect, something Aerylle only associated with the reclusive, forest-bound beauties which populated the wild, fantastical tales she read for pleasure.

That night, Mjrina slept on the floor by the side of Aerylle's bed. She had improvised her bedding from a few thick quilts and blankets, and seemed all too happy to sleep close to the ground. Aerylle, however, still found that she could not sleep. Mjrina's soft breathing was barely audible and there was no light to disturb her eyes - for the wood elf's presence had banished her fear of the dark once and for all. Nevertheless something burned in Aerylle's breast and it was longing to know, to understand. It had been all to easy for her mother, for her sister to dismiss all that was not of the grey elven culture or from Imej as quaint or inferior. That had been the way at the Academy of the Second Sun as well, but, in the presence of Mjrina, Aerylle felt humbled. Most of all, she felt cared for, protected and perhaps even loved. That sensation, in itself, was enough to make her question they 'why' and 'how' of the society which had given her so much, yet explained so little.

********

The next few days soon became a blur of continuous, but relaxed activity. Mjrina proved to be impeccably efficient and possessed with considerable taste, so much so that Aerylle had begun to entrust herself to the wood elf's judgements when the purchase of clothing and jewellery was concerned. Moreover, and most importantly, Mjrina ensured that her mistress lacked for nothing when at home. Her sleep rhythms adapted immediately to Aerylle's so that she awoke a little earlier, just in time to run her mistress' morning bath and bring up her breakfast, and went to sleep a little later so as to ensure that everything was in perfect order for the following morning. Upon Aerylle's insistence, she continued to sleep in the same room - an arrangement which carried on for a few days and seemed to be perfectly acceptable to all concerned. It allowed both elves to take comfort in each other's presence while never once breaching the unspoken law which separated them with a social gulf so vast it could not even be imagined.

Aerylle, however, remained dissatisfied with those arrangements. The very fact that Mjrina was always so concerned, so diligent, so honestly loving was a scar on the grey elf's conscience which grew more evident each day. Mjrina denied herself everything, yet spoiled Aerylle to no end: baths and cosmetics in the morning, further baths, hair treatment and massages in the evening. In truth, the basic moral principle which Aerylle had begun to identify with: that all beings capable of thinking and feeling had a basic common root in the desire to have equal, loving relationships, was being violated on a day-to-day basis. Or so Aerylle thought.

Thus, one evening, as Aerylle finished reading a chapter assignment for her next semester at the Academy on the subject of magical divination, she finally felt ready to speak frankly to Mjrina.

"Mjrina, would you like to dine with me in my room this evening?" Aerylle invited, grateful to feel the wood elf's hands on her shoulders. When she read for prolonged periods of time, she was almost always assailed by a stiffness in her upper back.

"I would like nothing more to spend some time with my mistress, but maybe your family would expect you."

"No, my mother is out on business. She has is in the process of contracting a new series of books for an Enchantress. Without her, it need hardly be a family dinner." Aerylle leaned back into her chair, eager for Mjrina's soothing touch.

"If you wish, mistress, I could fetch something from the kitchen. I was told that the rosehip flan came out very well." Mjrina suggested, her expert fingers gently settling the knots of tension in Aerylle's neck.

"Mjrina, why are you so devoted? What do I give you that convinces you that I am worthy of your affection?" Aerylle inquired curiously as she closed the great, leather-bound tome on her desk, and turned her head slightly to plant a soft kiss on Mjrina's forearm. That, in itself, was nothing new - for since they had become mistress and handmaid they always greeted each other with a kiss - though the question certainly was.

"Mistress..." Mjrina began, her voice trembling and uncertain, "mistress, you are so kind, so beautiful and...and it does not matter to you that I am an not your kin. I see many other citizens of Imej look at me, speak to me or treat me with scorn because my appearance is different and the words I speak bear the sounds of my ancestors. But you, my mistress, you have always treated me with so much love, that I no longer miss the trees or the song of the forest, because it is sufficient to tend to your needs."

"I am happy that you are happy, Mjrina." Aerylle said softly, clasping the wood elf's right hand into her own.

"With you mistress, I feel that I have left my family and my home with no regrets."

"Do you love me?" Aerylle asked tentatively.

"Mistress...please, I hope you never need to ask that question again," Mjrina answered timidly, "never in my dreams did I imagine a better a mistress."

"Do you also sometimes feel alone in Imej? For I often do and it is a feeling that grows by the day."

"Yes, but mistress, this is your home..."

"A home that I often cannot recognise. Everything that I had been told as a child has been cast into doubt each day I read about how vast and beautiful the Multiverse must be. You know, Mjrina, that beyond this world there are Planes of existence which we could not even imagine. Mighty silver palaces built in the clouds, castles of solid bronze in the middle of lakes of molten fire and cities built like great wheels at the centres of where all creation began." Aerylle's love of reading occasionally caused her to get carried away in the flow of her thoughts and of her towering imagination.

"I am but a simple wood elf serving-girl, mistress, I...am ashamed to admit that I have little I can say in reply." Mjrina said dejectedly. It felt as if she had disappointed Aerylle and that, above all things, was something which hurt her sensibilities.

"No, Mjrina, you are one of the best, most loving people I have met. You have nothing to apologise for. Indeed, if anyone has to apologise, it is I, for I have treated you with less than the dignity you deserve..."

"No!" Mjrina replied indignantly, "No, mistress, you make me feel loved and appreciated. You praise and respect my skills...never say that you have neglected to appreciate me. I dare say mistress, that here I feel loved."

"Mjrina..." Aerylle began, almost breathlessly, her pulse quickened by the warm presence of the wood elf behind her, "this evening, I would give myself to you in love and in friendship - as an equal and not your mistress - so that there will be no more secrets between us. Would you likewise give yourself to me?"

"Mistress..." Mjrina had been quite positively moved by Aerylle's gesture; there had been no condescension or demand in her mistress' voice, just pure, needy emotion, "I am your humble handmaid, I am certain that you have other..."

"None as magnificent and unique a flower from Hanali's garden as you." Aerylle interrupted gently.

"Then, mistress, you have made my waking dreams come to life. I am at your service not only as a handmaid, but as a daughter of the forest." Mjrina said fervently as she knelt by Aerylle side, gently planting a kiss on the grey elf's slender, pale hand.

"May I...may I kiss you?"

"Please, mistress, I would be honoured." Mjrina invited. When their lips met, it was not the chaste kiss of greeting each morning, but something more sensual and needful. Aerylle's lips were soft but insistent, her tongue dancing gracefully with Mjrina's, savouring that trace of wood elven exoticism she had so often desired. As she leaned into the kiss, drawing Mjrina into her arms, Aerylle felt that she could have remained in that embrace forever, feeling the warm, moist life and breath of the wood elf's mouth against her own. She decided, however, that it would only be right to treat Mjrina with all the dignity and respect she deserved as a friend, so Aerylle gently broke the kiss and rose to her feet, Mjrina's hands clutched in her own.

"My caress and my bed are your tonight, would you do me the honour of accepting these humble gifts?" Aerylle asked softly, looking directly into the enchanting depth of the wood elf's leaf-green eyes.

"Mistress..." Mjrina sighed, as if her dreams had all of a sudden come true. Very gently, she leaned in to nuzzle Aerylle's cheek, planting soft kisses on the grey elf's high, beautifully sculpted cheekbones. Subtly, the movements of her head pushed back Aerylle's silky, honey-blonde hair, from around her cheeks. Aerylle waited with baited breath, gently wrapping her arms around Mjrina's waist. The wood elf was in no hurry, she continued placing soft, feather-light kisses on Aerylle's cheeks, her lips trailing methodically upwards.

Aerylle let out a soft, satisfied moan of pleasure as she felt Mjrina's lips begin to trail up her sensitive, pointed ear. The wood elf was tender yet arousing as she ran her tongue, almost innocently, up the length of Aerylle's ear. That was the nuanced sign that Aerylle would accept Mjrina taking the lead in their lovemaking, so the wood elf was quick to settle matters. With practised delicacy, she helped Aerylle to settle in a sitting position on the bed and knelt between her legs. Aerylle took her cue and coyly raised one slender, ivory-white leg to the mattress, forcing her gold-embroidered white robe to ride dramatically up her thighs. Mjrina could now clearly sense her mistress' excitement, for her sharp senses immediately detected warmth and a faint, sweet floral aroma. She could only imagine the warm, moist secrets she would soon discover in her mistress' blooming flower.

Nodding in wordless approval, gently planted a soft, wet kiss on Aerylle's delicate foot, trailing her tongue upwards before stopping just at the hem of Aerylle's robe. She then raised her eyes, almost expectantly to Aerylle. Her mistress responded by cupping her chin and nodding almost imperceptibly. Mjrina rose from her kneeling position and eased Aerylle onto her back before soundlessly taking her place by her mistress' side. Turning to face the wood elf, Aerylle renewed their kiss, eyes fixed on the object of her passion, so that they could hold each other for the first time on the bed Aerylle had so fervently wished to share, lips locked in a vital embrace, the breath of their souls flowing and mixing in the passionate dance of their tongues.

They undressed each other slowly and methodically. Aerylle began the understated ceremony by bringing Mjrina's dextrous hand to the sash at her waist. All the wood elf required was a clean, simple motion, and Aerylle's robe was loosened and gently peeled off, one shoulder at the time, so each small, dove-white conical breast was liberated, causing the garment to finally pool around the grey elf's waist. Mjrina's mouth then quickly set to work on gracing the small, gracious hills of Aerylle's breasts with soft, insistent kisses that trailed upwards until she could surround each tender, light pink nipple - firm and stiff like an exotic berry - first with her breath and then with the gentle, tugging pressure of her lips and tongue. The wood elf was careful to wind her tongue lovingly around each stiff little peak, tugging them ever so slightly to introduce the lightest hint of sensual tension. Pressed against the yielding, inviting warmth of her mistress' breast, Mjrina could smell the light fragrance of the lotion she had applied earlier that day on Aerylle's flawless skin and sense the vital heat which emanated from the grey elf's passion-fuelled heart. Aerylle could only let out short, sharp gasps at each electrifying contact of Mjrina's tongue against her engorged nipples - it was if the wood elf had no gaps whatsoever in her training. That was natural enough - for handmaids were expected to advise their mistresses on the erotic arts, but certainly never make love to them as equals.

That, however, was exactly what Mirina was doing. Aerylle clutched her lover closer, drawing her hands up the slender, taut musculature of Mjrina's delectable thighs and under the wood elven girl's plain green shift. The skin under Aerylle's fingers was smooth, warm and inviting. To cup the maddeningly pert globes of Mjrina's bottom was like paradise. Aerylle had so often admired the wood elf's body - so feminine yet simultaneously gracefully elven - many times when they bathed together, but now she could no longer settle for admiring it. She wanted to touch it, to taste the wood elf's mouth, her sex, her skin; to become one with her so that there passion and moisture would all flow together and the only taste ever to grace Aerylle's lips would be slick gift of Mjrina's sex. So Aerylle gently tugged the hem of Mjrina's shift higher and the wood elf, immediately catching her mistress' drift, helped her pull the offending garment up and off.

Finally, with the object of her desire naked in front of her, Aerylle decided to indulge her passion. Mjrina immediately knew from the look in Aerylle's eyes what her mistress wanted, so she reluctantly detached herself from the grey elf's breasts and lay back on the sheets, opening herself up for exploration. Aerylle's kisses were tender but sensuous. First on Mjrina's lips and their tongues danced with artistic desire as they took turns in leading the rhythm of their kisses, then on Mjrina's throat, where Aerylle left warm, wet trails that led down to the stiff, light brown peaks of her lover's nipples, so hard that the wood elf maiden thought they might burst. Just the prospect of her mistress' lips on the stiffened tips of her rounded breasts was enough to draw a deep, low sigh, like the breath of the forest itself, from Mjrina's lips. Aerylle took that a sign of encouragement as she lovingly suckled on each deliciously taut nipple in turn, elated to hear the desperate beating of her lover's heart deep in her chest.

"My flower." Aerylle whispered as she kissed down the expanse of Mjrina's taut, flat stomach. The wood elf had an athleticism which grey elven women would have looked down upon as a crude. A lady, Aerylle's mother had always said, had to be slender, understated and soft. But Mjrina was, quite literally, a breath of fresh forest air.

"Mistress?" Mjrina inquired dreamily, parting her thighs slightly in invitation.

"You are my rose garden and this," Aerylle said as she stopped just a few fractions of an inch in front of Mjrina's beautifully juicing, perfectly hairless sex, "is the flower I will tend to until it comes into full bloom."

"Oh, Mistress, you speak too highly of me." If Mjrina had been a pessimist, she would have by then been convinced that it was all a dream.

"Hush, for this is a privilege for me; like being allowed to taste honey from the divine Hanali's garden." Aerylle placed a light kiss on the apex of Mjrina's sex and then circled her tongue around the outer lips, using two fingers to gently hold the petals of her lover's flower apart. Mjrina's sex was a rich, deep pink treasure hidden under the light woodland brown tan of her Mount of Hanali .The wood elf's taste was different from what Aerylle had been accustomed to: it was fresh, slightly sweet and had a hint of earthiness, like the fresh sap of a lheiea vine which some elves considered a delicacy. As far as Aerylle was concerned, however, she could have lost herself in those slick, pliant, pink folds, for there seemed to be a vital warmth in her lover's arousal that she had never experienced before, just like lapping at the copious juices was as profoundly refreshing as suckling the nectar from a summer blossom. Mjrina's sighs of pleasure were pure, natural like a running stream, and the silky softness of her aroused sex truly did remind Aerylle of the petals of some sort of divine flower.

As Aerylle's licks drew closer to the tiny, stiff little bud of Mjrina's clit, the wood elf stirred, for her slow-burning desire was finally reaching its peak. To rush proceedings at that point would have been a shame, but Aerylle, too, was well versed in the arts of pleasure. The grey elf maiden became more coy with each approach, gracing Mjrina's inner lips with eager, affectionate licks, but circling around the central bud of her flower, never touching it. It was for Mjrina to give the signal when that would be appropriate. There was more than enough pleasure to be had in the exploration of Mjrina's sex which yielded its secrets slowly, though Aerylle was quick to learn where her lover was most sensitive and where her licks against the moist, velvety flesh would be most rewarded by grateful moans.

Only when Aerylle felt her lover subtly roll her hips forward, did she decide to finally lavish some much needed attention on the wood elf's clit. Aerylle's tongue was expert as much as it was insistent, coaxing the little bud with intense, concentrated licks. Each stroke of Aerylle's tongue brought a soft, melodious moan from Mjrina's sensual, pink lips, her rounded hips thrusting upwards, inviting deeper exploration. Aerylle needed no invitation, for her handmaid's taste was intoxicating, as was the vital warmth which emanated from the flowering, carnal nexus spread open before her, rich with the dew of feminine arousal.

Under Aerylle's sustained attack, Mjrina was powerless, for the hot, tight tensions which had built in her loins was suddenly on the verge of being released, driven forwards into the first, intense contractions of her climax. Mjrina's cries of pleasure were almost musical as she lightly gripped the sheets and revelled in the loving action of Aerylle's tongue.

"Mistress!" Mjrina gasped, her eyes tightly closed so she could focus on the sensation of her sensual peak. Not even in her wildest fantasies did she ever imagine her beautiful mistress making love to her with such intensity and, best of all, attending to her pleasure first.

"My sweet, wonderful Mjrina." Aerylle said effusively, rising from her lover's sex to embrace her.

"Oh...mistress, my passion greets your lips well." Mjrina sighed, an edge of sensuality in her voice as she kissed off some of her copious nectar from Aerylle's lips.

"It is the highest compliment, for it means you think me very beautiful." Aerylle enjoyed the sheer transgression of the act, of presenting herself wantonly to her maid, her cheeks bathed in the residue of the wood elf maiden's passion and expect her to kiss it off the pearly white skin upon which it glistened.

"I do, mistress," Mjrina said fervently, "and to show my gratitude, may I offer my caress in a way I am certain you will enjoy?"

"Mjrina, you have never disappointed, so I am happy to place myself in your hands."

"Very well, just give a moment." Mjrina said enthusiastically. She then proceeded to set up a little pile of cushions and pillows at the centre of the bed, before rummaging through the drawer of the bed-side table to withdraw two frilly, embroidered silk sashes, "Please, mistress, make yourself comfortable on the cushions." Mjrina invited and Aerylle was all too eager to comply. Her arousal was at fever pitch, something that was all too evident to the wood elf when her mistress lay back on the cushions, which kept her hips raised, and spread her thighs, revealing her silky, juicing sex - pink as a pale peach. Mjrina felt a knot form in her throat: she could have had another climax just by pleasuring herself at the sight.

"Trust me, mistress." Mjrina said softly as she took one of Aerylle's feet in her hands and tied it with the silk sash to one of the high bedposts which held up the richly decorated fabric canopy. She then did the same with the other foot, so that Aerylle lay spread open, her legs latched firmly but comfortably to the bedposts - her sex vulnerable and parted.

"Your artfulness never ceases to surprise me." Aerylle said, her throat cloyed with passion. She was certain that a few droplets of passion had flowed down from her sodden sex, down between the firm cheeks of her bottom and onto the sheets.

Teasingly, Mjrina ran her fingers down the soft, desperately slick folds of Aerylle's sex, coating her fingers in the nectar of her mistress' passion. Smiling provocatively, she then spread drew a hot, wet trail with her hand up Aerylle's belly and around the base of her breasts. Mjrina's tongue soon followed where her hand had begun and she eagerly lapped up the residue of Aerylle's arousal in long, sensual licks. Aerylle's toes curled at the sensation and at the sheer eroticism of Mjrina's lovemaking. She was spread open and helpless and it would be up to Mjrina to decide just how and when to pleasure her. Thoughts of a different kind filled Mjrina's head, as the wood elf finally sank between her mistress' thighs, her green-streaked woodland brown hair draped beautifully on Aerylle's pale thighs. She realised that her place was not only as a servant, but as a friend as well. Perhaps, Mjrina reflected in a brief moment of sadness, the hardest part after the bond she had just developed with her mistress would be to see her eventually find a bonded grey elven lover and thus no longer be the exclusive object of her affection. But such was the way of the world.

Aerylle had to bite down on her lower lip to prevent a particularly unladylike, wanton moan from escaping as she felt Mjrina's diligent tongue lap at her sex with such spontaneously passionate abandon that she knew her climax could strike at any minute. The grey elf maiden's passion lay coiled like a butterfly struggling to break free from its chrysalis. Bound and spread as she was, Aerylle felt perfectly at ease surrendering herself to Mjrina's attentions because they were so expert and so reassuringly tender. The wood elf's tongue traced the contours of Aerylle's pearl-hard clit, light pink and gleaming in fragrant moisutre. As she felt her peak approach, the grey elf maiden allowed herself to submit entirely to the deliciously artful work of Mjrina's attentions, her feet tense and arched, toes pointed, in anticipation as her small breasts rose and fell with each laboured breath.

For her part, Mjrina nestled her lips in the slick, subtly sweet paradise between Aerylle's thighs. There was something intoxicating about commanding Aerylle's pleasure: with each lick, each gentle tap of her tongue against the swollen little bud of her mistress' clit, Mjrina liberated a sharp, satisfied sigh. That and her mistress' sex was adorable: so abundant with its richly sweet, flowery juices tinged with only the slightest hint of salinity, and so yielding under her eager lips, like a sensuous, satin embrace. It was only when she felt the bucking of Aerylle's hips quicken and her mistress' breath come in long, relieved gasps that she knew that her mission had been accomplished and so she reluctantly broke the trance which the split peach of the grey elf's sex had drawn her into. The wood elf raised her head to meet Aerylle's satisfied gaze, her cheeks and lips slick with the nectar of her lover's arousal.

"That was sublime...my beautiful Mjrina. Now come, let me embrace you." Aerylle whispered, almost voicelessly.

Mjrina nodded eagerly and quickly moved to unfasten her mistress' ankles from the bedposts.

"No, Mjrina, my love, leave me spread open for you. You have always made me feel safe in your hands and there is nothing more that I would like than be held at your mercy, so that you may drink from my well whenever you wish, or ask that I do the same, and, if my desire stains the cushions, I would have you sleep on them so that you may be close to passion that you have excited in me." Aerylle breathed, blushing slightly at the desire her suggestion betrayed.

Mjrina nodded and carefully settled atop her mistress, drawing her in for a soft, slow burning kiss, "Tonight, I will not have you sleep on the floor," Aerylle began, slender hands cupping Mjrina's heavier, woodland tan breasts, "not tonight or ever again. You will take your place by my side and serve me as both a friend and a handmaiden." Aerylle was initially tempted to suggest that Mjrina call her by her name instead of 'mistress', but quickly dismissed the idea as fanciful: it would have represented a blatant lapse in etiquette.

"Mistress, are you certain? I would not wish for your mother to be angered by my impudence..." Mjrina objected, her protests becoming soft moans, as Aerylle captured a stiff nipple between her lips.

"I need you, Mjrina, whom I choose to lie in love with is not my mother's choice to make."

They did not eat that night, but continued to make love until the second moon was at its zenith and the whole chamber was bathed in a dull, bluish light. When she finally fell asleep, lying on her side face to face with Mjrina, she realised that something would have to change. Her society would certainly not change for her and this was something the grey elf knew all too well. She had always been slightly more easygoing and tolerant than most of her kin and she knew full well even the suggestion that she was engaged in a sensual relationship with a wood elf would raise eyebrows. Aerylle could not, however, deny that what she did was for herself: she simply could not have woken up in the morning and looked at herself in the mirror with the knowledge that she treated her kind, loving Mjrina as a mere servant.

*********

As the carefree days of Aerylle's Renewal Season leave continued, the sight of her with Mjrina in two became common throughout the Street of Arcana. Careful observers noted that instead of walking some paces behind her mistress, Mjrina could often be seen, awkwardly, at Aerylle's side, though most passed it off as mere inexperience. In time, the young girl would learn proper social form and treat her handmaiden as required, but that was the most anyone said of it. In truth, however, what Aerylle was living was the single most passionate relationship of her young - by elven standards anyway - life. They made love on an almost daily basis and the resourceful Mjrina was most thorough in her lessons, since she decided to teach Aerylle the erotic arts of the wood elves as well as helping her mistress perfect what she already knew.

It was Mjrina discretion, and her constant dedication to her duties, which prevented much suspicion from being roused. Aerylle's mother knew that her daughter often shared a bed with her servant, but she imagined it to be something that would be grown out of, like the fear of the dark or the doll collection. It was therefore to her profound shock that, late one evening after dinner, when she had been seized by the maternal need to bid good-night to her daughter over a complicit chat, she finally saw that which she had most feared but long dismissed.

Aerylle's mother was no prude. She had taken many lovers and had been the first to explain to her daughter, on the very day of Aerylle's first cycle - as was grey elven custom - exactly what was expected of a lady, how to initiate and receive courtship and the basics of how to make love to both women and men. What she saw by the dim light of the enchanted lamps in her daughter's room had certainly not been included in that mother-to-daughter talk. Aerylle sat on an elegant satin armchair, her dress pulled down and bunched around her waist, the stiff, light pink nipples riding atop her elegant breasts clearly aroused. Most scandalously, she sat with her thighs wide open, bare feet planted on either arm rest of the chair, her delicate toes gripping tightly against the soft fabric beneath them. Kneeling between her daughter's legs was Mjrina's naked form. The wood elf was clearly busy lapping hungrily at Aerylle's spread sex. Most shameful, Aerylle's mother had silently contemplated, through the small crack in the door that had been left open, was the sight of her beloved daughter squirming in the armchair, soft, rhythmic high-pitched cries escaping her lips.

"Mjrina, my love..." Aerylle cooed as the wood elf began to lick in a long, firm motion between the crevasse of her bottom and her juicing sex.

"Does, this please you mistress?" Mjrina sighed, her voice intoxicated by the lust with which Aerylle's sweet sex had filled her.

"Anything you show me, pleases me." Aerylle replied, running her fingers through the wood elf's hair, drawing her in closer. Eager to grant Mjrina's skilful mouth for access to her most intimate flesh, Aerylle hooked her arms under her knees and lifted her hips higher so as to present herself lustfully, juicing sex and taut bottom spread and aching for more attention from the handmaid's tongue.

"Oh, mistress..." Mjrina sighed as she ran a finger all the way in a long arch from the stiff little clit at the peak of Aerylle's sex to the base of her spine, "you honour me."

Aerylle's mother left the scene in numbed silence. She had no intention of bursting in and causing a scene or humiliating either herself or her daughter. There were, as always, more intelligent and subtle ways of dealing with such problems. Not too subtle, however, because, and this had always been the case with Aerylle, even as far as elves were concerned, a little discipline went a long way.

*******

The following day, Aerylle ventured out alone for her usual morning walk through the streets of central Imej. It had become customary for Mjrina to accompany her to take the fresh mountain air and perhaps a stroll in the gardens to watch the Fire Lilies greet the sun by slowly opening up their blossoms. That day, however, her mother had required the handmaid's services for a social gathering she needed to prepare. Aerylle had left promising a slightly embarrassed Mjrina a gift. So, on her way back, she was sure to visit a famed flower merchant and carefully select some potted forest orchids which, Aerylle hoped, would go some way towards reminding Mjrina of home. They had not been cheap, but as Aerylle returned home, gilded pot proudly in hand, she felt that the effort would have been worth it just to see the expression in her handmaid's eyes.

Upon stepping inside the drawing room of her home, Aerylle immediately knew that something was amiss because Mjrina was not there to greet her with a kiss and a cup of tea as she always did.

"Mjrina..." Aerylle called tentatively, setting down the orchid on an intricately carved and painted cherry-wood table, "Mjrina?" Her voice was louder now. An uncomfortable suspicion began to creep into the back of Aerylle's head. Her mother's sudden appearance at the other end of the room began to confirm it.

"My daughter, perhaps we should talk." Aerylle's mother said, not at all unkindly. Indeed, her eyes seemed burdened with a certain guilty sadness.

"Mother..." Aerylle began, more dangerously than was appropriate, "where is Mjrina?"

"My daughter, you and I both know that she could no longer have remained here."

"You sent her away." Aerylle said, her words blunt, almost emotionless. A profound sinking feeling had begun in the pit of her stomach - there was no hysteria, no madness, no anger, just deep, visceral dread.

"My daughter, you should not be so drastic," the elven matron said, drawing closer to her daughter as if to embrace her, "I paid her a year's wages and sent her to another family in Hylmhame, they are old friends of mine and I am certain that they will treat her well."

"Mother...please, do not even think of embracing me." Aerylle said, not angrily so much as emptily.

"Aerylle, my beloved daughter, what would you have done? Would you have made a sylvan elf, a maid your bonded lover? These things happen only in romances, my daughter, you are a lady now and have to behave accordingly."

"Did...did you even ask Father?"

"A daughter obeys her mother, understood?" Aerylle's mother retorted sharply. The girl's father had always been over-indulgent: he was a charming person in many ways and an excellent bookbinder, but neither a particularly good businessman nor parent.

"Yes." Aerylle answered dejectedly. There was nothing. Only a void inside of her.

"My daughter," her mother's tone was more conciliatory as she lovingly wrapped her arms around Aerylle, "I only want what is good for you. I did not lie to you when I said I was to set up a social gathering. I know we all have emotional and sensual needs, so I invited your old friend Yssinel and her family for a musical evening. She is an apprentice Enchantress now, you know, and very pretty, why if I did not have your father, I think I would court her myself."

"I...want Mjrina." Was all that came from Aerylle's lips. She was not even listening to her mother anymore. All she could see was Mjrina's smiling face in the morning sunlight.

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, my beloved daughter, I know that you do. But we cannot remain children forever. Now come, I will have a seamstress in soon: you should look as beautiful as possible for Yssinel. Imagine that, a Diviner and an Enchantress - what a fine bonded couple you would make, and you would have so much to discuss on magical lore and spellcraft." Aerylle's mother had truly chosen Yssinel with her daughter's best interests in mind. She knew the apprentice enchantress to be strikingly beautiful, even for a grey elf, witty and cultivated. Yssinel and Aerylle had been excellent friends before they had gone off to their respective studies and Yssinel's mother had been most insistent that their daughters meet, since she owned a substantial manuscript copying and illumination enterprise. An alliance sealed by a bonded relationship would thus have brought immense happiness and financial advantages to both families.

"Mother, I would leave." Aerylle said suddenly, gently pushing her mother back to look her in the eyes.

"My daughter...why? I hope this is not one of your little childish fits..."

"No, mother, I would leave. I will complete my course of studies at the Academy and then I will leave Imej - for how long, I simply do not know. Perhaps I will regret my choice and return, perhaps not, but I cannot stay where in a house full of painful memories and sleep under the same roof where my heart was torn out." Aerylle said with quiet determination. She knew what she had to do: in many worlds, her knowledge of books and of magic would be highly marketable. She could survive - no, she had to survive, because there was no life in living paralysed by the deep sadness of never being able to see Mjrina again. The most painful irony of all was that Aerylle was not the starry-eyed idealist her mother made her out to be, for she would never have dared take her handmaid as her bonded lover. Nevertheless, there were many other ways she had grown to love Mjrina, not least as a friend, a confidante and an adopted sister.

"Please, do not tell me it is my fault that you have made this decision." Aerylle's mother said softly. She did truly love her daughter with all her being, which was exactly why she had sent Mjrina away with the utmost gentleness and even promised that she would allow Aerylle to write to her when the dust had settled.

"No, mother, I have always wished to see what lies beyond the peaks of Imej. But your actions have forced my hand...mother, I know you love me, but that fact in itself should have made you understand how important it is to allow others to love freely. Allow me to see at least a tiny fragment of the Multiverse and, if there truly is no place like home, I give you my word I will return...then you can march Ysinnel and me straight to the temple of Hanali and I promise that I will be a daughter you can be proud of. But you must at least let me leave."

"That I will, because you are lady now and it is only right that you choose. But, when it is in my power to prevent you from making a fatal mistake, as a mother, I will do it, whether you like it or not."

"You could have left her alone," Aerylle said dispassionately, her deep blue eyes burning with anguish, "you could have let her stay and I would never have left, for her sake. But now there is nothing to keep me here."

"Aerylle!" Her mother interjected sternly, "You still have much to learn. In the end, you would only have hurt her and yourself far more than you could imagine. There are some forms of love that lead only to unhappiness so we have a duty both to ourselves and to those whom we would love to prevent this suffering."

"But by the end of the next Season of the Mother's Sleep I will leave this world. I promise that I will write, but there is no way you can persuade me not to go." Aerylle said with determination.

"Very well my daughter. You are a strong girl and I hope with all my soul that you finally find peace."

*******

That night Aerylle wept silently until she was certain that weeping, in itself, did not even come close to expressing the massive void she felt within her. So she ate the orchids she had purchased for Mjrina, petal by petal, grimacing but slowly chewing and swallowing the bitter, leafy pieces. She just managed to finish most of the pot before she was violently ill and spent the best part of the night bent over the privy in her bathing-chamber, spitting up the vile, acidic remains of the half-digested orchids. Aerylle briefly entertained the idea of travelling all the way to Hylmhame, finding Mjrina and escaping somewhere deep in the verdant forest where they could be happy together. As her mother had correctly pointed out, however, such things only happened in romances.

All that Aerylle could think of as she slumped forwards on her knees, feeling her stomach heaving and forcing her to weep tears of necessity rather than of anguish, was to escape to somewhere far and distant, where she could at least try to find another true love and be free to love her.

Author's Note: Aerylle's story continues in the Sigil series, also stored on this Archive.

Talilissa's Tale

This is the story of Talilissa - who would only later be known as Lily - and how she came to seek peace and refuge in Sigil.

- The Archivist, your narrator.

Talilissa knew it was going to be a productive day. She felt it in the air, which was dank and moist, as befitted a great fungus farm. Her House, the noble drow family of Kheeleillae, whose full courtesy name was Kheeleillae Oeai Nathonn, had recently purchased an excellent cave which produced some of the largest and most excellent edible fungus of the undercaverns beneath the mighty dark elven metropolis of Ille-Athalath. Outsiders called the drow 'dark elves', though to call a drow that to her face was to invite swift death at the end of a poisoned sacrificial blade. None, drow or otherwise, had ever treated Talilissa with anything but the greatest reverence. She was Sixth Daughter of her House, a very recent graduate of the seminary of the Temple of Lloth - the cruel and powerful Spider Queen who ruled all drow through the absolute power of her priesthood - and had recently been charged with handling a number of new purchases to cut her managerial teeth. From thence, she could expect to advance through the ranks of her family and the society of her city at large - or die trying. For such was the way of the drow: the ascent to the top was fraught with peril, but its rewards were potentially infinite.

For the moment, though, such considerations were far from Talilissa's mind, for she also had to start her younger sister's instruction in the arts of household administration. Vellithea was Thirteenth Daughter and was currently excelling in her studies at the Temple of Lloth where she was a dozen semesters away from achieving the rank of a fully initiated priestess. She had also developed into a magnificent young woman and Talilissa had been fortunate to secure her favours as an ally, and as an extremely exciting lover as well. Despite her relative youth, Vellithea was renowned as an excellent student at the Temple both in the seminary and in the bedchamber.

Talilissa, nevertheless, was certain that she was an example that her sister could only admire in awe and envy. The drow were on the short side, even by elven standards, though females were often taller and larger than the lowly males - as was only proper in a race that held spiders in the highest esteem. Talilissa carried herself with all the lethal, menacing grace of a daughter of a noble drow House: her frame was ennobled by such curves that surface dwellers would not even have imagined on an elf, with bounteous, but firm and elegant breasts, provocatively flared hips complemented by a taut bottom that looked like it had been sculpted out of pure onyx, and rich, silky, silver coloured hair that reached in free falling strands to her waist. As with all of her kind, her skin was an unsettling shade of black which in the light betrayed hints of deep blue while her eyes were so deeply red they almost looked violet. On the rare occasions when Lily allowed herself to smile in public, she knew she excited the lust of noble Daughters and Matron-Mothers alike with the curling of her sensuous violet lips. Vellithea, in many ways, resembled her sister, though she was still a little waifish - for she was but a few Revolutions short of full womanhood - and her features were perhaps more delicate still, so much so that they looked innocent rather than menacingly sensuous.

That, Talilissa reflected, was a mere illusion. Her sister had all the cruelty, cunning and good judgement to become an excellent Daughter of their House and it had been an unforeseen pleasure to guide her on the subject of a productive day's tasks.

"Vellithea, observe carefully," Talilissa explained, running her hand expansively across the tightly packed rows of ghoulish, sickly-white fungus which grew in contorted shapes, somewhat like aborted foetuses, "slaves will often steal cuts from the fungus and subsequently barter them off on the black market or consume them in addition to their daily rations. Do you know why we cannot allow this?"

"Yes, Yilaria, because it would undermine our House's long term profit from this field which was purchased for ten pith of raw mithral and, moreover, it may excite rebellion in the slaves, which is why we ensure that their rations are at subsistence level to discourage superfluous exertion." Vellithea replied. She would never have dared refer to her sister by her personal name - that privilege was reserved for Talilissa's elder sisters, her superiors and her equals. So, as far as Vellithea was concerned, her sister had always been Yilaria - or 'revered sister'.

"Good. Your answer cannot be faulted." Talilissa commented favourably. Even in the dim, white glow of the phosphorescent fungi, her sister was truly magnificent, clad as she was in a shimmering black and silver sleeveless dress which was almost transparent and defined by tiny, carnivrous bio-luminescent plants worked into the fabric. The dress had to be fed a mixture of water and goblin blood at regular intervals, and was subsequently passed in a bath of perfume. Nevertheless, Talilissa was certain that she looked more stunning still, for she had chosen to accentuate her perfectly feminine assets with an exceedingly rare Phase Spider silk dress with a plunging neckline and flimsy, dramatically slit skirt which flared out into strips of silk which resembled thin, knotted spider legs.

"Many thanks, Yilaria, but managing fields of fungus is surely not worth the expenditure of an entire day." Vellithea began cautiously, not wanting to irritate her sister.

"Check your impertinence, girl." Talilissa snapped, menacingly flicking the long, thin striking cane she always brought with her. It had been carved from a spinneret of the massive Abyssal spider known as Bebilith. Vellithea knew that cane to be source of otherworldly pain or pleasure - and sometimes both -, depending on her sister's whim.

"Apologies, Yilaria," Vellithea said, never betraying a hint of nervousness, though, inside, she feared her sister's temper, "I am, after all, here to learn the wisdom you would impart."

"Precisely, this variety of fungus is known as keddai and, in the estimation of our wise Matron-Mother, it will soon become staple for our raiding parties since, unlike most other fungi, it is blessed with a very high nutrient density per unit of weight. Regrettably, its flavour is vile. As a consequence, we are the first House to seriously experiment with this fungus as a standard ration. However, we did recently discover a secret that is to remain only within our House. That is, that the fungus only tastes disgusting because it is fed with conventional fertilisers both vegetable and magical. If, however, fed with diluted svinfnerbli - or deep gnome - blood, the resulting product is highly palatable." Talilissa explained with satisfaction. The discovery had been in part hers, though, as was customary, her elder sister, who had supervised the experiment, was entitled to full credit.

"Our ingenuity never ceases to amaze we. Our bloodline shall soon be the first in Ille-Athalath." Vellithea sighed, a trace of longing in her voice. Their House was exceedingly powerful, but she wanted them to be the most powerful of all, to reduce even the most daunting of her rival Initiates at the Temple of Lloth into chambermaids and playthings.

"All in due time." Talilissa said, a smile creeping across her lips. Her sister excited her when she was so sanguine about domination, "But for now, let us concentrate on the task on hand, for I will tell you that this farm alone can produce five hundred thousand pith of processed fungus per Quarter-Revolution: more than enough to feed a large raiding party for a Half-Revolution when properly dehydrated. It is, of course, imperative that we ensure this patch to be viable in the long term. It will ultimately come down to us to govern our House."

"Yilaria, you know that I will be by your side then as I am now." Vellithea crowed. Talilissa knew that her sister's profession of devotion was a mere formality. She would have stabbed Talilissa in the back had the occasion presented itself. Theirs was a relationship of convenience and Talilissa would have been proud if her sister would have, at some point, found the determination to dispose of her in a moment of weakness. Naturally, Talilissa did not envision herself ever falling into such feebleness. Life had been proceeding very well indeed and, for the foreseeable future, Vellithea's place was at her side or between her thighs.

"Your affection is duly noted," Talilissa said, smiling wryly, "now tell me, why is this form of food production particularly important?"

"Because, Yilaria, it is convenient under conditions of siege. Since it is located in a cavern below our House's stronghold and furthermore well connected by a system of tunnels, it could become an ideal food supply should we ever come under attack." Vellithea replied dutifully. Of course, the chances of their mighty House, with its complements of spies, assassins, mercenaries and summoned demons, ever coming under serious threat were negligible. Second Daughter Uverrille would attend to that, even if Talilissa was sceptical of her abilities. Vellithea, however, put that assessment down to resentment rather than any objective evaluation.

"Yes, very good, but you have stated the obvious. Why is it truly important?" Talilissa teased, sensing her sister's uneasiness. What Vellithea had to learn was that in drow society, there was no one answer: any answer was correct, as long as one had the strength to enforce it.

"Yilaria," Vellithea began, quickly coming to the realisation that her sister was playing games with her, "I am but your junior sister, surely my instruction is not so far progressed as to give me insight as profound as yours."

"Excellent," Talilissa crowed, closing in on her sister from behind and running an inquisitive hand up the younger priestess' silky thigh, "but my question was not mere provocation. What I meant to say was purely botanical in nature: you must know that this fungus' substrate depletion is moderate per unit of nutrition produced. It is not only a revolutionary food source, it is an efficient one as well."

"Yilaria, as always, it is your genius that guides me." Vellithea said, seeking only to flatter.

The crack of Talilissa's cane on her bottom was thus inevitable, for her older sister knew full well when others sought to ply her with beguiling words, "Guard your tongue, girl, for you are fortunate that I am your sister - in future, such craven displays of deference may cost you your head." Talilissa's tone was coldly reprimanding, though, in truth, Vellithea needed to know how to couch her words better; although sisterhood was as much competition as it was alliance for the drow - a noble Daughter's duty was always to cultivate the best possible specimens to ensure the continued glory of her House.

"Forgive me..." Vellithea whimpered, her bottom in hot, throbbing agony - Talilissa always ensured that her cane was enchanted with a Rune of Pain, "you know that I truly have much admiration for you."

"Yes, I do indeed." Talilissa snapped, "Which is why I hold you to the highest standard. Now collect yourself, it is unbecoming of a lady to show distress." Only weak, abject males ever betrayed their emotions in public. The ideal drow female, that which Vellithea would aspire to be, was cold, yet sensual, learned, yet intuitive: the society of the dark elves was one permeated by contradictions which were confirmed time and time again by the profound irrationality of drow society itself, a society whose practices were constantly bursting the boundaries of its own language.

"I understand." Vellithea said, her tone more conciliatory as she nodded in agreement. The stinging on her bottom had drifted down the fine line that separated pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat quickened; Talilissa was, despite her infuriating competence, the only woman Vellithea knew could effortlessly dominate her both in and outside the bedchamber.

"Excellent - but remember that each Revolution that goes by means that you shall have ever less space to make mistakes. Bear that in mind and learn. Your mind is sharp and your are of my blood, so I am certain that you will succeed with the right discipline."

"I am flattered, Yilaria, that such discipline is to be imparted by you." Vellithea said, gesturing subtly, almost imperceptibly with an open palm proffered to Talilissa. In the immensely intricate sign language of the drow, often the only way to publicly communicate sentiments which would otherwise, be interpreted as weakness if too openly displayed, Vellithea sought to communicate the closest thing her society had to affection.

At least, Talilissa concluded, that particular signal had been sincere. Vellithea was a good sister and a promising priestess, she just needed a little more guidance and a few well-placed punishments to make sure she never gave herself too many airs. Arrogance without the power to back it up was the ultimate foolishness and would, no doubt, swiftly result in death, "Remember that only the lesser races make their devices obvious, whether these be war for conquest or flattery for advancement. Subtlety and misdirection always triumph over the brute and the crude. Fight your battles only when you know your opponent better than she knows herself and never fully reveal your capabilities," Talilissa explained, a slight smile spreading across her violet lips as she drew Vellithea close to her, relishing in the sensation of her sister's quickening heartbeat, "not even to me."

"You know you never have to tell me anything twice." Vellithea sighed, Talilissa was already planting malicious, wet kisses down her sensitive throat.

Although Talilissa was tempted to couple with Vellithea in the reassuring embrace of the darkness of the cavern, she decided against it. She knew she needed to master her desire- that and it would set a terrible example if she were to indulge her pleasure in such a vulgar place. The delights of Vellithea's body deserved more comfortable surroundings, "Learn to contain your arousal better. There is no shortage of enemies who would exploit that - now come, I would see what wares are on offer at the Promenade of Merchants." Talilissa's tone was outwardly cold, though her warning had been somewhat tongue in cheek. The really amusing part came in taking pleasure from Vellithea's indecision: would she decide it was a joke and respond accordingly, or would she take it seriously and reply with meek deference? Either way, Talilissa thought, her sister would give her ample pretext for punishment.

*********

Fittingly, Ille-Athalath was shaped like a vast spider and the Promenade of Merchants lay in the main cavern which ran from the head - where the monumental black Great Temple of Lloth loomed over the Priestess' district - and the thorax - where the greatest Houses had their headquarters and business interests. Talilissa knew the place well, for she had recently made an excellent purchase of slaves from an Illithid merchant. Slave attrition rates were high and the establishment of privileged relations with select suppliers was consequently essential. This time, however, Talilissa's main objective was to relieve her curiosity. Underdark life yielded a never-ending parade of oddities and morbidly fascinating subjects. So, under the great spider-silk pavilion which hung over the Promenade like a predatory trap, Talilissa took her time passing through a procession of exotic stalls, Vellithea obediently three steps behind her.

On normal days, Talilissa would have preferred transport on a great, black covered litter held aloft by six muscular ogre slaves. Those leisurely trips gave her the occasion to fully appreciate what the Promenade had to offer through the enchanted curtains of the litter, which permitted its occupants to see as clearly as if through a crystal window, even if from the outside it appeared as a mantle of impenetrable darkness. On that occasion, however, Talilissa wished to immerse herself in the heady chaos of the crowded Promenade. She moved effortlessly through the crowded streets, for most passers-by, drow and non-drow alike quickly scampered out of her path. All in Ille-Ahtalath knew the vindictiveness of House Kheeleillae and Talilissa's potentially short temper. Thus, even hard-nosed duergar - or deep dwarves - with their silvery beards and iron-coloured skin shifted reluctantly to allow them passage, their heavy adamantium armour clicking with each suspicious movement.

Talilissa quickly passed by the slave pens - which held little of interest that day - and ventured into the artisan's row. Her keen aesthetic eye scrutinised row after row of exquisitely carved sacrificial knives, lamps shaped like massive tarantulas with a permanent heat-sensitive illumination enchantment emanating from their bloated abdomens - perfect for identifying invisible would-be assassins -, and a panoply of bizarre, blasphemous jewellery coupled with endless racks of scandalous, nearly obscene dresses which commanded prices more unnerving still. None of this held any particular interest for Talilissa, for she possessed all of the aforementioned articles in great quantity and much more besides. What she was fascinated by was raw life - the scuttling forms of a dozen different races mingling in a great market that combined so much obscenity with so much beauty, all punctuated by the reassuring cruelty which proved that the drow, above all races, had right of ownership over the rest of creation.

Not so for Vellithea, whose exposure to the world beyond the monotony and claustrophobic politics of her training at the Temple of Lloth had been minimal. The Promenade of Merchants drew her in, so that she craned her neck to better observe the creatures that drew back in fear and cowered in their cages. As with Talilissa, chaos and fearful confusion appealed to her. So she paused by the shop of a master jeweller - an odd, mantis-like creature whose numerous arms allowed it to simultaneously cut, shape and polish - to see if there was anything of interest.

Talilissa knew that her sister had stopped, for her ears were attuned to Vellithea's graceful tread, "Has something caught your eye, sister?"

"It is like oblivion." Vellithea said softly - Talilissa's familiar, commanding presence behind her could not shift her gaze. She had been examining a spiral brooch fashioned out of black metal and blacker stone which appeared to contain, in exquisite miniature detail, a vortex of dying light and bottomless darkness. Merely passing it by in the corner of her vision made Vellithea feel drawn to it, almost as if it were speaking to her, hypnotising her.

"Yes, quite an impressive trick." Talilissa replied indifferently, though she too found much cause to commend the exquisite craftsmanship of the jewel.

"I suspect this is what the end of the Multiverse shall be like - when chaos overtakes all and the last lights begin to die. All the beauty of eternity captured in one stone...fascinating indeed, but a trinket nonetheless..." Vellithea said, briefly allowing herself a more philosophical moment.

"Do you want it?" Talilissa inquired, her voice low to ensure no one heard her. It was common courtesy not to draw too much attention to the fact that Vellithea was the subordinate in their relationship.

"Yes." Vellithea replied. She knew well what subtle power she had over her sister.

"Then let it be yours." Talilissa declared, drawing the jeweller's attention with an understated nod of her head. It was not so much the purchase of the item which bore significance, given their House's wealth, but the fact that Talilissa had offered. It was a way of signalling that she was willing to draw Vellithea deeper into her social network.

As Talilissa paid, Vellithea could do little but handle the jewel in her hand. It felt weightless, yet it seemed to draw the light from the red irises of her eyes into a never-ending stream which led downwards into some remote dimension. Only a gentle nudge from Talilissa's hand and the clear, authoritative intonation of her voice drew Vellithea back into reality from her trance, "Put it on."

Vellithea complied and needed no help adjusting the jewel: upon contact with the fabric of her dress, the brooch projected forth a set of eight, silvery metallic legs which latched onto the weave beneath them, fastening themselves firmly without damaging the exquisite fabric.

"Outstanding." Talilissa said quietly. The brooch had been a fine investment, for she had always taken great pride in ensuring that Vellithea was worthy of representing her interests. It was wise to guarantee that a favourite lover - especially if that favourite was a sister - was every bit as elegant, capable and feared as her mistress.

"Does it not entrance you?" Vellithea inquired suddenly, her mind utterly focused on that moment of conspiratorial intimacy with her sister. In that brief frame of time, distorted by the boundless abyss of the brooch, Vellithea felt herself drawn into a trance-like state of contemplation and, all of a sudden, her sister looked more radiant than ever before. Talilissa burned with a dark, menacing sensuality in Vellithea's eyes: her flesh was an ever more magnificent, black like a sunless cavern, her eyes glorious in their imperious, deep redness, and her limbs so languid - in perfect harmony with lush curves which begged for the gentle, subservient caress of a devoted, younger sister's hands.

"Yes, but I see that I have caught your attention still more." Talilissa replied, almost disapprovingly. She was flattered, but it was not wise for her sister to be so abject in admiring another.

"Your gift has brought great pleasure to me. I was asking myself whether there was some pleasure I could offer in return." Vellithea said coyly, a thin smile drawn across her sensuous, violet lips. Her very subtle gesticulation, just a few, dextrous motions of her fingers - imperceptible even to the sharp senses of the insectoid jeweller - left no doubt about what she meant.

"Most considerate." Talilissa said softly, though, in truth, her better judgement had been clouded by superfluous thoughts. Thoughts of the miniature oblivion before her eyes and whether the jewel's value was somehow symbolic: that even in the smallest recesses of the Multiverse, there were a multitude of tiny holes into which life, light and energy would disappear leaving nothing but darkness behind. No doubt, as the High Priestesses and the Handmaidens of Lloth had prophesied in scriptures so ancient that even the all-knowing Deep Dragons could barely recall them from racial memory, when all existence ended in Chaos, all that would be left was tiny points of light adrift in a vast ocean of blackness.

Such thoughts aside, the only ocean Talilissa was truly interested in sinking into was the bittersweet sea of life between Vellithea's thighs, "So we shall make an offering to Lloth." Talilissa finally suggested, forcing herself out of her meditations. Vellithea seemed satisfied at the positive answer and signalled for her sister to lead the way.

The walk back to their House's stronghold brought them through broad avenues where the finer elements of drow society mixed, schemed and plotted - occasionally acting boldly with a well-placed assassination which could leap as easily from an assassin's poisoned blade as it could from a well placed lightning bolt released from a magic-imbued stone. Life, Talilissa reflected, was at least never boring. No drow could afford to sit on her laurels and live off the successes of her mother and sisters, for even a drow sheltered by her family's fortune would find herself victim of that same family if she failed to scheme and plot at least as well as her relatives. Thus, from the lower quarters of the new noble Houses, which had yet to fully affirm themselves and whose strongholds were therefore often little more than a ring of modest towers around a shrine to the Spider Goddess, they walked into the progressively neater and more heavily ornamented upper quarters where the elite of Ille-Athalath spun its power-hungry web.

There, near the very apex of the city, where the slender, ominous spires of the Hall of Spiders reached out, claw-like, towards the natural, rocky dome of the Underdark, the central stronghold of House Kheeleillae came into view. Magnificent were its towers of shimmering, crystal-encrusted onyx, mighty were its ramparts manned by brutish bugbear slaves in their coats of black iron, yet stunning was its beauty, for a filigree of platinum and silver ran through the black stone of the edifice, giving the impression that a colossal spider had woven a dark, wicked web across the building's surface. Talilissa was aroused - wet beyond belief. She needed Vellithea and would take her with all the force her desire merited. Each step was agonising, for with each step she felt the soft, moist skin of her inner thighs rub against the silky fabric of her dress, just as her engorged, violet nipples glided provocatively, almost to the point of outright irritation, against the luxuriant cloth which did little to cover Talilissa's perfect, dark orbs.

She walked with Vellithea as if in a daze and the corridors with their vaulted ceilings and enchanted spiderwebs, though familiar, seemed distant to Talilissa. All she could see was the sheer eroticism of her sister's movements, the swaying of her free-flowing silvery hair, the youthful buoyancy of her breasts and bottom. Despite herself - for she cursed her weakness in taking such an unconditional interest in her sister's beauty - Talilissa knew that the joys she had experienced when coupling with Vellithea would be difficult to equal. If not affection, she felt a deep, burning and needy desire for her younger sibling. By the time they had wound up contorted staircases into the House's shrine of Lloth, Talilissa's throat was parched with desire. It was lust for power as well as flesh, because each day that passed, Vellithea grew ever more accomplished. She would make a fine ally indeed.

Such was Talilissa's impatience that once in the inner sanctum of the shrine, before the great jet-stone statue of Lloth herself - in this case in the shape of a nude, life-sized drow female of sublime, malignant beauty framed by eight chitinous spider legs that sprung from her spine - she seized Vellithea, pressing her lips against her sister's in a searing, wet kiss. Vellithea countered with all the insistence that Talilissa had come to expect from her and their tongues duelled, sensuous violet lips pressed open and hungry, yielding and softly feminine, but alive with hard, savage passion. Vellithea felt herself pushed vigorously against the statue, Talilissa's hands searched her body passionately, outlining each curve, each soft swell with lustful abandon.

"This will be our offering which, after blood, is what our Goddess craves most." Talilissa said crooned, biting down hard on Vellithea's lower lip. Their kiss was renewed with the metallic flavour of flesh blood mixed with the familiar, sweet moisture of their mouths. Talilissa devoured her Vellithea's erotic, submissive lips just as she peeled the younger girl's dress down to her waist and then lower still so that it pooled in a luminous, black and silver pool around her sister's feet.

"What I crave most is your ocean of life," Vellithea sighed - she knew exactly what her sister wanted and needed, so that she did not need to be told when to tilt her head to allow Talilissa better access to suckle at her breasts, pre-empting the desires of one's superiors was an indispensable drow survival tactic -, "you know that I am honoured to drink all that you offer me."

"Yes," Talilissa hissed, tugging almost painfully at a stiff, swollen violet nipple, relishing in the warmth of Vellithea's already full, perfectly firm breasts, "so kneel and drink at my fount."

Obediently, Vellithea fell prostrate before Talilissa, easing her elder sister's ornate boots - specially enchanted to be soundless - off, and eagerly covering the impeccably delicate onyx foot beneath with lavish, adoring kisses. If there was anything that excited Talilissa, as was only proper for a drow female of status, it was subjection and Vellithea knew this. She did not dare attack Talilissa's dripping sex without the appropriate command, even if she could smell its enticing fragrance in the recesses of the spidersilk dress under which it was nestled, even if her heat-sensitive vision could detect the burning centre of her elder sister's desire. For now, she contented herself with the reassuring sensation of the lazy, scraping caresses of Talilissa's vermilion painted toenails against her flawless ebony skin. Talilissa took her time to trace the perfect curve of her sister's breasts with her toe, smiling conspiratorially to herself as Vellithea desperately tried to catch the curious digit in her mouth.

Standing imperiously in front of Vellithea, Talilissa teased a little more, noting with pleasure her sister's abject submission. When she knew that the time for patience was over, the priestess shed her own garment in one effortless gesture, much to Vellithea's welling delight. The younger initiate moved to rise to her knees, only to be rebuked a sharp slap from Talilissa, "I do not recall saying you could rise. On your belly, girl." Vellithea whimpered and obeyed, eyes fixed firmly on the cool, black stone floor of the shrine. Talilissa's coyness was torture: she felt so close yet so far from those soft, velvety violet folds, arranged with all the perfection of a poisonous bloom, so rich and so moist, dripping in sweet juice with which Vellithea could not wait to bathe her tongue and lips. With the typical passionate dedication of the dark elves, she had spent hours and hours on end, her face buried in the sodden furrow of Talilissa's sex or in the musky, fragrant crevasse of her bottom - though she knew it was weakness to admit it, Vellithea knew of no joy greater in the world than bringing her stern, talented sister to a deep, muscle wrenching orgasm.

"When your services are required, I shall let you know." Talilissa snapped haughtily. In truth, she needed Vellithea badly. So she squatted, knees wide apart, in front of her sister's prone form, the gesture deliberately wanton, almost obscene, so that her sex was split open like a plucked flower decaying in its vase, youthful, elastic sex lips so sodden that elegant droplets of bittersweet nectar had accumulated and began running in tiny rivulets down the intricate folds that Vellithea knew so well. Seizing Vellithea roughly by her silky, white mane, Talilissa thrust the prone girl's face against the spread feast of her sex. She need not have used so much force, for her obedient younger sister lunged forward with almost undignified abandon.

"You see, my sister, now Lloth can see the finest of her creations." Talilissa cooed, running a dextrous hand down the smooth, perfectly rounded hillock of her own breasts, searching for her stiff, impudent nipples to caress in rhythm with the expert lapping of her sister's tongue in the fragrant, moist valley between her thighs. Vellithea did not even volunteer a reply, all her universe was focused on the hot, dripping folds of soft, silky flesh in front of her. She did not let a single drop fall to the stony ground, for her tongue lapped with eager, diligent passion. She knew better than to force Talilissa prematurely to her peak, so she bided her time, lavishing long, sultry licks on her elder sister's innermost nether lips, yet never straying too close to stiff little bud of her clitoris which, having long slipped its tiny hood, stood as the only point of hard relief in a sea of soft wetness.

Vellithea's need was agonising too, but it was a younger sister's lot to wait. Thus she contented herself with the pleasing thrill of her stiff nipples running against the textured stone floor with each bobbing motion of her head, choosing to focus all her attention on bringing her sister to fulfilment. Talilissa had no complaints as she sat in that most obscenely erotic position, a nipple pinched firmly between two searching fingers, her eyes slitted in passion, her breath quickened by her wild heartbeat and soft, encouraging moans. Vellithea's expertise against her elder sister's perfectly hairless, exotically fragrant sex was, after all, faultless and even more so as the initiate finally decided to move in for the kill. Daring to raise a hand to hold Talilissa's nether lips even further apart, Vellithea began planting quick, stiff licks against her sister's clitoris, taking secret pleasure in the vulnerable gasps this elicited.

Ever so gently, Vellithea finally plucked up the courage to slide a single, agile finger into the sodden, bitter-sweet cove of her sister's sex. Her familiarity with the sensual map of Talilissa's body was such that it took her a few moments to plant the pad of her finger against her elder sister's most sensitive spot deep in the roiling nexus of her sex. Talilissa bit her lip - her arousal had been great even before entering the shrine of Lloth, but the prolonged, spasmodic climax that struck her was nothing she could have expected. Sensing her sister's orgasm, Vellithea teasingly scraped Talilissa's clitoris with the very tips of her teeth and readied herself for the savage, bucking motions of perfectly curved ebony hips.

Vellithea made a point of keeping her finger deep inside her sister's sex throughout the extended spasms of her climax, just to feel her arrogant, powerful mentor's body surrender to such a basic, primal need. It was a twofold reassurance to Vellithea: it proved both her sister's devotion and the fact that she was a flesh-and-blood drow, like any other. Talilissa's climax was so sharp it was almost painful, even as her sister dutifully lapped up the copious juice that still betrayed her arousal. In the priestess' mind, however, it was high time that Vellithea learned a little restraint, "Insolent girl!" She snarled, roughly tugging Vellithea up by her hair and planting a searing kiss on those beautifully full, nectar moist lips, "How dare you enter me without my assent? Embrace our Goddess and present." Talilissa ordered. Lovemaking amongst the dark elves was always half game and half danger.

Vellithea nodded submissively and complied. She wrapped her arms around the statue of Lloth, clasping the firm, unyieldingly cold stone and raising the perfectly taut, feminine globes of her bottom enticingly to her sister. Few dwellers of the surface, whose experience in the pleasures of the flesh had never extended to the drow, could ever imagine such harmonious curves on an elf; a femininity that was never overly soft and certainly not vulgar in its abundance, but sculptural, elegant, like the abdomen of a Darkweaver hunting spider. Vellithea, Talilissa was forced to admit, was a particularly excellent drow specimen. She was also sodden, her onyx-black, firm inner thighs streaked with the translucent bittersweet trails of the nectar of her arousal. In spite of her better judgement, Talilissa fell to her knees behind her sister. They would worship the Goddess together.

"You wanton girl, learn to control your excitement." Talilissa snapped, secretly pleased to see her sister dripping in the most unceremonious fashion, "Spread!"

Mewling lasciviously in exactly the tone she knew would get Talilissa's sex flowing in no time, Vellithea leaned forwards against the statue and spread her thighs as far as they would go. Her violet nether lips hung open and spread, their nectar glimmering in the muted faerie fire light of the shrine. The tight, budding violet of her anus seemed to beg for attention, nestled as it was in the perfectly smooth crease of perfect, onyx globes. Talilissa knew her sister to be a shameless little harlot for power, there was scarcely a priestess in the Great Temple which had not had the opportunity to sample the delights of her tongue - or, as the less refined initiates in Talilissa's seminary classes would have put it, Vellithea was the type that "would lick a surface elf's pussy if it got her a promotion" - drow jokes did not get much cruder than that.

Nevertheless, there was no arguing over the fact that Vellithea was enticing. That was reason enough to punish her. So Talilissa let loose two swift, sharp flicks of her cane on the deliciously firm upturned bottom before her. Vellithea's whimpering moan of pain and pleasure increased the pounding in Talilissa's chest threefold. It was only natural that she would strike out more, for the sound was absorbing, the motions of her younger sister's hips, breasts and bottom under the repeated assault of the cruel cane hypnotic. Not to be outdone by her elder sister's show of strength, Vellithea decided to draw Talilissa further down the spiral of desire. The younger hugged the statue of Lloth closer, running her tongue over the full globes of the idol's breasts up to the hollow of its vividly sculpted neck.

"Watch me worship our Goddess, Yilaria," Vellithea sighed as she settled to suckle upon a perfectly carved stone nipple, the sublime fusion of pain and pleasure from her sister's cane spurred her depravity onwards as flecks of thick, fertile nectar spattered in tiny droplets on the stone floor of the shrine, propelled by the savage impacts of the cane, "perhaps one day She will send me a Handmaiden, a yochol, so that I may show her my devotion." Slender welts, bruising a deep indigo on the submissive drow's flawless obsidian skin began to form with each unrelenting impact of Talilissa's cane: discipline no longer had anything to do with it; this was desire.

"Harlot!" Talilissa spat, casting aside her cane and falling to her knees behind her sister, "There is no priestess of the Great Temple nor Daughter of this House who has not had you. Even Odeylle, our youngest sister, confesses to having granted you her favours."

"It was her first cycle, it was time." Vellithea protested - in vain, because Talilissa's merciless tongue was already lavishing all its lustful curiosity on her eagerly spread, thickly juicing nether lips. With such bounteous, fragrant beauty nestled between perfectly formed violet petals, it was only natural for Vellithea to use her appeal to secure advancement. Deep in recesses she herself refused to contemplate, the thought of losing Vellithea's favours pained Talilissa. If her seminary studies at the Great Temple had taught her anything, however, it was that Ille-Athalath was no place for sentimentality.

Thus, Talilissa would dedicate herself to the carnal worship of her sister's magnificent form under the watchful eyes of the Spider Queen. Her tongue worked incessantly on the folds of Vellithea's sodden sex, before trailing upwards to caress the puckered violet bud of the younger initiate's bottom. Vellithea clasped the statue tighter and moaned, a dull, tingling sensation of satisfaction flowing from her tightly clasped nether portal deep into her sex. Talilissa's mouth worked tirelessly, her lips planting hungry, biting kisses on the soft, firm flesh of the onyx globes of her sister's bottom, before periodically turning its attention towards coaxing the little, puckered violet bud into full bloom. Vellithea did her best to relax, even as her lambent desire mounted deep inside her impatient loins. The itching pulsation spread further, filling her sex and bottom with almost indescribable anticipation.

Talilissa's loving, insistent licks were finally rewarded by a progressive loosening of Vellithea's nether portal, so that when the priestess tasted the familiar, almond muskiness as her tongue finally entered the tightly clasped flower, she knew it was time, "Turn around, knees against your breasts." Talilissa ordered coldly as Vellithea scrambled to comply. She lay down on the cool stone floor, her hair spread like a white, silky mantle against the feet of the statue of Lloth. The younger initiate raised her flawless legs, so statuesque they could have been carved out of living onyx, and rocked backwards, so that her knees were planted with almost agonising pressure against her stiff nipples.

"Hands around your ankles, if I see them move from there, I swear on the Goddess's Demonweb that you will not be able to sit for a dozen days." Talilissa said, a cruel smile spreading across her lips. Muttering a brief incantation, the drow priestess leaned forward and pressed her hand against the intricately carved, open sex of the statue of Lloth. Her invocation caused the sculpted nether lips to secrete a rich, dense, translucent substance, like a spicy, fragrant oil, "This," Talilissa said reverently, "is the favour our Goddess shows to our coupling. We shall honour it."

Vellithea nodded, almost delirious with desire. She held herself open and vulnerable in a most humiliating position, her hands locked around her ankles, her sex and bottom high in the air and open for Talilissa's pleasure. Just the sensation of the living warmth of her love nectar trickling forth in tiny droplets against the sensitive, loosened bud of her anus was enough to elicit a low moan. Still, Vellithea held herself open in hungry anticipation, licking her lips as she utterly surrendered herself to her sister's expert hand.

Talilissa settled between Vellithea's spread thighs. Leaning forward, she began to run her left hand gently against the gaping, wantonly presented violet sex before her, while her lubricated hand, fragrant with the blessings of the Goddess, began to tease the tiny pucker of Vellithea's bottom. Talilissa's rhythmic stroking of her younger sister's sex became almost hypnotic, a massage more than an overt stimulation - relaxing to the extent that Vellithea did not even notice the older priestess' index finger sink to the last knuckle into the moist, yielding recesses of her bottom.

"Goddess, you are hungry for it." Talilissa cooed, the tight, moist sucking sensation of her sister's budding violet was deliriously exciting. So she added two more fingers, each carefully spearing through the faint resistance of Vellithea's anal ring, before gently opening up the highly sensitive soft inner flesh therein. The younger initiate moaned, bucking her hips forward, as if begging for more. Vellithea's throat was dry with desire, her eyes cast upwards to contemplate the intricately inlaid domed ceiling of the shrine, her entire being focused on the increasingly arousing massage of Talilissa's fingers on her sopping sex and on the fourth finger that just breached the feeble defences of her obscenely spread bottom. A dull pain had begun to set in, but it was offset by a pleasure of such intensity that Vellithea was willing to set all discomfort aside.

Or so she thought, because Talilissa's sensual cruelty could surprise even the drow. Vellithea gasped in agonised surprised as she felt her sister suddenly flare the fingers now nestled deep in her bottom, stretching her horrendously. The fluid Talilissa had summoned forth had the effect of greatly magnifying all sensations, including pain and, much to her shame, Vellithea could not prevent a couple of stray tears from falling down her elegantly sculpted cheeks.

"Look at you," Talilissa taunted, twisting her fingers savagely inside the moist, sucking flesh of her sister's bottom, "you are but a child. The women of this House certainly do not weep." Vellithea could only whimper in reply. Her blood had become like slow moving lava, burdened with the unfulfilled heat of frustrated desire.

"Allow me to teach you discipline." Talilissa said, her cruel smile now spread fully across her lush, violet lips. The drow priestess finally began working her thumb into her sister's stretched, overstuffed bottom. Her movements were slow, methodical, careful not to damage so much as extract every single second of pain and pleasure from the experience. They were certainly in no hurry. But when the final knuckle popped in the faltering barrier of Vellithea's now fully flowering, and deflowered, violet bud, all the junior priestess could do was draw a ragged moan of resignation as the rest of her sister's hand thrust in – one agonising inch at the time - only to be stopped at the wrist by a vigorous, desperate clamping of her anus.

Vellithea knew that her climax was but moments away, she could feel it in the sublime sensation of Talilissa's fingers pressing against that vulnerable flesh deep within her sex through the flimsy membrane that separated it from her abundantly filled bottom. For her part, Talilissa revelled in the soft, welcoming moisture and heat of her sister's bowels and took more pleasure still from the anguished look of sheer ecstatic agony that had spread across Vellithea's face.

"Good, my sister, you have earned your reward, you may be at ease now." Talilissa invited with uncharacteristic generosity and Vellithea was all too happy to release her ankles and wrap her legs around her sister's back. A few final harsh thrusts from both of Talilissa's hands sent Vellithea spiralling into an agonising climax - both her sex and bottom clamped down savagely, but to no avail, for the older priestess would not allow her intruding hand to be ejected. Even in the throes of toe-curling, gut wrenching pleasure which echoed in high, barking gasps throughout the shrine, Vellithea felt the agony of her defeated, contracting bottom around Talilissa's wrist and the continued teasing of her sister's skilful fingers deep inside the tight, slick, overstuffed passage.

"A final lesson, sister," Talilissa said wickedly, "never leap to conclusions about the good will of others." Too late did Vellithea realised that her older sister had released a tiny, magical dart of force deep into her spasming sex. The tiny, shimmering projectile forced its way through the saturated inner folds before crashing savagely against the inner walls of the younger drow's contracting canal. Much to Talilissa's amusement, Vellithea let out a low, keening wail of release at a second, less vital climax, before realising - mortified beyond belief - that the series of muscular contractions generated by her sister's sorcery had caused her to empty her bladder in long, clear squirts. Vellithea could only bite her lower lip in shame as the fluid squirted copiously over Talilissa's breasts, belly and sex, whilst the last few spurts flowed down her own nether lips and inner thighs. It took a few moments for the salty trickle, which carried the faint scent of herbs, to subside.

Talilissa's torso, sex and thighs were soaked, "How remiss of you sister, but I am afraid that this is not going to clean itself up. I suggest that you personally take charge of this task..." She jerked her hand hard and fast out of her Vellithea's bottom, causing her sister gasp in mixed pain and relief.

Vellithea did not need further encouragement – it was all part of her sister's artistry to be able to humiliate her to such an arousing effect. Talilissa simply lay back against the familiar, stone floor and allowed her sister to quickly and thoroughly lick up the residue of their lovemaking combined with the oddly fragrant issue of Vellithea's bladder, "And when you finish," Talilissa continued, sighing softly as Vellithea obediently gathered up every savoury drop of her copious spill from her older sister's flat, taut belly before moving down to passionately service spread nether lips, now wetter than ever before, "perhaps I shall give you the honour of sampling the delights of my arachnid statuette."

Lloth, Talilissa reflected, must be having an excellent view: the beautiful Vellithea - who would be more beautiful still in a few Revolution's time - her perfect obsidian skin slick with sweat, her taut bottom spread to reveal her gaping, well-used violet bud still slick and dripping with divine lubricant, her sex lusciously moist and swollen, sodden with fragrant love nectar and something more shamefully exciting still...

"Mistresses!" The snivelling male voice broke Talilissa's reverie. Her fury was immediate.

"Worm of a male! If this intrusion is not justified, your heart will beat on the cold stone palm of our Goddess before your next breath." She snapped venomously.

"I beg your indulgence, Mistresses, but our enemies assail our House." The male blubbered. He was the effete, but relatively effective Keeper of the Chambers.

"What? Why did Uverrille not warn the Matron-Mother?" Talilissa's red eyes burned with indignant rage.

"She, our esteemed Second Daughter, was deceived, oh Mistresses." The Keeper of the Chambers wailed.

"Imbecile!" Talilissa snarled, her heartbeat rising. If the attack had already commenced and the priestesses of the House were not in position to command, deliberate and summon demonic allies, even a powerful House like Kheeleillae was in danger of falling, "Sister, clothe yourself, we go to the Observation Tower."

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

The situation was as desperate as Talilissa feared. Though her Matron-Mother and her sisters had sought to placate Lloth's disfavour with the sacrifice of Uverille, the remiss daughter, and her equally inept lover, the Spider Queen had given no signal in the condition of the sacrificed drow's liver, nor any divinatory clue in the thickness of her arterial blood or the consistency of her spleen. As was customary, the sacrifice was performed while the victims were still alive, bound in agony as their hearts were torn out of their breasts and their wombs sliced open in the hope that its inner walls would yield some clue. The sacrifice of two noble females was a ritual act of the foremost importance, but Lloth remained silent, seemingly satisfied with the imminent fate of House Kheeleillae. In desperation, the noble females of the House had returned to their posts, even as the outer ramparts were breached.

Talilissa had the luxury of observing all this from the Sanctum of Arcana with Vellithea, as ever, by her side. Talilissa's hands were still stained with the live blood of her sister, though the woman's sacrifice had brought no regret. The weak and the foolish paid with their lives. That had been the way of the glorious drow race for millennia. That, by extension, would be the fate of a House that had placed its trust in a weak head of intelligence and espionage. Talilissa had always suspected that the rather inane Uverille had owed her high rank to the accident of her birth and to her ability to pre-empt the Matron-Mother desires both in the throne chamber and the bed chamber.

Now, from the mighty Surveillance Sphere in the Sanctum, where the finest magical items in the possession of her House were stored, Talilissa was charged with issuing any last ditch summoning of demonic allies to ensure that the invaders paid for every inch of ground they seized in blood. In that moment, however, the priestess was more preoccupied with the vision of the ongoing battle the Surveillance Sphere provided. The House stronghold had been attacked simultaneously by three separate, allied forces of jealous Houses whose coalition Uverille had failed to detect before it was too late. Before Talilissa's appalled eyes, the elite halberd-wieldiing hyena-headed gnoll infantry of House Gussenein-Olleth hewed a bloody path through what remained of Kheeleillae's first-line drow household retainers. That force, consisting of specially-trained males had fought commendably, but their superior finesse with the blade was given no space for manoeuvre against the barbaric slave troops deployed against them. They fell by the moment; limbs hacked off, torsos split open like rotting vegetables, heads crushed to one side under a spray of brain and bone.

Vellithea was pacing nervously up and down the Sanctum. Those very motions had begun to irritate Talilissa. All was clearly lost. Grandeur, however, was never ever-lasting. Lloth's banishment from the bright and good lands of the goddesses and gods of the surface elves was ample proof of this. Now, the second, inner rampart fell and a detachment of grey-skinned kua-toa - whose likeness is that of a bipedal, predatory fish - mercenaries began to pound on the ornate main gate with mighty spiked war-hammers and adzes carved from steel-hard coral.

"How does your intuition counsel you, Yilaria?" Vellithea inquired tensely. She had been absentmindedly stroking a large, meticulously organised pile of magical scrolls and parchments.

"It counsels me better when you are not distracting me." Talilissa snapped. Vellithea tilted her head dejectedly to one side - her sister's reprimands had always hurt her more than those of her senior priestesses.

Talilissa's mind worked furiously - the six-armed serpent demons her Matron-Mother had summoned had managed to stave off a full frontal assault on the main stronghold complex for a while. They would not last long. Talilissa's carefully-attuned magical sense told her that the Third Daughter of her House - by far its most accomplished field commander - had already perished in the thick of the fighting and that her corpse had been despoiled by triumphant enemy forces and was being hoisted up, half charred and half flayed, on a blackened metal spike. Then it struck her - if all was lost, she would gate out to another dimension. What she would do from thence was undecided. In that precise instant - just as a wave of crossbow bolts mowed down what remained of Kheeleillae's bugbear slave regiment right in the central courtyard by the great fountain of the House's Founding Mother - all that mattered was survival.

"Vellithea, find the gate scroll. The one that has been scribed so as to be impervious to portal-sealing magic." Talilissa ordered, stripping her Phase Spider silk dress off and hastily donning a more functional piwafi protective cloak and tunic outfit.

"Certainly, Yilaria." Vellithea said, almost enthusiastically as she began leafing quickly and efficiently through the magical tomes stacked high by a rack of enchanted crossbows. Her sister's foresight knew no end. Whatever Talilissa had in mind, it was certainly better than ending her days on the front lines of combat. Wars between drow Houses ended only when one was utterly obliterated, when all its progeny was extirpated from existence and its stronghold consigned to a bottomless chasm of a sunless sea.

"Faster!" Talilissa ordered, her voice almost breaking under the tension. Time was undoubtedly of the essence.

"Here it is," Vellithea interjected excitedly as she tore out the requisite page from an otherwise unassuming tome - she imagined that the enchanted parchment had been stored in a low-profile volume to prepare for exactly a contingency such as the one she and her sister currently faced, "should I change too, Yilaria?"

"Idiot girl," Talilissa snarled, "the incantation will in all probability fail if it is made to carry two across the Weave."

"But..."

"Take your chances, surrender. You are pleasing and relatively inoffensive, surrender to the first priestess you see and throw yourself at her mercy." Talilissa said coldly. She seized the parchment from Vellithea's trembling hands. Its wording was arcane, but thankfully, there were no symbols which appeared too unfamiliar. Even if her pronunciation was to be approximative, she would be out of the jaws of certain death in the blink of an eye.

"Yilaria, have you ever heard of a priestess accepting the surrender of a fellow priestess of a defeated House?" Vellithea countered desperately. There was no point trying to wrest the parchment from Talilissa - her sister was stronger, more experienced and - most importantly - she actually knew how to activate the gate enchantment.

"What do you expect me to do? Either one lives or we both die." Talilissa replied matter-of-factly. The Surveillance Sphere brought more grim news, the kua-toa vanguard had powered its way into the main hall in front of the throne chamber. Talilissa estimated that there were perhaps two hundred ranged against fifty household guards. Had House Kheeleillae been given more time, they would have riddled the stronghold with traps and the first assault of enemy slaves and mercenaries would have been blunted. Now, however, the renowned marksmanship skills of Kheeleillae's males proved worthless in the cramped, indoor quarters as they were torn, literally limb from limb, by the blood-crazed fish-men.

"Would you leave me?" Vellithea finally breathed desperately, "Would you abandon your favourite, who has always been by your side - even when it would have been more advantageous for me to seek greater or more influential allies?"

"Between my favourite and my life, I choose my life." Talilissa retorted. She felt a sudden emotional jerk somewhere in the back of her mind, but decided to sideline it. Such raw emotion had no place in a crisis situation.

"Yil...Talilissa, sister..." Vellithea said softly, almost inaudibly and - for a moment - the din of battle from the Surveillance Sphere subsided. All Talilissa could feel was Vellithea's hand desperately clutching her own - that grip, that warmth was more than need, more than desperation...there was something else entirely there and Talilissa could not quite place.

So, like the good drow she had been brought up to be, Talilissa clutched the enchanted parchment tightly in both hands and read the words of power so that each individual symbol began to glow in a lambent, blue flame as it was pronounced. By the time the final symbol was pronounced a ring of shimmering blue energy had formed a tear in space and bridged the gap between dimensions. A magical gate yawned open; to look into it was to look into maddening infinity.

"If the Goddess smiles upon you, you shall live. You were never short of talent." Talilissa said, approaching the gate. The sounds of a desperate battle, filled with the dying gasps and wounded howls of the brutalised and dying filled the air, only to be distorted by the Weave-warping magic around the gate to sound more like moans from beyond the grave. Vellithea stood to one side, stunned into speechlessness. Fortunes were indeed made and lost in a day.

"I..." Vellithea began, rage, desire and regret mingling into a distinctly unstable emotional compound. Then she realised that there was nothing more to lose in an open declaration of devotion, "I shall die with the brooch you gave in my hand and your name on my lips. Any drow would be proud to have a sister such as you." With that Vellithea seized a wickedly curved silver shortsword from the weapons rack and resolved to fall fighting.

Talilissa could only nod in assent and step through the gate. It was her first great leap into the unknown, but the drow were natural gamblers: with every closed door came an open window. In that moment, she also realised that Vellithea had resolved to live and die as befitted a drow noblewoman of the finest birth. That was to be her sister's last, belated gesture of obedience - the final illustration that all of Talilissa's lessons about life and fate and Underdark had gone heeded.

What Talilissa could never forgive her sister for was the fact that Vellithea, in a moment of weakness, had made a request which had laid bare yet another deep and meticulously concealed weakness. This weakness was the unstable shape of need and desire in Talilissa's mind as well as her heart and soul - the truly, maddeningly unforgivable thing was that Vellithea's pleading had actually generated something utterly new, dangerous and unexpected in her sister's mind. For a brief instant, perhaps the briefest of measurable moments or perhaps an interval of time briefer still, Talilissa had wanted to take Vellithea into her arms and dive through the gate together.

Author's Note: Talilissa's story continues in the Sigil series (that commences with the Preludes) by the same author and also stored in this Archive.

Tales from the Radiant Path

This is a day in the life of a group of last year novices of the Order of the Radiant Path. On many Prime Material worlds, since time immemorial, the Vigilant Maiden and her chivalrous order, the Maidens who follow the Huntress and Path, have given their bodies and souls to the defence of the innocent, the vulnerable and the punishment of the violent and the wicked. At least in theory; as a mere novice, dreams of shimmering plate mail and divine swords are as distant as book-bound epic – what counts is passing doctrinal exams, surviving training and finding one's way through an ever more complex tangle of relationships. So here we have it, a cross-section of the lives of four eager novices bound for knightly service to the greater glory of the Vigilant Maiden in the wheel-shaped cosmopolitan city of Sigil.

- The Archivist, your narrator

...of the self-professed Maidens who follow the Path of the Vigilant Maiden - otherwise known as Artemis or Diana or, as maintained by the Elder Wyrm Raulothoim (1444 D.R.., Faerunian Calendar) also as Sehanine - it is said that they revile males and think of the womb as the First Principle - thus Prime Regent - of Creation. Aside from what I shall presume to be the spurious nature of this assumption - for beings not in biological possession of wombs ruled vast empires before the memory of the mammalian races began...it is notable that their renowned paladins are a fine and redoubtable militant order. These women, selected from adolescence through a series of calibrated interviews (q.v.) are compelled to profess chastity and abstain from all carnal congress with males of any species...the psycho-emotive vacuum is filled through the institutionalised tutelage of erotic relations between novices and - at a broader stretch - other females...instrumental in the construction of an esprit de corps not dissimilar to that of certain military units in the Vaadanoi city-states wherein the spear-bearing man is assisted by a shield-bearing boy, who is also the object of the former's erotic attentions...

- S.P. von Dassau in "The Sigil Review of Social Sciences, 412th Anniversary Edition"; entry under "Radiant Path, Order"

“So here it is,” blood-haired Vice-Commander Isobel barked, “twelve of our finest Temple novices who will soon be Consecrated to serve the Maiden. This is the assessment of your instructors, but an assessment of superficial value. You must all be forged through the crucible of combat and shed real blood, sweat and tears before you show yourselves worthy of serving Her. I say this with special reference to you, Friyya.” Tall, intimidating and possessed with a most striking appearance - a sort attractive, Amazonian belligerence, Isobel tolerated no weakness or indecision in the novices which would soon form the new vanguard of the Order of the Radiant Path.

Friyya shuddered at hearing her name called out. Whenever Isobel pronounced it, punishment or humiliation – often both – usually followed. Not that Friyya was in any way talentless, she was, most strikingly, a young woman of shimmering beauty: an almost impossibly pretty face, not so much girlish as it was angelic like the Maiden's own divine entourage, was framed by rich locks of auburn hair - blonde like a cider apple in late autumn - and complemented by intense, turquoise blue eyes which spoke of an inner fragility. Isobel's problem with Friyya was universal - the unfortunate novice was too overtly feminine, her skin flawlessly pale like a new pearl, her limbs sensuously languid, her body slender and comparatively fragile. It was evident that Friyya's real talents lay in the classroom, where she shone in doctrinal studies - an asset which had guaranteed her candidacy for full paladinhood despite the Vice-Commander's reservations.

By Friyya's side stood her sworn sister and lover, Syf, whose sheer presence drew an approving glance even from the severe Isobel. Syf towered above the other novices and was taller than many men; her physique was lean and athletic, her limbs long and powerfully elegant, just as her femininity was one of power and command, like the manifestation of a stern warrior Goddess. Small, but high, noble breasts and firm, flawless thighs and bottom underscored the severity of Syf's coldly beautiful features: the steel blue of her piercing eyes, the unyielding coal-blackness of her hair - carefully cropped halfway to the shoulder - and the aristocratic elegance of her cheekbones. None matched Syf in the fencing court with the blade, for her skill and avid dedication to the arts of bladecraft put many a fully-fledged paladin in the shade. It was as if she had been issued from her mother's womb with a longsword already in hand.

The accolade of finest swordswoman was one that Syf disputed with Marséna, who stood irreverently beside her adored friend, sister and rival. If Syf's fencing style was one of discipline, order and power, Marséna's technique, as befitted the sun-kissed, salt-sprayed climes of her native Mareterra, was based on intuition, innovation and unpredictability. She was certainly no less of an impressive presence, for unlike the snowy white clarity of Syf and Friyya, whose ancestors hailed from cold, misty Ortho, Marséna boasted an exquisite olive tan which complemented her most fortunate combination of svelte musculature and sultry, sculptural curves. Her breasts and bottom mirrored the timeless, divinely proportioned roundness of caryatids shaped like Muses or Goddesses one would find in a ruined temple by a rocky seashore amidst low-growing shrubland. So too her face bore the imprint of seductive, effortless mystery, as did the deep brown wells of her soulful eyes. With her raven-wing black hair, Marséna resembled the Mediterranean girl-seers whose utterances iron-mailed legionaries carried with them to war.

Some had judged Marséna too intemperate - like her home-world's burning, indomitable sun - to take on a lover, but Virginia, whose soul was perhaps the fairest of the congregated novices - and the most confused, had risen to the challenge. At the very cusp of full womanhood, her features, though charming and very attractive, already seemed to have taken on a reassuring wisdom that belied her years. Deep, emerald green eyes, soft, gentle lips always ready for a playful smile, and short, but tastefully cut blonde hair, crisp like a field ready for harvest, often gave casual viewers the impression that they were beholding a truly prototypical knight in training, a young Valkyrie perhaps, on a quest for her Goddess. Though shorter than Syf, Virginia's body had all the guarded, athletic beauty one would expect from a true daughter of Ortho, so that she was lithe without being frail; energetic and dynamic without being ungainly - for Virginia always carried herself with the utmost, unpretentious grace.

So they were ranged in the great, oval open-air fencing yard of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden - four who with the passage of years had become one. Not even the petty, acrimonious disputes that flared up between the vain Friyya and the temperamental Marséna could interrupt the gentle rhythm of time which had welded the four together into a single unit. But that was the way of the Radiant Path: four, chosen by lot, were placed in a single small, cramped room with two bunk beds and compelled to make the best of their situation. In time - five years in the reckoning of many Prime Material worlds - they had grown together compact and solid, finally ready to serve the Maiden. If epics were to be written on these four would-be heroines, then that which has come so far would be their pompous beginning.

In reality, the morning was heavy, cold and damp, as was so often the case in Sigil. Marséna would have slept for another five tolls from the Bell Tower had Syf not physically dragged her out from under the sheets. What Virginia could not accomplish with honeyed tones and murmured promises, Syf had concluded with a pragmatic challenge: if Marséna could wrestle her to the ground, she could stay in bed - otherwise, she would get up immediately and make herself presentable. Fencing was one thing and a direct physical confrontation was another; despite Marséna's valiant struggles on the cold, hard floorboards of the tiny dormitory chamber the four shared, Syf's advantage in height and power had won the day and saved them all from Isobel's infamous collective punishments.

As much as Virginia adored Marséna, allowing her lover a few more hours of sleep was certainly not worth ten days of sanitation duty. It was, put simply, one of those days when the desire to do nothing greatly exceeded any dutiful impulse. Although she wished to cement her reputation as a dependable type, in truth, Virginia would have happily whiled away the rest of the day with Marséna, exchanging nothing more than soft cuddles and sweet nothings until they both grew bored and decided to get up and eat or sink under the covers and make love. So it was to everyone's evident chagrin that they found themselves, in the earliest Sigil morning when the blue-black darkness of night gave way to violent hues of indigo and rose in a progressively more luminescent sunless sky, before the powerful, armoured form of Isobel who was feared, loathed and admired by the novices in equal measure.

Isobel's fierce countenance - she never wore the standard issue tunics, but insisted on striding around in full armour - hid a concerned, almost maternal interest in the well being of her students. Of all people, the Vice-Commander knew the sacrifices that the Radiant Path entailed so if her approach was to be loving, which - as far as she was concerned - was to be tough love.

"Now listen carefully," Isobel barked to the tired, slightly intimidated rank of last year novices, "the Path that you will soon embark on will see your sword, or lance or arrows run red with the blood of many an evildoer. Sometimes you will suffer, make mistakes, grow disillusioned with yourself or your sisters in arms. These are normal, human reactions...but, let me tell you now, something more than human will be expected of you. We must exceed our mortality to bring aid to those who have no strength to stand alone. Understood?"

"Yes, Reverend Sister." the cohort of novices rang out in unison.

"That's the official part, now allow me the Isobel part. In order for this to happen, you will have to fight, kill and be prepared to die. If anyone is squeamish about such things, I invite her to disappear now and cease wasting my time. You will have to be stronger and more determined than any man. Yes, we of the Radiant Path eternally foreswear motherhood so that we may defend life - let no man tell you that this his work. Man's record in the protection of the vulnerable, the weak and the innocent is..." Isobel chortled with perverse glee, "dubious at best. You will never be mothers to your own children, but you will forever be the divinely appointed mothers of those who turn to the Radiant Path for aid and comfort."

Marséna shifted impatiently - her interest was only piqued when there was a sword to wield, or wine to drink, or fair women to admire - so that doctrinal lectures held little interest for her. As far as she was concerned, her blade would cleave through any and all evildoers and that, in her estimation, should have been the sum total of Isobel's lectures. Not so Friyya, whose more pensive disposition normally drew her to the intricacies of doctrinal and philosophical debate, though this was an activity she preferred to conduct in the relative safety of the classroom where, at most, an error could lead to a rebuke and not the sharp, agonising strike of Isobel's braided leather cane.

Indeed, it was not long before the Vice-Commander's notoriously sanguine disposition once again came to the fore: "These will be the final few lessons before you are evaluated on your weapons skills, so allow me to be perfectly clear. The dagger you carry by your side is a last resort: if you are fortunate it will save you, if you are unfortunate it must end you. Perhaps it was not made clear to you in the past, so I will say it again: should you ever be taken prisoner by any number of our enemies, I guarantee you...no I swear to you that the last, agonising moments of your existence will not be pleasant as your hated foes take their pleasure from your flesh again, again and again...those whom we are sworn to fight are scum, even for males, they deserve no quarter and will give none - so be sure to meet the Maiden with at least your honour intact."

Although Virginia found Isobel's commentary crude, she realised its necessity. Whilst Virginia abhorred violence, she would not hesitate to deploy her formidable skills with the lance and longsword in the fulfilment of her divine mission - all life was sacred, but the victim always took priority over the aggressor. If anyone agreed fully with Isobel's righteous indignation, it was Syf whose demeanour, though more reserved, had all of the Vice-Commander's crusading zeal. Most expected that Syf, in time, would take Isobel's place as the field commander of the Order's paladins.

"Now the lecture ends," Isobel said sternly, "but I have decided that this will be a special practice session - to any who will accept this wager. Two of you against me with practice blades. If either novice lands a clean hit before the final grain in the hourglass falls, you will all be dismissed and may enjoy free time for the rest of the day. Should you fail, this session will be prolonged until darkfall." Isobel knew that only the most supremely confident novice would take the spot - year after year, this particular challenge had the unique quality of discerning the finest, and most foolhardy, warriors.

Predictably, it was Syf who spoke first,"If there are no objections, I will be the first to volunteer, Reverend Sister, there is much I still need to learn from you." Sparring with Isobel was never pleasant - for her blows were precise, powerful and vicious, but at least with a partner, Syf knew she stood a slim chance of succeeding.

Unwilling to be outdone, Marséna knew she could do nothing but follow Syf's example, "Then you'll need me by your side., you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself, now would you, my dear Syf?" The olive-skinned Mareterran followed Syf's lead in stepping forth from the row of expectant novices. Her gait was more casual than Syf's military precision and her lithely muscular limbs moved with almost sensual grace.

"As I expected," Isobel said, a wry, cruel smile spreading across her lips, "so draw your weapons and be prepared to defend yourselves on my command. Take note, Friyya, how unbecoming it is for Marséna to take your place at Syf's side." Friyya blushed furiously, biting down so hard on her ruby-red lips that she tasted the salty, metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Isobel ignored the novice's show of distress and bade Virginia to fetch the hourglass from the armoury and, on her command, allow the sands to flow.

The wait was tense. Syf and Marséna unsheathed their dulled practice longswords which, though lacking a cutting edge, were blades of hard-wrought metal which were more than capable of producing long, livid bruises and cracking bones. Thus they stood before Isobel, clad in the plain, simple white fencing tunics accorded to novices which were cut off at the elbow and the knee.

"So that the fight is fair, I will not make use of my favoured zweihänder greatsword, but take a longsword to match your own and...," quite dramatically, the blood-haired Vice-Commander stripped off her heavy, immaculately polished breastplate, emblazoned with the stylised starburst of the Radiant Path, before casting it aside. Dust and sand dispersed into the light breeze as the heavy metal struck the ground with a dull clanging sound. Beneath, Isobel wore only an almost transparent white undershirt, proving to a relieved Friyya that Isobel was indeed a woman and not some vengeful Valkyrie or Fury sent to punish unwitting novices.

"I-Impressive...uhm, physique, Reverend Sister." Marséna ventured, trying to be amiable and defuse the tension. In truth, Isobel had great presence, her pale skin taut over powerful yet lithe muscles which appeared to be in a permanent state of preparedness, like a serpent ready to strike or a hunting cat ready to pounce.

"Silence!" Isobel roared, pointing her mock-longsword at Marséna's throat, "Or your admittedly impressive bottom will enjoy an extended night of pleasure under my cane."

Even as Marséna nodded a nervous apology, Isobel smiled inwardly. She liked Marséna for her intuition and breathtakingly imaginative fencing skills, but the little slattern needed to learn discipline and proper form. Nevertheless, there was at least a part of Isobel which would have preferred an encounter with both Syf and Marséna in the bedchamber rather than the fencing yard. Proud novices though they were, the Vice-Commander was certain she could break them both in either location.

Virginia's return interrupted Isobel's mental digression, "Reverend Sister, your hourglass, as required." the blonde novice announced, a finely carved crystal hourglass in hand.

"On my command, set it on the ground for all to see." Isobel commanded, her amused smile now almost a sneer as Marséna and Syf evaluated their options. The air grew heavy with the combined anticipation of the other novices - a full day off from physical training, lessons and chores was a boon indeed, if only a single hit could penetrate Isobel's sublime defence.

"Ready your guard!" Isobel ordered. Syf struck her typical, technically flawless defensive pose; sword clasped in both hands and held high, at an angle, one leg behind the other so as to reduce the size of her target. Marséna's approach was more improvised, though evident enough for the Mareterran girl: Isobel would doubtless commence with a sweeping attack, taking advantage of her superior physical strength and technique, which meant that Marséna's centre of gravity should remain low, to ensure she was not knocked off her feet. That and a low position would give her more room to spring, scramble and manoeuvre with low cuts aimed at Isobel's legs. As a child, Marséna had grown quite proficient in the Mareterran martial art of Sapatena by surreptitiously watching the civic guards practice ever more intricate high kicks against a stuffed goatskin. It was only fitting that she take advantage of the superior quality of her legwork.

Silence shrouded the ten anxious novices left watching as Syf and Marséna sought to gauge the type and direction of Isobel's opening gambit. Both had mentally projected themselves into a vast, empty arena under an unblinking sun, so that they were oblivious to everything but themselves and their severe instructor.

"Now!" Isoble barked and Virginia quickly turned the hourglass and set it down. None of the novices paid it any attention; Friyya was riveted on the graceful, technically perfect movements of her beloved just as Virginia quickly looked up to catch the first glimpse of Marséna's long, luxuriant, coal black hair swaying with her first motions.

Isobel's first strike was typically powerful - and lightning fast. Her blade whistled through the air with a piercing screech and struck Marséna's guard so hard the Mareterran felt the metal dent beneath the blow - her low stance did little to absorb the sheer power of the impact, and she was cast down to one knee. Fortunately, Syf was quick to intervene by parrying Isobel's punitive overhead blow.

"Up!" Syf ordered desperately. Without Marséna, she stood little chance of countering Isobel alone for more than few blows.

Scrambling to her feet, Marséna obeyed and once again opened up a second front at Isobel's side, counter-attacking with eager determination rather than skill. Isobel parried the Mareterran's predictable attacks effortlessly, before bringing the flat of her blade to bear - hard and inhumanly stinging - on Marséna's bottom.

"Impressive indeed," Isobel commented wryly, "learn to hold you guard better, girl."

Syf's series of sweeping, cutting strokes were easily cast aside by Isobel's masterful swordsmanship - it was as if the novice's every movement had registered, in its entirety, in Isobel's mind before it even happened. Thus, when Isobel prepared her counter-strike, Syf's own feeble defences were overwhelmed by their very predictability. Sparks flew in red and yellow tracers from cold steel as Isobel's blade snaked ever further into Syf's guard. A spirited attempt by a humiliated Marséna to intervene was met with an impenetrable wall of perfectly placed parries.

Virginia watched from the sidelines, almost mesmerised. Both of the challenging novices fought with magnificent skill, determination and grace. But Isobel was something else entirely - her mind and body had been tempered by years fighting the legions of evil. She was certainly in no mood to be undone by two upstarts. The fierce Vice-Commander's blade sang its devastating song through air and against metal, sending the two novice scrambling into defensive positions just in time to barely hold off the next flurry of blows. For her part, Marséna was convinced that Isobel was taking unhealthy enjoyment from dominating them so utterly on the fencing court - the blood-haired woman's dark pink nipples appeared stiff and turgid under the flimsy undershirt, causing the Mareterran girl to wonder whether or not it would ever be a good idea for anyone to spend a night at Isobel's tender mercies.

As moments passed, inching at an agonising pace, it became clear by the time the hourglass had been left a little more than a quarter full that Marséna and Syf - bruised, demoralised and almost beaten - were as far as ever from landing a clear shot on Isobel. With time running out, Syf played an uncharacteristically daring gambit, knowing that it would probably be her last. She allowed Isobel some space by temporarily lowering her guard, as if preparing a powerful, sweeping strike - in truth, the plan was to allow Isobel's blow to land, grit her teeth and wind around in a half-circular low cut to hit the Vice-Commnader's knee.

Syf's decoy was, predictably, unmasked moments after its inception and Isobel's blow was typically savage. Much to her shame, Syf dropped her weapon under the searing agony of the cold, blunt metal blade crashing down on her wrist. Marséna rushed to her friend's aid, only to be caught offguard by a deep, powerful slash from Isobel's longsword that sailed through the air like a shrill siren, striking the novice's weapon so hard that the metal bent under the impact. The dull ring told Marséna that her fight was as good as over.

But it would not be over for Syf yet, and Marséna knew this. From the corner of her eye, the Mareterran girl saw the burning, steel-blue determination in her comrade's eye and knew, by instinct, how to act - so she drew Isobel round, so the Vice-Commander's guard rotated by a few degrees to deflect a series of desperate, clumsy slashes. That space was all Syf needed to gamble on taking up her sword in her off hand and lunging out at Isobel's abdomen. As if by miracle, the silvery blade snapped by a hair's breadth through Isobel's intuitive counter-blow.

Thus they stood, Syf crouching and panting, her lungs stinging and on fire, but her sword planted less than an inch from Isobel's abdomen just as the Vice-Commander's weapon had been held at a similar distance from the novice's throat. Marséna's wrist was almost numb, her vision blurred from the exertion. Nothing but silence floating in the still air of the fencing court. Virginia had her gaze riveted on the bout, so much so that she had long ago lost count of the tiny grains of sand which only then finished their painstaking transit into the bottom bell of the hourglass.

"So it is." Isobel bellowed, finally dispersing the silence, "Excellent work. But make no mistake, had this been a real encounter, you would have been dead sooner than me." She was clearly excited, pleased in the progress of her two favourite students. Perhaps, one day when they were full paladins, she would allow them to try again - this time without the metaphorical hand tied behind her back.

"Th-thank you Reverend Sister." Syf said between ragged gasps. A droplet of hot sweat trailed down her eye, clouding her vision.

"Have yourselves medicated and then you may proceed to the Baths, the rest of you are dismissed." Isobel ordered, granting Syf and Marséna an almost imperceptible congratulatory nod. That was the closest Isobel came to heartfelt praise. Moreover, she had been indulgent - she normally prohibited novices from seeking magical healing until after the practice session. Priestly magic could not be guaranteed immediately on the battlefield, so the novices were normally forced to learn how to bear the pain of their injuries.

"Many thanks, Reverend Sister." Marséna said softly, almost incredulously. Only in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she and Syf could pull of such an upset in front of the other novices. That coup would make the heroines for at least the next few days.

"What are you waiting for?" Isobel barked - for the novices had remained firmly rooted in stunned disbelief at the mighty Isobel's defeat, "Disappear!"

The withdrawal was immediate as the novices fled down back into the main temple building, eager to spend the free day as they saw fit. Virginia and Friyya remained to dutifully grant their conquering heroines the honours of victory. Virginia embraced Marséna fiercely, burying her face between her lover's majestic, sculptural breasts, breathing in the familiar scent and listening closely to the comforting rhythm of the Mareterran's heartbeat. The sweat and dust that soiled Marséna's tunic were of no importance, "This...this is why I love you." Virginia breathed softly, hoping that she did not sound too contrived.

"Well, Virg, I hope you never doubted me." Marséna replied wryly, drawing Virginia in closer.

"Not for a moment." the blonde novice shot back, "Now you better take a bath, because tonight...we celebrate."

"I live to obey, mistress." Marséna replied ironically, "Have we forgotten something?"

"In front of Isobel..."

"C'mon, it'll make her jealous. I've seen her admiring my ass with that hungry look of hers." Marséna did not wait for Virginia to respond, but drew her lover in for a deep, passionate kiss. There was a magnificent, compassionate and almost maternal ocean in the emerald depths of Virginia's eyes and it was Marséna's pleasure to sink into it, just as her lips and tongue wrestled hungrily with those of her blonde lover.

"Your ass," Virginia said breathlessly - Marséna's occasionally crude vocabulary was, under the circumstances, exciting in its unforced spontaneity, "is mine alone to enjoy." The blonde novice emphasised her point by trailing her curious hands up the skirt of Marséna's tunic until they finally cupped the glorious - no divine - globes of the Mareterran's bottom: so firm, yet so feminine.

"Hmm....I can't wait, but I really should wash up."

In the meanwhile, Syf was in the process of communicating the same thoughts to Friyya, though the auburn-haired girl was far more preoccupied with weaving her healing magics on her lover's damaged wrist.

"She gave you a nasty bruise," Friyya said fretfully, invoking the Maiden's favour to restore skin and tissue as her hands moved over Syf's wrist, circled by the soothing blue restorative aura of her patron Goddess, "my poor Syf..."

"Come now, it's nothing." Syf protested, a little embarrassed. The pain was agonising, though Friyya's healing skills were as masterful as always. Soon the dull, hot throbbing gave way to a soothing, numbed relief.

"Always the stoic, right?" Friyya said with admiration, clasping Syf's strong hand closely in her own, "This hand...this hand will lay waste to countless enemies of our Order and I will be by your side when it happens, always."

"I know," Syf replied smiling, "and you see, Isobel isn't so bad as long as you know what pleases her."

"If you say so." Friyya said sceptically. She could not remember a single instant in which Isobel had treated her as anything more than a weakling, an object of derision and, worst of all, a loose girl who had used her feminine wiles to persuade Syf to take her side. In truth, what she felt for Syf was a union of souls - she simply did not feel like a complete whole without her lover by her side.

"Come, she will no doubt grow to appreciate you in due course." Syf said, even though she knew that Friyya had been traumatised by Isobel's public humiliations and punishments.

"If it had been up to her, my application would have been rejected - but the priestesses defended me..."

"Hmm, Friyya, sweetest," Marséna interrupted in a gently mocking tone, "why is Syf getting all the healing attention, I could really use some of your skills myself."

"That's Virg's job." Friyya shot back, even if the thought of running her hands up the curves of Marséna's exquisite, sun-kissed bottom was tempting.

"You sure? Do you know how many novices around here dream of sliding their hands up my tunic?" The Mareterran said with a suggestive wink. Virginia could not help but sigh in resignation - her lover's bawdy comments had become infamous.

"Good for them," Friyya snapped back, "they must have a taste for the exotic. A lady, Marséna, has skin the colour of a limpid pearl, not a hazelnut."

"I'm not that fucking dark, you vain bitch." Marséna snarled, bounding forward towards Friyya, "Since you, my fair donaisela, are so concerned with what's becoming of a lady, why don't you disappear and get married and stop trying to play the paladin?"

"Marséna, enough!" Syf said, her voice firm but conciliatory, "Let's go to the baths and we can rejoin Virginia and Friyya later." She was eager to calm the situation, especially since Friyya and Marséna had decided to behave as if they were still first year novices all over again. In both cases the wounds of insecurity ran deep. Marséna had been teased for her darker complexion by the primarily Ortho-descended, and thus pale, novices of the Order - though in other worlds, where the Sybils and Oracles ruled behind marble pillars, she would have been esteemed as an ideal of beauty from the Middle Sea - just as Friyya's sub-par fencing and physical skills were often the brunt of cruelly pointed jokes.

"Fine, it's all of you who need a little sun, anyway." Marséna sulked, stalking off towards the elegant marble edifice of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden. Syf followed, as Friyya was left to mull what sort of revenge she could exact on Marséna for the insult and Virginia just stood, a wry smile on her lips. Even then, the blonde novice was convinced that - despite the occasional bickering - her sisters in arms, her room-mates since their very first day at the Order, were the finest people she would ever know.

***

Steam filled the empty bathing chamber. It clung to walls in warm, dripping moisture and filled the air in a thin, white blanket. Beneath the great, carved marble dome, a central, communal pool lay, surrounded by smaller cleansing pools bubbling with warm, fragrant water. Marséna was all too eager to strip off her clothing, casting it aside with careless abandon before diving gratefully into the warm, welcoming waters of cleansing pool. Syf followed soon after, though she took the time to put some semblance of order to her clothes, leaving them folded neatly by the side of Marséna's carelessly discarded garments.

To share an entire bathing chamber without the intrusion of other novices was a luxury in itself, but even more of a privilege now that they were both filled with the triumphant sensation of having vanquished Isobel. It was Marséna who let her enthusiasm get the better of her as she pounced upon Syf, who had just lowered herself into the comforting warmth of the pool, and drew her friend into a celebratory embrace, "We make an amazing team," the Mareterran novice crowed, a broad, affectionate smile spreading across her sensual lips, "I can imagine you by my side in full armour, sword ready in hand. The two of us...we could hack our way down into the Ninth Hell to the very iron gates of Nessus itself."

"How do you know so much about the Lower Planes?" Syf replied sardonically, as she happily wrapped her arms around Marséna's waist.

"Oh, alright it was on the crib sheet Friyya made for us, but you can't expect me to be an intellectual. We both know that I have other talents." Marséna said. Her deep, soulful brown eyes were fixed with burning intensity on Syf's. There was nothing new in the intimacy of their contact, for they had been as sisters for nearly ten semesters. There was, however, an energy in Marséna's grip that was instinctively fascinating, so that Syf's steely gaze was drawn to the perfect, lush curves of the Mareterran girl's breasts and the beautiful café-au-lait hue of her nipples which stood just a few inches from the water's surface.

"I wasn't criticising you," Syf said softly as she leaned back against the side of the tub, warm water settling in gentle waves around her high, elegant breasts, "I'm not much of a bookworm either, as we both know, it's just that I have come to love the Marséna who, with her sword drawn, would defend her sisters to the death and all stupid, pointless doctrinal exams be damned."

"That's because doctrine," Marséna said, her voice lower now, almost a husky whisper as she drew closer to Syf, "can never tell me what my heart should feel. I believe in the Vigilant Maiden because I am strong by Her blessing, but I also believe that She's probably best served with less reading and more hacking."

"So we understand each other." Syf said with satisfaction. Marséna was close, so close she could feel her heartbeat. With every breath, the Mareterran's full, yet elegant breasts rose and fell, entrancing Syf with their vital rhythm.

"I think we've always understood each other. So I understood the reason why you never defended me when the other novices taunted me - you immediately knew that I would have found it humiliating if you had come to rescue me." Marséna was close now, almost straddling Syf against the stony side of the pool. The Mareterran novice's long, raven-black hair trailed behind her on the water's surface like soft strands of coal-black kelp.

"It hurt, you know," Syf confessed, her heartbeat quickening at the sensation of Marséna's firm yet feminine thighs so close to her own - with the sensory deprivation of the silence of the baths and the misty condensation of steam, all of her attention was focused on the tanned, statuesque form of her friend, "it hurt to see you have a hard time. Those first nights of our first year, I really wanted to comfort you...but then Virg got there first and..."

"Shh..." Marséna whispered sensually, before taking her gambit and sinking into a tender, long overdue kiss against Syf's inviting, unexpectedly soft lips. Although Marséna had half-intended it as a chaste kiss of affection, there was something more in Syf's eyes - a deep, almost saddened longing which seemed unfulfilled.

"I...I always thought you beautiful," Syf blurted suddenly, her striking blue eyes staring deep into Marséna's just as her arms held the Mareterran woman close, "even when the others made fun of you. But I never saw you so beautiful as you were today on the fencing court. Your every movement was like something out of a painting - like your style was coming from your heart and not a weapons manual."

"Weren't you Ortho girls supposed to prefer your own kind?" Marséna said, smiling gently. She had detected the latent desire in Syf's gaze, the way the taller woman stared at the ripe, firm curves of her tanned breasts.

"Yeah," Syf said unsteadily - there was complete silence in the bathing chamber except for their increasingly laboured breathing and the occasional droplet of condensation falling from the stone dome into one of the steaming pools, "but I suppose Virginia is the exception that proves the rule."

"And you?" Marséna said, her sensual lips so close that Syf could feel her friend's warm breath caress her chin and neck.

"Me?" Syf replied, her heartbeat deafening in her temples - the desire to seize Marséna and ravish her until they both collapsed from exhaustion was almost overwhelming, "I never...much cared for what my parents told me. My mother said I shouldn't play with the boys, but I beat them at every single one of their games; my father said I should concern myself with housework, but I ended up helping him with the sacks of grain and charcoal."

"That's reassuring to hear," Marséna's voice was thick with desire, her eyes riveted on the flawless athleticism of Syf's body, "so you won't object if I do this." The Mareterran's lips touched Syf's once again, but this time with boundless, searing passion. Before Marséna knew it, her tongue was duelling with Syf''s in a dance more sensual than any of the closely fought fencing duels they had engaged in during practice. Even if it was Marséna who initiated the kiss, Syf's passion was indomitable as her lips pressed thirstily against her friend's. It was as if her desire for Marséna had finally been released in one wet, breath-stealing kiss, just as her hands moved down from the darker girl's waist to slide down the glorious, sleek curves of her bottom and towards a tanned, supple thigh. There was a universe of pleasure to discover in Marséna, the only jarring question was whether or not Syf was doing the right thing.

"Are you alright?" Marséna inquired gently as Syf retreated from the seemingly endless kiss they had been sharing.

"Should I? Should we? I don't think I could control myself if we...well, started..." Syf's mind was in disarray - torn between the deep, pulsating desire which had spread from her chest to deep in her sex, and her sense of loyalty to Friyya. There would, of course, have been no harm done in a single, celebratory encounter - just the delectable muskiness of Marséna's nectar on her lips and the deeply erotic, sensual warmth of a loving sister-in-arms and nothing more. No doubt, Friyya would be understanding. But as powerful as Syf's overwhelming desire was, she could not help but feel the pangs of guilt.

"Tell you what, Syf," Marséna whispered, for she too felt a slow-burning desire building her loins - a desire that had caused her light brown nipples to stiffen visibly despite the warmth of the baths, "let's do it this way."

"How?"

"Just relax." Marséna's tone was dripping with tender sensuality, even if, in her heart the Mareterran novice thought of Virginia and how she would feel about that particular encounter.

Syf complied, reclining against the very side of the pool, allowing Marséna closer still, so that their breasts, glistening with warm water, virtually touched.

"What we did today, Syf, was amazing," Marséna began, planting soft kisses on Syf's forehead, "and I'd really like to celebrate it with you - just this once, so that you know just how much I admire you as a fighter and as a woman. So what do your mind and your reason tell you?"

"That we both have a duty to Friyya, just like we both have a duty to Virginia." Syf replied, almost in a trance. The gentle, moist contact of Marséna's kisses sent shivers of electricity shooting down her spine.

"Yes, and what does your heart tell you?" Marséna continued, drawing her hands down towards the water's surface to cup Syf's small, but beautifully formed breasts - dark red nipples, like raspberries fresh from the thorn, stood out stiff and proud, in contrast with the ivory whiteness of the firm mound beneath them.

"It tells me that I know no honour greater than fighting by your side, just as it is a pleasure to take you in my arms each morning and greet you with a kiss."

When you aren't pulling me out of bed. Marséna thought sardonically, before deciding not to spoil the moment, "And what," Marséna said with a lascivious smile as she trailed her hands beneath the water's surface, down the flat, rigid firmness of Syf's belly to the soft black curls atop her sex, "does she tell you?"

"That despite Marséna's clumsy attempts to be romantic," Syf retorted with mock irritation, "she has inflamed my heart and my loins with desire."

Marséna did not reply, but flung herself against Syf to devour her newfound lover's lips with wild passion. Syf kissed back almost instinctively; her hands were eager to drink in and revel in the flawless curves of Marséna's body, "I want you," Syf began huskily, running her tongue over Marséna's sighing lips, "let's get out of the pool."

"Hmm...and why should we get out of the pool?" Marséna teased, swaying her full, magnificently proportioned breasts, ripe and swollen like juicy autumn pears, in front of Syf's face.

"It'll...uh, make things easier." Syf said, blushing slightly, even if her piercing blue eyes remained as dignified and aloof as ever.

"What easier?" Marséna said, using her most seductive tone. Her sex was slick with nectar as well as water, her lower belly flowed with the thick magma of desire.

"Oh, Marséna!" Syf said with exasperation as she lunged forward and seized one of Marséna's ripe, swaying nipples between her lips and playfully bit down on it, "Why do you want to force me to use your...uh, colourful language."

"Ai!" The Mareterran whimpered, "You little salopa. Now you're going to stay here until you tell me exactly why I should let you out."

"Well, let's see," Syf growled as she seized Marséna by the waist and deftly shifted her to the side of the pool and then up, so that the Mareterran found herself in a sitting position on the warm stone surface, "it appears that you are in no position to make demands."

"That's not fair!" Marasena protested, giggling lightly - Syf could always count on her superior strength, "But since you insist, I suppose I may just surrender my chastity to you."

"And what chastity would that be?" Syf insinuated, pulling herself out of the pool in one clean jerk and then quickly covering Marséna's lips with her own.

Marséna did no even bother giving a cogent reply, Syf had already decided that the sun-kissed Mareterran, with her wry smile, coal black tresses and sculptural curves was a little strumpet who needed a strong, disciplined woman to tame her. So the tall novice claimed her prize with wet passionate kisses that trailed down the sensitive skin of Marséna's neck, tasting the slightest residue of salt and dust and then trailing lower to draw her tongue down the soft valley of her newfound lover's breasts. So close to Marséna, Syf could feel everything, hear everything: heartbeat, breath and soft moans and whispers of encouragement. Marséna trailed her fingers through Syf's short, raven black hair and down her strong, pale shoulders. There was not a hint of graceless bulk in Syf: everything was streamlined, elegant and athletic. It was not, Marséna reflected as Syf trailed eager, wetly insistent kisses up the alluring curves of her lush, iodine-tan breasts, a boyish body as some had claimed unkindly, but a kind of fierce femininity - like the Virgin Huntress Herself.

For Syf, the experience of savouring Marséna's scent, her soft skin and the firm muscle beneath, was no less divine. As Marséna sighed at the sensation of Syf's inquisitive tongue running long, wet licks down her belly, she bucked her hips upwards inviting her lover closer to the molten nexus of her pleasure nestled between her thighs. But they were in no hurry, so Syf took her time to ease Marséna's thighs apart to look down in marvel at the flowering, moist sex beneath her, hidden only by soft, midnight black curls. The scent of sweet, feminine musk was in the air - but that was no surprise because Marséna was desperately wet. The Mareterran's deep pink nether lips lay spread and pouting in their arousal, glistening with water and nectar, silky and tender with sensual promise. It was nothing that Syf had not seen before, since the communal living of the novices ensured that their bodies held no secrets, but to see Marséna's sex in such a state of vulnerable excitement - so pretty and so ripe, just begging for the kiss of an expert lover to drink at its spring, was privilege indeed.

The sensation of Syf's eager breath on the sodden petals of her sex caused Marséna to sigh, eyes tightly closed in mounting passion as her hands gripped Syf's head closer to the burning well of her desire. Syf's first, tentative approach was a kiss, lovingly placed on the fragrant fold before her. That first sensual contact made Marséna's toes curl - it was almost as if Syf were teasing her. But, the Mareterran resolved, she would be patient and appreciate every single moment with her friend, fellow Maiden, and lover, so she allowed Syf to explore. A probing, gentle tongue parted the sex-slick folds, curiously lapping the thick residue of Marséna's arousal in slow thrusts deep into the hot tunnel of her sex. Oblivious to Marséna's mounting gasps of pleasure, Syf concentrated on the velvety sensation of the nether lips, the earthy, salt, musky and sweet tones of the copious moisture. In that symphony of sensations, a light, sunny citrus fragrance could be detected that seemed to contrast perfectly with the rich femininity of Marséna's dripping arousal.

"Don't tell me you apply your perfume...uh, down there." Syf said quietly, almost incredulously.

"Just a tiny bit, on the hair, otherwise it stings," Marséna replied matter-of-factly, "Virg loves it."

"I do too." Syf growled passionately, a burst of excitement made her seize Marséna's thighs and spread them wider, before slipping her thumbs against the Mareterran's rich, pink sex to hold the inner lips apart, exposing the blooming fount of femininity beneath. Now Syf's tongue ran passionately across the lust-inflamed flesh, relishing the intoxicating flavour of Marséna's excitement and the sharp, breathy moans that ensued.

Marséna strained against the warm, moist stone floor, her breasts heaving with the exertion of her passion. When Syf inserted two tensed fingers deep into her sodden canal, Marséna could only bite her lip as her hips jerked instinctively forward to ensure a deeper penetration. Marséna was hungry for Syf's fingers and the taller girl knew it. Venturing forth in to the tight, velvety embrace of the Mareterran's sex, Syf could feel the wanton muscles of her friend's sex tense and spasm around the intrusion. Then Syf moved in with insistent licks to mouth the top of Marséna's sex, her tongue grazing over her lover's clitoris with almost playful insistence. Marséna began to feel a knot of tension build in her loins; her whole existence now revolved around the dextrous play of Syf's mouth and the insistent thrusting of her fingers that effortlessly parted the Mareterran's swollen nether lips, easing them aside to allow access to her inner core.

But Syf was not going to get away that easily, "Wait...wait," Marséna called out breathlessly, between gritted teeth, "this isn't fair...I want to do it together."

"What?" Syf asked incredulously, taking a moment to look up from Marséna's delectable sex.

"No, no, keep on going, but I want to taste you too." Marséna did not want Syf to get the impression that she was passive when it came to lovemaking.

"I like your idea." Syf replied with her usual understated irony. So she rose from her prone position and shifted to carefully place her knees on either side of Marséna's shoulders. Syf then settled atop Marséna's face with a deliberate, seductive sway of her hips. She need not have bothered because Marséna had already seized her firm, athletic bottom in her hands and pulled it downwards, so her tongue could taste the sodden lips of the pale novice's sex. It was a sensation Marséna immediately fell in love with, for Syf had much the same pleasantly soft, saline taste as Virginia. Then, of course, to clasp Syf's bottom in her hands, to spread it open and reveal the pale, dewy pink nether lips and tight rosy pucker at the base of the flawless valley of her bottom was an experience Marséna would not soon forget.

Losing no time, Syf forcefully parted Marséna's thighs again and slid forward to resume her work on the Mareterran's juicing sex. This time, her attention was focused on Marséna's clitoris, which she attacked with precise, firm licks, while her fingers once again resumed their infuriatingly arousing work deep in the darker girl's welcoming channel. For her part, Marséna craned her neck to gain better access to the pale, pink feast of Syf's slick nether lips which opened with minimal coaxing to reveal the soft, budding flower within.

In lovemaking, as with most aspects of her life, Marséna was straight to the point: Syf could hardly suppress a low moan of surprise as she felt three fingers thrust almost brutally into her sex. Syf realised that the shock had been deliberate, Marséna was, in her playful malice, trying to find out whether her lover was as unflappable in the bedchamber as she was on the battlefield.

"I see you enjoy my little surprise." Marséna said between licks, her voice thick with desire.

"Let's see how long you last." Syf retorted defiantly. She hooked her fingers deep in Marséna's sex, seeking out the most sensitive depths of her lover's canal. Syf's tongue and lips were awash with the fragrant tears of Marséna's desire. It would not be long now, Syf knew it by the bucking of Marséna's hips and the slow, deep moans that now escaped her sun-kissed lover's lips.

Marséna did not even reply, she merely abandoned herself to the coiling pleasure deep in her sex which was now loosed in a series of rapid, spasmodic contractions around Syf's invading fingers. She bit her lip to try to suppress her most vocal, mewling cries. Syf, Marséna reflected, would probably interpret that as a sign of weakness. No such thoughts crossed Syf's mind, however, as she noted the final spasms of Marséna's climax with smug satisfaction.

"Don't you dare stop." Syf warned. It was a warning Marséna did not need. The sheer pleasure of devouring the yielding moisture of Syf's sex while her fingers thrust rhythmically between the light pink petals of the taller girl's channel was intoxicating. Marséna's enthusiasm did not go unnoticed. Syf's low, muted gasps of pleasure became ever more wanton with each probing thrust of Marséna's fingers, before becoming positively keening as she felt the tip of one of the Mareterran's fingernails graze against her most sensitive spot deep in her sex. The agonising buildup of her climax was like nothing Syf had ever felt: it spread from the furnace of her belly deep into her sex, like an itching tension which, when released was suffocated in relieved moans against the firm, muscular flesh of Marséna's thigh.

"You little strumpet, you're dripping." Marséna crooned, her lips working earnestly to lap up rivulets of fragrant nectar.

Syf was in no position to reply, all she could do was concentrate on regaining the steady rhythm of her breathing while planting soft, butterfly kisses on the inside of Marséna's tanned thigh.

"Oh, come here," Marséna said with mock irritation, propping herself up on her elbows, "mighty Syf defeated by some gentle licking, I would never have believed it."

Nodding wordlessly, Syf accepted her lover's invitation and turned to take Marséna into her embrace. They lay there for some moments on the stone floor, held close to one another, lips pressed together in lazy, deep kisses, so that they could hear only breath, heartbeat and the gentle lapping of water in the bathing pools.

"This was special," Syf said quietly as she lay atop Marséna, abandoning herself to the Mareterran's tender caresses through her raven-black hair and down her back, "and a celebration, not the beginning of a routine. Understood?"

"Yeah..." Marséna breathed. Syf was breathtakingly beautiful from her angle, so Marséna marvelled at her friend's haughty cheekbones, her stunning gaze and her small, but noble breasts.

"There is something I need to confess, Marséna." Syf began, unsure of herself. If there had ever been an appropriate moment for the secret she had carried with herself for so many years, it was this one.

"You know you can tell me anything." Marséna was privately surprised: Syf was not normally especially forward with her emotions.

"The first day...the first time I saw you, I immediately thought you beautiful...then when I saw you pick up a practice sword, that first time when we were all unsure and trembling on the fencing court, I thought I realised that you were the girl for me," Syf paused to look into Marséna's deep, soulful eyes - they were just as charming and intense as they had been when they were first year novices, perhaps more so, "and so I immediately thought of courting you, of winning your favour. Day after day I put it off, even when I thought of you by night. It hurt to see you perform so brilliantly during the weapons drills, because I wanted all that beauty for myself - by my side and sharing my bed. So one day, I took all the money I had been saving up - for what I never knew - and bought some roses..."

"Oh, fuck, Syf..." Marséna said gently, her voice trembling. As far as she was concerned, this was anything but the right moment. All she could do was draw Syf closer, so that the taller novice's voice could sink into a conspiratorial whisper.

"But then I saw you and Virg," Syf continued, even as her heart suffered, she did not allow her voice or eyes to betray the state of her soul, "I saw how close you had become, how much more she had said and done for you, and I decided that what I was doing was stupid...just a clusmy, stupid attempt at romance by an adolescent girl. So I resolved to put those matters beyond me and never breathe a word of it to you, never again think of love or desire...that, is until Friyya opened up to me, but that is another story."

"I swear, I never knew." Marséna said, gently kissing Syf on the lips.

"What would you have said?" Syf queried, almost aggressively, "Had Virginia not been there what would you have said?"

"Yes." Marséna replied spontaneously, "Yes with all my heart and soul."

Syf nodded, both pleased and moved by Marséna's profession of devotion, "Prove it." she challenged.

Marséna decided to let her caress do the proving for her. She drew Syf up into her arms, as they both knelt on the moist stone floor, their kiss renewed with passionate intensity, this time with the added, thrilling flavour of the mingled nectar of their love. The Mareterran's hands explored the linear grace of Syf's body, tracing the lines of her shoulders and back, before moving forward to cup high, aristocratic breasts. They were firm in Marséna's hands, dense almost, but effortlessly elegant. To Marséna, there was only one course of action: she sank forward, Syf gratefully taking her lover's soft, long coal-black tresses in her hands, and kissed the taut surface of the taller girl's breasts.

"What beauty..." Marséna sighed. She leaned close against Syf's breast, kissing lower down the gentle curves until she reached the stiff, eager peak of her lover's dark pink nipples - they were ripe, firm under her lips, but yielding. Syf cooed almost inaudibly, sinking against Marséna's hair to lose herself in its silky softness. Marséna took her time to savour each nipple, grazing them under her teeth, licking and suckling with hungry sensuality. The liquid heat in Syf's loins returned with a vengeance. She wanted to become one with Marséna - flow together into a single knot of heat and flesh.

"Now look into my eyes and you will find your proof." Marséna said huskily, as she adjusted her thighs against Syf's so that they lay joined at the sex, legs intertwined in their passionate, sensual dance. Syf obeyed, gritting her teeth at the feeling of her over-sensitive sex grazing against the soft, textured down atop Marséna's nether lips. The Mareterran's eyes were a deep pool of slow-burning sensuality, of desire and of genuine love. There, Syf thought, lay the curse of walking the Radiant Path of paladinhood: she had met the best women she could ever have imagined, but simply could not understand whom to love as a sister, a lover, or something in between.

Such thoughts quickly fled her mind as Marséna took the lead in thrusting herself against Syf, grinding her sodden sex in a firm yet fluid rhythm. They spread their inner lips, pink as rare orchids, to deepen their nether kiss - velvety flesh gliding over tiny, stiff clits. Black curls melded together, drenched sex lips rubbed, kissed, melded and folded against one another - two taut bodies: one pale and majestically slender, the other darker and more feminine, but no less elegant, engaged one another in the sweet struggle for pleasure. Marséna was, as usual, the more vocal one and her moans filled the chamber as she felt the burgeoning heat in her sex becoming tenser and more aggressive. One hand she used to prop herself up against the stone floor while the other clasped one of her own rounded breasts, which swayed enticingly with each desperate thrust, driving stiff café-au-lait nipples into the warm, steamy air.

Syf was more muted in her cries, even as her pleasure mounted deep in her loins with each long, languid thrust. The sensation of Marséna's sex against her own was irresistible, like two warm, pliable oceans of sensual pleasure flowing together with each tense thrust. Continuing her assault, Syf raised herself up further, so that she was almost face to face with her newfound lover and finally able to feel Marséna's warm, breathy moans on her neck. Their legs were locked together, thighs tensed with exertion and desire. Now Syf could feel her clitoris and innermost lips sliding with agonising friction against Marséna's soaked nether flesh. It would not be long, for she could already hear the Mareterran novice's orgasmic sighs begin, so she suffocated them with a searing kiss.

Overcome by the first throes of her climax, Marséna sank forward into Syf's arms, riding out the spasmodic waves of pleasure deep in her lover's reassuring embrace with long, almost violent thrusts. They continued making love at a slower, more deliberate pace. For Marséna it was a leisurely, post coital grinding as she diligently brought Syf to climax with two expert fingers that quickly and lethally sought out the taller girl's clitoris. Syf felt herself melt under the firm caress of the Mareterran's touch, so when she finally came in long, ragged breaths, all she wanted was to be surrounded by Marséna, to be absorbed into that sculptural femininity.

"Maybe...we should call it a day." Syf suggested, her breath still short as the final contractions of her sex released the last of her erotic tension. She knelt, leaning forward against Marséna, her thighs slick with their combined moisture.

"As you wish, kitten." Marséna said sweetly, before lavishing a playful lick on Syf's throat, "But I had an unforgettable time."

"Me too," Syf whispered - she was not entirely comfortable with Marséna using such unprofessional terms of endearment, but there were bigger concerns to sort out, "but when I think of Friyya and Virg..."

"I think they would be happy for us." Marséna ventured, nuzzling the hollow of Syf's throat.

"Then you tell them." Syf challenged.

Marséna was taken aback for a moment. In truth, she had never contemplated being seriously involved with anyone except Virginia. That had not prevented the occasional lapse in judgement, but Virginia had always been exceedingly tolerant. Perhaps too tolerant; there was something about her companion's apparent lack of jealousy which made Marséna suspicious. It was almost as if Virginia did not take their relationship to be fully mature yet, which, in light of what had just transpired in the baths, was not an unreasonable assumption to make.

"I knew it," Syf said glumly, "we shouldn't have." Her sense of duty to Friyya weighed heavily upon her. As was often the unfortunate case, whenever Syf felt guilty, Friyya appeared to be flawless in her thoughts: smiling, angelic and unspeakably beautiful.

"Fuck it. What's done cannot be undone. You regret not courting me back when we were first years, but then again, in another - more important way - you don't, because you have Friyya now and you can't base your life on what-ifs. If you ask me, we just shared some happiness between us, but that doesn't mean I love Virg or you love Friyya any less."

Syf nodded. Marséna had always been a pragmatist, but her fierce devotion to her sworn sisters had never been in question - not for a moment. Yet as she stared into Marséna's eyes, allowing herself to sink in their loving depths, Syf found herself questioning the workings of fate. Uncharacteristically - for she was loath to show weakness - Syf allowed herself to be cradled in Marséna's arms. For a guilty moment, all that warmth, all the affectionate whispers made Syf wonder what her life would have been like if she and Marséna had been an item. How would they have made love? How would they have fallen asleep, huddled under the same sheets? What would have become of Virginia and Friyya? Those questions dissipated into the welcoming embrace of Marséna's breasts. Syf would never have said it, but for a few moments at least, she just wanted to be held.

***********

"Amazing, I never thought they'd make it." Virginia commented, still incredulous at Marséna and Syf's feat. She had returned with Friyya to the small, rectangular chamber the four of them shared in the Temple dormitories. Two bunk beds and four clothes chests and that was all in the spartan room, which was separated from others like it by thin, wooden screen-like walls.

"Yes, but both are redoubtable fighters," Friyya said airily, happy to be given the opportunity to rest for a few more hours, "I expect they will be cutting through the ranks of the Abyss in short order." She spoke almost distractedly as she eagerly discarded her white novice's tunic and changed back into her nightgown. It was silk - a gift from Friyya's wealthy but distant family - rather than the regulation cotton. But Friyya, within the limits of the Temple regulations - and sometimes beyond them - spared herself no luxury.

"Nice to hear you compliment Marséna." Virginia said, smiling a little. She knew that Marséna and Friyya had great mutual affection for one another, but that was bound up in a tendency to exchange sharp, verbal barbs at every opportunity. Virginia always thought it to be something akin to sibling rivalry.

"Well, she has to be good for something." Friyya replied smugly. She smoothed out her hair and carefully contemplated her image in the silver mirror she kept by her bedside, "Aren't you going to get changed? I thought you might like to keep me company while we wait for our heroines to make their triumphant return."

"If you insist." Virginia said, affecting reluctance.

"No, I demand it."

"As madam wishes." Virginia stepped out of her boots and tunic and donned her nightgown. It still smelled strongly of soap from not having been rinsed properly - Friyya had been on laundry duty again, a fact which was, in perspective, incomparably preferable to having her on kitchen duty.

"I still think it's cruel to have practice and weapon drills at first daybreak." Friyya complained as Virginia joined her under the thick, down-stuffed covers of her bunk.

"Yes, I know it's cold and miserable, but maybe one day we will have to go to frozen Cocytus or ice-bound Caina, so hopefully, Isobel is preparing us for the trials ahead." Virginia settled under the sheets - privately grateful to be warm and doing nothing in particular. Friyya huddled close to her, resting her head on Virginia's breast, her long, soft auburn tresses spread across the white sheets like a blanket of fresh-fallen autumn leaves. Virginia could not resist running her fingers through her friend's fine-textured hair, drawing a satisfied purr from Friyya.

"What do you think lies ahead?" Friyya inquired, somewhat curious to see Virginia's take on the matter. Syf may have been her lover and Marséna engaging conversation, but neither were particularly deep thinkers.

"Well," Virginia said pensively, wrapping her arms tightly around Friyya and drawing her closer to place an affectionate kiss on her head, "we promised to give our lives and our souls to the Maiden, just as we promised love and undying loyalty to one another. So I expect our destinies are wound tightly together. But the Fates are fickle, so one cuts as another weaves. All I can say is that we should have faith in the Maiden to give us the strength to master even the workings of the Fates."

"An interesting answer." Friyya noted wryly. Virginia's embrace was comforting, warm, almost maternal. "But evasive nonetheless, there's something you're worried about."

"Perhaps."

"Care to explain?" Friyya ventured.

"Marséna and I may need time," Virginia said unsteadily, "and sometimes I don't think she realises that our relationship needs to solidify before we can build upon it."

"No!" Friyya protested, "You two are made for each other."

"Almost certainly, but remember when we skipped curfew a few weeks ago to explore the city?" Virginia's gaze was fixed upon the simple wooden ceiling.

"Of course." Friyya said darkly. Isobel had given them, and Friyya in particular, the thrashing of their lives.

"Marséna made me realise that there is so much to be seen, learned and experienced. This city is so vast, filled with experiences and lives I want to know. After all my curiosity has been satisfied, I am convinced that I would return to Marséna and make her mine forever, but the journey is at least as important as the end destination."

"What, you mean that business with the half-elf?" Friyya inquired - her incorrigible, gossipy curiosity had got the better of her.

"Yes, I wasn't angry with Marséna, it just made me think." So Virginia resolved to tell the story.

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

The tavern, which bore the ominous name "The Styx Boatman", lay in a comparatively quiet corner on the border with the sprawling, chaotic Hive Ward where Sigil's ragged and dispossessed sought shelter. Over time, it had grown accustomed to occasionally receiving a few daring, wide-eyed novices from the Temple of the Radiant Path who wished to taste the vital beat of Sigil's nightlife firsthand. One such group had ventured in that particular night, and had thus entered a new world of low-hanging candles, alcohol-soaked wood panelling, and the resonant, rhytmic beats of fensir troll music. Needless to say, four novice paladins in their white uniforms, swords sheathed at their sides, had caused quite a stir.

By the bar, where strong-smelling drinks were poured from bottles of all shapes, colours and materials, Syf did not mind the attention in the least. She had struck up a conversation with three powerfully-built mercenaries clad in wrought-iron plate armour. It was only a few years ago that those mercenaries had been children - the neighbourhood boys she had wrestled to the ground in the communal courtyard under fluttering curtains of drying laundry. Now they faced each other once again and Syf saw maturity and purpose in their eyes, for it was well known in Sigil that the men of Ortho were excellent and undyingly loyal warriors. Yet, as those men looked back into Syf's piercing blue gaze, they saw glimpses of the tall, inscrutable girl they had all desired, but who answered all suggestive comments with her fists and had a soft spot for beautiful, shy Ethelberta.

Friyya, on the other hand, sat at a nearby table, with barely-concealed boredom, taking small sips from a cup of sweet wine. She found Syf's conversation with the mercenaries boorish, even if they seemed to appreciate Syf. As a matter of fact, Friyya found the whole tavern dull, vulgar and very poorly decorated. The quality of its patrons veered from acceptable to repugnant, especially considering that the bulk of them appeared to be less than human. Monitor lizard-like Khaasta drank pitch-black liquor and threw dice, straining their heavy red steel armour with each movement; shifty tieflings - mortals with fiendish ancestry -, some with coal-black skin, others with spiked tails stared out suspiciously from under cowls and assassin's hoods. Not exactly the company the pure Maidens of the Radiant Path were supposed to keep.

Pure, of course, was a purely theoretical term and this, Virginia could confirm, was especially true with reference to Marséna. Although she had originally intended to entertain Friyya with some light banter, the sight of her Mareterran lover immersed in a particularly intimate conversation with a voluptuous half-elf was more than enough to distract her attention. Virginia was not the jealous sort, but Marséna was doing everything in her power to push the limits of tolerance.

In a dark, quiet corner of the tavern, where the light was at its dimmest, Marséna reclined comfortably in her chair, her heartbeat racing, just as her mind was addled by the two flasks of wine she had so far imbibed. Straddling her, knees on either side of her thighs, was the most alluring half-elf Marséna had ever laid eyes on. Never had the Mareterran seen such rich, chestnut hair - streaked with thick strands of moss green -, such hypnotically intense, chocolate brown eyes, and - most intriguingly of all - such magnificently proportioned curves. Though the half-elf was short, her woodland tan body exuded a primal vigour: full breasts, for her kind at least, slender waist and gloriously flared hips. They had been chatting in that compromising position for well over a stroke of Sigil's Bell Tower, and there was something in Verden - for that was what the half-elf called herself - that kept Marséna obediently planted in her seat. Perhaps it was the sultry, feminine tone of her voice, which made even her liberal use of the harsh Sigil vernacular sound melodic, perhaps it was the fae-like beauty of her delicate, youthful features, the spontaneous eroticism of her smile.

Either way Marséna was entranced, especially since Verden dressed in a manner that expertly accentuated her assets: a short, very tightly knotted blouse with a flattering neckline and skin-tight green canvas leggings. This was not what Virginia had anticipated when she had, unwisely, encouraged Marséna to exchange a few pleasantries with the charming half-elf who had caught who had caught their attention by running a dextrous hand over the Mareterran's shoulder, with the conspiratorial suggestion: "I have a proposition, let's say the next round's on me..." Everything had followed from there.

Plied with wine and flattery, Marséna found herself dangerously close to the stunningly firm, rounded breasts of her newest friend. Verden knelt on top of Marséna with her arms wrapped around the novice's neck. The proximity excited her: Marséna was one exceptional find, so spontaneous and unforced, unlike what she perceived to be the cold hypocrisy of Ortho humans.

"So, have I made your little field trip worthwhile?" Verden whispered sensually as she leaned closer to inhale the light citrus scent of Marséna's perfumed hair.

"Not only that, but you've made my day." Marséna said, smiling eagerly, her hands clasped firmly around Verden's waist. The half-elf's blouse was cut off at the right point to show off an enticing strip of firm, yet feminine abdomen.

"Is that so? I'll take it that you're not addled by the bub and that you're not barmy, just distracted. Maybe you like something you see?" Verden breathed suggestively, swaying her hips forward to emphasise her point.

"I'd say it would be hard for me not to." Even Marséna was not normally that blunt, but the wine had brought her inhibitions crashing down one by one.

"Oh well, just for you then, I think we can arrange a closer look."

"What?" Marséna inquired with a confused smile.

"Say, cutter, how many paladins of the Radiant Path does it take to unlace a blouse?" Verden said with sensual sarcasm. Her throat was dry and - though she cursed herself for having become so involved in one of her well-rehearsed seduction routines, she needed Marséna's touch.

Marséna did not dare reply for fear of breaking the magic of the moment, but swiftly moved her hands to fumble, almost desperately, with the laces of Verden's cream white blouse. Such was her excitement, the tension in her shoulders and the electric numbness in her fingers, that after three attempts, she had not succeeded in loosening the offensive garment.

"A little nervous, are we?" Verden said, gently kissing Marséna's forehead, "Just take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

Marséna swallowed, gathered herself, and took a moment to stare into the boundless intensity of Verden's eyes. That was the trigger. As dextrous as they were on the fencing court, Marséna's hands danced effortlessly over the tightly-knit laces, undoing each with methodical precision. As the last lace was released, the fabric fell slack and Marséna's hands followed to clasp the dense firmness of Verden's breasts under the blouse. Virginia bit her lower lip as she observed from her table - she was too far to make out the details of the conversation transpiring in that odious, dark corner, but she knew exactly what was in the process of happening. Whipping around to seek moral support from Friyya, Virginia found the auburn-haired novice dozing quietly on the table, an expression of angelic peace painted on her achingly beautiful face. Syf was still chattering away as if nothing else was relevant.

"Wow..." Marséna said, a little dumbstruck by the heft and sheer perfection of Verden's breasts. The Mareterran novice carefully raised Verden's blouse, so that each woodland tan orb was revealed and sprung free, light brown nipples riding with stiff arrogance over sublime hillocks.

"Oh, would you look at that," Verden said with mock innocence, "how embarrassing, the room must be a little cold."

Marséna did not wait to be asked, her tongue was already at work up the gentle slope of Verden's breast. It was scented with perfume, though when she finally reached the beautiful, tense nipple, Marséna once again tasted that fleshy, pristine sensuality she so loved. She felt that she could have suckled at Verden's breast for the rest of the evening, just to hear the sensual half-elf's muted, mewling sighs of pleasure. Virginia tensed in her seat. This was too much, and she already had half a plan to break that wanton scene up.

Verden, however, was utterly oblivious to such concerns, "Finally we get started, soon you'll learn all the dark there is to know about me."

"I never thought half-elves could look like this..." Marséna said, placing a long sensual lick on the valley between Verden's breasts. The skin was so intoxicatingly soft. Marséna felt hot wetness between her thighs – she badly wanted Verden's sensual lips to relieve that erotic tension for her.

"Well," Verden said, flicking back her shoulder-length hair to reveal gracefully pointed ears, "there you have it, but half-wood elf, mind you, not one of those sodding scrawny grey elf bitches."

"A half-elf..." Marséna sighed dreamily, her face buried between Verden's breasts, her hands now curiously cupping the taut globes of the half-elf's bottom. She absolutely needed to get those leggings off as soon as possible and admire Verden in all her splendour.

"You poor, deprived girl," Verden purred with lascivious compassion, "don't tell me you've never had the pleasure of half-elven pussy."

"Not yet..." Marséna said longingly, "so tell me, what is half-elven pussy like?" Virginia had never been one for colourful pillow talk, though Marséna felt she was quickly making up for lost time with Verden.

"It's like the Seventh Heaven." Verden said hungrily, dipping one graceful hand under the waistband of her leggings. She moaned softly, nuzzling Marséna's hair as she drew her fingertips against the lust-inflamed inner lips of her sex. When she withdrew her fingers, they were covered in a thin veil of fragrant nectar, "But don't take my word for it..." The half-elf said, offering her moistened fingertips to Marséna's lips.

The Mareterran novice lunged hungrily, suckling the residual juice with wanton abandon. The flavour was divine: slightly musky and earthy, like Virginia, but at the same time with an added fruity, fresh dimension which was almost sweet, like aromatic sap from a tree.

"Hmm..." Verden cooed, "there's so much more where that came from, cutter, I can get us a room upstairs - my treat - and since I've been such a shameless girl, I think I could use a little military discipline."

"When you're ready..." Marséna said weakly. Her throat was cloyed with arousal, her heartbeat echoed in her temples.

"Excuse me." Virginia said firmly, patting Verden on the shoulder.

"Fuck off, berk." Verden snarled, before realising it was Marséna's companion who had interrupted them.

"Charmed, I'm Virginia, but I think my friend and I ought to return to our quarters."

"What, you two married or something?" Verden said with palpable irritation.

"No..." Virginia began indignantly.

"So where she sleeps tonight is up to her."

"Yeah, Virg..." Marséna said, her mind inflamed by wine and desire.

Marséna had never seen Virginia's features betray anything but sisterly affection, but on that occasion the blonde novice glowered at her with such damning intensity that she looked positively frightening.

"All right, all right." Marséna said in resignation. She was desperately wet and had privately been hoping for a nice, warm double bed where Verden could demonstrate all her elven tricks. But it was not to be, "Sorry Verden, you're more than fascinating, you're stunning, but I regret that tonight was simply not meant to be our night. Maybe another time..."

"Says you." Verden snapped angrily. She rose to her feet and quickly fastened her blouse again. That, she reflected, was exactly the problem of self-professed paladins of justice. They were just hypocrites, like most humans and elves. She knew that the seemingly prim and proper members of the Radiant Path looked upon her exotic beauty with barely restrained desire, but when it came down to actually making love to a half-elf, even they got squeamish.

"C'mon, Verden, I like you...I really do." Marséna said desperately.

"Tell her that." Verden challenged. She felt hurt and humiliated by Virginia's sudden intrusion into what she had thought was a private encounter.

"You should know better," Virginia chided sternly, "we are sworn to the Maiden and do not take these matters lightly."

"Stuck-up cunt." Verden growled as she barged past Virginia.

"Oh, Virg, it was just a little fun." Marséna protested pre-emptively.

"Little fun?" Virginia reprimanded, "Did you hear what she just called me? Instead of defending the honour of the Order you just let her go?"

"Look, she was annoyed..."

"Is there something you need to tell me? Am I perhaps inadequate?" Virginia pressed, more aggressively than Marséna had ever heard her.

"No, Virg, my treasure...but for a moment, my curiosity became something else..."

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

"You were right to intervene." Friyya said after Virginia had finished her story, "That woman had no right to claim Marséna."

"No, but the fact is that I have begun to understand Marséna's curiosity. The Multiverse is endless...there is so much to learn, so much to explore..."

"We are sworn sisters," Friyya interrupted gently but firmly, "what we have is not made to be undone by a vulgar half-elven slattern. My family...my mother from whose womb I was birthed, my father...they are as good as gone to me. They never paid me a moment's notice and I was left to my clothes and to the indifferent silence of my tutor. We are a family now, a true family and that comes first."

"I too suffered, but from being kept closeted in fear. When I joined the Order, I just wanted to see the wonders of existence, not to step into another darkened cloister." Virginia's comment was enigmatic, but Friyya knew that there was something deeper, some hidden scar that was being secreted deep in her soul, beyond memory. She could feel it in Virginia's nervous heartbeat, in the pained heaviness of her voice.

"Virg, now is not the time. Please, let us be at peace." Friyya snuggled closer to her friend and drew the sheets up. There were some questions which only Time himself could answer. It was useless to speculate on a cold, lazy Sigil morning.

By the time Marséna and Syf returned from the baths, they found Friyya fast asleep, curled up in Virginia's embrace. The rest of the day flowed on like a blur, spurred on by amiable banter and intermittent excursions to the mess hall. It was as if the tightly regimented and strictly enforced time they had all become used to had faded into something more idyllic and imprecise. Thus, in more ways than one, that day had been made for dreaming, so that the mirages of desire could finally find at least some purchase in reality.

Yet it was not until the next day that Marséna found an off-white envelope, browned by age and the elements, under her pillow. She only dared to open it in a quiet corner of the Temple gardens, under a secluded willow whose branches spread their canopy over a mossy lake. Inside was a burgundy red rose, desiccated by the passage of time, but otherwise perfectly preserved, and a small note in Syf's functional, orderly handwriting that read: "For Marséna, my rose - thorns and all."

NB: The story of the paladins of the Radiant Path continues in the Sigil series, also stored on this Archive.

Tales from the Hive

This is a day, like any other, that brings the esteemed reader from the picaresque, melting-pot slums of Sigil's infamous Hive Ward to the genteel atmosphere of the gilded Temple District. Scratch the surface, however, and you will find that what lies beneath is far more interesting than what meets the eye.

- The Archivist, your narrator

With daybreak, light filtered through dark red curtains so the room was once again awash with a crimson glow. It was a cold, damp, featureless Sigil morning, for no sun filled the sky of that great city, yet the celestial sphere glowed at regular intervals, simulating day. No one quite knew how many such fake dawns had illuminated the Great Wheel of Sigil since its existence began. For that matter, no one appeared to know whether or not there was a beginning at all - perhaps it had always been there, a wheel poised at the top of the cosmic spire, placed at the centre of the Planes of existence and creation. A great multitude of sentient beings called Sigil home and a great many of those seeking fame and fortune, found themselves dreaming in the squalid patchwork of the Hive Ward - the largest, most chaotic yet most lively quarter of the city.

Shesayne, the half-elf, was one of those beings. She stirred fitfully under her bedcovers, seeking warmth and comfort from Min, who lay beside her. The tiefling - for Min's unknowable ancestry had a demonic strain in it, making her less, or more, than human - was particularly resistant to the elements and always chose to sleep naked. Her body, lithely muscular, but feminine like a hunting cat's, had kept Shesayne warm through many a night and in more ways than one. Min's allure was only magnified by her fiendish blood. The tiefling girl was striking: long, straight silky hair, the deep red of dying embers, fell around her face like a curtain of flame; her features were exotic and sharply beautiful with high cheekbones and vivid orange, delicately slanted eyes and soft, sultry crimson lips whose kiss Shesayne knew to be mesmerising. Her skin was pale, but lightly tinged with red, like rose-agate marble while her nails were a natural, fiery red. In time, despite Min's quirks and occasionally abrasive personality, she had become Shesayne's best, some would say inseparable, friend and lover.

In that moment, at the very first break of light, Shesayne was awake. It was a reflex: time spent sleeping, as far as she was concerned, was time wasted. There was so much to do and to say. But the half-elf's approach to life had always had a certain dynamism: she was short, with a very slender built so that her petite frame and pretty, elfin face often caused observers to mistake her for a full-blooded elf. Her features were darker than Min's, with shoulder length coal-black hair, which by day she kept closely bound with a dragon-turtle comb, and lightly tanned skin, even if her eyes were a rich, turquoise blue. Always filled with a wiry energy that kept her body, and certainly her dextrous hands, in perpetual motion Shesayne was known throughout the Hive for her impish smile and rapid-fire, incessant chatter. Life may have been challenging, but Shesayne thought herself grateful for every new day.

If only Min had been of the same opinion. She slumbered on, reflexively clutching Shesayne close to her so that the slender half-elf could snuggle closer against the pleasant softness of her fine, firm breasts. Sleep to Min meant silence and much needed solace, far from the madding crowd of the Hive, which she relished in and loathed in equal measure, and close to her beloved Shesayne. Beloved, of course, was a term of convenience: Min was capable of great affection, but any romantic notion of love was completely lost on her, something which only added to her sensual charm. Shesayne certainly did not seem to mind.

"Min, it's daybreak," the half-elf whispered sharply, nudging her friend's taut flank with her elbow, "we'll get twenty Sigil marks if we clear out the Cranium Rat infestation under the Temple of Lliira and we could really, really use that jink for some more crossbow bolts and maybe something other than hard biscuits to eat, 'less of course you actually like that stuff..."

"Let me fucking sleep." Min replied curtly, turning around to face the wall. Just when she had gotten warm and comfortable, she had to hear Shesayne's girlish over-enthusiasm.

"D'you want my mother to chase us out again?" Shesayne warned, rising to a sitting position. She sympathised with Min, the morning was bracingly cold.

"Better her later than you now." Min growled. Even when she was surly, her voice had a honeyed, edge of sensuous danger in it.

In the nearby kitchen, Shesayne could hear her mother arranging plates and bowls, "C'mon, Min, you promised, my mother's pissed at us again 'cause as far as she's concerned we're wasting our lives and throwing them down into the Abyss, so she really isn't in a mood to give us anything...you won't let poor little Shesayne starve, would you?" The half-elf affected her most innocent, plaintive voice. She was an accomplished actress, but Min was not easily fooled.

"You won't starve...now let me sleep."

"Sod it, Min, you promised," Shesayne protested, roughly jerking the covers off the tiefling, "and didn't you have a thing for that high-up sounding priestess at the Temple, today could be your lucky day, never know when you could get her to give you a blessing." Shesayne hoped that if the prospect of money did not get Min out of bed, at least an appeal to the tiefling's wild, passionate side would. Not that Min's constant, and enviably effortless, seduction of any girl or woman who caught her fancy in any way irritated Shesayne. The bond that the half-elf had established was deeper even than that of lovers and thus virtually immune to petty jealousy.

"I've had her already," Min replied dismissively, finally resolving to get up - there was no dissuading Shesayne, "she was great...you wouldn't believe the things that girl can do with her mouth, but then she came up with all this 'I truly love you' screed. Told her she was nice and everything, but that we'd leave it at that..."

"Had her? Where? When? How?" Shesayne inquired with energetic curiosity, leaping onto Min to straddle her.

"Temple treasury while you were out selling loot from the Magpie Lane hit." Min said with a shrug as she clambered out of bed. Since Shesayne was the more apparently respectable member of their petty thieving operations, she was normally charged with selling stolen merchandise.

"Was she mad at you?" Shesayne asked, concerned that their informal contract would be terminated at any moment as a result of one of Min's - all too numerous to count - sensual escapades.

"Nah, just a little tearful and she said she'd understand. Why can't some cutters understand that a fuck's a fuck, not a sodding wedding proposal." Min stretched languidly, her lithe muscles taut in the cool morning air. The red light that flooded the tiny room she shared with Shesayne seemed to give the red tint of tiefling's skin an even more entrancing glow.

Shesayne cocked her head to one side, a little pensive, "Y'know, I can sort of understand her. Sometimes I kind of get the feeling that I'm lucky 'cause you always come back to me, no questions asked, every single night...you're always there to hold me and that's great, but I guess I'm not the only girl who'd like that."

"Yeah, well, that's the way it is." Min was a fatalist - Lady Luck could be the cruellest of harpies or the finest of lovers, so she had long since accepted that, as long as she kept winning, she would keep playing the game. So far Min was still alive, had the best friend she could have asked for, and had enough to eat, she was happy - that, in the Hive, was more than most.

"Right you are, my sweet, beautiful Min!" Shesayne beamed as she leapt to her feet and took her friend by the hand, leading her out of the cramped room.

"Give me a break." The tiefling said wearily. She had little time for empty terms of endearment.

They slipped out of the apartment into the well-worn landing outside. Creaky, spiralling stairs led up and down. It was a miracle that the building still stood, for the smell of mildew and rotted wood was in the air. It had originally driven Shesayne's mother, with all her elven sensibilities, almost mad, but it was nothing a little burned citrus peel and sandalwood oil could not remedy. The neighbours, too, were not especially welcoming and, despite Min's repeated threats at dagger-point, a lecherous old gnome with a salt-and-pepper beard appeared to spend most of his time leering at Shesayne. Nevertheless, most left them well alone - a tiefling and her blades were a dangerous combination indeed, so that now Min had won sufficient respect to ensure that she could walk to the shared bathing facilities naked and Shesayne clad only in her rose-pink night-gown without being disturbed.

What was called a bathing-chamber was, in reality, an abandoned, converted apartment where cold water was pumped illegally from a well, through rusty tubes, onto cracked tiling, and into filthy tubs. Just the thought of using one of them made Shesayne shudder in disgust: it was preferable to stand directly under the jet of cold, but clean water to wash. Min did not seem to mind the freezing water, indeed she almost relished it, while Shesayne shivered throughout, comforted only by her friend's soothing hands helping her rinse the suds of sweet-smelling detergent fluid out of her hair. Elven cosmetics were essentially the only thing Shesayne's mother kept purchasing for her daughter, hoping that their delicate aromas would somehow render the rebellious half-elf more presentable. Shesayne, after all, diverged considerably from the accepted standard of elven behaviour, something that frustrated her mother to no end.

After being suitably refreshed, the couple made their way back into the apartment where they proceeded to dress. That was one of Shesayne's favourite parts of the day: it gave her the opportunity to ponder the delicious question: "what will offend my mother the most?". Whereas Min, as always, opted for a plain, grey, skin-tight top that left her deliciously flat and firm midriff bare, with similarly tight-fitting, low-cut red leather breeches and leather boots, Shesayne was decidedly more malicious and creative. Whereas, in childhood, she had been sweet-tempered and obedient, endorsing the polite fiction that she was a true Moon Elf, rather than a despised half-breed, Shesayne's adolescence had quickly weaned her from all such illusion. Once she had viewed Red Dragons, who had been responsible for the destruction of her mother's homeworld, thus causing her to escape to Sigil, as the epitome of evil. Now she self-consciously donned a succinct crimson scale-pattern bandeau that barely covered her petite, but nicely firm and rounded breasts, and a truly scandalous matching fabric bottom which was more of an outrageously tight - and revealing - undergarment than anything else. Finally, to add insult to injury, Shesayne gathered up her raven-black hair with the precious dragon-turtle comb which Min had given her as a first present, thus ensuring that her pointed ears were revealed in a most wanton and un-ladylike manner.

Their preparations complete, Min and Shesayne made their way down the narrow hallway into the simple kitchen which where a fire had been lit in the rudimentary iron stove that heated the chamber. Shesayne's mother, who would have been still young and pretty by elven standards had the weariness of urban life not darkened her features with such sadness, stood by the cooking surface on the stove, carefully watching fresh honey-cakes sizzle in a pan of fragrant oil. Even if the kitchen was, like everything else in Sigil, strapped for space, it had a certain warmth to it, courtesy of Shesayne's mother. She had decorated it with elven fabrics she produced herself - for she was a textile artist by trade - and stocked it with dried fruits, biscuits and flowers that reminded her of her destroyed homeland.

"Good morning, Shesayina." The elven woman said softly, never once turning from her cooking. Although she had long since given up speaking to her daughter in Elven, a language Shesayne now claimed not to understand, she still clung on to using the affectionate diminutive for her name.

"Morning, morning, morning." Shesayne chirped as she curled up into a rickety wooden chair by the kitchen table, "What's for breakfast, Alaia?" 'Mother' was too formal for the half-elf, so she preferred the childish elven equivalent, which she used with nonchalant irony.

"Are you going to school?" Shesayne's mother inquired. Every word was weighed carefully: there was no reasoning with her daughter anymore, especially since the dangerously anarchist influence of Min had come onto the scene. She knew that the tiefling was sitting at her kitchen table right behind her; that same tiefling with the dangerous, sensual smile and the burning almond eyes who made love to her daughter, spreading more malicious rumours throughout the Moon Elf community that Shesayne was not only a half-breed, but a loose girl as well. All things considered, however, Shesayne's mother privately appreciated Min's fiercely protective nature and genuine affection for her daughter.

"Fuck no." Shesayne replied amiably, "What would we ever do in a stupid, pointless, boring place like that? Right Min?"

The tiefling nodded with an inarticulate, "Yeah..." as she slumped forward in her seat. She was not a morning person, much less so when she was forced into a confrontation between Shesayne and her mother. Min did not resent never having seen her parents and certainly did not need an elf to act, as she was sometimes inclined to, as a surrogate mother.

"Then no breakfast." Shesayne's mother replied gravely. Though she had quickly grown used to her daughter's deliberately vulgar vocabulary, one thing she could not tolerate was refusal to pursue any activity more productive than petty theft.

"Oh, c'mon, we're going to work today, y'know, they're expecting us at the Temple of Lliira...they call it vermin control and it's pretty decent, easy jink." Shesayne protested. It offended her deeply when her mother said she was shiftless and lazy, but that was not the worst that had been said.

"Yes, Shesayina, you are right," her mother said wearily, "I am most pleased to have a daughter who hunts rats for a living, dresses and behaves like a strumpet and speaks like a street urchin."

Shesayne swallowed a knot of emotion that instinctively built in her throat. It was brutally unfair for her mother to demand that she behave like a prim and proper elven maiden when those same elves despised and shunned her. It was then doubly unfair that Shesayne's mother, whose intemperance with a human had led to the tragic situation in the first place, subsequently complained about her daughter failing to live up to elven standards of propriety. Sensing her friend's unease, Min intervened,

"'Least it's not stealing."

"No, it is not," Shesayne's mother's voice still bore the melodious traces of her Moon Elf accent, though her voice always carried a sad edge, "but you should study, both of you. You're a clever girl, Min, you should make something of yourself."

"Yeah, like embroider tapestries." Shesayne interjected darkly, trying very hard not to cry, "Need lots of sums, reading and writing for that."

Never once turning around, Shesayne's mother drew a deep sigh and looked down blankly at the frying honey-cakes, "A mother does everything she can for her daughter." It was more of a mantra than a well-reasoned belief. Shesayne had not declared herself grateful or thankful for anything in years.

"So why don't you send a nice, hot, sweet breakfast our way?" Shesayne said, her enthusiasm restored now that she had managed to hurt her mother. Min continued to be as passive as possible in the situation, her vivid, orange eyes were focused on the empty plate in front of her. She was hungry and the daily, endless power struggle between mother and daughter was holding up her meal.

"Go to school." Shesayne's mother ordered, more firmly this time, turning around to face a surly tiefling and a scandalously dressed daughter.

"And do what?" Shesayne retorted, "Nobody ever sodding listens or gives a fuck for all that addled-up chant."

"I always wished to see you go to the Academy..." Shesayne's mother began wistfully. Her own ambitions had been cut short by the disaster that had overtaken her homeworld - so far she had been relatively fortunate, money was a little tight but quite sufficient and she truly wanted nothing but the best for her daughter, perhaps to compensate for the weakness that had given Shesayne birth in the first place.

"Hmm...sure," Shesayne commented with savage sarcasm, "d'you know what your people call me in the street, Alaia? I'd fit right in with all the good little elf boys and girls, 'cause I'm such a fucking picture-perfect silks-and-satin lady myself."

"Go to school and I'll give you ten Sigil marks and breakfast, how does that sound?" Shesayne's mother was utterly exasperated. While she knew many elves could be unkind, if Shesayne at least made the effort to speak and behave a little more like them, then she was certain that her daughter's problems would be solved in short order.

"Fine, fine, fine." Shesayne said, privately satisfied that she had made ten marks for nothing. Naturally, the half-elf had no intention of keeping her side of the bargain.

"Good," her mother said, an almost conciliatory smile on her face as she deftly plated up the honey-cakes for her daughter and Min - their rich, flowery fragrance filled the kitchen "but I will ask Essinea whether you attended or not, so be aware."

"Fuck..." Shesayne whispered conspiratorially in Min's direction, "that bitch is back-stabbing, shadow-fiend of a snitch."

Min smiled knowingly as she toyed with her breakfast. She had no tolerance for sweet things, so she casually shifted her plate in Shesayne's direction.

"Oh, and Min," Shesayne's mother began, her tone as civil as politeness towards guests - even when those guests were, effectively, permanent - dictated, "please do not try to bribe Essinea again. Her parents were very upset last time." That was an understatement. The rumour, later confirmed true, that Min had seduced Essinea had spread like wildfire in the Moon Elf community, causing concerned families - who had previously merely looked upon Min as an exotic, Sigil-born curiosity - to scrupulously lock up their daughters when the tiefling was in sight.

"Hmm..." Min's knowing smile and evasive answer were testament to the fact that a few locked doors and stern warnings were far from sufficient to deter a tiefling for whom scaling walls and weaving webs of torrid passion was second nature.

"Very well, so now that we have all agreed, I hope to see you girls for supper." Shesayne's mother said with a certain satisfaction. Despite herself, outmanoeuvring her impudent, rebellious daughter was always a guilty pleasure.

"Of course, Alaia," Shesayne said with affected, child-like sweetness, "so we can all eat together like the perfect, smiling happy family we are." She angrily consumed the rest of her honey-cakes and rose to leave.

"Please tell me you are not going to school dressed like that..." Shesayne's mother said, though her objection was more force of habit than any real admonishment.

"What?" Shesayne replied, feigning innocence, "Oh, well, this...don't you like it?" The half-elf ran the tips of her fingers with casual sensuality down her bared curve of her bottom and thigh, "Min just loves and adores it."

"Then, I suppose, there is nothing more to add." Came the weary reply, "What happened to that dress I made for you?"

"Sold it," Shesayne said, a cruelly sweet smile on her lips, "needed a new bowstring for my hand-crossbow and some good, top-notch bolts."

"Go to school." Was all her mother, veering dangerously close to her limit of tolerance, could muster in response.

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

It was always a relief for Shesayne to leave the Moon Elf district of the Hive and penetrate deeper into the anonymity of that vast, decaying but endlessly fascinating slum. Once beyond the community she had learned to reject, Shesayne immediately felt at home surrounded by a current of life that was more like her own: mixed, cosmopolitan and decidedly rooted in Sigil, rather than dreaming of a home-world that had long since perished under ashes and fire. As she walked with Min down winding, cracked alleyways into the seething cauldron of life that brought together things both demonic and angelic, Shesayne always thought that she had once and for all transcended her mother's expectations. A life as a Moon Elf would have been impossible, so she would become something else entirely by rejecting the old culture - which, in any case, clearly had done little to impress Red Dragons - and embracing the new.

Min had been Shesayne's bridge into Sigil's root backsides. As they walked past ranks of insectoid xixchil, four-armed reaves, and well muscled minotaurs - whose gang wars between the Sons of Apis and the Sons of Minos were infamous -, Min was welcomed with a hail of informal greetings. Her infamy and magnetic charm had garnered many allies and admirers in spite of her youth. In that sense, the tiefling found being compelled to attend a Civic Foundation school, an institution she held in the greatest contempt, a little humiliating. Nevertheless, she knew she could not leave Shesayne alone. Even if the slender half-elf carried her hand-crossbow with her, she would always be a target, especially since neither humans nor elves felt especially inclined to protect her.

"We're actually going, then." Min noted drily as they approached the chaotic, beaten-dirt schoolyard that lay sprawled beneath an old wood and brick construction which showed its age in the thickness of moss and razorvine that had grown around it. Belching, pitch-black smoke filled the sky in the distance, covering Sigil's tightly-cluttered spires in an acrid mantle.

"Right you are Min," Shesayne said, her tone airily playful, "but just so you can persuade and convince Essinea not to spill the chant on us, then it's straight down all the way to the Temple of Lliira. With twenty marks, we could have a real nice night out."

"Just leave it to me to handle." Min loathed small talk, but generally knew exactly how to coerce people to thinking things her way. That was a crucial survival skill.

The couple made their way through running throngs of scruffy children and onto the main building which seemed to peer down ominously, like an aged and wrinkled grey giant. The windows had been barred shut, for windows had been destroyed on a regular basis by vandals and truants throwing stones. There, deep in the dank, humid, mildew-smelling hallways where shattered wood occasionally jutted through the walls and 'inspirational' insignia with such Hall of Speakers approved rhetoric as "Strength through Knowledge" and "Diversity is our Greatest Strength" had long since been defaced with the most amusingly obscene commentary. The class which Min and Shesayne hypothetically attended was intended, in the propaganda literature of the Solidarist faction which had recently won much political leverage, to "give final-semester students from underprivileged municipalities the opportunity to compete for places in Further Education". In reality, only a few elves and purebred humans seemed to care very much for the haphazard teaching by under-qualified tutors.

Upon entering the classroom - which reeked of smoke, unwashed bodies and dead wood -, Min and Shesayne were greeted by the usual scenes of chaos. Chattering in a dozen different languages filled the air, while rows of benches, informally but very firmly segregated by race and culture, strained under the constant, distracted movement of their occupants. Naturally the tutor was, as always, late. With no official incentives to promote performance, the complete lack of interest in the educational exercise was shared by students and teachers alike.

Min's entry into the room immediately caused quite a stir, as it always did. Gone were the days when Min had to flash her dagger to discourage students from taking liberties either with her or with Shesayne. Her presence now elicited immediate, grudging respect, if not outright admiration.

"Hey Min, how 'bout you put those hips to good use?" A massive, heavily tattooed half-orc with two prominent, yellowed tusks and a jutting snout called out jovially.

"Not your day, berk." Min replied, an enigmatic smile on her sultry lips. She rarely took comments of that nature personally, provided they did not involve unsolicited physical contact. That normally meant her deploying the business end of her daggers.

"Aw, c'mon, when is it going to be my day?" Queried the snorting humanoid.

"Try again tomorrow, y'never know." Min said, tapping a naturally ruby-red nail on the desk for emphasis. Raucous, bawdy laughter filled the room.

"When will you learn, Bozegh?" A buxom, cat-eyed tiefling girl with white hair and dark brown skin interjected, "She's more than you boys can handle...hey, Min, how come you don't drop by any more? We had so much sodding fun last time, you can even bring Shesayne..."

"Any time, Marla, any time." Min responded with a sensual smile. She had the unique skill of making her countless informal lovers feel desired even when, perhaps, they would never see her again. Thus all envied Shesayne, both for her brashly attractive rendition of elfin beauty and for her magnetic hold on Min's attentions.

As Min sauntered down the over-crowded, deafeningly noisy classroom, she approached the bench where the Moon Elves, modestly but tastefully dressed, sat in calm defiance of the din that surrounded them. Spotting the pretty, but hopelessly gossipy, Essinea, Min leaped onto the desk in front of her with feline grace, causing the surrounding elves to quickly shift away to take their distances. Sitting casually on the desk, her deep-red hair falling like a veil of slow-burning, dying fire around her face, Min stared down inquisitively at the deeply embarrassed Moon Elf. Dark-haired, porcelain-skinned Essinea had immediately caught Min's attention when they first met, but that was certainly no excuse for the girl not knowing when to keep her mouth shut.

"M-Min..." Essinea stuttered, even more alarmed to see Shesayne standing by the side of her bench, arms crossed and a mischievous smile on her lips.

"Nice to see you too, Essie..." Min said, her tone low and seductive, playfully flicking back a few strands of vermillion hair so she could look deep into the elf's sky-blue eyes.

"Anything I can do for you...?" The elf began weakly, very conscious of the fact that the eyes of her friends were fearfully, but quite curiously fixed on her confrontation with that menacing, but undeniably fascinating tiefling.

"Been telling tales and spilling the dark of things, haven't you?" Min queried, her tone was disinterested, as if she were a leopard playing with her prey.

"No, please, Min..." Essinea implored, only to be silenced by a slender, red-nailed finger on her rosy lips.

"Shhh..." Min pounced off the desk, landing almost soundlessly at Essinea's side, where she crouched, her face dangerously close to the elf's, "Now y'know Shesayne and me like to keep our business to ourselves, right?"

"Y-yes." Essinea feared Min as much as she was admittedly aroused by the tiefling's languid, dangerously elegant movements.

"So, let's say that a certain elven lady asks you where Shesayne and yours truly have been passing the day, what would you tell her?" Min breathed, very close to Essinea's pointed ear.

"Sitting...right here in class, like good, obedient students?" Essinea ventured.

"Hmm...yes, that sounds good. Wouldn't want to give the old lady the idea that we're skiving, would we?" The tiefling's voice had fallen to a low, menacing purr, "'Cause I know what you've been saying, 'bout you and me..."

"Min," Essinea protested desperately, "I just told a few friends and then the word spread..."

"Yeah, guessed as much," Min continued, "but what I also guess is that you, being a proper elven maiden and all, didn't tell them the whole story."

"Oh..." Essinea was blushing furiously, her fingers gripping the bench as if they were claws.

"So, imagine if I told them the whole dark of it..."

"Min, I was curious...to, uhm," Essinea's voice dropped to the lowest whisper she could manage, "try new things, it does not mean that I...uh, liked that stuff..."

"No, 'course not," Min whispered, her breath hot on Essinea's ear, "and just to make sure you're never going to have to give that excuse to all your friends, let's say that my lips are sealed as far as yours."

"Min, I swear by the Moonbow I will not breathe a word." Essinea's fingernails were deathly white as she gripped the bench. The very thought of Min divulging the agonisingly embarrassing details of their encounters was enough to send icy blood flowing through her veins.

"Good girl." Min said with a satisfied, predatory smile, before casually drawing her tongue up the length of Essinea's sensitive ear. The elf gasped and whimpered with guilty pleasure, eliciting amused shouts of approval from the few students who had taken the time to observe the scene. Min 'sorting out' differences was not a new sight.

"Min, back to your seat!" A feeble voice called in the distance, only to be drowned out by further chattering. The tutor had arrived - an ineffectual, elderly man with thick spectacles and a long, grey beard.

"Funny you should say that, berk, 'cause I was just leaving." Min replied nonchalantly as she rose to her feet and turned to leave the classroom.

Shesayne leaned forward to mockingly pat Essinea on the shoulder, before whispering into her ear, "I heard you really, really liked it and were begging Min for more...like, oh Min, yeah, just like that...I can just see your face all moaning and happy against the pillow..."

"Shesayne, c'mon." Min ordered. Essinea had been sufficiently humiliated for a day and would certainly hold her tongue. A vital tactic in carrying out such blackmail, however, was to make sure the victim never thought she had nothing to lose. One always had to propose an even worse scenario than the current one in case of non-compliance.

Reluctantly the half-elf turned to follow Min out of the classroom while the tutor called, in vain, for silence and Essinea stood bolt upright, the colour now drained from her face.

"Oh, Min, you should really have let me have a little fun and amusement with her." Shesayne grumbled as she followed Min out into the dark hallway of the schoolhouse and down the decaying stairs.

"Another time. She's still useful." Min replied.

"Useful, since when and how?" The half-elf inquired, somewhat perplexed as she rushed passed Min to skip down the stairs and into the daylight below.

"She'll be our alibi. That and I try to be giving: she's a good time in bed and it's not sharp to treat your lovers badly."

"Oh? Well that's fresh-off-the-grapevine news: a giving tiefling!" Shesayne joked. They had left the schoolyard and begun to make their way to the more upmarket Temple Ward where their commission awaited them.

"Only a predictable tiefling is more rare." Min commented while Shesayne strolled by her side. The half-elf's body was in perpetual motion, alternating between skipping, sidling and walking backwards with Min facing her. Most found her hyperactivity distracting, if not outright irritating, but to Min, it was all part of the liveliness she found so appealing. For her part, the tiefling appeared relaxed, but her sharp ears and sharper eyes were always alert. Not a passer-by, nor wandering, razorbacked vorr dog escaped Min's intense, but subtle scrutiny.

"So you know what they're saying, in my mother's part of town at least?" Shesayne said, almost imperceptibly snatching a spice biscuit from a confectionary stall with lightning-quick speed. They had entered a small bazaar, where the light from Sigil's leaden sky was almost blocked out entirely by shabby pavillions of fabric. The smell of spices, drying fish and fresh, exotic fruit was in the air. Stall vendors of all descriptions cried out rhythmically from all directions, expounding on the unique quality of their wares.

"What?"

"That your mother must've been a succubus or something, 'cause you're 'corrupting' all their daughters." Shesayne quickly consumed the biscuit in two bites and set about finding something else to snack on.

"Some of them." Min replied modestly. Elves were always amusing to seduce, especially because, like Essinea, they often liked to play the coy, innocent maiden when, in reality, they were anything but.

"But you've never asked yourself, I mean, never thought 'bout what your mother or father might have been?"

"We've had this conversation before," Min said patiently, easing past a giant, horned lizard that was being used as a beast of burden to carry fragrant branches of sandalwood, "I don't know and don't care."

"But d'you reckon she was a succubus?" Shesayne pressed, a freshly baked custard bun from an unwitting halfling baker in hand.

"Succubus don't carry children," Min corrected, "if they did, they wouldn't be very good at what they do, but maybe my father fucked one and then my mother, so the curse was passed on. I can just see them, the moment they saw their tainted child, it was out on the street for me." There was not a hint of bitterness in the tiefling's voice. She was, in truth, reasonably satisfied with her life.

"Sometimes," Shesayne said, a little pensively, "I think that family's overrated - all that pointless elven stuff and all of it from a world that's gone now. It means more to become something here, in Sigil, 'stead of pretending we're still back there."

"The best family," Min said with conviction, "is not the one you're born with, but the one you find."

By the time they had cleared the bazaar, they could see the massive sprawl of the Hive in the distance, just where the curvature of Sigil's Great Wheel was evident. Shifting from the quarters they had known since childhood into the more genteel and rarefied air of the Temple Ward was like slipping into another world or robed priestesses and priests, signing fountains and wide, well-maintained cobbled streets. Always sceptical of structured institutions, Min could not help but wonder whether religion was the biggest trick of all time pulled off by some cosmic thief to fill her coffers. That, the tiefling reflected, was a thief worthy of admiration.

"This way, this way." Shesayne invited as she led the way, her very distinctive dress sense inviting a reproving glance from a priestess of the stern war-god Tempus and a decidedly approving one from a priestess of the radiant Sune.

The Temple of Lliira stood in a well-tended garden, surrounded by low walls. A lone cleric in blue robes tended to an immaculately trimmed flowerbed in front of a tall entry gate with fluted, silvery columns that led into a wide courtyard where the shrine to the Goddess had been erected. There, under the shade of the colonnade, a lone priestess, dressed in elegantly tailored blue and yellow robes, stood waiting, her hands on her hips. She was a lush, strikingly attractive human woman with an air of almost pretentious nobility about her. Her strawberry blonde hair was kept at elbow length and free-flowing, complementing her creamy white complexion and haughty, noble features to perfection. Nevertheless, there was a sensual decadence about her, in the arrogant gaze of her sharp, green eyes and, most notably, in the richness of her soft, full curves which suggested the lifestyle of a bored noblewoman.

"I fear that you are late." The priestess called reprovingly as soon as Min and Shesayne began to ascend the stairs to the Temple's entry gate.

"Always a pleasure, Valentina." Min noted sardonically.

"You, my dear woman, are shameless!" Valentina snapped back, "Toying with my emotions like that."

"We had a good time, no?" Min replied with cool defiance. Valentina had been an unexpectedly sensuous encounter; besides her wanton expertise, so typical of self-indulgent nobles, touching her body was profoundly erotic, like stroking the taut, flawless skin of a slightly over-ripe, but nonetheless firm fruit.

The priestess blushed lightly and anxiously bit her lower lip, she had no intention of publicising her tryst with a tiefling, "Well, in any case, many thanks for coming." She concluded at last, deciding that any reckoning with Min was best left until the rat infestation had been dealt with.

"So, does that mean we still have the job and that we're still settled for twenty marks?" Shesayne interjected enthusiastically. She may have grown to detest elven culture, but she did have at least a residual elven aesthetic and the sight of well-tended, but spontaneous garden arrangements in harmony with an airy temple architecture appealed to her.

"Well, I would hardly be a lady and a priestess if I went back on my word." Valentina said with affected magnanimity

"So, let's see these rats." Min would never admit it too openly, but there was something oddly intriguing about working as an exterminator.

*********

The foundations of Lliira's temple were humid and dark, perhaps a little uncharacteristically for a shrine to the goddess of joy and revelry. Shesayne and Min led the way, with Valentina walking very carefully a little behind, meticulously trying to avoid stepping into puddles of mossy water. Her golden silk sandals had been extremely expensive and the last thing she wanted was to have them stained.

"How come you're coming with us?" Shesayne queried, noting the priestess' unease at her surroundings. They were in a large, rectangular chamber seemingly carved into porous, humid stone. The only illumination was provided by Valentina's enchanted staff that emitted a soft, glowing light.

"Let us say that my superiors insisted." Valentina replied tersely. She had recently been appointed a full priestess and was, much to her chagrin, generally charged with the least pleasant tasks in the hope that it would help build leadership skills.

"Where did you say these rats were?" Min heard them, but could not see them. They were chittering away behind the walls, lying in wait. Cranium Rats were dangerous not so much for their size, but for their excellent psychic co-ordination that allowed to hunt in perfect harmony in large swarms. Behind each swarm was a Queen, whose exposed brain - the defining feature of Cranium Rats - was always particularly large.

"There, I suspect, by the old scrap storage." Valentina said, gritting her teeth. This was not the work of a priestess and certainly not work for her, the daughter of a most ancient and noble household that had settled in Sigil at least twenty generations ago.

Min's eyes were well accustomed to scrutinising the twilight, so she peered deeper into the darkness and saw a pile of scrap cloth, rope and metal, all cluttered up by a wall that had been penetrated by thick moss.

"I see them..." Min said softly, surreptitiously drawing her twin, curved daggers. Shesayne loaded her hand-crossbow and prepared to follow Min's lead.

"The light will draw them out," Valentina declared, "it is imperative that you slay the Queen. Without her superior intellect, the rats will disperse."

"Why should the Queen come out?" Shesayne said doubtfully, "She's their high-up commander, so why in the Nine Hells should she come out first to take our fire?"

"The Queen is young, still seeking to control the swarm, she must make good show of her strength." Valentina said, her voice tense. They would be out any minute now.

Then, like a scuttling brown wave, the first vanguard came - rats the size of small dogs with burning white eyes and yellow fangs sprung forth from the rubbish heap. Two were pinned to the wall where they stood by Shesayne's crossbow bolts, their thick purple viscera spurting forth, as if a bag full of worms had been burst open. The rats struggled awhile, before expiring, their agonising squeals filling the shadowy darkness. Min caught three more as they lunged for her, the tiefling's blades hummed through the air as they cut through skin, flesh and sinew. A dying rat in the last spasms of its ignoble life fell by Valentina's feet, live blood trickling from its maw. The priestess bit her lip to suffocate a gasp and withdrew further back.

"Hold the light next to us!" Min hissed, the last thing she wanted was to be kept in the dark, surrounded by Cranium Rats. In the meanwhile, Shesayne had loosed a few more bolts. The half-elf's aim was exceptional, for with each snap of her crossbow's string, a dying squeak could be heard, followed by futile thrashing against the stone floor.

"If you could be so kind as to keep them off me." Valentina replied with palpable irritation. Despite herself, she gingerly drew closer to illuminate Min and Shesayne's field of vision. It was then that they spotted the Queen, a Cranium Rat as large as a sheep that had finally reared its ugly head - its pink brain pulsating in all its repulsive glory.

"Can you throw a fire seed?" Min inquired nervously, hoping that Valentina's mastery of priestly magic would be sufficient to prevent the situation from becoming particularly ugly.

"Just tell me where." Valentina replied, her nerves betrayed by the tension in her voice.

"Right," Min ordered as she made short work of yet another rat, this time catching it in mid-air as it leapt for Shesayne, her blade slitting it from throat to tail, "Shesayne, run round the Queen and throw an oil pellet, try to be quick...I don't want to be picking bits of you up after she makes you pay the music. I'll draw her out and give Valentina a clear shot."

Shesayne complied, knowing full well that her natural dexterity would catch the screeching Cranium Rat Queen unprepared. The vile beast, in fact, had prepared its first lunge, its eyes glowing with wicked intelligence. The half-elf lunged to the Queen's side, then veered abruptly at a ninety-degree angle to confuse the beast. That inquisitive turn of the Queen's head was all Shesayne needed as she loosed a pellet of highly concentrated oil and sulphur that burst on impact, coating the Cranium Rat's fur in a thick, yellow liquid. An expertly thrown dagger from Min that lodged into the giant rat's side drew its attention once again in a different direction. As Min had predicted, their mundane weapons would not have been enough to wear the Queen down in a single attack.

It was then that Valentina, with well-judged aim, cast a dart of flaming energy against the Queen, causing it to erupt in a flash of yellow, flashing fire. The screams of the Queen filled the chamber and those same agonised howls of agony struck fear into the remaining Cranium Rats which quickly scampered to safety, never to return. It took the Queen a few moments to perish, each one of its death throes accompanied by sickly convulsions that sent tufts of fetid, burning fur into the air. When the flames finally did die down, all that was left was a charred corpse, with white bones poking in from under blackened flesh.

"Done and done." Shesayne quipped, picking an old wooden plank up from the ground to poke the singed corpse of the Cranium Rat Queen, "This one's not getting up any time soon, that's your problem fixed up once and for all...hey, Min, Valentina...are you listening?"

While Shesayne had been indulging her morbid curiosity, a breathless but satisfied Valentina stood smiling at Min, "Well, it appears that I was not altogether wrong in seeking your services...but Min, your hands are stained with rat blood, surely you would wash. Perhaps you would allow me to offer you a basin of fresh water."

"Yeah, I could probably use that." Min said, her vivid orange eyes fixed with evident admiration on the generous, sensual curves of Valentina's body which the priestess' robes emphasised admirably.

"Quite, well, follow me," Valentina invited, "Shesayne, you may proceed to the temple treasury, tell them I authorised a payment of twenty...no, make it thirty Sigil marks for services rendered."

Shesayne scowled. She was certainly no fool. Min, however, was too busy drinking in the lush curves of Valentina's body to pay the half-elf's irritation any mind.

******

"Oh...Min, I am such a spoiled brat, I think I need to be put in my place." Valentina moaned. She was silenced by Min's lips as they kissed with wet, lusty hunger pressed against the cool marble wall of the priestess' room. The tiefling was naked in all her glory, just having been scrubbed down with fresh water by a very eager Valentina, her body lithe and straining against the soft, sensual curves of the human girl. Min's tongue was locked in an intimate dance with Valentina's, her sultry lips searing and erotic against the priestess' mouth. With well-practised fingers, Min unclasped Valentina's robes and let them spill around her waist, revealing the glorious, heavy mounds of her pale breasts, each capped with an impudent, dark pink nipple, stiff with arousal. Min lost no time in exploring those decadent, lush curves, just as Valentina revelled in the sensation of Min's taut, yet feminine bottom and in the tiefling's smaller, but no less impressive breasts.

"Hmm, Min..." Valentina sighed, she was always vocal in her lovemaking, but the tiefling rogue was something else. To feel those rich, ruby-red lips plant burning kisses on her throat, Min's languid tongue leaving warm, moist trails on the soft, sensitive flesh was like nothing anyone else, not even the most experienced priestesses Lliira, could offer. The tiefling's kisses sank lower, riding the glorious curvature of Valentina's firm, ripe breasts before settling on the human girl's tumescent little nipples. Valentina ran her fingers through Min's silky, ember-red hair, and drew the tiefling closer to suckle at her heaving breasts. She gasped, almost whimpering, at the sensation of Min's teeth scraping against the lust-engorged surface of her nipples, drawing each taut little peak out with, hot, expert lips.

With increased urgency, Min fell to her knees tugged the rest of Valentina's robes off, helping the human priestess step out of them, before quickly unlacing her silk sandals.

"Oh, Goddess, I am such a wicked slattern." Valentina said breathily, as she ran her bare toes up the slit of Min's juicing sex, effortlessly parting the deep crimson folds and gliding over soft, downy deep red curls. Min instinctively clasped her hands around Valentina's delicate ankle and raised the girl's pale foot, graceful as a swan's neck, to her lips, before running her tongue playfully over the arched sole and licking off the familiar cinnamon-spicy residue of her arousal from each pretty, pointed toe. Valentina giggled lasciviously, pleased to see Min licking with such spontaneous desire. Rising higher, Min licked up Valentina's feminine, alabaster thighs before reaching the wispy, dark-blonde hair that surrounded the human woman's sex. The air was already hot with Valentina's sweet, musky arousal that emanated enticingly from the girl's plump, deep pink nether lips.

"I think I need to be shown proper manners." Valentina sighed, licking her lips, as she curled a leg around Min's neck, drawing the tiefling closer to the gorgeous split peach of her sex. The first long, slow lick of the tiefling's tongue against the lust-swollen lips of Valentina's sex forced a most undignified gasp from the young priestess who spread her thighs wider and leaned back further against the cool marble wall to allow better access.

"Yeah, you do." Min said, a malicious smile on her lips as she rose to her feet. She renewed her kiss on Valentina's inviting, pink lips, her tongue seeking its playmate deep in the welcoming warmth of the human girl's mouth. A slender but firm hand grasped the lush curve of the priestess' bottom, vivid red nails digging into the unblemished white flesh, "show me how much you want it. Get on the bed and show me everything, 'cept for that whiny face of yours." Min commanded, placing a sharp slap on the priestess' rump. Valentina wriggled wantonly in Min's embrace, thrusting her hips forward in approval.

"Do as I say!" Min snapped, striking Valentina's delectable bottom once again, privately relishing the marvellous sound of flesh against flesh echoing throughout the elegant stone chamber, "But don't you dare walk."

Valentina was happy to crawl, all the while giving Min a magnificent view of her feminine, curved bottom and of slick sex. When she reached her bed, Valentina, rose with a deliberately arousing sway and settled on her hands and knees on the soft sheets. Min was impressed, Valentina clearly took the submission thing very seriously - a classic bored noble who enjoyed a little humiliation for a change. The tiefling drew closer, her footfalls virtually inaudible on the stone floor. Valentina quickly buried her face in the pillows at the head of her bed and spread her thighs. The pink, juicing sex was magnificent, dense like a flower dripping in sticky nectar.

"I said spread." Min repeated sternly, standing by the side of the bed to give the priestess' bottom another playful slap.

Valentina whimpered in barely concealed pleasure and scrambled to comply, wantonly using her hands to spread the glorious, half-moons of her bottom, fully exposing the hothouse petals of her nether lips and the tiny, invitingly pink rosebud of her bottom. Almost reverently, Min ran her slender, expert fingers down the sweet hills of Valentina's bottom, before running the pads of her fingers through the sodden lips of the human girl's flesh, gathering a film of musky nectar on her fingers. Valentina thrust her hips backwards, desperately inviting Min to toy with her some more and quench the flames of lust that now filled her loins.

"You sure you're alright doing this with a tiefling?" Min inquired sceptically. Given the luxurious furnishings of Valentina's room and the stern ancestral portraits that hung from the marble walls, she felt decidedly out of place.

"Did I perhaps complain last time?" Valentina said, her cultured voice choked with lust.

That was all the confirmation Min needed. Kneeling down by the side of the bed, Min graced Valentina's magnificent sex and bottom with two long, exploratory licks. The priestess moaned, driving her head deeper into the pillows as she raised her hips to meet Min's tongue. Min waited, taking her time, making sure Valentina knew that she would dictate the rhythms of their lovemaking. The tiefling then began to place curious, noncommittal kisses on the insides of Valentina's soft, statuesque thighs, drawing closer to the human girl's sodden sex, but then only tracing the outer lips with the lightest of butterfly kisses. Valentina felt her arousal as tense as an acrobat's rope, the nexus of her pleasure, deep in her hips pulsated eager for the tiefling to ravish her, even as Min withheld her favours in the most infuriating of provocations.

Very gently, Min began to lick Valentina's fragrant sex in a slow, dreamlike rhythm, as if she were savouring the finest of creams rather than pleasuring a shameless priestess. Valentina shuddered and yelped, her face running deep red with embarrassment as Min gently tapped her clit with the very tip of a fingernail. Min then continued lapping away, almost playfully, at Valentina's sex - for now she was contented with savouring the strangely addictive fragrance of the priestess and the desperate little gasps that were emitted in response to each swipe of her tongue.

Valentina squirmed, needing something to fill her, whether it be Min's tongue or fingers in her sex or bottom it did not matter, she just wanted to be mastered by the mysterious tiefling whose skills made those of her human lovers pale in comparison. Min, however, was in no mood to be charitable, for the licking suddenly stopped, causing Valentina to turn her head discreetly to one side with a plaintive whimper of desire.

"I told you, face down." Min growled, her orange eyes glowed with playful malice, "Now I think I'm just going to take my time." With that the tiefling circled Valentina's bed, gently running the tips of her fingernails down the priestess' arched spine and through her soft, strawberry-blonde hair. Min then eased herself on the pillows at the head of Valentina's bed with effortless grace and parted her lithely muscled thighs directly in front of the human girl's surprised - and frustrated - face. The haughty beauty of Valentina's face was briefly marred by a disappointed pout. But then, she reasoned, she had put herself in Min's power.

"So, what are you waiting for?" Min inquired, casually running her fingers through Valentina's hair. The priestess took a few moments to drink in the sight of Min leaning back on the headboard of her bed, knees against her breasts, thighs spread to reveal a gorgeous deep red feast, like a ripe fruit or flower redolent of spicy cinnamon and erotic promise. Min's sex was an exotic, lust-moistened tropical bloom and like nothing Valentina had ever experienced before. So the priestess began lapping at the spread nether lips with eager abandon. Her touch was expert, for she had much occasion for practice, and Min was all too happy to inform her of what a good job she was doing with low, satisfied moans of encouragement. Valentina tongue knew exactly where to tease and probe, before playfully slipping into Min's juicing canal, eliciting a pleasured sigh from the tiefling. Utterly intoxicated by the pleasant spiciness of the tiefling's sex, Valentina lost herself in a red, wet world. Her tongue gently began to flick against the stiffened little bud of the tiefling's clit, while Min's taut, flat abdomen strained under the undulations of her hips which grew ever more insistent as Valentina's expert mouth strung the tiefling's passion tighter still.

In their lust, neither could see Shesayne crouching in the shadows by the doorway of the room. The petite half elf bit her lip as she sat on the hard stone floor, one hand busy at work under her waistband. She was no fool and knew exactly what Valentina had intended to do with Min - so she had decided to give the Treasury a skip and follow the couple upstairs, where she had hidden behind the door. Now that the two were absorbed in their passion, Shesayne had slipped in to get a closer look. She had not been disappointed.

The half-elf felt her passion grow as her fingers quickly and expertly glided against her lust-slick sex lips, creating unbearable friction on the tumescent little bud of her clitoris. Shesayne wanted to moan out loud, but restrained herself for fear of interrupting the wonderfully arousing scene in front of her. Her nipples were so stiff they showed in glorious detail through the red fabric of her bandeau. Shesayne's fingers moved in swift, well judged motions, her fingertips focusing firm pressure on her clit in languid, circular rubbing movements. She was unbearably wet, so that the undergarment-like bottom of her revealing outfit betrayed her arousal in a spreading, moist patch. That wetness was a guilty pleasure in itself, but what truly excited her was the sight of Min's rose-agate skin with its enigmatic red tint against Valentina's snowy whiteness, as well as the eagerness with which the arrogant priestess submitted to obediently licking the tiefling's sex as if she were truly hungry for the spicy desire-swollen flesh she found there. Shesayne gritted her teeth, she felt that onslaught of her orgasm close as she slipped her free hand under her bandeau to strip the offending garment off. Her breasts had all the pointed elegance of an elf's, combined with a certain alluring, human roundness, her nipples were pink, stiff and ready to be plucked by feminine lips. Shesayne's heart hammered in her chest, just as the muscle-straining spasm of need coursed through her loins and down her spine.

A few more stiff twists of her fingers brought Shesayne to a spasmodic, intense climax, causing her to pinch reflexively down on her nipple and clitoris. The half-elf rode the wave of loosened tension with hungry gyrations of her hips. In the throes of her peak, Shesayne could not restrain her ragged, breathy gasps of release.

"Hmm...Shesayne, just the girl I was looking for." Min sighed. She did not even have to turn around, preferring to focus on Valentina's bobbing head and pink tongue eagerly at work on her sex, "Doing anything fun back there?"

"Just 'bout the only interesting and important thing my mother ever taught me." Shesayne replied smugly, kicking off her low-cut boots and stepping out of her soaked bottoms.

"Right, well since Valentina's doing such a great job here...ah!" Min gasped as she was interrupted by two of Valentina's impeccably manicured fingers parting the slick folds of her sex and winding their way deep into her sodden channel, "why...why don't you help her out?"

Shesayne nodded, approached the side of the bed, and knelt down to contemplate the gorgeous curves of the priestess' proffered bottom and pouting, juicing sex. Min clearly knew how to choose them, the profile of Valentina's backside was one of pure femininity and the aroma that greeted Shesayne as she tentatively placed a reverent kiss on the human girl's thigh was no less appealing. Valentina dug her toes into the sheets, bracing herself for the assault she knew would come, all the while redoubling her efforts between Min's thighs, her fingers thrusting in a slow, deliberate, corkscrew motion to gently tease the bundle of hypersensitive tissue deep in the channel of the tiefling's sex. Shesayne lunged, finally dipping her thirsty tongue into the fragrant well of Valentina's sex. The nether lips were so soft, so velvety as to be irresistible to the little half-elf. Valentina moaned into Min's sex as she felt Shesayne begin to lick rapidly, two dextrous fingers expertly coaxing her stiff clit, while another playfully teased the tightly puckered star of her bottom. It felt so unbearably naughty to be licking a tiefling while a half-elf played with her most intimate parts, so transgressive.

A few more good licks on Min's clitoris, combined with prolonged, agonising pressure deep in her sex finally released the coiled desire in the tiefling's belly. Min pressed her sex in hard, desperate undulations against Valentina's face, her ragged gasps of pleasure filled the room, just as her nipples, crimson like cherries, seemed to pierce the air with their arrogant stiffness. The wave of itching need and fiery release coursed through the tiefling's body, causing her svelte muscles to strain under taut, red-tinted skin. Valentina certainly knew of no sight more beautiful than Min in climax. The priestess, however, did not relent as she diligently continued her work, her hard nipples pressed against the agonisingly smooth texture of the sheets beneath her, as she parted her knees further, inviting wantonly inviting Shesayne's attentions.

The half-elf did not disappoint: the combination of her expert fingers against Valentina's clit, and the playful dance of her tongue over the priestess' nether lips was irresistible. Valentina felt the boundless heat in her loins begin to mount, just as electricity built at the base of her spine, ready for release. Shesayne's licking and the maddening action of her fingers brought their rewards as Valentina felt the molten wave of her climax approach; it was then that petite half-elf, with impish malice pressed the tip of a finger against the tightly puckered ring of the priestess' bottom. Valentina moaned in defeated shame as the pink rosebud gave way to the intrusion all the way down to the base of Shesayne's finger. Both her sex and bottom contracted spasmodically as her tightly-wound lust was finally brought to its culmination. Valentina's mewling, eager cries of pleasure were music to Shesayne's ears, while Min smiled enigmatically, privately pleased that this cultured priestess would have been considered wanton even by Hive standards.

Valentina collapsed, a flood of relief spreading over her as she nuzzled Min's firm belly. Shesayne rose to her feet at the base of the bed and proceeded to lasciviously lick her fingers clean in full sight of Min. There was a moment of silence as Valentina recovered from the last pulsations of her climax.

"Would you like to fuck me?" The priestess asked, suddenly and very seriously as she lifted her gaze to meet Min's.

"What?" Min inquired, turning to Shesayne who stood, perplexed, and could only answer with a shrug of her shoulders.

"'Fucking', that would be what you people call it, right?" Valentina proceeded her aristocratic accent as melodious as ever, in spite of the question she was posing.

"Oh...yeah," Shesayne interjected, "uh, Min, she means with the rod."

"In that case," Min said, her voice betraying at least a little enthusiasm, "it's an offer I can't refuse."

"Yes, quite." Valentina said, blushing a little, "Min, if you would be so kind, there is a crystal box under the bed."

Exchanging bemused glances with Shesayne, Min dismounted from the bed and crouched down to reach the darkness underneath. Her keen eyesight soon spotted an intricately-carved crystal box with odd calligraphy sculpted into its lid which, once removed, almost caused the tiefling to laugh out loud. The implement was well-proportioned and thick, carved out of a translucent, milky material, like mother of pearl, so that its highly-textured surface was iridescent. The tiefling reflected that it must have cost, enchantment included, more than the average yearly salary of most people she knew.

"Right...you have...uh, taste." Min said rising to her feet and contemplating the dildo. Like most enchanted surrogates of its kind, it had a blunted, root-like tip at its very base.

"Why thank you, my dear." Valentina said as she flipped onto her back, positioning herself at the centre of the bed, "Now only in my Well of Sune, mind you, and not in my bottom, I am afraid that I have yet to grow accustomed to that."

There were few things that surprised Min, but Valentina was truly a case all of her own, "Great...Shesayne, why don't you get her ready?"

"My duty, honour and pleasure." The half-elf chimed as she eased herself on the bed by Valentina's side. Much to her surprise, the priestess immediately seized her and drew her into a most fiery kiss. Valentina's tongue was hungry, eager and spicy from the residue of Min's passion, so it was a pleasure for Shesayne to abandon herself to the human girl's expert touch. Shesayne may have been petite, but her body was graceful and quite a pleasure for Valentina to explore - her bottom may not have had the voluptuous curvature of the priestess', but it was perfectly rounded, tight and youthful. For her part, Shesayne was infinitely impressed with the sheer heft and ripeness of Valentina's breasts, which were large and dense without being vulgar.

Min observed Shesayne and Valentina with almost palpable anticipation. The tiefling eased the base of the iridescent olisbos into the moist tunnel of her sex and, almost immediately, she felt the enchantment take root and spread a sensation of warmth deep in the base of her belly. Gradually, the rod became attuned with the sensitivity of her sex, conveying any sensations on its surface deep into the tiefling. It felt, effectively, almost as if Min's sex had been turned inside out, for just running her fingertips down the shimmering, pearly surface drew a shudder from the tiefling. Once Min felt the implantation complete, the dildo held firmly in place by her will and the power of its enchantment, she turned to more serious matters.

Shesayne was moaning rhythmically as she offered her soft breasts to Valentina's eager tongue. The priestess was happily suckling away at one of Shesayne's rosy-pink nipples, while the slender half-elf drew her hairless sex over the human girl's soft, slightly curved belly, leaving hot, wet, fragrant trails on the flawless skin.

"Valentina, spread for me," Min ordered, mounting the bed and settling down on her knees - need pulsed through her sex like a thundering cloud, "Shesayne, make sure you keep that chattering, high-up tongue of hers busy."

Both scrambled to obey. Valentina lay back against the pillows at the head of the bed and spread her thighs, knees raised to reveal the inviting, pink well of her sex, while Shesayne settled with her knees on either side of the priestess' shoulders, leaning forward on the headboard for support. The half-elf's light pink sex, was already in full bloom with the irresistible, flowery elven fragrance tinged with just a touch of human earthiness; it was spread and eager, almost in contact with Valentina's hungry lips. With her vision obscured by the wonderful vision of Shesayne's blooming flower and flat little belly, Valentina was left in delicious uncertainty as to when Min would strike.

The tiefling was in no hurry. She gently eased Valentina's legs further apart so that she could kneel comfortably between them, before tentatively sliding the very tip of olisbos against the priestess' outer lips. Valentina moaned and began to lap hungrily at Shesayne's juicing sex. The scent and flavour of a half-elf was new to her, and every bit as fascinating and erotic as she had imagined. Shesayne moaned, eyes tightly shut as she concentrated on the sensations welling deep in her loins. The half-elf began to sway her hips to meet the eager licking of Valentina's tongue. She felt the priestess' soft hands grip her bottom and draw her in deeper. For Shesayne, there was only ecstasy in that eager, wanton mouth.

Min's first thrust was slow, delicate, but deep. She need not have bothered, Valentina was so wet that the thick, iridescent dildo effortlessly parted the pink sex lips, gliding beautifully into the tight, gripping channel beyond. Min grunted, biting her lip, the clutching sensation of the human girl's contracting channel around her was sublime, for the rod relayed that sweet sensation deep into sex in which it had taken root. Min's thrusts began to build pace as the tiefling leaned in further against Valentina. The priestess instinctively wrapped her graceful, creamy white legs around the tiefling's waist, pulling her in for ever deeper penetration. Valentina felt filled beyond belief: each time the olisbos thrust into her, she felt an electric spasm deep in her loins as its textured surface caressed her most sensitive spots all at once. The dildo was a bridge that united them, bringing passionate relief to the lust-inflamed flesh of the human priestess' gripping sex. But best of all was the idea that Min was filling her, taking pleasure from the priestess' flesh as the tiefling desired. There was no arrogant violence in Min's firm, deliberate thrusting, but just one body flowing into another, two beings - normally separated by society - becoming a single hymn to passion.

"Stay still!" Min ordered Shesayne, for the half-elf's firm, lightly tanned bottom swaying but inches from her faces was too arousing for the tiefling. Her tongue belonged there.

Shesayne nodded wordlessly and did her best to comply, despite the mounting, urgent need she felt in her sex, all thanks to Valentina's tireless licking. Min settled into shorter, more abrupt thrusts now that she felt Valentina's pleasure mount, so she was finally able to draw close to the tight crease of Shesayne's bottom and run her tongue hungrily down that magnificent valley. From her vantage point, Min could see Shesayne's fragrant, pink sex spread open and eagerly licked by Valentina, just as she could see the gorgeous scenery of the priestess' heavy breasts rising and falling, nipples stiff like gems, with each laboured breath. Shesayne braced herself against the headboard when she felt Min's tongue slide between the globes of her bottom and apply gentle, licking pressure on the tight, sensitive surface of her anus.

The wanton Valentina was the first to come. Min's expertise with the olisbos was beyond the human girl's wildest dreams, so that each consummate thrust was enough to seek out pleasure she had never before imagined could be elicited from the depths of her sex. Her cries, higher and more shameless than ever before, were partly drowned out by Shesayne's sex, upon which she feasted just as the walls of her channel contracted spasmodically around Min's rod. Min moaned, but held her release for a few more moments, before allowing the wave of tightly packed, electrical pleasure from the rhythmic convulsions of Valentina's sex - relayed perfectly by the enchanted rod - to overcome her. Min's climax came in low, ragged breaths as the coiling serpent of her desire finally struck, flooding her belly and sex with indescribable satisfaction. Between Min lavishing wet licks on her rosebud and Valentina's expert ministrations on her sex, Shesayne felt the final barrier of her need break, leaving her awash and trembling with the release of her climax.

Languidly, as if in a trance, Min withdrew from Valentina in one, loving movement and carefully detached the dildo from her own sex, setting it aside on the bed. Valentina had already repositioned herself onto her belly, with Shesayne sitting cross legged on the pillows in front of her. The priestess' mouth was already at work on Shesayne's sweetly fragrant sex, two graceful fingers parting the lust-inflamed lips, much to the half-elf's giggling delight. Min smiled at the sight of her two insatiable companions. She then, as it were the most natural thing in the world, lifted up Valentina's hips, spread the soft, perfect half-moons of the priestess' bottom and began coaxing the puckered rosebud nestled in that sensual valley with loving, insistent licks.

*********

"Hey, Shesayne...wake up!" Min whispered fiercely. Valentina's bedchamber was dark, just as it had been when they had all finally decided to allow sleep to interrupt their frenzied lovemaking.

"What...Min...?" Shesayne squinted in the darkness, even as she snuggled closer to the comforting, soft warmth of Valentina's breasts.

"Get up...we have to go." Min was already fully clothed. The sound of Valentina's soft breathing was all that could be heard in the darkened chamber.

"Min, c'mon it's soft and comfortable here." Shesayne herself did not know whether she was referring to the luxurious bed or Valentina's lush, voluptuous body.

"Yeah, but then she's going to have one of her weepy 'I love you' things tomorrow morning, trust me. We've got to go." Min had no intention of indulging Valentina's emotional mood swings. No doubt the spoiled priestess had servants and underlings who had been well-trained to handle her tantrums.

"Aw...fuck, Min, you waking me up...that's a new one." Shesayne stirred and reluctantly shifted the arm Valentina had wrapped around her waist. It was not often that the half-elf had the opportunity to sleep in such a luxurious bed. The priestess slumbered on, oblivious to the situation.

The slender half-elf scrambled in the dark for her clothes and dressed, before following Min in clambering down the open window and onto the temple gardens below. Sigil by night was magnificent. Thousands of lit, multi-chrome fires illuminated winding streets that spread, and finally curved upwards, into the distance. Sigil's Great Wheel was afire with light and energy. Min could not help but wonder whether the Temple Ward and the administrative Clerk's Ward were the only two neighbourhoods that ever slept. Wrought with boundless wonder, Sigil had to be savoured and explored, so the pair made their way back into the alleys and side-streets they knew so well. Perhaps Shesayne's mother had left some supper (or would it be breakfast?) on the stove, perhaps they would make do with the Grand Bazaar's night food-market and simply watch another, doubtless fascinating, day dawn before their very eyes.

Author's Note: the adventures of Min and Shesayne continue in the Sigil series, also stored on this archive.