Sex and the Spellplague

She had smiled throughout the walk. Her clients were both kind women, well-versed in the arts of lovemaking, and nearly overly attractive to the elf. They'd shared many flirtations, grins, and a grope here and there throughout their journey from the Wyrm's Hide to the Dreaming Dragon. If she were to be honest to herself, Miria would have felt an almost sisterly love from the two women, though one was nearly as old as she was, and the other barely a fifth her age.

All of that vanished when she entered the Dreaming Dragon, wearing her finest silk and gems. A past she had forced herself to forget slapped her back in the face in the form of a red-clad drow, mouth agape and eyes--those eyes!--wide. And Lura wasn't the only one staring back at her in utter shock. Cyra was there, looking very much like she remembered the sultry, often dominating tiefling in a scandalously short black gown with a wide, deep neckline, and a glistening black corset around her waist. Her short, pale hair was swept back to match her brownish horns, which seemed to have grown since last she saw them.

Mikhail was there too, wearing a fine, black and silver doublet and matching breeches. He wore shiny ankle boots and his dark hair was wavy, but neatly held back behind his ears. He seemed more fit than the last time she'd seen him, and she figured he was getting plenty of exercise with Lura and whoever else he wished. She remembered the first time she'd met him, and recalled his scrawny, wiry physique and anxious attitude. He'd clearly grown out of that shell quite nicely.

Then there was Hammer. She remembered him well, for how could one forget such a monumental man? She knew that he had departed their troupe upon arrival in Everlund, but despite her network of clientele, had heard no word of an enormous barbarian returning. He stood staring at her, but despite his surprise, he affected a warm smile, nodding as if all was as it should be. And indeed, she certainly felt her comradery with her sisters and brothers keenly, even if she was far removed from their faith. Hammer hooked his thumbs on his black belt, and though no sword rested upon it she knew he was well armed. His breeches, dark leathers that were wholly informal, spoke to his barbaric heritage, as did the thick, scuffed boots on his feet. His tunic was deep blue, much like the tundra sky, and was untied at the collar, letting his expansive chest breath, even though the garment was quite snug around his chest, shoulders, and arms.

But Lura...how could she even begin to look at her distant companion? The drow's shocked expression began to fade, moisture rimming her eyes and a warm smile coming to her black, chiseled face. She didn't approach, and Miria was glad for that; she feared that any sudden movements might break the awkwardly peaceful silence over them all. So Miria stared at the drow, examining her with a longing she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She was resplendent, her pristine white hair hanging freely, yet seductively wavy, about her face and shoulders and down to the middle of her back. A distinct red shock of that silky hair hung in a curl that framed her elven face. Her gown seemed to shift of it's own accord, as if there were a breeze when there was not. The fine red velvet hung on her shoulders, identical golden brooches attached to the fabric as it led down to her breasts to cinch them into a narrow strip over her black, delicate shoulders. The neckline swooped low but was surprisingly tasteful, covering her firm breasts and exposing very little cleavage. It was, on the drow, unusually alluring. The gown swept down to mid-shin, then cut up sharply to just under mid-thigh, the skirt-length wavy and loose, then growing tight just above her alluring hips.

But those eyes. Miria couldn't tear her gaze away from them. Twin pools of swirling scarlet and gold gleamed at her, no doubt another symbol of Sune's divinity within the drow. Miria felt her legs weaken and her lip tremble. For the first time, she keenly felt her fall from Sune's grace. The narcotics were first, and though she never used them to a great extent like many of the girls she had come to know, they eventually led her to prostitution. She looked down at her pale skin, feeling very filthy with the life she had chosen.

But then Lura rushed forward, wrapping her slender arms around Miria, and the elf began sobbing uncontrollably into the drow's shoulder. Lura held her, whispering to her softly in High Drow, a language the elf could not understand, and was rarely used for soothing purposes. Miria realized that Lura was singing to her, so softly only she could hear it, and felt a warmth flowing through her. For Lura, before she had come to the surface, had been a bard...of a sort. Generally, when drow took up the bardic path, it was more to the detriment of those they encountered, and less to bolster their allies. She'd been a dirge, and quite good, but it was not long into that path that she had learned for herself the beneficial aspects of bardic magic. She sang now, softly, in her native tongue, and used that magic, calling it up from the deep, dark corners of her self to soothe her wayward sister.

*****

Lidia watched the spectacle of surprise with curiosity. She didn't understand what was going on, but she figured that her Miria had known some of these people in the past. The half-dragon, in her human skin, wasn't about to interrupt, but when the drow, Lura she supposed, embraced the elf and began whispering to her, she bristled, feeling more than a little jealous. She'd paid well for Miria's company, and what's more, she had grown accustomed and quite fond of the elf. Some might say that she'd developed feelings for her, but she wasn't quite ready to admit that.

She was about to intervene somehow, but her mother put a hand on her shoulder. Lidia looked at Alluva, who nodded toward Hammer, Cyra, and Mikhail as all three were approaching Miria. She held back, realizing this was, indeed, an emotional reunion as Lura released the elf, her soothing whispers having done their work. Miria went to Hammer, her arms barely reaching around the big barbarian, who was head and shoulders taller than her. Then Cyra replaced Hammer, embracing her former leader fondly. Mikhail was last, though their hug was brief.

*****

Lura watched the elf, still beautiful, hug her former comrades.

"Miria, it has been far too long," Lura said, when the elf returned to her. She took her hands, kissed them, and smiled. "Where have you been?"

"That is a long story," Miria said, smiling despite the sickened feeling in her stomach. She dreaded the thought of telling her fellow Sunites of her fall into prostitution and other depravities. "But I believe there is a meal to be had tonight."

Lura grinned widely, embracing the elf and kissing her cheek. "Indeed! Benefast, are things prepared?"

"The dining room is ready and the table is set, Lady Lura," he said, bowing. He and Donnara had put on their finest and closed the tavern for the evening's event. "Dinner will be served shortly."

Lura lead all her friends, Alluva and Lidia included, into a private, separate dining area. They sat and chatted for several hours, dined on roasted venison and vegetables, and shared wine until there were a dozen bottles emptied on the table. And after a long while, after all the wine and food had settled, the congregated friends, old and new, splintered off into private conversations. Lidia entertained Iliara and Cyra, while Alluva dallied with Hammer and Varla, who wore a black velvet gown that hugged her sleek, feline-like physique. Mikhail leaned in a corner with Greta, smiling and chatting while appraising her pale green dress that hung loose from her generous bust. Meanwhile, Lura took Miria for herself, sitting and chatting with her, grinning and laughing as they reminisced.

"Lura, I need to confess something to you," Miria said, and Lura saw a dark cloud pass behind the elf's eyes. She put her hand on her forearm, inching closer to her.

"You can tell me anything, dear sister," she said.

Miria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have gone against Sune, and fallen far from where I used to be. I've taken up prostitution, and I have been doing that most of the time since our arrival. You remember Anliva? Our cleric? I sent her away, and last I knew she was going back to Silverymoon."

Lura smiled and put her arm around Miria, hugging her close, and the elf started to sob against Lura's shoulder.

"What have I done to myself..." she whispered against the soft, black skin.

Lura rubbed Miria's back, whispering softly to her again in High Drow. "Sune still loves you, Miria," she said softly, her eyes glinting with golden divinity. Miria continued sobbing, her arms squeezing tight around the taller drow's waist. "It's ok..."

"How can it be ok?" She asked suddenly, pushing herself away from Lura. "The things I've done...I've gone as far from Sune as I possibly could have!"

"Not far enough," Lura said, and her eyes, pools of radiant gold and shimmering crimson, spoke volumes of her knowledge on Sune's feelings. Miria began weeping again, but couldn't pull herself from Lura's penetrating, knowing gaze. Her lip quivered and tears flowed freely down her face, even as Lura's delicate, black finger stroked them away. Eyes glowing, Lura leaned forward, her dark lips, tinged with deep violet, pressed against Miria's gold-flecked lips. The kiss sealed, moist lips pressing firmly together, and Miria felt her body quivering as Lura's hands slid down her shoulders, the backs of her arms, and then to the small of her bare back, just above the extremely low cut of her gown.

"Lura..." she whispered as the drow broke the kiss, dark lips dancing along her jaw line to her delicately pointed ear. The drow made not a sound, though, instead pulling her into a sturdy chair. She pulled Mira into her lap, the elf sitting with both legs dangling off one side, her arms around the drow's shoulder as she leaned into Lura's body. She was silent, her eyes closed and lower lip gently bit between her pearly teeth.

Miria sighed gently, resting her forehead against Lura's shoulder as deft drow fingertips ran lightly, up and down her spine, sending shivers all along her body and igniting a flame within her she had thought extinguished for good. She felt her body filling with inspiration, a warmth both liquid and blazing, and pressed her lips against the drow's soft, warm skin. Her tongue slipped out meekly, but the taste of the drow's skin, so sweet and welcoming, made her giddy with excitement. She pulled away, her delicate hands, perfectly manicured and bedecked with gold, placed on either side of Lura's polished obsidian face. They locked eyes, Miria's emerald orbs penetrating deep into the swirling garnet-and-gold pools of Lura's. Then she pushed forward, her lips locking with the drow in a passionate kiss, her tongue pressing insistently into purple-tinged lips until they parted, and then danced furiously with Lura's agile oral muscle.

Lura responded wholeheartedly to the kiss, her tongue fencing with Miria's as one arm slid around to her taut, narrow stomach, playing along the soft fabric before curling around her hip. Her other, left hand stays at Miria's back, stroking it slowly, affectionately. The drow instantly knew what she wanted, what Miria needed, and how she would give it to her. But before she could enact that plan, Mira took the initiative, desperation evident in her every gesture.

Her hands were shaking as Miria slid them from Lura's face, down her neck, to her shoulders, unsteadily pushing the fabric outward, to let the gown fall free of the delicate, yet strong drow shoulders. But Lura's hands came up to grasp her wrists. "No," she whispered, though her voice was tight with need and urgency. "Not here, Miria. Come with me."

*****

Broad and tall, Hammer well enough towered over Alluva and Varla, and was as wide as the two lithe women standing side-by-side. Hammer had commented on Alluva's attire, as the matronly woman was still clad in only her purple dragon scale robe. She ran her fingers over her sash, then up the inside edge of the robe. Hammer, of course, watched with rapt attention as her actions only made the pale, soft skin revealed by her fairly open robe stand out that much more. Her breasts, while comparable to Lura's had a bit more sag, but in a manner that only bespoke maturity and health. Something the barbarian held in very high esteem. She explained her nature, that of a near ageless sorceress, and the nature of her robe. He nodded in appreciation, despite his people's aversion to magic, and applauded her spellslaying of the purple wyrm. She made a curtsy at his applause, smiling warmly at him, and turning to Varla.

"You are a pretty girl," she said, her delicate, bejeweled hand reaching out to the slender woman's shoulder. Varla's eyes sparkled, but she laughed a short little laugh.

"I'm hardly a girl, my Lady," she says, licking her crimson-painted lips.

"When you've lived a hundred years, even one like you is a girl," she countered, offering her own curt laugh.

"You jest," Varla said, her look shifting to a coy smile. "You look not a day over forty winters!"

Alluva feigned injury. "My dear, you hurt me! I had thought surely I looked closer to thirty."

Hammer intervened. "Suffice it to say, young or mature, you are both exquisite specimens," he said, putting a big, calloused hand on their delicate shoulders.

"And you, large goodsir, are a charmer," Alluva said, looking at him sidelong. "Perhaps too much so. I fear your subtle charisma is having a heated effect on my loins."

"Not one for subtlety, are you," Varla said, smirking.

"I've slain more dragons than I care to remember and, as I previously pointed out, lived a hundred years. I've gone beyond subtlety," she said, laughter in her voice. "When I see something I want, I rarely waste time in the procuring." With that, she put a hand on Hammer's broad chest and the other on Varla's face, coming forward smoothly to press her pinkish lips against Varla's darkly painted mouth.

Hammer's eyes widened only for an instant, but he grinned mischievously. Varla lost herself in the all-too-skilled kiss, her hands coming to Alluva's slightly rounder face. They kissed a good long while, Hammer sliding his hands down their backs throughout, and he watched with rapt interest as he caught glimpses of their tongues fencing with each other. And when Alluva abruptly broke the kiss, grabbed a handful of Hammer's mane and yanked his face down for a kiss of his own, he couldn't help but remove his hand from Varla that he might claim Alluva's soft cheek.

"Someplace private," Varla said, suddenly latching on to Hammer's flank, a leg stroking his thick thigh as she kissed at his bared upper arm.

Alluva relented and glanced around. More than a few gazes were upon them, and while she wouldn't normally mind, she decided a private setting, where they might all shed their inhibitions, would be preferable. "You know one?"

"My private room, of course," Varla said, grinning superiorly at the woman. With a nod, she led them both out of the private dining hall and up to the rooms that, while once served as a night's lodging for weary adventurers, had grown into modest apartments to those that had earned them. Varla pushed open the door to her apartment, dimly lit by fragrant candles, and closed the door behind her two guests. Before she had turned around to face them, Alluva snapped her fingers and her robe, glimmering violet scale and all, simply vanished with a wink. She stood, gloriously naked, facing Hammer, giving him a full view of her supple breasts, soft and pliant, and modestly tapered stomach. Varla couldn't see her front, but found her eyes glued to her wide hips and soft, only barely dimpled posterior. She walked slowly, as if in a trance, her hands out to feel those twin, rear globes.

*****

Greta had insisted on joining Cyra, Lidia, and Iliara, and Mikhail was not willing to disagree with her. Surrounded by four women, Mikhail felt himself distinctly amused, but it wasn't long before Iliara had lured Greta away from the suddenly clashing Lidia and Cyra. The contest was in jest, the two sultry women laughing merrily between dirty jabs and tongue-fencing. Iliara, the rogue that she was, used her silver tongue to convince Greta that the thicker girl would be better served following, leaving Mikhail with the two delicious, sex-oozing women.

Mikhail had at first been amused at the seeming competition Cyra and Lidia were having. The tiefling had sensed something peculiar about her, and was prodding, while Lidia simply evaded the questions. It was a game of cat and mouse, if ever he had seen one. All that left, though, when he caught Varla's actions out of the corner of his eye. He saw her entangled with the older woman, Hammer silently watching, grinning. Then he saw her cling to the big barbarian, and a very unseemly pang of jealousy erupted in his gut. When she pulled both away, he felt his brow furrow, and didn't even realize he was staring at them.

"Mikhail," Cyra said, eyes scrutinizing the man. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said curtly. "Excuse me, I need fresh air."

He turned on his heel and left. Lidia scoffed. "Well, that was rude. You don't think we scared him off, do you?" she asked.

"No, something else," Cyra said, but put it out of her mind, turning back to Alluva's lovely daughter. "Good enough, though. I had hoped to get some alone time with lovely Alluva's daughter."

"Likewise," Lidia purred. "I've heard much about you, tiefling."

"All bad, I pray," Cyra returned, and would have blushed at the wholly cliché phrase if she had any shame at present.

Lidia made an affirmative-sounding hum and pushed forward, her bosom pressing into Cyra's as her hands grasped the tiefling's strong shoulders, pushing her back into the wall. Cyra made no move to resist, even brought her ruddy-skinned hands to the woman's shapely hips. They slipped down, feeling her soft flesh beneath her slit-to-the-waist gown, and was tempted to simply reach underneath to squeeze that firm rear. She resisted, figuring a little teasing would heat the girl enough...for now.

Lidia's kiss was surprisingly warm, her lips soft on Cyra's and her tongue sweetly licking, tantalizing Cyra's mouth at its plump entrance. The tiefling instinctively slipped one of her shapely legs between Lidia's thighs, in turn straddling the seductive "woman."

"I have something to show you," Lidia whispered hotly into Cyra's ear. That declaration was quickly followed by a light nibble that stung quite a bit more than it should. Of course, to Cyra, that was hardly anything to complain over.

"Show me," she breathed, her voice almost guttural sounding as her pupils began to warp within the irises, threatening to expand and cover both eyes with blackness.

"Not here," Lidia said, her voice a bit more solid.

"Here," Cyra demanded, her voice smoldering, a bit of fire dancing across her brow before disappearing again.

Intrigued and wholly excited, Lidia nodded, but did not back away, despite the sudden crackling of bones and bloodless tearing of skin. Cyra watched in rapt attention as her wings shifted beneath the woman's skin. Then, suddenly, the leathery, broad wingspan revealed itself to her, and Lidia let out a sigh of exultation. Cyra's eyes were wide throughout the transformation, a grin on her face as she licked her lips. When it finished, Lidia stood before her in her half-dragon glory, hips tilted askew and lips pursed. "It pleases you," she says, her voice deliciously deep now.

Cyra laughed, eyes suddenly ablaze with living fire. She lunged forward, a tingle going from her tail to her tongue as it delved into Lidia's mouth.