Neverwinter Heat Ch. 02

"I come to seek disciples for the Red Knight," he said, knowing the soldiers would at least know the name and purpose of his goddess. Their faces brightened, nodding, and offering him a tour of their garrison. Venos nodded.

"Perhaps catch up with us when you're done gawking at all those big burly soldiers," Cyra said snidely, winking at the warrior. He laughed.

"Moonstone Mask," Iliara said, looking at him fondly, if not warmly.

Venos smiled. "I'll be there in short order."

"By their look, ye might want to get yerself there first. The invitation stands, soldier," the guard said, shoving the half-elf along with his lady companions. Venos nodded gratefully, fixing his eyes back on the lovely women he had been travelling with. Truly, he was earnest about doing the Red Knight's work, but he had heard rumors of the Moonstone Mask even all the way in Baldur's Gate. If they held truth, even a fraction thereof, he would have a hard time passing up this opportunity.

They travelled in a triangle, the elf and Cyra accepting greetings from a few passers-by as the walked their mounts through the city toward the giant floating earthmote that bore the Moonstone Mask. But things were not looking promising. Watchmen littered the street and a voluptuous woman, likely the proprietor judging by her fine garb and elaborate mask, stepped onto the road to stop them.

"Closed for the evening, my dears," the woman said, sighing.

"What?" Cyra asked, the dragonspawn looking at her with surprise. "Since when?"

"Murder," she replied, "just outside the front door. Strange woman came in, took one of our patrons out, and walked him right off the edge."

"Gods," Iliara said. "Who?"

"That's the strange bit. Nobody remembers her." The proprietor of the Moonstone Mask shrugged. "You two, at least, are common visitors. I know your reputation. Perhaps you can take a look and ask some questions? Your lad, too, if he's so inclined. The Watch can't make heads or tails of it."

The three nodded and dismounted, walking beyond the line of guards, who watched them warily. They were, after all, obviously well-armed and armored. Trouble seemed to follow such people around.

But the scene was as confusing to them as it was to the Watch. They saw the footprints, though they had degraded a bit since the event, and easily marked small, female feet and large, heavy male prints. Iliara pointed down from the ledge of the precipice, the three peering down hundreds of feet to the street below.

"Nobody could have survived that fall. Where is the body? The blood?" Iliara asked, her normally silky voice taking a hard edge.

"Magic," Venos said, agreeing with the elf.

"Almost assuredly," Cyra said, then pointed to a large mansion-like building. It was almost perfectly cubicle, dark, and nearly windowless. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Iliara said, grinning. "We have another avenue to search," she said before Venos could ask what she was smiling about.

"We should question people here, first," Venos said.

"Nobody remembers the woman, remember?" Cyra said.

"Let me try," he said, brow furrowing. He turned away from the women and moved to where some of the patrons were milling about confusedly. He spoke to some of them, and they only shook their heads negatively. But, undeterred, Venos knelt right in the grass, removing his breastplate and setting it before him, a hand atop the Red Knight's symbol. A rosy glow began to suffuse the steel, and when the half-elf opened his eyes again, they were as crimson stars.

He moved to one of the patrons, a woman in a wispy gown that did little to cover her delicate bits. He put a hand to her cheek and asked her again if she remembered anything. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was that of a golem, or some other sort of automaton, monotone and droning.

"Gold hair. Gold skin. Black gown. Haughty. Noble. Beautiful. Lusting for her. All of us. Needing her to touch. Half-orc. Many girls. Followed him out. Never seen again. Golden wings."

The woman shut up abruptly, going limp and collapsing into Venos's strong arms. He gently laid her to the ground and re-equipped his breastplate. "We have a description," he said, eyes dimming to their normal state.

"Then let's go see Myrynda," Iliara said, nodding and patting the half-elf on the rump. He giggled a little. They departed the Moonstone Mask and made the winding way down to where only Iliara and Cyra knew where they were going. Venos simply stayed on his guard as they entered a shady part of town.

"Who is Myrynda?" Venos asked, but Iliara only smirked, knowing full well the half-elf wouldn't be expecting the demarchess of Mask, no matter what they said.

The shadows of the alley began to creep in around them, unsettling Venos, while Iliara and Cyra seemed perfectly at ease with the shadows. A cloud of darkness appeared before them, and Venos stopped in his tracks, blades coming out in a flash of steel.

"Ladies," a silky, melodic voice said, purring all around them. Venos crouched down, looking at the cloud of darkness warily. "And sir, you can stand easy."

Iliara put a hand on Venos's shoulder to relax him. He did, but not completely. The black cloud began to dissipate like wisps of smoke fading into the air, revealing the woman who had come to greet them. All black skin, white hair, and form-fitting clothes, Myrynda, the Demarchess of Mask, leveled her gaze, and a rapier, at Venos.

"Stand easy, my Lord Venos Larque," she said, her voice a throaty purr, but one that promised violence if he did not sheathe his blades.

"You know my name?" he asked, taken off guard. The tips of his swords dipped low, unthreateningly, but he did not sheathe them.

"I know much of what happens in this city," Myrynda said. "I am a servant of Mask, and it does him service to know all that I can about the goings on of my territory."

"A villainous deity," he said with contempt, almost spitting the words on the ground.

"To some. To others, a noble brigand, or a protector from thieves. A hand to guide the cutpurse to targets elsewhere. For me, for mine, for this part of Neverwinter, Mask protects from the criminal underbelly, the cutthroats, the wicked thieves, and the murderers. Come, the three of you. We have much to discuss."

Venos didn't budge.

"Venos, don't be stubborn. Sheathe your steel and let us dine with the Lady Torviir. We can learn much, I think," Iliara said.

"And her baths are renowned," Cyra said with a voice full of lascivious promise.

"Aye, and you're handsome enough for a private audience, if you play your cards right," the drow said.

Still, it was all so strange for Venos. It was a blur, going from their outdoor meeting, through the common room filled with pipesmoke and the scent of sweat and ale, to the hidden stairway leading to Myrynda's private office.

"Goddess save me," he whispered.

*****

Varla stood between the two mute guards, where she felt she should be. Lascivya's voice had rattled her insides, and her nose had bled like a mind-dust addict's after too much candy up her nose. Her body was tingling with excitement, power coursing through her veins, making her experience sensations she'd never felt before. The door opened after she had stood there for a half hour, knocking intermittently.

She'd only once blown the two massive, mute guards.

Her stomach full of cum, she greeted the mess of a woman she'd been led to believe to be the most beautiful woman in all the North.

She paled in comparison to Luriia Torviir, though, and Varla knew it immediately. She had the good sense to keep that sentiment to herself, though, for she was still absolutely gorgeous, and the array of sex toys strewn about her room made her think it was in her best interest to be on this golden beauty's good side.

"You?" the woman said. "Lascivya sent you?"

"Yes," Varla said, eager to please Lady Tyran Courte.

"Ugh," she said, scoffing and rolling her eyes. "Fine, come in. You can pick up all this shit so I can stop tripping over fake cocks."

Varla, set back on her heels, didn't immediately respond. But she gathered her wits and followed the aasimar into her expansive, private room. She dutifully began cleaning the place, Lascivya's voice still echoing in her mind.

Supreme power, supreme pleasure. Varla smiled to herself. Temporary trials for absolute bliss.

Worth it.