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Chasing The Moon

The tavern was called 'The Cock-and-Balls'. The sign dangling outside, swinging in the autumn winds, depicted a rooster proudly crowing as it balanced on top of a pair of cannonballs. Clearly, the owner thought he had a sense of humor. Just as clearly, he'd nailed the general level of sophistication among adventurers, considering that there was little other apparent reason as to why this particular, rather run-down place had become the de-facto hangout and meeting ground of adventurers in one of the biggest cities in the region.

Pushing open the door and stepping inside, the newly-arrived woman found no reason to change her judgment. The whole place reeked of stale beer and old vomit, and the furniture was old and shoddy... though, considering the average adventurer's predilection towards bar-fights, that last bit might just have been good business-sense. Well, at least the atmosphere was pleasant - lots of loud talking and laughing and some off-key singing that hinted that the beer there at least wasn't too watered down. Not a lot of arguments or fights, either. Very nice, all in all.

Virtually everyone in the room looked to be an adventurer, and the rest, likely people looking to hire one or more adventurers. Well, 'adventurer' was the polite term, of course. Others preferred to call them what they really were - mercenaries, grave-robbers, hired muscle, killers and assassins... at least, until they found themselves needing some of those services. Then they tended to suddenly grow unfailingly polite.

Regardless, this was the place to be if you were looking to recruit - and she rather was. A popular saying was that adventuring was a career suited for the mad, stupid and desperate - after all, who else would willingly dive into trap-infested dungeons and catacombs crawling with the undead, infiltrate fortresses filled with demi-human barbarians, and face off against the biggest, nastiest monsters the wilderness could offer up?

Certainly, the specter of death hung constantly over the shoulder of any adventurer. And while some still stubbornly ran solo - though rarely for long - teamwork was the path to survival. Bringing together multiple skillsets and combat-roles made everything easier - she'd seen it herself often enough. A single wizard raining hell down on an entire battlefield just because a pair of his companions intercepted every attempt to take him out of commission. A skilled warrior whose roaring charge was said to be unstoppable, largely thanks to his partner - an equally-skilled sorcerer - lobbing fireballs and lightning-bolts over his shoulders as he ran, missing him by inches at most and softening up the enemy front-lines. And of course, she'd also seen what lack of teamwork could bring - or at least, the leftovers. Picked-clean skeletons starring out of spike-filled pitfalls, their mastery of combat brought up short because they'd failed to bring a suitably sharp-eyed rogue along for the trip.

And this was why Hilde Månadottir, Cleric of Tyr - tall, blond, and more muscular than most women, fellow clerics, and combinations thereof - had just walked into the tavern. She was the leader of the Moonhunters, a small adventuring band with a fine reputation for reliability. Most of the time, she didn't do too bad a job of it, either. They'd come through some hairy situation with their heads intact, and in such a dangerous business, that was nothing to sneeze at. Still... 'most of the time' meant that she _did_occasionally screw up. And coming out of a bad run with their heads intact didn't say anything about other assorted limbs.

Sereiah and Barida filed into the room close behind Hilde, looking around and probably making much the same judgment as her. Sereiah's sensitive, half-elven nose wrinkled in protest against the smell - while at the same time, Barida made a beeline for the bar, eager to sample the local brew and, quite possibly, join the enthusiastic singers. At least she'd vastly improve the sound if she did - she had a beautiful singing-voice, even when drunk. Heck, especially when she was drunk. The halfling - short even for her kind - had to jump up on a barstool to get the barkeep's attention, but she did so with a nimble agility born of plentiful practice.

There'd been four of them for a while. Sereiah was a skilled Archer - living up to the stereotype so often applied to elves and half-elves alike - and also had a keen eye for traps... as well as the fine dexterity to do something about them, most of the time. For her part, Barida was a sorceress - and as far from the stereotypes of her people as Sereiah was near to hers. Well, to be fair, she could eat, drink and party as vigorously as any of her kin - but her fiery temperament and fierce, near-sadistic bloodlust in combat was atypical for the relaxed, pastoral people she had left behind to pursue a more stimulating career, to put it mildly.

And finally, there'd been Thorm, warrior and self-declared Knight Errant. From what Hilde had gathered during their time together, his father had been a genuine Knight in Shining Armor - one of the legendary Knights of Mimbre, at that! - but he himself had been born a bastard, his mother a chambermaid in the employ of the _very married_knight. So perhaps the guy's armor had been a bit more tarnished than it seemed. Nonetheless, the irregularities of his birth prevented him from inheriting his father's title... or lands... or armor... or anything else for that matter. At an early age, he had decided that this situation wasn't particularly fair.

So he'd stolen his father's suit of armor and his best horse, and run away from the city. That meant he couldn't go anywhere near his hometown anymore, of course - chances were, there'd still be a price on his head there. The Knights of Mimbre didn't take it lightly when one of their numbers was robbed.

Regardless, with access to such fine equipment, he'd been able to make a living as an adventurer, and even survive long enough to pick up some actual training from older colleagues who took pity on him. He'd even proven to be quite talented - perhaps owing to his blood, perhaps not. The horse had eventually been lost to an orcish arrow, but the lovingly-maintained suit of full plate armor had continued to stand him in good stead.

Until their last run, that was. Sereiah had missed a trap. Thorm had been walking in front as always and the scything blade had taken off both of his arms near the elbow. Considering that they'd been walking on a narrow bridge without any side rails at the time, it was only thanks to Barida's quick thinking that he hadn't fallen over the sides and into the lightless depths beneath... but there'd been no saving his hands, still clutching his sword and shield as they disappeared into the darkness.

She'd healed him immediately, of course - stopped the bleeding before he lost too much of the vital liquid. But he'd still been left pale and shaky, utterly defenseless as they virtually carried him back out of the dungeon. They'd all survived, and their pooled resources provided enough gold for a suitable 'donation' at the nearest temple - Regeneration was a potent clerical spell, one still beyond her, but the Deacon of that temple had been capable of casting it. It took several days for his arms to grow back out again, but he _did_get them back. His adventuring spirit... not so much.

In retrospect, he had been understandably traumatized by the experience. But they'd all worked desperately to get him back out of that dungeon alive, and all poured a lot of gold into getting him healed - so his attitude soured moods all around in a hurry. Words were said that could not be easily unsaid. He accused them all of constantly hiding behind him, letting him bear all the pains and injuries while they harvested the benefits. Using him as a disposable meatshield. He'd also loudly blamed Sereiah for failing to detect the trap - and a few others from previous incidents, where he had narrowly avoided injury by luck and quick reflexes - ultimately reducing the half-elf to tears.

When she'd pointed out that they'd ALL contributed to getting him out alive AND to the cost of his healing, he'd accused her of only caring about the gold. Things got nasty from there, especially as the fed-up Barida unleashed her temper and flat-out told him that given the chance at a do-over, she would've saved his hands and the valuable equipment in them, and let him take the fall instead. Enough said, they did not part on good terms, with Thorm declaring that he intended to retire from adventuring altogether, and fervently wishing he'd never see the lot of them again. Apparently, the adventuring life didn't seem so attractive now that he had experienced a serious injury at last - up until that point, his armor had ensured that bruises and sprains was the worst he'd had to deal with. In the end, it seemed like he just never really had the nerve for the job after all...

And so, there they were... because, in the end, perhaps Thorm had had at least one valid point. They did need a heavily armored meat-shield who could stand between the three of them and the various sharp, pointy and blunt objects that enemies tended to so rudely wield. She herself was wearing some rather nice ring-mail, reinforced by the blessing of Tyr - but even so, it wouldn't stand up to a determined attack, and it was particularly vulnerable to arrows and spears. Her two friends were even less well armored.

Of course, it was rather common to sort adventurers into a number of simple pigeonholes based on what role they were expected to occupy on the battlefield - often simply by looking at what they were wearing. Heavily-armored warriors, magic-slinging spellcasters clad in robes, clerics bedecked with holy symbols who could be counted on for healing and other support, and so on and so forth. But of course, the truth was far more complex than that - every adventurer was an_individual_, with his own background, training, experience and equipment. So invariably, there'd be far more to them than just what was apparent from a glance at their equipment as you passed them in a tavern. A talent, a skill learned before they took up the adventuring life and never forgotten, a random interest or hobby that could come in handy at the strangest of times. Thorm, for instance, had acted as the 'Face' of the group on most occasions - whatever his background and birth, he DID cut a dashing figure, between his fancy armor and his noble nose. He could also be quite charming and pleasant when he put his mind to it. As such, he'd frequently secured them high payouts for jobs, low prices for goods, and even occasionally managed to talk additional, useful information out of reluctant marks.

Well, they could manage without that particular advantage if need be. So while she knew all about not judging a book by the cover, it just couldn't be helped - all she really needed was a likely recruit wearing suitably heavy armor! And when she scanned the room in search of impressive-looking armor, one person in particular jumped out. Actually, she'd been staring directly at him for a while now, her mind somehow not quite believing her eyes while her thoughts droned on unconcerned. Sereiah was staring too. The two of them exchanged a disbelieving look before Hilde shrugged and began to make her way through the crowded room towards the dark-haired stranger drinking alone near the fire.

Up close, that armor looked even more ludicrously magnificent. Once, while doing some mercenary work in the Mercian Empire, she'd seen the Emperor himself at a distance, fully decked out for war as he marched his great stallion before the assembled troops to give an inspirational speech. His armor hadn't been HALF as showy as this. It wasn't full plate armor, granted, but rather a full suit of scale-mail - lighter and more flexible than heavy plates of steel, but also generally less effective in terms of protection. That was not true, however, when the scales in question were dragon scales.

Now, Dragonscale Armor wasn't quite as rare as it had been just a few decades ago. But it was still rare, and extremely pricey. And mostly, when you DID see someone wearing a suit, it would be green or brown - made from scales taken from the most common races of dragon. This one wasn't like that. Oh no, not even close. Indeed, it wasn't a single color at all - but rather an elaborate artwork intermingling scales of a dozen different colors, creating fluid patterns down the chest and arms. Gold, black and red were the primary components, though - in other words, scales from some of the rarest, biggest, and most powerful dragon-types. And whatever parts of it weren't made from scales was crafted from some pale, silvery metal... probably electrum or platinum, 'cuz hey, when your main material was friggin'dragonscales, why cheap out on the metallic bits? Add to that several inset gemstones, and the price-tag wound up somewhere in the stratosphere - even with dropping prices, there was still a king's ransom just in the non-scaly parts!

His gauntlets and helmet were sitting on the table by his side. The knuckles of the gauntlets were lined with what almost had to be dragon-teeth, and the helmet was shaped like a roaring dragon-head, complete with ruby eyes. The sheer artistry and showiness of the ensemble, combined with the rare and precious ingredients, meant that the guy was sitting around, in that dingy tavern, wearing the value of an imperial palace... or maybe two. And drinking alone, somehow...

As she stepped closer, Hilde quickly tried to come up with a strategy for approaching him. Well, considering the nature of her team, she_did_ have an unusual angle she could play. Thorm had often been on the receiving end of jealous looks and good-natured ribbings from other adventurers over the fact that he was the only man in a team otherwise consisting of good-looking women... to which he'd usually replied with a sour look and little else. After all, he was hardly enough of a cad to tell anyone about the rather taboo relationship that Sereiah and Barida were carrying on...

He_could_ have mentioned that she was celibate owing to her faith, of course - that was hardly unusual for a cleric - but by itself, that would only have increased the jokes. It would also have been a lie, though he hadn't known that. In truth, Tyr was not one of the gods who cared a whole lot about virginities or lack of same. In fact, the general philosophy he passed on to his faithful was to live life to the fullest so that they might die on the battlefield without regrets. So, in truth, it had merely been a convenient, easily-believed fib that she'd told Thorm when he first started making advances on her.

It wasn't that she hadn't been attracted to him, of course. He had been a rather handsome fellow, as previously mentioned. But she had a firm rule - do not mix business and pleasure. What Sereiah and Barida did in the privacy of their shared tent was entirely up to them, and she wasn't going to interfere in that - but _she_wasn't going to go there. Losing Thorm - and the harsh words that had been involved - had been painful enough as it was. If they'd been romantically involved, it would've been heartbreaking - and quite possibly the end of the Moonhunters as a whole. You had to be ready to lose people in the adventuring business, one way or another - so those kinds of attachments would only lead to pain.

Of course, there was also the fact that she was the leader of the team. She made the overarching decisions - when to retreat and when to press on, when to take a risk and when to cut and run. What enemies to focus on in a fight and what enemies to consider low priorities. If she was in a relationship with another party-member, how could she possibly do so objectively? Especially if it happened to be the warrior standing alone on the front lines, the most likely one to bear the burden of her decisions. None of which stopped her perfectly healthy libido from protesting those perfectly logical choices - forcing her to slip off to the most respectable brothel she could find whenever they hit a major city, just to get her itch scratched.

But of course, Thorm hadn't known any of that when he'd joined up with them... and sometimes she'd suspected that he wouldn't have joined if he had known. Not like it would be the first case of a man thinking with his 'other' head. Regardless, she somehow didn't think this particular guy was likely to fall for that. He was a dish, to put it mildly. Thorm had been handsome, in a noble sort of way, but this guy was sexy. He had a rugged face with a defined and extremely manly, clean-shaven chin, a pair of piercing, bright-blue eyes, and a mop of fluffy, black hair that would make any healthy woman itch to run her hands through it. Judging by the size of his armor, he was also muscular without being bulky - well, he'd rather have to be in order to wear a full suit of scale-armor. Dragonscale was lighter than, say, steel - but a full suit of it still added up. Combine that with the extreme, downright ostentatious wealth radiated by said armor, and women would be, almost literally, throwing themselves at him. He could walk into any brothel in any city and find himself besieged by girls eager to provide any kind of service he desired without even asking to see his purse.

So yeah, not likely to be blinded by the prospect of traveling the wilderness alone with three moderately-attractive women. Besides, if the mind behind those eyes was just as sharp as his gaze... perhaps the straightforward, honest approach would be the best one. With that in mind, she simply sat down in the chair across from him while Sereiah hovered nearby, trying not to look like she was listening in. The handsome, black-haired man lifted a handsome, black eyebrow and nodded handsomely at her. "Good evening and well met." he intoned. Damn, even his voice was sexy - deep and resonant, sounding like it should belong to someone older and more mature than he appeared to be.

Careful not to let her thoughts show, she nodded, smiled, and returned the greeting. "So..." she then said without further preamble. "You seem to be on your own at the moment. How would you like to join my adventuring-party? We could use a tough warrior, and you seem like you can take a hit or two..." The man chuckled - sexily - and took a drink from the foaming mug by his side. "An interesting offer. But would it surprise you to hear that I've had a dozen such offers already, most of them from far larger and better-equipped teams?"

Her smile turned broader. "As a matter of fact, that _would_greatly surprise me." Looking intrigued, he leaned forwards over the table and looked at her in the eye, testing her self-control once more. Damn, she could just get lost in those eyes... "Interesting statement... Care to explain?" She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and trying her level best to seem unconcerned. "It's not that complicated. Half the people in here suspect that you're some kind of spoiled rich-kid, sporting fancy armor bought on daddy's coin and more likely to be a hindrance than anything. The other half is perceptive enough to tell that you've got the skill to go with it and thus figure that you're out of their league, so why even bother trying?"

Well, in truth, there was a bit more to it than that. Most adventurers... or at least, the living ones... had long since learned that when something seemed too good to be true, it almost certainly was. Did you just spot the magical artifact you'd been searching for, sitting unprotected on top of a pedestal in the middle of an empty room? An unguarded treasure-chamber filled with gold and gems? A fountain marked 'Waters of Eternal Life'? Yeah... go ahead, mate! Go for it! I'll be waaaaaay back here, watching how that works out for you. And this guy... he was the living incarnation of 'too good to be true'. It had to be a trap, somehow. Of course, saying that out loud would be a bit undiplomatic, and would also require her to explain why she had just stuck her head into that obvious trap. A question she could not easily answer, except by mumbling something about going with her gut.

Sure enough, the man laughed and set his mug down hard enough to make the foamy beer inside spill over the edges. "Could be you are right! Could be indeed. But then, why are you bothering to try? Clearly, you don't have me pegged for a useless rich-kid trying to substitute money for talent." As expected - but that_question, she had the perfect answer armed and ready for. She let a cocky smile crease her lips, showing off her carefully maintained pearly-whites. "Obviously, because I know you aren't out of _my_league. My team may be small, but we're the best in the business. We've _never lost a member to death - indeed, the reason we're currently recruiting is that one of us recently retired comfortably." That last statement was true, in a manner of speaking. Certainly, if Thorm carried through on his declaration and sold off his armor, he'd be well set for a while! Full steel plate in good condition fetched a pretty copper, even if it was missing the gauntlets...

The man raised a doubtful eyebrow, and then shrugged. For a moment, he just looked down into his mug without saying anything. Then, he lifted his head and grinned at her. "Well, when you put it that way... sure, why not, I'll join up. On one condition." She shrugged. "Name it." "You never ask where I got my equipment from. Ever. That's all." She tipped her head to the side and looked at him speculatively. Of course she was _curious_about it, but... "Sure, no problem. Frankly, I don't care if you stole it from the Emperor of Mercia, or got it as a gift from Takharsis Herself, as long as it works."

Nodding, he then drained the remaining content of his mug, slammed it down hard enough to crack a board in the shoddy table, and finally threw off a mock salute. "The name's Jet. Yours to command, boss. Just say the word!" She had to swallow before she could reply. That smile, that gesture, the whole way he was acting... gah! She certainly knew what kind of orders she'd like to give him! She'd already visited the brothel once, just after parting with Thorm and in serious need of working off some tension, but clearly, she'd need to make another visit before they left town. "Excellent. It'll still take a couple of days to line up the next job and pick up supplies, though. Could you tell me where you're staying? I'll send a messenger when we're ready to leave."

And thus, the new lineup of the Moonhunters was settled. Jet - presumably named for the glistening blackness of his hair - proved to be a strong addition to say the least, despite some initial surprise when they learned what his weapon of choice was... namely, nothing. He strode unarmed into battle, laying about him with bone-breaking, flesh-tearing punches from his dragonfang-lined gauntlets, and throwing some nasty grapples and throws in for good measure. Frequently, he'd tear a weapon from the hands of an enemy and wield it for a while - and whether it was a spear, a sword, a flail, an axe, or just about any other melee-weapon one could name, he always wielded it with deadly skill. Until, inevitably, it broke under the weight of his enormous strength. His armor obviously had some kind of strength-boosting enchantments, along with many other gifts! And it was every bit as tough as one would expect - he didn't use a shield either, deflecting magic and physical blows alike with his wrists if he bothered to guard at all.

In terms of drawing enemy fire away from the rest of the team, he was peerless. The showy armor and the intimidating displays of skill he put on drew every eye to him, so obvious and overwhelming a threat was he. Sereiah and herself benefited from it in particular, becoming effectively invisible by comparison - with only Barida's over-the-top displays of arcane power - seemingly spurred to even greater heights of destructive intensity by competitive spirit - being able to draw_any_ kind of attention away from Jet's martial might. Meanwhile, nobody noticed Sereiah sneaking around the edge of the battleground to draw a bead on whatever crazy wizard or screaming orcish warlord was directing the enemy troops, and planting a precise arrow in his eye.

So fights had become much easier, thanks to Jet, allowing them to take on more dangerous - and thus better paid - tasks without any additional risk. He also proved to have keen adventuring instincts, often sensing traps even before Sereiah did and in one case spotting an ambush-force of invisible monsters based on a pebble falling from the ceiling of the cave and bouncing off one of the unseen opponents... something none of the rest of them had noticed.

Despite all of that, he did not display any arrogance. He was self-assured, certainly - completely aware of his own skill and power - but he never acted like it made him better than the rest of them in any way. He always obeyed her tactical and strategical orders without question, and just generally followed her lead without argument. The only thing he refused was to act as the group's 'Face', the way his predecessor had. His good looks and fancy armor would certainly have made him effective there - especially when dealing with most women and a certain percentage of men - but that was the one thing he wouldn't do. "Negotiations are your job, boss." He'd simply said. "I'm just here to shout 'How high!' when you say 'Jump!'"

On top of everything else, he'd also proven to be quite open-minded. Early on, just after he'd joined, Sereiah and Barida had tried to hide their relationship from him - but that was frankly a lost cause from the start. The two of them could hardly keep their hands off each other for more than a couple of hours at a time. Even when delving into dark and dangerous dungeons, those two would seize on any opportunity to sneak a few moments of privacy, stealing a kiss or a quick fondle. And no matter how stealthy you are, if you sneak into the neighboring tent every night, you're bound to get noticed eventually.

Thorm had been rather shocked when he finally caught them at it. It wasn't even really the fact that they were both girls - though that was certainly part of it - but also the wide divergence in race. Even the intermingling of elves and humans - far closer to each other in terms of physiology - was considered fairly depraved by most; for all that it happened regularly enough to spawn a steady stream of half-elves like Sereiah. But a halfling and a half-elf, however close they were in terms of spelling, were miles apart in terms of body-size. Barida didn't rise much past Sereiah's knees- if it hadn't been for her generous - or even slightly over_generous - curves, she would've looked like a child next to the tall, spindly half-elf. Heck, a _toddler.

And just to make things even more perverse, the nature of their relationship was also rather twisted. It wasn't something that was ever said aloud, but no-one who spent any serious amount of time around them could fail to notice it. The diminutive Barida was blatantly and unquestionably in charge, always taking the lead, while the far taller and (presumably) older Sereiah submissively went along with whatever the halfling decreed. In battle, sure, they both took orders from her. But in their shared tent at night, Barida set the menu, twisting her half-elf lover around her little finger.

The adventuring-life really didn't offer much privacy. It was mostly a matter of pretending not to hear or see what you weren't supposed to hear and see, even though you definitely did. And once the secret was out - as it inevitably would get - the two of them stopped being particularly careful. Even the stoutest, most waterproof tent-fabric didn't do much more than lightly muffle the sounds emerging from within, and with an oil-lamp illuminating the interior, shadows clear as day could often be seen on one side of the tent or the other.

Having traveled with the two of them for years, she was thus intimately familiar with the depths of their depravity. She knew about the toys and tools Sereiah carried at the bottom of her pack, making them available to her Mistress on a nightly basis. She'd heard the half-elf's sonorous voice moan at ever-increasing pitch between the sound of whipcracks. She'd heard Barida order the other girl to lick her sweaty asshole clean after a long day of marching through beating sunlight. She'd watched in shadowplay as Barida strapped a ludicrously oversized toy to her groin and mounted her lover, ignoring groaning pleas that it was 'too big!', pounding her mercilessly. She'd even seen flashes of light through the white tent-fabric as the diminutive Sorceress used her arcane command of lightning to spear the submissive half-elf's breasts and groin with agonizing sparks. She was fairly certain that Sereiah had been thoroughly trussed-up and gagged besides for that - otherwise, there was no way her scream would have been so muffled, and she would probably have torn through the tent-fabric on pure, autonomous muscle-response.

That particular case had almost made her protest - after all, it wouldn't do for the team's archer to be all tied up in the event of a nighttime ambush - but she'd ultimately decided to hold her tongue after reminding herself that despite her tendency to cause widespread destruction, Barida did have very fine control over her powers when it suited her... as, indeed, the events in the tent demonstrated. In an emergency, she'd be able to instantaneously burn the ropes right off her trussed-up lover, likely getting her into the fight faster than if she'd actually been sleeping.

And so, she'd decided that it wasn't her business - or anybody else's for that matter. Thorm had found it harder to reach that conclusion. In the end, he'd even confronted Barida about her treatment of their valued team-mate, and it had taken a rather direct and pissed-off reply from Sereiah herself to convince him that their relationship really wasn't an abusive one. She enjoyed being treated that way, plain and simple. The fact that neither Hilde nor Thorm could understand how, was irrelevant - they were very happy together, and had no intention of limiting their relationship to whatever acts were conventionally considered 'acceptable'. Hilde, for her part, could only salute them. Even if they weren't among Tyr's adherents, they were living his philosophy - enjoying life to the fullest, doing what they felt like, and not letting any arbitrary rules hold them back. Her only problem with the whole affair was how hard their nightly acrobatics made it to stick to her personal rule... and how much the pent-up frustrations tended to increase her brothel-bill whenever they made it back to town.

Regardless,Jet had shown no such problem dealing with the nature of their relationship. He'd noticed it early, of that she was fairly certain - well before they noticed him noticing them. His response? A shrug and a grin. "I don't see any problem with it. Kinda' hot, really. By all means, let me know if the two of you want some more company in that tent of yours..." With such understanding company, the two of them soon gave up the pretense of setting up separate tents, and their games became steadily more blatant - before, they'd seemingly held back somewhat, out of respect for Thorm's delicate sensibilities.

At one point, Hilde noticed that Sereiah - who normally possessed great stamina - was strangely red-faced and out of breath after a relatively short march through a forest. Once she started thinking about possible explanations, it didn't take her long to realize that the half-elf was wearing some kind of leather harness under her clothes - keeping a pair or rather large toys lodged solidly in her twin holes, twisting and shifting with every step she took. After that, she finally found it necessary to have a stern talk with Barida, reminding her that even in generally-safe surroundings, an ambush could happen at any time - and Sereiah needed to be able to move freely if that happened, no?

That particular incident did not repeat itself, but there were many others - carefully designed to leave the combat-potential of both unimpeded, thus giving her no reason to object. Jet, for his part, just regarded their various games with an amused smile. At a gesture from Barida, the tall half-elf would get down on all fours, wherever they were, so that they might share a deep, erotic kiss... often while Barida slipped her nimble hands down the half-elf's cleave to fondle her dangling breasts , pinching and pulling the nipples. Another frequently-seen gesture would make Sereiah follow behind Barida on her hands and knees like an oversized puppy, as the halfling walked into the woods or behind a boulder to relieve herself. It wasn't too hard to imagine what went on there. Indeed, the fact that they could carry out such acts that blatantly, in front of their two companions, seemed to increase the enjoyment of both.

She tried to be happy for them, she really did... but she couldn't even convincingly pretend to them that she wasn't seeing or hearing anything, much less herself - and so her frustrations, and brothel-bills, grew. Meanwhile, Jet proved to be just as popular with the ladies as she had expected. She never crossed paths with him as she sought comfort in the embrace of various men of negotiable virtue, but sometimes she'd spot him on her way to and fro, or hear rumors in the taverns or marketplaces. Clearly, he didn't _need_to pay for anything - his good looks, deep voice and obvious wealth seemed to act as a sort of wide-range skirt-obliterator, and he wasn't shy about taking advantage of it.

On one memorable occasion, she happened to spot him down a narrow back-alley on her way to the brothel - with his priceless, scale-armored pants piled messily around his ankles as he enthusiastically humped a pretty brunette, bent at the waist with her hands against the wall, her peasant dress bunched around her waist... moaning and panting steadily. It took her a moment to tear herself away from the sight, and she was thoroughly hot and bothered by the time she reached the pleasure-house. She hired three handsome young men and, despite their extensive skill, she still wasn't feeling fully satisfied by the time her budget ran dry and she left. On the way back, she passed the same back-alley, and couldn't help but look down it again... to see him still there, still humping away! It took her a moment to realize that the girl was a blonde this time, and wearing a different dress. She'd spent a solid two hours in the brothel - just how many girls had there been between the brunette and the blonde?

Probably quite a few, she'd gradually conclude. Again and again, she saw him escort barmaids to the second floor of a tavern, or disappear out the back of stores with pretty young storekeepers. She spotted him leaving a wealthy, noble house, with a heavily made-up women waving him goodbye from a second-floor window, her eyes slightly dazed, the diamond ring on her finger seemingly forgotten. Milkmaids and bakers, peasants and nobles - all were fair game to him, and rumors of a bottomless sexual appetite and incredible virility swirled in his wake. Whenever they worked out of the same city for more than a few days, he would gradually start to attract a devoted coterie of eager lovers, like a saucer of honey attracted flies. Hilde soon learned when it was time to move on, lest they instead be besieged by angry husbands, fathers, and occasionally sons. The one time she tried asking him to, perhaps, curtail his appetites just a notch, he just grinned and said "Come, now - what kind of adventurer would ignore a maiden in need? I merely help where I can..."

Well, at least it certainly proved that her own response to him wasn't just caused by her frustrated libido - he really was that attractive, and just about every woman who crossed his path seemed to agree. Indeed, she was barely surprised when Barida and Sereiah finally took him up on the offer he'd made when their relationship was first brought up, and invited him into their tent - despite neither one of them having shown any particular interest in males before. At first, it seemed to largely be a new plot of Barida's - a fresh way to humiliate and punish her half-elf submissive, by forcing her to have sex with a man! But over weeks of regular visits, the nature of the nightly acrobatics steadily changed...

Somehow, Jet became the centerpoint of their games, and even Barida soon fell under his spell. Hilde was fairly certain he'd actually taken the halfling's virginity, one night in the tent - before, all the toys that the lesbian couple had used had been pointed solely at Sereiah's orifices, with Barida seemingly getting off on her lover's tongue, or even just her own fingers while she busily tormented the submissive half-elf. Having finally tried penetrative intercourse, though, she apparently liked it - going by the shadows on the tent wall from that point onwards, anyway.

Certainly, if the temperamental halfling had attempted to extend the same kind of dominance she held over Sereiah to Jet, it had failed. While Sereiah remained clearly devoted to Barida, both of them also increasingly seemed to be under Jet's sway, both inside and outside the tent. It was bad enough that she started to worry that there was some sort of magical mind-control at play - but a stealthily-chanted prayer confirmed that while Jet's armor certainly was charged with_ludicrous_ amounts of magic, her two other team-mates weren't under the influence of any spells or spell-like effects.

So she could only assume that they were enjoying it as the games in the tent grew ever more depraved - always with Jet on top - and at the same time, whatever little restraint they'd displayed outside_of it vanished entirely. When they were by themselves in the wilderness, exploring deep forests, caves, ruins or dungeons, camping or walking, they freely engaged with each other whenever conditions seemed reasonably safe - with no apparent regard for the fact that they were doing it right in front of her eyes. And what could she say? She'd known what they were doing for ages and accepted it. If she suddenly became upset because they'd stopped _pretending to hide it, that would have made her a massive hypocrite.

It was hard, though, to disguise her own surging desires and frustrations when, during a simple rest-stop, Jet simply pulled his pants down before sitting and gestured for his two lovers to approach. They fell over his cock with every sign of eagerness and no sign of shame, their twin mouths closing around the shaft so that their lips touched top and bottom, running their tongues up the length of it together. Eventually, they disentangled their mouths so that Sereiah could swallow his cockhead, gradually pushing forwards to take more of his thick shaft into her throat, while Barida went lower and started to gently lick and suck on his hairy balls, apparently enjoying the taste of the sweat that had accumulated there over the course of the walk.

Soon, he came - jaw tightening as he shot his seed deep into Sereiah's throat, while the half-elf swallowed with delight, her eyes rolling back in her head. His cock remained rock-hard in the aftermath, and she continued to suck eagerly on it until he pushed her away. Then he grabbed Barida, who had faithfully carried on the gentle massage of his testicles until then, and lifted her like a child before pulling up her heavily-enchanted robes and revealing the fact that she wasn't wearing anything underneath them. A moment later, she was seated on his lap, her ass forcefully impaled on his cock as he pushed her down. She gasped and winced as the fat tool - seeming entirely too large for her small frame - stretched open her sphincter, but then leaned back against his armored chest with a lust-choked groan as she sank the last couple of inches down, her ass resting against his hips.

Grinning above her short, curly hair, he then reached down and pulled her legs apart, exposing her pussy for all to see - along with the small, well-kept bush of red hair above it, the same color as what she had on her head, fueling so many jokes about fiery redheads. Those jokes tended to result in her demonstrating that she actually specialized in lightning magic, though.

Sereiah, for her part, was virtually drooling - but, rather than dive right in, she instead went somewhere else first: Barida's large, bare feet. Like most halflings, Barida never wore shoes, and her thick soles had proven capable of handling everything from sharp rocks to icy wastes without trouble. Didn't mean her feet weren't sensitive, though - Hilde had once asked about it, and Barida had told her that being able to so keenly feel the surface under her feet made her able to move more stealthily, better find purchase on loose or unsteady ground, and even feel the vibrations caused by large enough footfalls.

Right now, though, they were feeling Sereiah's delicate, pink tongue as the half-elf licked across the broad, dusty surface of each foot, making Barida squirm and moan. The half-elf only stopped briefly here or there to spit out a bit of mud, performing the task with an ease and efficiency that made it clear that this was far from the first time she'd tongue-cleaned Barida's travel-stained feet. She finished up by carefully sucking on each individual toe, prompting further squirming and heavy breathing - ultimately leaving both of the disproportionately-large feet perfectly clean and wet with saliva.

Only then did she dive in between Jet and Barida's spread legs and wrap her lips around the halfling's pussy. In doing so, she shifted from squatting before them, to being on all fours - thus nicely exposing her crotch, and the massive, wet spot that stained it to anyone who happened to be watching from that direction. Her tongue dug in with abundant enthusiasm and no-doubt extensive experience, redoubling Barida's moans and attempts to shift her body. Jet was still holding her firmly, though - keeping her legs spread and her ass fully-impaled on his still hard rod. All the halfling could do was bury her short, stubby fingers in Sereiah's long, honey-blond hair and hold on for dear life as the pleasure surged through her, soon pushing her over the edge into a gasping, spine-curling orgasm.

Once the tremors running through her tiny body had died out, Jet placed a single finger on Sereiah's forehead and pushed her back, leaving her licking her lips for traces of Barida's sweet juices - and watching as he switched his grip to the halfling's waist and began to pump her vigorously up and down. Having barely started recovering from her previous orgasm, her head lolled bonelessly on her shoulders, eyes unfocused and tongue hanging out as the full length of Jet's cock was repeatedly driven into her body. A few times, he actually lifted her high enough to pop fully out of her ass, only to then drive her down quickly and accurately enough to flawlessly impale her all over again.

There wasn't much sign of Barida's usual fiery temperament as she was essentially treated as a sex-toy, a portable fuck-hole, a glorified masturbation-aid... short limbs flailing numbly in the air as her body was violated with practiced ease. A second orgasm shook her body, the thrusts never stopping even as she wailed with mindless pleasure - and she seemed to be about halfway to a third one when, finally, she was driven back down to full impalement and left there as Jet reached his own climax. After holding her there for a minute and emitting a few strangled groans, he then unceremoniously pulled her off his still-hard cock and draped her over one of his thighs, gaping ass in the air.

She just hung there, panting and occasionally twitching, as Jet beckoned Sereiah forwards. She'd just been sitting there, silently watching her Mistress get fucked senseless. Now, she leaned back forwards and unhesitatingly wrapped her lips around Jet's cock, stained as it was by both his own cum and the detritus of Barida's tight ass. With great care, she cleaned every square inch of the rock-hard rod, her tongue dancing and lapping. She finished by sucking cum-traces from the curly black hair that covered his groin... and only then did she turn her attention on Barida, burying her face between the halfling's ample buttocks and applying her tongue to the still gaping, worn-red sphincter that waited there. Seeing her begin to dig for dollops of fresh cum in that gaping hole wasn't just a thoroughly perverted sight - it also neatly encapsulated the new hierarchy that had sprung up. Barida clearly still dominated Sereiah... but both of them were at Jet's mercy, and even the half-elf answered to him first.

While Sereiah so vigorously rimmed and tongue-fucked Barida's worn-out ass, Jet sighed and worked his shoulders and neck. It was only when he looked down at his proudly-erect rod that it began to rapidly soften - almost like he just willed it so. Once it was fully flaccid, he gave it a quick wipe with a handcloth pulled from his belt-pouch and rose - sending the still-unresponsive Barida tumbling to the ground, and thus definitively ending Sereiah's 'meal'. "Well, that was invigorating! Time to get moving again, I think..." he declared, grinning - the first thing any of them had said during the break - but then he paused as Sereiah rose before him, eyes large and pleading. Sighing, he shrugged. "Oh, fine... come here."

As the half-elf stepped eagerly towards him, he simply pushed one of his hands into the tight, forest-green hoses she always wore, right at the crotch - and apparently dug his fingers into her no doubt thoroughly-soaked pussy. Moaning, she gripped his arm, holding on for dear life as her legs suddenly seemed to buckle underneath her. Even though she was clearly heavily aroused, it was still clear that his fingers had to be both strong and skilled to cause so swift a reaction. Seconds later, she cried a muffled, orgasmic scream into his armored sleeve, her pale face flushed bright red. She slowly slid to the ground as Jet pulled his hand out of her pants - and then waved his completely juice-covered fingers in her face as she kneeled before him. Ever obedient, she sucked each of them clean, eyes vague with pleasure.

All of this happened while Hilde was sitting across from them in the clearing, seeing and hearing everything, unable to look away, and finding it hard to keep both her jaw and her fingers where they were. Knowing it was happening, seeing it outlined in shadows, hearing the moans and the wet, slimy sounds... it all fell short of watching it unfold before her in glorious color. Heck, she could_smell_ it from where she sat - that thick, musky scent of sex. That special mix of salty sweat, bitter cum and sweet vaginal secretions... not even the many natural scents of the surrounding forest could overpower that, not at so short a distance.

And yet, what could she say? What could she do? She was the leader, so she could simply order them to stop it... but, again, what reason could she give? That she disapproved of their relationship? That would be both untrue and stupid. That seeing it so blatantly made her uncomfortable? Well, that WOULD probably work, but it would also be a lie. She wasn't uncomfortable, she was madly_aroused. And it wasn't as if their games had impacted their combat-performance so far. Heck, even as she watched, both Sereiah and Barida pulled themselves off the ground, dusted themselves off and put their clothes back in order, before sharing a nod and getting ready to march on. If anything, _she was the one who had to scramble to keep up as they marched onward, dangerously distracted by the insistent, juice-dripping ache between her legs.

For a while, she tried her best to simply ignore it, hoping that they'd at some point do something she could call out on purely utilitarian grounds - something that'd impact their combat-performance or the security of the team as a whole. That would be a fine opening for curtailing their activities, or at least pushing them back to the privacy of the tent they now so often shared - specifically, _Jet's_tent, which was both larger and more heavily enchanted than any of the rest, providing both ample space and magical ventilation, enabling lots of fun-times without worrying about heatstroke. But they never gave her the chance - their games only occurred when they were reasonably safe and resting anyway. Between those times, they limited themselves to the occasional kiss or grope - just quick touches and gestures that reinforced their shared intimacy and served as reminders of the pecking-order.

Meanwhile, they were apparently taking her lack of protest as full permission - which wasn't exactly unfair. They no longer bothered to disappear into the woods or behind rocks when nature called - instead, she was left watching with a mixture of disgust and fascination as Barida simply squatted on top of Sereiah's head while the half-elf laid flat on her back, hot piss pouring into her eagerly-opened mouth... even as Barida herself tilted her head back and opened her own mouth wide to serve as a pissoir for Jet's unerringly-aimed stream. At the end, Sereiah would be left to stumble away from camp on her own, essentially carrying three people's collected piss with her by way of her own stomach and bladder.

It wasn't even just a matter of her growing horniness. Hilde was simply starting to feel left out, isolated, an unnecessary third wheel... or, well, fourth wheel, but that didn't really convey the same idea. Not only were the three of them constantly indulging in - admittedly perverted - internal intimacy, they were also moving in perfect sync on the battlefield, seemingly reading each other's minds and lending support where needed without a single word exchanged. Of course, they all still answered to her orders... but she had less and less reason to give any orders, nor much need for the healing and strengthening gifts her god granted her. With Jet drawing all attention onto himself and dismantling anyone fool enough to get within arm's reach, while Sereiah picked off priority targets with her bow and Barida tore strategically-placed holes in the enemy ranks with lightning bolts and deafening thunder peals, it was rare for any of them to get so much as a scratch, even when they were severely outnumbered.

The feeling of increasing isolation and uselessness eventually started to affect her mood. She grew increasingly depressed and withdrawn... which at least had the effect of silencing the cries of her neglected libido. The sexual games taking place in plain view of Hilde so often, somehow stopped being arousing and instead felt like a mockery - a wall drawn between her and her supposed team-mates.

A single, burning question stood tall in the middle of it all, grinding away at the roots of her normally plentiful self-confidence... and, eventually, she could bear it no longer. Honesty was what had allowed her to recruit Jet in the first place, so now she'd use it to finally find out what he was thinking - and whether she could continue to adventure with him. Knowing full well, of course, that if they were to part... Sereiah and Barida would almost certainly remain by _his_side.

So one evening, around a campfire, she decided it was time to ask. The two other girls were slumbering in his tent - after he had fucked them both insensible - while he seemed perfectly alert and ready to take the next watch. Rather than seek her own, lonesome tent, she remained where she was as he took his place, piercing blue eyes staring into the darkness that surrounded their little oasis of light in the deep, dark cave they were currently exploring.

"How come you've never made a pass at me?" She finally asked, without preamble. As he turned and raised an eyebrow, however, the rest came out in a rambling monologue. "I mean, I've seen you in the cities... you'll chase anything in a skirt, looks like. Humans, elves, dwarves, half-breeds of every stripe... I think I saw you with a half-orc one time, even. And you certainly got into Sereiah and Barida's pants in a hurry, even though they've never even cared for men before. But you've never so much as blown me a kiss. Do I really look that... repulsive to you?"

Jet chuckled and ran his fingers through that damnably fluffy hair of his, shaking his head "So THAT'S what you've been thinking? I was wondering why you seemed so down. Look, let me make two things perfectly clear... first and foremost, you are SMOKING hot, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You're tall, your hair is gorgeous even short-cropped to fit under that fancy helmet of yours, and your eyes are like crystal-clear pools that a man could drown_in. And best of all, you've got muscles _and curves - d'ya know how rare that is? Takes a special kind of woman to pull off that look, and you are killing it."

She was left speechless in the path of that perfectly-frank, straightforward and thoroughly descriptive account of her own physical features, her cheeks heating up like crazy. "But... then... why?" She finally gasped. He just sighed and shook his head again. "SECOND... I have only ever 'made a pass' on ONE woman. One. In my entire life. All the rest? They came to me. If a woman propositions me, I give her what she wants. It's as simple as that. Race, skin-color, social standing, relative hotness, none of it matters. Age is kind of a factor, I guess, but as long as she is between puberty and menopause, I'm willing to listen. I even told you as much, a while back, remember? I'm just answering their pleas - nothing more, nothing less."

Hilde's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit!" she spat. "You'd barely joined us before you told Sereiah and Barida that you'd be happy to 'join them in their tent'..." He merely shrugged it off with another sigh. "I told them that I would be receptive to any such invitation, that's all. Same as when I just now informed you of my general policy. I never attempted to seduce them, never made any suggestive comments to them, never bragged about my supreme sexual skills or anything of the sort. I let them know the option was there, and eventually, they decided on their own to extend an invitation. Since then, I have simply sought to... satisfy their desires, as they shifted and grew."

She gaped at him, trying to wrap her head around that reasoning - and finding few gaps to bite at once she managed it. Hesitantly, she raised her voice again. "So... if I asked you to... join me in my tent. What would you do?" He snorted. "Right now? I'd have to turn you down, since I'm on watch. Outside of that? I'd happily fuck your brains out and leave you begging for more." With a shrug, he then turned to resume his vigil, before continuing over his shoulder. "I've heard, though, that you've got a rule about not starting relationships with team-mates. Though, admittedly, I've also heard that you are staying celibate due to your faith. In either case, I guess I'd just kinda' assumed that was the reason you hadn't shown any interest in me."

He fell silent then, apparently considering the subject finished, and she was left staring at his back for several minutes, confused thoughts raging through her head. Words of condemnation were forming in her throat, words calling out his perverse way of life and twisted philosophy, but they did not leave her mouth. All of them tasted like ashes on her tongue. How could she really condemn him, outside of just vaguely calling it all 'wrong' somehow? He was obviously making a lot of women happy, everywhere he went, and he clearly never pretended that his relationships were anything other than purely sexual.

In the end, she stalked off to her tent without another word. Sleep would not find her, however... and so, she was still awake to hear Barida emerge yawning from their shared tent to take the third watch. New words were forming in her throat. She could simply call out to him now, take him on his word, and sample for herself the skills that had so thoroughly seduced her two friends. Tyr knew she wanted to! His frank declaration of her hotness, his straightforward statement of his willingness to 'fuck her brains out' at the drop of a hat, it had all served to thoroughly revive the desires that her depressive state had so briefly repressed. But those words would not come either. They tasted bitter, like an admission of defeat.

The rest of the trip passed in a similar fashion - her in a sullen silence, various words burning in her throat but never passing her lips, while Jet, Barida and Sereiah continued their perverted, sexual games, whether in their shared tent or in full view. It was certainly clear that however it had started, his dominion over the two of them was absolute at this point. He never needed to say a word, never gave any order or commands... just a touch or a gesture, and both of them would immediately go along with whatever he was doing, completely and utterly surrendering their bodies into his hands.

Both of them were, essentially, at his disposal at any time. Barida never wore anything under her robes anymore, and Sereiah's hoses had recently acquired a pair of strategically-placed holes - usually concealed underneath the long tunic she wore, but at constant risk of being exposed to casual passer-bys on the road or in the cities whenever a stray wind blew past. Even the briefest rest was enough for him to push Sereiah up against a crumbling wall or bend Barida over a fallen pillar, so that he might freely ream whichever hole he chose. Indeed, there was little doubt that it was only Sereiah's knowledge of basic herbology that had prevented either or both from turning up pregnant already.

Hilde, meanwhile, was finding it difficult to keep her panties on... in the literal sense. Now that she knew that she could partake of the same pleasures any time she chose to, her libido had kicked into overdrive, continuously and loudly complaining about her persistent failure to make that choice. Her knickers soaked through every time she caught sight of the three of them going at it, which was constantly - and she only had so much clean underwear. Eventually, she found herself forced to go commando, since the alternative was to have the juice-soaked fabric of her last pair of panties sticking to the exact contours of her drooling pussy-lips at all times.

Eventually, though, their latest adventure concluded - successfully at that, with her, once again, having precious little to do with their combat victories - and they headed back to town. Their current base of operations was a fair-sized and quite cosmopolitan trade-city not far south of the borders of the Kingdom of Equus, with the many caravans passing through it going forth or fro, providing ample opportunities for selling their loot at a good price. Samples of rare cave-fungus that would interest alchemists and mages, records recovered from underground ruins that would interest sages and... well, nobody else, really... and, of course, a very nice barely-cursed-at-all golden idol with inset gemstone eyes that would interest just about anybody.

Since she had essentially become the 'Face' of the team in addition to being the - technical - leader, most of the resulting bargaining and bartering was up to her, though Sereiah and Barida both contributed with some good contacts within the local Alchemist's Guild and College of Magic, respectively. She threw herself into the task with all the intensity of someone desperately trying not to think about something, and got a good price on everything - success!

Not that they were really that desperate for gold... ever since Jet joined, they're been going from spectacular success to spectacular success, earning a reputation that actually matched the brag she had made when she first recruited him. Their coffers were nice and heavy by now. Frankly, a few more runs like this one, and they'd be reaching the point where most adventuring-teams started to seriously discuss just splitting up the loot and parting ways.

With that much money, you could set yourself up in a profitable, far safer career with ease - buying a store, setting up a money-lending business, or just investing in an already profitable endeavor to keep the money rolling in. Or you could just elect to live a reasonably comfortable life of ease for the rest of your natural life, assuming you weren't an elf or a dwarf or something - or live like a king_for the next _several years. Most adventurers had some kind of dream like that; an ambition they intended to pursue once they'd finally made their fortune.

She didn't, though - not really. As an adherent of Tyr, she knew that the only true way to satisfy her God was to die a glorious death in battle - preferably taking as many enemies as possible down with her. The adventuring life had just seemed the path with the greatest possible odds of ending there... and once she got started, she grew to enjoy it, and found herself working towards preserving_it, rather than seeking her own doom as quickly as possible. She still wasn't quite sure how she'd wound up _leading the group, but once she was there, she realized that she had a responsibility to bring everybody back out alive - throwing her own life away would get in the way of that, right? So she'd just kept going, without ever really thinking about why.

Maybe she should cash out, she thought as she looked down at the fat sack of coins she'd just received. The other three would probably continue... or perhaps just settle down together to carry on their perverted games in more comfortable, homey surroundings. But either way, none of them would be able to object if she decided to just take the money and run. She could go home, make a big donation to the Great Temple of Tyr! The gods were, after all, fairly practical about such things, regardless of individual philosophy. And why certainly, no-one could buy their way into Tyr's good graces, they could certainly buy a lot of leniency and careful consideration when it came time to judge whether their death had been suitably glorious and heroic.

No, no, what was she thinking... that wouldn't just be giving up, that would be a full rout - throwing down sword and shield to run as far and as fast as her legs could carry her! No amount of donations could turn that into anything other than abject cowardice, which would almost certainly see her lose the favor of her God altogether - and the majority of her clerical powers with it. She needed to clear her head. There were too many thoughts, too many conflicting notions, just bouncing around in her head. Several of them concerned Jet, who she knew with absolute certainty would be busy fucking his way through a large percentage of the city's female population at that exact moment. He'd already gathered quite the fan-club during previous visits to the area - indeed, they were fast approaching the 'time to head elsewhere before the lynch-mob starts forming' stage of the cycle. Lots of girls would be coming to him for a second go-round, and many others would be pursuing the rumors, eager to test them for themselves...

Gritting her teeth, she set out from the marketplace where she's been so busily bargaining and, for once in her career, she actually did what she'd so often told her comrades she was doing - she headed towards the Temple District. Now, the city obviously did not have a Temple of Tyr. Those were exceedingly hard to find outside of her homeland in the Bitterwind Isles, just off the northwestern coast of the continent. And the places where they could be found were invariably harbor-towns where large numbers of her sea-loving countrymen had elected to settle down. This far inland, it just wasn't going to happen.

But like most major cities, it DID have a Godless Church. The Order of the Godless Priests was an odd duck, to say the least, but most considered them harmless at worst, and useful at best. Adventurers in particular were fond of them, due to their incredibly non-judgmental nature. The creed of the Godless Priests was, in essence, that ALL Gods were Great, and none of them were Greater than any of the others. So why worship any single one ahead of the rest? That was not only disrespectful towards the vast majority of Gods, but also an act of great personal arrogance in assuming that you had picked the one true God.

Needless to say, they were NOT popular with the Church of the Allfather, whose creed was very specific about their God indeed being the Greatest. But certain other temples - and Gods - were sympathetic to their philosophy of broad inclusionism, acceptance, and dislike of prejudice and discrimination. Some would send acolytes or priests who, for whatever reason, found it hard to operate within the strict hierarchy of the temple, to serve the Godless Church instead. Most of them retained the full use of their powers, suggesting that their Gods, too, blessed their work there. Many other Priests there, though, were former Clerics of other Gods who had fallen from grace, or otherwise found themselves disagreeing with the underlying philosophy of their deity. Without the grace of their Gods, only a fraction of their Clerical powers remained, but they did what they could with what they had left - as well as lots of good old-fashioned elbow-grease.

The doors of the Godless Church were popularly said to always be open, and as a matter of policy never sported locks. In truth, they were sometimes closed against the elements - but even then, none who came to those gates were ever turned away. Within, any who came in peace might find what they sought, whether it be spiritual advice, an altar to pray at, a quiet space for meditation, or just warmth and comfort. Saints and criminals, beggars and lords, servants of Lolth or servants of the Allfather... all were welcome. Well, some might have trouble actually reaching the temple in one piece, but if they DID, they were ensured sanctuary!

Since showing favoritism for any specific God could be dangerous in the adventuring line of work, many of her peers favored the Godless Churches when they were in need of minor Clerical assistance. Rarely did the churches have anyone in residence powerful enough to wield the really powerful healing-spells, such as Regeneration for replacing lost limbs or Awaken for bringing back the comatose or mentally disabled, but for simply healing wounds and curing minor diseases, they were a reliable source. The 'donations' this business brought with it kept the lights on and the soup-kitchens stocked in many a Godless Church across the continent - and yet, to her knowledge, no one had ever tried to rob one of them. All established Thieves' Guilds had a firm rule on the book against robbing the Godless Church or messing with its Priests, both because it was one of the few places where one of their kind could reliably find aid and shelter, and because robbing a Godless Church, somewhat ironically, stood a very good chance of pissing off a LARGE NUMBER of Gods.

All of this bounced swiftly through her already-crowded mind as she stepped through the great, wide-open doors. The inside was as crowded as her mind, as tended to be the case. A motley bunch, indeed... including a couple of vaguely recognizable faces. Fellow adventurers she'd crossed paths with before? Men and women from the local brothel? Could be either - both groups often frequented the Godless Church, after all. She walked past them, listening to the mixed mumble of prayers directed at a dozen different gods, and approached the great, iron-banded (and noticeably unlocked) donation-box. Well, she had money to burn, after all. A large gold piece disappeared through a slot that probably saw a lot more copper than silver, and a nearby priest immediately swooped over.

"Bless you for your charity, my child! Truly, the children of Tyr are true friends of the needy. Rest assured, your donation will help to guide many who may otherwise have been lost." The priest was effusive and entirely genuine, and she nervously nodded, surprised that he had recognized what God she served. While she certainly displayed her holy symbol quite openly, neither it nor Tyr himself were widely known this far from the Bitterwind Isles. "Is there anything I can help you with? Anything you seek here?" he continued, hands held closely together in front of him as if he was already preemptively praying for her soul. She nodded, trying to smile but not succeeding particularly well. "A... private altar would be appreciated, Father. If one is available." She needed stillness, first and foremost... being able to commune with her God, too, would be ideal, but she'd frankly take one of the meditation-chambers over the noise and bustle of the great Communal Altar.

Fortunately she wouldn't have to make that choice, as the priest eagerly nodded. "Of course, of course my child. Please, step right this way!" She followed him out a side-door and down a winding staircase to an underground corridor lined with doors. Each of them, she knew, would lead into a small, spartan room occupied by a well-worn pillow for sparing the knees and an, also small, but fully-sanctified altar dedicated to no God in particular. Most of them would be filled with people much like herself - clerics far from home, with no true temple to their God at hand but a pressing need to commune with him/her/it in order to seek guidance, wisdom, or greater power.

She wondered briefly - as many timed before - how the Priests of the Godless Church had managed to create those altars, when consecration usually required a series of extensive rituals precisely tailored to your chosen God... but it was a question none save the Priests themselves knew the answer to, for it was one of the most closely-guarded secrets of their order. Many had tried to replicate it for themselves - it was a handy thing, after all - but none had succeeded. Well, she had other things to worry about right now, and she had finally reached the place where she could do something about those worries.

She had probably been lucky - the door that the priest finally opened for her was one of the last ones in the hallway. The room looked just as she had expected, and after reassuring the priest that she could find her own way out when she was done, he left her with an entreaty that she call on one of the acolytes if she had any further needs. Finally, the door closed quietly behind her, and she was left alone with the altar - and her thoughts. Sighing, she lifted the helmet from her head, and briefly admired the craftsmanship. Great, crystal wings emerged from each side, their seeming fragility belied by the holy power they contained - marking her as a female Cleric of Tyr to those in the know. The male clerics had great, curved horns instead, which made them look more warlike and intimidating, but she was quite fond of the design she'd received nonetheless.

The helmet was her Foci - the symbol of Tyr. As she placed it upon the pure, white marble of the consecrated altar, she turned it - for a time - into a true Altar of Tyr. It had been a long while since she had last truly communed with Him, in retrospect. She'd been on His path - the path of a noble death on the battlefield - all along, after all, so what reason did she have to seek Him out? And the selection of clerical powers and battle-prayers she had asked of Him when she first set out to seek the adventuring life - and indeed received - had always stood her in good stead, leaving her with little reason to beg Him for a do-over. But now... now she needed_clarity_. Perhaps she could find it in communing once again with her God.

It was several hours later when she emerged from the Godless Church once more, and night had fallen. There was a warmth in her belly, courtesy of the bowl of thick, nourishing soup she had allowed the priests to press on her before she left, and for the first time in months, there was peace in her mind. Clarity she had sought, and clarity she had found. Truly, Tyr was a merciful God, for she had been lost from His light - and He had reached down and shown her the way back to it. There was no more confusion, no more conflict in her mind - she knew what she needed to do, and where her path led!

The first place it led was to Jet's hotel room. Jet wasn't really a big spender, generally speaking - she knew of adventurers who almost invariably spent their entire share of the take every time they returned to civilization, mostly on wine, women and song... or, for the more down-to-earth types, ale and whores. Jet, of course, got all his women for free, and actually didn't seem to drink much - he'd have a mug of beer along with the rest of them, but it seemed to be mostly for the company. Other adventurers constantly reinvested, putting their gold into ammunition, gear, enchantments, new weapons or armor... all of which was obviously moot for someone who was not merely decked out in the most ludicrously indestructible suit of armor she'd ever seen, but also carrying with him a broad variety of high-quality, usually-enchanted pieces of adventuring gear - and didn't use weapons at all, just for good measure.

The one place where he did splurge was on amenities. No cheap taverns or inns for him! Every time they reached a city, he'd rent a large, spacious room - with a large, spacious bed - in the most upscale and expensive hotel to be found. That one was no exception. She'd known about this for a while, of course, but she'd never actually visited one of these extravagant chambers, already having a fairly good idea of what she would find if she did.

As it turned out, her assumptions had been... fairly accurate, if actually a bit short of the truth. There was an actual line in front of his door, with women of various ages exchanging gossip, reading or even doing needlework as they waited their turn. Chairs had been set out for them. Truly, what you really paid for in these fancy places was the service, she thought dryly as she marched past them, ignoring the dirty looks she got as she skipped the line. The young woman at the front of the line had her eye glued to the (rather large and ornate) keyhole of the door - and a hand between her legs, bunching her skirts together there as she bit her lips. Judging by the reaction - or lack of same - of those behind her, this was simply a part of the game... a way to 'prime' whoever was going to be next inside.

She, however, wasn't going to bother with waiting in line or peeping through keyholes. She had business to take care of. Miss Next-In-Line just had enough time to notice her looming shadow, pull away from the keyhole to look angrily up at her and then draw in breath to say something sharp - before Hilde's foot lashed out and kicked the door open. She'd been chanting a prayer to Tyr under her breath as she walked past the waiting women, and in her currently focused state of mind it had worked even better than usual - inspiring her with an inhuman strength that easily overcame the thick wood of the probably-not-actually-locked door, sending it swinging wildly into the wall beside it with a second, equally-loud crash.

Miss Next-In-Line was sent scrambling away from the sudden explosion of violence, and several other women fell off their chairs in shock and surprise as the noise rolled down the opulently decorated hallway. Doors slammed open here and there as other guests poked their heads out to see what was going on. She ignored them all and stepped inside... to find that her dramatic entry had gone mostly unnoticed by the residents. In a large, elegantly-draped four-poster bed, Jet was reclining, his hands on the hips of a shapely lass as she bounced up and down on his cock, head rolling in that by-now familiar look of pleasure-dazed near unconsciousness. He hadn't missed a stroke when she kicked in his door.

It was not that he hadn't noticed her, though. As she stepped forwards, he peered around the waspish waist of his lover du jour and grinned. "Hey, boss. Something up?" The girl, for her part, seemed to have noticed neither she nor the door, nor heard Jet's words. She was completely lost in the pleasure, making throaty little moans every time her hips slammed down on his. His fingers were digging into her buttocks, pulling them apart on the lift, showing a gaping, pink-edged asshole that was still oozing with cum. Clearly, he'd already been entertaining her for a while.

She nodded curtly. "Indeed, something is. I need to talk to you." He nodded readily. "Sure, sure... can it wait a couple of minutes, though? I'm nearly done here... and you know I hate to leave a job half-finished." Rolling her eyes, she sighed and shrugged. "Sure, fine. Go right ahead. I'll wait." Then she stepped halfway back into the hallway and glared down at the assembled women - all of whom were noticeably shorter than her and _not_crackling with borrowed, divine might. They wisely quailed away from her and beat a hasty retreat without argument when she sharply declared that the 'ride' was closed for the night, thank you for your patronage, please come back tomorrow.

Shortly afterwards, someone came up the stairs - the clerk from the front desk who had directed her to Jet's room with an air of detached amusement strongly indicating that he was ready to provide those exact directions the moment a pretty girl walked up to him. Alongside him were a pair of hulking brutes in ill-fitting uniforms - the hotel's own 'security staff'. She was fairly certain she could take them, but then the hotel would just alert the city guard, and things would escalate unpleasantly from there. So instead, she took the diplomatic approach, curtly informing him that the gentleman inside was her employee, and casually dropping a couple of gold-pieces in his hand when he demanded reparations for the broken door. With Jet shouting his confirmation about their relation from inside, the clerk finally just shrugged it all off and left again, muscle in tow.

Jet hadn't been kidding about being nearly done, either. Just a minute after the clerk had left, the girl's moans rose to an almost painfully high pitch, before turning into a drawn-out shriek as her body stiffened on top of him. He kept steadily pounding her all through the empty-eyed orgasm, and a few seconds later emitted some pleasure-choked groans of his own, his hips flexing automatically. Virtually as soon as the orgasmic tremors stopped locking his muscles into place, he pushed the girl off, leaving her to tumble down into his silken sheets, gaping and staring at the ceiling like a freshly-landed fish.

A few light slaps to the face and a cup of fortifying wine restored enough sense to her that she could manage to pick up her discarded clothes and stagger, bow-legged, out the door, a mindless grin plastered across her face. Once she'd left, Hilde carefully closed the door... and after noticing that it wouldn't stay closed due to the splintered doorjamb, she simply grabbed a nearby, highly-ornate wardrobe and tipped it down in front of the door with yet another resounding crash. That should keep people from bothering them for a while, at least. Might scuff the woodworking a bit, but hey, she'd overpaid for the door so it all evened out. Jet watched it all laconically as he climbed out of bed himself and grabbed a cup of wine and a handful of grapes from a nearby table.

For a moment, she simply looked at him. It was the first time she'd ever actually seen him fully naked. When he had his fun with Sereiah and Barida out in the open during their adventures, he usually just dropped his armored trousers - or, in the case of the real_quickies, simply opened the codpiece to let his rod out in the air. The main reason he didn't _always do that seemingly was that it denied his two eager lovers the chance to delicately suck on his sweaty balls. The naked entertainment in the tents, though, she'd only ever seen in silhouette, for all that she'd often been tempted to sneak a peek.

But now, she got to see the full image, and it was everything she'd dreamed. Sleek, wiry muscle that made him look fit and dangerous without being big and bulky. Smooth, pale skin, free of any scars or blemishes, save for a few fresh-looking red lines along his back. Curly black hair adorning his chest and rolling steadily downwards, narrowing to a thin strip as it joined his pubic-hair. And, of course, the totally self-possessed way he carried himself, entirely unconcerned and unashamed with being seen naked. Not that that was a wonder - he clearly had little to be ashamed of!

"So?" He finally said, breaking the silence and swallowing another grape between words. "What did you want?" She snorted and reached up to remove her helmet, followed by pulling off the heavy hauberk she usually wore. The ringmail clattered onto the floor like a thrown gauntlet. "I want you to fuck my brains out. All night. And I want you to do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that until I've forgotten all about stupid 'no-dating-teammates' rules and fake vows of celibacy." Her words were calm and clipped, and even as she spoke she continued to undress - her boots, armored skirt and underthings following the hauberk onto the floor, until she stood just as naked and unabashed as him.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes roaming up and down her bared body and giving her goosebumps in spite of herself. Then he shrugged and flashed her a roguish grin. "Sure thing, boss. Always happy to help." As he took a step towards the bed, however, she raised a finger. "Ah! First, though, we need to establish a couple of house-rules..." Lifting an eyebrow, he gestured for her to continue even as she stepped closer, waving her finger emphatically. "First of all, I'm not into any of that gross shit you do with the other two. Drinking piss and licking assholes and whatnot. So don't even go there." He nodded readily, making a casual sort of throwing-away gesture. Emboldened, she continued.

"Second, this is purely sexual. I'm not your girlfriend, you've got no claim on me, and more importantly, I'm still your boss. Sleeping with me won't get you a bigger share of the loot, or decrease the chance that I'll sacrifice your heavily-armored ass if it means the rest of us get away safe." This prompted a snort and an interjection. "All of that goes without saying... though I suppose I understand why you felt the need to say it anyway!" She ignored him, eager to finish her spiel. "And third... since I am your boss, I take preference. That means I skip the line when you're surrounded by your horde of casual admirers, and that my needs take priority over Sereiah and Barida's when we're in the field. Understood?"

That was, of course, an outrageously selfish demand - one she was mostly making out of curiosity. She wanted to see how he'd react to it. Frankly, if he just straight-up agreed, she was halfway inclined to just call the whole thing off then and there. His response, however, was a wrinkled brow and a stroke of the chin, before shaking his head. "The first bit, sure. Friends and comrades come before the general masses. But that last bit is just silly. Meaningless, even. I'm more than capable of fully satisfying the needs and desires of all three of you. Why set priorities?" She had to laugh at this. That absolutely sincere confidence of his, that was one of his most attractive traits - it ought to have come across as cocky or even arrogant, but instead, it just sounded like a completely frank assessment of his own sexual skills.

"Fair enough!" she finally declared. "As long as you can live up to those words, we're good." Harrumphing, he seemed almost insulted. "You have always kept your promise to me. So I certainly do not intend to do any less." It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about the rule he'd established when he originally joined - not to pry into the source of his incredible gear, particularly the extraordinarily valuable and potent armor. And sure enough, she had stuck to it - indeed, it had been a long time since she'd even really thought about it. The fancy gear had just become a sort of 'Jet-thing'. That was his 'deal', like Barida's singing-voice or Sereiah fascination with herbology.

Still, it was apparently something important to him, so she slowly nodded. "Duly noted. Apologies if I insulted you, and all that. Now, with all that out of the way, can we get down to business? I'm getting tired of being fully conscious. Bouncing around in a pleasure-daze seems like an attractive alternative right about now." With a laugh, he nodded and gestured grandiosely towards the bed. "By all means, boss. Jump right in, and I'll show you what you've been missing..."

And so he did, thoroughly and repeatedly over the course of the next several hours. Certainly, both her wish and his original promise was fulfilled, for she barely remembered more than half of it after the fact. With all of her frustrated libido finally finding a proper outlet - including years of built-up from certain itches that no number of dedicated professional had been able to scratch - her mind was soon overwhelmed, drowning in pleasure. It seeped into every crack of her brain, chasing away all thought, even pushing out the divine visitation she had received - though she knew it would return to her once her mind cleared once more...

Certainly, Jet was every bit as good as his legend. The raw skill on display was awe-inspiring - whether it was talent, or just a natural result of all the practice he got, the result was the same. And on top of that, his virility unreal - it genuinely seemed to be bottomless, as if he simply didn't get soft unless he willed it so. Maybe it was some kind of fancy enchantment, though she couldn't guess where he might be hiding a suitably-enchanted piece of jewelry while buck naked. So perhaps it was more likely to be down to some kind of potent, alchemical potion he'd consumed before starting in on the line of girls waiting at his door. Well, whatever it was, it certainly worked well. Even as her various orifices - and her stomach besides - grew chock full of cum, he could reliably continue to perform, leading her through dozens of different positions and showcasing mind-blowing technique after spine-curling technique. In the end, it all just blended together and she zoned out, letting her body carry her freely as his strong, firm hands guided her along...

The dynamics of the team shifted perceivably after that night. No longer did she sit alone at the fire, watching the other three engage in countless perversions. Now, she was in the middle of it. Sereiah and Barida were eager to welcome her into their games - admitting that they, too, had noticed her discontent and worried about her state of mind. They just hadn't known how to approach her... after all, making the obvious suggestion was out of the question when she had so clearly demonstrated her determination not to get sexually involved with team-mates.

Well, that rule was thoroughly out the window by now, and soon, so were many others. At first, she was simply sharing Jet's seemingly-bottomless sexual potential with her two old friends - after all, she was straight - but this did not last. She'd wondered, several times, about why they'd been so attracted to him when they'd previously displayed interest only in other women. Had they never actually been lesbians, but just bisexuals still searching for the right guy? Almost certainly not, she concluded as she sank her tongue into Barida's tight, flavorful snatch.

No, there was simply something about Jet that made distinctions like gender and race seem... unimportant and meaningless. He just made her feel silly to worry about whether she was 'straight' or not. It was all just... pleasure. Why should your self-image shift in any meaningful way just because you took pleasure from a woman's soft tongue exploring your nethers, just as much as from a man's hard cock doing the same? Maybe it was the cavalier attitude he had towards all sexual mores and taboos ever, anywhere, or the way he made it stick. Not only did he grandly ignore whatever limitations any given society they visited had put on what constituted 'acceptable sexual behavior', he also seemed to convince every woman he met, without even really trying, that yeah... on reflection, casual sex with multiple partners really was an awfully good idea.

Once you saw how easily such ingrained notions of proper behavior could disintegrate, it was hard to put any stock in them - and your own, well, they weren't long for this world. Trying to pigeonhole Sereiah or Barida as 'lesbians' or 'bisexuals' was meaningless. So was doing the same for her own 'straightness' or lack of same. They were all just people, unique individuals having sex with other unique individuals because it felt good. The rest was just details. And besides, the more the merrier! Or at least, more people meant more possible combinations and positions...

Ultimately, though, it all came back to her Faith - the one she had been so close to forgetting. To live a life without regrets, so that you might walk unto the battlefield with nothing holding you back. Dying with a weapon in hand, a pile of fallen enemies before you and a smile on your face - that was the ideal of any true adherent of Tyr! The way she'd limited herself before, in so many ways, had ultimately gone against those teachings. If she had died during those dark days, she would have met her end embittered and unsatisfied, the doors to Tyr's sacred fortress closed to her.

Now, she was back on the true path, and as her limits, restraints and compunctions steadily dwindled in the face of the life-affirming pleasure and Jet's infinite creativity, she welcomed it. Spending as much time pleasuring or being pleasured by Sereiah and Barida as she did with Jet, that was fine. Ultimately dropping her own stated refusal to partake in the 'gross stuff'? Better yet! Those limitations had only been holding her back! Tasting Sereiah's freshly-reamed ass on Jet's cock, or sharing a mouthful of his hot piss with Barida... it was all good.

It wasn't really about the flavor, after all. It was about the shared depravity, the shared experience of breaking every possible taboo. You couldn't get much closer to someone than ramming your tongue up their asshole to dig out delicious dollops of bitter cum. Knowing that she, Sereiah and Barida all knew exactly what Jet's piss tasted like, and trusting each other not to share that fact with anyone, helped to forge stronger bonds than ever. And when she felt Barida wrap her lips around her puckered sphincter, tongue squeezing its way inside and twisting, while Sereiah's thirsty mouth formed a tight seal around her pussy-mound as the half-elf drank down her free-flowing piss, she knew more firmly than ever that they were the best friends she'd ever have.

The power-dynamics were flexible in the extreme. Barida's traditional domination over Sereiah had faded into the background entirely - perhaps they, too, had decided that the barrier between 'dominant' and 'submissive' was a meaningless, arbitrary one. It had become just as common to see Barida tongue Sereiah's freshly-reamed asshole as the other way around, just as likely that Sereiah would be applying one of the communally shared strap-ons on Barida's surprisingly flexible holes as the other way around...

She herself seemed to wind up at the center of everyone's attention more often than not, though - maybe because she'd been the last to join, giving her a lot of catching up to do. Quite a few evenings in Jet's huge, magically air-conditioned tent were spent with all her holes jammed, Sereiah and Barida both wielding large strap-on toys in conjunction with Jet's solitary, fleshy cock in a variety of positions and configurations. She could hardly claim to mind... but she also greatly enjoyed it when she was the one wielding one of the handy leather harnesses with the front-and-center attachment-points. Her size and strength gave her a thrusting-power matched only by Jet, enabling her to feel the thrill of pounding one of her dear friends into a moaning, orgasmic puddle of overstimulated nerves.

A new favorite position of hers was standing... facing Jet, with Barida dangling between them, impaled on twin cocks, legs swinging freely and arms scrabbling for a handhold as they worked together to induce more orgasms than she could handle. Sereiah would usually circle around them while they did so, her tongue seeking purchase between Hilde or Jet's ass-cheeks - or she'd be squatting beneath them, where she could suck on his dangling balls... or Barida's dangling feet. Always a good time - but only one in many. So many different pleasures to experience, so many different taboos to break... even the same setup could change much depending on where you were in it.

But of course, it wasn't all just sexy funtimes. They still had a job to do. They were adventurers, delving into darkness, going where others feared to tread, all in search of treasure and power! And just as she had hoped, her newfound intimacy with all of her teammates allowed her to access the same kind of nigh-instinctive teamwork she'd observed from the outside before. Once you'd seen some one in the throes of pleasure and the grip of erotic pain, reading them on the battlefield grew easier. And the trust they had built meant that you could always fight at your best without ever worrying about whether anyone was watching your back, whether you'd be covered if you exposed yourself to deliver a vital strike... because everyone was, and you always would be.

Added to that was her new-found power. Requesting greater strength had not been one of the purposes of her communion with Tyr, but she had found it nonetheless - though not without sacrifice. Still, it was a sacrifice she was happy to make, and even a convenient one at that point. None of them had asked why she wasn't partaking in the same contraceptive herbs that Sereiah and Barida used regularly. Certainly, Jet wasn't shy about filling her womb with his hot, fertile cum on a regular basis. Perhaps they suspected the truth. Perhaps they just didn't want to pry. Regardless, an unwanted pregnancy was no longer a concern for her, since she had sacrificed her ability to bear children to Tyr.

It wasn't really that unusual among his Priestesses. After all, if you truly intended to seek death on the battlefield, children and pregnancy would just be an intolerable distraction. Something that might genuinely sway you from that sacred path. She'd just never... gotten around to it. Never had a real reason to want to get rid of it, since her only partners were professional prostitutes, who inevitably used contraceptive enchantments to avoid unwanted entanglements with the paying customers - at least in the high-end business she frequented. Now, though, the right time had come and gone, and she had not been found wanting. Indeed, Tyr seemed to have particularly appreciated the timing of her sacrifice, considering it a devout rededication to the path she had chosen, and rewarding her with a greater boost in power than it usually brought. She was determined to prove His trust in her justified.

With her newfound strength working in perfect concert with the already-deadly trio, their combat-strength exploded. Eagerly, she threw them into more and more dangerous encounters, steady on her path, seeking to test the limits of her team and her power. Their reputation soared too, with the Moonhunters soon being whispered about by many as the four most deadly adventurers in the world, capable of facing down impossible odds and emerging on the other side grinning - splattered in gore and climbing over a mountain of corpses, perhaps, but always in a high mood. Their joyfulness often creeped out and intimidated their foes, who seemed to mistake it for sadistic bloodlust - when the only one of them who'd ever actually displayed such traits actually had mellowed out enormously as of late. Instead, their good mood was simply caused by the aftershocks of their last dance of pleasure - and the expectations for the next to come!

But alas, as any adventurer can tell you, you can only test the odds for so long before the dice finally come up snake-eyes for you. In search of ever-greater challenges, riding a wave of sky-high reputation, she picked their next assignment - a mercenary gig in a keep on the borderlands near the orc-infested southern wastelands. There were concerns about a gathering horde, and while one of the kingdom's most celebrated generals was holding down the fort, he didn't have enough manpower. Reinforcements were being gathered from across the realm, but something faster and more agile was needed. Like perhaps a small band of fearsome adventurers, each a match for a hundred, nay, a THOUSAND orcs! With their strength added to the garrison, there was no danger of the orcs overwhelming the fortress before the full weight of the kingdom's reinforcements arrived... "Though I doubt they'll complain if we just wipe out the entire orcish horde all by ourselves!" she'd said cockily, and gotten a round of confident smiles for her troubles.

But it had all gone wrong, Hilde thought as she looked out across the smoke-covered, blood-smeared battlefield. All wrong. She coughed, sending a raking pain through her chest. She'd healed the wound after pulling out the barbed arrow, but she hadn't had the strength to fully repair the damage to her lungs. By now, it'd take a stronger cleric than her to fix it, and unfortunately she was far and away the strongest cleric left in the keep. Carefully controlling her breathing to avoid aggravating the wound further, she tried to badger her exhausted mind into cooperating. She had to think. She was the leader of the Moonhunters. She'd led them all into this mess, so by Tyr she'd lead them back out! Or, rather, she'd get them out, somehow. Death on the battlefield was what she was after, in the end, and that battlefield seemed like a fine place to die - especially while covering the retreat of her friends and lovers.

Retreat... hah. Normally, she'd quail at the mere thought. Now, there, it was an impossible dream. The keep was doomed, its desperate garrison fighting a losing battle as injuries and fatigue mounted while the unending horde beyond the walls only grew bigger. Retreat was the only sensible option, all else was merely a drawn-out suicide. Unfortunately, the horde had them completely encircled, and their lines were deep. Breaking through them at any point with their current strength was unthinkable, and the only unguarded way out was_up_. Never mind clerics - there were virtually no spellcasters in the keep, the garrison having been missing most of its standard complement of battlemages even before the orcs encircled them. Those that were available were young and inexperienced. Not a single one of them had the necessary experience or training to even _attempt_a flight-spell that might have gotten even a handful of people out. And Barida, being a sorceress, also couldn't perform such complex magics... even if she'd still been in fighting form.

She wasn't, though. She was numbered among the casualties now - not dead, thank Tyr, but in a deep coma after having overextended herself brutally in the constant fighting. Already exhausted, she had poured every ounce of her significant strength into a series of lightning-strikes that had repelled a powerful orc offensive that almost certainly would otherwise have breached the gates. Then she'd simply crumbled like a marionette with its strings cut. That was what happened to those who pushed their arcane arts beyond the limits of their flesh... her life was hanging by a thread, and only a truly powerful Cleric would be able to restart her sleeping mind with the potent 'Awaken' spell. Far, far beyond what she could have done even on her best day.

Ever since then, Sereiah had been fighting with single-minded determination, silently picking off orc after orc from the top of the walls, using mostly reclaimed orcish arrows rather than her own elegant creations. Her skills were more mundane, so she wasn't going to work herself into a coma - but Hilde feared for her nonetheless, for her fingers were covered in heavy bandages to stem the flow of blood that the constant strain of drawing her bowstring had put on them. She'd been healing the embittered half-elf every chance she got, pouring what little strength she had left into a desperate attempt to stop one of her oldest friends from permanently destroying her fingers. So far, she'd succeeded. But she wouldn't be able to for much longer.

Jet, as usual, was better off than most of them. His armor had weathered everything the orcs threw at him without a scratch, and still gleamed as brightly as it ever had. He was a symbol of hope for the entire keep, convincing the exhausted and terrified soldiers of the garrison to drag themselves back to the walls again and again - after all, _he_was still fighting, still unbent, and any orc who foolishly got within his reach wound up dead. Well, that was the idea, at least. Hilde knew better.

Underneath that armor, he was exhausted, reaching the limits of his seemingly inhuman stamina at long last. And however invincible his gear, he couldn't simply wade into the enemy ranks to take them apart, as he had done so many times before on their adventures - there were, quite simply, too bloody many of them. They'd crush him under sheer numbers, choke him with their own corpses even as he killed them. He still needed to breathe, after all - and, for that matter, eat and drink, both activities which were getting increasingly difficult in the besieged keep.

Early on, he could probably have punched his way out, breaking through their lines single-handed and even making good his escape. But he couldn't have brought her, or Sereiah or Barida, so he'd refused to take that route. Now, that option no longer existed.

It was strangely touching. She still knew very little about him, beyond his strange personal philosophies on the subject of sex and the unexplained fact that he had some very nice equipment. But he'd still decided to stick it out with the rest of them rather than escape on his own - even though it very likely would mean that he'd die alongside them.

That made a rather dark thought occur to her - not that she had a lot of the other kind left - and she made her way along the top of the walls to where Jet stood, in clear view of both the besieging horde and the beleaguered defenders. With his mere presence, he was daring the later to waste more arrows, spells and even catapult-projectiles on their futile attempts to penetrate his armor - and enheartening everyone on their own side who so much as glanced upwards. She, meanwhile, crouched low beneath the battlement as she virtually crawled forwards, very carefully not making a target of herself. She'd learned the hard way that her hauberk was mostly useless against the orcs' massive siege-bows, and felt no need for further lessons on the subject.

While she approached him, he glanced down and flashed her a tired smile before going back to scanning the surrounding horde in search of the early signs that would indicate that they were massing for a fresh attack. "So, I've been wondering... " she said conversationally, leaning back against the battlements and stretching her aching legs out in front of her. "That fancy armor of yours, is there anything built into it to stop anyone else from wearing it?"

He gave her a speculative look, which she returned frankly even as she felt her eye get drawn to the scar on his cheek - caused by a particularly well-aimed arrow that had managed to find his sole unarmored spot: the face. It was rather impressive that he'd managed to move his head fast enough to avoid getting his brain impaled on a dirty big arrow, honestly - but still, seeing a scar on his previously-flawless skin was a sobering sign of just how bad things had gotten.

Finally, he shrugged. "Yes, actually. The enchantments recognize me. If anyone else put it on, it would lock itself in place and basically turn them into a fully-aware statue. I can, of course, release the lock at will. Handy if someone just... decides to try it on while I'm bathing or something. You get it, I'm sure." She did indeed, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a clever security-system indeed - mostly harmless to anyone who just tried to 'borrow' his armor, or - as he said - simply wanted to try it on for size. But if he wound up_dead_ and somebody then put on his armor, they'd be stuck in a completely immovable, virtually-indestructible shell permanently. If someone was available to give them food and drink they could survive for a while, perhaps, but with such potent and heavily-layered enchantments, it would take a truly exceptional wizard to actually break them out... and doing so would leave the armor severely depowered, if not outright useless. So at least she didn't have to worry about the Warchief running this horde turning up at the next fortress in his path wearing Jet's incredible armor.

There was a drawn-out moment of silence, then - well, they weren't saying anything, anyway. The horde beyond the walls was producing a constant, ear-splitting racket, and behind them the sobs of the hopeless and the screams of the wounded played a depressing symphony. Finally, however, Jet spoke up with a question of his own. "So, tell me honestly, boss... how much longer do you think we can hold out?" She considered the question. As the leader and Face of the Moonhunters, she'd been privy to the general's regular council of war. She knew a few things that were being kept hidden from the regular soldiers in the name of preserving what little morale remained. And, well, he'd asked her to be honest - answering that plea was literally the least she could do.

"Hard to say exactly, but it's probably measured in hours rather than days at this point." It was a tough admission to make, and one she made only after glancing around to make sure nobody else was within earshot. But, alas, the rapidly-dwindling supplies and the mounting number of dead and wounded didn't lie. Jet, however, simply nodded thoughtfully. "So what are our odds of making it through to sunrise?" That was an odd question. She chanced a glance between the gaps in the battlement, and looked at the sun as it sank beneath the distant mountains. "Decent, I suppose. The orcs will almost certainly launch another night-attack, but we can probably repulse that. If they throw in a bigger one than usual, though, or more than one? We likely won't."

Nodding again, he seemed to chew on that for a bit and then finally sighed. "So tonight's the deciding factor... guess I should try to get a bit of rest so that I'll be able to fight at my best." He then threw her a strange look, one that made her realize that he wasn't looking nearly so hopeless as he ought. As he stepped away from the wall and began to descend the stairs to the courtyard, he spoke up one last time "I know you're seeking death on the battlefield, but if you wouldn't mind terribly, please save it for tomorrow. I'm probably going to need your help tonight. And don't forget - as long as the sun rises, there is hope."

Looking numbly after him and still leaning tiredly on the battlement, she felt her exhausted mind whirl. What was he talking about? Why was it so important that they live through the night, when living through the day to come seemed so impossible? She was out of ideas, out of resources, and so was the general. Surely, he wasn't expecting reinforcements to arrive? That was ridiculous - it was abundantly clear by now that the kingdom's promised help wouldn't arrive, at least not in time. Gah... it was all so stupid... after all those adventures, all that danger - traps and monsters and magic-wielding madmen - she and her team were facing their end due to being caught up in the crossfire of a political plot.

Apparently, the king was worried about the popularity of the general in charge of the keep's defenses. He, himself, wasn't all that popular - and his heir, even less so. The crown prince, raised with silver spoon in mouth and thoroughly divorced from the consequences of his actions, had displayed a sadistic temperament that had managed to spread to the general populace through whispered rumors despite the kingdom's best efforts at keeping it under wraps. Beating or whipping servants to within an inch of their lives, casually killing dogs and horses for his own amusement, and - as he began to come of age - multiple incidents of rape... not a man anybody wanted to see on the throne, except perhaps his doting father.

So there was talk of rebellion, of seeking an alternate heir to the throne from a less psychotic branch of the royal family-tree. And it just so happened that a certain dashing and highly-popular general was a remote cousin to the king... when she asked him, he'd even admitted that he had previously been approached by someone claiming to represent a coalition of nobles who desired a change in the royal succession, essentially offering him the throne. He'd turned them down, partially because he didn't trust their motivation, and partially because he was quite happy with the military life and uninterested in taking on the burdens of running the entire country. Having seen the careless cruelty of the crown prince firsthand on a number of occasions, however, he hadn't reported the conspirators to the authorities - essentially saying that he recognized the necessity of their actions, but that they'd simply have to find someone else to take the throne.

Perhaps that probe had been a trick, courtesy of an increasingly paranoid king, and his failure to report it had marked him as a traitor. Perhaps the conspiracy behind it had feared that he _would_report them and preemptively pointed him out to the king as a likely traitor in order to discredit him if he tried. Or maybe it was entirely unrelated, and the king had simply allowed his fairly-justifiable paranoia to mix with opportunism when the orcish horde arrived.

And so, the keep's garrison had been stealthily deprived of some of its strongest elements, its supplies cut back... and the promise of impending reinforcements? A simple ruse. The main forces of the kingdom would be marshaling at the next line of defense, making ready to stop the horde and avenge their fallen general... though, she suspected they'd find that task difficult. The reports had obviously deliberately understated the size of the horde, but the Warchief in charge of it had proven to be a clever bastard. Most likely, _he'd_been hiding the true size of his forces as well. The king might very well soon regret his decision to sacrifice his best general in the name of political expedience.

And her merry band? Merely a small pawn in that political game. A token gesture to disprove any allegations that the king had deliberately hung the general out to dry. Certainly he hadn't! After all, he'd hired one of the most famous adventuring-bands on the continent to reinforce him! And the sad thing was, a lot of the common people - lacking the experience to truly appreciate the difference between the kind of small-scale engagements adventurers specialized in and a full-on siege - would probably fall for it. That rankled. Not only had they been used and thrown away, the one who did it would probably get away with it! Well, unless he wound up impaled on an orcish spear sometime relatively soon - and if he did, it'd be alongside hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians, so she could hardly celebrate that.

Rolling her head to peer through one of the slots in the battlement again, she assessed the state of the horde, and considered her options. Saving the Keep? Nothing came to mind. Saving her friends and lovers? Nothing came to mind. Fulfilling Jet's last request and lasting through the night? ...hmm. Well, that certainly seemed possible. And it was important to have clear goals! Heck, maybe he just wanted to enjoy one more sunset by her side. That seemed like a sweet, romantic gesture. Either way, it was something she _could_do, and she owed him that much and more.

And so, she bent whatever energy she had left, clerical and physical, to accomplish it. She even got the general on board, convincing him to use his last reserves and resources. Like herself, he'd already given up hope of any kind of happy ending, and was fighting on out of sheer, bull-headed stubbornness. He was out of plans and out of options, so when she suggested that they simply focused on living through the night without worrying about tomorrow, he just stared at her numbly for a moment and then nodded. Also like herself, he saw it as a goal that was actually within his reach - a welcome change.

The inevitable orcish night-attack proved to be particularly brutal. Clearly, the horde sensed that the keep was on the breaking point, and were eager to push it over the edge. If it hadn't for Jet's request, she probably would have allowed despair to consume her when Sereiah fell. The grief-struck half-elf had kept shooting 'till the very end, pouring arrow after arrow into the orcs who massed beneath the walls with grappling-hooks and siege-ladders. But the soldiers who stood alongside her with axes and long poles, ready to counter those attempts, were too few and too tired. Roaring orcish warriors mounted the battlements in several places, overwhelming them, and a single swing of a dirty, broad-bladed axe saw Sereiah fall in a shower of blood.

A nearby soldier had stabbed the orc in the back before he could finish her off, however, and Hilde herself - having seen what happened from across the walls - got there in time to pour what little clerical power she had left into the bleeding archer. The gash in her side was terrifyingly deep, almost certainly reaching the internal organs... but by reaching deep into herself and drawing on her last reserves, she'd been able to halt the bleeding and close the wound, _probably_stopping most of the internal bleeding too. She couldn't clearly remember how she'd actually gotten there, though - only that the heavy, square-headed warhammer she wielded had been covered in gore and skull-shards.

She did, however, remember the way the world had grown dim and unfocused around her. She'd pushed her limits nearly to the breaking point, and been dangerously close to going the same way Barida did - whether your power came from the arcane or the Gods, the limitations of the flesh remained, and pushing beyond them was potentially deadly. She'd managed to cling to consciousness, but weak as a kitten - left to just sit there, looking down at her deadly-pale friend, eyes closed, barely breathing, while the battle raged on around her.

Jet had cleared the walls, practically singlehandedly. Marching in from one side, he'd chucked orcs by the dozen back over the side of the battlements to fall screaming into the horde below. Others had fallen to lightning-fast punches or their own cruel weapons. At the end, with the wall retaken, he had staggered and fallen to one knee, sending a shockwave of consternation through the briefly-enheartened defenders - but then he'd climbed back to his feet and given them a triumphant wave. "Not tonight!" He'd cried. "We'll see the sunrise yet!" A cheer had gone up from across the wall, and the tired, hopeless men had rallied to repulse the rest of the orcish offensive - galvanized, if only briefly, into following the same philosophy she and the general had embraced: do the achievable, live through the night, and let tomorrow worry about itself.

Now she stood beside Jet on the battlements, her body heavy with bone-deep fatigue and her mind still throbbing from the effort she'd poured into saving Sereiah's life, however briefly. The half-elf was down in the courtyard, now, on an improvised cot, alongside hundreds of other casualties. Alive, but only just, and the acolytes who ran the field hospital had precious little power to spare. She wouldn't soon wake up - and all of the wounded would probably soon be slaughtered when the orcs finally breached the keep. The next assault would be the last, that much was clear - that brief burst of energy that had allowed the defenders to push back the night-attack had taken a heavy toll, and many a soldier who had miraculously managed to avoid the axes, arrows and fists of the encroaching orcs had simply collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Most of the 'soldiers' currently manning the walls were straw dummies, designed to make the defenses look more potent than they actually were, and collect orcish arrows for their own few, remaining archers to use. They'd been using that trick for a while, though, and the orcs didn't seem to be falling for it anymore. They'd stopped firing arrows over the wall, and seemed to be just... eating breakfast and generally relaxing down there, gathering their strength for a full offensive that would shatter the keep's defenses with absolute certainty. They weren't in any kind of a rush, so why waste the effort or the arrows? Of course, the bright side of that was that she could stand there, in full view, and watch the sun rise without worrying too much about catching a stray projectile.

It was just a red half-circle on the horizon at the moment, but it _was_the sun. Morning had come.

Somehow, they'd made it through that long, blood-stained night. She gestured towards the light that now poured over the wastelands to the east, nicely showing off the sea of greenskins that besieged the keep, and flashed Jet a grimace that could charitably have been called a smile. "There you go! One sunrise, as requested. I'm not sure about that 'hope' you talked about, but we've definitely got a sunrise. And you know what? It was kind of worth it." She felt her throat grow thick and her eyes moist as she spoke, looking out across the world, bathed in light, knowing it'd be the last time she saw it.

Then Jet's hand fell heavy on her shoulder, and he laughed despite the utter exhaustion she knew he'd been so determinedly hiding from the soldiers. "You're not wrong, Hilde - but the hope is there. You just need to look a bit closer." He lifted one gauntlet-clad hand, pointing to the north of the rising sun. She narrowed her tired eyes, trying to force them to focus on whatever he was pointing at. Was there some... dots, in that particular patch of pink morning sky? Dots... yes... quite a few of them. Growing steadily... larger?

Growing larger quickly. Her eyes opened wide and her jaw dangled freely as she slowly realized what she was seeing. The thought hadn't yet manage to quite permeate her mind when the slaughter began. The orcish horde that had so badly overmatched the keep's defenders suddenly found themselves on the other side of the equation as the_dragons_ struck at them from above. There had to be more than a dozen of them! Most were blue, a few were brilliantly golden, their scales glimmering like stars in the morning light, and a single one was black - like a bat-winged hole in the sky itself. All of them struck at the horde with fury and fire, tearing broad avenues of burning corpses and screaming panic through the assembled orcs. Their siege-bows and the rudimentary magic of their Shamans were little threat to the swift, agile, and hard-scaled dragons. That truly was no battle, but more akin to an iron-booted man stomping down on an anthill.

Literally within minutes, the orcs - previously so close to triumph - were completely routed. In the face of untouchable monsters raining fire and death from the sky, no discipline could last for long. The orcs broke and ran, in every direction but mostly back into the wasteland that was their home. Of course, it probably helped that a roaring bolt of thunder, as wide as a great oak, had struck from the cloudless skies to obliterate the large command-tent that was the home of the horde's Warchief in the opening seconds of the attack. Regardless, the few defenders who remained on their feet and on the walls watched with disbelief as their tormentors and would-be conquerors were scattered like dried leaves before an autumn storm.

Jet sighed, pulling off his helmet and running his fingers through his sweaty mop of hair. "Well, time to face the music..." he said tiredly, before turning and heading towards one of the keep's flat-topped corner-towers. They'd once mounted siege-ballistae, until those had all been destroyed by orcish mangonels. All of the towers were partially or completely wrecked by now, though the one he was heading towards still had a mostly-intact roof. Making it a suitable landing-site for a small- to medium-sized dragon, presumably.

Hilde found herself following him, not really knowing why. A thousand questions burned in her mind, but she didn't know where to start or even if she could ask them. After all, it seemed more than likely that there was some connection between the sudden appearance of a draconic relief-force and the very subject she'd promised him she wouldn't pry into when they first met. He paused, noticing her behind him, and glanced back. Then he shrugged. "Eh, guess you may as well tag along if you like. Not like there's much point in hiding stuff anymore. Time for all the masks to fall, and all that..."

So she followed him, even as her legs screamed at the effort of climbing the winding stairs to the tower's roof. There wasn't much up there - just a crumbling gap in one side, where the ballista had once stood. The supplies that had once been piled here had been moved downstairs when the tower stopped being a strategic asset. Now, it served a different purpose - as a vast, black shadow descended on it from above. A shiver ran through her, irrational fear poking at the back of her mind. A black dragon! She'd heard about them, heard a lot, but had never seen one before.

Not so long ago, to an adventurer like herself, 'black dragon' would mean one thing - a terrifying, bloodthirsty, nigh-invulnerable monster, capable of wielding dark and devastating magics as well as breathing a crimson flame that could break down enchantments and tear apart active spells on contact. Only the mightiest heroes or the most confident adventuring-bands dared stand against those fearsome but blessedly rare beasts.

But things changed. These days, 'black dragon' meant something else entirely - namely, the direct involvement of the Dragon Utopia, which honestly wasn't appreciably less terrifying. She still remembered when the 'Dragon Utopia' had been merely a whispered-of rumor, a crazy theory that made most roll their eyes in dismissal for all that everyone seemed to have a first wife's brother's second-cousin's army-buddy who'd worked as a guard in a caravan visiting the place. But those rumors had ultimately turned out to be true, and the Dragon Utopia had emerged as the single-most powerful and enigmatic political force on the continent. Nobody, not even the biggest and most militaristic of empires, wanted to pick a fight with a nation whose entire army consisted of dragons - with the fearsome Blacks serving as field generals and deadly elites. Just what had she gotten herself mixed up in?

The answer to that question became amusingly clear when the black dragon landed on the tower roof with a heavy thump, taking up most of the space there, and a black-haired woman dressed in painfully minimalistic armor leaped from a saddle on his back. Moving with superhuman speed, she crossed the roof in an instant - and threw her arms around Jet in a crushing embrace. "Honeeey! Are you all right? You aren't hurt, are you?" Jet staggered under the impact, and then hesitantly returned the embrace while she showered him with a barrage of kisses. "Ooof... I'm fine, mom! It's not like anything can hurt me while I'm wearing this armor, you know? Stop worrying so much about me. There's lots of other people to worry about here, though... you brought auntie Direza, right?"

The black-haired woman released him from her tight grip and took a half-step back to look him in the face with a grin. "Of course I did, honey. She'll see to your friends right away." Behind the two, another woman was climbing out of the dragon's saddle, at a somewhat more sedate pace. Dressed in an ornate, black robe that made her ash-gray skin seem somewhat lighter by comparison, it was immediately clear that she was not merely a drow, but also one of the feared Priestesses of Lolth. Any adventurer who had ever explored the dangerous tunnels of the Underdark and survived had earned a healthy respect for the drow's raiding-parties, and the priestesses who often supported them. And she was Jet's auntie?

If her mind had been reeling before, now it was just a jumble. The woman he'd referred to as 'mom'... she looked no older than him, with pale, unblemished skin and generous curves that were left entirely unconcealed by her barely-decent armor. There were no pointy ears to hint at elvish blood, either. As the cloaked and hooded drow nodded politely at her, walking quickly past them on the way to the stairs and, presumably, the field hospital where both Sereiah and Barida now rested, she almost reflexively started to move to get in her way - only to find herself transfixed by the black-haired woman's eyes. Those... were not human eyes. Bright blue, like Jet's, but the pupils were different - vertical slits, like those of a snake... or a dragon.

Inhuman eyes. Armor - however skimpy - clearly made from dragonscales. Showed up riding a dragon, and a black one at that. If the Dragon Utopia had been a rumor until fairly recently, the DragonRider had been a myth - a tall tale spoken of in taverns and sung of by bards... particularly when facing a suitably adult audience. Tales of seduction and war, of good deeds and evil ones... a force of nature more than a person, sweeping through the lives of any who got in her way and leaving chaos in her wake. The DragonRider. And she, too, had eventually been proven to be quite real - as well as being the most exalted representative of the Dragon Utopia, alongside her steed and lover, the fearsome Champion of the Utopia. Her actions, sometime seemingly random and at other times showing glimpses of a dreadful strategy, had made and unmade nations and shaken the very foundation of the entire world.

Aaaaand apparently she'd been sleeping with her son. Lovely. Just what was she supposed to do now? That was way out of her league. She was just the leader of a small-yet-successful adventuring-group. Honestly, what she mostly wanted to do was go to sleep. Sighing, she took a step back, sank down with her back against the tower's battlements, and let all the tension leave her body. It didn't matter. It was all out of her hands now. The Utopia was getting involved. For better or worse, everything would be resolved and she could finally rest. So rest she did, dropping into a deep, exhausted sleep then and there.

She woke up feeling disoriented, before hesitantly identifying her current location as the quarters she'd been assigned when they first arrived at the keep. She hadn't spent a lot of time there. Outside the windows, it was already dark, indicating that she'd slept through the entire day - though dancing lights and hoarse singing suggested that a number of bonfires were lighting up the courtyard, the surviving soldiers busy celebrating their unlikely salvation.

A shift in the shadows drew her eyes, and she realized that it was Jet - apparently, he'd been sitting quietly in a chair not far from her bed, watching over her. For once, he was neither wearing his armor nor naked - instead, he wore simple, understated clothes of rich quality, as black as the gemstone he was named for, turning his frame into an indistinct blob until he reached forwards and lit a candle by her bedside. Those were very nice clothes, she thought. Appropriate wear for a young prince from an inestimably wealthy nation.

Before she could marshal any of the questions that had sprung into her mind that morning, however, a tray loaded with food was put before her. A steaming soup filled with lumps of well-cooked meat, fresh-baked bread beside it. A side of ribs, glistening with spicy marinade, filling the room with the smell of grilled meat. A full pitcher of wine, cold to the touch, and another filled with pure, clear water. Even a bowl of fresh, steaming porridge, with a small tray of cold butter and a bowl of sugar waiting next to it. It all seemed like it had been pulled fresh from a well-appointed kitchen. Then she noticed the tray itself... silver, inlaid with gemstones around the handles, and engraved with arcane-looking symbols. An enchanted tray designed to keep food hot and/or cold indefinitely? That seemed like the kind of thing a particularly decadent emperor would have his food served on...

Jet noticed her look, and shrugged awkwardly. "I borrowed it from... a servant of my father." His eyes grew distant for a moment before snapping back to focus on her again. "I didn't know when you'd wake up, but I figured you'd be famished. Please, eat - you need to replenish your energy. I suggest starting with the porridge - you haven't eaten much in a while, so you need something solid down there first." Famished? Yes, yes she was, and the seductive scents rising from the tray were making her mouth water. She dug in with a vengeance, starting with the porridge as suggested. It was all unspeakably delicious.

Eventually, between tearing chunks of meat off the well-roasted ribs, she managed to gasp out a question. "Where did all this food COME from?" Another awkward shrug. "Mom, of course. She brought a full strike-wing, supply-elements included - what you saw this morning was just the fastest of their advance elements, dashing out in front of the rest. The supply-carriers caught up a few hours later, carrying enough food and drink to provide a suitable victory-feast for the entire keep." A full strike-wing. That was the kind of military force that could overthrow empires and casually violate countless national borders, safe in the knowledge that nobody was going to raise much of a stink over it. If you saw something like that fly over your head, you'd be too busy thanking the Gods that they were just passing by to worry about the integrity of your borders...

Jet seemed to follow her line of thought and leaned back in his chair with a mopey expression on his face. She quickly finished her meal, emptying bowls and plates as well as the water-pitcher, but leaving the wine largely alone. Her head was just starting to clear, and she wanted to keep it that way for a bit. "So..." she finally said, wiping her mouth. "You're basically the Crown Prince of the Dragon Utopia, then?" He barked a bitter laugh. "Crown Prince? Don't be ridiculous. I'm nobody. My MOM is important. My DAD is really important. But it's not like either one of them have any inherited titles to pass on - I couldn't 'succeed' either one of them even if I wanted to."

She waved her hands, brushing his objections aside. "Fine, so maybe Crown Prince isn't the right word - but you're still the son of the_DragonRider_. No wonder you're so tough. And I guess I can take a pretty good stab at where your fancy armor came from, at this point..." He flinched back, almost like she'd struck him, but still managed to put up a smile... albeit a rather bitter one. "Yeah, pretty much. I might not stand to inherit any land or titles, but I've inherited the blood of an exceptional pair of parents. And the armor... hah. It's not even mine, not really. It was a gift to my parents. What do you give someone who has everything, right? Well, invulnerability for their only son seems like a good one. Can't fault that reasoning."

Her brow narrowed as she tried to make sense of his attitude. "Look..." she finally said. "I don't see why all that is necessarily a bad thing. You had a privileged birth, that much is obvious - but lots of people have that, and just spend it abusing servants and living the easy life. You, on the other hand, chose to leave your home and become an adventurer - using the strength and gear your privilege had bought to help people. I mean... nevermind all the times you've saved me, Sereiah or Barida in the field, or the good we've done by hunting down monsters and stopping crazy necromancers and whatnot, you've also got that whole philosophy of... helping women with their sexual needs, y'know."

She paused, then, and grimaced. "Wait... how are Sereiah and Barida? I should probably have asked about that first of all." This earned her a genuine laugh, for once, and he gave her a reassuring wave. "Oh, no worries, they're back on their feet and good as new. Auntie Direza is a top-tier cleric. Used to fix my skinned knees and bruises and... stuff like that, when I was a kid. But hey, she can throw around Regeneration and Awakening-spells with ease, too! She practically healed the entire casualty-roster of the keep singlehandedly - though a few of the folks who lost limbs will have to wait 'till tomorrow, after she's had a bit of rest." He grinned, the morose look on his face gone for now. "As for where our mutual friends are, I believe they're in their shared chambers, busily renewing their dedication to one another. Been at it for most of the day, in fact."

Reaching forwards, he lightly touched her chest. "And as for you, in case you've forgotten that you were among the injured as well, she did her best to fix your lungs. It's hard, though, when the damage has already been scabbed over by weaker healing, so... you may see some permanent reduction in lung-capacity. Still, all in all, I reckon you'll be fine." She nodded, deciding not to admit that the sheer pace of events and her own exhaustion actually had_led her to forgetting about the arrow that had pierced her chest and lung a few days earlier. "Okay, all good to know... now, about all the _other stuff I said?"

He snorted and shook his head with a sigh, leaning back in his chair once more, his brief showing of good mood gone again. Not unexpected, but she needed to get to the bottom of this. "Right, right... doesn't matter how you're born, what matters is what you choose to do with it - that's the gist of it? Well, I didn't even really have_that choice. I've tried to make the most of it, but... what I am isn't what I've chosen to be, it's just _what I am. I..." he hesitated, grimacing. "There are things I can't tell you. Secrets I'm sworn to keep. Just trust me when I say that staying in the Utopia and living the easy life never was an option for me. And as for heroically throwing myself into the adventuring life to fight the good fight? Keep in mind that literally any time I decide that my hide is in real danger, I can simply call mummy and daddy, and they'll move the world to save me. That... kind of cheapens everything I do, doesn't it? I'm not really risking my life the way most adventurers are. I'm just wading into it like it's some sort of game - except if it was, I'd be cheating. Invincible armor and an army of dragons ready to swoop to my rescue should I ever need it? Hardly fair!"

Trying her best to keep up with his rant, she considered it. Finally, the hole in his logic occurred to her, and she grinned. "Not fair, perhaps, but the soldiers out there probably don't care. You saved all of them - they're alive, and get to return to their families instead of winding up as victims or slaves of the orcs. They're not going to complain about the fact that you weren't really risking anything in the process." His response was predictable, and played directly into her hand. "I didn't save them. Even fighting the hardest I could, I couldn't turn the tides. My_parents_ saved them." Her smile broadened. "And why did your parents come here?" He shrugged, clearly not following her line of thought yet.

"Well, to save their dear little darling, of course. Like I said." She nodded. "So you did. And why was their little darling in such a pinch that they had to fly across the continent to save him, and - not incidentally - several thousand regular soldiers while they were at it?" His brow wrinkled. "Well... because we were under siege from a fuckin' huge horde of orcs, I guess?" He still wasn't following her.

Sighing, she drove the point home. "Yes. A siege you could have broken through at any point during the first three days or so. Between your strength and your armor, they wouldn't have been able to stop you. You didn't. And don't give me that 'didn't risk nothing' bullshit. If your parents' relief-force had arrived even a few hours later, you would've been lying dead right alongside me and the rest of us mere mortals. Of course, if you HAD left, even if you could've convinced your parents to try and swoop in and save the keep anyway, they wouldn't have arrived in time. Without you fighting on the walls day after day, night after night, it would've fallen _days_ago."

That, finally, gave him pause, and he opened his mouth a few times to protest - only to remain silent. Eager to capitalize on her victory, she pushed even further. "For that matter... calling in your parents like this is obviously terribly humiliating for you. Downright infantilizing, really, having your messes cleaned up by mum'n'dad like that. Thus, all the more reason to just punch your way out of trouble by yourself, rather than staying where you were to 'face the music', as you put it. You may not have endured the same kind of crippling wounds so many of the other soldiers did, defending this keep - but you did willingly endure crippling_embarrassment_ in its defense. And really, as a free adventurer and mercenary, you had far less reason to do so than they ever did."

Finally he sighed - a more 'surrendering' sigh than the 'fed-up' sighs he'd been emitting earlier, to her finely-tuned ears - and relaxed his shoulders a bit. "Fine, fine, maybe you have a point. Maybe I'm more heroic than I care to admit. Maybe I make more choices than I generally realize. Still, I'm sure you've considered the possibility that I didn't make this particular heroic choice in order to save the thousands of innocent soldiers in the keep, right?" She laughed. "Yes, that thought did cross my mind, but like I said, I doubt they care. And it's not like there's anything particularly un-heroic about giving it your all to save three damsels in distress, right?"

This actually made Jet double over laughing in his chair for several minutes. "Damsels in distress..." he finally gasped. "Just... Barida. As a damsel in distress. Good grief. I think she killed more orcs than I have over the course of this siege, even though she sat out the last two days and change. I guess Sereiah could kinda pull off the look, if you somehow got that bow away from her, but even then, she just tends to get nastier if things get rough. Remember when that bandit-clan sorcerer snapped her bow and she just proceeded to garrote him with the bowstring?" She had to laugh along with this. Then... "And what about me? Would I make a good damsel in distress?" she finally had to ask, trying to keep her tone light.

He looked her up and down, as he had more than once before, and smiled. "Nah. You look more like the kind of gal who'd go right on ahead and save herself. I mean, hey, you just kind of saved this whole keep!" Her eyebrows rose at that, and she gave him a disbelieving look. "Didn't we just finish concluding that it was you who saved the keep?" she asked, and he grinned. "Sure, through some pretty twisty logic. So let me give it another twist... why was I in the keep in the first place? Well, because you led me here. You picked up this contract. And you recruited me in the first place, by approaching me in that tavern, way back when, when nobody else dared."

Looking back, she found herself suddenly wincing internally at the memory of what she'd been saying back then. That whole thing about how half the adventurers in the room probably took him for a useless wannabe wearing overpriced gear paid for by his rich daddy. That had to have hit painfully close to home for Jet, but he hadn't let it show. The fact that he was now pouring out his frustrations to her, grimacing and wincing, meant that he trusted her. And she could certainly understand the source of his frustrations, however effective her arguments were. Getting out from under the shadow of famous, respected parents could be hard, even if one of them_didn't_ routinely fly around on the back of a friggin' Black Dragon. Hmm. Who was his father, anyway? Jet had mentioned he was someone important, even more so than his famous, and infamous, mother. The internal hierarchy of the Dragon Utopia was quite opaque, especially when it came to the place of non-dragons within it... well, she wasn't about to pry. He'd already made it clear that there were things he just couldn't tell her about, which also probably explained his 'don't ask about the armor' insistence when they first met.

So instead, she just laughed and flashed him a grin. "All right, all right... I suppose we could share credit for the rescue. And now, I think it's time I got out of this bed. I want to check on Barida and Sereiah myself, and maybe have a chat with the general... after all, our mercenary contract is definitely expired at this point!" Jet snorted, nodding along. "I'd say we earned our keep, yeah. Probably best to do things in that order, though - I believe the general is still in a meeting with mom. Talking about all the... 'big picture' stuff. I suspect this kingdom is in for a change in leadership soon! If the king was paranoid about the general's popularity with the general populace, well, now he's gonna have a lot more to worry about..."

Grinning at that - she had little love lost for the monarch who had hired them to be expendable pawns in his political games - she swung her legs out of the bed... and belatedly noticed that she was buck-naked. Well, obviously, someone - most likely Jet himself - had stripped her out of her armor before pouring her into bed. That, however, made her consider things for a moment, and she held up a hand. "Actually, stop right there..." Jet had just risen from his chair, and now hesitated before it with a raised eyebrow. "Before we go to see Barida and Sereiah, there's something else we need to take care of first."

"And that would be..?" he asked, settling back on his feet and crossing his arms. "Well, it occurs to me that it has, by now, been nearly a week since you last properly fucked my brains out. Which is a rather severe breach of my original order, which you may recall specified nightly brain-out-fuckings." Theatrically, he facepalmed. "Ack! I must apologize - I've just been a touch preoccupied of late, you see. Didn't mean to slack off on my duties." She sighed, waggling a finger. "That is hardly an excuse. Now get over here - you've got a lot of catching up to do!"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hilde spread her legs to show her pussy, already drooling with expectation, and the neat little tuft of blond hair she so carefully maintained above it. Stepping over, he grinned down at her. "So, a week's worth of mind-numbing pleasure, then? I shall do my level best. Any... rules you need to make clear beforehand?" She laughed, leaning back. "None. None whatsoever. Just do your thing. Make me moan, cry, shriek and pass out, not necessarily in that order. Use my body, do all the most depraved, perverted, disgusting and downright humiliating things you can imagine to me. Y'know, just... be yourself."

And so he did, all through the night. And, indeed, the night that followed, and many a night after that...

The End...

...or perhaps merely a new beginning. Stories come and go, but the world keeps turning.