Neverwinter Heat

Venos Larque wore a comfortable smile, reclining in a rickety wooden chair, his swords—a two heavy, leaf-bladed short swords—resting easily at his hips, within easy reach. He'd ridden a long way to get to this point. The trek from the nation of Amn to the city of Luskan was not an easy—nor a simple—matter. Subsisting off the charity of allied churches, the warrior of the Order of the Red Falcon made his way north.

Still, though, to the half-elf, who had been raised among humans, had relished the martial training offered by the Church of the Red Knight and the wisdom of worshipping the Lady of Strategy. It had nurtured an understanding of combat, of adversaries—both in and out of combat—and had taught him how to be fully aware of his surroundings. After all, the finest strategists knew every detail of their surroundings.

Now in Luskan, the warrior wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do. He'd been sent this far north in search of recruits, and all along the Sword Coast North knew that some of the finest, hardiest warriors lived in these frozen reaches. He had a mind to travel all the way to Icewind Dale and even, possibly, into the roaming tribes of barbarians that thrived and died by the whim of the tundra. Such hardy warriors would certainly be a boon to the small Citadel of Strategic Militancy, near Baldur's Gate.

But the warm hearth he'd found in Luskan, in the tavern named One-Eyed Jax, was simply too comfortable to leave. Besides, he was finding a great challenge in reading the countless non-verbal tics the patrons of this particular establishment seemed to have. Men and women alike seemed to be shifty, with nervous glances to every patron in the tavern. It seemed he wasn't the only person observing others with intent.

It wasn't until a fabulously-dressed elf marched into the tavern, though, that Venos actually focused a majority of his attention on one thing. He marked the way she moved, the way her eyes quickly took in the patrons of the tavern, and the authority her demeanor conveyed. She took notice of him, as well, and why wouldn't she? He was brand new to Luskan, his shining armor—emblazoned with a lacquered, marred red falcon—was resting right atop the table, and his swords, each with red falcon wings on their hilts, at his sides. Everything about him stood out, thanks to his plate armor and dashing smile.

But rather than a suspicious look, like he'd received most of the night, the elf flashed him a smirk and sauntered over to him, settling into the seat across from him. She removed a heavy wool cloak to reveal a fine velvet blouse, buttoned half-way up, with a thin white shift beneath the black fabric to preserve a hint of modesty. Her pale white skin and black hair contrasted starkly, and gave her an ethereal presence. He found himself immediately attracted to it.

"Welcome to Luskan," the woman said, grinning. She pointed to the falcon on his pauldron. "Interesting."

"Order of the Red Falcon," he said. She gave him a quizzical expression. "Ah, yes. I am quite far away from Baldur's Gate, now, aren't I?"

She smiled at his sly grin, nodding.

"I am Venos Larque, brother of the Citadel of Strategic Militancy. This is from the Order of the Red Falcon."

"Order?" the elf replied.

"We serve the Red Knight, the Lady of Strategy and Grandmistress of the Lanceboard," he explained, his hands emoting as he spoke.

"You are a cleric, or paladin of some sort?" the elf asked, leaning forward—poignantly pressing her upper arms against her breasts. But Venos was not so easily swayed, his eyes locked onto the elf's eyes as he spoke, or lips when she spoke.

"You might call me a paladin, as the Lady grants me small favors, but I am a simple warrior on a simple quest," he said, leaning forward himself, dark grey eyes boring into the elf's golden orbs.

"Which is?" she asked, and he grinned wide enough to expose pearly teeth.

"My business, and mine alone," he said, leaning back again, folding his arms over his strong chest. The elf had seen—had indeed slept with—more muscular men, but he exuded strength despite his slightly smaller stature, and she was certain he could best all but the most skilled fighters and swashbucklers in the City of Sails.

"Perhaps a game, then?" she asked. "In my apartment, I have in my possession a game called sava. Are you familiar with it?"

The half-elf arched his brow. "Never heard of it."

"It is a drow creation, akin to your lanceboard, but with a much deeper, more complex strategy to it."

"Which is?" he asked, his voice sounding eager.

"Chaos rules supreme," was all she would give him, causing him to chortle.

"Perhaps when I am possessed of more free time," he responded. "As it stands, I require food and sleep, in that order."

"Food, Jax has aplenty. And sleep, I can see to it that you are well-rested, though you may not sleep overmuch," she said with a grin and a wink, her overt solicitation setting him back in his seat.

"My lady, I thought you a woman of class. And you've not even given me your name! What unruly and depraved world have I landed myself in," he said sarcastically. "Regardless, I must decline this night. Duty, you understand."

"Ah," the elf said, pouting a little and seeming truly disappointed. "As you say, goodsir Larque. I will speak to the Lady of the Tavern and see that you are well-fed, and your room will be on me this night."

"Completely unnecessary," he said, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. "I will accept your offer of food, but I will find a temple to rest in."

"A cot in Umberlee's temple would pale in comparison to a bed here," she said, arching a brow at him.

"There is no temple to Helm? Tyr? Lathander?"

The elf shook her head negative. "None that are in good condition, at least." The elf shrugged and turned away. "If you change your mind..." she said leadingly, looking over her shoulder as her shapely bottom bounced to and fro, sashaying left and right as she climbed the stairs.

Still, Venos paid no heed to her physical beauty. Not in her presence, at least, for he was strongly attracted to this elf, one of his own kind—in a sense—that generally did not pay him much regard, less still in matters of love. Shrugging off the burgeoning sensations that her saunter evoked in him, he left One-Eyed Jax in a hurry, stepping out into the cold Luskan night. It smelled of frost and sea salt, two things he'd experienced very little of in his lifetime.

Nearing his thirtieth birthday, the warrior had truly experienced very little. Baldur's Gate had potential to be a seedy place, but, by all accounts that he'd read, paled in comparison to Luskan. With all that in mind, he felt as though he was about to experience the true darkness of man in this place. Folk of all stripes seemed to glare at him. They all seemed poor, and eager to take whatever he had. With his fine armor and weapons, that likely spoke highly of his wealth. They'd be sorely mistaken, of course, for he carried hardly a gold coin on his person. Indeed, he was quite confident that his blades would take more from them than they hoped to take from him.

The prospect of sharing a room with the elven woman at One-Eyed Jax seemed more and more appealing the deeper he went into the city, but he did not trust that woman quite enough to remove more than his sword-belt around her. Something about her unsettled him, despite her charming and disarming demeanor. She was shifty, hiding something.

So Venos wandered the avenues of Luskan, always on guard, always watching the shadows. He thought he saw movement within them, but any time he turned his focus fully on any one thing, the supposed activity was not to be seen. It was frustrating to the point of feeling paranoid. His agitation was such that when someone finally did speak to him, he nearly brought a sword around in a decapitating blow.

"Woah, lad," the man said, holding his hands up. "New here, aye?"

Venos relaxed at the man's friendly demeanor, but not entirely. He was still tense, and still felt like he was being shadowed. "Aye," he said. "Just arrived."

"No horse, neither," the man said. "I'd know, I run the stables outside of town. Would have had to come right to me or me daughter to lock up yer steed."

"I rode a wagon," Venos replied, shrugging. "I do not carry much in the way of coin. I've never had need for it."

"A monk or some ilk, then?" the man asked.

"Something of that nature," Venos said, nodding. He pointed to the red steed painted onto his left pauldrons. "Church of the Red Knight."

"That's a name I've not heard in many years," the man said. "And even then, only in an old book. Tawdry tale, that one."

"You mistake her for Sune," Venos said, smiling. Sometimes, people mistook the Lady Firehair for his patron, but it was far from a common occurrence. "The Red Knight is a goddess of strategy and military skill. Not erotic entertainment."

"Oh, no, I got the right lass," the man said. "Written by a lad out of Silverymoon, named Mikhail something or other. Story of a barbarian who met a vision of yer lady out in the forest. A good tale, that one. Me wife used to read it afore...ah, intimate moments," he said, giving a coarse chortle and clapping the warrior on the pauldrons.

"I'm sure," Venos said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

"Come, stay in me stables. Ye'll not find a place suited to your ilk around these parts. Looking the part of a paladin, ye are, and ain't no goodly gods around here anymore."

"You speak as though you've lived here for centuries," Venos said, nodding and accepting the man's offer.

"Nah, but I've read me books and heard the tales of elves," the stable master said. Venos took him at his word, following the man, who was carrying a sack of produce, back to the eastern wall of Luskan, where his stablehouse was located. He was welcomed into the man's adjoining home with the smell of a home-cooked meal, warm smiles, and even an embrace from the wife.

"So good to see a man of faith in these parts," she said to him, "other than me husband, of course." She immediately went back to her man's side, holding herself close to him. "Baliver's been a good man all his life, and is the light in this dark city."

"Me wife," the man said, but was interrupted by their daughter clearing her throat. "And me girl," he said, pulling his lovely daughter to his side. The auburn haired woman was freckled, with shining hazel eyes, smiling charmingly at Venos. "Alyssa."

"Alyssa," Venos said, taking the girl's hand. He bowed, mocking a kiss to her knuckles, and stood, smiling. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said. "I am Venos Larque, servant of the Red Knight, warrior of the Order of the Red Falcon."

She blushed at him, obviously smitten by his handsome face and charm. "We've mutton stew in the cauldron," Baliver's wife said, smiling and trying to distract Venos from the girl. "Alyssa, fetch bowls."

"Of course," she said, curtseying at Venos before hustling away.

They settled around a round table, Venos taking his time with his meal, despite the suddenly ravenous hunger in his gut. They were halfway through the meal when a knock came at the door. A cloud passed over Baliver's face, one perceptive Venos noticed right away. He tensed, wishing he hadn't removed his armor so hastily. He reached down to his side, where one of his swords rested. He was comforted by its cold touch.

"Begging yer pardon," Baliver grumbled, rising from his seat and walking his burly form to the door. Rain had begun to fall on the chilly city, and Venos thought he heard more solid than liquid water pummeling the roof. Sleet, most likely, he reasoned.

"Ah, my ladies," Baliver said, opening the door and allowing in two women that struck Venos as distinctly out of place. An elf with pale yellow hair, fair skin, and green, gold-flecked eyes, wearing leathers and daggers, entered first, her long, straight hair seemingly untouched by the precipitation. She immediately set her gaze on Venos, but did not speak, preferring only to glare.

Behind her, a ruddy-skinned woman with horns, a thick tail, and showing more skin than leather entered, her platinum hair and golden eyes striking against the bold red hue of her flesh. Her baleful, imposing gaze settled on Venos as well, but she was more apt to talk. "You have a visitor," she rasped in a voice that sounded hoarse from too much shouting. "A cute one, as well, it seems!"

"Yer horses aren't ready," Baliver said, trying to deflect their attention from his guest.

"Could ride him," the red woman said, nudging her elven companion.

"Man's of the church, ain't for riding," Baliver said.

"So are we," the elf said, which caused Venos's brow to arch. "In fact, he might be interested in one of our members, if those symbols are true."

"They are," Venos said, standing slowly. "Venos Larque, at your service, my ladies," he said, bowing. "I serve the Red Knight, via the Order of the Red Falcon."

"Never heard of it," the red woman said. "But I'm Cyra, not a tiefling, in case you're wondering. Most people are turned off a little by fiendish lineage, though less so in Luskan," she said with a laugh. "And my stoic lady here is Iliara. Well met, milord."

"No lord," he said, smiling. "Well met, though."

Baliver cleared his throat. Iliara turned to him. "When will our horses be available?" she asked tersely.

"Morning. After the rain," he said. "They don't like the weather."

Iliara nodded. "Let's go, Cyra," she said, casting one more glare back at Venos. The two left, and Venos felt the tension melt away.

"Good ladies, them," Baliver said. "Don't let their manner fool you, though. Fierce in a fight, they are. Rescued me a month or so back from bandits."

"Only the elf seemed of poor humor," Venos said, shrugging and returning to his stew, and the increasingly uncomfortable way Alyssa stared at him.

"Assassins are like that," Baliver said, shrugging. "Eat up, lad. I'll make up the stable for a human, if you don't mind."

"Gratitude, goodsir," Venos said, smiling. He thanked the Red Knight for this mercy and finished his stew.

*****

Skin as white as ivory tinted to grey, then a glossy, pristine black. Hair as dark as midnight lightened through the gradients to perfectly straight, white locks. Eyes shifted from their disguise to their natural yellow.

Lirafey took a deep breath, relishing her true skin as she set her mask down on the bed. The lacquered thing had served its purpose again, as it had many times since she had come to Luskan, months ago. Shandra reclined on a comfortable divan, her body draped in the finest silks they could import from Menzoberranzan. The gauzy garments left nothing to the imagination, less so since she was busily frigging herself, slipping a long, thick cylinder inside her cunt while her fingers strummed tight circles over her clitoris.

She came, cooed for a moment, then opened her ruby eyes to look at Lirafey, a smile on her lips. "You missed the fun," she said, giggling to herself as she set the drow-shaped cock aside.

"I'm quite certain I'll have more chances," she said, smirking. Shandra merely giggled, but the cloud on Lirafey's face was unmistakable.

"What troubles you?" the sorceress asked, standing up and pulling her robe over her voluptuous form.

"I met someone this day," Lirafey said. "Just moments ago, actually. A half-elf. He spurned my advances."

Shandra arched her brow. "And that is the reason for your mood?" she asked, pulling her robe apart to reveal her supple body.

Lira did give the sorceress a hungry look, but still nodded. "I've not had a male in some time, now," she said, shrugging cutely. "I miss it, I suppose."

Shandra wasn't quite convinced, nor was she particularly interested. She had more pressing matters, such as the ache between her thighs that her de facto mistress needed to cure right now. So the sorceress waved her hand at the doorway, sealing it from prying eyes, both mundane and magical, and pushed Lirafey down on the bed, straddling the unusually compliant priestess. Her pussy was dripping here and there, and she left a trail of her nectar along Lira's bare, taut stomach. Walking on her knees, she climbed the priestess's strong torso, pausing over her breasts to press them between her thighs, grinding her vulva against the orbs as the priestess looked up at her.

After teasing herself for a moment, coaxing out more of her fragrant nectar, she slid forward, plopping her swollen labia right on Lirafey's face, the drow priestess busily going to work on her. The woman's agile tongue proved magical, sending pulses of pleasure all through Shandra's loins, her feet and thighs twitching every time Lirafey strummed against her clitoris.

Lirafey's hands slid up the sorceress's soft, curvy figure, reaching all the way up to her larger breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples teasingly as the sorceress rode her face. Shandra moaned out loud, hissing her pleasure through her teeth when her voice failed her, and hit her climax just as Lirafey's thumb prodded against her puckered, slickened asshole. But the priestess was far from done with her impudent, former battle-captive. Her thumb slid into the asshole nestled between those generous thighs, pumping the orifice while she sucked hard, pulling in the sorceress's clitoris, nether-lips, and any more excess skin from the drow's pussy into her mouth. Her suction formed the sensitive flesh into a faux cock, her head thrusting back and forth on the pinkish shaft while she fingered Shandra's asshole.

The sorceress came again, explosively this time, and Lirafey felt her nectar dripping all over her chin and neck. That, she knew, was her sign that she'd done her sorceress a great service.

Shandra dismounted, collapsing on the bed, clearly exhausted not only from Lira's ministrations but from her own self-pleasure all day long. Lira, vexed by her lack of real cock, contemplated donning her disguise and hunting down the half-elf warrior she'd just met. Perhaps a bit of divine magic would coerce him into servicing her. She smirked at the idea, but Shandra's arm flew over her, pulling her down against the sorceress, and the comfortable warmth pulled her into Reverie.

Perhaps tomorrow.

*****

For months, Myrynda had avoided the advances of patrons and employees alike. The drow was not bashful about her heritage, almost going so far as to openly flaunt it. Her black skin and opalescent hair carried with it a measure of intimidation, and she'd grown quite skilled at using that to her advantage. The widely known but rarely spoken of fact that the drow were pulling all the strings in Luskan helped, but she knew she couldn't rely on that. So the former priestess of Lolth put her skills, borne of decades in Menzoberranzan, to use in manipulating and coercing friends and foes alike.

Even this day, her encounter with Mask—or at least a divine servant of the God of Thieves—shook her to her core, arousing her and motivating her at the same time. The former bathhouse had expanded into two more upper levels, the uppermost being where Myrynda held meetings with her employees and her own private quarters. It was where the shadiest of deals went down, where local and foreign officials came to discuss terms of service from Myrynda and her stable of ne'er-do-wells.

Whores, murderers, toughs, assassins, spies, and all manner of masters of espionage came to her for work, serving Mask and Myrynda alike. She sat now at her desk, a great blackened affair crafted magically from warped, spellscarred wood. She was promised by the craftsman that it had all manner of magical tricks hidden within it, most that the woodworker didn't even know himself. But the man, Netherese by birth and centuries old, had not been ambiguous about the source of the gift, either. Mask wanted her to have this, and though Shar dominated the worship of Netheril, there were a few who had turned away from her in favor of something a little less nihilistic.