- Continues from "Sehanine's Moonblade"
"...[D]eath-rain of poison and acid fell onto the Mother's flesh and sundered it aside so that the Dryads wept and fled their homes and the Nymphs sought refuge under great boulders. Eleustria, heroine and champion of House Ahlirian knew she went to her death, but sworn to defend her people, she drew her blade - sky-blue Ilmaeria's Sorrow - and stood fast before the ravager who called itself the ‘Emerald Butcher' and so battle with the great Dragon ensued...though her struggle was epic and though her gleaming sword struck true a hundred times on the Great Wyrm's steely scales, it was to no avail and the great heroine, her adamantine breastplate bloody under the Dragon's jaws, finally succumbed...those who heard her final lament professed that she called the name of her most beloved fellow blademistress who had perished defending the Hymmath Gate against the Emerald Butcher: Tahllea..."
- Chronicle of the Noble Sacrifice of Lady Eleustria, Champion of House Ahlirian; Written and Illustrated by Lady Elinathanal of House Ceilanith and dedicated with "much affection - mind, body and soul"
Brook Under Sunshine - a reprise
Sunlight streamed through the high canopy and cascaded onto the verdant needles of majestic conifers. Morning came as an ocean of light into the village of Brook Under Sunshine. Sharp, melodic birdsong floated through the treetops and a light, cool breeze hummed through the high branches. Aravae and Sigrid stepped out of Iniila's abode and strolled down the treetop boulevard that lay suspended high above the forest floor. A massive branch had been flattened by druidic magic, so that the road arched and wound its way through the various homes and simple shops that lined the mighty evergreen trees in which the village was sheltered. The morning was brisk, but Sigrid was filled with a newfound sense of purpose. She had resolved to return to Imej and claim her dignity back from Tahllea, even if it meant confronting the deception she had used to gain Mjrina's affection and her position in Yssinel's House. But there could be no more hiding. It was time for to live up to her vocation as a paladin of the Vigilant Maiden and, perhaps most importantly, it was the only way to honour both Mjrina and Aravae.
"What troubles you?" Aravae inquired suddenly with a soft, almost shy smile. The previous night, she had been filled with nothing but passion for Sigrid, but, when she awoke that morning, feeling warm and incredibly safe in the Aasimar's embrace, the only emotion she had felt welling in her breast was a profound, sisterly affection.
Sigrid paused by the great wooden statue of the Forest Mother that dominated a wide, circular plaza at the centre of the village. Two pretty junior druids, bare-breasted and clad in long, voluminous skirts woven from a luminescent, green silk attended to the elaborately carved statue, whispering incantations and setting down intricate wreaths of freshly picked flowers in offering to their Goddess.
"I never wanted you to know." Sigrid murmured. She felt her heart tighten in her chest as she contemplated the radiantly smiling Aravae. The Grey Elf's shoulder-length hair was as golden as the sun that rode high in the sky, her sky-blue tunic reflecting the azure brilliance of the new day. Aravae, Sigrid thought bitterly, was a Goddess and she, the deceiver, was unworthy of her affection. "And I beg you to forgive me for what I'm about to confess..."
The Aasimar trailed off as Aravae stepped forward without hesitation to gather her into a warm embrace. It was the same embrace they had fallen asleep in, tired, but deliriously happy after making love. "Hush," Aravae breathed, brushing her lips against Sigrid's cheek. The Aasimar skin was fragrant with the herb and pinewood scented soap from Iniila's bathing chamber. Her indigo hair, glossy in the sunlight and marvelously soft, was like silk between Aravae's fingers. "Thank you for last night, thank you for loving me - body and soul, thank you for being Sigrid." She had wished for her confession to have been more poetic, but Aravae could only let the quiet words flow from her heart and spill from her lips. Not even Tahllea deserved such a profession of devotion.
Sigrid drew a deep breath and looked on as the two woodland-tan druids poured libations of mulberry juice at the feet of the buxom, perpetually pregnant Forest Mother. Their rounded breasts, like firm gourds, swayed gently with each movement of their lithely muscled bodies. Ritual green and red paint streaked their cheeks and shoulders. She thought of Mjrina and decided that it was time to be the real Sigrid once more. "I am no wandering knight," Sigrid began hoarsely, her throat tightening with frustrated shame, "I am but a novice who was sent away from her Order to prove herself...I'm definitely not a heroine, or much of a warrior...I," Sigrid paused and blinked back a stray tear, "in a way, Tahllea was right...I'm a foolish, upstart girl with more dreams of glory than sense and..."
"Look at you," Aravae interrupted gently, trailing her lips over Sigrid's delicate, fae-like features with reassuring kisses. "All that time around humans and you start to become like them - so obsessed with laws, orders, words that, in themselves, have no meaning."
"But...I lied to you, to everyone." Sigrid said between gritted teeth, even as she clutched Aravae closer, her fingers digging into the Grey Elf maiden's back. The tunic's fabric was soft, like Aravae's skin.
"Hush." Sigrid's grip loosened. Aravae's voice soothed her, almost as if she had always been her sister. "Sigrid, my love, I simply don't care. If you read our epics, hear the stories of the Bladesingers of old, you would understand that a heroine is not perfect. A heroine can deceive, steal, or cause her lovers much pain. But she is a heroine because her heart is good and her deeds are heroic. That is the difference between humans and Elves: humans hasten to see the ugliness in everything, we seek beauty even in a wilting flower."
Sigrid sighed almost inaudibly and allowed herself to be rocked gently in Aravae's arms. "Last night, I said you were too nice," the Aasimar said quietly, basking in the sensation of Aravae's lips grazing over her sensitive, pointed ear. "I only have the Blessed Maiden to thank that I was right."
Aravae allowed herself a gentle laugh and it was music to Sigrid's ears, like ice water trickling over crystal. "Come now, a Bladesinger never wallows in her emotions and she certainly does not need a fellow warrior to tell her these things..."
"Why?" Sigrid smiled coquettishly, feeling a surge of relief sweep through her. "Aren't Bladesingers allowed a cuddle?"
"Well, maybe occasionally," Aravae shot back amiably. She could see it in Sigrid's vivid, violet eyes that a great weight had been lifted from the Aasimar's soul. It pleased Aravae to no end to see the brash, irreverent Sigrid she so adored return.
"This is where our destinies cross, then." Sigrid said. She composed herself and took a step back to meet Aravae's silvery glance.
"Woven together, never to be undone," Aravae replied, as if it were a prayer. The druids were chanting rhythmically in the background, their hair, green and chestnut-brown, was slick with blessed nut oil, so that their tresses fell wetly over their shoulders like tendrils of vegetation.
Sigrid suddenly smelled a familiar scent of incense being carried by the breeze. Min, as always, walked soundlessly over the wood, her functional, brown leather boots seemingly floating over the street. "Morning...Sigrid." Min greeted playfully, emphasising the Aasimar's name with a mocking, childish pitch.
"Why, it's Min, what a pleasure." the Aasimar replied with affected irritation. She swept around and found Min with a characteristically enigmatic smile painted on her lush, red lips. The tiefling carried her linen shirt slung over her shoulder - her lithely muscular torso was bared to the brisk morning air, so that she wore only her skintight beige breeches. In the corner of her eye, Sigrid noticed one of the druids stealing a quick, longing glance at the sensuous tiefling. Min smiled back.
"Something tells me," Min said, sauntering casually over to the Aasimar's side, "that little Sigrid had a top-shelf fuck last night."
Sigrid blushed fiercely. "Not as good yours," she snarled. Min circled her like a hunting cat playing with its prey.
"I guess Grey Elven girls are all the same." Min continued, her long, ember-red hair fluttering like a silken curtain as a gust of wind swept down the plaza. "All prim and proper, 'till you take them out of Imej, that is."
"I...see," Sigrid sighed - Min really did only have one thing on her mind. "But, I'm curious, how did you know?" A legitimate question, Sigrid thought, since neither she nor Aravae were especially vocal in their passion.
"I didn't." Min purred with a predatory grin, "Just guessed."
"Maybe you would be so kind as to translate." Aravae interjected, ever more fascinated by Min's effortlessly graceful movements. There was something entrancingly alien in those burning, orange eyes and pale, red-tinted skin - like rose-agate marble.
"Don't worry about it." Sigrid groaned. "It really isn't important."
Aravae shrugged, perplexed as always by the incomprehensible customs of outlanders. "We appear to be a full party, perhaps we should set out so we can hopefully reach Imej before nightfall, I would hate to run into more Forest Marauders on our way back." the Grey Elf suggested, reflexively running her fingers over the smooth, mother-of-pearl pommel of her sword.
"Sounds perfect," Sigrid nodded. "But I would really like to thank Iniila for her hospitality first."
"There is no need for that." a clear, melodiously accented voice interrupted. Iniila emerged from behind Min, her fierce, emerald green eyes burning with resolve. She was clad in her form-fitting, expertly crafted leather armour, patterned to resemble falling leaves. The leather hugged her voluptuous, muscular frame tightly, before flowing into a knee-length skirt of thick, hardened leather strips to facilitate movement. Her great, ancestral longbow in hand, she looked like a handsomely feral, wild-eyed attendant of the Forest Mother, her hair a wondrous autumnal fusion of deep red, chestnut-brown and dark, honey-blonde strands. "We are not to part ways yet."
"You're coming?" Sigrid asked incredulously. That Iniila would wish to relive her unfortunate experiences in Imej was decidedly surprising.
"Yes." Iniila replied curtly. She was a woman of actions, not empty words.
"Iniila, why?" Aravae queried, dumbfounded.
"To be at your side once more," Iniila said, her lips curling into a subtle smile.
"But...surely your village needs you." Aravae protested. She had no intention of dragging Iniila back into a world that looked upon her with arrogant contempt.
"I spoke with the Mother's Voice - the High Druid - and we agreed that it was right for me to see the world with different eyes. She said that, in time, all tracks would lead back to my village, but not before the world knew my name." She was resolved to go and prove to all Imej that she was no longer the frightened, angry scullery maid who cried herself to sleep on Aravae's breast. Most importantly, she owed Aravae a debt of love and gratitude - a debt which a ranger could only repay with her bow.
"Looks like she's coming, too," Sigrid informed Min in Common. Iniila's declaration had come as a pleasant surprise to Sigrid, who was more than happy to have such a redoubtable, wildly fascinating warrior to fight by her side.
"Really?" Min arched an eyebrow. "A sodding relief, if you ask me," she said, feigning indifference, "just in case we run into those fucking berks with the long claws in the forest again." The tiefling nodded gratefully to Iniila, and ran her naturally ruby-red fingernails affectionately over the Wood Elf ranger's jawline. Iniila pounced and seized Min's wrist, dragging the tiefling closer so she could grasp a handful of deep-red hair to pull the demon-blooded woman into a wet, searing kiss. Min parted her lush, moist lips and let Iniila's tongue wrestle hungrily with her own. The Wood Elf woman's eyes burned with a passion that even the previous evening's endless lovemaking had not satisfied. Min thrust her hand under Iniila's armour and clasped the Wood Elf's firm, tautly muscular thigh, her fingers trailing higher, instinctively reaching for the hot, wet nexus she so badly wanted under her fingers and on her tongue.
Then, with a coy smirk, Iniila drew back and pulled herself out of Min's embrace, before striding down the plaza and leading the party's way down the great wooden stairway that led from the village to the forest floor. Min wet her lips and savoured the fresh, herby moisture of Iniila's tongue. The tiefling realised that Iniila was going to tease her all day, just to get her wet and desperate so that by nightfall, she would be like soft clay in the ranger's hands.
"You'll just have to wait, my dear Min." Sigrid gloated as Aravae chuckled softly to herself. "That's the lovely thing about Wood Elves, they have a completely different understanding of time."
Min felt her sex tighten with frustrated desire. It was going to be a long day. So, she followed Sigrid and Aravae down the stairway, sauntering casually as she took one last glance back at the smiling druid by the statue of the Forest Mother. Then, the village disappeared back into the upper canopy of the forest and the mighty wooden stairway brought them down through the lower reaches of the tree trunk where the Wood Elves stored their fish, fruit and tubers to dry in the air or roast gently in wooden baskets over smoking, aromatic coals, magically suspended on disks of floating force so that the heat did not come into contact with the living wood.
They made their way back through the invisible sphere of force and illusion that shielded the village from unwanted attention and, once again, Sigrid found herself at the confluence of two rivers that melded together into a single pool and then cascaded down, with a thundering sound and curtains of clear, white foam, into a waterfall. It was much colder outside, for the druids of the Wood Elven village carefully controlled the climate inside their own isolated world, but the wilderness outside was covered in a vast blanket of crisp, pristine snow. Frozen conifer needles and ice crystals crunched under her boots as Sigrid made her way, a little unsteadily at first, behind Iniila. The ranger was undeterred by the cold, just as her movement across the snowy forest floor was just as swift and easy as it had been inside the village. Instinctively, she knew where to place each foot and, even if the trails were now invisible, she orientated herself by the position of the sun and the familiar configuration of trees, stones and frozen creeks where the water sang under a glassy veneer of ice.
Min, however, had never suffered from cold, so that she strolled almost casually, her shirt still draped on her shoulder, her hair matted with flecks of snow. Sigrid could not help but admire her, the subtle, athletic lines of muscle in her belly, the berry-like perfection of her hard, raspberry-red nipples which rode like jewels on her firm, wonderfully compact breasts. If by night she moved like a leopard, now she could as well have been a snow leopard, her long legs feline in their dexterity as she silently followed Iniila's lead. Aravae, for her part, was unusually lively, chatting amiably between Sigrid, who mused with her at length about the beauty of an icebound landscape and Iniila, whose answers were monosyllabic at best. Without asking, Sigrid knew that Aravae was delighted to have Iniila by her side again. Some bonds, the Aasimar reflected, were as steadfast as the roots that held up the Wood Elven village.
It was late afternoon and the sky had become overcast when they paused to eat by a stream. Iniila drew her steel-sharp obsidian shortsword and cracked open the icy surface of the water to drink while Aravae unpacked some thin, but very dense Wood Elven waybread.
"You're not cold at all, are you?" Sigrid said in Common, while Min stretched out on the snow and broke off a piece of crisp, chestnut coloured waybread and nibbled curiously around its edges.
"No. But I saw you catching a peek or two." Min noted with a hint of lasciviousness.
"Well, I can hardly help it." Sigrid protested, hoping that Min mistook the light pink blush on her cheeks for the effects of the icy breeze.
"'Course not." Min purred, taking a hungry bite of the waybread. At least it was not too sweet. "I've been to the temple of the Vigilant Maiden back in Sigil - all those high-up paladins in blue and gold armour pretending to wonder what a tiefling's doing in a holy place when they're really only thinking 'bout my tits or my ass or what my pussy'd taste like."
"Let me guess, your lover's a Grey Elf so you want to get all the gutter speech out of your system before we arrive in Imej, right?" Sigrid replied dryly. It was not so much the vulgarity, but the fact that Min had brought up the Order. Now, Sigrid's mind could only cast itself back to Isobel's challenge and to the eternal question that seemed to have no answer: would she ever return to the jeers and taunts of her fellow novices? Even if she did come back as a triumphant heroine, she doubted that many of her former tormentors would be swayed by tales of her valiant deeds in the lands of the Elves.
"Something like that...but, say...I have some good friends at the Order and I never saw you..."
"I was a novice." Sigrid replied tersely. In the background, she could hear Iniila instructing Aravae on how to discern where the Naiads of a river could be summoned.
"Thought so," Min shrugged. "But you're pretty sharp with a sword."
"Thanks..." Sigrid's voice trailed off, stunned that Min did not require or expect further information. The tiefling was simply unconcerned with the reasons behind Sigrid's presence on a distant world.
"You didn't like at the Order, did you?" Min said, sitting up all of a sudden. Her taut, muscled back was covered in a fine, icy powder.
"No...but what would you know about it?" Sigrid shot back savagely. Min had hit a sore spot.
"They don't like our kind there...halfbreeds I mean - but at least, I s'pose, you were always warm and well-fed and didn't have to worry 'bout reaching for your dagger whenever you saw a shadow approaching." There was no bitterness in Min's voice, but, as a tiefling, she knew what it was like to be on the shadowy base of society. Aasimar, halfbreeds though they were, were usually far better regarded because of their celestial, as opposed to demonic, blood.
"How many people did you stab, injure, kill, even?" Sigrid inquired. She rose and sat down by Min's side at the base of a pine sapling to contemplate the rushing water sing under its icy prison.
"Never counted," Min said nonchalantly. Her breath misted in the air. That definitely made her look like a demon, Sigrid decided, a beautiful, mysterious demon.
"Why did you do it?" the Aasimar continued.
"Doesn't take much to put a body in the dead-book. Before I made a name for myself, there were always a few men who thought that the pretty kid with the red hair and the tight ass would make for a good time...I guess that if I'd let them live, they'd be regretting it. But I'm no cutthroat - where I grew up, you had to show that you were strong. Then, life got a lot easier."
"Ever stab someone for not holding her tongue?" Sigrid asked grimly.
"Yeah, but not to kill them. Sometimes, a little cut is all it takes - just to teach them that it's better to keep your tongue in your mouth instead of losing it." Min never took insults personally unless, of course, they were meant to be personal.
"Do you think you have any idea as to what other novices at the Order called me every day for years? I never had the luxury of fighting back." Sigrid said. It was not so much the words, because even the vilest curse lost its effect in time, but the sheer loathing and hatred behind each poisonous comment.
"I can guess." Min replied indifferently. Her voice registered no emotion, so that when the tiefling placed a comforting hand on Sigrid's shoulder, the young Aasimar was caught off balance.
"I'm sorry, maybe I'm exaggerating this. You've certainly been through far worse than I can imagine." Sigrid noted quietly.
"Hey, c'mon, I never said I had a bad life: no one ever got to me, I never fucked anyone I didn't want and since some Goddess with a fucked sense of humour decided to make sure I was born with a talent for thieving, I never had to beg or sell myself even though my parents dumped me in an orphanage and, as soon as they could, the orphanage dumped me onto the street. Not many abandoned tieflings can say that." Min smiled, almost warmly.
"You're right," Sigrid conceded. "I guess it's pointless to sit around waiting for life to be fair."
"Exactly," Min said knowingly, "which is why it's up to us to make sure life is just a little bit fairer and we can both start by teaching Tahllea a lesson."
"Those who say life's a bitch have obviously never met Tahllea, but with your help, we're going to hunt this self-proclaimed she-wolf down." Sigrid clenched her fist, speaking each word as if it were a vow.
"She actually called herself a she-wolf?" Min laughed.
"Yes," Sigrid spat, "she has a way with metaphors."
***
Winter Comforts
The snow slowed their progress, so that, by the time the sky darkened, shifting from a deep orange dome into a light indigo vault, shimmering with stars, Imej was not yet in sight. Iniila paused halfway through a wide, sloping field of grasses, now almost entirely shrouded in snow that separated the higher virgin woodlands from the younger conifer forests that surrounded Imej.
"We will find shelter now. Tomorrow, by first light, we will make for Imej." the ranger said matter-of-factly. Despite the cold, her woodland-tan skin bore a fine sheen of sweat. Aravae and Sigrid nodded in agreement while Min merely stretched, arching her back, in a silent yawn, contemplating the starry horizon. "Sigrid," Iniila said, her tone softer and less declaratory. "I would like you to translate something between me and Min."
"Of course," Sigrid replied. "Min!" she called in Common, "Iniila would like to talk to you."
"Strange." Min quipped. "Don't usually need a translator for the kind of conversation we have."
The tiefling approached Iniila. "You are very expert in the arts of lovemaking," Iniila began and Sigrid relayed in Common as swiftly as she could. "So why do you not wish for me to make your flower blossom?"
"Huh? I don't get it?" Min said, while Aravae suppressed a prurient giggle.
"Uhm..." Sigrid desperately reached for a suitable euphemism, before deciding that the effort would be lost on Min. "She wants to know why you don't let yourself be fucked."
"Right, that." Min said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Sure, if she wants we can try."
"She says that it's only right that she show you that pleasure," Sigrid continued, more than a little amused by this unique insight into Min's sensual exploits, "she says that she is a warrior, not a girl..."
"Fine, fine, tell her she can have her turn in charge." Min conceded, feigning reluctance. She had never expected such vigorous lovemaking from an Elf, so the prospect of Iniila mounting her, spreading her, fucking her until her throat was too sore to cry out was deliciously alluring. Although Min usually liked to be in control, Iniila was a woman whose fiery presence demanded obedience.
Sigrid translated and Iniila gave a satisfied nod. Now that the conditions of the evening had been established, the Wood Elf ranger led the party down a narrow gully, sheltered from the swiftly accelerating snowfall. With the approaching night, the temperature began to drop precipitously and Aravae and Sigrid clung to each other for warmth, while Iniila led them expertly, even in the encroaching darkness. Finally, they reached a small hillock, surrounded by low-growing evergreen shrubs. A dull, suffused light radiated from two oval windows that had been carved into the hill itself. They approached the mound, where Iniila brushed back the sharp, thorny bushes to clear a path. Once they reached the very surface of the hillock, Iniila drew her obsidian shortsword and used its blade to brush off the ice and snow to reveal a simple wooden door which she then proceeded to open by muttering a soft command word in Druidic.
The wood yielded and the door opened, quite organically, for it had no hinges. Inside was a warm, dry refuge in the midst of the gathering snowdrift. The floor was wooden, but oddly soft, as it had been in the Wood Elf village. Before them was a simple living room, with a few functional wooden chairs, a battered divan upholstered with green hemp and a glowing sphere of eldritch fire suspended on a stone pedestal against the far wall that provided heat and a rich, red illumination. Beyond the sphere were doors which Sigrid presumed led to communal dormitories.
"Is there any part of this forest you don't know?" Sigrid asked in wonder, gratefully following Iniila's lead and removing her boots at the entrance. The warm, yielding floor was like paradise against her tired feet.
"No." Iniila replied, quite seriously. She lay down her bow, arrows and shortsword at the weapons rack by the entrance and bade her companions to do the same. It was then that Sigrid noticed that theirs were not the only items on the rack. A suit of crystalline chainmail, composed of a myriad of mirror-like fragments was flanked by a long, thin striking sword and a punching dagger that appeared to have been crafted from a single, pure icicle.
"Someone else is here." Aravae hissed softly, as if she feared disturbing the silence.
Iniila raised her hand to silence her friend. "Aulatha!" the ranger called.
At the far end of the room, by the glowing sphere, a door swung open and out stepped a creature of breathtaking grace. At first, Sigrid thought her an Elf, but on closer inspection, there was something strangely exotic about her. She was comparatively tall and her physique was taut, almost boyish, as was the short cut of her luminous silver hair that reached not much lower than her pointed ears. Her skin was snowy-pale, while her body was defined by a very slender and finely muscular athleticism which, though it gave few concessions to femininity, still had a compellingly elegant allure to it. The strange woman's visage was cool, but welcoming nonetheless, even if her eyes, so light blue they almost appeared grey, and angular features suggested the stark beauty of a shimmering glacier. She wore a white silk loincloth and nothing else, so that Sigrid's gaze was immediately drawn to her tiny but subtly delicate breasts, each capped by a plump, tulip-pink nipple.
"Iniila," the woman said quietly, her Elven accented in the fluid, singsong manner of the Star Elves. "What a blessed coincidence." She hastened over to plant a soft kiss of greeting on Iniila's lips, before dipping her head in acknowledgement to the other visitors. "Welcome to this humble refuge, I am Aulatha of House Tarsellis, Handmaiden of the Pole Star Queen and, like you, I have sought rest here for the night."
"The Pole Star Queen...but you are no Star Elf!" Aravae said, almost in awe. The woman's skin gleamed with perspiration: it was like meltwater on snow.
"Quite." Aulatha said coolly. She was a woman of few words and had little patience for hollow musings. "Some would call me a nymph, though such a description rings false to those who know the nymphs of warmer lands. Suffice it to say that I have lived my life amongst Star Elves and am bound by the Mistress and high priestess of House Tarsellis to do her bidding in the name of our Goddess."
"A warrior-nymph?" Sigrid breathed, swiftly glancing back at the fine, crystalline blades on the weapons rack.
"In the far North, one has to be a warrior to live." Aulatha replied dryly. "Now, if you will forgive me, I had just finished my steam bath and was about to rinse myself off outside. I am hardly presentable in this condition." With that, the nymph stepped towards the door and the travellers instinctively shifted to allow her through. Aulatha threw open the door, letting in a gust of freezing air, and shut it behind her. Sigrid peered curiously out of the window and saw the nymph scrubbing herself with great handfuls of icy snow, before ceremonially thrashing her skin with branches from the surrounding thorny shrubs.
Min sidled up to Sigrid's side. "What was that about?" the tiefling whispered, while Iniila invited Aravae to help her prepare the evening meal in the small but functional kitchen that lay in a nook behind the burning sphere of magical energy.
"She says she's a nymph." Sigrid remarked, turning from the window to join Aravae.
"I doubt there are many satyrs chasing her." Min said with a tinge of admiration. She took Sigrid's place by the window to admire the Aulatha's streamlined, athletic form: so hard, strong, yet undeniably female. In an instant, Aulatha stared back, her steely eyes boring into Min's. They gazed at each other in silence for a pregnant moment and then, as if nothing at all had happened, the nymph returned to scrubbing her breasts and shoulders with handfuls of snow. Min wet her lips. Her blood quickened. Aulatha's nipples were turgid. The tiefling thought of the icy, rose-flavoured sweets Star Elf pastry shops sold in Sigil and wondered whether they would be even remotely as delightful as those hard peaks between her lips.
By the time Iniila and Aravae had managed to heat up some dried, bright yellow Khinthaka berries with rough but savoury hazelnut flour to make a porridge, the sky had completely darkened. Aulatha set out a simple white linen cloth on the floor for the party to sit around, drawing porridge from a large, wooden communal pot and breaking off pieces of heated waybread. Aulatha and Iniila ate in silence while Aravae and Sigrid chatted almost constantly about the quality of the polar nymph's equipment. Aulatha did not take the bait. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her loincloth pooling between her thighs, her visage almost emotionless. It was only when Sigrid finally decided that her curiosity had become unbearable that she began by directly addressing Aulatha.
"Where is your journey taking you?" the Aasimar inquired. Iniila shot her a sharp, warning glance. The ranger knew that Aulatha to be an outstanding blademistress and a fiercely loyal friend, but one who preferred to keep to herself.
"Eltheless. My home city." Aulatha replied. Her glance crossed Min's again. The moment was brief but electric.
"Were you out on a quest?" Sigrid pressed.
"If Aulatha prefers silence, allow her that privilege." Iniila hissed sharply.
"I can speak for myself, Iniila." the nymph shot back. She set down her bowl and spoon and raised her gaze to meet Sigrid's, "Not on a quest, child, but on an errand. House Tarsellis has many scions who travel this world. My Mistress has charged me with reporting to each every five moons to ensure their safety and comfort. I understand that you are bound for Imej tomorrow morning. That is my temporary destination, too."
"Where will you be staying?" Sigrid asked, reaching out to refill her bowl with another generous portion of porridge. It was thick and pleasantly oily, with a subtle, underlying fruitiness from the berries.
"House Ahlirian has generously extended its hospitality." Aulatha replied. It did not happen often, but Min was stirring the blood in her veins faster than most of the countless Star Elf girls she had bedded. The tiefling was an outlander, a barbarian, but there was an irresistible flame in those orange eyes that compelled even the sternly rational Aulatha to take notice.
"Ahlirian...so you are Dzelha's Warden..." Aravae whispered.
"Lady Dzelha and Lady Jylzaela are my responsibility, yes." Aulatha said, her tone was brisk, as if every additional word were an imposition on her patience. "I was Lady Dzelha's fencing instructor when she expressed her wish to become a Spellsword, I have cared for her since she was a child..."
"Is that so?" Sigrid smirked, "but I'm guessing you weren't her nursemaid, right?"
Aravae did her best to restrain a guilty laugh while Aulatha shot Sigrid a glare so withering that even the brash Aasimar decided to look away lest she further inflame the nymph's wrath.
"How old are you?" Iniila growled, rising to her feet to clear the table before the dinner became a disaster. "If you were my daughter..."
"Look, I was joking!" Sigrid protested. "I don't think anyone in this forest actually has a sense of humour."
Min continued eating, unperturbed by the musical quarrelling in Elven and quite grateful that Sigrid's quip had distracted everyone long enough for her to seize the final portion of porridge.
***
"You sure you don't want to bring Sigrid in here to translate...." Min purred even though she knew Iniila could not understand her. The small living room was quiet: Sigrid and Aravae had retired to the communal sleeping quarters in the back of the sanctuary. So Iniila decided to keep it that way, silencing the tiefling with a wet, lusty kiss. Min submitted and let herself be pressed back against the strangely warm wooden wall. The ranger's hands trailed down her firm, compact breasts, curious fingers grazing each turgid red nipple in turn. Min clasped the hard leather bindings of Iniila's armour, drawing the strong, voluptuous ranger closer. So close she could smell fresh pine needles, leather and sweat.
Iniila's kiss was long and fierce, her tongue hot and possessive as it danced in Min's mouth. She cupped the tiefling's breasts and pressed her thumbs against the very tip of each nipple, feeling the heat and rubbery firmness of each peak. Min leaned into Iniila's hungry embrace, her lush, sultry lips melding with Iniila's, moist and wanting. With a firm jerk, Min unhooked the final strap of Iniila's armour and the leather gave way, revealing soft, tan skin. Iniila's breasts were warm against Min's body: rounded, heavy orbs, but firm and taut to the touch, her nipples dark brown and big like ripe berries, begging to be suckled. Min shuddered as she felt her nipples brush against Iniila's, their bodies writhing, pressed together, following the dance of their kiss. Iniila's caresses trailed over Min's hard flanks, her thumbs tracing the outlines of the tiefling's muscled belly before sliding over the leather waistband of her lover's breeches. Min leaned back against the wall and thrust her hips outwards. Her sex burned with need - her clit felt like a splinter of hot metal between her thighs, pulsing with lust after a day of frustrated desires.
The ranger took her time, slowly breaking the kiss and licking the soft skin of Min's throat. Iniila could hear Min's heart hammer in her breast. The tiefling was lovely in the firelight: her red tinted skin radiated with sensual energy under the glimmering light of the eldritch sphere. Her skin smelled of incense and it was hot to the touch, so hot that Iniila's lips burned as they kissed the valley between the tiefling's breasts. Strong hands forced themselves into Min's tight breeches, rolling over the taut muscle of her buttocks, curious fingers running inside the tight, warm crease. The Iniila jerked the breeches down. Min grunted at the sudden exposure of her sodden sex to the relatively cool air of the room. A sticky trail of cloudy juice coated the inside of her leather breeches.
Iniila could smell Min's sex, her lust. A spicy cinnamon scent. She wanted that scent hot on her lips. She kissed the contours of Min's breasts, her tongue leaving a glistening trail that drew ever closer to the tiefling's tightly engorged nipples. Min buried her lips in Iniila's autumn-hued hair and smelled pine resin and the mineral aroma of snow. Her blood felt like thick, viscous liquid straining to pass through her veins. When Iniila's lips latched around her nipple, Min could not help but give a sharp cry and dig her nails into Iniila's shoulders. The ranger suckled with firm, passionate hunger. Her tongue flicked against the stiff little peak, her lips tugging ever so gently, creating soft, irresistible friction.
Min writhed against Iniila's mouth. Her sex was sodden and creamy with desire, her loins seethed with need. But Iniila was having none of it. With a sharp tug on Min's nipple, she broke free of the tiefling embrace and stepped back, leaving Min burning with frustration. Very carefully, the ranger unstrapped her armour at the waist and let the fine leather suit fall to the ground. Min lunged forward and captured Iniila's lips once more, her hands desperately clasping the ranger's wonderfully flared bottom to draw her closer so she could grind her lust-swollen petals against the Wood Elf's thigh. Iniila fought with equal determination, thrusting Min back against the wall. The ranger was stronger and Min was powerless to prevent those firm hands grasping her shoulders and thrusting her down to her knees.
Min knelt demurely at Iniila's feet while the Wood Elf parted her thighs and spread the inner lips of her womanhood between her thumb and forefinger. Min felt her own sex tighten at the sight of a wonderful, deep red flower spread in front of her. The perfume of Iniila's pussy was sublime: earthy, musky and fertile. Min grasped Iniila's bottom and pressed her lips against the apex of the fat, hairless mound of the ranger's sex. Iniila hissed with delight and mashed her pussy against Min's lips. The tiefling started licking, tracing the drooling inner lips of Iniila's sex, tortuously making her way up to the glistening little jewel of the Wood Elf's clit. Iniila groaned and bent her knees until she was almost squatting, her pussy yielding and deliciously spread like an obscene lotus bloom. Thick rivulets of milky nectar flecked her inner petals. Min lapped hungrily, gathering the delicious nectar until it stained her cheeks and coated her tongue with rich, savoury musk. The Wood Elf's taste was almost saline, the droplets of sweat from her firm belly had mingled with the essence of her sex.
Iniila braced herself, cooing softly as she caressed Min's silky tresses. Min's tongue now worshipped the ranger's clit with long, slow licks. Iniila bit her lip and began to roll her hips against Min, she felt the agonising tension in her belly mount with each lick, drawing her closer to the ecstasy she so craved. The tiefling was in no hurry, her tongue languid as it teased the contours of the hood of Iniila's Jewel of Hanali, before lavishing a quick little flick against the tip of the delectable little bud. The ranger's was so rapt with desire that she did not notice Aulatha padding silently into the room and kneeling behind her. A grave mistake for a ranger, Aulatha thought, and one for which she would be pleased to punish Iniila.
"What...?" Iniila gasped in surprise at the sensation of a warm, wet tongue trailing down her spine, over the arch of her back to the deep crevasse of her bottom.
"Silence. Let her lick you." Aulatha ordered and, for the first time that evening, she smiled at Min. The tiefling nodded in acknowledgement while Aulatha fell to her hands and knees behind Iniila. Min grasped the firm globes of Iniila's bottom and tugged them apart. The ranger moaned as she felt a rush of cool air against the tightly-knotted star of her anus. That sensation was soon replaced with Aulatha's moist, soft lips, followed by the sensual warmth of her tongue as she began licking the musky crease of the ranger's bottom. The wanton nymph hooked a hand between Iniila's thighs and plunged three fingers into Iniila's nectar-soaked channel. Iniila drew a deep breath as she felt her sex, sodden and yielding, mastered by Aulatha's fingers.
As if on cue, Min latched her lips around the ranger's clit and flicked her tongue against the tip. Iniila felt an ocean of frustrated lust flow free from her loins. She bucked her hips, thrusting herself against Min, her thighs and calves pulled taut with effort as she came, her breathy, ragged gasps filling the chamber. Iniila fell to her knees and Aulatha forced her down, face to the ground, her tongue flicking hungrily against the ranger's earthy rosebud. Iniila's channel convulsed around Aulatha's invading fingers, so the nymph withdrew and thrust back with her whole hand. The ranger groaned and planted her knees as far apart as they would go. The pain was divine. Aulatha had conquered her pulsing sex and the beautiful polar nymph was now fucking her, wrist deep in her steaming pussy, her tongue coaxing the ranger's rosebud with wet, hungry licks.
Min took the opportunity to tug her breeches down and off and watched in awe as Iniila writhed on the floor, bucking against Aulatha's thrusting hand. Then, as quickly as her first wave of passion had flooded her, the second came, this time more violent as Aulatha's knuckles ground mercilessly against the ranger's sweet spot. Iniila felt a maddening pulse of release deep inside her, unleashing the roiling tension in her belly. The Wood Elf's defeated pussy contracted madly around Aulatha's bunched fist, but to no avail. She let out a sharp, mewling gasp as her channel expanded painfully and she sprayed her sweet, musky passion onto the floor. Long, glistening arcs of fluid poured forth from Iniila's sex, spattering on the inside of her thighs and pooling beneath her in a lewd, cloudy puddle. Min felt her desire reaching breaking point.
"You see." Aulatha barked in halting Common. "Wood Elf girls are not happy without a hand inside them." She violently withdrew her hand from Iniila's sex and rose to her knees. Iniila turned to embrace Aulatha, smothering the nymph's lips with wet, lusty kisses. Min dipped a hand into the pool of hot, female nectar on the floor and painted her lips with Iniila's essence. Then, she joined the passionately kissing lovers and thrust her lips against Iniila's and then Aulatha's, sharing the essence of the ranger's climax.
"You are next." Aulatha said menacingly, flicking her tongue against Min's lips. The tiefling smiled and seized the nymph's waist. Her muscles were hard, taut, as if she were ready to pounce. In a deft motion, Min stripped Aulatha's loincloth off. The silken fabric was smelled of sweat and sex. Aulatha's fat, hairless mound lay spread open before Min, the inner lips light pink, like a pale cherry blossom and wet with thick, clear fluid. Iniila positioned herself behind Min and cupped the tiefling's soaked sex in her hand. The soft, ember-red down between Min's thighs was matted with nectar, the tiefling's red inner lips swollen and pouting.
Min kissed Aulatha once more and eased the nymph onto her back. Her lips were fierce as they explored Aulatha's elegant body, tracing the perfect, rounded plums of her breasts, before easing on a swollen, yielding nipple and suckling. The nymph's body tasted of freshly-fallen snow. Min moaned as she felt Iniila parting the sopping inner lips of her pussy, before flicking her tongue to ravish those tart, spicy folds with her licks. The tiefling raised her hips to better present her pouting flower to Iniila's caress. As Iniila lapped wantonly at Min's pussy, she worked three fingers into the tiefling's tight, velvety channel. Min groaned and licked down Aulatha's hard, flat belly. The nymph anticipated Min's lips and briskly spread her pussy open with her thumbs. The scent of wild berries and frost-covered flowers filled Min's nostrils. Aulatha's nether petals were swollen and heavy with dew. Min started lapping desperately, her hips now bucking rhythmically, begging Iniila to end her wild desire and just put a hand - or two - in her and fuck her. The tiefling had rarely felt so wet in her life.
Iniila eagerly obliged. She positioned herself behind Min and leaned over the prone tiefling so that her hard, hazelnut-brown nipples brushed against Min's back, and thrust all four tensed fingers into her lover's burning sex. Min grunted and clasped Aulatha's taut, firm bottom for support as she licked frantically at the silky folds of the nymph's delicious pussy. Aulatha's nectar was tart, savoury with just a hint of sweetness, like a wild fruit plucked from a northern thorn. Min felt firm, but loving hands clasp her hair, drawing in closer. Aulatha's moans were quiet, almost inaudible, but there was ecstasy painted on her face, for not even she could resist the delights of Min's tongue tracing the juice-sodden folds of her sex and flicking her clit with long, hard licks.
Iniila flared her fingers in Min's sex, spreading the overflowing channel. Milky juice spilled down the tiefling's thigh, trickling down onto her thigh. Usually, Iniila would have used walnut oil to fuck Min, just as she did with the giggling junior druids who eagerly spread for her during fertility festivals for the Forest Mother. But the tiefling was irresistibly wet, so that when Iniila finally bunched her fingers together and thrust into her demon-blooded lover's channel, Min yelped softly and wantonly ground her hips against Iniila's penetration. With three long, winding thrusts, Iniila buried her hand in Min's sex. The tiefling surrendered herself to the sensation, lapping at Aulatha while she writhed under Iniila's thrusting hand, begging the ranger to stoke the flames of ecstasy that stirred in her loins. Iniila's fingers rubbed against her sweet spot, hard, relentless, electric with each touch.
Min suckled Aulatha's tiny, but wonderfully stiff clit as best she could and then introduced two fingers into the nymph's blooming Flower of Hanali. She was unbearably tight. Aulatha hissed at Min's impudence, but could do nothing against the tiefling's expert tongue. The nymph came with short, barking gasps, her fingers digging into Min's scalp, while her belly tensed and then relaxed with the waves of blissful release that now flooded her body.
Iniila continued to fuck Min with long, languid thrusts, building the cauldron of heat and desire deep in the tiefling's loins. It took only a few moments for Min to draw a long, ragged breath as she felt her sex contracting passionately around the Wood Elf maiden's hand. Hot, cinnamon-spicy juice trickled in a small rivulet down Min's thigh as Iniila jerked her hand out of the tiefling's channel and licked off the residue, finally tasting that delicious essence she had so longed for. Aulatha, however, had just begun. The polar nymph rose imperiously to her feet and picked up her discarded silken loincloth. With surprising strength for her slender frame, she wrenched Min to her knees and tied the tiefling's wrists together to the weapons rack. Min was beyond caring whether Aulatha or Iniila was in control. She simply wanted another sex to lick and another hand in her with a raw, dirty desire she had never imagined she would feel amongst Elves.
Once Aulatha had secured Min's bonds, she bade Iniila to rise. The ranger pounced to her feet and lunged at Aulatha for a burning, lusty kiss, sharing the tiefling's exotic nectar between their duelling lips. Min slumped forward submissively, her knees held wide apart so that stray droplets of nectar trickled onto the wooden floor. Then, before her she saw Iniila's firm, tautly muscled thighs. The aroma of the ranger's aroused pussy was pure feminine musk - the essence of Wood Elven womanhood. Iniila spread her inner petals and pressed her sex against Min's eager lips. Behind her, the tiefling could feel Aulatha bite down gently on her shoulder. That was the nymph's warning, then came three fingers deep into the blooming, dark red hothouse flower of Min's channel. Aulatha allowed herself a conspiratorial smile - after Iniila, Min was as wet and pliant as the tiefling strumpet she was. The nymph whispered as much in Star Elven into Min's ear and thrust her hand in. It only took a few exploratory, coaxing thrusts to find herself deep inside the tiefling. Min was squirming, moaning, her lips and cheeks smothered in Iniila's earthy dew, the ranger's voluptuous, heavy breasts heaving with each thrust as she ground her hips against her demon-blooded lover.
They made love throughout the night, Iniila and Aulatha taking turns fucking and being licked by Min. There was nothing the tiefling could do but resign herself to her silk-bonded submission. It became a rhythm. First a ripe, copiously juicing Wood Elven pussy for her to devour and Iniila's husky, breathy moans and a hard, burning fist deep in her channel that made her cry out and jerk her hips spasmodically with each shuddering thrust. Then, a more delicate pink alpine rose, smothered in clear nectar, thrust savagely against her lips and tongue and restrained, throaty gasps while Iniila loosened Min's pussy and strummed the burning nexus of her Hanali's Heart deep in the silky lake of her channel. Each raw, powerful climax was followed by a new quim in her face and another fist in her sex until Min felt so wet with juice, sweat and something hot and live trickling out of her stretched channel that she thought she would drown in a sea of sensuality.
By the time the time the darkest hour drew near, an exhausted Iniila finally released the loincloth that bound Min's wrists to the weapons rack and the tiefling collapsed, panting, on the floor, only to find her lips smothered with the Wood Elf ranger's adoring kisses. Min's sex was so sore she felt on fire, her throat was raw from crying out, but for the first time in years she almost felt...satisfied. Her heart hammered between her temples and she could taste and smell nothing sex and sweat, so Aulatha cooled her feverish skin with kisses as they curled up on the damp wooden floor for the night. The nymph's lips were stained red and tasted of steel. Min had been bleeding and Aulatha had been all too happy to lick her fingers, drenched with red-streaked nectar clean. The tiefling did not care enough for it to hurt.
Min fell asleep with the wry thought of what Sigrid and Aravae would think upon finding them in such a state the following morning.
***
Sketches
Yssinel waited with tense patience in her personal drawing room. Her dinner with Aerylle was due to start soon and the wretched girl, Senythina, had not yet turned up. So the Enchantress waited, legs crossed, her fingers nervously caressing the blade of her mother-of-pearl enamelled letter opener. The circular chamber was quiet and relatively modest, with a few elegant pieces of intricately carved pine-wood furniture and a small bookshelf with cheap tomes for casual reading. It was quiet, Yssinel reflected, silent compared to her adolescent days when she had filled her drawing room with paintings and poems in elaborate calligraphy to create the ideal setting for endless gossip and discussion with her friends. Now, only the trickling of sandalwood-scented droplets from the silver water-clock interrupted the monotonous calm. It was already dark outside, so an impressive hanging lamp, shaped like a leaf from the World-Tree cast a soft, green glow over the marble walls and carpeted floor.
Wood Elven fabrics had suddenly become fashionable in Imej and Yssinel had decided to be a trend-setter for her evening with Aerylle. The Enchantress was clad in a breezy, light green and creamily golden robe composed of many overlapping layers of gossamer fabric. Although the colour scheme was Wood Elven, the cut was made to flatter a Grey Elven physique, so that it hung marvelously from Yssinel's waifish, elfin frame, falling around her shoulders and over her breasts like a silken cascade before splitting off, daringly, into two long but thin strips of fabric at the waist which revealed enticing glimpses of her thighs with each movement of her legs, or sway of her hips.
A knock finally broke the silence. Yssinel swiftly rose to her feet, her robe rustling with the sound of spring leaves in the breeze. "Do come in." the Enchantress said, her measured tone never betraying her trepidation.
The door swung open and Senythina stepped in. The novitiate priestess was, much to Yssinel's satisfaction, as endearingly pretty as ever. Silver-haired, with soft, bright golden eyes and irresistibly charming, almost girlish features, Senythina's presence, as befitted a priestess of Hanali, was undeniably sensual. She was clad in a sleeveless, white satin dress with a loose, plunging neckline that nevertheless strained to constrain her breasts, and a daringly short skirt hemmed with a border of tiny pearls. As her Goddess required for formal occasions, she was barefoot and bare-legged, her feet adorned with golden anklets and silver toe-rings. "Apologies for the delay, Mistress..." Senythina said apologetically, discreetly producing a plain white envelope.
"No matter, child, it is, as always, an honour to have you perform in my House." Yssinel replied with a welcoming smile. Senythina nodded shyly and greeted her mistress with a soft kiss on the lips. Her heavy, swollen breasts heaved under her dress.
"This is what you asked for, right Mistress?" Senythina said, her soothingly musical voice eager to please.
"I am certain it is, child. How is your daughter?" Yssinel took the proffered envelope and brought it to her desk where, with a deft flick of her letter-opener, she uncovered the neatly-lettered message within.
"Very well, thank you." Senythina said gratefully. "And many more thanks for recommending me to House Ahlirian, Lady Tahllea was delighted with my performance." The young priestess could not have been more grateful for Yssinel's patronage. With two wealthy Houses contracting her services as a musician, she and Elhanna, her bonded lover, could finally cease having to count each Half-Dandelion coin to make ends meet.
"That hardly surprises me, my dear." Yssinel smiled. She read the message once, twice and finally, finding it too good to be true, a final, satisfied time. It was all explained in those few, brief sentences Senythina had transcribed from the official temple records. Now Yssinel realised why Tahllea had feared the truth, so much so that she professed herself indifferent to her biological family. "My lovely Senythina," Yssinel purred, drawing the priestess into an affectionate embrace. "You have been most helpful. Such loyalty is touching, my love, it really is. Perhaps I may have a word with your High Priestess, a musician of your caliber would probably relish a position in the Inner Sanctuary."
"Oh, that would be perfect..." Senythina said dreamily.
"Consider it done." Yssinel concluded. She replaced the message in the envelope which she slipped into the top drawer of her desk, silently willing the locking mechanism to snap shut. "Now come, child, it is time for you to play."
With that, Yssinel ushered Senythina into the dining room. The chamber was a vast, oval expanse, with a great window that overlooked Imej. Light from the floating spheres of eldritch energy that circled the tower and from the innumerable motes of faerie fire that lighted the streets flooded through the mighty crystal panes that occupied a whole wall of the dining hall. The long, masterfully carved table had been set with the finest Grey Elven porcelain and Star Elven crystal for two and a tall bouquet of radiantly pink Thanthal irises towered above their ceramic pool of fresh water. Aerylle was already waiting for them, clad in an understated, but delightfully tasteful azure evening gown adorned with platinum-thread embroidery that simulated the undulating patterns of stylised, Elven cursive. The neckline was deliciously plunging, flowing down so that most of the librarian's belly was bare as well and the subtle contrast of pale skin, silvery platinum and sky-blue flowed into an organic whole.
"Am I late, my beloved Mythila?" Yssinel said solicitously as Senythina swiftly took her place next to the musician's armchair directly in front of the window.
"Of course not," Aerylle replied, hastening to greet her friend with a kiss. "I took the occasion to catch up on some gossip with Mjrina." The Wood Elf handmaiden curtsied in greeting to her mistress. She stood by the table, ready to serve the evening's meal when instructed. Mjrina was grateful that Yssinel had asked her to serve clad in her usual thin and loose leaf-green shift. Formal Grey Elven dresses like the kind she was made to wear for official balls and dinners in honour of Yssinel's mother chafed her.
"It really is wonderful to be all together like this." Yssinel said effusively, before extending a gracious, dove-like hand to introduce Senythina. "This, my dear Aerylle, is Senythina, priestess of the Blessed Hanali Celanil and one of the most promising young musicians and singers of Imej. She will be entertaining us tonight." Senythina gave a demure bow and took her place on the plush, upholstered armchair. In front of her, a selection of woodwind and string instruments, all of expert manufacture, had been ranged on a low wooden table adorned with a gold-thread cloth.
"A pleasure, Senythina," Aerylle said. "May the Blessed Sehanine nurture your daughter." The librarian's tone softened noticeably when she mentioned Senythina's child. Although she had promised herself to wait for Min to discuss the matter fully, Aerylle could not help but melt at the thought of motherhood. It was something she had never really thought of as an adolescent, but now that she was in a bonded relationship with Min, the question continued to nag her.
"May she welcome your prayers." Senythina replied, blushing slightly. Ever since her pregnancy, she had been the centre of attention and that sensation was, at times, embarrassing.
"As we discussed this morning, Senythina," Yssinel said, ushering Aerylle into her place at the table, "the Five Tower Romance repertoire."
Senythina reached for a gleaming, silver flute and began the first hypnotic piece. On cue, Mjrina disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a lapis-lazuli pitcher of heated Avariel Mead which she poured in each wide-brimmed sweet wine glass, before serving an appetiser of pine-nut, violet petal and oak leaf salad. With the sensuous, humming flute providing a soft backdrop, Aerylle found ample pretext to start the conversation. "Min did not return this morning." she began softly. She knew Min too well to be worried by the tiefling's absence, but Senythina's presence had inevitably conjured up the tortuous debate on motherhood.
"Sigrid was also missing," Yssinel replied sympathetically. "I think they may have taken an excursion out into the forest together. Poor Sigrid was very disappointed with the outcome of her duel with Tahllea, perhaps she needed some time to herself and Min decided to accompany her."
"I suppose that makes sense," Aerylle conceded, taking a sip of her mead. The liquid was dense and powerfully sweet with a pleasantly acidic aftertaste. "Min looks a little roguish, but she has the kindest of hearts."
"She loves you, that much is certain." Yssinel remarked.
"Yes." Aerylle remarked quietly. "She does and I only wish she realised it is not a weakness to admit it."
With the formalities of Aerylle's sentimental life settled, Yssinel settled into a more familiar pattern of conversation to put her friend at ease. Yssinel's amiable, ever light-hearted banter combined with the rising, dulcet tones of Senythina's strangely erotic flute and liberal sips of aged, bronze-coloured Laitikh-fruit wine from an Aquatic Elven city to the far south, all contributed to take Aerylle's mind far from her worries about her relationship with Min. Mjrina served them with faultless timing, leaving a sufficient pause between each course to fully savour the tiny dish's aftertaste before bringing the next creation of the House's cook. The meal, as Aerylle had begun to expect from Yssinel's extravagant kitchen, was superb. A daringly primal main course of two, thin slices of rare breast of fatted wood pigeon on a bed of intricately sliced, caramelised winter pears was followed by Mjrina's legendary steamed chestnut pudding enhanced by the lightest sprinkling of a fantastically expensive dark, richly bitter powder from the Sylvan Elf jungles.
When the plates were finally cleared away, Mjrina poured birch tea into low, wide red ceramic cups and, as she had been instructed, Senythina lay down her flute and selected a long, slender oval lute with seven strings. The first few chords were soft and understated, but then the tempo of the strumming quickened and Senythina's crystalline, sweetly feminine voice pierced the air. By the first line, Aerylle had already recognised the song.
"The Quest of Tersielleth." Aerylle said, a light blush spreading on her finely-sculpted features. Yssinel had, of course, remembered her favourite romantic poem.
"And none sing it with more passion than Senythina." Yssinel replied. With a subtle tilt of her chin, she bade Mjrina to fetch the book she had bound for the occasion. The Wood Elf handmaiden padded silently to a pedestal at the far end of the table where a lacquered box with an intricate flower motif rendered in agate and pearl lay. Reverently, she picked up the box and presented it to Aerylle.
"Thank you, dear." Aerylle said, affectionately running her hand over Mjrina's thigh. Mjrina suppressed a shudder of desire. It was a miracle that she had served with her usual, flawless precision because she had spent the greatest part of the evening immersed in a vivid, sensual fantasy about Aerylle. Now, she felt a pang of longing in her sex, which now pulsed, damp and swollen. She could only hope Sigrid returned soon to put an end to the burning frustration between her thighs. "And my gratitude to you, too, Shannaeliia, something tells me this might just be a present."
"Oh?" Yssinel said with light sarcasm. "I suppose only a Diviner could deduce that."
Aerylle smiled warmly and opened the box. The enchanted mechanism released at her touch, causing each wooden leaf of the box to detach itself from the book it surrounded and neatly fold back on itself, becoming a perfect, lacquered cube. "A book?" the librarian said, with a hint of excitement. Her family and Yssinel's shared a similar vocation in the production of tomes and manuals of various types, so that Aerylle was convinced that her friend was perhaps one of the few women in Imej to share her passion for the printed word.
"Open it." Yssinel invited, rising to her feet to take her place by Aerylle's side. Her eyes danced over Aerylle's soft, slender form. As usual, the librarian had enviable taste in footwear. Yssinel made a mental note to send Mjrina to purchase a pair of dark-blue, ivy-patterned silk sandals like the ones that now trailed deliciously up Aerylle's milky-white calf.
"This is my father's binding." Aerylle noted, lovingly caressing the soft, red felt cover of the tome. She flipped the book open. "Oh...Yssinel, really..." the librarian sighed, half flattered and half mortified. Before her was one of her better, and most risqué, sketches of Yssinel naked, lying back on a pillow, her thighs lightly parted with a lone lily between her breasts.
"You made so many that week we were bored out of our minds at the Diamond Wall Waterfall. I kept the best ones...and a few of your letters." Yssinel purred, kneeling by Aerylle's side so she could examine the picture in closer detail. Aerylle had been a talented artist, though she had turned her attention to calligraphy - a pre-requisite for the magical arts - before entering the Academy of Divination. Nevertheless, Yssinel always
[End notes: Comments, suggestions and criticism are always welcome and will be answered promptly and thoroughly. Many thanks to those readers who have arrived thus far.]