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From Darkness Arisen

• Chapter 15 of the Legends of the DragonRider

Pacing along the cavernous hallways of the Utopia's soaring castle, Anitra paused beside a grand balcony, hesitated a moment, then stepped out on it to lean on the railing - high enough to prevent humanoids from blundering over the edge and dropping several hundred yards straight down onto the unforgiving surface of the crater-lake below, yet low enough to not impede any dragon that might want to use it for a landing- or launch-pad - taking in the view without really seeing it as she tried to quiet her circling mind.

The Psyker - a stately elf whose salt-and-pepper hair marked him as a truly ancient specimen of that remarkably long-lived race - was supposedly one of the finest practitioners of mind-magics in the known world, which made it quite fortunate that he was also a devoted follower of the elves' patron, the God of Wisdom, Corellon... and, as such, kept himself to an iron-bound code of ethics. It had taken him only a minute of intense scrutiny to diagnose Direza's condition: "Traumatic coma, resulting from memory-manipulation aftershock." Needless to say, while this no doubt made perfect sense to him, she and Blake had required just a touch more explanation.

Said explanation had not been comforting. According to the Psyker, Direza had - at some point in the past - used a rather risky and imprecise form of memory-manipulation. 'The Waters of Lethe' - a potion that, if used correctly, could allow the imbiber to selectively erase parts of their own memory, often used by those who had endured severe trauma such as rape, torture, or the loss of a loved one. "Understandable, in that regard, but such a concoction is no substitute for the careful hand of a well-trained Mentalist..." the Psyker remarked with a sniff, almost literally turning up his nose at the idea of editing memories with something as 'crude' as alchemy. "Still, I suppose this one likely didn't have that alternative at the time."

Essentially, what had happened - according to him - was this: At some point in the past, Direza had endured severe mental trauma, most likely repeatedly or at length. She had then somehow acquired a Waters of Lethe potion, and used it to erase the memory of said trauma, along with the memory of acquiring and imbibing said potion - since doing anything else tended to inevitably lead to trying to figure out what you had forgotten, which rather nullified the point. "The potion, however, cannot truly erase memories..." the Psyker then explained with a head-shake, once again tutting at the sheer inferiority compared to his well-polished arts. "It merely... blocks off those memories, rendering them inaccessible."

This was, of course, a purely academic distinction... until Direza had been pushed into an anti-magic trap. More specifically, a full-on Sphere of Negation - an effect that simply nullified ANY magic within its radius, even depowering enchanted items... and alchemical potions. In that moment, the effects of that potion had been entirely erased - and poor Direza had woken up to, effectively, experience_all her forgotten traumas_, in a single instant. This rush of overwhelming and no doubt largely negative sensation and emotion had pushed her mind far beyond its limits, causing it to shut down in protest and throwing her into a coma.

And that was just the diagnosis. The cure would take longer. Even now, the Psyker was laboring at poor Direza's bedside, reaching into her shock-numbed mind with delicate, etheric fingers, working to undo the damage. There was no safe way to hide the traumatic memories again, he'd warned - the only way to restore her to consciousness at this point was to effectively put the displaced memories back where they belonged, restoring her mind fully to what it had been before she used the potion. With any luck, the time that had passed since would provide her with enough distance to cope with those memories now, even if she'd been unable to at the time... "And having friends who care about and support her will likely help too." The Psyker had finished with a grandfatherly smile before turning his attention fully towards the bed and bowing his head to get started.

The process would take many hours, which Anitra appreciated - certainly, this was not a task she'd wish him to rush. But... what was she supposed to do in the meantime? Looming by the bedside wasn't an option - the Psyker had specifically requested peace and solitude so that he could work uninterrupted and without distractions. And she certainly didn't feel up to going through the various documents and papers they'd carried home from the Tomb of the God-Emperor - not right now.

She needed to do something, though - something other than pacing and worrying. Just what had Direza experienced that was so bad she'd felt compelled to outright erase it from her own mind? Was it some horrible experience from her time in Comorragh, perhaps some insanely torturous initiation-ritual she'd had to undergo somewhere on her path to the High Priestess' throne? Or worse, some terrible hardship she'd put herself through after abandoning that seat and escaping to the surface-world in search of her 'Beloved Mistress'? Once she regained those memories, even if they didn't leave her crippled and comatose, would they perhaps... _change_the sweetly submissive Drow-maiden she'd grown to love almost as much as she loved her family? Would she come to regret her decision?

There was no way to know the answer to any of those questions until the Psyker had finished his work. Pondering them was pointless, she just couldn't seem to stop. Sighing, she pushed herself away from the railing, turned her back on the glorious view she still hadn't really seen, and started down the corridor again as she reached a sudden resolution. If her mind was screwing with her, well, the obvious solution was to find someone who could screw her brains out. Turnabout was fair play, after all! And certainly, nothing cleared her mind of stray thought like a mind-blowing orgasm or ten.

Where to go for that, though... well, her obvious first choice wasn't an option. Through the bond that connected them, she could tell that her dear Blake had thought along similar lines - and taken steps to distract Melora and Mel, who both cared deeply for Direza too... as a close friend and honorary aunt, respectively. Good thing they'd gotten sound-blocking enchantments placed on all the internal walls! She could insert herself into things, perhaps by adding one or more Rings of Priap to the festivities, but then she'd have to take charge and she just didn't feel up for it.

Well, even with Blake and Melora out of the picture, she was spoiled for choice. She'd cultivated a handful of other draconic lovers, after all, on top of occasionally dropping by the miner's break-room for a nice, leisurely gang-bang. There were also a couple of stallions down in the Equus Enclave... and of course, Manushya in the Rakshasa Enclave! She hadn't seen that dear little kitty in a while, actually, had she? Well, not so little anymore, she supposed. The innocent, well-disguised palace-maid she'd first encountered back in Ganarãjya had blossomed into a formidable and tremendously depraved woman, after all...

It wasn't as if there were all that many strict morals codes to be found in the Utopia these days anyway, of course, but Manushya was on another level. As far as her peers were concerned, she'd personally saved them from extinction by putting them in touch with the Utopia, thus earning them this lovely refuge. Hence, they'd politely failed to notice any questionable conduct she engaged in... leading her to gradually stop bothering to hide it at all. Everyone knew, by now, that she'd basically taken her older brother as her mate - well, less 'mate' and more 'submissive love-slave', really. She'd already borne him one incestuous daughter, and her belly was currently swelling with a second cub. A specialized alchemical potion - its recipe gleaned, of course, from the Library of the Perverse - had insulated her daughter from the usual risks of such an origin, which was particularly ironic considering how hard the Rakshasa had labored to avoid the dangers of inbreeding prior to moving into the Utopia.

Regardless, visiting them was always good fun, and no matter how viciously Manushya dominated her brother, she turned instantly to putty in_Anitra's_ hands whenever she swung by. Apparently, the torment she'd suffered during Anitra's baby-shower, years back, had thoroughly broken her will where she was concerned, at least - and the fact that her brother remained unwaveringly loyal to his sister regardless meant that she had two eager submissives at her beck and call whenever she poked her head into that particular hut. This made for many different potential permutations, positions and variants...

But she didn't feel like traipsing all the way down to the Enclaves, Anitra decided after a moment of thought. Normally, a little jog like that would only serve to get her in the mood for another kind of exercise when she arrived - but today, she wanted something quicker. She wanted something now. Thus, after mulling it over for a second, she started up a winding pathway towards the area that had become known as the Black Quarters. The home of the Utopia's resident Black Dragons and their Riders - save, of course, for Blake, who remained in the original, traditional 'Champion's Quarters' deeper down in the castle.

It wasn't far, really - and who could you turn to when your mind was troubled but your family? Indeed, darling Tiri came immediately to mind - her 'little sister', several years older than her in all but maturity. Even now, after more than a decade of knowing one another, Tiri still tried to fight her own desires - and Anitra's too! Always putting up a fight of one kind of another before inevitably winding up moaning and gasping in her 'big sister's arms. Which, of course, was why Anitra never got tired of her.

Granted, most of their interactions involved Anitra using the Ring of Priap to fuck her half-elven half-sibling silly, which she just wasn't _feeling_today - but there was also good fun to be had in holding her dear sister's pointy-eared head firmly between her thighs as she enjoyed that increasingly experienced and well-taught tongue laboring between her labia... or perhaps pushing her down and seating herself on that angular, fine-featured face, enjoying a quality rimjob while Tiri, nose jammed halfway up her pussy, breathed deeply of her musky crotch-scent.

Better yet, at this time of day, Slate would most likely be at the practice-field as usual, sharpening his skills in sparring-matches with his 'brother', Swarten, and maybe Brute too if they'd managed to convince that rather lazy Black to join them today. Which meant Tiri would be left by herself, a ripe fruit for the picking... or so Anitra thought, until she pushed open the door to the well-appointed quarters that Tiriana shared with her mate, Slate, and realized that she'd forgotten about someone.

The sound, certainly, was unmistakable. The smell, too. Sex. In fact, experienced as she was, Anitra could be more specific than that - at least where the sounds were concerned: Indeed, it sounded_precisely_ like Tiriana being roughly railed from behind while half-heartedly protesting even as the orgasm built in her gut and lusty moans infiltrated her attempts to string together a coherent sentence. She should know - she'd generated that exact sound often enough!

Right now, however, somebody else was doing it, and as she snuck a bit further inside, peeking around a corner into the main room, she got confirmation as to who. There, indeed, was Tiri - wearing her skin-tight black armor, currently without the golden scales that otherwise covered her tits and groin, making her various orifices eminently accessible. She was bent at the hip, face and hands against the wall - held there by a large, gray-furred paw, pushing against the side of her head while another was hooked around her hips.

"Ohh... p..please... your knot... it's to-ho-hoOOO! It's too big! You'll... AH! You'll tear my ass open!" Tiri was sobbing, clearly gasping for air as she drew closer to an orgasm. And certainly, even from her current vantage point, Anitra could confirm that the towering figure of fur and rippling, lycanthropic muscle behind her sister was packing a very impressive knot on his oversized, canine cock - easily the size of a man's fist. The werewolf, however, was entirely undeterred by his victim's pleas. "Nonsense, my Lady..." his gravelly voice declared, the well-polished accent sounding bizarre as it was funneled through the twisted throat of the wolf. "You sell yourself entirely too short. Your ass regularly handles the Master's far more formidable tool, and it will certainly be able to handle my humble knot as well..."

As if to underscore this confident declaration, he bent over her and shifted his paw from her head to her hip, now gripping it firmly with both appendages as his powerful haunches began to pump more forcefully. Any thoughts Tiri may have had of changing her position at this point, however, were certainly erased when he then instead leaned forwards to close his long, lupine jaws around her slender neck, resting his sharp fangs lightly against that milky-white skin in a clear, if silent, display of alpha-wolf domination.

Frozen in place, wide-eyed, she made no further protest - only moaning and groaning as her sphincter was violently assaulted, and finally emitting a pained shriek when at last it gave up its futile resistance, allowing the thick knot to pop inside. Anitra could only imagine, based on her own past experiences with canines of various sizes, how that already-formidable knot would swell up to its full size now that it was inside, straining Tiri's lower intestine and locking him in place in a solid tie. With a grunt, he released his fang-lined grip on her neck - leaving a few thin, red scratches that made it clear that Tiri was lucky to have a DragonRider's immunity to lycanthropy - and shifted his grip again.

His thick, muscular, fur-covered arms now wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her side as he pulled her back into a warm and fuzzy embrace - shifting his hips forwards at the same time to lift her feet clear off the ground, leaving her effectively impaled on his canine cock. "See, my Lady?" Anitra could just barely hear him whispering, his long, lupine face now resting directly on Tiri's shoulder. "There was no need to worry, it easily fit, ensuring that there will not be a drop wasted when I pump my seed into you. Now please, just relax, and let my humble skills satisfy your desires..."

Even before he'd finished talking, his furry behind had begun to blur as he moved them with canine speed, pounding her ass with short, ultra-swift upwards thrusts that took full advantage of the tie. Legs flailing in the air, she'd already gone beyond the point of being able to produce a coherent protest, only gasping, gurgling and moaning as her eyes rolled back in her head. Anitra, meanwhile, emitted a quiet sigh and pulled back from the corner, turning her back on the couple and returning to the front door on silent feet.

Normally, she wouldn't have hesitated to insert herself into the fun, turning the tryst into a threesome - perhaps by lodging her head between Tiri's spread thighs to taste the free-flowing juices of her currently unoccupied pussy, or between the muscular buttocks of the werewolf for a darker, more delightfully depraved flavor. But she just wasn't in the mood for that kind of thing just today - she'd rather be in Tiri's place, honestly, but she didn't really know her sister's 'manservant' well enough yet that she felt comfortable asking to 'borrow' him.

Well, it wasn't as if she didn't know him either, she philosophized as she snuck back out into the corridor and started wandering aimlessly down it. His name was Barric Cunningham, and when he wasn't big and fuzzy, he looked every inch the perfect servant. His dark-gray suit was always immaculately turned out, and he wore it the way a seasoned veteran wore his uniform. His neatly-kept and rather sophisticated mustache was graying slightly, as was his temples, giving him a distinguished look that was only underscored by his polished accent and immaculate manners.

She didn't know his whole story, but from what she'd heard, he'd worked as a butler for most of his life, managing the estate of a young but moderately wealthy nobleman. Until, that is, said nobleman returned from a hunting-expedition with a wolf-bite... and, the following full moon, transformed into a ravening, blood-thirsty monster that proceeded to murder and devour most of his old household before eventually being hunted down and slain by his former hunting-buddies. It seemed that Barric had been the only survivor of the massacre, though even he hadn't gotten away unscathed - and the bites and scratches he'd suffered soon saw him fall victim to lycanthropy as well.

Fortunately, unlike his erstwhile master, Barric was a man of iron-cast will and enormous self-control - leaving him far more capable of controlling and managing his condition... and as a result, he'd apparently managed to find an older werewolf who could teach him what raw experience couldn't. By now, certainly, he had complete control over his transformation save on the night of a full moon - and even then, while he could not resist taking on his animalistic shape, he still remained wholly in control of himself. Of course, most people wouldn't care. As a werewolf, he combined the horror of the man-eating monster and the terror of the disease-vector in one bloodthirsty package, forcing him to hide his true nature wherever he went - presumably making it rather difficult for him to find new employment.

Well, he had clearly lucked out in that regard, encountering Tiriana when she'd been out on some mission for the Utopia - the details of which had never been shared with Anitra. Either way, they'd apparently struck up some agreement, and thus Tiri had returned home with her new manservant in tow. It was also inarguable that, as a servant, he was unsurpassed - years of experience and genuine schooling put him head and shoulders above the likes of Melora and Direza in the field of housekeeping. Tiri and Slate's quarters were always spotless and tastefully decorated, with everything from freshly-cut flowers to uncut gemstones arranged according to a subtle yet undeniable aesthetic.

But, well... Anitra had rather a keen notion that the maids that had once worked under Barric's command when he was a Butler had been kept busy with more than just dusting and mopping floors. His lusty tendencies hadn't arrived with the wolf, of that she felt certain - his lycantropic strength and ability to transform into a hulking man-wolf had merely provided him with a new outlet for them. That hunger, that predator's eye for the easily dominated, that _had_to have been lurking beneath his polished exterior all along. Certainly, he'd clearly perceived Tiriana's true nature almost immediately - recognizing the visceral desires that lurked beneath her inevitable protestations.

Thus, despite his unfailing politeness and respectful demeanor, he was essentially using his 'Lady's body whenever and however he pleased - indeed, as Anitra had just witnessed, he tended to shift to his wolf-man form and simply rail her against the wall whenever the mood struck him, always phrasing and justifying it as being an attempt to satisfy her lusty loins. Apparently, he'd had his butler's suit enchanted using the same spell Anitra had used for Direza's clothing, enabling him to transform it into an equally classy collar at will - preventing the kind of messy cloth-ripping that werewolves otherwise struggled with, and allowing him to shift in both directions quickly and without fuss.

Well, either way, it meant that Tiri was well taken care of despite her ostensible mate, Slate, seemingly having an unusually weak sex-drive by Black Dragon standards. And that Anitra was now meandering down the corridor, eyeing the other doors that lined it and pondering her options. "Evereldis, Arsinde, Lazhug... Evereldis, Arsinde, Lazhug..." she mumbled to herself as she mulled it over, considering each of her 'sisters' in turn.

Well, Arsinde was right out, of course, even if she was home, which wasn't terribly likely. It was ironic, really - Tiriana, despite being several years her senior, still 'felt' like a younger sister to Anitra. Meanwhile, Arsinde was genuinely her little sister - being a solid six years younger than her, and discovered only when the Rakshasa finally managed to trace her wandering father to some of the locations he'd visited after leaving Karistad. But whenever she spoke to her pretty, petite, sharp-eyed half-sister, she came away feeling like she was the junior.

Most of that came from Arsinde's attitude. She's been raised as a noble scion, the unknowing result of her mother cheating on her noble father with a handsome, black-haired adventurer years earlier - indeed, she'd been fortuitous enough to be born in one of those enlightened places where the accepted custom was for the oldest child to inherit, regardless of gender. Thus, she'd grown up knowing that she was destined to inherit her father's wealth, lands, title and influence - and had put her all into learning how to manage those things. She'd learned the ways of the noble's polite backstabbing and shrewd manipulations, and learned them well.

The reversal of fortune that had resulted from her jealous younger (half)brother discovering the truth about their mother's unfaithfulness hadn't really changed her. Sure, her mother had committed suicide out of shame, and Arsinde had lost her name and inheritance, been ejected from the only home and family she'd ever known, and theoretically been left as a penniless beggar with naught but the clothes on her back... but Anitra had a keen suspicion that even if she hadn't been approached by Tiriana and Evereldis at that time, and offered the opportunity to access a different_sort of power - one sealed within the very impurity of her blood that had led to her downfall - she likely would have climbed back to the top all the same. She was simply too damn sharp, too damn calculating, too damn _ruthless for anything else.

But, approached she'd been, and despite her youth - barely 16, no older than Anitra herself had been when she first encountered Blake - she hadn't hesitated to accept the bargain. She'd given her virginity to Nycht, a quiet and rather unassuming Black Dragon who tended to prefer stealth and subtlety over direct confrontations, without any hesitation of preparation, and reveled in the unleashed power of the Quickening. Technically, nobody knew what Arsinde and Nycht had been up to after they declared that they'd fly back to the Utopia by themselves - Nycht already knew the way, after all - instead of joining Tiri and Evereldis on their journey. Officially, they'd merely desired a chance to spend some time alone together, forging and strengthening their brand-new bond without two older DragonRiders looking over their shoulders all the time... but Anitra had little doubt that the mysterious disappearance of Arsinde's conniving half-brother that same night had involved Nycht's gullet and his banished sister's cold smile. Indeed, the more you thought about the ways in which Arsinde's political and social aptitudes could be combined with the power of such a stealthy and cool-headed dragon, the scarier it got.

Not conducive to a lusty atmosphere, that. Nor was Anitra comfortable with the way Arsinde seemed to view every sexual encounter with cool calculation, seemingly weighing how she could use it to establish new connections or strengthen old ones. Sure, she had used her sexuality as a weapon in the past, too - whether to seduce someone into helping her, or simply by tricking them into providing her with a Quickening - but for Arsinde, it seemed like _every_encounter was a transaction, a move in some great and complex game... like she never did it just for the pleasure of it, except perhaps with Nycht.

Either way, she wasn't someone you just dropped in on for some casual sex, assuming you could even find her. She had a well-appointed chamber here, in this section, but Nycht - who treasured quiet and solitude - had elected to obtain a dark and cozy den in a mostly-unsettled portion of the crater-rim, rather than staying in the Castle. Arsinde, thus, slept there too, venturing into the castle daily on various 'errands' that mostly seemed to boil down to spinning a vast web of acquaintances, casual sex-partners and 'connections' - seemingly for no other purpose than to ensure that if she ever _really_needed anything, she'd be able to pull strings and make it happen. Indeed, Anitra was fairly certain that she was making some kind of headway at manipulating some of the more weak-minded members of the dragons' High Council too...

With a shudder, she turned her head from that particular door, and tried to put her sharp-eyed little sister out of her mind. If she was there at all, she'd be hosting a tea-party, or 'entertaining' some carefully-chosen guest - either way, she wouldn't be amenable to one of her less sophisticated sister swinging by for some casual incest. Who, then? Well... Evereldis was always an option, sort of. She was nothing if not easygoing, and she'd probably be home alone right now since her mate, Swarten, never missed a practice-session, devoted as he was to sharpening his martial skills.

But, well... if Tiri and Arsinde were somewhat paradoxical in how their actual ages failed to line up with how they felt to be around, Evereldis was the exact opposite: She was old enough to be Anitra's mother, and she felt like it, too. Not that she looked_it, of course - not anymore. Despite being rather well-matured at the time she'd been recruited, she'd been steadily aging backwards since, by now resembling a woman in her late twenties, early thirties at most - which _still made her look obviously older than Anitra herself. She'd only been 16 herself when she awakened as a DragonRider, after all, and while that first joining had caused her to instantly grow a full set of womanly curves, she still looked like... well, like a particularly curvy teenager. As, indeed, would be the case for as long as she lived. She envied Evereldis in this regard - once her regenerative abilities had finished erasing all traces of her previous age, she'd be left with the body of a 21-year old or thereabouts, forever in the prime of her life, and no doubt able to handle the stresses of a DragonRider's prolonged pregnancy_far_ better than Anitra herself had.

Not that it was jealousy that made her hesitate to step towards Evereldis' door - but there were many other reasons why she grimaced at the thought of doing so. It wasn't that Evereldis wasn't a suitably enthusiastic sex-partner, nor did she seem to have any compunctions about the incestuous nature of getting it on with the half-sister she never knew she had... indeed, despite her motherly demeanor, Everel had an admirable sexual appetite, her unique status enabling her to combine the self-possession and lack of care for what others thought that only a mature woman could possess, with the hot blood and free-flowing juices of a twentysomething. But... even so, she never really _stopped_being a mother, having seemingly decided to adopt her newfound bevvy of half-sisters as surrogate daughters, to replace the children whose traumatic loss had been the very reason the Utopia approached her with the opportunity to start a new life as a DragonRider.

And for Anitra, that was... vaguely disturbing. Being mothered couldn't help but remind her of her actual mother, which was a line of thought that naturally led to how things had... ended_for them. _Also not something that lent itself to a suitably debauched atmosphere. On top of that, Evereldis' tastes ran to the somewhat vanilla, at least by Anitra's rather jaded standards, and unlike Tiri she certainly wasn't the sort to let herself get bullied into anything she didn't want to try. And finally, she was currently pregnant - just starting to show a bit of a baby-bump even, heralding the eventual arrival of another Dragonchild. The glow this imparted on her did make Evereldis even more attractive than usual - and her appetites also seemed to have been magnified somewhat - but for Anitra, it sparked even more conflicting emotions. Continued sorrow at how her own young son had elected to leave on his journey so much sooner than she'd hoped... as well as an instinctive desire to get knocked up again herself, which she then had to immediately quash with the memory of how she'd been halfway immobilized for months by her last pregnancy, basically crippled and slowly going crazy with the inability to do any of the stuff she really wanted to.

Eventually, perhaps, those memories would grow distant enough that she'd indeed invite Blake to put another bun in her oven - but not soon. And so, inevitably, she found herself starting towards the final door, and the home of the Utopia's most recently-arrived DragonRider. Honestly, she thought as she found herself gaining a certain spring in her step, she should've realized from the start that she'd wind up here. Even swinging by Tiri's place had been kind of a waste of time. What she needed right now was a chance to get fucked silly - not any sort of subtle, sapphic pleasures. And Lazhug Gro-Sharog could certainly provide in that regard!

It was amazing how quickly and how well she'd started getting along with the half-orc DragonRider, she pondered as she stepped up to the most recently occupied room in this wing. Lazhug's arrival had taken everyone by surprise - she hadn't been scouted out by the Utopia, nor had her steed, the heavily-built Black she'd dubbed 'Brute'. Instead, the two had apparently met by chance, in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to how she'd met Blake, and taken off on their own adventures - until a wounded dragon bartered for his life with the knowledge of the 'Legendary Dwarven Smith' who was said to forge amazing equipment for DragonRiders only.

By then, Drewyn had already relocated to the Utopia, of course... but he'd left behind directions on a tablet of his own devising, readable only to the eyes of a Black Dragon. Following these, Lazhug and Brute had reached the Utopia without further difficulty, slipping in through the same 'secret entrance' between the two nearby mountain-peaks that Blake had used upon his first arrival, causing nearly as much of a stir.

There was nothing to suggest that the black-haired adventurer who had, after besting Lazhug's apparently quite formidable mother in single combat, refused her rather insistent offer of marriage but agreed to give her a child, was the same Dragonchild who had fathered Anitra and the rest of the Utopia's resident DragonRiders - indeed, considering the time-frame, it seemed unlikely since her father's movements had been fairly well documented for that period. Besides, considering how long-lived Dragonchildren were, there could easily be a fair few wandering the continent, appearing to be nothing more than strong, tough, and particularly lusty human men to virtually any eye. The Utopia's Rakshasa agents were still trying to identify the man that Lazhug's mother had told her tales of, attempting to trace his movements backwards in the hopes of locating even more potential DragonRider candidates.

Regardless, it meant that her interactions with the bluff and straightforward Lazhug lacked that delightfully depraved edge of incest, that ultimate taboo... but the half-orc more than made up for that in other ways. As complex and conniving as Arsinde was, just as uncomplicated and chill was Lazhug. Tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, yet still soft and shapely in all the right places, she'd apparently been a borderline lesbian prior to meeting Brute, having - like her mother - a rather high standard in men. Even now, she seemed to get her need for cock fully sated by her admittedly rather lusty mate - who, being an equally uncomplicated fellow, enjoyed eating, fucking and sleeping, and was largely content with that, asking nothing else of life.

On the other hand, she had quite the taste for the fairer sex, and had wasted no time acquiring her own Ring of Priap once she arrived at the Utopia - indeed, she'd already cultivated a small but devoted 'fan-club' of women and girls who were ever-eager to help her put it to good use. And while Anitra didn't exactly count herself as a member of said fan-club, she also wasn't not a fan of the tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, androgynously pretty half-orc, with her bluff, no-nonsense manners and easy laugh...

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