“You had better be who I think you are lest you lose your head," Kaldia called. "It is," Amaranth's muffled voice drifted from the other side of the door, a note of mirth in her tone. Stepping aside, the fighter pulled the latch, allowing the other woman to enter.
Like a feral cat, an alluringly beautiful woman, dressed in tight-fitting leather armor, trimmed in green, a woodland cloak draped about her shoulders, crept through the underbrush of the sparse forestlands. Though youthful to all appearances, her olive skin unblemished and long, brown locks untouched by even a single grey or white strand, the curving point of her long ears and depths of her chestnut eyes bespoke an age far elder than her visage suggested. Beyond this, her light, measured steps and comfort with which she handled the deftly crafted longbow in her elegant hands, suggested a veritable lifetime of perfected craft. As it currently stood, said perfected craft was focused entirely on a young buck standing at the center of a small clearing littered with wildflowers before her.
Within dusty depths she stirs, grinding stonework long interred
“No,” was his immediate thought. “Not only am I to break my oath of chastity, but with my own sister?!”
Just as the full darkness of nightfall enclosed around them, Lystra and Belt made the gates of the Flaming Fist Fort. Despite seeing no sign of continued pursuit for the majority of their flight, they had not slowed their mounts, fearful that their foe may have some unseen trick up their sleeve.
Leeria awoke the following morning just before the dawn, still groggy from sleep, as well as the amount of alcohol she had imbibed the night prior. She lay for a time amidst the hay, curled in on herself as she had but her woodland cloak covering her nakedness, the medallion of her guild clutched in her hand.
“I did, can’t say I’ve ever seen someone give a Fey Dragon a blowjob before, not that I’m judging by any means.”
“Night in this city seems darker these days,” Ethon mused to himself as he stood outside of the clinic/temple of the followers of Ilmater that was tucked away along a grungy street within the Baldur’s Gate slums.
Rendrick awoke slowly from his slumber. Having had little rest since he and his companions had first entered Cloakwood, a fact they had likewise noticed, it had been insisted upon that Keira and Tiberius would split the watch that night, allowing the Ranger a much-needed full nights sleep. Though he had been against their proposition at first, he had relented when even Katarina joined in on their behalf. Waking now, grogginess fogging his mind and a stiffness clinging to his limbs, he knew that one full night's sleep had not been nearly enough.
With a merry jaunt, the elven ranger, known to most only as Dew, entered the townstead of Tallow just as the sun-kissed the western horizon, sending fountains of citrus and strawberry across the sky. Clothed from head to toe in tight fitted, emerald attire one would customarily associate with her ilk, she made a drastic contrast to the townsfolk who yet trundled down the town’s main, and only, avenue, clothed as they were in drab shades of grey, brown, or burgundy. Despite this distinction, she was met with naught but hearty greetings at her passing, marking the familiarity with which the town held her, and she them, for she returned each hail with an equally exuberant one of her own.