Neverwinter Heat

She sat on a black leather chair with a high back and soft, intricate arm rests, its wrought iron frame making it too heavy to move easily. Before her, with an eager smile on her...his...it's face, was one of her highest earners in the bathhouse.

"Tyche," she said, leaning forward onto the desk. It sat low, letting her modest, perky breasts sway beneath the thin, gauzy, low-necked tunic she was wearing. "It is good to see you again. What can I do for you?"

The changeling cleared its throat. Naked, Tyche showed no gender at all, just a formless, humanoid form of clay-hued flesh. "I request greater duties."

"Such as?" Myrynda asked. "You bring in more coin in the baths than all the others. Varla, Nike, and Nar can only match you with their income combined."

"I understand," the changeling said. "I wish to let them shine, for they are fine attendants and lovers. I can be better at other things. People like me because I can be whatever they wish, without them even having to ask, thanks to this," Tyche said, pointing to its head. The changeling's psionic abilities were a valuable tool for it. "But imagine what I could do for you, for Mask, as an Agent, rather than an Attendant. I can be anybody. I can fool anybody."

"Can you fight?" Myrynda asked.

"I can," the changeling said, and Myrynda stood smoothly, her agility apparent in the way she moved around her desk, slithering between it and the heavy iron chair. She had a rapier at her waist, thin linen pants hugging her lean thighs.

"Show me," the drow said, leveling her blade at the changeling. She watched as Tyche's eyes shifted from solid white orbs to red slits, its hands extending into long, bladelike protrusions. Myrynda lunged forward, rapier stabbing for Tyche's heart, but was deftly parried, the changeling spinning around and swiping horizontally. They danced back and forth, trading stabs and slashes, until Tyche kicked out, batting Myrynda's arm across her body, spinning her around, and jumping onto the drow's back, legs wrapping around her waist, armblades against the drow's throat.

"Evidence enough?" Tyche asked, its voice strange. It sounded at once as if it was breathing hard, yet also husky and throaty. The armblades retracted to hands, and Myrynda felt the warmth of the changeling leaving her body. The drow pushed herself up and looked at the plain features of the changeling before her.

But before she could express her thoughts, the creature was shifting its form, small breasts forming on its chest, a penis growing from its groin. Definition creased the changeling's body all over, but its skin didn't change color. Bald and hairless the asexual creature stepped toward the drow as an intersexed woman, hands pulling Myrynda's blouse from her body, baring her breasts, and pulled her pants down to her knees. Tyche shoved the drow to the ground and buried its face in Myrynda's ass, its tongue slithering up and down the cleft of her cheeks, swirling around her tight anus, and its fingers delving deep into Myrynda's loins.

Then Tyche was standing above her, feet planted firmly on the ground beside Myr's hips. It squatted down, its cock angling down like a spear as it lowered itself into Myrynda's loins, plowing her quickly and firmly. Myrynda shrieked at the sensation, at the wooden floor scraping against her sensitive breasts. Tyche's pleasure was readily apparent as it grunted and groaned, its voice sounding at once like an effeminate male and a sultry woman. Myrynda came quickly under the hard thrusts, and Tyche, its senses linked to Myrynda's in this moment thanks to her psionic abilities, also climaxed, pulling out and spraying extraplanar seed all over the drow's back.

Many moments passed with the two in limbo, not quite ready to move away from this decadent pleasure, but Myrynda finally did, slithering out from under Tyche as the changeling reverted back to its sexless shape.

"Fine," she said. "Agent Tyche," she cleared her throat, felt a shiver of post-orgasmic bliss run down her spine, and returned to her seat, not bothering to clean herself up or even clothe herself again.

"What would you have of me now?" the changeling asked.

"Nothing," Myrynda said plainly, crossing her thighs and clasping her hands on her table.

"But—"

"Make no mistake, Tyche," Myrynda said, "you have proven yourself capable in at least one way, and I will certainly keep you as an Agent, but you do not determine how I operate. You are green. You must learn. Therefore, you will wait for one of my other Agents to return, and you will shadow them."

Tyche bowed in understanding. "Of course, Mistress," Tyche said, and Myrynda almost demanded to be called Matron. She thrust that out of her mind with distaste, though. That life was behind her, and she did not want to revisit it.

"Your quarters will not change. You will still live among the bathhouse attendants. Expect word from me or one of my servants within the next two days," the drow said. "You are dismissed."

Tyche left without another word, leaving Myrynda to her own contemplations.

Or rather, so the drow thought. There were a few things she had grown accustomed to in House Torviir, and one of those things was extraplanar visitors. Though she had purchased the finest arcane wards she could find, they simply were not enough for some denizens of the multiverse. Shadows whirled around the office like a baleful wind, chilling her to the bone. There was a woman's laughter, cold and hard, but pleasant to Myrynda's ears.

The shadows coalesced and from them emerged a naked woman, wearing naught but a thin black mask over her eyes, blocking her sight—or so it appeared. Myrynda knew from the past few months that this woman saw infinitely more than any mortal she'd ever known.

"Shade," Myrynda said, standing, aware of the cum chilling on her back and her nudity, though she was far from bashful in front of this woman.

"Little Myr," the woman said, sauntering forward with sinuous grace. "Mask is pleased."

"Then I am pleased," she said, bowing her head.

"As am I," Shade replied, her voice as thin and intangible as her namesake. "I come to reward."

"I welcome it," Myrynda said, smiling at the woman. Her skin was pallid in a way that made her seem less than alive. Her nipples and lips were black like shadows upon her skin, but Myr knew they were just as tangible as the rest of her.

"Come to me and kneel," Shade said, parting her thighs for the drow priestess. Myrynda obeyed without hesitation, kneeling before her parted thighs. The thin legs lead to bony hips, between which nestled her pale sex, bearing no pink flesh she was so accustomed to in her mortal lovers. This was a creature of pure shadowstuff, she knew, a succubus-like creature that drank of pleasure as easily as of the blackened waters of her homeworld.

She leaned forward as if to drink from the woman's loins, but Shade's hand, preternaturally strong, held her skull back. Shade used a single digit to open Myrynda's willing mouth, and from her loins coiled tendrils of liquid shadow, as though the woman was urinating in slow motion. The black liquid sought Myrynda's mouth, coiling around her tongue, choking her throat, cutting off her supply of air. Her eyes widened in brief terror, but she calmed herself, trusting that if Mask wanted her dead, he would not kill her in such a teasing manner.

But time went by and Myrynda still could not draw breath. She was growing lightheaded, and the shadowstuff kept pouring from Shade's loins. It expanded around her mouth, covering it, then covering her face, neck, and chest. She felt as though she was being cocooned in thick, sticky shadowstuff, and panic began to beat at her heart. Instinctively, she began to struggle, and voices began resonating in her skull.

If the restraining wasn't enough, the chill that began to ooze deep into her core was the last thing needed to send her into a panic. Would she truly die here? Was Mask taking her away from this world? From her work, from her sister, from her...

Then the shadows simply melted into her flesh, and Shade was laying across her desk, as if in slumber, shadows coiling around her. Myrynda, confused, stood and walked over to the woman.

"Shade," she said, but the woman didn't respond. She simply slept, and Myrynda grew even more confused. She reached out to touch the woman and saw the snakes of shadow coiling around her arm, responding to her confusion, writing in anticipation. Shrieking, she snapped her hand back.

Shade was awake, staring at her charge. "Don't be alarmed," she said. "They are a part of you, now."

Myrynda looked at her aghast. "What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered.

"Don't be dense," Shade said, suddenly stern. "If you are to represent Mask on this Plane, you must embody that which you teach your acolytes. Do you understand?"

There was a knock on the door, distracting the priestess.

"Do you understand, girl?" the woman asked, her voice sharp and unforgiving. Myrynda nodded affirmative. "Good. Master yourself and greet your sister."

The shadows deepened, swallowing Shade up, then receded, leaving her office lit normally with candles and faerie fire.

Myrynda dressed herself in her loose, gauzy blouse and pulled her pants back on, belting her sword and booting her feet.

*****

Tall, broad, and powerful, Hammer attracted so much attention when they entered Mask's Fancy that he was certain he'd be fighting people off in a short moment. Courtesans, assassins, and such like all cast their eyes at him, but one thing kept them from approaching.

Lura, resplendent in glimmering red gown that hugged her luxurious curves, cupped her perfectly formed breasts, and displayed her firm hips—the latter two still larger than normal thanks to her recent pregnancy—deterred them with warning glances. This was her man, and she would suffer no lesser creature to touch her precious husband.

Her small hands were swallowed up by his massive paws, but they held hands as gentle lovers, leading each other to the back of the building, where the stairs leading to Myrynda's private office were. They all knew these two, and none would impose upon their progress, especially with Lura holding their half-drow child, the fat little infant latched onto her breast, suckling hungrily.

Hammer knocked on the door, his fist making loud raps against the iron-bound wood. Everything up here was dark. Black, midnight blues and violets, deep crimsons, and so forth were the order for Myrynda's Temple of Mask. Lura hadn't quite wrapped her head around that, not yet, but so long as she wasn't working against the good of the world, she cared not too much.

They thought they heard voices on the other side of the door, but it was too intangible to be sure. When Myrynda opened the door, though, she certainly seemed a different woman, as though she had just seen a ghost, and not the type drow were accustomed or desirous of seeing.

"Sister!" Myrynda said, her voice clipped as though she were nervous. She reached for Lura, though, and embraced her, wary of the child. Lura thought Myr's skin felt clammy and cool, but she knew there were dozens of explanations for that. "And brother," she said, smiling up at Hammer as the big man bent down to embrace the petite elven priestess. "I'm still getting used to that," she confessed.

"As I am growing accustomed to having a drow for a sister," he said. Myr kissed him, her tongue swishing past his lips to graze his tongue. Lura smiled at them both, so pleased that the two had hit it off so well. Lura wasn't keen on sharing Hammer with anybody, not anymore, but her sister had always been a precious thing to her, and she wanted her to experience all the finer things in life.

Besides, if Hammer making love to her every now and then kept her from falling so deeply into shadows, then all the better.

"And how is my nephew?" she asked, her voice rising an octave as she reached out touch the babe's forehead and cheek while he suckled. His ashen skin and white hair were so adorable to her that she couldn't help but squeal a little whenever he made the slightest movement or sound.

"Calvein is well. Hungry," Lura said.

"He is a warrior with a warrior's appetite!" Hammer said, grinning as the babe forsook the nipple to snuggle with his aunt. A droplet of milk left Lura's black nipple, forsaken by the child as she pulled her shimmering gown over the heavy orb. Hammer pulled her tight in adoration.

"Please, come in," Myrynda said, cradling the child as she led her family over to the thickly-cushioned couch that doubled as her bed. She sat between the two of them, leaning into Lura as she coddled the child.

"You are doing well?" Lura asked, stroking her younger sister's hair. The silky locks glimmered with their own unique hues in the faerie fire lights.

"Very well," Myrynda said, realizing that she wasn't wearing her symbol of Mask, and hadn't been all day. She was thankful that Mask wasn't so concerned with such trivial things. "I have just promoted one of my bathhouse attendants to Agent.

"Who?" Hammer asked, curious.

"Tyche."

"The changeling," Lura said, nodding approvingly. "Sensible. It seems a fitting candidate, especially as far as stealing information goes."

"Oh, she's skilled alright," Myrynda said in a tone that left nothing to the imagination. The three laughed softly at that, and as little Calvein drifted off to sleep, they simply enjoyed each other's company with no pretense or pressure. It was a fine way to spend the evening, but by the time the sun was down, Lura was exhausted and needed to rest. Hammer, generous husband that he was, carried the child and let Lura support herself on his arm as they stood to leave.

"You're still living in Neverwinter, right?" Myrynda asked.

"Bluelake District, for months now," Hammer replied.

"I miss you guys," Myrynda said, hugging them both and closing her eyes.

"You're welcome any time," Hammer said, smiling at the smaller, younger elf. Lura nudged him, as if to remind him of a thing. He kissed her head and said to Myrynda, "and we were thinking of letting you move in with us, if you wished to."

Myrynda's eyes went wide, but she shook her head negative almost immediately. "I cannot," she said. "Running this place is...demanding. But I thank you for your offer, both of you." She bowed her head, smiling, and reached to hug her sister. They kissed, then Myr kissed Hammer, and the couple left her in her chamber, alone.

With the shadows, which grew darker in her solitude, taking form, then melting away, menacing her, beckoning her, seducing her.

*****

Venos didn't have much to leave the stablemaster when he departed, unannounced, from his makeshift bed. Only a token, a wooden carving of the Red Knight's symbol, left on the neatly rolled and folded sheets of his bedroll, would be his gratitude and promise that he would one day repay the kind man and his family for taking him in.

He had a mind to continue his trek to the North, but abandoned that at the sight outside the stables. The elven woman, Iliara, and her red-skinned companion, Cyra, were embracing each other, kissing deeply, slowly, and passionately. He had his pack over his shoulder, but it suddenly felt weightless as the red-skinned woman reached for the elf's bottom and gave it a firm squeeze.

Venos realized, all of a sudden, that one of Cyra's golden eyes was peering at him in a most piercing way. Iliara seemed to feel his eyes on them as well, as she broke the kiss, dagger flashing out of nowhere to threaten him. "Privacy," the elf said, pointing the dagger his way. "Mind it."

"You're in public," he said in his own defense. Cyra snickered, putting a strong hand on Iliara's shoulder.

"Indeed," the half-dragon said. "Our apologies, this time, just mind your gawking eyes, dear warrior."

Venos gave her a crooked grin, charmed by her words for some reason. Her force of personality was as undeniable as the murderous look in Iliara's eyes.

"Might I escort you ladies?" he asked benevolently, trying to curry some favor with these two beauties. Iliara seemed indignant at the suggestion but Cyra again cowed her and nodded. "That would be lovely. My lady can ride in my lap and you can have my horse. Acceptable?"

"Quite so," Venos said, grinning. They all mounted up, their gear secured, and Venos followed the women until they reached the open road. "Where do we ride?"

"Neverwinter," Cyra said. Iliara seemed to have relaxed quite a bit, seated right in front of the horned woman. Venos let his mind wander as to the reason for that, but kept his thoughts to himself and ideas to a minimum. "We will introduce you to Hammer. He also serves, or at least once did, the Red Knight. Now, he is a husband and father, and little more, methinks."

Venos smiled. "Such things are noble, but not why I have journed so far from Baldur's Gate. I seek warriors, acolytes to add to my Order's ranks."

"And a stronger warrior you will not find," Iliara said. "All who call him friend owe him their life, many times over."

Venos was silent, but nodded as he trotted up beside them. "So be it," he said. "Perhaps he can assist me."

"Neverwinter is a city ripe with adventurers. I'm certain you can find a handful to accompany you back south," Cyra said.

Her words helped, and he smiled at them, letting hope burgeon in his breast. He was in the company of two beautiful, strong women, after all. His journey could have taken a much worse turn. They rode into the night and set camp as the moon ascended high in the sky. A minimalist, Venos simply stripped his armor, unrolled his bedroll, and tied his horse to a tree to sleep. He'd eaten plenty in the way of road rations, and had declined the more savory treats Cyra and Iliara had offered him. Over the hours on the road, Iliara had finally warmed up to him, her mask of iciness dissipating as she got a better measure of his attitude.

"You were raised among humans, then?" she asked him as she stripped into more comfortable sleeping clothes. Cyra had stripped naked, and, bare to the world, Venos realized why. She was a creature of fire, and she needed no comfort in the cool air. It was a challenge in willpower for Venos to not drink in her decadent body, but one he rose to with his usual gusto. Any challenge was welcome, to the warrior of the Red Knight.

"I was," he said. "My mother left my father after she hit the century mark. Lady Titani Larquessor, of Evereska. Father left me to the Citadel of Strategic Militancy to grow into a fine soldier, like him. Even that wasn't good enough, though, and he left for parts unknown."

"What have you done with yourself since joining the Citadel?" Cyra asked, lying on her back, looking up at the stars. Venos spared her generous breasts a glance before answering.

"I have trained with the blades, learned as many techniques as I can master, and have worked to become the best duelist in Baldur's Gate."

"So you are the best duelist in Baldur's Gate?" Iliara asked with an incredulous eye.

He smiled, splayed his hands out wide in apology. "Not so much. I'm a fine swordsman in my own right, but far from the best in the city, or even the region. There are many who have trained longer and more diligently than I. My pursuits have been split between training and studying the tenets of the Red Knight."

"These tenets, do they include celibacy?" Iliara asked, to which Venos's eyes went wide.

"Not as far as I've read," he said slowly.

"Good," Iliara said, standing and sauntering toward the elf. "That would have made for a long night."

"Could still be a long night," Cyra quipped as Iliara straddled the half-elf on his bedroll.

Iliara looked through her veil of pale golden hair to her lady-love. "But a considerably more interesting and enjoyable long night," the assassin said, bending down to kiss the half-elf deeply.