Neverwinter Heat Ch. 04

Hammer got there first, barreling through the flaming door. Magical fires spread quickly, but he was undeterred. His rage was billowing through his mind, fueling his feet, blunting the bit of fire as it stuck to his flesh.

He could hear the crying, the frantic shouts of the hired help, and he found his child soon enough. He held the half-drow in his thick arms, batting the flames away as he pulled him tight. The nurses and maids followed him, frantic, and he had no idea if they were all accounted for as he rushed out the front door, flames dancing all over his skin. Ilvani took the child as he fell to the ground, rolling to quench the flames. Luriia was there, first with Calafein, whispering healing magic into his young, infantile form, then to Hammer, falling over her love as she poured silver fire into his body, healing as much of the burning as she could. She saw some scarring, and knew that he would be fine.

Tears flowed from her face. Her life in Neverwinter had gone down in flames, quite literally, and she wondered what would come next. The shadar-kai gave her Calafein, and left abruptly.

Luriia felt Hammer's strong arms wrap around her, holding her close as the hardy warrior shrugged off what remained of the pain. Together, they sheltered Calafein, keeping eyes open for help.

But the help they received was not for them, but for the dead body of Lady Tyran Courte. Men and women huddled around her, apparently still admiring her beauty. They were completely Luriia knew instinctively, and knew, also, that they would never forgive her for slaying their mistress.

"Come, my love," she said. "I believe our life in Neverwinter is at an end."

*****

Myrynda stared at her two favorite cohorts with open shock and surprise. The entire account seemed so shocking that she could barely wrap her head around it, but then, considering Varla's botched assassination attempt on her, it made sense. Lady Tyran Courte became impatient, playing her hand too soon. She had no idea the power she was messing with, Myr concluded, nodding. She kept tapping on the hilt of her black rose rapier, nodding at the two sisters.

"They are well, then?" she asked, and the shadar-kai nodded.

"When we left, they were fine." Lucya seemed unconvinced even as she spoke the words, so Myrynda conjured her sister's image on her scrying cube. Indeed, she, Calafein, and Hammer were fine, but they were in flight, on their way out of Neverwinter.

"Mask," she oathed, almost spitting the words. "I go," she said.

"Where, Demarchess?"

"To my sister...with my sister...wherever she goes," Myrynda said, collecting her things into a small pack. "This place is yours, do with it as you please, in Mask's name. Follow my example."

The shadar-kai stared at her blankly, then nodded. "It has been our pleasure serving you, Myrynda Torviir. Mask go with you."

Myrynda smiled at them, reached out to their faces, then went back to packing as the shadar-kai went to see to their new duties. "One last thing," the drow said, and the shadar-kai paused, glancing at each other, then to Myr. "Let Iliara and Cyra know, please?"

They smiled, then nodded. "As a favor," they said. "You have abdicated your station as mistress."

The shadows billowed around Myrynda at their words, forming a blooming cloud of inky blackness as her smile went wider and wider. "My dear Lucya and Ilvani," she said, but the voice that came out of her mouth was distinctly not that of a drow female. "You both serve me, until the day you die."

The cloud dissipated, and Myrynda maintained her smile, though if the shadar-kai could see into her heart, they would know the utmost fear and confusion fighting to break through her deceiving grin. They both bowed, then went off to do as they were bid. Myrynda fought back bile, considered what had just happened, and decided it was best left alone. "I need to get the Hells out of here," she grumbled to herself.

*****

Cyra was face down on a decadently soft bench, her arms, back, hips, and thighs greased with cool, tingling oil, which was blissful for her draconic flesh. She was smiling, her platinum hair having grown out long enough for her to braid down her back. Long, slender horns curled around her skull, and her golden eyes were shut as she purred in bliss. Two naked half-elves were massaging her arms, a male and a female, both of which she'd already fucked several times. Her feet, also, were being tended to by a halfling girl and a young human girl. She was, in a word, content.

But more than that, she was thrilled. For not only was her massage working wonders on her often-taut muscles, but the long, dexterous tongue that was slithering up into her asshole was unwinding her from the inside out. Her lover, Iliara, was kneading her bottom, working the strong, thick globes of red flesh with incredibly dexterous hands while her face was buried between those ruddy cheeks. She had started out with gentle pokes with the tip of her tongue, prodding at her freshly-cleaned anus, then began swirling the thin muscle around her anal ring, coaxing it into an utterly relaxed state. The half-dragon woman had complied readily, her anus losing all tension as Iliara thrust her tongue as deep into her asshole as she could.

And since then, she had been thrusting her tongue in and out, fast then slow, coming up every minute or so for a full breath of air. The thickness of Cyra's ass enveloped the elf's slender, angular face every time the golden-haired assassin dove back in.

Every so often, Cyra would look up from her reverie, to a large mirror at the head of her bench, to see the lithe, thin body of her elven lover kneeling between her strong, red thighs. She could see her athletic, lean hips up high in the air, her long torso and lean physique showing every twitching muscle as the elf moved, resituating herself every now and then to be more comfortable as she devoured Cyra's asshole.

The private room the couple had rented had come with the four "aides," and was draped in dark shades of red and violet, with black and silver trim throughout. Much of the silver was tarnished, intentionally so, as an homage to Mask. The two women had been there for hours, likely half the day at this point, and had their share of pleasures. This was the end of their time in the room, winding down with some lazy pleasures and slow, gentle massage to bring both Cyra and Iliara to a completely relaxed state. The elf had already had her turn, and Cyra had done exactly as the elf was doing to her now: gently, lazily lapping at the elf's used, puffy red cunny and her relaxed, well-oiled anus. The oil, itself, was a bit sweet to the taste, and gave them both a bit of a heady sensation as they licked at the stuff.

When finally the masseuses finished with Cyra's fingertips, they slowly wrapped themselves in gauzy silks and left the two lovers alone, vanishing behind velvety curtains so that the half-dragon and sun elf could enjoy their last few minutes in the rented room alone. Cyra curled up on her side as Iliara slipped off the edge of the bench, pulling a pillow from the floor to rest her horned head on. Her large breasts were heavy, one laying atop the other on the bench, as Cyra watched her lover come closer and curl up in the nook the larger woman created by curling up. Together, they spooned, Iliara's small, thin body wrapped up by Cyra's thick, strong frame. Both women were lean with muscle, but Cyra's manifested in a much larger way, her red skin stretched tight over the powerful fibers, while Iliara's figure was long, lean, athletic and graceful, that of a dancer, rather than a brute.

It was a paradigm they found incredibly arousing. Their size difference was one of the most enchanting things about their relationship with each other, they had found. Oily and slightly intoxicated, Iliara slipped onto her other side, facing her lover, a long-fingered, dainty hand reaching up to stroke Cyra's beautiful, strong jawline. Cyra kissed her palm as she did so, her hands wrapping almost entirely around the elf's slender, small back. Iliara giggled, pushing the half-dragon onto her back, feeling Cyra's long, strong tail wrapping gently around her slender thigh as she mounted the larger woman.

Despite her smaller size, she was strong enough to lift Cyra's leg up and drape it over her shoulder, leaning into it and stretching the red-skinned fighter's leg so far that her knee touched her breast. Cyra bit her lip, one hand reaching down to grasp Iliara's small, pert bottom, squeezing a cheek firmly as her fingertips dipped into the cleft of her ass. She knew what was coming, and used her other hand to help keep her leg against her chest, even as Iliara laid atop it. The elf began grinding her puffy, swollen sex against Cyra's, her pale pink folds mashing against the deep red lips of Cyra's cunt. The half-dragon's mound parted readily for the elf's surprisingly plump sex, and the explosions of pleasure coursing through her body had her gasping and moaning loudly. She grabbed Iliara's hip harder, pulling her firmly into her sex, but the elf was completely in control.

The assassin was working her hips in a hypnotic dance, her sex grinding against Cyra's in ways only the talented elf could manage. With Cyra's tail wrapped around her leg, she could read the half-dragon's pleasure easily. The more firmly her tail squeezed her leg, the closer she was to climax. Iliara loved that feature, and often liked to ride the woman's tail for her own benefit.

This climax was coming quickly, Iliara knew, feeling her toes tingling not only from her own over-stimulation, but from how hard Cyra was squeezing her leg with her tail. She could feel her pulse up near her loins as the blood flow through her femoral artery was stifled by the powerful tail. Shivering, Iliara grasped Cyra's face, reaching to kiss the woman's hot mouth even as she rode her to orgasm.

With a shudder, her climax coursed through her loins, her cunny flowing freely with her nectar, mingling with Cyra's nectar. She was silent, whimpering through her orgasm, eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched. In contrast, Cyra was raucous, her cries hoarse and throaty as they erupted from her throat, little spurts of flame accompanying her orgasm as her own pussy gushed against Iliara.

They laid there like that, with Cyra's leg slowly sliding down to a normal posture and Iliara resting atop her, her head cushioned by Cyra's large, firm breasts, for many minutes, breathing in each other's scent--Iliara's like lavender and flowers, Cyra's like cinnamon and fresh flames. It wasn't until they began to doze off that they heard a cough, startling them from their slumber. They recognized Lucya and Ilvani as Myrynda's companions, but they couldn't understand why the two were here, interrupting their reverie.

"Myrynda has requested that we inform you she is leaving the city," said Ilvani, the smaller of the two. "She accompanies Luriia, Hammer, and the child Calafein, as they leave this place."

"What do you mean 'leave?'" Cyra asked, sitting up quickly, careful not to toss her love off the bench.

"There was a battle," Lucya said, her stern face showing little emotion. "The Temple of Sune your friend was building was demolished by a great ball of fire, as was the home she lived in, in the Bluelake District."

"What?" Iliara gasped, on her feet. She seemed tense, as though she was preparing to pounce on some unseen prey.

"The Lady Tyran Courte has ruined the worship of Sune, at least for some, and even though her guise was removed, her patrons were still enchanted by her powerful magic. She is now dead."

"Who?" Cyra asked, and the shadar-kai sighed in unison.

"Forgive us," Ilvani said, scowling a little, "but we have little time to give you all of the details. Your friend Varla has also been slain as she tried to murder the Demarchess. If you two had spent less time indulging in the carnal pleasures of this place, you might know more of the goings on."

Just then, Venos entered the room, his lean, muscular physique oiled as the two women, but his lower half was covered in a thick towel that did little to hide the girth and length of his manhood, half-erect still from his day's pleasures. "What's this I hear about murder and carnal pleasures?"

"Get dressed, you fool," Cyra said, pulling on her leathers and clothing. "Luriia and Hammer are leaving, we must go to them and make sure whoever was enchanted by what's-her-name doesn't attack them. It looks like we are done in Neverwinter."

Venos held out his hands, his faced screwed up in confusion.

"Now, Venos Larque!" Iliara shrieked, arming herself and drawing her steel.

Venos sighed. There was little more he'd thought about than having a go at Cyra and Iliara at the same time. Indeed, that was the reason for the state of his cock! And now, he would armor and arm himself, his manhood scarcely drained from the preparations he'd been going through all day to be ready for them. Now, he wished he had told them of his desires, for they would go on without knowing his desire for them both.

A grumbling Venos in tow, swords at his hips, Cyra and Iliara left the basements, the former with fires glittering in her eyes, the latter with daggers bristling all over her body. They were each prepared for the road when the linked up with Myrynda, outside the front door and staring at the unremarkable façade that had been her own castle.

"You three are loyal friends," she said as they approached.

"And you a loyal sister," Cyra said, nodding and embracing the lithe drow. She was only slightly larger than Iliara. "Come, our dear friends need us."

Venos grumbled something under his breath that escaped the notice of Iliara and Cyra, but not Myrynda, who's keen drow ears often heard more than she let on. While Cyra and Iliara stared at Venos questioningly, Myrynda only giggled. "Come along, handsome warrior. There will be plenty of that, I'm sure, on the road."

"Plenty of what?" Cyra asked. But Myrynda only giggled, frustrating the half-dragon and, eventually, amusing a flustered, incredibly needful Venos.

*****

Lirafey knelt in the grass, bathed in moonlight. She hadn't spent much time in prayer since leaving her home in the Underdark, but she felt this as good a time as any. She felt calm, at peace, as though the world around her were slowing to a peaceful crawl for once. Moreover, Shandra, her former servant and current lover, was off doing her own thing, studying magic or some such.

The drow cleric removed all her armor, wearing just a thin blouse and loose breeches as she moved into a cross-legged position, sitting in the cool grass. She looked up at the moon, marveling still at the great silver orb and the seven glittering stars trailing behind it. She laid her weapon, her mace, on the ground before her and closed her eyes. She didn't mutter words, nor did she make any reverent gestures to anything in particular.

Rather, Lirafey simply focused on the song within her soul, the one she had heard when she first discovered Lolth's call. It was still there, but it sounded different, clearer. She wondered if it sounded that way because she was so accustomed to Lolth's dark, discordant song. As her thoughts focused on the thread within her, humming with music, she felt the melody suffusing her immaterial self. A smile crawled across her face, but she had no awareness of it. Indeed, the pure joy that was filling her body was so utterly foreign to the drow that she was at first alarmed by it.

Slowly, Lirafey began to stand, her eyes closed as her feet moved as if of their own accord. Her arms flowed out to her side, fingers limp but moving fluidly as her body began to rise and fall, spinning slowly as she danced a small circle. She was scarcely aware of her movements, even less so the passage of time. The night waxed and began to wane. Still, she danced, her lean, athletic, strong body glistening in the silver moonlight with sweat. Her pure white hair clung to her head, her nipples and breasts visible through her sweat-soaked blouse. Lirafey's smile took in her face, though the drow would have never known, nor even admitted it.

The song emanated from Lirafey's throat as a hum, the melody as foreign and haunting as the dance she was performing was beautiful. Indeed, the drow was far from the creative, artistic type, and she would have never credited herself as much of a songstress or dancer. The closest she ever came to dance was battle, truly.

When her eyes finally opened again, Lirafey saw only the silver light of the moon, slowly dissipating. She became aware of her body more fully as the silvery radiance dimmed back to a normal glow from the distant moon, her chest heaving as she panted for breath, her body dripping with sweat, her mouth parched, and her legs aching.

But she was smiling, and she loved the smile on her face, the way it felt as those muscles tugged at her lips. She even bit her lip with joy, looking up at the moon with a bit of moisture rimming her eyes.

"By the Gods," she heard behind her. She turned to see Shandra, naked and in the midst of masturbation, standing there with shock etched on her face. Lirafey turned back to where Shandra was staring and saw the dissipating image of a woman's silhouette, standing tall as a giant, silver glinting where her eyes would have been. The image danced away, and she heard the song in her voice as she disappeared.

"What was that?" Lirafey asked, breathless.

"I have no idea," Shandra said. "But the dance, your singing...it was beautiful. Intoxicatingly so."

Lirafey wracked her brain, searching for an answer, but Shandra's words kept pulling her thoughts away from introspection. "My singing?"

"It was incredible," the sorceress said, rushing forward, her long limbs wrapping around Lirafey. "I've never heard a song like that before."

Lirafey was beyond confusion. Indeed, it wasn't until they saw Luriia Torviir walking north, toward them, with companions in tow, that Lirafey found the answers she sought.

"Lirafey," Luriia said after listening to both Shandra and Lira relay the story to her. "That is the song of Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden. I am familiar with some of her followers, as is Hammer."

"Why would the Dark Maiden seek me out?" Lirafey asked, confused. "I am a treasure hunter for an ancient purple dragon, a heretic, and certainly nobody worth a visit from a goddess herself."

"And yet, your story proves otherwise. I was well-versed in our pantheon when I was a daughter of a drow House. This is Eilistraee, I am certain of it. Her primary goal was to coax us back into the light of the surface, under the silver moon, into the forests we were forced to forsake centuries ago."

Lirafey took the information silently, her brow furrowed as she contemplated reality. Then she took stock of her former enemy, arching a brow curiously. "What are you all about? Why do you look as though you are leaving Neverwinter?"

"Because we are," Hammer said, stepping forward slightly. "Our welcome has been worn out. We could have carved a different life in that city, but it would have been less than my wife desired. That is unacceptable, so we will forge our own destiny elsewhere."

"We should join them," Shandra said to Lirafey. "Umrae hasn't given us a task, and we have her mirror in your bag. I long to be out of Luskan."

Lirafey looked at the sorceress, wove her fingers through the drow's hair, then smiled, kissing her. "With a Chosen of Sune, then," Lirafey said, sighing. "It seems I have much to explore within myself, anyway. Luskan is, at best, stifling."

"Besides," Shandra said when she saw Venos staring at Lirafey, "I think you'll find fine companionship with that one."

Lirafey's grin and gaze locked onto Venos, and the half-elf blushed fiercely. "Yes," the priestess said, biting her lip. "A fine companion he will be for us both!"