The Heavenbound Heart

Dedicated to my own lovely Aasimar, without whom this story would not have been possible.

The battle, for all that it had lasted just over a quarter hour, had been a bloody one. Though they had caught the Katapeshi slavers largely unawares, the Gray Corsairs, supplemented by elements of Sir Arthur Drachensson's 12th Dragoons, had run into stiff resistance.

The gentle rocking of the ship was at odds with the violence that had ceased only minutes prior. Blood yet stained the planks of the deck, the ship's crew only now beginning to put her to rights. Scorpion bolts were pulled from splintered planking, and junior sailors scrambled over the deck, scrub brushes in hand.

Lieutenant Ashlariel sat on a coil of rope. The thick pile of hempen cord was not quite knee high for her slim frame, so she kept her long legs bent acutely, stretching her knees after the exertions of combat. Blood stained her blue coat, and her officer's gorget hung at an angle. A few strands of straight, brown hair had escaped from the bun in which she kept it bound.

"You did well today," a voice said, gently, over her shoulder. Looking up, Ashlariel saw her commander, Sir Arthur Drachensson, Eagle Knight and founder of the 12th Dragoons. Tall and broad shouldered, with a shaved pate and goatee, he was a normally jovial, if somewhat intimidating figure. He wore a blue, Andoren surcoat over a mithril cuirass, and carried an adamantine kreigsmesser on his hip.

"It doesn't feel like it," she said, wearily. Ashlariel stretched then, her movements possessed of a fluid, almost feline aspect. The young lieutenant reached down, hefting her darkwood quarterstaff, its ends shod in adamantine. One end was enchanted to unleash thunder upon each succesful strike, the other, lightning. She looked then to her commander, her brown eyes meeting his own, before turning quickly away, her cheeks flushed.

"Whether it feels like it or no, you lead and fought well and ably. We completed our mission, and you brought your troops safely back to the ship," he said. Placing his left hand gently on her shoulder, he turned her around to look at him. He asked, "Do you know why I chose you to serve in the 12th?"

"No, sir, I don't," Ashlariel replied.

"I chose you, my dear, because you are both an extremely capable warrior, and a misfit," the Eagle Knight said. "No other officer in the Andoren military fights with a staff, using the techniques of distant Tian Xia. Here, however, with the Dragoons, you fit in. Here, you have a home. We've all types here, as you've seen. All with valuable, though unorthodox skills, perfectly suited to unconventional warfare." He gestured to the soldiers milling about the deck. "These good folk, these Dwarves, Elves, and Half-Elves, Half-Orcs and Tieflings, Humans, Halflings, and Gnomes all serve the cause of freedom. All would lay down their lives for one another, though no two are similar."

"And now you have an Aasimar on your roster," Ashlariel said. She looked at the Katapeshi frigate riding next to them, one of two they had captured and would tow back to Andoran. "This was my first real battle. I mean, I've fought river pirates and Goblins, but it wasn't anything like this."

"I know," Sir Arthur replied, "which is why I kept this for you. A memento of your first taste of real combat." So saying, he handed a helmet to her. It was vaguely onion shaped, with a top that sloped to a point, and an aventail of fine bronze maille. The front was dented and the nasal guard was bent askew. "This was worn by the man who tried to strike me from behind, the one you so skillfully saved me from," the Eagle Knight smiled at the memory. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but it was the ship's captain whose head you stove in."

"I'm aware," Ashlariel said, smirking.

They walked toward a press of Dragoons with full mugs. One was pressed into each of their hands, the cups full to the brim with a rich, golden liquid.

"Mjod, from my own hives," Sir Arthur told her, "flavored with apple and strawberry."

The young lieutenant took a deep pull of her drink, savoring its sweet richness. The Eagle Knight did likewise, winking at her as he did so. The two of them began a circuit of the deck, giving encouragement and, when required, correction to the troops under their command. Finally, satisfied in the perfomance of the men and women of the Dragoons, they each took a seat on crates by the ship's bow.

"Tell me, lieutenant," Sir Arthur began, "will you be attending the upcoming ball in Almas? The masquerade promises to be most entertaining."

"No," she answered, "though i have several orders to fill for that soiree."

"Orders?" he asked.

"For masks," Ashlariel replied, "and other costume pieces. Masquerade is my passion, my art, though I don't get to go to many such gatherings."

"Oh, but you must, my dear," the Eagle Knight said. "This ball is being hosted by a good friend of mine. He has assured me, the evening will not be dull."

"It's not that, sir," Ashlariel said, averting her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. "I never learned how to dance."

Sir Arthur gaped at this in complete and utter shock.

"How is it that such a fine young woman as yourself never recieved dance instruction?" he asked. "Never mind. We will rectify this situation after we return to port."

"But, sir, I have orders to fill, and my mother-" the young lieutenant said before being cut off.

"Not another word," Sir Arthur said. "You do wish to learn, correct?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Ashlariel replied. "I just haven't had the time, or the money."

"The time is not a problem," he said, grinning, "and i will instruct you, free of charge." He looked across the deck, his features rearranging themselves back into his mask of command. "I fear you must excuse me for a bit, my dear. I must divest myself of my armor and confer with our chaplain," he said, gesturing to Siona, a priestess of Iomedae, "regarding the disposition of those we have freed. Poor souls," he reflected, "once doomed to a life of bondage."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, an impish smile on her lips and a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I've heard that some kinds of bondage can be a lot of fun."

Sir Arthur turned to look at her, his brown eyes locking onto hers, his expression both hungry and gravely serious.

"And what experience, my lovely Aasimar, do you have in such matters?" he asked, his voice grown deep and gravelly.

"Little direct experience, though I do read quite a bit, and I am curious," she said, her cheeks reddening slightly at the intensity in her commander's eyes.

He thought about her words for a moment. "Your explicit consent is required for us to delve into that subject matter," the Eagle Knight said.

Returning his gaze, boldly now and in full measure, the young lieutenant replied, "Permission granted, sir."

The power in the knight's blood, igniting with his rising excitement, briefly caused his normally brown eyes to flash jade green, the whole of both orbs glowing. He nodded once, sharply, and said, "As you wish." Placing his right hand over his heart, the Eagle Knight bowed at the waist, and said, "Now, my dear, I must attend to my duties. I will see you in your quarters, after nightfall, and you can show me the pieces you have been working on."

"Yes, sir," Ashlariel said, as the Eagle Knight turned and walked over to Siona, the chaplain of the 12th Dragoons. She turned then, seeing the chief artillerist, Sergeant Murtagh MacDougal, a brawny, bearded Half-Orc, approaching her.

"The commander certainly approves of ye, lieutenant," the sergeant said.

'I can tell," Ashlariel replied, "though what I've done to earn it, I don't know."

"Dinnae fash yerself, lieutenant," the Half-Orc said, grinning. "The commander and yerself have similar spirits, I ken, though he's more comfortable with command. Always has been, even afore he was a knight."

"You've known him that long?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

"Oh aye," the sergeant replied, "Sir Arthur and I go way back. In fact, I was the first trooper he chose, back when he first formed the Dragoons."

"What is Sir Arthur, sergeant?" she asked. "He has a mouthful of fangs, and I saw him manifest wings and claws during our fight with the slavers. Is he a tiefling?"

"Eh, a hellspawn?" he laughed. "Nay, lieutenant, the commander's no tiefling." He scratched his beard for a moment, thinking how best to explain. "Ya know how tieflings have a touch o' demon or devil blood, and you yerself have a touch o' the blood o' Heaven?" She nodded at this. "Well, the commander's family has a touch o' bronze dragon blood. Most o' them become sorcerers or bloodragers. The commander went a different way."

"What way did he choose?" Ashlariel asked.

"He started as a magus, what some call a swordmage," he said. "Then he sought out a bronze dragon, ta ken the secrets o' his blood. Turns out, the one he found was actually his ancestor."

Ashlariel nodded, thinking to herself for a moment. "Thank you, sergeant. You have been most helpful."

*****************************

A few hours later, the ship, with her cargo of freed slaves, was under way back to her home port of Almas. The waters of the Inner Sea were calm, though there was a decent wind behind the ship, and she made good time.

Ashlariel, engrossed in her art, was startled by a polite, though firm, knock on the door of her cabin. On her bed, she had laid out several masks, each crafted with a true artist's cunning and a skilled hand.

Opening the door, she beheld her visitor, his arms clasped loosely behind his back. Sir Arthur Drachensson,even lacking his blue uniform coat, fairly radiated a palpable aura of power and authority. Grinning crookedly, his fangs shining by the light of the moon, he gestured with his right hand, a mute request to be granted entrance.

Ashlariel nodded, stepping aside to make way for the Eagle Knight's broad shouldered frame. Though his boots clopped loudly on the floor's creaking planks, Sir Arthur moved with a warrior's grace.

The lovely young lieutenant's thin frame did not take up much room at all, yet her proximity to her commander made her feel slightly claustrophobic. Though otherwise confident, she thrilled at the sense that she was in her cabin with a man who exuded the presence of an alpha predator.

As for Sir Arthur, he felt a bit uneasy. Though Ashlariel had earlier consented to his tutelage in matters of a carnal nature, he knew he was as yet on uncertain ground. Ever the warrior, he knew the dangers associated with unknown terrain.

"Are these the pieces you spoke of?" he asked, seeking to mute the rising tension in the room.

"They are, yes," she replied, somewhat nervously.

Gingerly, Sir Arthur picked up the first of the masks on display. After appraising it and realizing the amount of work and skill that had gone into its creation, he did the same with the second, and then every other in turn. Silently, he marvelled at the skill required to produce such intricate work. He admired the small details, the even stitching and almost invisible brush strokes under the protective coat of enamel. He lifted the last one, a finely detailed mask fashioned to look like the stylized head of a carp.

"Marvelous," he said. "Absolutely remarkable. You truly have a rare gift, my dear. These are, without a doubt, some of the finest masks I have ever seen."

Unused to, and uncomfortable with, such praise, Ashlariel fell back to her normal social defense: humor. Crossing her eyes, she pursed her lips and blew a raspberry directly at Sir Arthur. Momentarily taken aback, the Eagle Knight gaped for a second, his eyes wide.

Then, he started to laugh. A full, deep throated chuckle that soon transformed into peals of laughter that rang off the paneled walls of Ashlariel's cabin. Embarrassed at the sight of his fangs, Sir Arthur covered his mouth, yet this in no way diminished his amusement.

"My dear lieutenant," he said once his laughter had begun to die, "you truly are a wonder. I have not laughed like that in an age!"

Opening her eyes wide, Ashlariel prepared to repeat her action but, upon seeing her commander's eyes likewise widen, instead found herself overcome by a fit of laughter. The sound of her amusement rang in Sir Arthur's head like the chiming of silver bells, and the Eagle Knight found himself amazed at this. That this lovely young woman could have such an effect on him was nothing less than a miracle to him.

When a particularly strong bout of hysterics threatened to cause Ashlariel to lose her balance, the Eagle Knight stepped in smoothly, catching the lovely lieutenant and preventing her fall. Giving in to the urge to hold her, he pulled her close, his right hand falling instinctively to the small of her back. The Eagle Knight drank in the feel of her, of the way her body pressed into his. He could smell the perfumed soap with which she had scrubbed away the grime and the stink of battle and, beneath that, the warm smell of her, the unique scent that was hers alone. He felt his blood begin to stir, his eyes once again flashing green, iris, pupil, and sclera disappearing into a stormy, uniform jade.

Ashlariel, pressed tightly to his chest as she was, heard the beating of his heart as it echoed in his chest. Though it beat just as swiftly as her own, the sound was unlike any she had ever heard. Every beat carried with it an accompanying clap of muted thunder, as though lightning was striking the back of each of his ribs. Ashlariel felt her body respond, the reddening of her cheeks as her skin began to glow with a white luminescence, and the blazing heat burning between her thighs. She felt an answering thunder as the Eagle Knight's cock throbbed against her leg through their trousers.

Exercising a monstrous effort of will, Sir Arthur pulled gently back from their embrace. Hands on her shoulders, his eyes ablaze with green fire, he said, "Not here. Not with so many ears nearby to hear." His voice grew inhumanly deep, and began to take on a growling, guttural undertone. "Too many wagging tongues!"

He drew Ashlariel in then for a kiss, his tongue darting out of his forest of fangs to part her pale, pink lips. They held each other, their hands roaming freely as their tongues wrestled and entwined around one another. She could feel the knight's need for her, barely held in check, and she tasted sweeter to him than any he had ever had.

Each trembling slightly, by some mutual unspoken agreement, they broke their kiss. Their eyes boring deep into each other, it was though they were seeing each other, truly seeing each other, for the very first time.

"Soon," Sir Arthur whispered huskily, "soon, my lovely Aasimar." So saying, he placed his right hand over his heart, bowed slightly at the waist, and took his leave.

As she heard his footfalls grow faint, Ashlariel wrenched her trousers down and sat on her bed, nearly crushing a mask in her furious need. With fingers grown clever from long practice, she parted the pink lips of her sex, rubbing herself frantically. In no time at all, she began to tremble slightly, biting her lip to silence herself. Her other hand moved up, its fingers wrapping around her throat as her trembling became a full bodied shudder.

She climaxed then, explosively, the fingers of one hand moving furiously as the fingers of the other came unwrapped from around her neck.

"Soon," she said to herself, breathlessly.

**************************************

When the day of their promised meeting, and its highly anticipated 'tutelage' finally arrived, Ashlariel could barely contain her excitement. Fairly leaping into her saddle, she guided her wolf, a great white furred and blue eyed beast, into a quick lope down the road. A gift from an Orc tribe, the giant wolves were the official mounts of the 12th Dragoons, though only Ashlariel and Sir Arthur rode ones with white fur.

She recieved odd stares from neighbors still unused to seeing her on wolfback, and every horse they passed shied away. The wolf's great, black claws clacked sharply on the cobblestones of the street, and his loping stride carried Ashlariel quickly to the town's border and the forested countryside beyond.

Though only an hour's walk from her home, and a further hour to the capital city of Almas, the woods between Ashlariel's house and Sir Arthur's were close and dark. Tall deciduous trees gave way to broad conifers, and packed earth made up the road after the cobblestones ended. Luckily, riding wolfback got the young lieutenant to her destination quickly.

Soon enough, Sir Arthur's home was in view. A good sized stone manor house rose out of a clearing, fruit orchards and fields of ripening wheat and barley, all separated by single rows of cedar trees spread out behind it. The buzzing sound of bees in flight could be heard as she passed a row of well tended hives.

Sir Arthur, astride his own white wolf, rode out of one of his orchards, his uniform traded for a less formal ensemble consisting of a loose shirt, black trousers, and knee high brown boots. The Eagle Knight waved as he caught sight of Ashlariel, a wide grin splitting his face. He urged his wolf into a loping run, eager to escort the lovely Aasimar to his home.

"How was your journey, my dear?" he inquired as he pulled up next to her.

"The forest here is a bit... creepy," she replied with a smirk.

"Indeed," Sir Arthur said, "it is part of the reason i made my home here. Few venture out this way, other than those i keep in my employ, and thus my privacy is assured."

As the two rode up to the house, the scent of flowers in bloom enveloped them. Red roses, tiger lilies, irises, and a riotous mess of marigolds had been planted around the house, adding a bright splash of color to the area.

"For the bees?" Ashlariel asked.

"Partly," he replied, grinning, "but mostly for my own enjoyment. When one's profession is warfare, it is good to have a home that is pleasant and peaceful, I think."

When they reached the front of the house, Sir Arthur dismounted, placed his hand over his heart, and bowed at the waist. Taking Ashlariel's delicate hand in his, he assisted her in her dismount. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, the Eagle Knight would have doubted that such hands could be so skilled in the application of violence. The more he learned of her, the more of a pleasant enigma Ashlariel became.

As she entered Sir Arthur's abode, Ashlariel drank in the sensations of the place. The walls were panelled in stained and varnished wood, light horizontal planks on the upper half and dark vertical ones on the lower, separated by a border of ebony molding. Magical lamps that required no fuel lit the halls and every room with a warm amber light, and the scent of wood smoke filled the house with a gentle, cozy smell. Tall bookshelves covered the walls in most of the rooms, and a few that were waist high were in the halls.

He lead her to the manor's ballroom, taking her coat as they entered. Refreshment in the form of a light, honeyed wine, slivers of roast meat on skewers, and fresh fruit were laid out on a table near the wall on the far side of the room. A fire burned in the room's hearth, warming the space pleasantly.

After they had refreshed themselves, Sir Arthur moved over to a large, ornate chest, turning the key already present in its lock. Upon opening, the interior contraption, an orderly arrangement of brass drums, gears, and tines, as well as multicolored crystals, was revealed.

"A music box?" asked the lovely lieutenant.

"Indeed," replied the Eagle Knight, "though i would wager this one is unlike any you've seen before, my dear."

So saying, Sir Arthur inserted the key into one of the keyholes present within the box. After turning it three times, the sound of an Elven orchestra filled the room.