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She moves against him again and then, a "Yes, sir." said with a mixture of playful tease and serious understanding, very intentionally running his hardness down her back and near her ass as she sits up, hands on the edge of the tub keeping any weight from settling on him before she rises, dripping and steps out of the tub onto the shirt is discarded earlier. She walks across the room, bending over rather than kneeling to open the lowest of a chest of drawers, pulling out a small bag and a towel. She strides back over to the tub, "How do you want me?" she asks as she leans over brushing a kiss on his lips.
She looks him in his eyes, but with her head lowered, through her lashes, as she normally does when she is embarrassed by what she is going to say. "Normally, once a week or every other week." She darkens, pink blush spreading down her naked body, "Every time you've come to visit me... and a few other times, thinking about what would have happened... if you had come."
The musical moan starts as soon as he touches her, the shivers preceding his hand, tightening her skin as nerve endings sing. She matches the passion in his kiss, her tongue playing against his, her lips sweet. Her hips move forward slightly closer to him, stopped only as the kiss ends, leaving her gasping, breathless. Slowly, she moves onto her back, her head turned so she can watch his face as her hand slides down her body, the opposite of his own hands caress a moment before, at least until it reaches her hip, where is takes a turn sliding between her legs. Her fingers play around her lips for a moment and then slip between, a quiet wet sound proof of his effect on her.
Arata takes the bottle, nodding slightly before handing it to his wife. "Good choice and how were the... theatrical exploits?" His voice hoping for something juicy he can pass along. Shaking her head at her husband, Yuuki's examination is a bit more intense, but she smiles as she puts the bottle on the table, clearly accepting the gift. "Good evening, Azhar. Dinner is almost done." Bowing slightly as she moves past the large young man, moving in the kitchen, still able to hear the conversation thanks to the design.
He holds out a hand to help her back in the tub. "Sit down on the lip, and spread your legs." Assuming she obeys, he runs a washcloth under a hot tap. Then, kneeling between her legs, he kisses her once gently, then looking up into her eyes, he says, "When I'm finished, we're going to bed. And I'm going to eat you alive."
He begins to make the lather, removing the wet cloth when she's softened enough. Then he applies. He is far more playful than perhaps he should be, brushing her across sensitive areas more than necessary. He occasionally bends down to kiss her thigh or her belly, as though he can't quite stop the little bursts of affection.
Then, he removes the razor. He lays the blade flat on her inner thigh, right across the hot, pulsing artery. "Right now, Jan. You're mine. A single flick, and you'd bleed out in my arms." He holds her gaze in his for a long time, the blade never moving. Then, very deliberately, the blade is replaced with his lips and teeth and tongue. He looks up at her again.
Then he begins to work. Adept with delicate blades, he never seems to scrape. The razor glides across her skin, making her smoother than she ever thought possible, each path clearing away lather, revealing moist and swollen flesh. When he is finished, he very gently washes her mound clean.
Cassian stands, jutting out from his hips, needing to be sheathed in her. "Shall we?"
He breaks into a wondering smile as she begins to pleasure herself, the pure delight of a man seeing such wanton yet innocent beauty. He cannot help himself. His hand returns to his hardness, stroking with increasing speed. "And what do you think of? When your fingers are inside you?" he asks, his words chopped up by his actions.
Gozran 4/Ailyn
She grins impishly at the squirm comment, the though of squirming to provoke him more clear on her face, at least to Rev's careful gaze. However, his hand moves before she comes to a choice and the shiver he provokes is not a matter of choice. As his hand settles on her hip though, she smiles again, leaning up to kiss him. "Rev." His name dark, a quiver in her tone when she says it that speaks more of how he has made her feel this night than any words could, and she quite deliberately squirms beneath him, her body pressing against his.
She squirms beneath him, and he grins at her, expression wolfish, all teeth and danger. He pushes her legs apart with his knees (or further apart if they were already accommodating him), his hand on her hip pinning her in place so she cannot squirm out of the way. He raises himself up. Member probing at her warm entrance, seeking her moisture, plunging straight into her. "There's one place... I haven't been yet, tonight." He threatens lowly, his voice does not travel far beyond her. His shaft pumping in and out of her as he impales her with his member over and over. The hand on her hip, moving to her behind, to squeeze a cheek. "Clearly I haven't despoiled you entirely, leaving your rear unexplored." His fingers dip into the moisture that his shaft is working out of her, and the moist digits brush over her rear bud, watching carefully to see how she feels about that. sense motive
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Arata takes the bottle, nodding slightly before handing it to his wife. "Good choice and how were the... theatrical exploits?" His voice hoping for something juicy he can pass along. Shaking her head at her husband, Yuuki's examination is a bit more intense, but she smiles as she puts the bottle on the table, clearly accepting the gift. "Good evening, Azhar. Dinner is almost done." Bowing slightly as she moves past the large young man, moving in the kitchen, still able to hear the conversation thanks to the design.
Azhar thinks for a moment, "Well, there are four parts that we were auditioning for Larazod Rilsane, the lead role is a tiefling and a low-ranking scion of a lesser house that has fallen out of favor. Dentris Malagrada, an old cantankerous wizard and a retainer to the house of Rilsane, Tybain Obeisan, a paladin of Aroden, and Drovalid Vorclune, the Para Inquisitor of the Tribunal. Oh, and we were attacked by a 'fierce, flying beast' while we did our recitations." there is a twinkle in his eyes as he says the last part.
"Apparently, we can take care of the beast issue for 18gp apiece. I suggest we do it."
all right
all right"Apparently, we can take care of the beast issue for 18gp apiece. I suggest we do it."
Rev looks at his brother suspiciously. Where did he find someone to work so cheaply for? But ultimately he nods, trusting Azhar.
Dentris, an old wizardly man appears contrite before the court with hunched shoulders "whispers" to his shackled companion with elderly advice, "Hold your tongue, boy, and we’ll escape the firebrand yet. Your father was the model of a devil’s squire. Summon his wiles now, and keep shut that Abyss you call mouth, before we all tumble down into its darkness. Had you been born deaf and dumb, this loyal servant would yet live to see another midnight."
"Apparently, we can take care of the beast issue for 18gp apiece. I suggest we do it."
"I'm in," Antonio says.
Rev delivers his lines simply, honestly, with such strength of character that the audience cannot doubt him. Even Haanderthan must tremble in the face of such truth. "Larazod knows no lies, great magistrate, and no slanderer’s tongue caresses my dignity. The accusations you speak are as true as Asmodeus’s sword. They cleave clean through. Let the witnesses suffer no more lash. To burn their innards with pokers and steal their eyes is simply to waste precious toil better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There is but one point misaligned in this dark constellation — I seek not your death, though the secrets you harbor in your feeble heart deserve a gruesome demise."
"I carry no assassin’s blade, nor breath-stealing spell to rob your mortality. To end you I need only know you, and to cast you in an honest shade. I pierce your “shadows of truth” and show you for what I know—a false knave, a demon-supping wag-tail, a balor’s bawd, a pus-leaking cataract in the eye of Asmodeus’s justice, and subject to the multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore, dretch-loving plunderer, and traitor to our great Dark Lord."
In the green room, Rev meditates with his holy symbol in hand. When it gets close to the time for the play to start, he looks for Fiosa.
perception dc 15
Antonio limbers up -- rotating wrists, shoulders, ankles. He eats lightly, and drinks only water.
Tybain glares at Haanderthan, but speaks to Larazod.
"Hurl his arrogance and accusations back at him, Larazod. He wants precious golden-yoked truth? Give him more than he can choke down. For whether revealed by the brilliance of Aroden’s eye, or the long red shadows cast by your Dark Lord’s fiery gaze, a man false at heart and shrouded in hollow faiths is nothing more than a traitor to all. A. Traitor. To. All. Let him that judges false be judged by wraiths — shall he fall."
Tybain shakes his shackles in anger.
In the green room, Rev meditates with his holy symbol in hand. When it gets close to the time for the play to start, he looks for Fiosa.
Fiosa was one of the blue robed crew that came with the group. Looking out the door she (as well as Mathalen and Amaya) can be seen helping get props in order and placed. Although Fiosa helps push, it is more her calming influence that seems helpful as she reassures the Nightshade's crew that "Really, they are all professionals and would never let the monsters on the stage attack any of the crew."
Rev delivers his lines simply, honestly, with such strength of character that the audience cannot doubt him. Even Haanderthan must tremble in the face of such truth. "Larazod knows no lies, great magistrate, and no slanderer’s tongue caresses my dignity. The accusations you speak are as true as Asmodeus’s sword. They cleave clean through. Let the witnesses suffer no more lash. To burn their innards with pokers and steal their eyes is simply to waste precious toil better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There is but one point misaligned in this dark constellation — I seek not your death, though the secrets you harbor in your feeble heart deserve a gruesome demise."
"I carry no assassin’s blade, nor breath-stealing spell to rob your mortality. To end you I need only know you, and to cast you in an honest shade. I pierce your “shadows of truth” and show you for what I know—a false knave, a demon-supping wag-tail, a balor’s bawd, a pus-leaking cataract in the eye of Asmodeus’s justice, and subject to the multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore, dretch-loving plunderer, and traitor to our great Dark Lord."
Thesing continues to glare at the condemned man but the rest of the council breaks out in quiet comment and commotion. Visually separated from her fellows on the council, Ilsandra sits calm with a wicked smile on her face. As the light dims on the rest of the council as brightens on her, she turns to the audience her smile turning lascivious. "And to think I almost spent this session in the orgy-baths of Kalrath. None of their fleshy delights could compare to the ecstasy this half-breed’s words stroke within me! See his fierce aspect burn in fury, even below the tribunal’s culling justice." A pause pregnant with thought and as the lighting returns to the rest of the council, "But how shall Haanderthan answer?" Returning with the last word to her calm posture observing prisoners and judge.
And just as Calseinica's last word fades, Thesing picks up his lines. Condescension drips from his tone, "Heavy words for a forked tongue to manage, . You juggle them well enough," His hands moving in a mimicry of the juggle, before slamming loudly down onto the bench in front of him with the next, "but like a poor fool, offer jest and jape. I assume this glib outrage, obviously a threadbare attempt to throw off the keening blade of justice, is backed by the testimony of..." Thesing's tone turns light, mocking, "a thousand law-loving fiends? Perhaps the ancient augurer at your side, ever your father’s faithful lap-lizard, probed the ancient secrets of the cosmos and uncovered my blasphemous treachery? Or have you a soul-bonded scroll of bone-white parchment upon which my scrawled hand appears next to some Abyssal conspirator?"
The blonde man scoffs, undaunted by Larazod's accusation. Voice hard, "You amuse me, half-breed, and it is the only reason your sniveling soul is not yet blasted away in hellfire and borne on a river of sorrow to some ignominious corner of the Nine." He looks around at the council, then back to the tiefling before him, "Whereof comes this lunacy? What disease vexes your broken mind? From what mystery of psychosis do you draw your lies?" The tone dropping low, menacing as he finishes.
Tybain sneers at Haanderthan.
"You mewl lies like a sullied maid on her wedding night, O Great One. Even a lord much smote in darkness as Asmodeus sees the truth of you — a base and lowly thing, snivelling in crimson robes."
Tybain gestures . "These devil-bowing citizens about us are affront enough to Aroden’s divine will, but whose left hand clasps devil’s claws, and right reaches out for demonic boon — oh double-dealing fiend-lover, who allies with the Abyss. Infernal oaths and Abyssal blasphemy spew in one breath from your twisting lips."
Tybain shakes his head.
Gravlax focuses his gaze on Mathalen's eyes. "I have rope," he says as she squirms against him. "If you will yield, I don't have to get it."
"I could store them on the bed during the day," Gravlax says, smiling. "But probably would not."
Gravlax uses Mathalen's knife to cut a piece of cheese, and also tears off a hunk of bread. He spreads the cheese across the bread as best he can, sets the knife back down, takes a bite.
Closes his eyes and appreciates the food.
"Good choice."
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She does obey, perched carefully on the lip, her hands gripping the porcelain-glazed surface, tension - both wanton and nervous - clear in the muscles of her body as she blatantly exposes herself. She moans just the slightest bit into his kiss, softly pleading in to his lips, "please"
She smiles as he teases her, muscles twitching under the playful affection, hands holding tight to the tub to keep from running them over him, encouraging the caresses to turn into something more, now - immediately.
All that stops when lays the razor against the artery in her leg. Her breathing stopped, held. Her pulse, clearly visible under the blade racing. Her green eyes locked with his midnight ones, the mix in the green eyes. Beneath there is a flatness, a knowledge that he could do what he threatens, but above and clear, a trust that he won't. Yet it is only when he replaces the blade with his teeth, the pressure of his mouth pulling a soft sound of want from her that she begins to breathe again, her pulse no slower for the reprieve.
Janiven holds absolutely still when the blade is next to her skin and only lets the tremors of what he is doing to her shake her slightly in between. Only when he is done and washing her cleans does she trust herself enough to release her white-knuckle grip on the lip to gently caress his face. She leans forward, kissing the very tip of him when he stands, green eyes looking up his body as his face, hungry. Repeating her earlier plea as she stands and carefully steps out of the tub a few steps from the bed. "please @#*! me"
Still looking at him, worrying away at her lower lip in between her words, her voice breaking occasionally with notes of delight as she brings herself close. "I thought about if you came back, crawled into my bed." Her free hand goes to her breast pulling at her nipple, matching her words, "Of your kisses on my breasts," She slips a second finger inside, her thumb moving over her button, "Of you inside me," her eyes going down to him for a moment before returning to his dark eyes, "Feeling you take me."
When you first get to the Limelight (or when you make your presence known to the old hunchback), he pats a small book-shaped lump in a pouch hanging from his belt, "We should be good for act four." Then he pulls out a platinum piece, handing it over to Cassian. "When Nonon lines up the pretty ones to tromp through the city, feel free to make use of one of the crew cloaks..." He breathes deeply. "except for the people the actors tagged, I'm supposed to be using the crew from the Nightshade." Voice shaded just enough to indicate he isn't thrilled about going into the show blind.
She moans as he pushes into her, the pleasure in her eyes chasing away the fatigue. With his hand on her, keeping her from moving, it is only with her muscles that she can hold onto him, try to draw out each thrust, her body already moving back up to the heightened need that he had built in her before.
Her eyes widen as his fingers brush her other entrance, a tinge of worry in the eyes. Quietly, even as her voice breaks slightly with the pleasure he is giving her, "Rev... I've never..." For the first time he manages to pull an innocent blush from the experienced pathfinder.
It is Amaya that responds first, "A fearsome beast?" Intrigued, "What was it? An imp? A manticore?" Out of the corner of his eye, Azhar catches Yuuki shaking her head with fond amusement at her daughter. Arata, for his part, is trying to portray paternal boredom, while actually waiting on the explanation as ravidly as his daughter.
She gets a stubborn look on her face, needing to try to free herself just one more time before she can considering yielding, bucking against his weight. ()
Which does, just barely, succeed in freeing her from the pin. With a smile, arms free, she leans up, attempting to brush a kiss on his lips (if he lets her) whispering softly, "I yield."
She smiles at him, "Figured something light would be better... Don't know if you get nerves, but bread settles me when I'm nervous." She is quiet for a bit as she eats, if when she leans forward to get a small bite of something she ends up just a tad closer to him, it isn't obvious. But at the end of the meal she is far closer than she was at the start.
Thesing sneers at Antonio, shackled and, in the blonde man's mind, impotent, before turning the hot gaze back to the tiefling whose horns peek above the dark mass of his hair. "Does your Aroden arse-kissing pall-o-dine put you up to such resounding blasphemy?" His tone mocks, disdain for the fiendish-blooded actor clear, "Have you no tongue of your own, half-breed, to answer my charge?" Haanderthan, and the actor portraying him, looking smug and self-righteous.
As she kisses him and prepares to move away, he grabs a handful of her hair. Looking into her green eyes, he gives her a smile and gently, but forcefully, pulls her onto him. He continues to pull, never letting her break their eye contact until he has him to the hilt. Only then does he pull out, ever so slowly.
"Yes, my blade," he says, taking her hand and letting her guide him to the bed. He strokes her flank, giving her a soft slap on the ass.
He pushes her knees apart and looks at her freshly shaven body, and for a moment he is indecisive, licking his lips. Though he is always confident in bed, at this moment, he can't quite decide how he wants to take her. If she wanted to take control, to for once dominate him, this would be her golden moment.
"You don't have to imagine that my jewel," he says wickedly, trying to keep his eyes open as his strokes come faster. He leans over, kissing her mouth, but never once touching her with any other part of his body. He leans back slightly, gaze traveling down her body to settle between her legs. [b]"I'm right here. Use me."
"Thanks, Hunch. You need anything, you sing out. I'll be there."
she leans up, attempting to brush a kiss on his lips (if he lets her) whispering softly, "I yield."
He lets her. He pauses for a moment, and gets to his feet, brushing himself off. "I would like to try that again," he says. Breaks into a grin and flushes a bit. "That last part."
"Light food is good for nerves," Gravlax agrees, and doesn't say much, either. Until he realizes how close she has gotten.
He reaches over to brush his fingers across the line of her jaw. "If you would like to just sit together and talk until falling asleep, we can do that."
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It is Amaya that responds first, "A fearsome beast?" Intrigued, "What was it? An imp? A manticore?" Out of the corner of his eye, Azhar catches Yuuki shaking her head with fond amusement at her daughter. Arata, for his part, is trying to portray paternal boredom, while actually waiting on the explanation as ravidly as his daughter.
"Worse he says in all seriousness, [b]"the fearsome beast that came flying down at us was...a red sand filled, metal shod, hemp rope tethered bucket." he chuckles. "Bloody thing covered me in sand when I cut it in two." he pauses, "Rev said any buckets of sand I come across from now on would surely know who to fear." he continues to smile, perhaps a little self-deprecatingly. "I don't think they actually want to use anything that could make them have to look for even more actors before the day of the production. We all had fun...well, mostly and I think there's a good chance we'll be able to work together, which is always a plus. Of course, I could be wrong." he smiles at Amaya, then looks over at Yuuki and Arata, "how about you? have you been to see any of the theater productions? are there any you particularly like?"
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She moans as he pulls her mouth, the sound vibrating against him, around him as her lips reach his base. Her tongue teasing him as he pulls out, completely in his power and yet... not.
She jumps slightly as he slaps her, her hand tightening in his, the promise weakening something in her. Shaking, but with a smile, she moves over the the bed, her grin turning wicked as she realizes his indecision. She sits up, her lips soft, inviting on his, and as she starts to lie back down on the bed, her right leg slides up his body, moving over his shoulder, gently pulling his head head down to between her legs. "Eat me, Cass." Her voice soft, wanting, needing, pleading. "Make me scream." A pause, her green eyes flashing with dark desires, "Then @#*! me."
Her lips cling to his a moment longer, her head following his to extend the contact, wanting him, his touch. She swallows, closing her eyes for a minute, her hand stilling between her legs. She blushes when she opens her eyes, her damp hand touching his cheek. With absolute honesty, "If I give in to you right now, I won't be able to stop... and if I can't walk right tomorrow, Nonon would kill one of us... and he doesn't know about you." A pause, her eyes going back down, "And you're... ummm... bigger than..." She blushes again, the color going down to the breasts she is still playing with.
"I would like to try that again," he says. Breaks into a grin and flushes a bit. "That last part."
She leans forward, brushing another light kiss, before pulling away, eyes dancing with pleased amusement, "Or did you mean the squirming and the grappling?"
She leans her head into the touch, extending the contact. Turning to press a kiss into the palm of his hand. She smiles at him, curious, "What do you want to talk about?"
Azhar would almost be willing to bet that there is an amused snort from the kitchen as he tells of the 'fearsome' bucket but if he looks in that direction, Yuuki is wearing a straight, calm face. Amaya on the other hand, laughs, laying one of her hands on his.
Arata looks amused, until he sees the hand business, but answers levelly. "Haven't really enjoyed much of the theater scene here in Westcrown. The Cheliaxian desire of blood and torture on stage isn't really my cup of tea." He smiles, "The last really good play I saw was up in Sandpoint, right after they rebuilt the local theater. Apparently some dragon burned it down."
"Er, well, yes," Gravlax says, flushing brightly. "Perhaps more of both. When we are done with the sparring, of course."
"There is nothing that I need to talk about right now," Gravlax says, tracing his hand up the other side of her jaw and back. "I just noticed your slow approach, and thought I would reassure you."
Gravlax scoots himself closer to Mathalen, looks into her dark eyes from a very short distance indeed, "I will not be spooked away this evening. Should I be?"
He lets out a happy moan at her sudden display. He says something, but it's muffled as he ducks between her legs. From the pleased look on his face in the moments before her thighs block him, this was one of the things he wanted.
Cassian begins with her thighs. He explores them, up and down, his brushing, stroking her flesh. Then, escalation as he begins to nip, a thousand discrete points of electricity all along her. Suddenly it stops. And she feels the tip of his tongue trace her all the down. Yet, right before he makes contact... nothing.
He kisses her, gently, just above her. It is almost a sweet gesture, though wanton in its placement. He stops before, inhaling her arousal deeply. And then, he begins to do as he was ordered. And does so with relish.
A light brush of the tongue over her lips, then deeper, and deeper. He alternates, licking, exploring, sucking, penetrating. He kisses her as he would a mouth, at turns insistent, passionate, delicate. Even loving. And at the sweetest moments, he undercuts with moments of gentle depravity, moistening a finger and sliding it into her anus, hooking his fingers inside of her, even humming softly when her button is in his mouth. He does this tirelessly, seemingly content to do nothing but eat her, find new heights to guide her, explore her more thoroughly than any man has ever done.
And he does not stop. Even once she screams.
"Bigger than who?" Cassian asks. His eyes are hooded, his body wet. He catches the damp hand in his and takes her fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, his tongue seeking crevices where her juices might have collected. As he does this, his eyes are on hers, a challenge within them. Finally, he lets the fingers go. "You taste like heaven. If only I could go directly to the source."
A wicked grin, utterly confident in what he's doing to her. His own hand, moist with him, runs over her flat belly, never dipping to touch either sex or breast. "It's true. After I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk. I'd do awful, wicked things to you. Teach you to perform acts you'd come to crave. I'd make you lose yourself." He leans closer, whispering into her mouth. "And I would make you love every second of it."
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Azhar would almost be willing to bet that there is an amused snort from the kitchen as he tells of the 'fearsome' bucket but if he looks in that direction, Yuuki is wearing a straight, calm face. Amaya on the other hand, laughs, laying one of her hands on his.
Arata looks amused, until he sees the hand business, but answers levelly. "Haven't really enjoyed much of the theater scene here in Westcrown. The Cheliaxian desire of blood and torture on stage isn't really my cup of tea." He smiles, "The last really good play I saw was up in Sandpoint, right after they rebuilt the local theater. Apparently some dragon burned it down."
Azhar smiles at Amaya, risking her father's disapproval. He expresses interest in what Arata was saying, "What play was that...and what happened to the dragon?"
Thesing sneers at Antonio, shackled and, in the blonde man's mind, impotent, before turning the hot gaze back to the tiefling whose horns peek above the dark mass of his hair. "Does your Aroden arse-kissing pall-o-dine put you up to such resounding blasphemy?" His tone mocks, disdain for the fiendish-blooded actor clear, "Have you no tongue of your own, half-breed, to answer my charge?" Haanderthan, and the actor portraying him, looking smug and self-righteous.
Haanderthan might look smug and self-rightous, but Rev as Larazod is right. His words true. "Truth is spoken freely in many tongues, false magistrate, and by agents of light and dark. You know what you are."
Gozran 4/Ailyn
She moans as he pushes into her, the pleasure in her eyes chasing away the fatigue. With his hand on her, keeping her from moving, it is only with her muscles that she can hold onto him, try to draw out each thrust, her body already moving back up to the heightened need that he had built in her before.Her eyes widen as his fingers brush her other entrance, a tinge of worry in the eyes. Quietly, even as her voice breaks slightly with the pleasure he is giving her, "Rev... I've never..." For the first time he manages to pull an innocent blush from the experienced pathfinder.
Innocent after all. He realizes. The thought of her tight bud being entirely virgin excites him. His member swells, the hard shaft stretching her inner muscles. Normally he preferred loose women, and those tended not towards the virginal in any sense of the word. But Ailyn was adventurous and sensual and experienced, yet still blushing, nervous. It was a wonderful feeling. He wanted her so much at that moment, but at the same time, he knew he would have to tread carefully and gently, and stop if she was not enjoying it. Her enjoyment was very important to him for some reason.
He smiles down at her, changes positions a little, settles on his knees, moves her legs so they are up against his chest, framing the spiral scar over his heart. One hand touches her blushing face while the other remains ever so gently caressing her lower bud, and his hips work his member in and out of her. "Ailyn." He whispers. "Sweet, lovely, blushing, innocent Ailyn. What am I to do with you?" One moist finger tip rims her bud, and with very little pressure, ever so gently dips inside her to the first knuckle, not far at all, although just far enough to let all of her very sensitive nerves in that cluster light up with the mixture of pure bliss and a little pressure that some women absolutely enjoy. He hoped she was in this camp, because he did not particularly want to stop. His other moist fingers continue to play around her rear opening, touching ever so gently. His member works to pleasure her front. "What would you like me to do with you?"
Thesing rolls his blue eyes, his head following in the gesture, emphasizing it. His voice, scoffing, "You persist in this foolishness?"
He shakes his head sadly, sudden sympathetic, softly pleading, entirely reasonable, "It shall go hard for you and yours." Hop in his voice, salvation, "Recant and your deaths shall be swift, your souls consigned to diligent service in Hell."
Then hard, as cold as ice, relentless, "Refuse? And enlist in agony’s service, consign your soul to wallow in the most ignominious corner of the Nine, and take eternal suffering as your bedmate."
This time the light on the main body of the court dims only slightly, Calseinica's light brightening only slightly, but she glances coyly at the audience, "He’s to have a much more interesting bedmate, if
I’ve anything to say." Licking her lips, the hand closer to the edge of the stage running from waist to knee, emphasizing her pretty curves, "The fire that one shows at tribunal," she gasps quietly, her knees pressing together, voice seductive, "will no doubt burn even stronger between my sheets." Her attention returning to Larazod and the spotlight fading.
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She looks at him with a raised eyebrow, the tips of her ears red, but no other sign of embarrassment. Her voice intentional cool, contrast to the teasing smile. "Oh. So you don't want a prize for winning." She shrugs. "Alright." The grin gets wider, "What's next on the sparring list?"
"Probably." Frank honesty coloring her voice dark. "I'm not a good person Gravlax." She does pull away, doesn't get any closer, "And I'm very bad luck for anyone who cares about me."
Her voice drops, "And I'm a greedy person, because even knowing that... I want you." Dark eyes, "And want you to want me."
As he starts, Janiven is propped up on her elbows, a bright smile lighting up her face as she watches him. Holding nothing back as he kisses, nips, licks, and teases. He feels every shiver of pleasure, every jolt of sensation through muscle, every moan, whisper. One hand whispers through his hair when he first starts, but as he works in earnest, she falls back against the bed, body eventually writhing under his ministrations.
Her voice starts quiet, small noises of happy, pure pleasure. But it grows. By the time his fingers slid into her rear she is screaming, sometimes low, other times high, ripped from her. And once he has her pleasure ripping through her so continuously that once she screams, she can't stop.
And doesn't.
Not until her voice breaks. After that Janiven still moans and screams as Cassian continues to make her come, but her voice can't rise above a whisper. Body wire taunt, racked with near continuous orgasm, every touch of his fingers, lips, and tongue setting her off again.
She starts to answer just before he takes her fingers in his mouth. Brown eyes growing wide when he speaks, "You want to..." her blush growing, "down there?"
She whimpers as he whispers into her lips. Every nerve in her body screaming to lean forward, to connect to him, to have him in her, to quench the fire that he started that burns in each sensitive point through her body. What is left of her human brain, her intellect, is pulling her the other way. Caught between what she so desperately wants and what she needs to do, a frustrated tear pooling at corner of her eye. Voice quiet, breaking slightly as her fingers trail on his cheek. "I want you so much Cassian," eyes begging, "please, please, don't... not tonight." Very honest, "If you push... I'd... break."
Arata smiles, "Old story, star-crossed lovers yearning to be together and freeing their families from ages-old hate only with their deaths. But it was told well."
"As for the dragon, I believe it was part of force of stone giants that tried to push Sandpoint off the Lost Coast and into the sea. But, as happens when the fates are kind, the town had the protection of a group of adventurers. I believe the wizard killed the dragon."
His voice drops, "Odd man, paranoid about squirrels."
She gasps, both as he swells in her and at the change in position, small moans that moves in and out of her. Her fingers twisting in the sheet beneath her, giving her something solid to cling to as her pleasure grows.
He sees the brief pain of the entry quickly over shadowed by the pleasure he stirs elsewhere in her body. She blushes again at his question, caught between the unusual pleasure having his finger in her is causing and fear of the pain she feels overpowering the pressure.
As the spotlight no doubt brightens at least slightly on him, Dentris head turns at least partially to face the audience, manacled hands raising as a "whispered" aside to them:
"That one grows hot betwixt her infernal thighs. Hope beyond hope. voice of dissent on the council...the slenderest chance of salvation ours to clutch. Let this waxen sliver of hope not melt until she does-Dark Lord, please let her find her tongue." Dentris wrings his hands in supplication (carefully) and turns back to his seemingly contrite position as the light fades, though perhaps standing just a little bit straighter than before.
'Unaware' of the whispers to the audience, Thesing continues to rail at Larazod, loudly, "" Mocking, "Do you still baffle with false charges, or have your battered wits returned?"
Yelling, the word re-vibrating through the Nightshade,
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Arata smiles, "Old story, star-crossed lovers yearning to be together and freeing their families from ages-old hate only with their deaths. But it was told well."
"As for the dragon, I believe it was part of force of stone giants that tried to push Sandpoint off the Lost Coast and into the sea. But, as happens when the fates are kind, the town had the protection of a group of adventurers. I believe the wizard killed the dragon."
His voice drops, "Odd man, paranoid about squirrels."
"Squirrels?" Azhar chuckles, "wonder what happened to cause that?" he asks rhetorically, then back to Arata "what were you doing in Sandpoint? Visiting Ameiko or something else?"
Gozran 4/Ailyn
She gasps, both as he swells in her and at the change in position, small moans that moves in and out of her. Her fingers twisting in the sheet beneath her, giving her something solid to cling to as her pleasure grows.He sees the brief pain of the entry quickly over shadowed by the pleasure he stirs elsewhere in her body. She blushes again at his question, caught between the unusual pleasure having his finger in her is causing and fear of the pain she feels overpowering the pressure.
He is quite careful with her. Continuing to give her pleasure while she grows used to the feeling of his finger inside her. He kisses her as he realizes she is afraid. "It's alright, Ailyn, you don't have to be afraid of me." He whispers soothingly to her, "You're safe in my arms."
diplomacy so she sees his sincerity.
If she relaxes a little, the moist finger inside her will move, slowly entering further, ever so gently stretching her to eventually accommodate a second finger.
'Unaware' of the whispers to the audience, Thesing continues to rail at Larazod, loudly, "" Mocking, "Do you still baffle with false charges, or have your battered wits returned?"
Yelling, the word re-vibrating through the Nightshade,
Keeping his head even as his voice raises to overpower that of Haanderthan, Rev as Larazod has a presence that cannot be denied.
His voice almost bored, full of self-righteous pride, "Innocent, of course."
Thesing turns to his council, tone clipped, quick, "And so judgement is passed." An evil smile, full of malice, "My right as magistrate puts you to the flames on my command." The smile grows, the tone hard, obsidian dark. "My word is ."
Dentris straightens, face turning up towards the Magistrate, ", my lord, in my days as a barrister of the tribunal, was it not common practice to ask Consular Consent in any judgement of a matter involving the person of the Magistrate? Please do not tell me the ancient code of Asmodeus's court scorched on the Tablets of Law by our Great Lord's own fiery talon has so fallen as to warrant its complete disregard in this tribunal?"
the light shows the expression of near disbelief on his wizened features.
Thesing glares at Azhar, blue eyes full of hatred at the reminder that his power is not absolute. "Of course, you are correct. man."
He smiles, the picture of reasonable calm, "I’ve no intention of affronting our Great Lord." He doesn't sigh, but his body language dies as he turns to the men and women around, "Council, what say ye on this matter?" His tone indicates that they should agree with him, "Do you concur with judgment? These heinous slanders cast upon my great name warrant utter annihilation. So sayeth I, Magistrate of this Gloried Tribunal." He looks at each and every member of the council, voice dangerous calm, "Do you agree?"
And each and every councilor says "Aye." Until Thesing's eyes get to Calseinica, who looks boldly back, meeting his gaze with no fear. "Nay." She says, defiant of the paraduke's wishes.
Thesings scoffs, eyes still locked with Calseinica's, tone mocking her. "My ears deceive me. Do you, august erinyes, daughter of Hell, speak against our cause?" Disbelief in her audacity clear, his anger boiling under the surface.
Calseinica rises, her costume fully clear to the audience for the first time, her voice melodic but level. Cocky confidence, "I speak against your judgment. Our cause is yet undetermined by my mark." She turns to the rest of the council, all reason and logic, "According to our oldest codes, truth can be drawn from an offender, as pus from a wound." She shrugs, "Asmodeus’s Trials show the true heart from the false." A wide smile, evil yet perfect, "Why, simply put the half-breed to the flames. Let us try him properly in accordance with the," A pause, pregnant with promise "old ways." Her smile full of that promise.
Dentris again speaks to himself (to the audience),
"Well done, lad. At least your pretty infernal face is good for something, even if your tongue offends all who hear. We may yet have a snowballs chance in hell of surviving this."
as he finishes Dentris returns to his previous position.
Thesing's hand brushs against his other one, dismissive, "Tut-tut." Motions around him, to the huddling mass of prisoners that are there, just not visible to the audience, "The business of the tribunal heaps higher day by day. We’ve cases waiting in the wings by the thousands." His voice growing pious, sure, "Penitent souls singing out for justice." Hurling accusation at the defiant erinyes, "Shall we delay their flight to Asmodeus’s waiting embrace to engage in infantile contests?" Reasonable, pleading with the council, "Nay, nay, expediency is our charge when matters so lacking in evidence are brought before our bench."
"Come, come, sweet magistrate." Calseinica leans forward, body language soft, tempting, "The spectacle of a few trials would do my poor heart well." She sighs, world weary, "I wane at these tiresome sessions. Let the trials commence." Her hips press against the table in front of her, moving slightly, "’Twould arouse me. ’Twould tickle me. ’Twould me to," a gasp that echos through the theater,
Thesing's eyes sharpen, focused on the beautiful woman, desire and lust plain on the handsome face. His words sharp, "Trials you say? How now? If it is to be so, let us sweeten the pot." He smiles, the lust finding a solution, "A price I would exact for trials as you insist." He motions to Rev, "If this half-breed fails, not only is my name cleared of all preposterous charges, but you shall," the smile vicious, "compact to me for a full moon’s service, to do bidding and satisfy all my unwholesome needs."
There is no hesitation in Calseinica's response, but there is shudder of disgust a moment before she speaks. "Let it be so agreed. I hunger so for trials," her eyes flicking over to Rev, clear as to what else she hungers for, "I happily wager my body to your whim. We shall see if this half-breed’s words strike true or false." A smirk on her face as she challenges Thesing.
"So be it." Satisfied, Thesing turns back to the prisoners, smug. Absolutely sure the trials will kill the men before him. "Larazod, you stand in trial. By " Trying to regain the full power of the council, "discretion you shall face six of Asmodeus’s fell tests."
The blonde man stands, smirking, ready to condemn the tiefling, "You stand alone in the face of terrors over which no mortal has prevailed."
Tybain looks at Larazod, straightens, and turns to Haanderthan.
"Not alone, my lord. stand with him."
And suddenly he is gone. Only for a moment as she feels him enter her smoothly, burying himself in one smooth stroke, his lips meeting hers when they are fully united. His mouth still buzzing with the taste of her, he repeats his performance on her mouth, punctuating it with slick, brutal thrusts into her. His hands curl around her waist, forcing her pelvis upward, angling her to provide him with the most pleasure.
Drawing endurance from their earlier encounter, he still can't last long against what he's doing. He shudders, collapsing against her with one last thrust, spurting hot within her.
She starts to answer just before he takes her fingers in his mouth. Brown eyes growing wide when he speaks, "You want to..." her blush growing, "down there?"
"More than anything. Wouldn't you like to take me in your mouth?"
Voice quiet, breaking slightly as her fingers trail on his cheek. "I want you so much Cassian," eyes begging, "please, please, don't... not tonight." Very honest, "If you push... I'd... break."
He nods. "Not tonight." He kisses her again. "I can't be denied for long. You're far too beautiful. Too perfect. Too ripe." His motions on himself quicken, breath grows short. He is almost there.
Thesing's eyes cut to Gravlax. Slyly, "You are under no obligation to do so, Ardonite." Threat in the well-trained voice. "Back down."
Calmer, "Be discharged. Keep at your slobbering benedictions for a few more years at least."
Gravlax looks flustered for a moment, then shrugs. "Can I talk you into throwing things at me for a bit? I have not practiced snatching objects from the air in a while."
He thinks for a minute. "Coins are probably good practice, unless you happen to carry throwing knives or something like that."
"The past informs the present, but does not determine the future," Gravlax says in a tone of voice that does not invite argument. He does not get closer. He does not back away. He keeps his gaze on her.
"I have seen and heard terrible things. Things that were wrong. And I did not nothing because they were lawful. That is my wrong to right. I do not know what you have done, or what has happened to those who care about you. And it does not matter. If you need to tell me, you may. If you do not, then I will discount it as slander. Please accept that I am freely choosing to walk along your path. If you would still have me there."
A pause. "And it is a selfish choice on my part as well. That does not make it wrong. Just ..." Another pause. "...unusually honest."
Tybain grows angrier as Haanderthan slanders his god, his loyalty, his principles. His back straightens even further, and icicles drip from his words.
"I am true to Aroden, my lord, but I am also true in loyalty and kinship. though half-fiend his blood may turn, is bound to me in brotherhood, as I stand bound to him. Our blades both matched the enemies of Cheliax, and what faith divides, common cause unites. cannot sunder me from his destiny. I stand trial at his side, as is my right, if I so..." Tybain's eyes seek out the Council "beclaim it. Is it not so, Dentris?"
There is a pause, a moment when the evil paraduke realizes that not only will the hated Larazod die but his paladin ally as well. With a small self-satisfied smile, "Very well." Eyes hard on Gravlax, "Burn with him, fool."
Gesturing to the old wizard, bored, "Dentris Maltrada, you are hereby discharged."
Tybain grows angrier as Haanderthan slanders his god, his loyalty, his principles. His back straightens even further, and icicles drip from his words.
"I am true to Aroden, my lord, but I am also true in loyalty and kinship. though half-fiend his blood may turn, is bound to me in brotherhood, as I stand bound to him. Our blades both matched the enemies of Cheliax, and what faith divides, common cause unites. cannot sunder me from his destiny. I stand trial at his side, as is my right, if I so..." Tybain's eyes seek out the Council "beclaim it. Is it not so, Dentris?"
1d20+14
"'Tis tru, my lord." Dentris smiles in apparent derision, "If the half-brained, half-baked, half-witted, light-blinded fool of a knight wishes to perish alongside my good master, he is within his lawful right."
With a small self-satisfied smile, "Very well." Eyes hard on Gravlax, "Burn with him, fool."
Tybain glares, but says nothing further as Haanderthan's attention moves on.
There is a pause, a moment when the evil paraduke realizes that not only will the hated Larazod die but his paladin ally as well. With a small self-satisfied smile, "Very well." Eyes hard on Gravlax, "Burn with him, fool."
Gesturing to the old wizard, bored, "Dentris Maltrada, you are hereby discharged."
Dentris still appears contrite, but a bit of his smile begins to show, perhaps he is a masochist. "Nay sir, though I wish nothing more. This boy, as wayward as his fancies take him, is in care. I never waivered from his father’s service, and I shall not turn my back on his son."