Story: The Wandering Bladesinger (all chapters)

"Moonless nights are hot, forest nights where nameless flowers bloom and trickle nectar and the air abounds with their forbidden, intoxicating perfume..."

- Excerpt from Travelogue of a Sorceress in the lands of the Sylvan Elves, a Grey Elven erotic novel

The drum beat echoed the languid beating of Min's heart. On the elevated stage perched gloriously above the dining hall of the Shattered Sunray Emporium, a shamanistic ensemble of tawny-skinned Sylvan Elves played on exotic instruments carved from gourds, vines and the sinews of vast, nameless beasts. The male drummer was bare-breasted and powerful as he leaned over his five long-bodied instruments, each two feet tall and arranged in a pentagonal configuration to emphasise the subtle distinction of the various pitches they produced. Two females were before him at the very edge of the stage: one knelt and clasped a bizarrely-shaped triangular stringed instrument, like a lute but pulled over three orange shells, the other, gloriously painted in red and blue so that her heavy, firm breasts resembled a sky at the approach of sunset, stood and played a long, curved flute, her eyes closed in sublime concentration.

On the dining hall floor, more slender and elegantly clothed Grey Elven serving-girls and bright-eyed cup-bearing boys did their rounds. The Shattered Sunray Emporium was a restaurant only in name. Situated in the lowest circle of the city, it occupied an old, vine-grown building at the very base of the Night Market. There, the earthier delights of gambling and suggestive dancing could be enjoyed by the numerous visitors to Imej who took little pleasure in the aesthetised pursuits of the Grey Elves. High, Sylvan and Wood Elves all mingled under the dim, spinning motes of faerie fire that cast a soft, opalescent glow over the great chamber. The smell of spiced wine, aromatic smoke and the mingling of a dozen different varieties of perfume, from the earthy to the floral, filled the chamber.

Min almost felt at home. She reclined back in her blue velvet upholstered armchair, arms casually crossed, her long, ember-red hair swept in front of her so that her opponent could not read the impassive expression on her face. Seven cards lay face down on the table before her while her opponent studied her every movement. Min noted that as a possible problem. She had entered into a wager over a magnificent Sylvan Elf hunting knife obtained from the incisor of a kirre-tiger with a teakwood pommel feathered with iridescent Dragonet plumes. Of course, its current owner was in no mood to surrender it. So there, in front of the tiefling, sat a strikingly fierce, midnight-haired Sylvan Elf huntress, her corded armour straining audibly with each movement. The huntress cut an intimidating figure: though not tall, her physique was powerful and compact, like a lynx, her biceps and bared thighs knotted with athletic muscle, her dark, bronzy tanned skin marred only a by a proud symphony of pale battle-scars that marked her out as a warrior of repute. Whenever she moved to scrutinise each corner of the gaming table, her ample, rounded breasts stirred alongside under the crimson-flecked surface of her armour, her black-painted lips curling in an oddly unsettling, predatory smile. Her features were elegant and Elven, yes, but infused with a wild and indomitable exoticism. Deep, chestnut-brown eyes, alert as if in the midst of an inhospitable jungle, peered first at Min, and then at the intricate, labyrinth-pattern on the back of the rectangular cards. Long, raven-black eyelashes batted once and then the huntress finally flipped over the first card.

Min bit her lip. She was uncomfortably excited. Her plump, swollen sex pressed almost painfully against the leather of her skintight, beige doeskin breeches. Her nipples stood turgid and proud, thrust lustily against the soft, grey fabric of her succinct top. The Sylvan Elf huntress had looked. Min was certain of it. The exotic woman's feral gaze had trailed over each deft movement of Min's arms, all the way to the hard, flat expanse of her bared midriff. She knew the Sylvan Elf knew she was wet. As a hunter, she could probably smell the pooling, creamy nectar between her thighs. Min bit her lip and watched the hard bicep flex as the huntress ran her fingers over the revealed card.

"Kjinttei," the huntress said dispassionately and indicated for Min to raise her ante. The revealed card showed a constellation shaped vaguely like a cross in the night sky. Min did not understand any Elven language, but she had swiftly learned the relative importance of the cards just by watching and listening to the reactions of other players. This, however, was the first time she had decided to enter into the game herself. It was going to be a challenge. Kjinttei was an ambiguous starting point.

Min unhooked her coin purse and tossed it on the table. It landed with a soft tinkling sound of metal clashing against metal. The huntress nodded and did not bother to count the coins. She was not so much interested in a material reward as she was in overcoming Min. The tiefling, with her sharply beautiful, yet entrancingly enigmatic features was like a quarry to her. Prey to be hunted and defeated - this time not with bow or spear, but with wits and initiative. The second card was turned over.

"Pehathara," the huntress said, an ambiguous smile forming on her lips. It was the Southern Crown constellation. Surreptitiously, Min raised the lacquer bowl in front of her, with her hand shielding its contents so that the huntress could not see the array of green, red and blue glass beads she had drawn at the beginning of the game.

Min raised nine red beads and five blues, placing them on the newly revealed card. The huntress exhaled softly and countered by placing a handful of beads onto the Kjinttei card. "Selatha," the tiefling predicted and, despite her accent, the huntress understood and nodded her assent. Min sat up and leaned forward. She felt a jarring spasm of pleasure deep in her loins. Her sex tightened and the juncture between her thighs felt like a slick, leathery swamp under her breeches. Her gaze met the huntress' once more. There was fire in those deep, dark eyes. A fire and a distant drumbeat, like the one coming from the stage that now pulsed in rhythm with Min's heart.

The huntress tilted her head almost imperceptibly. Min knew she knew. Min knew she could smell her, see it in the almost invisible deepening of the reddish tint of her pale skin. Most of all, Min knew that the huntress had taken a brief instant to contemplate the ruby-red nipples that scraped with agonising sensuality against the fabric of her top. Her sex felt like it was ready to burst, her clit was like a hot spearhead thrust between her labia. A low, keening whine followed as the ensemble on stage brought the musical piece to its pulsing, ancestral climax. Min watched the huntress wait. The Sylvan Elf leaned forward, as if she were waiting to pounce, her chin supported by her fist, while her free hand pressed firmly on the cool, black lacquer of her bead-bowl.

Min dipped a hand under the waistband of her breeches and touched heavy, swollen petals, rich with nectar. She flicked the third card over and left a trail of pearly juice on the surface of the Lamp constellation. "Uquesa," Min noted. Her throat was dry, the blood ran thick in her veins.

"Tara," the huntress countered and placed her remaining beads on the slick surface of the freshly revealed card.

"Win or lose," Min whispered salaciously, tapping her boot against the hard muscle of the huntress' thigh. "It'd take you two moments to get your hand inside my cunt, tops." It was liberating to be deliberately crude - she knew the Sylvan Elf could not understand her. What the dusky warrior did understand, though, was Min's tone. The way those sultry ruby-red lips parted to mouth alien, forbidden words. A wry thought crossed the huntress' mind. Min looked tough, experienced and handy with a dagger - would she play the girl for her? Or would they grind, tussle and take turns fucking until dawn? She certainly would not play the girl for Min. Even if her sex was tight with need, a huntress whose arms were scarred by Wyverns and whose thighs had been bitten by Sandbar Alligators was no-one's toy.

"Aiteh!" the huntress said impatiently, motioning for Min to uncover the fourth card.

Min nodded and licked her forefinger clean. The huntress curled her toes reflexively over the polished wooden floor of the tavern. A silver-haired serving boy, wearing only a silk loincloth, passed by and offered myrrh-scented damson wine from a silver pitcher. She ignored him. Her eggshell-thin blue ceramic cup was still full. The Sylvan Elf warrior had not even wet her lips since meeting Min. A pregnant pause followed and all the huntress could do was bask in the incense aroma of Min's skin, the leather of her boots and breeches and the thick, musky cinnamon scent of the tiefling's ripe pussy.

Finally, Min flipped over the fourth card. It was the constellation of the World Seed. "Selatha," Min purred and turned over the remaining three cards. Tara, the Celestial Wheel, was nowhere to be seen.

The huntress nodded approvingly. Min had probably read the shuffling of the cards better than she. Out of a deck of a hundred and twenty eight constellations, Min had managed a correct guess in the course of the first hand - a very unlikely event. That meant the tiefling had a uniquely observant eye, not to mention a taste for danger. So the huntress handed over the dagger, proffering it with both hands. Min accepted her spoils of victory and felt the item's heft and weight in her hand. It was perfectly balanced, an excellent cutting weapon - a hunter's pride.

"Tahlaith!" the Sylvan Elf warrior barked and drew her thumb sharply over the palm of her hand.

Min smiled enigmatically, wielded the dagger with lightning-quickness and cut a shallow wound on the palm of her hand. Coppery blood flowed painlessly in a light trickle. The huntress raised her hand in quiet approval. Weapons needed to be blooded, or the spirits bound therein could easily become offended by their new owner's lack of commitment. On stage, the Sylvan Elf ensemble had left, only to be replaced by a lithe, nimble High Elf acrobat whose elegantly sculpted form entranced the audience as he engaged in a slow, sensually fluid dance. Wordlessly, the huntress rose and the intricately knotted, magically hardened cords of her armoured skirt fell around her thighs like a sweeping wall of iron-hard vines. Her muscular torso was framed perfectly by those taut cords. Doubtless, the armour had been custom-made for her and decorated with a wide array of red shamanistic symbols, each representing a successful quest. The huntress moved soundlessly, her bare feet gliding over the wooden floor as if it were but an extension of her humid, tropical home. Min tied the dagger to her waist and followed the Sylvan Elf warrior around to the veranda that looked out over the glowing fires of the Night Market. Sylvan Elf spices and the erotic, half-rotten smell of tropical fruit filled the air. Min intercepted a lithe serving boy and refilled her cup with steaming wine. The huntress looked out silently into the night and watched the stars crest on the horizon, suspended in a stream of milky ether that coursed through the night sky,

Sylvan Elves, like Wood Elves, Min concluded, did not like to be rushed. She drained two cups before the huntress turned around. Min's mouth was redolent of spices and tart plums. The heat between her thighs had not subsided. Two chattering Grey Elf Illusionists in their School's blue and silver robes floated quietly across the street in front of the veranda and lost themselves in the exotic smells and sounds of the bustling Night Market. Min paid them no mind and continued to stare at the huntress. If she joined another game of Aeridrial she would probably make a killing. Elven hands were fast at shuffling cards, but Min's eye was faster still. Those thoughts, though, were blotted out by the wild, unconquered beauty of the huntress and the way her dusky, cocoa-brown skin glowed in the suffused, opalescent light, the way her paler battle-scars glistened with tiny beads of sweat.

Min drained her third cup of wine, paused and stalked off out back. The huntress followed her. Outside, the night was cool and the bathing chamber smelled of dried medicinal herbs and fresh lavender. A long pool of water glistened in the starlight, and a row of washbasins which was kept fresh by way of an enchanted pump that swiftly refilled the silver containers with perfumed water on command. Min did not feel the alcohol - as a tiefling, she had a profound resistance to most toxins, so she made her characteristically stealthy, feline grace to a bathing cubicle opposite the washbasins. Quite nonchalantly, she pulled down her breeches and squatted onto the cool, brass pot to relieve herself.

The huntress watched her intently. Pearly juice stained the inside of Min's thighs and the inner lining of her breeches. The ember-red down on the plump mound of her sex was sodden with nectar and, when she parted her thighs, the huntress felt her heart leap. Min's pussy was like a lush, tropical fruit: red and spicy and juicy, each moist fold velvety with slick promise. The tiefling felt her belly and loins churn with passion as the huntress looked on, stoic and impassive like the mighty warrior she was. When she had finished, the tiefling rose and the muscles of her belly strained. She pulled her breeches up and made her way to the washbasin. The huntress stepped out in front of her and seized Min's hips with her strong, expert hands.

Before Min knew it, black-painted lips, soft and moist pressed against hers. Min thrust her tongue in a desperate struggle against the Sylvan Elf's wet, needy kiss. It was a warrior's kiss - harsh, passionate and demanding. Min felt liquid between her thighs, her blood throbbed hot and burning in her temples. The huntress tugged Min's breeches down half-thigh and swept her caress against the soft, red-crowned mound of Min's drooling sex. Hard fingers parted the inner lips of Min's pussy, a firm palm pressed temptingly against the hardened jewel of her clit. Min grunted and bit down hard on the huntress' bottom lip. She drew blood and tasted it, hot and metallic, on her tongue. Soft fluting filtered into the bathing chamber from the dining hall accompanied by a low, melancholy song. The chatter was distant and all Min, hypnotised, could only go on kissing beautiful huntress. Her belly roiled with desire. She bucked her hips in desperation.

"Put your hand in me..." Min purred against the huntress' lips. The searing flames in the Sylvan Elf's deep brown eyes blazed on. She heard the tiefling's tone, felt the drumming of her heart and the sodden wetness of her parted sex. She did not need to understand the strange words issuing from Min's lips.

The tiefling rolled her hips against the huntress' hand and traced her dextrous fingers over the pointed tips of the Sylvan Elf's ears. She nipped at the huntress' neck, her exposed collarbone, flicked her tongue in the hollow of her throat, always grinding, thrusting her juice-soaked sex spasmodically against that iron-hard, unyielding hand. Heat and pressure grew in Min's clit, spreading aching tendrils into the carnal nexus deep in her blooming flower. Soon, the tiefling thought, oh so soon.

The huntress drew back and brought her hand to her lips. It was coated in pearlescent wetness. She licked and tasted cinnamon, salt, musk and tartness. Min stood dazed, a long, sticky filament of nectar sticky against the inside of her thigh. To her the bathing chamber no longer smelled of flowers, but of earth and sweat. The tiefling watched, her body tense, her turgid nipples so stiff they felt like arrowheads against the confines of her top. In an instant, their gaze met again and Min's passionate orange eyes tried to scrutinise the dark, wild allure of the Sylvan Elf once more.

The huntress suckled her fingers clean and Min stepped forward, hesitantly, fearful of those strong, battle-hardened arms and that indomitable gaze. The Sylvan Elf warrior cupped Min's chin and pressed a finger gently against the tiefling's wine-red sultry lips. It was an unspoken command and Min was wise enough to obey. She knelt, her sex still pulsing with unfulfilled need, her nether lips aching with lusty fire in the cool evening air. Min pressed her kisses against the cords of the huntress' armour straining to find some way to reveal the glory of the Sylvan Elf's breasts. The huntress understood without being asked. One swift, knowing jerk of the knotted catch that held the tightly-wound cords in shape and the hard vines fell, pooling at the Sylvan Elf warrior's feet. Min sighed in wonder and traced the wrought muscle of the huntress' belly with her lips. Above her, full rounded breasts swayed ever so slightly, each dusky orb capped by a big nipple, rubbery and enticing.

There was no time, only urgency in the way the huntress caressed Min's silky, ember-red hair, drawing the tiefling lower. Min wet the huntress' navel with a lusty kiss and pressed on down. Then, finally she found the jungle treasure she had been searching for. A hothouse tropical flower stirred under the fat, dark mound of the huntress' sex. Then, as she bent her knees to allow Min better access, it began to bloom. Between long, athletic thighs, was a smooth coffee-in-milk dark hillock and something beautiful unravelled underneath it. Min inhaled and kissed the very apex of the huntress sex. The aroma was rich, heady and female, with just a hint of the vegetal from the leathery cords that must have ridden so often and so delectably between the huntress' thighs.

Min languidly brought her hands to the huntress' thighs and trailed her fingers up the smooth skin, tracing the rougher paths of her battle-scars, until her ruby-red fingernails could trace the outer contours of the Sylvan Elf woman's mound. Not a word was spoken. Min made her move and revealed the huntress' treasure. Dark pink lips, so intense they almost looked purple, spread out, pouting: a forbidden secret, a jungle blossom. The huntress' nether lips were soaked in thick, creamy nectar, like dew in a hot, humid forest. Her clit, proud and angry as it reared from its tiny hood, glistened in the starlight - a wet gem.

The huntress' fingers dug into Min's shoulders, her caresses more urgent. Min smiled to herself - the huntress did not want to lower herself to begging for an outlander's tongue, but she was as drunk with lust as the tiefling. So she licked at those silky nether lips in long, hungry strokes and pressed her lips against the richly oozing bloom of the huntress' pussy. Hot, viscous nectar cloyed Min's mouth. The huntress was just as delicious as a Wood Elf, but her taste was stronger still, a heady mix of earthy spices, raw female richness, rounded and savoury all at the same time. This pussy - Min thought - it's not right, here where the floor's stone and some Grey Elf's playing a harp in the next room...I should be licking her out in the jungle...

Min slipped two fingers into the velvety nexus of the huntress' channel and pressed her lips around the adorable little bud of the dusky Elf's clit. For the first time, the huntress grunted, but her pleasure was otherwise silent. Only the subtle, rhythmic rolling of her hips betrayed her desire. Min pressed her tongue against the huntress' clit with long, slow licks, her fingers winding - first two, then three and then four - into the sopping, silky channel of her lover's sex. The huntress' breath misted in the night air. Her belly strained, her breasts swayed, a glistening bead of sweat coursing in the deep valley between the two magnificent orbs.

The huntress' heartbeat was palpable. Min could feel it as she lapped hungrily at the Sylvan Elf's clit. She was ready. The tiefling bunched up her fingers and thrust hard into the huntress' channel. The Sylvan Elf warrior almost gasped. Like Wood Elf women, she knew how to relax her channel sufficiently to accommodate Min's winding hand. Min flowed into the tight, drenched vice of the huntress' sex and fucked her with deliberate, grinding strokes, her knuckles ramming almost painfully against the Sylvan Elf warrior's sweet spot, her Hanali's Heart. Despite herself, the huntress felt her façade loosening. She toyed with one of her own big, hazelnut-brown rubbery nipples, her hips melding wantonly with the rhythm of Min's thrusts. It was then the huntress realised the irony of her predicament. She had become prey. This strange, red-headed woman had made her heart throb, her sex drenched and sent a jolt of desire up her spine each time her burning orange gaze bored into her eyes. This strange, exotic woman, lithe as a panther, was now fucking her, hand inside her, lips pressed against her clit, feral and hungry. The woman, the huntress concluded, was a huntress in her own right. It was fitting that she had won the dagger.

Min grazed her teeth, ever so gently, against the hard bud of the huntress' clit and pressed her hand deeper into the bronze-skinned woman's sex. The huntress hissed, dug her thumbs into Min's shoulders and let the knot of passion deep in her loins unwind and flood her blood with fire. Min continued licking, hoping that the huntress would reward her efforts with a hot, delectable burst of nectar, like Iniila. She was not disappointed. The huntress' sex loosened and pulsed around Min's fist with the contractions of her climax. A hot rush of liquid seeped out, not as copious as a Wood Elf woman after being fucked, but a gentle tide of gooey, musky essence. Min smiled, lapped her hand clean and felt the nectar flow, almost burning in its intense, fleshy spiciness, down her throat.

The huntress slumped back against the wall and quietly caught her breath. Unperturbed, Min continued to lick her at a leisurely pace, admiring the wonderful, obscene beauty of the Sylvan Elf warrior's stretched pussy. She grasped the huntress' waist and traced the contours of her hard, taut bottom. Her fingers slick with nectar glided through the tight crevasse, leaving a moist trail on tanned skin. She pressed her thumb against the tight knot of the huntress' rosebud and, quite playfully, entered her. The huntress bit her lip as she felt a rush of raw, dirty desire. Her nether portal contracted deliciously around the base of the tiefling's finger. She wanted Min, it was time for her to turn the tables - to take this lithe, red hunting cat and make it her own.

The huntress pounced and broke free from Min's hypnotic tongue. Min shrugged and sat on the cool, granite floor, legs held close together, constrained by the bunched waistband of her breeches around her thighs. She swept her hair back and suckled on her thumb and tasted fallen leaves, ferns and earthy musk. The huntress felt a surge of need. Min was almost as uninhibited as a nymph. She paced around the tiefling. Her bare feet moved soundlessly over the stone floor. Min smiled and brushed her fingers over the huntress' bead anklet: a present from a suitor, perhaps? The Sylvan Elf did not strike Min as one who went out of her way to find jewellery. Still, the huntress stalked, circling around Min.

When it was time, she pounced. Min fell onto her hands and knees onto cool, slick stone, her hair flailing like a fiery veil. Hard, expert fingers stripped off her top and cool air flooded her achingly stiff, ruby-red nipples. Min turned her head and let the huntress kiss her with savage lust, so that the Sylvan Elf's slick essence was shared on their duelling lips. Min strained and felt hard nipples against her back, heavy breasts pressing on top of her. The huntress mounted her and claimed her, grinding her sopping sex against Min's bottom, leaving hot, wet trails - her mark, her scent. Min was hers.

She leaned over Min, still kissing her, and thrust three spread fingers into the tiefling's lush sex. Min drew a sharp breath and tensed for an instant. It was almost embarrassing - the huntress had expected her to be able to master her body as she herself had been taught in the shamanic rituals of her tribe. Min, though, was still getting used to the potential of fucking without oil. It was humiliating, for Min was loath to show this mighty huntress any sign of weakness.

"Maarai? Aenetheja atath lii?" the Sylvan Elf warrior hissed. Her voice was lilting, rhythmic.

"No, fuck, go on..." Min growled defiantly and thrust her hips back against the huntress' invading fingers.

The huntress bit down on Min's shoulder and thrust a fourth finger into the velvety core of the tiefling's rich red blossom. The quarry was resisting, it was time to put her in her place. Min mewled in defeated pleasure. Her sex ached with need. The huntress paused and loosened Min up with gentle, rolling thrusts. Then she withdrew her nectar-slick fingers and pressed down on the hard bud of Min's clit with her thumb. The tiefling braced herself and tried to spread her thighs as much as possible in the confines of her breeches. Wordlessly, the huntress thrust her hand in, slowly, deliberately, opening the silky, pliant folds of Min's sex, snaking, winding, until the tiefling felt a jolt of agonising ecstasy fill her. Her channel stretched and the huntress was wrist deep in her. Hot breath streamed against the nape of Min's neck. The huntress kissed her throat hungrily, almost as if she were savaging her.

Min's blood felt thick and angry in the veins under the huntress' lips. The huntress could feel them throb in synergy with Min's breathing. The prey was in her grasp. Hard grinding thrusts followed and Min allowed herself to be parted. She braced, tensed and sighed with each movement of the huntress' hand in pussy, each touch a jolt of pleasure, a pang of pain, all flowing together into liquid delirium. Min drew a sharp, urgent breath and felt her desire flare up, a tide of pleasure spreading from the sweet spot the huntress' knuckles pressed against so mercilessly. She came with a deep, visceral spasm, a shudder that arched her back and caused her thighs and arms to tense under their combined weight. It did not end. Her sweet surrender continued, thrust after winding thrust and Min lost track of time and her surroundings and only counted the huntress' breaths against her neck.

The music from outside had stopped altogether by the time the huntress withdrew and they rose to their feet together, kissing, nipping, scrambling to explore one another. Min smelled sweat mingled with the fruity perfume on the huntress' skin. A light, almost regretful chuckle escaped the Sylvan Elf warrior's lips and Min knew it was time to go. The huntress leaned over a silver washbasin and splashed her lust-fevered skin with cool water. Min stood behind her, nuzzling her soft, coal-black hair and then tracing her tongue down the length of her back. She fell back to the familiar, cold ground and the huntress parted her thighs and leaned forward. Min lapped down the tight crevasse of the huntress' bottom and flicked her tongue against the tight star of the warrior's rosebud. She coaxed and teased the little portal with wet, exploring licks. A forbidden flavour - like almonds and the welcoming earthiness of the forest floor. Min's kisses than trailed down the inside of the huntress' thigh, to her strong calves, until she felt the cool, crimson beads of the warrior's anklet under her lips. The huntress smiled to herself. Her prey was a wanton little thing. She turned around and drew Min into her embrace and they kissed lustily, pressed up against the wall, Min's hands exploring the soft expanse of the huntress' breasts, so unlike the athletic hardness of the rest of her body.

They washed - the huntress matter-of-factly, as if she were on an expedition, and Min, as usual, fastidiously. Back in the tavern the night was winding down. A soft, soothing song floated from the stage, sung by a waif-like Grey Elven girl with silver hair interwoven with strings of pearls. She was clad in a pristine white dress, daringly slit open at the front, so that her belly was bared - her navel crowned with a shimmering diamond. Min motioned for a serving boy to bring her wine while the huntress took a deep breath and stretched, her body lithe and languid. Min drank the spicy elixir, stroked her newly-won dagger and wondered whether the huntress would have been cold, lonely or simply spaced by the mighty urban expanse of Imej. If she was, she gave no sign of it. They waited for the act to end and the two Illusionists they had seen earlier returned from the bathing chamber, giggling softly and Min did not have to understand Grey Elven to know what they had deduced. The lights were dimmed once more, so that the dining hall seemed plunged into a shadowy penumbra. A few dedicated gamers remained at their tables indulging in the pleasures of infinitely complex card or bead games on intricate playing boards.

The huntress nodded and Min smiled and wished she had some Dreamsmoke. They walked out together onto the street and watched the warm, reddish lights of the Night Market flow in the distance. It would be open till morning. Heady air, full of the sweet, pungent and intoxicating aromas of the forest wafted, incongruous, through the high parapets and towers of Imej. The Sylvan Elf warrior drew her basalt-rock dagger, sharper than any metal knife, and trailed the smooth edge of its cold blade over the red-tinted skin of Min's forearm. Min shuddered involuntarily and observed each deft movement of her companion's hand. The huntress seized a handful of Min's ember-red hair and drew her close. With a swift, precise slash she cut off a few strands of rich red tresses close to the scalp. Min did not move. She knew from the trajectory of the dagger and the steadiness of the huntress' hands that she was in no danger.

Dextrous fingers gathered the bunch of severed hair into a tightly wound braid. Under Min's admiring eyes, that token of her being became an intricately curled length, like a decorative cord about a finger long. The huntress hooked the braided cord into a narrow, circular opening at the base of the ebony pommel of her dagger and fastened it tight. Now she had her trophy - testament of a successful hunt. She sheathed her dagger and Min watched the blood-red hair bob at the huntress' side with a tinge of pride.

Shrouded in the darkness, they kissed again, Min pressed up against the wall while the huntress devoured her lips. The Sylvan Elf trailed the waistband of Min's breeches and felt the smooth, taut belly beneath her fingers. She slipped a hand into the breeches and ground the heel of her hand against the stiff pearl of Min's clit. The tiefling groaned and rolled her hips. Her passionate sighs were suffocated by the warm heaven of the huntress' mouth.

When the huntress finally broke the kiss, breathless, her eyes aflame, she laid her head between Min's breasts and kissed the place closest to the tiefling's drumming heart. There was no use postponing it, it was time to go. Not a word was spoken. The huntress kissed Min briskly on the lips one last time, took two steps backwards, turned and left, striding up towards the bustling Night Market. There was no place for sentimentality in a hunter's world.

Min slumped back against the wall and looked at the sky. Both moons were obscured and only starlight illuminated the sapphire vault of the heavens. She breathed wistfully and watched mist float from her lips. She half hoped the huntress would turn around, but when she didn't, Min simply shrugged and returned to the tavern. Now, she had a fine, perhaps unique dagger for her collection, but, as she felt the dull throb between her legs and in her breast bristle with need, she realised that she would trade the exquisite weapon back just to know the huntress' name.

"When I asked of the mighty, bronze-skinned huntress why I, a pale Sorceress from the North, excited such smouldering lust in her eyes she laughed and pressed her Bloom of Hanali against my lips to savour - her nectar fierce and burning like spiced tea on my tongue.

‘We believe there is no water without stone, no hard without soft, no light without dark.' she said, her voice drummed like a jungle song and I saw fires blaze in the distance.

Ignorant as she was of my status, she took her pleasure wantonly and I, to my horrified surprise, surrendered to her primal power and dipped my hand, against all good judgement, between my thighs..."

- Excerpt from Travelogue of a Sorceress in the lands of the Sylvan Elves, a Grey Elven erotic novel

Water pattered against the windowpanes and streamed down the well-polished glass like celestial tears. It was grey outside - overcast and cold. Aerylle's internal clock told her it was time to get up, even if the darkness outside could easily have been confused with the dim light of early dawn. The bedcovers were warm, soft and temptingly fragrant - she had brought them in from the gnomish laundry at the far end of Harrier's Lane the previous afternoon. It would have been best to stay in bed and snuggle up closer to Min who lay naked, beautiful and languid beside her in their small but cosy bedroom. She had woken up with Min by her side for years, but she had never grown tired of it. Instead, the sensation of longing grew each time she opened her drowsy eyes and saw the long, ember-red tresses and pale, red-tinted skin of her lover's taut back and flanks next to her. They had succeeded. She and Mind had finally built a life for themselves, even if no one had ever quite believed that a tiefling and Grey Elf were meant for an enduring relationship, there they were: older, wiser and with a beautiful, proudly independent adolescent daughter to show for their efforts. That thought spurred Aerylle into action. The rent would not pay itself and the Library of Sensation needed her, as Head Librarian of the Elven Arts and Experiences section, to be in on time to spur her two assistants into action and meticulously catalogue and maintain each element in the vast collection. With reluctant, stiff muscles, she sat up in bed and shivered under her blue satin nightgown. For an instant, she envied Min. The tiefling was as lithe with lean, athletic muscle as ever. She had thought it was Elves who aged gracefully, but her back and shoulders were beginning to feel the strain of sitting at a desk all day. That and she now preferred to read with a pair of platinum rimmed spectacles. Min told her it made her look more sensual in a stern, schoolmistress sort of way, but Aerylle never believed her.

"Min, my love...it's time." Aerylle whispered and Min purred softly and turned to face the other way, her head buried in a lacy cushion. The Grey Elf woman sighed gently, sat up in bed and brushed back her golden blonde hair. A shower of free falling tresses and thin braids fell behind her. She shifted her slender, almost waiflike body and tried to shake off the grating morning stiffness.

"Min..." Aerylle insisted gently. She used to take Min's reluctance to maintain a steady job with a pinch of smiling irony, but now, with a daughter in maintain, there was no question of it being amusing any more.

"Hmm...princess..." the tiefling protested, rising, panther-like in her grace, to her hands and knees under the covers. Her hair fell around her face. A fiery curtain that hid those sharp, exotic features, those hypnotic orange, delicately slanted eyes Aerylle had fallen in love with so long ago. "Y'know I always get up...eventually."

"Of course, my love," Aerylle replied, examining the room around her before deciding that the crystal vase full of wilting pink lilies on the small, but tasteful hardwood dresser carved in a fluted, Elven style needed changing. "But I suspect your employers at the Guild would like you to turn up on time."

"It's not the kind of Guild you're thinking about." Min replied enigmatically and arched her back. The cold air felt delightful against her breasts. Her ruby-red nipples stiffened, her muscles straining as she stretched to the first dim rays of light. She turned and smiled, almost wolfishly at Aerylle. Her love added new dimensions to her beauty with each passing day. Gone was the perpetually bemused, almost girlish expression she had remembered from the first time they met. Aerylle's features had blossomed into a quiet, deeply intellectual maturity. Her high, Elven cheekbones, knowing smile and sapphire-blue eyes were as radiant as ever, her face still unlined. She was every bit a librarian, that was certain, but the loveliest librarian that Min had ever set eyes upon.

"Remember our agreement, Min." Aerylle warned, smoothing out the wrinkles in her nightgown. "As long as it means having a salary and staying out of harm's way, I simply do not want to know the details of what you do." There were days when Aerylle was terrified that the Bureau of Civic Protection would just burst in and demand to know where Min had stored her contraband or stolen gold. At least Min's record was good: whatever she did to bring home five hundred Marks a week, she had never been caught.

"Thought so," Min said triumphantly with that soft, low drawl that brought Aerylle's senses back to life with a delightful, electric shiver. She pounced under the sheets, wrapping her arms around Aerylle's waist and lavishing soft, wet kisses against the soft skin of her lover's pale throat. Despite herself, Aerylle giggled softly and put up a mock struggle. Min always knew how to completely transform her serious, responsible parent façade. "How ‘bout we start the day with a little tiefling magic?" said Min, her tone low and lascivious. She drew a long, glistening trail with her tongue down to the hollow of Aerylle's neck, all the while hiking up the soft, immaculate satin of the Grey Elf librarian's gown.

"Hmm...after last night?" Aerylle mused, tenderly caressing Min's hair, tracing the familiar contours of the fiery tiefling's jaw. She made a mental note to replace the uncorked, half-empty vial of rose oil that still sat defiantly on the bedside table lest their daughter notice. Although the girl was hardly naïve, it would have been inappropriate for her to see.

"Yeah, why not?" Min said casually. She clasped Aerylle's tight, pert little bottom in her hands, her thumbs trailing down the smooth, silky inner lips of the Grey Elf woman's sex.

"We'll be late..." Aerylle sighed and demurely spread her thighs. Min's fingernails brushed over each familiar petal. Aerylle bit her lip, her toes curled into the soft bedspread. Min remained insatiable.

"'Right, so here's the deal, princess..." Min said, her kisses hot and moist against Aerylle's throat. "We can all go to work on time and do the same useless screed we do every day for the rest of the day, or I can lick that sweet, juicy Elven pussy of yours until you come on my tongue, how ‘s that sound?"

Aerylle groaned and felt her sex pulse to life with desire. She took a deep, cleansing breath and caressed the firm muscles of Min's shoulders. "Oh...oh, all right..." she breathed with affected reluctance. "But only if you agree to wait for tonight for me to repay my debt."

"Good girl." Min disappeared under the sheets. Aerylle lifted her hips and wrapped her thighs around Min's neck. It was a position she adored - luxuriant and spread out on the bed, with her lover's expert tongue lapping at the sopping folds of her sex, her nipples hard and straining in the confines of her nightgown. The tiefling nestled herself in the darkness under the sheets. Her keen orange eyesight pierced the blackness, so she could see the heat and warmth emanating from those gorgeous, soft pink petals blooming between Aerylle's slim thighs. She wasted no time and began licking. Aerylle still tasted vaguely of rose oil. Even the flavour of her arousal had changed since giving birth, now the slightly sweet, floral taste of a Grey Elf woman was enriched with a savoury note of feminine fertility - a primordial ocean. Aerylle trailed her toes over Min's back, rolling her hips, her firm, petite breasts rising and falling with the quickening pounding of her heart. The same heartbeat she felt throbbing in her temples, hot and dense like the heat in her loins. Her sighs grew ever deeper as Min's licks flicked in long, wet arches, inching closer to the nectar-slick gem of her clit. The tiefling's lush, soft lips pressed against the inflamed pearl, her tongue lapping, soft and unhurried.

"Atara, Min!" The voice was distant in Aerylle's ears. All she could hear was Min's wet licking and the frantic rhythm of her own breathing. Soft, muted footsteps drew closer. "Min!"

"Ignore her," Min ordered, her head poking for an instant from under the sheets, her lips stained with viscous, sweet nectar. She went back to work, this time teasing the slick, velvety entrance of Aerylle's channel with her thumb and forefinger. Soon she would be wet enough to enter.

"Min!" The door burst open. The first thing Aerylle saw was a wry smile on sensual, ruby-red lips and a knowing glint in fiery golden, almond eyes. Her daughter stood in the doorway.

"You impudent girl!" Aerylle growled, desperately trying to disentangle herself from Min and slipping angrily under the sheets to adjust her nightgown. "A lady knocks before she enters. Honestly...this city is turning you into a wretched savage."

"Sorry..." the girl shrugged, not at all contrite, "so anyway, Min, can I stay out tonight after school?" She leaned against the opened door, defiant and impertinent. Her short cropped hair seemed to gleam with its own light: metallic gold, crimson red, burnished copper. Much to Aerylle's irritation, her delicately pointed ears were proudly exposed. Though her features were fiercely elegant and decidedly Elven, she had inherited Min's lean, leopard-like physique. Her flat, hard belly and long thighs were muscular, her gait every bit as dangerous and entrancing as her tiefling mother.

"She's right," Min interjected, scrambling out from under the sheets and rising like an awakening jaguar. "You've got to knock." She wet her lips and ambled her way to an old silk-upholstered armchair decorated with a stylised, cherry-blossom pattern to retrieve her shirt.

"So can I?" the girl insisted. It was always best to ask Min.

"Sure," Min began, splashing her face and breasts with cool, jasmine-scented water from the gilded washbasin next to Aerylle's polished, silver-vine inlaid pinewood wardrobe. "Just don't..."

"No you most certainly cannot, Shesayina. If you wish to spend time with your friends, you can invite them here. I expect you home when I return from the Library." Aerylle interrupted, glaring menacingly while her daughter stood impassive with her irritating, irreverent smirk.

"Don't call me fucking Shesayina..." the girl grimaced. She was a woman now and certainly resented being called by her Grey Elven child-name.

"Your tongue, child!" Aerylle hissed, stunned in the face of such vulgarity. "I shall treat you like a woman when you act like one."

"Hey, c'mon," Min said wearily, pulling on her breeches. "D'you two have to fight every morning?" She never understood why Aerylle insisted on being a disciplinarian. The girl at least made an attempt to study, confined herself to occasional, petty thieving and generally stayed out of trouble. As far as Min was concerned, it would have been unreasonable to ask for more.

"No, my dear Min, we do not." Aerylle replied sharply. "As soon as you teach your daughter proper etiquette and behaviour, there should be no cause for conflict whatsoever."

Min sighed in resignation. Any reference to her being a parent made her feel just a little bit older. "Kheth, you know your mother doesn't like that kind of tone, maybe if you asked nicely..."

"Khethinal," Aerylle corrected, "how many times do I have to tell you that it is bad form to use anything but an Elf's full name?" Despite herself, she had entered her lecturing mood. It was exactly the same tone she used to explain the intricacies of library management to her two assistants.

"Yeah, but Atara, I'm not exactly what you'd call..."

"Any daughter of mine is an Elven lady and will be treated and behave as such, understood?" Aerylle said calmly but firmly.

Khethinal bit her bottom lip nervously, awaiting her mother's verdict. There was no point in pretending that she felt at home in the elitist and expensive Elven school Aerylle insisted she attend. Though she had managed to earn the grudging respect and admiration of her classmates through sheer force of presence, her predicament always reminded her of the errant warriors of her mother's Elven homeworld who, though the subject of much myth and poetry, were hardly considered appropriate social company for the scions of noble Houses. "Please, Atara, there'll be no thieving and no Dreamsmoke, I swear by the Moonbow..." she pleaded. Even then, her humility struck Aerylle as less than convincing.

"That goes without saying." Aerylle concluded. She rose from the bed and instinctively began to tuck the covers in and smooth out the pillows. "But this city is a dangerous place and it has been getting worse with each passing day. Sometimes I think we should all just return to Imej for good...maybe then your Selen Yssinel will be able to teach you proper deportment..."

"Let her go, princess." Min insisted gently. She threw open the window and a chill, humid breeze flooded the bedchamber. The embroidered Elven curtains trembled in the smoky air.

"I am sorry, my beloved daughter, this time, the answer is no...perhaps when you are a little older..." Aerylle paused and drew her fingers over the sky-blue threaded silk of the sheet, her soul pensive and distant. Khethinal was indeed already essentially a woman as Grey Elves counted the passage of time, but just as a blossom was a flower in the making, womanhood needed time to mature and understand itself. Most importantly, in Khethinal's case, she needed to learn discipline.

"Thanks," Khethinal spat bitterly. She angrily adjusted her ivory-white tunic to smooth its skirt over her form-fitting, red leather breeches and stalked off.

"Wait..." Aerylle called in Grey Elven.

"Fuck you." Khethinal replied darkly in Common and slammed the apartment's door behind her as she left.

Aerylle's throat tightened. She would never have used such a tone with her own mother. No matter how many times Khethinal said it, it always hurt. In the briefest instant, Min was behind her, pressing soft, comforting kisses in her fragrant hair. "I'll go after her, don't worry," the tiefling whispered and slipped away, stealthy and silent as always.

Outside, on the bustling, cobbled streets, Khethinal felt at home. Her soft, beige leather boots floated with expert grace over the broken flagstones, avoiding puddles, mud and the stale remnants of the passing baker's cart with ease. She knew Min was behind her without turning around. Khethinal had a habit of knowing her surroundings perfectly without having to look, relying entirely on her hearing and intuition. "What do you want?" the girl asked, stopping by the crossroads that led into the bustling main street. The alley was deserted - in a quiet, residential area, life that early in the morning was confined to a few deliveries and the omnipresent advertising streamers of glowing faerie fire that made the rounds around the tall, skeletal buildings.

"Look, Kheth, it's all right when you need to take a shot at me, but your mother...y'know Elf-girls can't take it like we can. I know it's fucking barmy and it can really make your blood boil, but you've got to learn that ‘though I'd rather be your big sister - fuck, I can't stand you calling me mother, or atara or any of that - but Aerylle...she has to be your mother. There's nothing we can do ‘bout that, unfortunately." Min paused, arms crossed, an ironic smile on her lips.

"I suppose you'd want me to say I'm sorry." Khethinal shot back glumly and kicked loose cobblestone just to hear it skid and echo across the wet pavement. It had stopped raining, with only a cool, needling drizzle falling from the lead-grey sky.

"Nah, I already know you are." Min said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But now's a good time to tell me what's wrong."

Khethinal turned to face Min, a look of surprised wonder in her radiant, golden eyes. "You always know..."

"You're not too hard to read." The tiefling grinned.

"When I asked to stay out, it's because I wanted to meet someone..." Khethinal confessed.

Min chuckled. "The apprentice-Illusionist boy?"

"No. He overstayed his welcome." the girl answered tersely.

"Hmm? So what's the dark of it?" Min probed. Aerylle, in typically Grey Elven fashion, had taken Khethinal aside on the occasion of her daughter's first cycle and carefully explained how she had to ensure that her new life as a woman was both responsible and independent. It was only with time that Khethinal had discovered that the complex, ritualised customs of lovemaking her mother had explained in great detail may have been ideal in Imej, but in the vast, cosmopolitan city of Sigil, they were nothing but impractical theory. So, she had long ago decided that she preferred speaking to Min about the matters of the heart.

"The worm got what he deserved." Khethinal snapped and subconsciously reached for the fine, Behemoth-horn Sylvan Elf dagger concealed under her tunic. "It was all fine and good when he had his cock in my mouth and, if you listen to Atara all Elven men are perfectly respectable. ‘Course, when it was his turn, the first thing he said was that I tasted...strange." She felt bile rising in her throat. Hot, impotent anger flooded every fibre of her being. There was no simple way she could explain how humiliating the entire experience had been.

"Sorry, Kheth, I guess not too many Elves can handle a girl with tiefling blood." Min said. She placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's shoulder. It was never going to be easy being a half-elf, but she knew Khethinal was strong enough to carry the blessings and curses of her heritage. "But knowing you, something tells me you didn't let him get away with that."

"Obviously not," Khethinal replied with mock indignation. A smile returned to her lips. "He was lucky to get away with a split lip and black eye, though." No one could best her in single combat, male or female. Khethinal always put that distinguished record down to her tiefling reflexes.

"Top-shelf," Min purred. "So who's the next lucky contender?"

"There's the problem." Khethinal said, finally turning to meet Min's penetrating, orange gaze. "I'd rather meet outside because Atara would flay me alive if she knew...you know how she scowls all day whenever you invite Lily over."

Min gave a soft, mirthful laugh, amused at the endless ironies of life. "Let me guess..."

"Yeah, a Drow," Khethinal said with an uncharacteristic hint of fawning admiration in her voice. "But a real Drow, not the spider-monster stuff Atara and Selen Tahllea like to sneer at." That much was irrefutable. Zinzaranea was the cold, self-assured embodiment of Drow femininity. Few dared even cross her glowing, ruby-red eyes.

"How d'you manage to meet a Drow?" Sigil was a diverse city, to be sure, but Dark Elves were usually nocturnal on the surface world.

"One of those tricks of Fate," Khethinal noted, "a Drow Academy of Sorcery opens just as soon as the Grey Elven School of Arcana closes."

Min nodded. "Tell you what, then," she suggested, arching her back as she contemplated the grey, featureless sky. "You bring her home...but be quiet ‘bout it and for my part, I'll make sure your mother's kept busy." She smiled wolfishly.

"Thanks, so I guess this time I won't have to walk in on you." Khethinal said with her usual, teasing impertinence.

"You better not," Min joked, "or maybe a certain tiefling will tell a certain uptight Elven librarian where to find the stash of Vision Hibiscus hidden up inside your mattress."

It was only later that day, while seated at her desk in the Library of Sensation, that Aerylle realised she had forgotten to take her old, azure silk and platinum chain evening gown to the laundry. Only Elven laundries handled the fabrics correctly, but, under the circumstances, she almost felt relieved that the dress was out of sight - in the washing-pile and not the wardrobe. She had worn the dress a few days earlier over an intimate dinner at home with Min while Khethinal was still on holiday in Imej. The distressing thing was that in the course of that evening, while she had been preparing for Min's return from the Guild, she had sat motionless on her bed and thought long and hard before finally plucking up the courage to look at herself in the mirror. She had ordered that dress back when she and Min were still courting and it had seemed to still flatter her. That evening, Min had taken her with passionate urgency: twice on the kitchen counter and then almost until dawn in the bedchamber. They made love almost every night, but still, Aerylle could not shake the feeling that Min could one day grow tired of her, not because the tiefling did not love her - that would never be in doubt - but because some passions were simply too boundless for her to satisfy with just one person.

"Madam Librarian...miss," a soft, cultured voice interrupted Aerylle's meditation.

"Yes, Arilyn," Aerylle meticulously adjusted her spectacles and peered over at the compiled inventory her assistant had set down on the desk.

Arilyn was a sweet-natured, bookish half-elf with dyed sky-blue hair Aerylle personally found to be in hideous taste and a charming, innocent expression on her elfin face. She was also a less than ideal assistant. Nevertheless, Aerylle did not have the heart to transfer her, especially since Arilyn looked to her as an elder sister and mentor. So, she had resolved to teach Arilyn the long, painstaking way. "I finished cataloguing the new supply of books on Evermeet ceramics." she said proudly, her silver eyes lighting up in expectation of Aerylle's praise.

"Let me see..." Aerylle flipped through the neatly scribed pages. Surprisingly, it was more thorough and more effective than usual. At least Arilyn was learning. "Very good, my dear, just make sure that the item numbers match shelf position exactly. The Section Supervisor sent down a new set of itemising criteria, but we can talk about that after the lunch break."

"Really...it's good? Thank you, miss..." Arilyn could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

"Please, child, call me Aerylle," the Grey Elven librarian corrected. She felt at ease surrounded by the tall, heavily stacked bookshelves and the dim, magical lamplights that illuminated the labyrinthine passages of the Library of Sensation. The place held no more secrets for her.

Arilyn blushed at the privilege. "Oh...and I believe your wife is waiting for you in the reception hall, she told me to ask you to come down when your break starts."

"Take my desk for a moment then, I shall be back shortly." Aerylle replied and Arilyn leapt at the opportunity to sit in the much-coveted Librarian's armchair.

Aerylle hastened out of the administrative office at the very centre of the Elven Arts and Experiences section and made her way down two circular flights of marble stairs into one of the many inner garden of the Library of Sensation. It was still cool and the air was heavy with the moisture of tall, creeping plants and low, ornamental trees. All the vegetation had been imported to mirror a naturalistic style of Elven garden design to complement the subject-matter of the library wing to which it was attached. Her violet silk sandals, shaped to mirror the pattern of a blooming iris, were the only concession Aerylle made to fashion while at work. Day after day, she wore the same long, unflattering beige librarian's robe, bordered only by a complex silver cursive-script pattern that identified her as a section manager. As she made her way into the silent, deserted garden, surrounded by the high, white walls and big, crystal windows of the library, it occurred to her that Min probably wanted to go out for lunch somewhere - perhaps to the Wood Elf restaurant across the street. No matter how many times she told Min that they could not afford it, the tiefling insisted on a treat or two from time to time. Perhaps, she thought, she would soon return to her father's bookbinding business in Imej - there Khethinal would be guaranteed an Elven education at a more reasonable price.

She followed a small stream inhabited by shimmering blue ornamental I'uosal ornamental fish. That was when something pounced. Aerylle knew immediately from the aroma of incense it was Min. The tiefling was behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, her breath hot against the sensitive surface of the Grey Elven woman's pointed ears. Aerylle gave soft cry of surprise and found herself thrust up against the smooth bark of a willow whose heavy, verdant branches hung over the stream. Min's kisses were hot and wet against her ear. Nimble hands scrambled to find the hem of her robe.

"By Sehanine, Min what if someone sees..." Aerylle began, before drawing a deep, sharp breath as the tiefling nipped playfully at the painfully erogenous surface of her ear.

"You've been wet all day, princess, haven't you?" Min said huskily. She bunched Aerylle's robe around the Grey Elven woman's waist. The tiefling trailed her fingers over the waistband of her lover's white silk culottes. Aerylle could do nothing but admit her guilt with a silent nod. The interrupted climax of that morning had never quite been forgotten. "Good, this is your reward for being patient."

Min thrust Aerylle forward against the tree and ran her tongue, wet and lascivious, over the Elven librarian's ear. Aerylle whimpered and felt her sex tighten in expectation. Hot, wet-stained silk slid against her sex. Min thrust her hand into Aerylle's culottes and gave the Grey Elven woman's nectar-drenched sex a long, deep caress. Aerylle parted her thighs and braced herself against the tree. Min raised her hand, slick with cloudy juice, to Aerylle's lips. "Y'see that?"

"Yes..." Aerylle pressed her rosy lips against Min's fingers and lapped them clean. She tasted herself, hot, yearning, ripe. Her sex seethed, a cauldron of desire she desperately wanted Min to fill her, to fuck her and bring her to a hard, wanton climax amidst the secluded garden of the library. Min frantically tugged Aerylle's culottes down. The Grey Elven woman parted her legs as far as they would go and felt soft, moist silk pool at her ankles. Min was behind her, breathing, kissing, unhurried in her caresses over the plump, sodden mound of her lover's sex.

Then Aerylle felt something warm, firm and organic press against the velvety nether lips of her pussy. She knew the feeling, knew it from countless passionate nights of lovemaking. It was the tulip-bulb shaped dildo. Aerylle felt a rush of desire course through her. What if she was caught? A respectable, bonded Elven lady being fucked with an olisbos - that thought alone made her heart race ever faster. With swift, lusty hands, Min lowered her breeches and slipped the base of the dildo between the nectar-sodden lips of her sex. The sympathetic instrument took root, spreading its tendrils deep into the tiefling's clenching canal. Min grunted and felt her entire sex, her engorged, burning clit, exposed to the humid air. The dildo had become part of her, an extension of her womanhood, linked to each painfully sensitive spot in the spicy-musky bloom of her pussy. Min wet three fingers on her tongue and inspected the pouting entrance of Aerylle's channel. She need not have bothered - the Grey Elf woman's pussy was drenched. Aerylle braced herself. Min entered her in a slow, careful thrust. The pliant, organic structure of the enchanted dildo parted the petals and channel of Aerylle's sex. She gasped and felt herself contract around the thick intrusion. In all those years of use, she had never quite gotten used to that obscene and wonderful object inside her - but such was Min's passionate nature that it was nice to vary their routine as often as possible.

Min paused and adjusted to the familiar sensation of slick, pulsing warmth and pressure against her sex. Aerylle's pussy felt like a sweet embrace around her clit, as if two silky lips had wrapped themselves around her lust-inflamed bud. Then, Min began to fuck her lover with long, deep strokes, her hips rocking in rhythm with the sharp, whimpering breaths from the Grey Elf woman's lips. Aerylle surrendered herself and let Min open the front of her robe and felt her berry-pink nipples, stiff and engorged, press with delightful friction against the smooth bark of the tree. They made love for what seemed like an age, Min thrusting, filling Aerylle with each stroke, the tulip-bulb head of the dildo gliding deliciously over the Grey Elf woman's sweet spot.. Min felt herself peak only after Aerylle had climaxed twice, each time the sweet librarian's soft, mewling little moans drove Min harder, until the raw sensation of limb-loosening release that flooded from the carnal nexus where the dildo was rooted overwhelmed the tiefling. Min drew a long, ragged breath and felt her hips become liquid, flowing into the soft, firm surface of Aerylle's exposed bottom. She slumped forward and nuzzled her bonded lover's hair, gradually slowing the rhythm of her thrusts until the last spasms of her climax were satisfied and Aerylle's juice, thick and creamy, mingled with the spiciness of the tiefling's arousal on the knotted length of the dildo. Then, she wordlessly bade the olisbos to release itself from the velvet prison of her sex.

Aerylle, her knees unsteady, sank to the ground and fell into Min's firm, loving embrace. She buried her face in the tiefling's breasts, desperate to hear the reassuring drumming of her lovers' heartbeat under the soft, newly-ironed fabric of her shirt. Shielded by the willow's branches, it was unlikely that anyone had seen them, but Aerylle simply did not care. All she wanted was Min. She caught her breath and submitted to the tiefling's soft caresses. It felt cool and humid, but the warmth of Min's body more than made up for that.

"I think I may be getting a bit old for this..." Aerylle said with gentle irony. Aging gracefully was one thing, but working in a library gave her little time to maintain the legendary dexterity of the Elves with the stretching, dance-like exercises Yssinel had recommended.

Min gave a half-suppressed laugh. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Aerylle shook her head and snuggled closer to Min. "The more I see Khethinal become a woman, the more I realise I am no longer the girl you first met at the Waterside Inn..."

"Before I met you," Min interjected, her tone almost pensive, "I thought I'd never grow old...just figured someone would get to me eventually - stab me in a dark alley. Now, that thought is just so fucking terrifying. I want to be sure that I'll spend every last moment Lady Luck's given me with you."

"Hmm...you are growing soft with age." Aerylle teased and stole a quick kiss from Min's sultry, red lips. Then, the Grey Elf librarian gathered her courage and, almost as an afterthought, removed her spectacles to look at Min straight in the eye. "On your honour...did that dress still flatter me?"

Min gave an enigmatic smile and traced the contours of Aerylle's high, elegant cheekbones. "I kept you up all night, didn't I?"

Aerylle almost felt guilty for asking the question. Min never failed to make her feel loved and desired. "Thank you, my love...and now that I think of it, I better speak to Khethinal this evening. I may have been a little too severe with her..."

"Maybe you're better off waiting ‘till tomorrow..." Min suggested, playing innocent.

"Blessed Sehanine, no." Aerylle replied with firm determination. She rose, carefully folded her culottes and handed them to Min. "On your way back to the Guild, take these to the laundry and I will have a word with our daughter as soon I return." Like her library, her personal life worked best when everything was in perfect, itemised order.

Later that day, Aerylle was the first to step back into the welcoming kitchen-cum-entrance hall of her small, but immaculately tidy apartment. For once, Khethinal had actually helped with the housework and the round table in front of the stove was set for the evening meal. Aerylle passed a careful eye over the hanging Elven tapestries of fruit and flower themes and decided that the tiny, but prosperous herb garden she kept in an enchanted crystal sphere next to the pantry needed a little trimming. Having an internal herb garden always gave her home a more naturalistic, Elven flavour. With an unspoken command, she bade the red globes of faerie fire that floated around the ceiling in circular, winding orbits, to brighten their warm, sunset-hued glow. She removed her sandals, paced twice around the room to inspect it and then proceeded to check that the pantry and the cooler box were sufficiently stocked. They needed more milk. Although the idea of drinking something from a cow made Aerylle sick to her stomach, Min and Khethinal had acquired a taste for that human custom, even if she had swiftly discovered that Elves could not digest the substance. That cultural divide had led to a couple of particularly unpleasant experiences Aerylle preferred to relegate to the very back of her mind. It was then that she decided that before she got dinner started, she had better speak to her daughter.

What Aerylle did not know, however, was that two rooms down, Khethinal's bedchambers had its curtains pulled firmly shut and that the only light breaking the tenebrous darkness of that small, infinitely chaotic chamber came from motes of violet, enchanted light. Zinzaranea sat on Khethinal's bed, intently dosing the dried Vision Hibiscus pistils into a slender, spider-spinneret shaped pipe. Khethinal watched, fascinated. Zinzaranea was blessed with the voluptuous sensuality of a noble Drow female. Her flared hips and rounded breasts, still a little short of the full glory of womanhood, were tempered by the lithe firmness of her thighs and bottom and the soft curve of her belly, gently muscled like that of a dancer. Though relatively short by Elven standards, Drow women like Zinzaranea possessed a commanding, entrancingly sensual presence.

"Ready?" Khethinal inquired anxiously, watching deft, obsidian-black fingers seal the pipe shut.

Zinzaranea did not answer. Instead, she cupped Khethinal's chin and devoured her mouth with a wet, urgent kiss. Khethinal kissed back, hungrily, savouring the delightful softness of the Drow girl's violet lips and the lascivious, infernal dance of her tongue. They fell together on the bed, Khethinal's heart thumping painfully in her chest. Zinzaranea unlaced the front of her spider-silk shirt blouse emblazoned with a sinister, web-like pattern and allowed Khethinal's urgent, exploratory kissing to fall between the valley of her breasts, so perfect they seemed to be carved from onyx. Firm, rubbery deep-violet nipples pressed against the Dark Elven fabric. Zinzaranea's deft hands caressed Khethinal's soft, flame-coloured hair - deep red and lustrous gold all compact - and grazed the tips of the half-elf's sensitive, pointed ears. Khethinal felt a tense heat radiate from her sex, spurred on by the forbidden, exotic taste of Zinzaranea's breasts.

Zinzaranea smiled conspiratorially, "Here," she said at length, lighting the end of the pipe with a simple cantrip enchantment. "I must compliment you on your good fortune. Not many half-breeds have the benefit of meeting a Drow woman's expectations."

"Don't push your luck." Khethinal growled with affected menace. She rolled over and slumped back onto her pillow to take a deep, satisfying drag from the pipe. Its pungent, floral smoke filled the air, wafting in the dim violet light. She had grown tired of stuffy Grey Elven motifs everywhere in the house, so she had made a point of purchasing spider-themed Drow decorations and knick-knacks with which she now liberally decorated her room. No amount of furious protestation on Aerylle's part had budged a single arachnid statuette.

Zinzaranea knelt at Khethinal's side, her posture almost predatory. Her arrogant, beautiful features, framed by long, silky, silvery-white hair were amplified in Khethinal's mind as the hallucinogenic took effect. Definition, form and colour adopted a new dimension in her eyes, beginning to blur into a soft, sensuous whole. Zinzaranea's touch trailed under Khethinal's tunic and into the girl's breeches, snaking against the hot, moist flesh of her sex. Khethinal gave an angry gasp, rolled her hips - an involuntary movement that betrayed her arousal. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she snapped. She liked, Zinzaranea, yes, but no-one, not even this dangerous Drow beauty, had the right to take such liberties.

"A little prudish are we?" Zinzaranea teased as she withdrew She licked the tip of her index finger and detected a hint of warm spice and tart femininity.

"No, but I'm not your sodding toy." Khethinal took a defiant lungful of Dream Hibiscus.

Zinzaranea pounced and their lips melted into a lusty, smoke-shrouded kiss. Khethinal cupped the Drow girl's breasts and explored the firm, elegant curves of her flanks, the sublime hillocks of her bottom perfectly encased in violet leather leggings. "Of course not," Zinzaranea hissed, trailing her tongue over Khethinal's lips. "This is why I fully expect you to lick me with twice the passion with which I shall now lick you." Khethinal slumped back and felt her blood thick as molten iron in her veins. There was no resisting that low, purring, slightly menacing tone.

Zinzaranea hooked her thumbs in the waistband of Khethinal's breeches and began to tug them down, inching them down, fractions of an inch at a time. "D'you want some Hibiscus?" Khethinal offered, her throat tight with desire.

"Not at all," Zinzaranea snorted. "I will never allow a foreign flavour to interfere with my enjoyment of the delights of your womanhood."

Khethinal felt a tide of relief overcome her. This Drow girl, with her cold superiority and sardonic, sadistic sense of humour truly desired her more than the finicky Grey Elf illusionist whose main ambition - in her view anyway - had been to ‘tame the half-breed'. Khethinal arched her back to meet the gentle teasing of Zinzaranea's tongue as it left a warm, slick trail, moving inexorably down the hard, flat expanse of her belly.

"Khethinal!" Aerylle called tentatively, rapping gently at the door.

"Fuck." Khethinal swore, her voice half-strangled with fear. "Get under the bed and dispel the faerie fire!" she ordered between gritted teeth and Zinzaranea, muttering threateningly in Dark Elven, obeyed. Khethinal leapt to her feet, extinguished the Vision Hibiscus pipe and rushed to the door and slipped into the hallway to meet her mother with a nervous, painted smile.

"Sorry, my dear, have I disturbed you?" Aerylle asked sweetly. Whatever irritation she may have felt at her daughter's fiery temper was swiftly dispelled.

"No, I was just resting, today was pretty busy," Khethinal lied, surreptitiously adjusting her tunic.

"I know you do your best at school...Min and I are very proud of you, never forget it..."

"Thanks, Atara, I appreciate it...but..." the distinctive odour of Vision Hibiscus had begun to waft through the doorway.

"So I have decided that it is time for you to begin to live your own life. From now on, if you wish to stay out you may, as long as you tell us where you are going beforehand and promise to take care when you are out in the city..." Aerylle paused, she was certain she had detected that aroma before. "Are you burning something?"

"Just some incense..." Khethinal said quickly, "to help me concentrate". She was moved by her mother's generosity and would eagerly have submitted to Aerylle's obvious inclination to have a nice, heart-to-heart cuddle on the divan, but the timing was simply awful.

"Oh, child, I sincerely hope it isn't Dreamsmoke." Aerylle chided.

"C'mon, Atara, remember...I promised: no Dreamsmoke..." Khethinal protested weakly.

Something flashed in the darkness behind Khethinal. Aerylle peered through the doorway. She was certain she had seen two points of red, glowering light pierce the blackness. "Is something in there?" Aerylle asked curiously, forcing her way past Khethinal into the room. She conjured up a sphere of glowing golden light and passed it over Khethinal's unmade bed and the wide collection of daggers she kept in a display rack next to her desk. The sphere trailed its glaring rays lower.

Zinzaranea gasped in distress as the light suddenly pierced her sensitive eyes and scrambled out from under the bundle of covers at the foot of the bed, an expression of furious exasperation on her face. Aerylle felt a leaden weight sink in her belly. The Drow girl's blouse was undone and a still-smoking pipe sent its narcotic fumes wafting into the air.

"Atara..." said Khethinal, her voice almost inaudible with trepidation.

"Yes, dear..." Aerylle's tone was measured, even if she privately wished she had one of Min's daggers on hand.

"Allow me to introduce Zinzaranea."

Sigil - a great, cosmopolitan city at the centre of all the Planes of Existence; this is a city of lost souls and boundless hopes, of countless scattered lives and scattered dreams. It is, at once, the antithesis of Imej and its dark, passionate mirror.

- Excerpt from Aerylle's Diary

Sigil was experiencing a cold snap. Icy, foggy, humid air hung low over the city's cobbled streets, streaking stone walls with dank moisture. It was a bad day: grey and overcast, even more so than the residents of Sigil had come to expect from their foreboding, sunless sky. The snaking alleyway was icebound, the terrain slippery under Shesayne's feet. But the petite half-elf was undeterred. Her movements were deft and she skipped expertly over the cracked paving, interwoven with little pools of freezing water covered by murky skins of dirty ice. Shesayne braced herself against the cutting wind and hugged herself close. Her wardrobe had not anticipated the sudden fall in temperature, so she had to settle for wearing one of Astrid's battered old grey overcoats. It was far too big for her. Shesayne was short, slender and so waifishly elfin that most mistook her for a full-blooded High Elf. Only her lightly tan skin gave her ancestry away. Otherwise, her impish smile and youthfully pretty features were precisely what one would expect from an Elf - and a very comely one at that. Her mouth was soft, always curled in amusement, her almond eyes turquoise-blue, her hair short, raven-dark, and casually held firm by a fine dragon-turtle shell comb. Her slim, delicate limbs were wiry and tense with excitement. It was as though everything in the world fascinated her, even on a dreary evening. A fateful dreary evening, to be more precise, since Shesayne had managed to schedule herself a performing slot at the Celestial Ring - a moderately reputable night-haunt for Sigil's would-be Elven intellectuals of moderate means. It was, in other words, a place with aspirations - much like Shesayne herself.

The first few droplets of icy, needle-like rain began to fall as Shesayne reached the threshold of one of the tall, skeletally ramshackle buildings that hung, menacing, over the alleyway. She reached under her overcoat and fumbled for her keys. Her fingers felt numb. Even with a thick, grey wool pullover and multichrome leggings under her coquettishly short breeches, it was still absolutely freezing. Shesayne rubbed her hands together and contemplated her breath misting in the looming twilight of the deserted street. Coming home, she reflected, could not have been so wonderful had it not been so miserable outside. The rickety door, framed in rusted iron, gave way and Shesayne dashed through the decaying entrance hall and up three flights of narrow, spiralling stairs. There, at the landing, she hastily unlocked the door to her apartment and let herself in.

Inside, it was pleasantly warm. Astrid had conjured up a prism of floating, orange light that cast a pleasantly homely glow on their tiny living room. As usual, chaos reigned. Astrid had disassembled a vastly complex piece of magical circuitry on their kitchen table. Metal and crystals, arranged in winding, circular patterns like an alien calligraphy were strewn around the table and its adjacent chairs. Much to her chagrin, Shesayne noted the dirty laundry on the divan waiting to be taken to wash was exactly where she had left it earlier that morning before leaving for work. Astrid, though, was deeply absorbed in her work. Hunched over the table, a long, thin, adamantine needle in hand, she skilfully calibrated the circuitry of a burned faerie fire board. Though she was human, Astrid was a self-professed lover of all things Elven. Tall, slimly built, with a certain scholarly elegance, what made her particularly striking was her short-cropped azure-dyed hair, curious, emerald eyes and a fine, charming dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Shesayne always found that they did much to soften Astrid's otherwise classically Northern, Ortho features. At least, Astrid appeared less the severe Valkyrie and more the cute, curious mage. That, naturally, suited Shesayne just fine. She had fallen in love with Astrid's odd, irreverent lust for life. Astrid at work, though, even in her creased white shirt and dark blue breeches, was irresistible.

So Shesayne shut the door behind her, threw off her overcoat and gratefully kicked off her ankle boots, before pouncing, quite amiably, on Astrid, feathering the human woman's hair with kisses. "Having a dreary, depressing and unforgiving day?" Shesayne chimed. She spoke quickly, with just a rich hint of wondrous Elven musicality.

"Busy," Astrid replied curtly. She used a magical cantrip to mentally jam a storage crystal while she recalibrated its platinum feeds.

"Why so cold?" Shesayne pouted. "If you're going to be like this, I could've just as well stayed outside..."

"Just trying to earn a living, Shesayne." Astrid retorted, more wearily than she would have wanted.

Shesayne released her playful grip of Astrid's taut belly and drew back, a little hurt. "Well, if I'm not welcome, I might as well make my back into the cold and rain and try my luck to see if some kind soul'd share her food and fire with me..."

"Dammit, Shesayne..." Astrid groaned. Shesayne knew exactly how to manipulate her. The half-elf was an accomplished actress, so that whenever she put on the 'poor orphan girl' scene, complete with half-choked sobbing, Astrid could actually imagine her lover cold, hungry and alone on the streets. "Come here, then." She spun around and seized Shesayne by the waist, pulling the slender half-elf into her lap. Shesayne seized the occasion, straddling Astrid's hips and tilting the human mage's chin to draw her into a searing, wet kiss. Defeated, Astrid's lips parted, her tongue flinging itself in a wanton dance with Shesayne‘s. The half-elf's lips were soft, still a little cold, but welcoming and sweet, like water after a long drought. It had really been a long day.

"Y'see," Shesayne teased, cocking her head curiously to one side to observe Astrid's ever-fascinated expression, "that wasn't too hard now, was it? I guess I'm lucky 'cause it's so much easy-easier to be nice to me."

"Oh? And I suppose this is because you're such a sweet, modest girl who likes to help out her long-suffering, hard-working lover."

"Nope," Shesayne countered, "let's see...I've done a little thieving, a little peeling of clueless berks and my favourite outfits are things that'd give my mother an apoplectic attack, but...all in all, I think I'm a pretty sweet, lovely and unique find, what about you?"

"Granted," Astrid smiled and gave Shesayne's cheek a quick kiss. She smelled of peach blossoms. "Plus you have the added benefit of brightening up my day - nothing like a lovely half-elf to perk up an afternoon...well, maybe a nice cup of proper tea, but we'll discuss that when they up my commission."

"Are you comparing your tea and your half-elf?" Shesayne purred, undulating her hips ever so subtly in Astrid's lap. " 'Cause with a half-elf, you can go from daily grind to daily grind - if you catch my drift."

"I do, but only because you're so witty and I'm so clever." Shesayne's good-natured bawdiness always made Astrid smile.

"Sure...let's put it another way," Shesayne leaned forward to press her lips against Astrid's ear, her tongue flicking wetly against the human mage's soft, pale skin, "you're going to go back to work and I'll spread out on the couch, slip my hand into my breeches and start exploring my nicely wet Inner Petals...then when you can't take it anymore, you'll strip me, mash your pussy against mine and fuck me till my throat aches from coming for being such a naughty, slutty little Elf."

"So...I suppose the fact that our rent is in arrears doesn't bother you." Astrid felt her sex tighten with desire. Shesayne simply ignored her and renewed their kiss, her lips moist and pliant. Dextrous, nimble fingers slipped under the waistband of Astrid's breeches. Shesayne felt soft down, hot and damp with arousal. Body hair was a feature most Elves found disgusting, but Shesayne adored the blue-dyed thatch of Astrid's pussy, the fine, golden filaments, like almost imperceptible wisps, that flowed up the human mage's arm. Elves were far too delicate - humans were earthy, thick with salt and musk. Astrid's sex felt soft, slick and gooey under Shesayne's fingers. The human mage moaned and rolled her hips, her sighs absorbed by Shesayne's insistent kisses.

Shesayne began to unbutton Astrid's shirt, slowly at first, popping each link to reveal an ivory expanse of smooth skin, enriched here and there by a tantalising freckle. Shesayne kissed each dark point of flesh, her tongue leaving glistening trails. Astrid's shirt slipped open, revealing her small, beautifully proportioned breasts, each capped by a big, stiff cherry-pink nipple. Heat, pulsing heartbeat under Astrid's skin, dew-slick petals parting under Shesayne's fingers - it was spontaneous, almost urgent. Shesayne pulled her hand out and pressed her viscous fingers between her lips and Astrid's. Thick, creamy nectar - salty, visceral, female, human - they licked it clean. Astrid caressed Shesayne's pointed ears, her thumbs tracing the delicate contours, flowing into the half-elven girl's high cheekbones. She was wet, Astrid could taste her own flavour on her lips, her nostrils flooded by the scent of her inner dew - that slick secret that now pooled within her thighs and stained her breeches.

"You were saying something 'bout the rent..." Shesayne said, her throat cloyed with passion. Her fingernails brushed against Astrid's nipples - sweet and rubbery like firm berries. She shuddered as she heard the human mage mewl softly.

"Was I? Completely slipped from my mind." Astrid moved her hands under Shesayne's pullover. Soft wool gave way to smooth flesh. She traced the contours of the girl's hard belly and flanks, circling upwards to finally caress her soft, gorgeously rounded breasts. Shesayne's nipples pebbled against the wool of her pullover, tenting the fabric. Hot, lust-engorged flesh came under Astrid's fingertips. Shesayne drew a soft, sighing breath and smothered Astrid's lips, her kiss deliberately wet, deep and sensual. Astrid never ceased to be amazed by Shesayne's breasts, the way - like everything about the half-elf - they seemed to have the best of both worlds: compact and elegant, like an Elven woman, but with a certain ripe, human roundness.

"You're wetter than Oceanus," Shesayne murmured between kisses, her hips flowing sensuously in Astrid's lap. "I can smell you..."

"What....?" Astrid blushed a rather endearing shade of pink, absentmindedly tracing the shape of Shesayne's stiff nipples under the girl's pullover.

"Humans...when I'm this close, I can usually tell if you're wet - not just from your skin, 'cause it's warmer, but 'cause I can smell your pussy - like a wet forest floor and sea-salt drying on your skin."

"Should I be flattered?"

"Hmm...yes, I want to taste you..." Shesayne eased a hand back under the waistband of Astrid's breeches. She parted the slick, silky outer lips with a flick of her middle and forefinger. Astrid drew a sharp breath and drew Shesayne closer, so she could lick the half-elven girl's sensitive, pointed ear.

"Looks like this circuit board will have to wait...I suppose there are benefits to being self-employed."

Shesayne rocked against Astrid, her tongue locked in a slick, hungry duel in her lover's mouth. She pressed the heel of her palm against the stiff little pearl of Astrid's clit and thrust forward, her fingers splayed and rubbing the sodden inner petals of the human mage's pussy. Astrid tugged off Shesayne's pullover and buried her face between the half-elf's breasts. She inhaled the scent of wool and fruity perfume. Her lips latched around a dark pink nipple - a turgid little berry, now moist in Astrid's mouth as she suckled, Shesayne bucking, sighing, ramming the heel of her hand harder against the human woman's hard clit - thrusting and rolling in delicious, lazy circles. Slick wetness flowed around Shesayne's fingers -a creamy, musky swamp. Shesayne wanted to lick Astrid out, but there was no interrupting what had already started.

They flowed together, the rich, ripe scent of lust-slick human pussy filling Shesayne's nostrils, making her heart throb with fiery intensity. Astrid surrendered herself and let the heat build in her loins, mounting with the friction from Shesayne's hand against her sodden sex. Blood, the frantic beating of Shesayne's heart, the soft, high-pitched whimpers from the half-elf's lips - everything flowed together, building in a tense nexus deep in Astrid's well. Astrid tensed, and felt a wave of relief begin to pulse outward from her sex, tautening her belly an calves. She dug her toes into the carpet and came in ragged, sobbing breaths against Shesayne's breast. Her clit throbbed, hard, slick and angry. Under her breeches, her pussy felt uncomfortably wet, as if it has fused with fabric and Shesayne's hand into a thick, oozing mass.

Astrid slumped back into her chair. Shesayne smiled and suckled her fingers clean. A few strands of sky-blue hair, still slick with nectar, framed the waistband of Astrid's breeches. Astrid did not bother to pull them up. "We're lucky we don't work in the same place," Astrid murmured dreamily, still trying to catch her breath, "I don't suppose we'd get much done."

"Definitely, truly, absolutely - I'd be changing my undergarments every toll of the Bell Tower and it'd all be your sodding fault."

"Speaking of which," Astrid took the occasion to chide Shesayne for the piles of clothing, dirty plates and glasses that were strewn around their living room-cum-kitchen. "You were supposed to bring your things to the laundry."

"That's where you're ever-so-terribly wrong." Shesayne teased, wrapping her arms around Astrid's neck. "You work at home, you could've brought them yourself."

"I have better things to do than going around picking through your dirty slips." Astrid said defiantly.

"You don't seem to mind what's in them - plus they're not slips - honest." Shesayne gyrated her hips for emphasis and Astrid, despite herself, feathered her hands down the half-elf's back to cup the delectably pert swell of the girl's bottom. Naturally, Shesayne's scandalous little cut-off breeches had been designed to complement those firm globes to perfection.

"Tell me, just tell me," Astrid groaned, "what Elven woman would put up with you refusing to do your fair share of the housework? No really, I am most curious."

"Which is exactly why my girl's human - and, now that I come to think of it, you should probably be doing your fair share, too...you were supposed to do the bathtub..."

"Shesayne, my rare beauty, I have to work..."

"...make the bed..."

"Do you want to try your hand at repairing a permanency-empowered faerie fire circuit?" Astrid challenged.

"Let's get this straight, clear and right to the point," Shesayne replied darkly, her usually playful turquoise-blue gaze betraying a hint of irritation, "I'm not a sodding housewife - we cuddle, we fuck, and we say all the honey-sweet, sappy 'I love you' screed before going to bed and first thing in the morning...but, I'm not a kid and you're not my big sister." Shesayne dismounted from Astrid's lap and stormed off into the bathing chamber to change for the evening's performance.

"Fuck..." Astrid hissed. She rose and adjusted her breeches. Once she was certain Shesayne was in the bathing nook with the sputtering jet of hot water drowning out any sound she might hear, Astrid stalked off the divan. A half-read, second-hand book of High Elven poetry sat amongst a discarded, burgundy bandeau and a matching, diagonally-cut skirt adorned with a stylised, Elven floral pattern. Astrid stuffed everything she could find of Shesayne's in an old leather backpack, before depositing it by the doorway. If Shesayne did not take it out the next morning, she would personally throttle her. That and the doorway was already a mess - Shesayne's collection of boots and sandals was scattered aimlessly, like an army of fallen toy soldiers. Astrid was hardly a stickler for neatness herself, but Shesayne took chaos to new levels.

"Astrid!" Shesayne called, her voice half-drowned out by the intermittent thundering of water.

"What?"

"Do you have any clean liners? I'm due in two days."

"As soon as you leave your stuff off at the fucking laundry, you'll have them." Astrid snarled and Shesayne fell quiet. Astrid was more anxious than she wanted to be. Earlier that morning, she had gone down for groceries and the blue-skinned, shaven-headed genasi landlady had intercepted her with dark threats of eviction unless she settled the last sixty days of unpaid rent. Astrid, smiling through gritted teeth, had reassured her. Once the circuit board and the Wand of Wonder she had been contracted to repair were returned, she was fairly certain that they would have enough to squeeze through.

Soft, densely rhythmic Elven music began to waft through the air as the sounds of spraying water faded. Shesayne had turned on Astrid's Music Sphere. Those floating, enchanted balls of aqua-coloured crystal had become popular with music enthusiasts in Sigil and commanded absurd prices. Astrid, with her facility for all things magical and mechanical, had managed to cobble one together from spare parts she found at a used artifact emporium. So, predictably, Shesayne had rushed out and wasted twenty days of food budget on recordings. Astrid paced back into the kitchenette and carefully arranged the circuit boards onto a smaller worktable to free the dining table surface. The last light of the late afternoon spilled through the oval kitchen window, flooding the stone counter with a rich, orange light. Astrid rinsed out a dirty glass and opened the cold storage cabinet to pour herself some iced hibiscus tea.

- Robbery - she thought, sipping the astringent crimson tea by the windowsill, staring at the cracked wooden walls and the battered hardwood furniture. - Two hundred fucking Marks a week for a three room bedsit. - Property prices in Sigil had simply become ridiculous. A cloud of steam flowed forth from the bathing chamber and Shesayne finally stepped out, wearing only a blue shawl around her shoulders. Water still dripped down her coal-black hair as it fell in short tendrils around her pointed ears.

The half-elven girl stood in the threshold, there in the cramped hall in front of the bedchamber, her dragon-turtle comb in hand. "You look really first rate pretty with your shirt undone," Shesayne remarked quietly.

"Thank you." Astrid set down her glass and padded over to Shesayne. She took the bathing shawl from the waifish half-elf's shoulders and began to dry her hair. Astrid's movements were fluid, gentle. Shesayne huddled closer and wrapped her arms around her lover's waist. Astrid's skin was ever so mildly fragrant, perhaps a tiny hint of detergent from the fresh shirt she had been wearing and a fine hint of new sweat.

"Sorry..."

"No, it should be your day today. It's just that we humans sometimes get caught up in the more...superficial things in life." Elven music continued to float through the silence. "Now show me what you're going to wear."

"With great and genuine pleasure," Shesayne chirped with her usual enthusiastic hyperbole, nuzzling the valley between Astrid's breasts.

They stepped into the bedchamber and Astrid commanded the magical moonstone pyramid on the bedside table to come to life and emit an otherworldly, lunar glow. Shesayne skipped to her clothes chest and slipped on a voluptuously vermilion-rose sleeveless blouse that recalled the complex hues of the flower under starlight - cut so that the fabric appeared to flow around Shesayne's breasts and shoulders, whilst leaving the expanse of her belly and neck fully bared. Then came an even darker pair of succinct breeches, the colour of an ancient Fire Wyrm - which did little more than preserve Shesayne's modesty - upon which she superimposed a flimsy, bronze-bordered skirt with the gossamer lightness of an Elven fabric, which hung in three petal-like sheets down about a quarter of the length of the half-elf's thigh. Astrid leaned by the doorway, arms crossed, as she watched Shesayne preen in the glowing silver mirror in front of the clothes chest.

"Lovely..." Astrid breathed, though the inspiration for Shesayne's dress sense had always eluded her.

"Y'see what I'm trying to do," Shesayne explained, performing a dramatic turn to illustrate the brash sensuality of her outfit, "it's kind of a Sigil take on Elven styles - so I used High Elven fabrics, but with an imaginative cut - little inspirations I picked and pilfered here and there from humans, Drow, halflings..."

"As a practitioner of the arcane arts, I probably shouldn't say this, but you really never do cease to amaze me."

"I know." Shesayne said with a smug smile. With the judicious addition of a little gold-dust and crushed lapis-lazuli powder around her eyelids and Shesayne looked very much like a shockingly urban take on Elven womanhood. Fae-like, yes, but unrepentantly sensual. Shesayne finished by arranging her short hair with her comb in a suitably functional style. The milky lamplight seemed to illuminate the half-elven girl's skin, flowing into the chromatic complexity of her blouse. For an instant, Astrid could actually have believed that it was made of real rose petals.

"Are you certain you're ready?...Since this would be your first time - singing in public, I mean."

Shesayne subconsciously tightened her fist. In all honesty, she was a little anxious. "I dunno - they seemed pleased and satisfied with me when I applied for the evening slot. It looks like people're very interested in this brand-new, new-wave fusion stuff. Faenya and me practiced a couple of days ago and it all worked out to go pretty top-shelf well, so...I s'pose it's all up to Lady Luck."

"Faenya's going to be on the harp, correct?" Astrid took the opportunity to discard her shirt and breeches onto a blue-upholstered old armchair by Shesayne's dresser. She took the last clean bathing shawl and draped it across her shoulders.

"Yeah, we tried with a khalsyne lute but the sound was sort of sharp and jarring." Shesayne had teamed up with Faenya, the idle daughter of a wealthy family with musical aspirations of her own, to produce a contemporary, cosmopolitan take on traditional Elven music. Whatever the end result, it was one way to gain some exposure and earn a little money. Although she was not worried enough to say it openly, Shesayne knew that Astrid sometimes resented having to bear most of the expenses.

"I just hope she doesn't take it to be a game..." Astrid mused, strolling across the narrow hall and into the bathing chamber. She did not trust Faenya one jot. The High Elven girl was a poseur and a spoiled brat. Just because Faenya dyed her hair, pierced her ears and - if Shesayne was to be believed - had a platinum stud fitted onto her clitoris did not mean that, all of a sudden she could lay claim to being a denizen of Sigil's smoky, alternative arts scene.

"Nah, she's as serious as a dragon guarding its hoard." Shesayne said, more as a prayer than as a statement of fact. "It's a real shame Min can't be here, though, this would have been her kind of thing."

Astrid sighed to herself in resignation. As much as she enjoyed Min's company, there were times when she had the nagging feeling of being second to the tiefling in Shesayne's heart. It was not quite jealousy, but a sensation of mild irritation every time Shesayne sang Min's praises. So she resolved to ignore the comment. Instead, she turned on the sputtering porcelain water faucet and knelt in the oval bathtub, hoping that the sound of spraying water would silence Shesayne's comments long enough for her to change the subject. Astrid had no such luck. Shesayne peered through the half-open door of the bathing chamber. Mist shrouded the stone walls and covered the brass-framed mirror with a sheen of misty condensation. The rotating Music Sphere floated just behind the bathtub, humming out a mournful Grey Elven ballad.

"Next time Aerylle goes to Imej, we should tag along - I received one of her letters yesterday and it sounds wonderful and superbly fascinating." Shesayne sensed Astrid's frustration whenever Min's name was brought up. But she could not help it: Min and Shesayne had grown up together in Sigil. They had been adoptive sisters, best friends and intermittent lovers all at once and those were bonds rooted in their very souls.

"Maybe," Astrid replied coolly.

Shesayne silently closed the door and wandered back into the living room. Normally, she enjoyed watching Astrid bathe, observing the way the water caressed the human woman's long, supple limbs and matted her azure hair. But Astrid had been on edge lately. Shesayne lived with a visceral, unspoken fear that she was losing her. Her heart ached at the very thought of not being able to greet, tease and kiss Astrid each time she came home. But, Min had told her long ago, there were some forces in the Multiverse one had to accept, since even trying to understand them - let alone control them - would make one far unhappier than she already was. So Shesayne set out a fresh, sky-blue shirt and form-fitting beige breeches for Astrid on the Elven-embroidered crumpled across their bed. Then, almost as an afterthought, she made the bed.

***

Whenever Tahllea wanted to unwind, she went offworld. Imej was stifling. Imej was starchy, formalistic, full of schemers and hypocrites. Imej was heavy, repetitive and made Tahllea's mind dwell hopelessly on Sigrid. The godsforsaken Aasimar haunted her waking dreams. Each and every one of her fantasies were now about Sigrid as her meek, obedient, devoted lover - attending to her mistress' every whim, or staring sensually, clad in a see-through night shirt, from under the violet-petal strewn sheets of the vast bed they shared only in Tahllea's imagination. Thus, she had decided to take a couple of days for herself in Sigil, passing through a planar portal Yssinel had conjured up for her. Once she had passed through the swirling arcs of blue cosmic light, Tahllea emerged on the other side in an Elven mirror shop. It was almost a relief to smell the stony, humid, smoky air of Sigil. There was life there: life in the cut-throats, assassins, pickpockets, whores and rent-boys who dotted the streets like fallen stars in a dead night sky.

The idea of taking a swift, matter-of-fact holiday was, of course, to forget Sigrid. But Tahllea had come to Sigil with a recommendation from one of her brother's many debauched lovers. The Grey Elven man in question - a theatrical fop as far as Tahllea had always been concerned - had claimed that no trip to Sigil was complete without paying a visit to one of its finest emerging courtesans. Tahllea had found the human habit of commodifying sensuality as particularly repulsive - still, a small number of particularly amoral Elves she knew quietly indulged in such pleasures offworld. Thus, Tahllea had found herself in a luxurious office in front of an impeccably dressed ifrit woman quite seriously asking where she could contact a slender, athletic, elfin, indigo-haired, violet-eyed Aasimar; preferably impertinent and with a sharp tongue.

As usual, Tahllea had to settle for second best. Her Aasimar courtesan did not, objectively, disappoint. She was half-bralani: tall, thin, with rich, tawny skin, orange eyes and golden hair - not blonde, golden in the most wonderfully metallic sense of the word, and coiffed to stand in a straight, wavy pattern, like the licking tongue of a flame. The problem, of course, was that she wasn't Sigrid. She was far too refined, urbane and intellectual. They had gone to an art exhibit, the theatre to watch a long, stylised Star Elven play and finally had dinner in a private chamber of Sigil's finest Aquatic Elven restaurant which was, for ordinary customers, fully booked months in advance. By the end of it, Tahllea had found the experience more surreal than satisfying. The courtesan, who had deduced from the very first glance, that Tahllea was a Bladesinger, had spent their entire, late-night, candle-lit massage session discussing military history and bladecraft with terrifying intelligence. Even their lovemaking had been too perfect. The courtesan pre-empted all of Tahllea's needs and then invited the Bladesinger to toy with her, mount her, fuck her with a hand. In short, the courtesan had been everything a devoted lady should be for her beloved blademistress and, in that sense, no different than Yssinel.

That night, as she strode imperiously through Sigil's dimly-lit backalleys, her blue-mithril blade, Ilmaeria's Sorrow, as always by her hip, Tahllea mulled over the bright side of her trip. She had gained an important contact in the Aasimar courtesan who moved effortlessly through both Sigil and Imej high society. That was about it. She was no nearer to forgetting Sigrid. That was what brought her to the Celestial Ring, a quiet, genteel little tavern recommended by Aerylle. As expected, the clientele was almost entirely Elven. Tahllea felt a wave of warmth as she stepped inside the magically lit interior. Classically Elven arched, stucco ceilings gave way to a row of well-separated dining tables and a wide, elevated oblong stage.

A chestnut-haired maiden - probably High Elven, came to take Tahllea's cloak and usher her into the dining room. Hushed silence, broken only by quiet whispers contrasted pleasantly with the din of Sigil's vibrant nightlife outside. Aromatic, bluish smoke filled the air, wafting from tall, phoenix-shaped censers placed on the four corners of the room. An elongated bar, the only concession to human design, was virtually empty, aside from a mournful looking tiefling with obsidian-black hair and red skin, who looked like she could have well been a starving poet looking for love and inspiration.

"Welcome, milady Bladesinger. A cold evening, is it not?" the attendant maiden whispered in softly formal High Elven. She hung up Tahllea's cloak in a mahogany wardrobe and proffered a rose crystal goblet of heated pear-blossom wine.

"Quite..." Tahllea replied indifferently. The attendant was pretty and had a tasteful dress sense: amber-coloured robe consisting of numerous, interwoven strands of fabric which mirrored the effect of winding ivy. She was too soft, though, too inconsequential.

The attendant brought her to an empty table by the front row, between an interesting-looking blue-haired human woman and a muscular dwarf who looked almost comatose from drink. "Please, milady, make yourself comfortable." the attendant invited. "What may I serve you this evening?"

"Do you have partridge?" Tahllea ventured.

"Certainly."

"Then I shall have the pink-roast breast with a winter currant and leaf salad." Tahllea smirked triumphantly. She had been craving meat for months, but neither Yssinel nor Ilmaeria could stand the sight of it, so she usually confined her vice to holidays in more carnivorous destinations.

The attendant bowed to take her leave. Tahllea drank in silence, watching the empty stage and fluttering motes of enchanted light that danced between the airily-painted arches of the ceiling. Beside her, the human woman watched intently. She seemed nervous. Tahllea stole a more attentive glance. It had been a long time since she had bedded a human and this one looked like she could be worth her while. Strong, green eyes, elegant, almost sculptural features - the mysterious human was probably from Ortho stock. At least she wasn't blonde like most of her ilk. With thoughts of Yssinel and Ilmaeria grating her mind, Tahllea was ready to seek fresh experiences. Naturally, it helped that the human woman's hair reminded her of Sigrid in both cut and colour.

Tahllea drained her glass and watched the attendant gracefully make her way onto the stage. The lights re-focused and cast a deep, sapphire-blue glow on the performing floor. Curtains, shaped like giant lotus blossoms, bristled under the mental command of an unseen stage operator. "If I may beg for a moment of your attention," the chestnut-haired Elven maiden enunciated in a clear, lilting voice, "on behalf of your host, I am pleased to present the opening act of this evening's entertainment. With a blended, innovative sound that echoes the experiences of Elves in Sigil, we are most pleased to introduce Shesayne and Faenya."

Hushed whispers rolled across the room. A few latecomers, present for the show rather than for dinner, hastened through the door and settled in plush armchairs by the circular bar. Tahllea stretched in her chair and watched the curtains unfurl like a blooming flower. Shesayne - the name sounded vaguely familiar. On stage, what appeared to be an Elven singer clad in a decidedly un-Elven outfit took her position in front of her partner, and an admittedly attractive High Elven woman with shoulder-length hair dyed rose-pink and flame-red, clad in a matching black, spiderweb patterned blouse and black breeches. Tahllea grimaced. Even Elven women became exhibitionist little harlots after staying around humans for too long. Most scandalously, the harpist had three platinum rings in her left ear. That made Tahllea wonder where else the strumpet had seen fit to mutilate herself.

Silence, and then Faenya began strumming the first notes - quick, staccato and decidedly unconventional as an opening of an Elven ballad. Shesayne drew a quiet breath, imagined only Astrid was in the audience, and let the words pour from her lips. She focused on Astrid's encouraging gaze and, soon enough, as her tempo began to build, she felt the atmosphere warming to her. She and Faenya had compromised on the lyrics and arrangement, but certainly not on the multilayered nature of a traditional Elven piece. A brief human song was simply not satisfying for an Elven audience. So Shesayne was acutely conscious she had to maintain her pace in perfect synchronism with Faenya's increasingly rapid, strident harping.

It was then that Shesayne noticed someone at the table beside Astrid's observing her with the curious, predatory eye of a she-wolf. A coldly handsome Elven woman, pale-skinned with curled, short-raven dark hair, clad in a formal, high-necked shirt and steel-grey form-fitting breeches. Shesayne saw those penetrating, golden eyes fixed on her. She saw the woman smile, take a sip of her wine and watch the constant motion of Shesayne's slender limbs to the rhythm of the harp. The woman crossed her legs and reclined back in her chair. Her gaze was fire. It commanded attention. Shesayne was no longer looking at Astrid. Her song gathered intensity and the blademistress nodded her head - a tiny, imperceptible tilt that told Shesayne that she knew.

Tahllea observed the singer, observed flat, lightly muscled expanse of her belly, the pertness of her bottom and those smooth, slender thighs. A strumpet, to be sure, but a delicious one. She was probably a High Elf, Tahllea concluded, with an impudent, girlish smile on lips she decided would be quite pleasant to devour. Tahllea pressed her thumb pensively against the rim of her glass. The singer's brash, suggestive smile told Tahllea one thing: the girl needed a little firm Elven discipline. The singer stepped forward, light sparkled from the enchanted anklet at the very top of her burgundy boot. Leaning forward, the singer's small, compact breasts strained against the tightness of her blouse. Tahllea did not even notice the attendant bringing her partridge. Her throat was dry, despite the wine. Her heartbeat quickened. Tension began to mount between her thighs. The first signs of dampness - the girl would pay for making her wet. The girl would lick her clean.

Shesayne brought her song to a sultry, understated climax, before Faenya channelled the piece to its conclusion with a humming, vibrant coda. Shesayne paused at the very edge of the stage, curtsied demurely and watched the blademistress. Golden eyes, fixed on her, just as they had been when the song began. Silence followed. Then, an approving murmur.

"Thank you," Shesayne said breathlessly. Elves manifested their approval silently, so that a performance's merit could be judged simply by concentrating on the aura given off by the audience. On all accounts, Shesayne and Faenya had been a resounding success. Astrid smiled warmly, very much moved by the palpable joy in Shesayne's expression. The human mage concluded that she had been too distant and too cold - it was time to show Shesayne how much their bond meant to her.

Shesayne and Faenya took their leave and melted backstage. Tahllea rose, as if she were going to the bathing chamber, but instead veered right in the shadows and infiltrated the backstage changing rooms. She made her way up a short, darkened stairway and heard Faenya and Shesayne exchange mutual compliments. Faenya's voice faded, declaring she desperately needed a drink. Tahllea stepped out of the stairwell just as Shesayne tried to return to the dining hall.

"Oh, hi!" Shesayne grinned, a little flattered and a little nervous.

"Impressive..." Tahllea said in lightly-accented Common, taking a step forward.

"Thanks, it's always nice to hear an Elf say that, especially since we're not exactly run-of-the-mill conventional." Shesayne's heartbeat echoed between her temples. Tahllea's gaze was hypnotic.

"You would be Shesayne?"

"Yeah..."

"Tahllea."

"Hmm, I guess I caught you staring, then, Tahllea..." Shesayne began, before realising she had backed into a wall.

Tahllea cupped Shesayne's cheek and ran her thumb over the sensitive skin of the half-elf's ear. Shesayne shivered. Tahllea pounced and Shesayne, much to the Bladesinger's surprise, simply opened her lips and met the older woman's tongue halfway. For an instant, their kiss was exploratory, then Tahllea thrust Shesayne against the wall and hastily stripped off the girl's skirt to caress the pert curves of the half-elf's bottom, tantalisingly shrouded only by a thin barrier of red fabric. Shesayne groaned and hooked one leg around Tahllea's waist, grinding her sex against the High Elven woman‘s thigh. The Bladesinger was already fumbling for the waistband of her cut-off breeches. Tahllea's breath was hot in her mouth, sweet with wine, the older woman's tongue skilled and demanding.

"Wait...wait..." Shesayne breathed raggedly and Tahllea licked her ear from base to point, drawing a whimpering moan.

"What?" Tahllea had snuck a hand under Shesayne's breeches to cup the firm curve of the girl's bottom, tight and warm.

"Meet me on the dance floor."

"I don't dance." Tahllea snarled.

"D'you want to lick me out, or was it just my wishful thinking?"

"Very well, but be quick about it."

Downstairs, the lights had been dimmed further, with a few enthusiasts trying their hand at a ritualised Elven dancing in an illusory garden grove, conjured to simulate the atmosphere of a moonlit glade. Tahllea felt out of place, so she hovered in the shadows, leaning on a wall, scrutinising Shesayne intently across the dining hall. The girl skipped out into the dining hall, exchanged a few lively words and an intimate kiss with the human woman and then dived into the spiralling anonymity of Elven dancers, heading straight for Tahllea.

"Sorry, I just had to settle that." Shesayne seized Tahllea by the hand and dragged her into the wall. The fabric of the wood shifted, letting them both slip through. It was an optical illusion - a tiny planar gate carved into the side of the tavern.

Tahllea found herself in a deserted booth, covered in blue silk cushions, illuminated by a single prism of dull orange light. Shesayne pounced on her, their kiss fierce and hungry. Their breath and the wet dance of their lips were the only sounds to pierce the air. Tahllea tore off Shesayne's top and felt hard nipples pebble against her hands. Liquid lust surged in Tahllea's loins. She thrust Shesayne against a wall, forced the girl's thighs apart and roughly pulled down her breeches. Shesayne bit her lip as her swollen, juicing sex was exposed to the cool air. She kicked off her boots and stepped out of her breeches. Tahllea moistened her lips. Shesayne was creamy with desire. The Bladesinger slipped her thumbs against the plump, hairless mound of Shesane's sex and parted the lust-swollen flesh. A flower, pink and steamy, bloomed. Petals, thick and heavy with pearly nectar hung ripe, begging to be licked clean. Shesayne smelled delicious, like tulips with more earthy musk than Tahllea had expected from an Elf. Tahllea decided it was probably the sweat and the tightness of the breeches.

Shesayne trailed her fingers through Tahllea's soft hair as the Bladesinger began licking hungrily at her sex. No, not hungrily, ravenously. Tahllea's tongue lapped in long, slow licks over the whole salty-sweet furrow of Shesayne's pussy - from channel to clit. It was real: real wet, female arousal under Tahllea's lips without perfume, lubricating oils or fine silks. Just pretty nectar-sodden petals that tasted of salt, earth, flowers and woman. She thrust three fingers, hard, into Shesayne's lust-sodden channel. The petite half-elf gasped and arched her back, grinding her pussy against Tahllea's lapping tongue and thrusting hand. The glistening little bud of Shesayne's clit burned under Tahllea's tongue, a little acorn free from its hood. Tahllea wound her fingers and pressed against the velvet of Shesayne's inner flesh. The half-elf let herself go. Her channel convulsed, spasmodic, hungry around Tahllea's fingers. Shesayne's mewling, high-pitched cries filled the air. She came hard and she needed more.

Tahllea seized Shesayne by the waist and cast her down on the cushions, her lips slick with the half-elf's juice. Shesayne giggled, delirious with pleasure as Tahllea pinned her down, face against the cushions. In the darkness, Shesayne felt Tahllea's strong hands part the globes of her bottom.

"Oh, wow...you're moving fast..." the half-elf chuckled as she felt Tahllea's tongue, wet and insistent, lapping at the tight, musky crevasse between her bottom.

Tahllea stripped off her shirt and held Shesayne's bottom open, firmly tonguing the half-elf's knotted rosebud. Shesayne moaned and ground her sex against the cushions, leaving slick, gooey trails. Tahllea's tongue dug in, coaxing the little star to relax, and before she knew it, Shesayne felt her bottom yield and something hot and wet slip just a fraction of an inch inside of her. She curled her toes into the cushions and began to gyrate her hips against Tahllea's mouth. Shesayne's rosebud glistened like the lips of her sex. Ferns and almondy earthiness delighted Tahllea's tongue - the girl was a perfect little toy. Shesayne squirmed, her nipples were stiff arrowheads, thrusts into the cushions.

"On your back, spread your legs." Tahllea ordered abruptly, giving Shesayne's loosened rosebud one final lick.

Shesayne scrambled to comply, reclining on the cushions, knees bent, thighs parted, her drooling sex staining the cushions beneath with strands of sweet passion. Tahllea pulled off her boots and breeches and knelt between Shesayne's legs, sinking forwards to renew her wanton kiss with the half-elven girl. Shesayne felt the softness of Tahllea's elegant, conical little breasts, marvelling at how they merged into the hardness of the blademistress' flat, muscular belly. Tahllea positioned herself astride Shesayne, pussy to pussy, a wet, intimate nether kiss. Shesayne hooked a leg around the High Elven woman's neck and balanced herself on her back and bottom. Digging her feet into the cushions for support, Tahllea thrust forward, grinding her nether lips, slick and heavy with nectar, against Shesayne's.

Tahllea raised herself over Shesayne, mashing her silken sex against the half-elf's demurely parted nether lips. Tahllea's clit glided deliciously over sticky, swollen flesh, spurring her thrusts. Tahllea licked two fingers and cupped Shesayne's bottom. A little pressure and she entered the half-elf's yielding, wet nether portal, hot and tight and clenching, defeated, around the base of her fingers. Shesayne mewled as Tahllea nipped hungrily at her ears, shoulders, licked the hollow of her neck, eliciting yet more sharp gasps from the half-elf.

"By Hanali, you are a loose little slattern." Tahllea said, halfway between a growl and a purr. Although she was too far gone to care much, Shesayne was not entirely flattered by Tahllea's tone.

With an unspoken command, Tahllea summoned a ball of sparkling golden light between her straining belly and Shesayne's. Shesayne arched her back and drove her sex harder against Tahllea, losing herself in a spiral of raw, pulsing pleasure. A spark of electricity flew from the ball of energy and struck Shesayne's clit. The petite half-elf gasped and struggled to free herself, but Tahllea held her down with a rough thrust of her sex in admonishment. A second spark followed, and then a third, alternating between Shesayne's clit and Tahllea's wanton little bud. Sharp, jarring pain gave way to pleasure, a deep, visceral twinge in her sex, flowing through Tahllea's loins. Tahllea rode Shesayne for what seemed like an age, uncaring of the half-elf's almost agonised peaks of pleasure, the spasmodic contractions of the girl's rosebud around her invading fingers.

She ground possessively against Shesayne, her muscles strained, her neck and the valley between her breasts drenched with sweat, until she finally felt the surge of sparkling electricity in her loins overpower her. Tahllea groaned, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out. The first spasms were painful, as if her blood had become fire, and then, very slowly, a wave of long, profound satisfaction swept over her. She thrust herself a few more times against the sloppy, nectar-drenched juncture between their pussies, just to ride the last tremors of her climax.

Tahllea collapsed on top of Shesayne, panting, her sex aching. The High Elven Bladesinger feathered kiss down Shesayne's neck, over her cheek, butterfly-light, on the surface of her ear. Sigrid was far from her mind - a distant preoccupation. It had been months since she had last felt so satisfied, so much in control of her lover. Shesayne was the perfect, submissive little plaything. Tahllea made a mental note to keep in touch.

"I never knew Elves could be so...passionately raw..." Shesayne gasped, idly stroking Tahllea's muscular back. "But, hey, I guess I didn't do so badly for a half-elf, right?"

Tahllea tensed. "What?"

"By the Abyss you Bladesingers can be a teeny-little-bit dense...I said I don't think I did so badly for..."

"I know what you said, you ridiculous girl," Tahllea roared, "you are a half-elf?"

"Well, y'see, the funny thing 'bout that is that I always thought of myself as half-human...ah!" Shesayne cried as Tahllea seized her by the hair and dragged her to her feet.

"You impudent little harlot," Tahllea hissed.

"Hey, what the fuck's your problem?" Shesayne protested indignantly, deftly extricating herself from Tahllea‘s iron grip. "You barely introduce yourself before you stick your tongue in my mouth and I'm supposed to be the easy one? Fuck you, cunt!" The half-elf girl scrambled through her clothing, blinking back tears of rage.

"How dare you!" Tahllea said, softly but dangerously. "Halfbreed wretch, you are speaking to Tahllea of House Ahlirian."

"Halfbreed wretch? Well isn't that grand, sweet and convenient, you didn't seem so put off when you had your tongue in my..."

Tahllea hit her, hard. Shesayne crumpled to the floor, a trickle of blood issuing forth from her cut lip. "Open your mouth again and I shall gut you, understood?"

Shesayne sobbed and buried her face in the pillows. Tahllea dressed, briefly considered slapping Shesayne again for good measure, before deciding against it. Under the circumstances, she was the superior being. There was no point in stooping to Shesayne's level.

***

Sigil was frozen. A fine patina of ice had formed on the cobblestones and Shesayne's breath misted in the ear even as her tears dried on her cheeks. She hugged herself close and wondered aimlessly down an almost deserted street. A couple of drunken dwarves, singing out of tune, stumbled, balancing themselves against walls, clinging to one another as they proceeded raucously through the night. Shesayne could not go home. All that was right and good in the Multiverse would not allow it. Astrid deserved better. A fire beckoned in the distance. Shesayne approached, quietly, hugging the walls of the ramshackle, skeletal buildings that stretched off into the horizon. As always, it was a moonless, starless night. Points of light called warmly from the distant main streets, still full of revellers.

As she drew closer, Shesayne saw the fire flicker. By the porch of an abandoned building a girl, with short, red and golden flame-coloured hair, copper-tinted skin and sharp, fey-like features warmed herself by a floating ball of flame. She was wild-looking, her enigmatic, but pretty face hidden by dust and soot, her clothing functional and clearly second-hand: a man's shirt too big for her and red breeches. "D'you mind?" Shesayne whispered, approaching with hesitant steps.

The girl shrugged. "Customer hit you?"

"No...no, it's not that...it‘s not what you think"

"Then why are you here?" The girl's gaze was burning - red eyes the colour of molten metal.

"I'm cold."

"You lost?"

"No, not really."

"Then go home."

"Huh?" Shesayne knelt by the fire and observed the girl. Her fingers were long, dextrous - like those of a sorceress or a thief.

"There's nothing here."

"What's your name?"

"Fia."

"What do you do?"

"Look." Fia waved her hand and the sphere of flame split into five equal balls. Their contours smoothed, so that they became like tiny planets - then, with a dramatic sweep of her hand, Fia made the spheres align and begin to orbit one another in a swiftly flowing, intricate pattern.

Shesayne smiled. "Having a late night?"

Fia shook her head. "Sometimes I wait here - because people are hungry, cold, lonely - they need to talk. They need to warm themselves."

"Well, here I am..."

"This isn't a good place to be." Fia interrupted. "If I had a home and someone waiting for me in bed, I wouldn't be here."

"How do you..."

"Go home. Your fire is there. This is the fire for those who have no-one. Someone'll pass here, soon - I can feel it - but it isn't to be you." Fia gave a wan smile and gathered her spheres of fire into a single globe, forging it to have spots, rays and fiery bursts, just like a sun.

Shesayne nodded and rose. "Will I see you again?"

"Could be." Fia said and sat back, watching the featureless sky.

Shesayne hurried home. The landing in front of her apartment was dark, save for a single lamp that flickered, casting low shadows. She knocked at the door. It would have been impossible to go in uninvited.

"Astrid!" Her voice trembled.

Something stirred in the apartment. Soft footsteps approached and the door opened. Shesayne swallowed a knot of emotion in her throat. "Astrid..." she whimpered.

"What?" came the weary reply. Astrid stood in the doorway, still fully clothed. She looked exhausted.

"A hug would be nice..."

"Shesayne, words cannot begin to describe how worried I was." Astrid said tersely. At least Shesayne was making an effort not to cry and paint herself as the victim.

"I don't deserve to come home, do I?" Shesayne did not dare meet Astrid's gaze.

"If you're here, then you clearly wanted to come back."

"I did something terrible..." Shesayne's voice cracked. She hugged herself closer, staring resolutely at the floorboards.

"Come in." Astrid said at length.

Shesayne undressed, washed and prepared herself for bed in silence. Astrid locked the door, dimmed the lights, donned her night-shirt and watched Shesayne climb into her side of the bed and lie as close as possible to the edge.

"D'you think we should talk...?" Shesayne whispered.

"No. Not tonight." Astrid slid under the sheets and extinguished the light.

"Are you sad, angry, disappointed?"

"Maybe it's human to be a little of all three right now." Astrid replied, quite gently.

"I'm sorry..."

"Hush, here, don't be silly..." Shesayne felt Astrid draw her close. She could smell the human woman's skin, her hair, feel her soft, tickling breath. Shesayne snuggled close and buried her face against Astrid's heartbeat. "There we are," Astrid loosened Shesayne's comb and set it on the bedside table, "all nice and cosy."

"On Ortho there's this story, y‘know, the really sad-depressing one...the ‘Little Match-Girl'" Shesayne breathed almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, I told it to you once..."

"It made me cry."

"Me too...when I was a child." Whatever Shesayne's faults were, it was intimate moments like this that made Astrid realise how important the half-elven girl was for her.

"It's just a story, right...?" For an instant Shesayne thought of Fia. Life imitating art, or something stranger still?

"Of course, now go to sleep my treasure."

"Tonight's been a barmy, strange night..."

"It doesn't matter - I'm just happy that we're both back here, where we belong."

Shesayne smiled through her tears. Astrid held her close. The lullaby of her heartbeat tenderly coaxed Shesayne into the world of dreams.

The next morning was cold and grey. Astrid awoke and found the bedchamber window had misted over. She squinted into the first light of day and instinctively reached under the covers for Shesayne. The mattress was still warm. Muted Elven music lilted in the air and the smell of hot almond oil and warm honey streamed from the kitchen. Astrid stretched and threw off the covers. Under her bare feet, the floor was cold and humid. She stepped into the living room and found Shesayne, still in her nightgown, carefully tending to a pan full of frying honey cakes. Clean, herbal vapours bubbled from a silver teapot set on the table with ceramic cups and an inviting pear compote.

"Morning, morning, morning." Shesayne called amiably. She served four honey cakes, golden-brown and oblong, onto a plate and poured some hot syrup on them. "Would you like some fresh tisane with that?"

"You shouldn't have." Astrid embraced Shesayne, and kissed the soft expanse of half-elf's coal-black hair.

"Thought I might as well try, y'know. It's my mother's recipe and I thought that seeing as I've been such a selfish bitch all this time, I'd better start showing that it's not just words when I say I love you."

Astrid smoothed Shesayne's hair with a loving caress and kissed the half-elf on the cheek. "Thanks, but you don't have to make me breakfast...even if it is appreciated every once in a while."

"About last night..."

"I don't want to know." Astrid interjected resolutely.

"Sure, another time then."

"Do you see us doing this, Shesayne...I mean every morning - waking up together, having breakfast, making love, going to bed? I don't want us to end up as bitter old women who keep complaining how they never got their fair shot at happiness."

"Well, as long as we can be bitter and old together, I'm not too concerned or bothered." Shesayne said fervently. She poured Astrid a cup of cinnamon and citrus tisane and set it by her plate of honey cakes. "Now come on, otherwise they'll get cold and you'll never get to experience Chef Shesayne's peerless cooking skills."

"Do you see us..." Astrid insisted.

Shesayne forced herself to smile. The shattering guilt of the previous evening's encounter had left her with the bittersweet sensation of having lost part of her innocence, of her joy for life. "I want to work on it. If we both work on it, me more than you - but if we both work on it, what we have can only grow better, I just wish it'd get easier..."

"It doesn't." said Astrid with a hint of bitterness. "But life is at its most beautiful when it's at its most difficult. When I saw you come home last night, I realised that you were my life. You were never going to be easy to love, but the reason I'm not angry is that, in the end, the beauty you bring is so much greater than any worry or frustration I could imagine."

Shesayne drew a soft breath and forced herself to dispel the lump in her throat. "I made five hundred Marks yesterday..." she said, swiftly changing the subject. A stray tear fell down her cheek. Astrid, quite discreetly, wiped it away with a flick of her thumb. Shesayne huddled closer to her lover, cursing herself for even having considered Tahllea a temporary substitute for the sheer joy that now swept through her.

"Please, let's not talk about money." Astrid took a seat at the table and began to attack Shesayne's honey cakes with some enthusiasm. They were a little oily, but otherwise perfect: feather-light and moist on the inside with the characteristic nuttiness of the almond oil.

"All right, but I'm bringing everything I earn home, understood..."

"Duly noted." Astrid quipped, far more interested in savouring her breakfast.

"So...if that's all resolved and settled, I've got to run."

By the time Astrid answered, Shesayne was already washing her face in the bathing chamber. "Since when do you have to turn up this early at work?"

"I don't, but today's my turn to do the laundry..."

Here ends the saga of the Wandering Bladesinger.

Destiny  

Sigrid admired the meteor shower from the bronzy glow of the terrace that opened up, fluid and oval, from the great crystal paned windows of Yssinel's library. The larger moon, Sehanine, hovered, huge and silvery, in its full glory, while her younger sister, Faenya, was at more than three quarters, a strip of her luminescent surface still blotted out by the bluish darkness of the night sky. Stars abounded, mingling freely with the falling points of light. The Aasimar sat back on a gold-satin couch, absentmindedly stroking the elegant, streamlined form of the pommel of Aravae's sword. Their blades lay sheathed on the low, circular table where a ceramic pot of spicy tea gave off fragrant steam, flanked by glazed cups. Further out, in the horizon that stretched mysteriously beyond Imej, shrouded by icebound peaks and endless coniferous forests, something beckoned. Wanderlust - a desire for the unknown filled Sigrid. A desire to leave the madness that formed each passing day in Imej. She could not live her life fighting Tahllea, or running from the haughty Baldesinger's stratagems. Sigrid had fled the Order of the Radiant Path because Isobel, her commander, had given her the freedom to find her own destiny. Now that she had discovered Imej, seen the endless glories of the world called Queluria, there was no going back. Still, staying in Imej was little better than languishing at the Order. Either way, she was subjugated to the power of a force she could neither understand nor control.

Aravae sensed her friend's anxiety. She hugged her knees by Sigrid's side, contemplating the endless expanse of city lights and glowing spheres of magical energy that gradually gave way to a vast, dark forest. She, too, longed to leave. It would be all the better with Sigrid by her side.

The balcony was cool, but a little warmth filtered through the opened library window, emanating from the brilliant pillar of stylised crystal, in the shape of a roaring flame, that rose from a tall, slender copper censer by Yssinel's desk. A soft light flooded over bookshelves and the intricate, woven tapestries depicting Elven myths of yore. A sea of hardwood, red and gold - all the luxury that surrounded Sigrid was a gilded trap. Being Yssinel's Kithela was nothing but an opulent prison. As long as Sigrid stayed, she was convinced she would remain a pawn in Yssinel's games, batted back and forth between her mistress and Tahllea like a doll.

Sigrid reached for her mug of warm, spiced tea and took a comforting sip. Her long, dark blue nightshirt was pleasantly cosy, but there was nothing quite like hot, cinnamon tea with a generous addition of Wood Elven honey to warm one's belly on such a night.

"How big do you imagine this world is?" Sigrid mused. Aravae hugged herself closer and let her silvery gaze wander across the boundless horizon.

"The first time I ever left Imej was with you." Aravae murmured. Sigrid's presence reassured her just the way Tahllea had done so many years ago, back when her idol was still the gallant heroine of her dreams.

"But surely you must have read about different lands, different forests, or cities to the North or to the South..."

"Why?" Aravae teased gently. "Do you not read?"

"Not if I can help it." The last thing Sigrid enjoyed was dry, monotonous study. Her sword spoke to her in so many ways that words could never express them all.

"Lady Tahllea once told me of Eltheless - Dzelha's native city. There snow falls all year round and the palaces and towers are made of ice and crystals. Star Elves are a stern people - severe but beautiful. There was a time in which I was quite infatuated with Dzelha..."

Sigrid chuckled. "You're joking, right?"

"No...the first time I saw her - I envied her like nothing else. Every word perfect, every step measured, with her shimmering breastplate and crystal sabre...then, in time, the illusion fades. She was a girl, frightened and insecure just like me. It's just that her people cannot show it. Overt emotion is unbecoming - especially for a Star Elven woman."

"I was thinking about the South."

"What of it?"

"There is an Ocean, or so I'm told, twenty days by caravan or three days by airship south of Imej. A little further south of Brook-under-Sunshine begins the territory of the Grey Elven city of Aenthulir, which floats in the air, supported by a huge cloud of magical force, then the forest gives way to plains and fiefs of the High Elven knights who swear fealty to the Queen of the Seven Southern Stars. There the land is fertile and there aren't only Quessir amongst the city-dwelling races, but halflings and Aasimar and genasi as well. A little to the East and further South, where the rivers that cut the plains into green swales drain into the sea, there is an Aquatic Elf city, half on the beach and half on the reef, made of living coral..."

"So you do read." Aravae smiled and gave Sigrid's bottom a playful caress.

"Sometimes, but only when I'm pressed," Sigrid turned over onto her belly and leaned her head on the divan's armrest. "You know...my pretty little Aravae, Min made my back quite sore today in practice..."

"Nice try, but not a chance." Aravae interrupted smugly. "Anyway, Mjrina is supposed to be your masseuse."

"She's busy with Yssinel again."

"Really? And how long does Yssinel's bedtime routine last?"

"Sometimes hours..." Sigrid groaned impatiently. "Once every ten days, she asks for a full body realignment."

"Hmm?"

"Apparently, she needs a druid to do it. Yssinel is obsessed with keeping her body in harmony, so that Mjrina has to summon up spirits and prepare special potions to keep Yssinel's energy flowing."

"I suppose it is understandable enough." Aravae said pensively. "An Enchantress needs to be in perfect synchronism with body."

"All Elves seem to be," Sigrid said, a little enviously, "an Elven woman knows the moment she is with child..."

"Correct, and a little later, she also knows the child's gender...but, Sigrid, you are like us, in a way, surely you feel more at ease with your body and mind since you came to live amongst us."

"A little..." Sigrid conceded - her biorhythm had definitely been stifled from living among humans, "now I feel that Min has awakened me. It's as if everything were clearer and better defined, even if I don't see it - I instinctively know it's there."

"After your duel with Tahllea...do you want to leave?" Aravae said tentatively. She had put off broaching the subject of departing from Imej until she was certain Sigrid was ready to discuss it rationally. "What of your vows to your Order?"

Sigrid shook her head. "When I was sent to Imej, I resolved that I would only return home as a heroine. Now, it appears, I still have much to do before I can live up to that ambition. The Order of the Radiant Path will welcome me back as a sister who has passed into legend - or not at all."

"So South it is..." Aravae pondered the stars.

"Would you come with me?"

"Of course, you foolish, foolish girl..." Aravae said tenderly, pouncing on Sigrid to lay a soft trail of butterfly kisses on the Aasimar's soft, indigo hair.

"Thanks..."

"And I think Iniila, Dzelha and Erieanal would come, too. Together, we would be more than capable of travelling throughout even the most forbidding lands of Queluria..."

"Nice to hear that you're so enthusiastic."

"I need to leave." Aravae said with grim determination. She huddled close to Sigrid and wrapped her arms around the Aasimar's waist. Before their eyes, the meteor shower gathered pace and, all of a sudden, it was as if the night sky gad been lit up by a silent procession of streaks of brilliant light. They were like droplets from the band of milky cosmic matter that arched, like a nighttime rainbow, across the heavens. "Tahllea rescued me from being yet another humble pastry cook. She gave me a new name, a new life, a new purpose. But now it is time for the student to bid her mistress farewell."

Sigrid lay wordlessly and listened to Aravae breathe. The reason the Grey Elven woman was so affectionate that evening was clear enough. Distancing herself from Tahllea meant taking a great leap into the unknown. Sigrid would, inevitably, fill Tahllea's place. Aravae needed someone to be by her side - to soothe her vulnerability. First it was Iniila, then Tahllea and now, perhaps, Sigrid. "It's cold here," Sigrid whispered, carefully skirting the subject of Tahllea, "I want to see the warm water lap around the sandy shore. I want to lie under the sun and watch the surf bathe my feet."

"So...you would have me believe this has nothing to do with that Aquatic Elf shopkeeper who sold you Mjrina's pendant?" Aravae insinuated slyly, playfully nipping at Sigrid's pointed ear.

"Ah...right...that, you saw me?" Sigrid was glad that her back was to Aravae. Her porcelain-pale skin had flushed a rather deep shade of pink.

"Even if I had not seen you, I would have known. You love water - one look at an Aquatic Elf maiden's sea-blue skin and swimmer's build and there would be very little to stop you..."

"I suppose it's all in line with those stories they tell about Bladesingers, right...?"

Aravae laughed gently. "Those are romances, Sigrid...stories for dreamers."

"Speaking of stories, Aulatha said something about my destiny and that made me wonder..."

"Aulatha is a wise warrior and has travelled widely. To the South, you already know, there are more like you, Aasimar, I mean - but Iniila was struck the first time she saw you."

"Why?" Sigrid cocked her head to one side. All of a sudden her curiosity was piqued. In her mind, she knew that this had something to do with the vision she had seen in the wine-cup.

"It is not a good memory for Wood Elves, but she said that the first time she laid eyes on you, she immediately thought of Utharminalir of Dejir."

"She was an Aasimar warlord, right?" Something stirred in Sigrid's mind.

"Yes, during the Wars of the Celestial Tears, she allied with the Pretender-Empress in a bid to unify the River Plains under a single, High Elven realm. Utharminalir became one of the Pretender-Empress' finest generals and, perhaps, one of the greatest military commanders in the last hundred centuries. In the later stages of the Wars, she became infamous for her destruction of the ancient Wood Elven grove called the Mother's Cradle and her alliance with Tyxyllethir the Death-Faerie, proxy of the Queen of Air and Darkness, and herself a general of the wicked fae who gathered under the Pretender-Empress' banner."

Sigrid's mind flashed - A camp; burning, lambent violet flames, a starless night overhead -

Aravae continued. "Tyxyllethir and Utharminalir became lovers..."

Sigrid tensed and saw the darkness swallow up her vision and give her new sight. - In the night, a warrior strode: severe, noble, her black-lacquered and amethyst breastplate streaked with dark blood, her violet-mithril longsword unsheathed and red-stained by her side. The two death-pale, midnight-haired guards to the regal tent, shaped like a black lotus, knelt, averted their gaze, and swept the billowing fabric open for their mistress. Inside, a dew-slick valley of dark blooms and humming, maddening breezes stretched out. A woman lay waiting on a bed of dead rose petals - her visage as beautiful as it was cruel. She wore dark, ethereal armour: black and ominous blue - a breastplate shaped like spined vines wrapped around a blasphemous flower. She was a cold beauty: her features were fae, elegant, sharp, her eyes red like burning rubies, her high, swept cheekbones adorned with tendrils of black calligraphy, her softly curled lips painted bruise-blue. Short, coal-black hair, spiny and grimly wonderful rose from her head, like a decaying rose-bush. The warrior approached and loosened her armour. The woman smiled and allowed her love to fall upon her. Kisses - wet and bittersweet like forbidden nectar.

"Sigrid..." Aravae called in the distance

The warrior looked down at the burning vortex of her lover's eyes and for a moment, she saw her reflection. Sigrid saw herself - older, her face adorned with sinuous, violet and deep blue war-paint, her short, indigo hair matted with sweat and blood of fallen Wood Elven rangers. Sigrid and the warrior, in the vast gulfs of time, space and existence, had been and still were one.

"Sigrid!" Aravae shook the Aasimar violently.

"I saw her again..." Sigrid mouthed each word as if still in a trance. "The same woman who looked back at me when I stared into the goblet Mjrina gave me in that dream..."

"Who?" Aravae's voice trembled. For an instant, Sigrid appeared to have stepped sideways into another world.

"Utharminalir, I think. She looked just like me."

"That was exactly what Iniila said."

"So why did the Wood Elves of the village not fear me?"

"The first time Iniila saw you, it was by night." Aravae explained, a little fearfully. Could it be that Aulatha had detected something in Sigrid's bloodline?

"What happened to them? Utharminalir and Tyxyllethir, I mean."

"According to the histories Tahllea made me read, Utharminalir was slain by Tarefiaantheska, the Fire Warden at the Battle for the Shuthisj Bridge..."

Sigrid felt the darkness once more - Water, singing water. Pain, burning pain. The warrior fell into the sea of dandelions, her cruel Violet Mithril sword planted into the ground in front of her. Her vanquisher stood above her, panting. Coppery skin, bronze breastplate shaped like a starburst - metallic, golden hair, eyes like molten brass, a fiery scimitar in each hand. She too was bleeding heavily - a steaming gash, streaming burgundy blood and violet fumes cut her from breast to hips. The warrior clutched her breast and saw the lifeblood stream from her. For an instant, there was no pain - and then the fiery warrior readied the finishing blow...

"...and Tyxyllethir, maddened with grief and thirst for vengeance, threw herself fearlessly into the fray and was struck down by the arrow of a nameless archer."

"Would you take me for a madwoman if I told you I just saw the event you described?" Sigrid breathed fearfully.

"No, we believe that powerful souls - souls too great for a single lifetime, are born again to live, love and suffer until the end of time."

"Am I to become another Utharminalir?"

"Only if you so wish." Aravae said reassuringly. Her heart throbbed in her chest. Fear and fascination filled her in equal measure. "No destiny is ever repeated twice."

"That's good to hear..." Sigrid breathed, though her mind was occupied with distant thoughts. "Anyway, you see pretty well informed. My Aravae isn't just a great blademistress, but a scholar, too."

The sun-blonde Grey Elf nuzzled Sigrid's ear, flicking her tongue out just a fraction for a quick, playful lick. Sigrid gave a satisfied sigh. "Not a scholar, but Tahllea drilled us in military history - the legends of Imej and all the stories of the great Bladesingers of the past. I know this narrative well because Ilmaeria, the Founding Mistress of House Ahlirian, the mighty warrior after whom I was named by Tahllea, fought in the Battle of the Shuthisj Bridge, just as she would later become a great commander in the closing stages of the Wars. In exchange for her services, Ilmaeria was granted treasures by the then Sorceress-Regent of Imej...Ilmaeria, you must know, was originally a Houseless commoner, just like me or you."

"Governing a House seems like more trouble than it's worth." Sigrid noted - the amount of daily administration Elinathanal, Yssinel's mother, had to take care of was truly daunting. "Still...I do see myself as the mistress of my own duelling hall..."

"Ah, but wait!" Aravae pounced. "There is more to the story, for Tarefiaantheska, vanquisher of Utharminalir, was also Ilmaeria's lover..."

"Impossible!" Sigrid gasped.

"That was what Iniila said when I first told her," Aravae continued, "but Fate is the Mistress of enigmas."

In that instant, Sigrid realised that Isobel had sent her to Imej not as a random event - a simple dimple in the fabric of destiny. No, she was in Imej because, all those centuries ago, on a mighty bridge under which a thundering torrent flowed, two destinies crossed and set in motion a chain of events that led to the present.

"But what happened to Tarefiaantheska?"

"She was a fire genasi - born of Elves who had absorbed the Elemental influence of the Plane of Fire. Most agree that she had ifrit blood. Her love for Ilmaeria lasted for the duration of the war, but, in its closing days, she perished at the hands of Phyrythraxynnoth, the Harbinger of Lamentations - a mighty Green Dragon who, apparently, still lives, though it is dormant, as dragons are for centuries between their rampages."

"How...was she...the fire genasi?" Sigrid asked tentatively. She felt a connection to that woman who had died thousands of years ago - a link burned into her soul.

Aravae chuckled and trailed her deft hand over the pale expanse of Sigrid's long, slim thigh. She pulled the hem of the Aasimar's nightshirt higher, teasing her way up to the curve of her friend's taut bottom. "If you go into the library of House Ahlirian, you will find the love poems Ilmaeria wrote to her - she compared devouring the slick, swollen petals of Tarefiaantheska's Blossom of Hanali with drinking hot, spicy wine..." Aravae trailed off and began to lick Sigrid's sensitive, pointed ear in earnest, her fingers toying with the soft, moist flesh between the Aasimar's sex and bottom.

"Aravae..." Sigrid began. She immediately thought of Mjrina.

"Hush..." Aravae cupped the plump, silky mound of Sigrid's sex. Sigrid felt her heartbeat quicken, stirred by Aravae's wet licking. Something soft and smooth pressed against Sigrid. Aravae had hiked up the Aasimar's nightshirt and was pressing herself, hot and already wet, against the hard, athletic curve of the indigo-haired girl's bottom.

"Aravae...what has gotten into you?" Sigrid protested weakly. Her lips were silenced by Aravae's - moist and soft like ripe fruit.

"I want you...I truly wanted you the moment I saw the beauty of your style, the ambition in your eyes...please, Sigrid..." Aravae whispered breathlessly. Her pussy, a sweet, ripe peach, was spread and juicing against Sigrid's bottom. Hot, slick trails, redolent of flowers tinged with an elegant, feminine musk, gathered against the Aasimar's moonlight-white skin.

"Please what?" Sigrid replied, feeling very foolish and confused.

"Let me love you." With swift, elegant motions, Aravae unbuttoned Sigrid's nightshirt and slipped the garment off. With a smile, that Grey Elven Bladesinger cast the garment off the balcony's ledge and watched it float down onto the street below.

"You don't seem to be giving me a choice..." Sigrid's richly pink nipples pebbled in the cold night air. Her breasts were compact, beautifully pert little mounds; softly rounded so that they invited Aravae's caress. Then Aravae was upon her, their kiss renewed. Her lips parted and the Grey Elven girl's tongue danced with hers. Sigrid surrendered and bunched Aravae's nightgown under the Elven maiden's breasts, exposing the gorgeous curve of her thighs, her bottom, the curve of her back.

"I have something to confess, Sigrid..." Aravae said huskily between kisses.

"What?"

"I have not shared Tahllea's bed since we returned to Imej..."

"Goddess, Aravae..."

"She no longer inflames me," Aravae hissed passionately, grinding her sopping pussy against Sigrid's thigh. A richly female, flowery smell began to waft in the air. Sigrid parted her legs and let Aravae position herself against her sex. They began to couple, thigh against pussy - thrusting a gentle crescendo. "But you - you make me sticky with desire, my flower pulses with fresh nectar..."

"Aravae..."

Aravae pressed her lips close to Sigrid's ear, cooing gently. She cupped the Aasimar's breasts, teasing engorged, pliant nipples between her fingers. Then, in a low, breathy sigh - spoken quietly for the words were new to Aravae's lips, she murmured, "I want you to fuck me."

"Huh?" Sigrid was flushed with desire, but Aravae's sudden suggestion was truly stunning.

"I," Aravae said, enunciating each word with wanton relish, "want to writhe on the couch all night long with your hand in my pussy."

"Hmm..." Sigrid hummed, finally resolving to play along, "We might just have to wash your mouth out..."

Aravae smiled devilishly and dipped two fingers between the velvety, swollen folds of Sigrid's pussy. Thick, creamy nectar hung in a strand between her middle and forefinger, glistening obscenely in the moonlight. "Well," Aravae purred and licked Sigrid's lips, "looks like that can be arranged."         

***

Wingmate

"This one is discriminating, no?" Erieanal mused and checked the rich porphyry pigment she had applied to her lips earlier that afternoon for the umpteenth time. She stood, a little tense, before a tall, oval silver mirror of eldritch energy that Dzelha had conjured up for her.

"Please stop fretting, my love, Star Elves are not quite as rigid as you may have heard." Dzelha reassured. She brushed her fingers over Erieanal's cheek and planted an affectionate kiss on the Avariel's honey-blonde hair. Dzelha peered over Erieanal's shoulder and stared at her lover's reflection. The Avariel maiden was simply entrancing: her features sharp, almost aquiline, with gorgeous amber eyes framed by soft, golden lashes.

"Your Warden, your keeper - would she accept an Avariel with no House as your wingmate?" Erieanal's clipped, staccato intonation revealed a hint of trepidation. She would never have admitted it so early on in their relationship, but she had fallen for Dzelha the moment she had laid eyes on that cool, understated Star Elven smile.

"Of course. Aulatha only wants my happiness. She was my tutor, my fencing instructor and an older sister to Jylzaela and me. I think she has come to trust my judgement." Dzelha sounded confident, but in her heart, she was unsure. So she dispelled the mirror and turned to face the quiet lapping of the lake against the shimmering shoreline of multichrome pebbles. Quite appropriately, they had decided to meet Aulatha by the Northern Garden of Imej. There, amidst winding alleyways lined with alpine flowers, thin ornamental conifers grew, shrouded in icy crystals, as if they were in the frozen tundra that surrounded Dzelha's home city of Eltheless. The lake was vast as it spread out before them, with a few white cranes calling and skimming the dark blue surface of the water with majestic grace. Two elegant, sternly pruned miniature pine trees towered behind them, branches heavy with freshly fallen snow. Save for the subtle rustling of the wind, all was silent and Imej's dreaming spires extended in the distance, beyond the icy depths of the lake.

"Aulatha - she is a warrior, correct?" Erieanal inquired. She stretched her wide, snowy-white wings, luxuriating in the cool, late afternoon sunlight. The sinuous protective ward that Dzelha had painted on the white feathers that morning glimmered.

"Indeed and an excellent one, too. She taught Lady Tahllea the art of Star Elven Bladesong, so that if Lady Tahllea's style is unique in Imej, much of the credit belongs to Aulatha."

Dzelha adjusted the borders of Erieanal's formal blue and silver tunic. It was fine, classically Avariel garment, cut off at the elbows and knees with a plunging hem at the back to make room for Erieanal's wings. Silvery calligraphy wound around its hem, while the neckline was judiciously measured - modest, but tailored to drape just enough to draw attention to the fine muscle of Erieanal's shoulder and the roundness of her breasts. A firm, symmetrical breast suggested lean, strong pectoral muscles, a feature the Avariel found particularly erotic, since it was associated with strength in flight.

"If she is so broad-minded, why are you being so fastidious?" Erieanal tensed her wings with latent irritation.

Dzelha sighed: Avariel had a tendency to be a little melodramatic. "Form and proper conduct are very important to us," she explained patiently. "To the Star Elves, everything has a meaning and, as in nature, all elements of life need to be in harmony and bear the appropriate ritual significance." There was no easy way to describe it, but Star Elves ritualised every aspect of their society in order to ensure harmony which was crucial to their civilisation's survival in the icebound landscapes of the North.

"You are making me nervous." Erieanal warned, stretching her wings for emphasis.

"Hush..." Dzelha whispered and wrapped her arms around Erieanal's waist. She feathered the Avariel maiden's elegant, pointed ear with teasing little kisses, her breath warm and moist. "Be patient and tonight I shall show you the best part of my strict, Star Elven upbringing."

Erieanal smiled and suppressed a soft chuckle. Dzelha was as good as her word: the only way to describe the Star Elf maiden's tongue was sublime. Erieanal had never thought she would betray her pleasure so wantonly, but the previous evening, she had cried out until her throat was raw and dry while Dzelha had looked up intermittently from between her thighs, an impudent smirk on her nectar-streaked lips. She clasped Dzelha's hands and felt the weight of the world taken from her shoulders. Dzelha was a frustrating and beautiful contradiction. Her lean, athletically muscular physique and cold, elfin beauty masked an almost playful intimate side which never failed to make Erieanal feel adored and at the centre of each one of Dzelha's thoughts. So she closed her eyes and let herself relish the simple pleasure of Dzelha's strong, but loving embrace around her. "Hmm..." Erieanal purred, "how strict is strict?"

"Well...let me think," Dzelha replied, her violet-painted lips close to Erieanal's ear, "when I was a child, if I did not sit or kneel down properly, I was sent to bed without dinner, if I used the wrong form of address or made a mistake in my speech, I was made to write the sentence out five hundred times or, if my lapse was in the presence of a guest, one thousand times. If I did not braid my hair faultlessly, I had to kneel on frozen pebbles until I bled, if Jylzaela and I failed to keep our room tidy enough for Aulatha, we were made to sleep outside on the snow..."

"I suppose I must offer a bunch of fresh-picked flowers to the Blessed Faenya for having been born an Avariel."

"Do not be so quick to come to your conclusions," Dzelha said. "My mother and Aulatha disciplined me because there is no other way to succeed in Star Elven society. Women are privileged by our people, for only women can become priestesses of the Pole Star Queen and thus take on the mantle of rulership - but, precisely for this reason, much more is expected of us."

"I see, so that must really be why I love you - you're perfect." Erieanal turned to steal a quick kiss from Dzelha's soft lips.

"Must be," Dzelha shot back amiably. The moment they got back home, she was going to ravish Erieanal. It was becoming an addiction. Each time they had a moment of intimacy together, their affectionate caresses would turn into frantic lovemaking.

The first phase of falling in love - Dzelha thought wryly to herself. There was something new, forbidden and exciting about their relationship. They had even made love with urgent need in the Library of Arcana - Dzelha hoisted up on a bookshelf, her legs obscenely spread, her tunic hiked up around her waist while Erieanal lapped at her clit, two fingers winding gently into her pulsing channel.

"I curiously wonder whether you're wearing that dress just to impress Aulatha...it's hardly a blademistress' apparel." Erieanal noted.

Dzelha grinned a little bashfully. It was, indeed, incongruous: Dzelha's taut physique was that of a fencer, but she was now clad in a long, formal gown that simulated the pattern of snow falling on a blue sky. Azure silk was crisscrossed with intricate strands of white gossamer fabric, embroidered to resemble a falling snow crystal. The dress was streamlined, with the fabric falling off Dzelha's slender body in a tight, almost starched fashion. Oddly feminine for a warrior, but flattering, too, so that its precise, formalistic lines drew attention to the taut hardness of Dzelha's belly and bottom and the subtle curve of her small, pert breasts.

"My mother would definitely call me back to Eltheless if she found out her daughter was wearing breeches."

Dzelha grimaced. She shuddered at the thought of the immensely complex, baroque gowns - so vast and coldly studded with pearls and diamonds that they had to be supported by magic - her mother, a powerful priestess of the Pole Star Queen, always wore. Dzelha's earliest memories of her were of being surrounded by endless, fluttering diaphanous fabrics and high, iron-hard collars.

"How strangely bizarre." Erieanal remarked. She knew dress was a matter of culture: both male and female Avariel almost exclusively wore tunics, but surely what a woman wore was a matter for her own personal taste to decide.

"Not at all," Dzelha corrected. "Only commoners wear breeches. It was bad enough that I decided to become a Spellsword - a blademistress - rather than a priestess or a sorceress. Now, it is expected of me to be a warrior on the fencing court and a lady in the drawing room. As far as my people are concerned, I am neither a warrior nor a noblewoman, but I temporarily assume each role as the situation dictates."

"I understand," Erieanal said, "I do however feel obliged to exact one promise from you."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"When we settle down, it won't be in a Star Elven city." Avariel valued their freedom more than their lives and it occurred to her that if she was going to live amongst Dzelha's family, she might as well cut her wings off.

"That would be...negotiable..."

Dzelha cupped Erieanal's chin and kissed her. Violet and porphyry mingled and Erieanal eagerly parted her lips for Dzelha's infuriatingly swift tongue to start a wet, sensual dance.

"Do you think we have time?" Erieanal murmured, her voice thick with passion. She took a swift breath and captured Dzelha's lips once more. This time the kiss was softer, more languid and less urgent. She felt a dull throbbing between her thighs as her sex tightened in anticipation.

"Patience, my little dove," Dzelha hissed, even if she yearned for the hot, tartly floral cream of Erieanal's pussy under her tongue, "and I shall happily reward you when there will be no-one to interrupt us." Violet painted fingernails caressed the smooth skin of Erieanal's throat.

Erieanal nodded and allowed Dzelha to step back to a more respectable distance. Simply looking at Dzelha made Erieanal's heart ache with affection, just as her blood burned with need each time she touched the Star Elf maiden's incomparably pale skin, or felt the silkiness of her long, intricately wound sapphire-blue braids in her hands. Then, it was as if Dzelha had put on her mask again. Cold, enigmatic with an almost forbidding beauty - cold like the violet cosmetic dye she applied in long, curled brush-strokes over her eyes. Yet underneath that mask lay a fiery passion. Each time they made love, Dzelha's pearl-white skin flushed an endearing shade of light violet and the most adorable, mewling little moans issued forth from those impassive lips. Star Elves, Erieanal concluded, lived double lives.

In the distance, bootsteps approached, soft and muted against the icy patina of snow that shimmered in the sunlight. A gentle breeze rustled the ornamental conifers behind Dzelha and Erieanal. Suddenly, the air felt a little colder, the snow began to shimmer just a touch brighter. It was as if the land itself celebrated the arrival of one to which it was profoundly bound. Erieanal cocked her head to one side and saw Aulatha walking down the path, approaching with regular, almost metronomic steps. The polar nymph was clad in a formal white shirt with triangular, silver buttons, a platinum-grey neckerchief wound around its collar and fixed with a stark, steel-coloured broach. In contrast, her breeches were coal-black and her dark brown boots were decorated with a thin line of perfectly oval opals. Aulatha imposed herself on the landscape. Her silvery gaze was stern, her angular features imbued with a dangerous beauty, like that of a forbidding, ice-capped mountain. As always, she was armed, her crystal scimitar and punching dagger by her side. Dzelha hastened to greet her Warden and Aulatha, much to Erieanal's surprise, smiled and caressed the Star Elf maiden's cheek. Erieanal approached, her observant eyes noting Dzelha suddenly submissive and demure posture. The Star Elf maiden stood with her hands clasped in front of her, gaze respectfully lowered to the ground, as if she were waiting for Aulatha's permission to speak or look up.

"I - I am Erieanal, Bladesinger of the School of - " the Avariel began, a little hesitantly. Aulatha was certainly intimidating. Tall for an elf, her stark, androgynous build reminded Erieanal of mythical depictions of the steely-eyed lady warriors of the Unseelie Courts - cruel fae who took great delight in corrupting virtuous Avariel maidens. Aulatha was certainly no evil faerie, but Erieanal was most relieved that the northern nymph was a friend of Dzelha's rather than a lone huntress on the prowl.

Aulatha tilted her head in silent recognition and then swept forward in a graceful, perfectly poised bow. "I am Aulatha, Warden of House Tarsellis and servant of its Revered Matron. I am honoured to meet my Ward's companion." Her tone was formal, her speech almost archaic. "Dzelha has invited me here so that I may inform her revered mother of her chosen lover."

Erieanal scrutinised Aulatha with the attentive gaze of a hunting falcon. "I hope it is no inconvenient trouble that I am not a Star Elf or that I have no illustrious name to offer Dzelha."

"You have no House, Lady Erieanal?" Aulatha said quietly. Her gaze was steely and utterly emotionless.

"My mother was a fresco-painter." Erieanal answered. Despite her fierce pride, she could not help feeling a little inadequate. Doubtless, Aulatha was thinking that Dzelha deserved better. If only, Erieanal thought, the nymph could know the sensation of her heart leaping in her breast each time Dzelha drew near.

"And you are a blademistress, Lady Erieanal?"

Dzelha felt the urge to speak out, but knew better than to do so without Aulatha's permission.

"My family was butchered by Hellkites," Erieanal said tersely, "I vowed I would never be a victim like them - when the Blessed Sehanine decides that my time has come, I wish for it to be with my sword in hand, rather than cowering in fear."

"Strong words," Aulatha noted. Her silver hair was the same colour as the snow that hung heavy on the branches of the garden. "May I have the privilege of seeing your blade? I also favour the scimitar, so please indulge my curiosity."

Wordlessly, Erieanal reached for the pommel of her scimitar and drew it from its plain, beige scabbard. A trail of shimmering sparks flew into the air, followed by an undulating, glowing halo of celestial light. The blade of the sword was a deep iron-grey, but flecked with innumerable veins of iridescent metal. She turned the weapon, pommel forward, and handed it to Aulatha. The nymph gripped the scimitar and drew it forth into the freezing air, carving out an exploratory cross-attack. Metal whistled through a sparse rain of snowflakes, followed by a trail of starry motes of eldritch light. Aulatha allowed herself a thin smile. The scimitar's balance was excellent - a little lighter than what she preferred, but many Star Elven techniques emphasised striking power, whereas Avariel blademistresses had the opportunity to use high leaps and diving attack to augment the strength of their blows. Satisfied, Aulatha returned Erieanal's blade.

"I see you are favourably impressed." Erieanal said, a little smugly. "My weapon was forged from the remains of a dead star. Dzelha is witness to its magnificence..."

"Hey, I won!" Dzelha protested before she could stop herself.

Aulatha whipped around with a withering gaze of reprimand. Dzelha counted herself lucky that she was too old for Aulatha to slap her. "Forgive my Ward's impudence," Aulatha said coolly, "I have been remiss in training her. That, however, is no longer my duty. I see you are a worthy Bladesinger and that your charms have rightly captured Dzelha's heart. As far as I am concerned, I could not have wished a better lover for her."

"Thank you, Lady Aulatha..." Erieanal said gratefully. Even if Aulatha's tone remained measured, she had been deeply moved by the genuine affection she had detected in Erieanal. Nymphs instinctively knew the pulse of nature - the secret heart that beat in the souls of living things.

"Allow me to finish." Aulatha interrupted. "You must make sure Dzelha behaves as a daughter of House Tarsellis should - she is not an easy woman to love. She is fickle and often slovenly," here Dzelha bit her lip - quite simply, Aulatha was never going to stop treating her like a child, "I trust you are ready to meet this challenge."

"On my honour, I am." Erieanal said reverently.

"Good, so I expect to see you both within two seasons in Eltheless for the blessings of my Mistress and of the Pole Star Queen." Aulatha concluded. Then, addressing Dzelha, she finally gave her ward permission to speak, "Do you have anything to add, child?"

"Yes," Dzelha replied with a broad smile, "you could not have made us happier." Dzelha knew her mother held Aulatha's counsel in the highest esteem. To have the nymph's seal of approval meant that the difficult part of convincing her family of Erieanal's suitability was effectively over.

"You have chosen well, Dzelha," Aulatha said - her breath did not mist in the frigid mountain air, "you are a strong woman and, in time, you will live up to your promise. But you must remember discipline - recall that fencing lesson, when the sky was overcast and thunder stirred in the glacial peaks in the distance..."

"I would never forget." Dzelha replied. The memory was seared into her mind. It had been a bitingly cold night, but Aulatha had forced Dzelha to repeat an exhausting fencing drill until it had been perfected. Dzelha had been little more than a girl - tired, angry, with the dull, viscerally painful throb of her cycle tearing through her insides. Aulatha had never allowed her to take elixirs to soothe her agony. So, with the well-channelled fury of a Star Elf matriarch, Dzelha had taken her crystal sabre and lashed out with sublime deadliness. For an instant, Aulatha had to scramble to deflect the blow, before Dzelha had collapsed, her muscles burning, her tears freezing on her cheeks, her slip uncomfortably wet with warm, sticky blood.

"To me, you became a woman that day. Now, as I see you here with Lady Erieanal, I could not be more proud of you."

Dzelha felt a knot of emotion tighten in her throat. She seized Aulatha in a fierce embrace, nestling her head in the reassuring strength of the polar nymph's shoulder. Much to her surprise, she felt Aulatha's firm caress on her braids and a soft kiss on her cheek. Aulatha had rarely shown her such overt affection and never in public. "You taught me so much," Dzelha murmured, now infinitely grateful for the lessons she had been forced to endure, "I promise I will make you prouder still..."

"Do not be sentimental," Aulatha chided gently.

"I'm not," Dzelha sniffed. "You've always been a an elder sister to Jylzaela and me, there is nothing sentimental about showing my affection."

Aulatha sighed. Maybe Dzelha was never going to turn out to be the faultlessly detached matron her mother was, but she would always be her Dzelha. As a nymph, Aulatha had been summoned from the frozen earth of House Tarsellis' garden - a spirit of the land made flesh to serve the House's matron as a Warden for her two daughters. Dzelha and Jylzaela, with all their infuriating little defects, had thus become her family.

"Be strong, remember your vocation as a Spellsword and do Erieanal honour." Aulatha ordered curtly.

"Is that all?"

"That is all you need to know. A good teacher knows when her work is complete."

***

The Nymph and the Bladesinger

Tahllea stretched, taut and feline, on her armchair and decided to retire for the night. She shut the satin-bound tome of tawdry, but mildly entertaining Grey Elven erotica she had borrowed from Yssinel's library. It had been amusing enough, but, by the time the Grey Elven Sorceress, who was the protagonist of the novel, had "wantonly submitted" to yet another wildly handsome Sylvan Elf huntress for the twelfth time, her interest had begun to wane. Out of the great, panoramic window that occupied an entire wall of Tahllea's chamber, the distant lights of Imej glimmered, heralded by the spinning orbs of magical energy that orbited around the various towers of the city's noble Houses. Tahllea looked out and lost herself in an endless tapestry of stars and fluted towers. Quiet footsteps approached and Tahllea heard the door of her vast bedchamber close. She crossed her legs and privately revelled in the sensation of her succinct, blue satin dressing gown pooling between her thighs. She preferred to sleep naked, unlike Yssinel's almost obsessive bedtime routine of perfumed oil-rubs, face-creams, hair-brushing and multi-layered nightgowns. Thankfully, Yssinel was no longer an issue.

"Are you coming to bed, Tahllea?" Sigrid called demurely.

"Yes, of course..." Tahllea replied, a little distracted. She rose and the marble flooring was cool against her bare feet. Sigrid leaned coquettishly against a tall post that supported the huge, ornate bed's canopy. She was lovely in her violet gossamer night-shirt. It matched her eyes and her hair, whilst bringing out the moonlight-white clarity of her skin.

"Forgive me, but you seem a little anxious." Sigrid noted. She brushed back her short, indigo hair with a casual flick of her hand. The lean muscle of her bicep rolled under her smooth skin. Sigrid, Tahllea had discovered, was very talented with her hands.

"No, it is I who should apologise." Tahllea corrected magnanimously. "You are always quite adept at relieving me of my...worries." It had taken a while to break Sigrid's willfulness, but the Aasimar had quickly learned her place and become a most excellent and obedient Bladesinger who, with Ilmaeria, had contributed immensely towards making Tahllea's duelling hall one of the finest in Queluria's northern hemisphere.

"I am always glad to be of service." Sigrid said with a subtle, suggestive smile. With a flawless dexterity, she loosened the straps of her nightshirt and let it pool at her feet. Tahllea felt her sex pulse with need. Sigrid's lean, elfin body was revealed in all its glory. Small, but perfectly formed, pert breasts, each with a delicious raspberry-pink nipple, already hard and begging to be suckled. Then, lower still, beneath the flat, muscular expanse of her belly, was the plump little mound of her sex. Tahllea grinned wolfishly and padded closer. They kissed, Tahllea's mouth hard and wet against Sigrid's. The Aasimar followed her mistress' dance like an obedient student, parting her soft pink lips for Tahllea's glorious tongue.

"My lovely Sigrid..." Tahllea purred. She loosened the silken belt of her dressing gown and allowed the offending garment to slip off her shoulders. Sigrid wrapped her arms around her mistress' waist, trailing her hands down the hard, athletic curve of Tahllea's bottom.

"You are too kind, as ever, my love..." Sigrid replied breathlessly as Tahllea devoured the hollow of her throat with long, hungry licks.

"And you too beautiful..."

"Tahllea!" Aulatha called from behind the locked door and Tahllea almost shattered the crystal goblet of sweet, violet wine she cradled in her hand. The Bladesinger bit her lip and slumped back into her armchair. Her room was deserted, silent. The wretched nymph had interrupted one of her favourite Sigrid fantasies - the happily bonded couple scene.

"I thought you were practicing your bladecraft in the garden." Tahllea said dryly. She drained her goblet and set it down on the round cherry-wood credenza by her armchair.

"Your tone is...insolent."

Tahllea sighed and rose, almost reluctantly, to her feet. She padded over to the door and mentally bade the lock to unlatch. Aulatha stood before her, imperious and commanding as always. The polar nymph wore only a pair of long, loose blue silk pants that hung low on her prominent hipbones. Tahllea could not help but steal a quick glance at the tiny, ripe plums of Aulatha's breasts and the taut, dragon-turtle shell pattern of muscle on the nymph's belly, seemingly etched from marble. "If your question is whether you are disturbing me," Tahllea said sardonically, "the answer is yes."

Aulatha shrugged and stepped into Tahllea's bedchamber. Not even the High Elven Bladesinger dared block the nymph's path. She knew from hard experience how much power lay in Aulatha's wiry musculature. "Really?" Aulatha said coolly, her voice measured, almost emotionless. She made her way to Tahllea's desk and gave an almost inaudible chuckle as she read the title of the crimson-satin bound book. "Travelogue of a Sorceress in the Lands of the Sylvan Elves?" She turned to face Tahllea, a smug half-smirk on her lips.

"It's Yssinel's."

"Oh? Well it hardly struck me as your sort of entertainment."

"It isn't. Or rather, I cannot find anything especially fascinating in it. Just a pampered sorceress who finds herself amongst chiselled, battle-scarred Sylvan Elves. Dreary adolescent fantasies, if I may say so." Tahllea made a conscious effort to sound less than defensive.

"We all have our romantic fascinations." Aulatha remarked.

"Yes, indeed..."

"Dzelha told me about your rather clumsy courtship of Sigrid." the nymph interrupted.

Tahllea reflexively clenched her fist, as if she were gripping a phantom pommel. "Sigrid..." Tahllea murmured bitterly. "Please, Aulatha, sit down. Apologies if I have been a little brusque lately, but I have been vexed."

"Still, that was no way to greet an old friend." Aulatha noted, settling onto the vast bed - cool, crisp sheets crinkled under her bottom, so hard and streamlined it put most men to shame. Tahllea knew the polar nymph well enough to realise that she was, ever so subtly, being playful.

"I'm unhappy, Aulatha." Tahllea said quietly. She stood leaning on a fluted copper post that upheld the canopy of her bed, staring out at the cityscape before her.

"That much I had gathered."

"What if I told you that I am in love with Sigrid?"

"Perhaps you could have told Sigrid, rather than trying to force yourself on her...your stay on Toril corrupted you with this human vice of wanton violence." Aulatha noted. She always regretted being harsh in her judgements, but that was her role and she did it out of love for Tahllea. Mincing one's words was for weaklings.

"Easy for you to say," Tahllea snorted. "How many Star Elf girls wake up bruised and aching from your bed?"

"Countless." Aulatha retorted. "But they are there by their own choice and I have never harmed any of my lovers, nor brutalised them with pointless displays of sadism."

"Dzelha is quite the tale-teller, isn't she?" the Bladesinger sneered. She paced over to the credenza and poured herself another glass of wine from a pine-cone shaped jasper bottle. The smoky aroma of dried berries wafted through the chamber. Tahllea drank and watched Aulatha's steely gaze observe her every movement.

"Sigrid is a foolish, impudent girl who needs neither Aravae nor Mjrina, but a woman to teach her some manners - still, it is certainly not your place to declare yourself such a woman against Sigrid's will."

"Ilmaeria!" Tahllea growled sullenly. "The little slattern's name is Ilmaeria. I really don't see why it has become fashionable all of a sudden to use that ridiculous child-name of hers."

"I believe she prefers to be called Aravae."

"Nonsense!" Tahllea thundered. "Ilmaeria was the name of this House's founding Mother, the sword I bear was her personal weapon..."

"Tahllea," Aulatha interjected and, by force of habit, the Bladesinger fell silent, "Aravae is no longer a girl. You were right to be hard on her when she was young, but now I understand she is a fine blademistress in her own right. To finally treat her as an equal should be the proudest day of your life."

"I am proud of her, she knows that."

"Good, then it is time for you to tell her that she must make her way in the world." Aulatha betrayed just a hint of bittersweet contemplation. She too had sometimes wanted for Dzelha to remain her mischievous, impertinent but wonderful younger self. Seeing her with Erieanal, so obviously in love with and ready to look forward made her feel just a touch nostalgic.

"But...she is mine..." Tahllea protested.

"A woman is only her own soul's possession." Aulatha retorted sternly. "You and Aravae will both suffer if you insist on keeping her as your doll, the toy you can abuse and cuddle as you see fit."

"I...I shall consider what you have said." Tahllea peered angrily at the gold-veined marble floor. Aulatha was right, as usual. But one thing was non-negotiable: she would have Sigrid.

"Come here." Aulatha invited and, as if mesmerised, Tahllea complied. She knelt at the bedside at Aulatha's feet and wrapped her arms around the cool, familiar skin of the icy nymph's waist. In the hardness of Aulatha's chest, softened only by the sweet firmness of her elegant little breasts, Tahllea pressed her ear close to the nymph's dull, rhythmic heartbeat.

"You smell of Mjrina..." Tahllea purred, pressing a gentle kiss on Aulatha's breast. 

"That hardly surprises me." the nymph answered, her caress powerful but reassuring on Tahllea's short, midnight-black curls. "She made a pine-resin cleansing tincture for me."

"Delicious strumpet, isn't she," Tahllea continued, pleased to detect Aulatha's heart beat just a little faster. "But not quite as delicious as me, right?"

"I see you are as haughty as always," Aulatha breathed. Tahllea's lips were hot against the silky skin of her breast and they left behind just a tiny hint of moisture.

"Which reminds me...do you recall the first thing you said to me when you caught me observing your Spellsword technique in House Tarsellis' garden all those years ago?" the High Elven woman's kiss left a wet trail on Aulatha's pristine skin, drawing ever closer to the stiff berry of the nymph's light pink nipple.

"Your gaze is haughty, girl, and your eyes burn with ambition - there are many things I could teach you."

"Oh and you did...a season spent in Eltheless and you gave me no respite, neither in on the training court nor in the bedchamber." Tahllea's lips wrapped around Aulatha's rubbery nipple, so pale it looked like the bud of a pale, alpine rose. The nymph was irresistible, especially after hours spent fantasising about Sigrid's hard, lean body and her insolent mouth put to good use between Tahllea's thighs. By the time Aulatha had interrupted her, Tahllea had been creamy with desire, the inside of her thighs wonderfully sticky. Her sex, though, had raged on all afternoon, hungry and unfulfilled.

Aulatha trailed her hands around Tahllea's neck and loosened the Bladesinger's dressing gown. Tahllea rose and cast the garment aside. She stood naked before Aulatha's icy gaze. It had been too long and now Tahllea found all that rash, adolescent passion from so many years go flood back into her. Aulatha knew, she knew it from the flush that had spread on Tahllea's cheeks, the way the Bladesinger's breath quickened and the spreading scent of vaguely floral musk. They stared at each other, like two warriors facing one another down. Aulatha wrapped her arms around Tahllea, almost tenderly, drawing her close. They kissed, fleetingly at first, for Tahllea teased, circling her tongue coyly around Aulatha's lips. Aulatha clasped the High Elven woman's face and pressed her lips, sweet and demanding, against Tahllea, forcing her to accept the kiss. A dance - an eager embrace as Tahllea's tongue was patiently mastered by Aulatha.

Tahllea slipped her hands over the granite-hard expanse of Aulatha's belly, feeling taut muscle give way to the sweet silk of her pants. She loosened the waistband and they streamed down around Aulatha's feet. Tahllea now gripped Aulatha's bare bottom, her fingers trailing in between those alabaster globes, nearing the pulsing warmth of the nymph's sex. Aulatha parted her thighs and gripped Tahllea's curled, raven-black hair, drawing her close. The smell of tart, mountain berries and the residual, leathery smell of Aulatha's breeches filled Tahllea's nostrils. It was a familiar perfume. Before her, a spread feast: neat, petal-like nether lips dewy with translucent nectar. Aulatha's clit - a pretty little flowerbud, now angrily hard and free from its little hood, poked from between the silken folds. Aulatha smiled conspiratorially and cupped Tahllea's chin.

"Lick, girl." she ordered.

"I am not your girl anymore." Tahllea sneered.

Aulatha's belly tensed - a rippling mosaic of hard muscle. "For tonight, you will be."

The polar nymph's voice was one of command. Tahllea obediently sank between the older woman's thighs and began to lap hungrily. Tart, female musk coated her lips. Aulatha held her head in place, just as she had done when Tahllea had been a wide-eyed apprentice who needed to learn discipline in pleasuring her mentor. Something in Tahllea gave way. She surrendered to the trance. Aulatha allowed herself to be brought to a silent, stoic climax. Then, she eased Tahllea on the bed, belly down, on her hands and knees.

As if in a daze, Tahllea buried her face against the pillow, lifted her hips and presented her wanton pussy to Aulatha. The polar nymph mounted her, doused her aching sex with oil and entered her. Hard. Tahllea heard herself gasp in pain, but Aulatha, as always, was unyielding. That hard, warrior's hand entered her. Knuckles mastered the pliant flesh of her canal. Oil and nectar mixed. Tahllea steadied herself, rolled her hips and felt her channel contract desperately around Aulatha's wrist. Aulatha fucked her with relish. Aulatha fucked her like a girl - firm, pumping strokes so that Tahllea knew exactly who the mistress was.

The silver-haired nymph smiled to herself. All it took was a fist buried in her pussy for Tahllea to change. Now, the hard, polished exterior gave way to the mewling, plaintive little moans that stirred fire in Aulatha's belly. Tahllea, for her part, lost herself in the swirling ecstasy of their lovemaking. For one night, she could afford to be another Tahllea. So she rocked herself, small breasts swaying in rhythm with Tahllea's masterful thrusts, and stopped counting the jarring spasms of pleasure that poured from her loins.

***

When Tahllea awoke, she felt the familiar, nostalgic sensation of Aulatha's strong arms wrapped around her. It was reassuring. There was no safer place in all of Queluria. Aulatha, of course, was already awake. Tahllea stirred and gazed out into the Imej dawn. The sun crested behind the snowcapped peaks. Light reflected off mighty, millennia-old glaciers. Aulatha tenderly kissed her cheek and drew her closer. A dull, satisfied throb emanated from Tahllea's sex. It had been a long night.

"Thank you," Tahllea said, pleasantly surprised by the sensation of Aulatha's long, dextrous fingers toying with the curls of her coal-black hair. "I shall never forget how much I owe you."

"One thing you owe me is an explanation."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you curl your hair?"

"Don't you like it?"

"No."

Tahllea chuckled and playfully nudged Aulatha with a jab of her elbow. "Did you ever hear of Kitiara uth Matar?"

"Never."

"A great warrior, perhaps the greatest from a distant world called Krynn. I fell in love with her exploits...and her portrait." Tahllea turned and snuggled closer to Aulatha. The polar nymph smelled of sweat and fresh alpine flowers. Aulatha kissed Tahllea's lips and threw off the covers, trailing kisses over the smooth expanse of the Bladesinger's back. Cold, morning air greeted their naked bodies, still damp with the moisture of their lovemaking. 

"What happened, Tahllea?" Aulatha inquired pensively, breathing light kisses over the small of the High Elven woman's back.

"Sorry?"

"You seem different..."

Tahllea laughed dismissively. "Oh, by Sehanine no! I am always the pretty, submissive little Tahllea you remember from many a late-night training session."

"This is no joke." Aulatha retorted, resting her cheek on Tahllea's back. That familiar mineral perfume, the distinctive scent - flowery and earthy at the same time - of the High Elven woman's arousal. The sheets were redolent of her. "You ought to be an example for Sigrid and Ilmaeria and you should certainly never conspire against them. You have a duty - as a Bladesinger and as an Elven woman - to them and this duty is far greater than all of your desires combined."

Tahllea tensed. Aulatha had struck a nerve. After all her plotting and deception aimed at simultaneously humiliating Sigrid and earning her affection, she realised how ridiculous it was to expect Aravae's devotion. Aulatha, back when Tahllea was nothing but an inexperienced novice, had been hard and unyielding. But the nymph's character had been irreproachable. Aulatha was every bit as hardworking and rigorous as she expected her students to be.

Tahllea smiled bitterly and drew a long, quiet breath. "You always treated me with dignity," she conceded at length. "Even when I was disobedient and impudent. Dzelha tells me that you were as gentle in your love and as harsh in your discipline as the best Star Elven sister she could imagine."

"Yet, I am not praiseworthy," Aulatha concluded sternly, "no one deserves praise simply for doing her duty."

"I shall take what you have said to heart." Tahllea said and stretched out, resting her face on the pillow and looking at the surging rays of sunlight pierce the lonely clouds that had gathered at the very summits of the vast mountains that ringed Imej. Aulatha resumed her trail of kisses, her tongue snaking between her lips to leave a wet path from Tahllea's sacrum to the cleft of her bottom. Tahllea inhaled sharply the moment she felt Aulatha's tongue sweep between that hot, tight valley. "Wanton as ever, dear Aulatha?" Tahllea purred and raised her hips a little to grant Aulatha better access.

"Your bottom is exquisite, strumpet," Aulatha snarled with mock menace. The scent of Tahllea's quickening arousal mingled with the dark, rich aroma of almonds and wet earth. "Perhaps the finest in Imej."

"Oh...but I know." Tahllea said smugly.

*** 

Decisions

Tahllea took her time to evaluate her options. If she was going to beat Sigrid, she would do it with dignity. It would be because all of Queluria would soon know Tahllea as the worthy successor of such epic blademistresses as Tyrithina - the first Queen acclaimed by all of the Grey Elven city-states - or Ilmaeria - the Mistress-Founder of House Ahlirian. What Aulatha had said, though, had rung true. Tahllea had known in that moment that she had been corrupted: warped by her travels in the senselessly barbaric worlds of humans, manipulated by Jander's petty, deceiving conspiracies. Now, it was time to reclaim her honour as a Bladesinger and settle everything on the battlefield without the hollow satisfaction of victory by intrigue and hollow words. She would not seek to destroy Sigrid's blade, nor in any way interfere with the conditions of their duel. It would be her against Sigrid - a personal duel for prestige, fame and love like those fought in ancient times between blademistresses whose lives and passions had gone down into legend.

"Lady Tahllea..." Mjrina whispered, almost inaudibly. "Would you like me to join you in your bath?"

"Oh...quite, yes...please." Tahllea said distractedly. She opened her eyes and saw steam envelope her. Hot water, perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood, swirled around her breasts. Lone petals from a multitude of richly-coloured blossoms floated in the rushing, cleansing currents. She had requested Mjrina's attentions for the afternoon because, put simply, House Ahlirian lacked a healer and handmaiden of her expertise. Now that Tahllea considered it, House Ahlirian lacked handmaidens in general, but that was largely due to her brother's preferences. As charming and submissive as his boys were, though, Tahllea was mildly put off by being bathed by a male. So, she lay in the leisurely swirling waters of her colonnaded great bath. The pool itself was long and rectangular and fed directly with mineral water from a hot spring channeled through a magical gate which led to a borderland between the Elemental Planes of Water, Fire an

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