Mikhail was more nervous than any other time in his life. The guard that had halted him in front of the Dancing Rose was imposing, standing two heads taller and half again as wide with thick, veiny muscles. The guard opened the door and stepped in for a moment, leaving the other guard, a muscular woman, to eye him suspiciously.
"Ye know," she said with a strangely dwarven accent, "the wee elf yer lookin' for might be fun for a night, but ye ought to seek me out some time." She curled her arm, flexing her bicep that dwarfed his own. "I'll show ye things nary an elf could e'er dream of."
"I am certain," Mikhail said, almost choking on his words. Her eyes flashed hungrily and she licked her lips, then touched her breast, which looked to have been augmented magically to match her muscular torso.
"The Lady Lura Darklust," the male guard said, reappearing and holding the door open wide. Mikhail's heart leapt into his throat when he looked at the stunning image of Lura walking out to meet him.
"My lady," he said breathlessly. The young man dipped into a low bow, holding out his hand, and, in it, the red tinged white rose with a black stem, thorns and all. Her fingers played over his hand before taking the delicate rose.
Lura looked upon him, smiling to herself though her face remained stoic. He was very well dressed, with a crisp, white tailored shirt with a high, stiff collar, and fine tailored black pants. His shoes were shined to perfection, and she delighted in his medium length sandy hair, imagining her fingers would feel wonderful gliding through it. "Look at me, Mikhail," she said, and he rose immediately.
She pricked the end of her finger with a long thorn and held it aloft between them, both watching as a thick dollop of dark blood rose on her digit. He seemed about to protest, but she halted him by bringing the finger to her extended tongue. The metallic taste of her own blood sent a chill down her drow spine, reminding her of other courtship rituals she had joined with other females in her homeland. With her tongue holding the drop of blood in a small bowl, she came forward, smearing the lifeblood on Mikhail's lips, staining them red, and kissing him deeply, sharing the taste with him.
His mouth felt electric, and despite the most unusual act, he understood that it held some sort of meaning for the drow. Mikhail had always found elven women to be a most exotic flower, one that he had long desired to pluck, but, hitherto, had not the chance, despite his almost constant study of elven mating ritual and customs.
"With the sharing of my blood, you are my suitor, for tonight at least," she explained. "I will expect you to treat me accordingly."
"I would not dream of anything less," he said, hurriedly. Smiling, she wrapped her hand around his bicep, and, to her delight, led her to a closed carriage.
"You are full of surprises," she said, smiling coyly at him as she sat very close to him.
"For a beauty such as yourself, anything," he said with complete honesty. She believed him, too. Lura felt like she could tell him to bring her a chest full of gold and he would find a way to do it.
"Relax," she said, realizing that the not-so-smooth ride of a carriage over cobblestones was making her breasts bounce in a very provocative manner. She crossed her arms over her chest to alleviate. "I already agreed to accompany you, so just relax and be yourself."
He smiled at her. "Forgive me, you are just so stunning, I cannot help myself." She smiled and let the matter drop, leaning her shoulder against his.
They arrived shortly after leaving the Hunter's Gate. In the distance to the north, she could make out the treeline of the Moonwood, and to the south she could still see the climbing pillars of cooking smoke. The sun was almost gone, now, and the sky was painted brilliant shades of pink, red, and orange.
"Your Lady smiles upon our festival," Mikhail said as he helped her out of the carriage. Lura looked up and smiled, appreciating the play of colors on the clouds. It did, indeed, look like a brilliant mane of red hair cast over the sky.
"She and Sharess are close," Lura said, "so I am unsurprised. Let us enjoy the revelry, my dear, and indulge ourselves."
Mikhail extended his arm and she hooked her hand around it again, as he led her to the bonfire. To her delight, she found that much of the ground had been covered in some sort of magical flooring, extending out for several yards from the bonfire, and she could walk with ease over it in her heels. They exchanged greetings with several of Mikhail's colleagues, all servants of Sharess, and Lura even saw some of her fellow Sunites, who she greeted with kisses and hugs.
The sun fell away from the sky, leaving inky darkness, speckled with twinkling stars, a full Selûne, as well as her tears, and blotted with sparse clouds. The music sprang up immediately, as bards and minstrels came to life, singing and playing rousing tunes and slow, melodic, almost sad ballads.
In the night, Mikhail realized, was where Lura was at her grandest. Her skin, obsidian, gave her an almost ghostly quality as the whites of her eyes, red irises, and white hair shone in the moonlight. Even her red gown seemed to hover on its own, and in some of Lura's more daring dancing, Mikhail thought he had glimpsed more than he was intended to see.
Or perhaps not, he thought to himself. She is a Sunite, after all, and likely would shed her clothing for him if he played his cards right. But that was not the goal, he reminded himself. He held her in higher regard than a one night fling, though the prospect of such adventure added to the growing tension in his fine pants that her gyrations on him had caused.
Everything was going magnificently, Mikhail thought, until an unwelcome guest moved in on his territory.
"Back away, small man, and let a real man dance with the drow." The fellow was tall and thick, much like the doorman at the Dancing Rose had been, but hairier, with an unbuttoned tunic that revealed thick chest hair and a full beard that reeked of too much honey mead. Lura looked at Mikhail, waiting to see how he would respond. Would he prove himself worthy, or would he back away, cower like a frightened dog.
"The lady is with me," Mikhail said, his voice firm, but with a trace of fear. The big man was reaching for Lura, though, in an effort to seize her hips. With no other option, Mikhail grabbed the man's hand and pulled him away with all his might.
Surprised, the big man did stumble, but quickly regained his balance, and the surrounding revelers stopped what they were doing to watch. With a growl, the big man lunged, a heavy fist diving for Mikhail's head, but the smaller, more agile man ducked and sidestepped. Roaring, the big man charged headlong in a tackle, but before he could reach Mikhail, Lura intervened.
A bolt of hot, divine magic coursed from her arm into the big fellow, sending him sprawling to the ground. It was not ordinary for a spell from Sune to be used in such a way. The heat was meant to be sensual, to warm a lover's loins and to enhance climax. Lura herself was surprised at the effectiveness of the spell, and several onlookers pointed and gasped at the thick bulge in the big man's pants and growing wetness as he ejaculated uncontrollably any and all seed he had stored for the night.
Mikhail looked at her with astonishment and humor. "You should call that spell 'Uncontrollable Orgasm,'" he said, and Lura, struck by the absurdity of the notion and the sight before her, could not help but laugh out loud.
"Come," she said, removing her footwear. "Let us find a more comfortable place to relax."
He followed her eagerly as she lead him away from the revelry. The bonfire burned high and bright into the night, but Lura led Mikhail far away from it. As they passed the limit of the firelight, they witnessed several couples and groups wrapped around eachother in the throes of lovemaking and sexual exploration. As Sunites go, there is little that they would not do for sexual gratification, and, being drow, Lura could was scarcely surprised by some of the things they passed. Mikhail, though, was shocked and, it seemed, curious.
She saw a man being taking by a woman with a long, thick phallus strapped to her waist, something she herself had done with several drow males. Mikhail indicated a human woman thrusting against a female halfling, and, upon closer inspection with her magic sensitive eyes, Lura noticed that the human had modified her sex so that her clit had transformed into a penis, complete with a set of testicles that all hung just above her sodden sex. The halfling looked as if she were in the Seventh Plane of Heaven. A horse whinnied in the distance, followed by an exuberant moan and several cheers.
"Was that..." Mikhail started.
"Ignore it," Lura said, taking him into the darkness outside the firelight. "Sit with me."
She laid down, enjoying the soft grass beneath her skin and thin gown, and she curled onto her side, facing Mikhail as he laid, propped on his elbow and facing her with a smile. Thanks to the enchantments woven into her gown, she knew that her breasts, despite the daring, almost uncouth cut of her neckline, were covered and secure. Her thigh, on the other hand, was quite bare, a point emphasized by a cool night breeze dancing across her bare, obsidian skin.
Mikhail noticed too, she realized, as his gaze darted down every now and then. Deciding to milk the attention, she curled her leg up, leaving the slit of the gown behind as her leg, bare all the way up to the swell of her bottom, was revealed in the darkness of night.
"Your skin is beautiful," he said, realizing he had been caught. "I can scarcely see it in the night, though."
