The Apostate

Hammer's orgasm struck him like an erupting volcano, locking his body taut as his seed burst into her womb, filling her so utterly and completely that she howled in uncontrollable pleasure. Her orgasm shook her at the same time, sent over the edge by his pulsing and throbbing cock. Her pussy discharged all over his abdomen, staining his shirt with her crystal fluid, and she collapsed atop him.

"To the Hells with you, traitor!"

Their eyes went wide with alarm.

*****

Hammer threw his lover off of him. The timing couldn't have been better, despite his desire to hold the beautiful drow priestess and bard. Cock still hard, he deftly seized his greatsword, the massive, elegant blade feeling perfectly at home in his hands. He expected to see orcs, perhaps humans accusing him of betraying his kind to lay with a drow. Either would be fine enough to kill.

But the axe-wielding drow with an ugly, scarred face sprinting toward him was wholly surprising, as was the male drow streaking down the hill with a crackling curved blade in his hand.

"Drow!" he shouted, and Lura was quickly regaining her senses at that alert. He was a spinning, half-clothed dervish of fury as he met the axe-drow, parrying and deflecting the elegantly crafted axe blade. Fury rose into his blood like an inferno, and he roared a battle cry to Tempus, to the Red Knight, his true goddess, and to the spirits of his ancestors alike. They strengthened him and his sword swung true and mightily. The axeman was at a sore disadvantage with no element of surprise.

The axe went flying, the gorgeously crafted head planting unceremoniously into the dirt. Hammer swung in a circle faster than the drow anticipated. The ugly, scarred face and tangle of white hair flew away in a shower of blood that splattered on Hammer's bare skin and white shirt.

Lura was not to be out of the fight. She had her red robe on quickly, the garment shaping to her will to form a tough web of armor around her chest, hips, and upper thighs. She produced from it a vicious crimson whip that she put to work on the swordman with his magical blade. She found out soon that he was a swordmage of some sort, hurling spells and his sword at her alike.

Her enchanted robe deflected most of the magic. Magical darts, missiles of blue energy, and such like simply sloughed off her robe or vanished with an audible pop. She did feel the searing burn of an acid arrow, and had no doubt that if she let the swordmage's crackling blade touch her, she'd feel far more pain.

Lura dodged and side-stepped, using every trick she had learned over the decades to evade the mage's attacks, always lashing with her whip. She tried to conserve her magic; Lura did not want to let on that she was an apostate to these drow.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. She dipped into the magic Sune had given her, filling her voice with authority and command over the hearts of the drow assaulting her.

"Cease!"

The swordmage stopped mid-swing, eyes going wide.

"I am a priestess of Lolth. You have doomed yourself to death for your transgression!"

The swordmage dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the female. Hammer gripped his sword and began to approach, but Lura shook her head at him, pointing at the mask on the ground as the mage screwed his eyes shut against the dirt.

"What in the name of the Spider Queen are you doing?" the drow asked. The mage began to lift his head, but she lashed him thrice with her whip before he could, setting his flesh to burning. "Do not look upon me, filth!"

"My apologies, my deepest, most sincere apologies!" the mage rambled quickly. She looked over at Hammer, who was smiling and nodding his approval as he pressed the mask to his face. She watched as his dimensions shrank to fit drow form—and was pleased to notice his cock, still hard, did not shrink in the slightest. His skin was deep ebony, gleaming with sweat and blood. Just as it should be.

"Answer me, you piece of lizard dung. Why did you and your companion attack my consort and me?"

"You're...consort, mistress? The human?"

Lura laughed as if the mage had said something preposterous. "I should slaughter you here and now, and save your House the shame of your idiocy. Look around you, there are no humans here. And you think I, a priestess of Lolth, would consort with one?" She spat on the ground near the mage.

"My priestess, I apologize, but the scout I was on patrol with said you were with a human. Indeed, when I came charging down the hill, I could have sworn I saw him, a giant of a man, lop off Amalzar's head!"

"Hah!" Hammer said, planting his sword in the dirt next to the mage. "Perhaps your head should be next, for insulting me so. I justly punished the fool for daring to attack my mistress while she was occupied with her own leisure."

"Look over at him," Lura said.

The mage did so, and saw a drow with a mostly erect cock, no pants, and a blood-spattered shirt, his hands over the black steel hilt of an elegant, vicious greatsword. The mage was thoroughly confused.

"Look at me," she said. The mage did. "I am Luriia Torvirr, of Menzoberranzan. This is Calavyr, my consort. His House name is of no moment to you." The magic threading her voice took hold of the mage's mind, and he nodded, licking his lips. Sune's work was nearly complete. "Your companion went made with jealousy. Or perhaps went insane. You know not, and it matters not. He was punished for his idiocy properly, and you are escorting us to Gauntlgrym, so that we may travel to Menzoberranzan."

"Of course, Mistress Torvirr," the mage said, nodding.

"Now, what is your name?"

"Szinvyr Baensek," the mage said, and Lura felt her throat clench for just a moment. She recalled with distant clarity another Baensek, named Calafein, who had helped her and her friends in Everlund. The dark elf had been devilishly handsome, and was lover to the High Priestess of Eilistraee, a long-dead goddess.

"Very well, Master Baensek." The magic in her voice vanished now, and the mage seemed to be gathering his wits all of a sudden. "Who else is in your scouting party?"

"Solafein Auvryan is the captain of our patrol, and Lirafey Torlyl, Priestess of House Torlyl," the mage said, standing slowly when Lura did not stop his ascent.

"Very good. It's a shame about Amalzar. He was an ugly drow, but I'm sure he served well...until the end, of course," Lura said.

"As you say," the mage said, smirking. "He was a pretentious sod with no mind for any but himself. But then, that's most of us. There was just something about him that came off wrong. Either way, I'm not sad about his demise. Quite happy, actually. It opens room for someone who can pull better weight."

"As you say," Lura said. "Lead on, Master Baensek. My consort and I thirst and hunger. It will be nice to be among our kin again."

*****

Cyra held Iliara close to her side, warming her from the suddenly cold wind blowing in from the north. Her inborn heat emanated into the elf, who snuggled up against the larger, stronger dragonspawn.

"It's a big city," Cyra said with a serene voice. "Might take us a day or two to find them."

"A man over six feet tall, wide as a doorway, with a massive sword—literally and metaphorically—travelling with a drow, who is no doubt well known for her bright red robe and her effect on the hearts of men and women alike," Iliara commented. "I don't think this will be as difficult as you think."

"Point well made," Cyra said, reaching down to squeeze the elf's pert bottom. "Where should we look first?"

"Moonstone Mask?" Iliara asked.

"Seems reasonable. It's a festhall. Probably one where Sune and Sharess alike are revered."

"So to the Mask," Iliara said, pointing off toward a floating earthmote strung to Neverwinter by a series of portals and wooden bridges.

"And if they're not there, I'm sure there will be plenty of things to play with to make our effort worthwhile," Cyra said with a wink. Iliara giggled excitedly. They went off, hands on buttocks, smiles on faces, eager to see their old friends and all the pretty things housed up in the Moonstone Mask.