Neverwinter Heat Ch. 03

And Lady Tyran Courte was very near to bursting from her own skin. She was furious, jaw clenching as she gnashed her teeth. She managed to master her emotions well enough to speak with only a slight tremor in her voice. "I see that my invitation was in vain. I pray your church thrives without a true temple," Tyran spat, rising and indicating that they should leave.

"You mean this temple?" Luriia said, holding her hands out. Her eyes blazed with gold and crimson as magic—pure, silver magic—burst from her hands, coalescing into a temple that rivaled the Celestial Temple in its magnificence. White marble, gold, and red roofing came together to form a towering festhall, the front doors emblazoned with Sune's smiling face. The windows were massive, stained glass affairs depicting all forms of beauty, magically shifting from one scene to the next. Tyran stared at the conjured image in awe. It blinked out as Luriia closed her hands, but her eyes still blazed with inborn divinity.

"Do not make an enemy of the gods," Tyran said in a low voice.

"Do not make an enemy of me," Luriia said, then smiled sweetly, thanked the aasimar for her invitation, and led Hammer out of the temple. The half-orc followed them, gushing apologies for their experience and offering many invitations to return to listen to Tyran speak for the gods the next evening, to which they politely declined.

"If ever you return," the half-orc said, his voice so surprisingly cultured, "ask for Tyndon. That is my name. I will make sure you are well taken care of."

"We thank you, Tyndon, but perhaps you should seek employment elsewhere," Hammer said. The half-orc bowed respectfully at the larger human—something the half-orc didn't experience...ever.

"I adore my employer and would do anything for her," the half-orc said, smiling at them. "Good evening, Mistress Torviir and Master Thunderborn."

They didn't speak to each other for a little while after leaving, though not out of any negative feelings. They were simply lost in thought.

"We should give you a drow name," Luriia said to her husband after the prolonged silence.

He stopped in his tracks. "Oh?"

"House Torviir is growing. A Queen needs a King."

Hammer laughed, a bit discomforted. "For humans, it is the other way around."

"And you settle conflicts by combat, right?" Luriia asked, smirking up at him.

"Aye," he said, unsure where this was going.

"A duel, then. I win, I become Luriia Thunderborn. You win, you become a Torviir. Drow name and all."

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"You fear me?" she asked.

He laughed heartily. "Never. But I know your power. You have Sune in your breast, in your very blood and soul. What good is steel against such power?"

"Well said," she said. "Master Torviir?"

"Master Torviir," he said, grinning. It felt good, after all. He had no clear recollection of his family anymore. Even his family name had been replaced by Thunderborn.

"Alakin Torviir," Luriia said after some thought.

"What does it mean?" Hammer asked.

She smirked a little, hand gripping his groin as they walked and feeling the massive member held within his trousers. "Loosely translated, 'beloved steed.'"

Hammer was confused for a moment, but then it made sense. "That I am," he said. "You will mount me, then, when we get home?"

"As soon as we get Calafein home from Myrynda's," the drow promised, pinching the warrior's firm posterior. He grinned, scooped up the drow over his shoulder and marched on long, urgent strides toward the part of Neverwinter where Myrynda had set up shop.

*****

Calafein rested his head on Myrynda's chest, nuzzled right between her breasts. She was well-secured right now, and felt no need to wear more than the silk nightshirt that caressed her flesh. She stroked the infant's head and back, the sleeping boy making cute little sounds as he snoozed. The door opened with a whisper, and she knew that it was Luriia and Hammer. Her door would not have opened for anybody else.

"How's my son?" Luriia asked, smiling as she circled around to see Myrynda loving on her child. The younger sister surrendered the infant quickly, sitting up and smiling at both her and Hammer. Luriia cradled the half-drow, already much bigger than a true drow would have been at this age.

"He's slept most of the night," Myrynda said sleepily. "Where have you two been? You were cryptic earlier."

"We met with some priestess about joining her Temple," Luriia said. "Lady Tyran Courte of the Celestial Temple."

"Oh?" Myrynda asked, her secret knowledge of the woman already relayed to her by her shadar-kai agents. "What of that?"

"She's an arrogant lady with no respect for anybody else thanks to her aasimar heritage. She presumed herself superior to me thanks to her bloodline, even though I bear a shard of Sune's divinity in my soul. Apparently, in her eyes, that's not enough to speak for the goddess," Luriia said, scoffing, then smiling and rocking back and forth with Calafein in her arms.

"Be wary of that one," Myrynda said, her voice supremely calm and confident in this matter. "She is more than she seems."

"What do you mean?" Hammer asked, seeming concerned.

"I mean everything about her is a façade, save for her heritage. She is a servant of Cyric, and the entire Celestial Temple is completely oblivious to it. I fear that she is going out of her way to deceive the people of Neverwinter for some twisted gain, even if just pleasure."

"How can you know this?" Luriia asked.

Myr detailed her encounter with the woman and the half-orc she'd risen from apparent death. She explained it all, from the threats to the casual way she tossed threats her way. "That woman is trouble. I would rest my House name on it, if such a thing matter."

"It will," Luriia said, a grin on her face. "As of this day, I establish House Torviir, even if only in voice, as a prominent figure in Neverwinter. I, Matron Mother Luriia Torviir, will make of our House a place of peace and love, befitting the surface world, where we have been welcomed by Neverwintan officials. At dawn tomorrow, construction of our palace—and my Temple of Sune—begins. My husband, Alakin Torviir," she put her hand affectionately on Hammer's arm, "will sit at my side as Patron, a title that will have real power. Calafein, our Elderboy, will grow into the House weapons master. You, my dear sister, will serve your House here, as you please. I would not remove you from your dedication to Mask."

Myrynda seemed thoroughly pleased. "How will our House grow?" she asked.

"I imagine you will take a husband, eventually. If not, then Calafein will marry. Or Hammer and I will recruit those dedicated to our House. The bloodline will be strong, and we will encourage our scions to marry strong mates, but we will not, in accordance with Sune's laws, interfere with where their hearts' flow."

Myrynda embraced her sister, holding her gently for Calafein's sake. "I love you, sister. You will be a superb Matron Mother."

They kissed chastely, and Myrynda moved to embrace her brother-in-law, whom she kissed a bit less chastely.

"I was thinking," Luriia said, gathering her husband so they could depart. "There were those in Menzoberranzan that were not unsympathetic to our ways. And there are Lirafey and Shandra, in Luskan. We could have a true drow House here in Neverwinter, where drow are welcomed more openly than elsewhere so long as they work toward the common good. Do you have contacts still?"

"Dear sister," Myrynda said, grinning knowingly, "I have contacts everywhere. Moreover, Lira and Shandra are here. I can take little Calafein if you want to mingle a bit. They should be in the baths, and Cyra and Iliara have returned from Luskan with a new companion, should you wish to meet him."

"At this point, you'd have to keep him overnight," Luriia said. "If you're willing to do that, I'm sure we can indulge ourselves a bit, right Hammer?"

"Certainly," he said, smiling.

Myrynda nodded, reaching for Calafein greedily and nuzzling him to her breast. "Go, have fun. He's safe here."

"I know," Luriia said, grinning. She left with Hammer in tow.

*****

Iliara was lying on her favorite chaise lounge in Mask's Bounty, an endless stream of suitors and wine coming her way. Nude, save for a pale green translucent gown draped over her lithe, agile body, the elf had no intention of partaking in anything but Cyra's skilled, powerful tongue between her thighs. The horned woman had been at it for at least an hour, casually dining on both Iliara's fragrant cunt and taut asshole. Iliara lost track of orgasms, simply riding on a sea of waves, cresting and falling as patrons milled about in the dark room beneath the common room.

Here, whores and pimps did their finest work, plying thighs apart with both coin and honeyed words. Iliara and Cyra used this place to relax rather than the common room, as the sounds of sex, both rough and sensual, served as music to their ears.

Indeed, it wasn't until a familiar, towering man and his immaculately beautiful wife appeared in the dark corners of the room that Iliara even bothered moving from the position she'd been in for the last hour, lifting Cyra's head—and her cunt-stained face—to see Hammer and Luriia.

Cyra perked up immediately, a shimmering black robe loose around her strong, powerful body, her large breasts bouncing and swaying merrily as she trotted over to Hammer and Luriia, kissing them affectionately—and sharing Iliara's elven nectar with them. "Friends!" she said exuberantly, hugging them both. "Join us!"

Hammer and Luriia did so, pulling comfortable chairs near Iliara's lounge, and the elf greeted them with kisses and embraces as well. Her body was tingling from pleasure, and she had a hard time forming words.

"We are told you've brought a new friend with you," Hammer said to the two lovers, and they nodded.

"You'll like him," Cyra said, poking Hammer's broad, thick chest. "Good guy, good lay."

"He should be up soon, he's been in the baths for some time now," Iliara said, curling up like a feline. She ran her fingers under Cyra's robe, tickling her hot, red skin.

Sure enough, two drow emerged from the door to the baths, a half-elf in tow behind them and grins on all three faces. Lirafey and Shandra saw their friends quickly and walked toward them, dodging copulating couples as they went. They waded through a cloud of odors equal parts sex, lubricant, and sweat.

Lirafey marched right up to Luriia, embraced her, and kissed her as a lover might, her tongue invading the drow's mouth, their breasts mashing together. They all only just then realized how naked the two drow were, and were surprised that Luriia was the most clothed person in the room. That was a rare thing for the drow, until lately.

But despite her relatively conservative streak, the drow took Lirafey's kiss passionately, almost hungrily, grinning when the kiss broke.

The half-elf cleared his throat.

"Oh, yes," Lirafey said, stepping back and wiping her mouth of spittle. "I found this treat in the baths. Boy," she said, beckoning him forward.

But the half-elf marched right past her, sitting his naked, muscular form on the lounge between Iliara and Cyra, his hands caressing their bare thighs.

"Lirafey," Iliara said. "This is Venos Larque, our friend and cohort. I'm glad you found him agreeable."

Lirafey, if she had been any other race, might have blushed. But she only grinned and laughed at the irony. "Indeed, Venos? You didn't tell me you travelled in such fair circles."

"To be fair," Venos said, "I was quite occupied plowing your drow cunt."

Lirafey laughed outloud, joviality that spread to her friends as she calmed down.

"You must be Hammer," Venos said, standing again. He was a full head shorter than Hammer, but seemed no less powerful. "I have heard much about you, including a rather sordid tale about an encounter with a particular goddess in woodlands of the North."

"All true, most likely," Hammer said.

Venos looked surprised. "You mean, the story about you and the Red Knight..."

Hammer grinned. "Did you know she's actually blonde?"

Venos started to laugh, then stopped as he stared curiously at Hammer, and seemed thoroughly confused at everything.

"Welcome, Venos. I invite you to our home," Luriia said. "Iliara and Cyra can take you there, if you like. House Torviir welcomes all."

"House Torviir?" Lirafey asked, seemingly wary.

"The same," Luriia said. "Kind of. I raise it from death in Neverwinter, to spread Sune's love and beauty, that she has so blessed our kind with, to all."

Lirafey wasn't convinced. "Matron Mother?"

"Indeed," Luriia said. "And for formality's sake, my husband, Patron Father Alakin Torviir. We require priestesses and mages, warriors and servants alike," she added.

"Priestesses?" Lira asked, withdrawing a bit.

"Not of Lolth, of course," Luriia said. "Of any deity, so long as they are goodly in weal."

"I have no deity. I serve only...," Lirafey said.

"Then come with me, be my daughter—or at very least, sister."

Lira didn't answer right away. But slowly, at Shandra's prompting, began to nod, and even to smile. "Lirafey Torviir has a nice ring to it." But her face darkened a little. "Let me think on it. You know drow, prideful lot that we are."

Luriia smiled, putting a hand on Lirafey's cheek. "I didn't expect an answer right away, anyway." Lirafey and Shandra left to pursue their own interests, leaving the Chosen of Sune and her husband to entertain themselves with Iliara and Cyra. But that pair were not long for company, as they left shortly after the drow pair, Venos in tow.

"Another follower of your goddess," Luriia said to Hammer, sliding a hand over his bottom as they ascended into the common room and out of Mask's Bounty. "Interesting."

"Quite so," Hammer said, smiling. "I'm interested to get to know him and his view of the Red Knight. I've never given her more than passing thoughts, yet she has shown me favor."

"You never told me about your encounter with her," Luriia said as they walked out of the dark alley leading to Mask's Bounty. They were not wary of muggers or brigands, knowing well how far Myrynda's reach and security went.

"It was a...deeply private matter," Hammer said, growing more reserved. He was always very open with his wife about matters of the heart, mind, and body alike. But this ran very deep to him, an experience burnt into his memories, and he had only ever shared it with one other. Luriia's former romantic companion, Mikhail. "She came to me, in the Glimmerwood. I was out after cleaning myself in the river. I don't remember much outside of that. Even that is a foggy memory. All I remember was the fog around the forest, barely being able to see it, and then, suddenly, she was there, professing her love for me and taking me to the ground in a fit of passion."

Luriia smiled at him. "That is how Sune gave me a shard of her divinity," the drow said. "We made love, and when she came away from me, I was filled with her power, near to bursting with divine energy."

Hammer smiled. "It was not like that with the Red Knight. We laid together, passionately and needfully, but I felt no more power within me than I had to begin with. If there is divinity in me, now, it is dormant and hidden. And that's well enough for..."

A shout turned them around, just in time to see Myrynda hurrying toward them, Calafein in her arms. He was squirming, but smiling, the night heavy around them—heavier still for the agitated tendrils of shadow flowing from Luriia's little sister. The Chosen of Sune intercepted her sister, taking Calafein, wary of the shadows despite Myrynda's assurances that they were harmless.

"Calafein," Myrynda said, pointing at the half-drow. "His eyes...his chest!"

The couple looked down at their child and saw liquid pools of garnet and gold swirling around his pupils, and when the pulled away the soft cloth shielding the child from the elements, a birthmark that had not been there before—a crimson horse-like figure—glowed with rosy mist from his flesh. The child was smiling, his softly pointed ears twitching as he listened to his parents and aunt. He reached for the single lock of red hair falling from Luriia's forehead, missing, and giggling.

"The child is blessed," Myrynda said, taking a step back. "How?"

Hammer only shrugged, grinning, and saying the first real prayer to the Red Knight in years.

*****

The Red Knight sat next to Sune, the Lady Firehair's silky soft locks falling over the warrior-goddess's shoulders whenever they kissed. Smiling, both deities saw their gift revealed before their favored champions.

"Finally," the Red Knight said, a hand sliding up Sune's ivory thigh. The goddess of beauty purred against the strong deity, nuzzling her neck.

"Don't be so impatient, Red," she said, nipping at the dark-haired woman's neck. "What did Hammer mean by you being a blonde?"

"I appeared as such to him," she said, shrugging, watching the couple marvel at their divinely-infused child. "It seems like just yesterday."

"Indeed," Sune said, her tongue drawing a line of warm moisture from the Red Knight's earlobe down to the tip of her shoulder.

"Stop that," the Red Knight said, disengaging from the Lady Firehair. "Tempus beckons."

"Doesn't he always?" Sune asked, laying back and on her side. She curled one leg, her shapely thigh flexing as it curled, revealing the perfect mound of her sex and perfect roundness of her hips. Her back arched, generous, pale breasts thrusting into the soft silks below the goddess. Everything about her was sensuality incarnate, and the Red Knight, despite already on her knees, blouse materialized over her own hitherto bare torso, couldn't help but seize the opportunity.

She didn't have to worry about foreplay—the two had been teasing each other for most of what mortals would consider a tenday. She didn't have to worry about consent—Sune had made it plainly clear that she was always willing for the Red Knight—at least until the Lady Firehair's whimsy took her affections elsewhere. And if that happened, Red knew she'd not have opportunities anyway.

She straddled the long, shapely thigh that wasn't curled up, her muscular, powerful thighs clamping down as she grabbed the curled leg and threw it over her own shoulder. She mashed her cunt against Sune's, grinding their vulvas together. The Red Knight's clitoris was a fattened little nub and it ground hard against Sune's on petite little gem. She thrust into Sune's loins savagely, as a warrior ought to, grinding the goddess into the soft silks beneath them.

The goddess of love and beauty cried out in pleasure, her bliss echoing all over her divine realm, for all her servants and attendants to hear. An entire plane of existence was set afire by her passion, and all over, males, females, and everything in between, of every species, were infused with her lust. They found each other, fucked each other, copulating passionately and incessantly as Sune's love and lust permeated her divine realm. The Red Knight, too, was affected by this mystical power she had over her realm, since she was not indigenous, and found herself leaping to greater heights of pleasure with every thrust.

Their orgasms washed over them like a warm bath, soothing their every muscle, purging every pore, cleansing every bit of their being.

And then the Red Knight was dismounting, leather leggings materializing over her strong thighs, boots over her feet, and armor over all of that. Before her head disappeared beneath her great red helm, she blew Sune a kiss. And then she was gone, leaving Sune alone.

Until Mask appeared, naked and gray of skin, sweating and erect.

Sune was on her knees for him, and he mounted her quickly, grabbing a fistful of her hair and plowing her roughly—but never so much as to mar her beauty. The goddess of love and beauty only had one rule with Mask, and only copulated with him as a term of their agreement, temporary though it may be.