Legends of Belariath

Savuriel

The Sloppy Score

Nyalla was finding this night to be fairly typical of the evenings she spent at the Lonely Inn - she was on her back, naked but for her high-heeled shoes, secured to a bed, and she had a fat, drunken human man licking one of her nipples erect while he pawed at her other breast and her sex with his hands. The man, a wealthy merchant whose trade took him to Nanthalion with some frequency, groped at Nyalla solely for his own pleasure, his hands and mouth rather clumsy. There was very little that Nyalla could do about it, however, as her wrists were bound by steel manacles and held over her head by short length of chain that attached the manacles to the bed frame. Nevertheless, she did her best to work up a degree of arousal from his oafish attentions, because she had no illusions as to what was coming next. She closed her eyes and imagined a more pleasant encounter, which helped her get her nectar to flow. She even moaned a little when she thought she could take the man’s cock without pain.

Nyalla doubted that the merchant noticed her growing state of readiness in the slightest, no doubt taking the moan for fear. “Are you ready, slut?” he slurred maliciously as he turned her over onto her hands and knees, knelt behind her, and hoisted her hips up. “It’s time you served me as every good slut should!”

Nyalla felt the flared head of the man’s cock butt against her vulnerable slit. “NO!” she shrieked, unable to keep the futile protest from escaping her lips. No matter how many times she found herself in this position, the helplessness always got to her, the humiliation of choice being stripped away, that moment of being on the cusp of being raped always made her gut churn with icy fear. “N-Aaah!” she squealed, her second plea cut short as the man plunged his shaft home, her velvety depths grasping at the unwelcome intrusion.

From there, it got easier, as the man began to pound her pussy, while drunkenly shouting, “Take that, you whore! Cunt! This is how I use sluts like you!” Nyalla spread her legs a little wider to make accepting his shaft more comfortable, and let his imprecations fall on deaf ears, involuntary little yips coming from the back of her throat every time he thrust his shaft into her.

Nyalla was a sylvan elf of exceptional beauty. She stood just a little over five feet tall (a few inches more in heels), fine boned, with a dancer’s build. Her breasts were small, but well-shaped, with a perky upwards tilt, and comparatively large areolas and nipples. Her stomach was trim, toned and taut from countless hours of fencing and dancing practice, her hips flared out enticingly, and her legs were long, slender, and graceful. A delightful little bow of a mouth rested over a pointed chin, a small, slightly up-turned nose and high cheekbones defined her face, her almond-shaped eyes were hazel, the color seeming to change depending upon how the light struck them. Her delicately pointed ears peeked out of a shoulder-length mane of auburn curls, with two delicate braids the hung down on either side of her face.

When Nyalla was newly come of age, she was driven out of her woodland home by war and the ills it brought with it. Her parents were killed, her village razed, Nyalla had nothing but the clothes on her back and no one to turn to. As a refugee, she came to Nanthalion, and quickly found that, when one is friendless and without power, being beautiful is more a curse than a blessing. One of the first people she met was another sylvan elf, a man of some wealth and stature, and because he was of the same race as Nyalla, she made the mistake of trusting him. Before she knew what was happening, the man had her in his room in the inn, bound and naked, and forcefully stole her virginity, the awful beginning of a horrifying marathon of rape and punishment.

The elven man kept Nyalla captive and used her to fulfill his sexual needs for five days. He told her that he was going to make her his slave, and Nyalla despaired, but he eventually grew tired of her and released her. Shortly thereafter, some business of his took him away from Nanthalion, and, thankfully, she never saw him again.

He did leave Nyalla with two lasting legacies, however. The first was that she learned right away that she could not rely on the kindness of strangers, motivating her to learn to make her own way as quickly as possible. She was clever and nimble, and so she took to thievery to support herself. She felt a little guilty stealing from just anybody, so she began a tendency to review marks carefully before lifting their wealth, taking from those who make their fortunes on the misery of others, who enjoy victimizing those weaker than themselves. Nanthalion offered an abundance of such characters, mostly transient, which made them ideal marks for Nyalla’s trade.

Her first rapist’s other lasting legacy came nine months later, when Nyalla bore a daughter. Fortunately for Nyalla, the child bore very little resemblance to the father, so she kept her, named her Reyna, and made a home for the two of them as best she could in the slum sections of the town.

Nyalla felt her most recent rapist stiffen, thrust into her one more time, and let his control slip, filling her womb with gushes of his seed. He hadn’t lasted long enough for her to even come close to getting off. She suppressed a sigh, as it would have been out of character, instead making a point to moan in fear that wasn’t really faked. “P…please, milord,” she whimpered without looking at him, when she felt him stop spurting into her, “L…let me go now?”

The merchant let out a bark of cruel laughter. “Let you go?” he asked incredulously, “I’m only getting started with you!” Withdrawing his member from her, he roughly flipped her onto her back again and straddled her chest, presenting his wilting manhood to her lips, slick with a mix of her nectar and his semen. “Suck, whore!” he commanded.

Nyalla had a fair bit of experience pleasing a man with her mouth, often distracting a mark with her lips and tongue on his shaft while she lifted his purse. However, if she agreed too readily, it would also be against the persona she had presented to this man, so she scrunched her lips shut and turned her face away from his softening pole. Besides, she guessed what he really wanted was an excuse to beat her one way or the other, so she thought she’d give him the excuse early and get it out of the way.

“Bitch!” the human male snapped, outraged at her refusal as she’d expected. Swinging himself off of her, he flipped her over onto her stomach hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and grabbed a handful of her hair, using it as a handle to keep her on her stomach and keep her from resisting - not that she could offer much in the way of effective resistance, with her hands manacled and chained to the bed frame as they were. “I’ll teach you to deny my wishes!“ he snarled. She guessed that he was about to lay into her bottom, and hoped he would use his hand.

He didn’t, electing instead to grab the crop that he had within easy reach. With a crack, he snapped it off of her vulnerable behind, drawing an all-too-real howl of fright and pain from her. “Now, I’m going to beat you until you’ll do whatever I say!” he gloated, snapping the crop off of her ass again.

“Aah!” Nyalla shrieked as he struck her a third time, tears springing from her eyes and running down her cheeks, leaving streaks of ruined makeup in their wake, “Please! M…mercy, milord! Mercy! I’ll do whatever you want! Mercy!”

The merchant answered with the crop, striking a fourth and fifth time in rapid succession, drawing wails from each blow. “I don’t believe you yet, slut!” he bellowed drunkenly, “Convince me!”

From the moment of Reyna’s birth, Nyalla’s every waking moment had been informed by one driving desire: the wish that Reyna never have to know the horrors that she herself had faced. She did not want her to suffer the curse of being beautiful but weak, to know what it was to have but one asset that others could take by force at the slightest whim. If Nyalla had anything to do with it, Reyna would enjoy the advantages that come with wealth and power. So, she allowed herself no indulgences, spent coin only when she absolutely had to, and deposited every spare copper into an account that would become Reyna’s when she came of age…or if something happened to Nyalla.

Something happening to Nyalla was an all-to-real possibility. Belariath was a dangerous place, particularly for females of any race that were beautiful, but were not powerful, wealthy, or strong. At any moment, one male or another could take it into his head to slap a collar on her. All he need to is overpower her and drag her to the ISA to fill out the appropriate paperwork. That would be all it would take for her to become property, and practically any male who could lift a sword could swiftly overcome her and bundle her up, a neat little package to turn into his personal property. That was Nyalla’s greatest fear - that she would be made a slave, either leaving her daughter to fend for herself in a capricious world, or forcing her into slavery as well as her mother.

Ironically, Nyalla actively courted this fate by pursuing the life of a thief. At first, she’d risked only small scores and petty pick pocketing as she learned the trade and honed her skills. Over the last few years, she’d gradually upped the ante, pulling bigger and more rewarding jobs. There was an excitement to the score that she could not deny, the bigger the risk, the greater the thrill. However, if she were to be caught, slavery was almost inevitable to be the penalty. She therefore lived a precarious existence, her wit’s the only thing keeping her one step - sometimes only a half-step - from finding herself with a collar around her neck.

Nyalla’s howls of pain seemed to excite the fat merchant. His whipping of her behind increased in force and tempo, and he continued it felt like he’d striped every inch of her behind from the small of her back to just above the backs of her knees. By the time he stopped, there was no act to Nyalla’s sobbing. She would do anything to make the punishment stop. “Mercy, milord, mercy!” she shrieked.

The merchant flipped Nyalla over, drawing another shriek from her as her reddened behind roughly impacted on the bed linens. He straddled her chest again, his shaft hardened once more. “Suck, whore!” he commanded with a snarl.

Feigning a little more reluctance than she was actually feeling, Nyalla slowly took the man’s erect cock into her mouth, bobbing her head slowly to work her lips and tongue up and down his shaft. The position was awkward for her, and she was actually somewhat grateful when he took a handful of her hair and started guiding her head. It was painful, and the man was forcing his cock far enough back into Nyalla’s throat to make her gag at the peak of every thrust, but at least the man took some of the strain off her neck muscles in the process.

Nyalla was beginning to regret getting herself into this situation, but there was nothing for it but to see it through to the end. In truth, she had been building up to this particular job since the moment Reyna was born. A year ago, she’d identified this particular trader as a potential target, and began surreptitiously observing the man, learning his comings and goings, his tastes, and his habits. She identified some patterns that she thought she could use against him. First, he always sold his current goods a day or so before buying new goods for trade, allowing himself time in between to unwind, which led to the second pattern that she thought she could take advantage of. The merchant seemed to take sport in getting drunk and ravaging young women newly arrived at the Lonely Inn, the more vulnerable the better. Four times over the past year, he captured a girl to use for his amusement, collaring her the next day and taking her away with him, never to be seen in Nanthalion again. Three out of those four times, he’d enslaved a blond elven lass. She also ascertained that he never deposited money or valuables in the town bank, but instead preferred to keep them in his room at the Inn.

Armed with this information, Nyalla had, at the time, considered allowing the merchant to “capture” her and waiting until he had spend himself and passed out to be a fairly sound plan. The only catch was that it required that she trust someone to care for her daughter while the man had her in his clutches. Living a life as hazardous as she did, she allowed herself precious few friends. In fact, up until a few weeks ago, she had only one, a Torian bard named Zoanna. Zoanna was perhaps one of the most lovely females of any race Nyalla had ever seen. She had red hair, cut boyishly short, and luminescent golden eyes, and wings as white as newly fallen snow. Her figure was lush, and she dressed to tease and reveal, her manner flamboyant and full of verve. Zoanna had been the only person to offer Nyalla any kindness after her initial brush with the vicissitudes of life in Nanthalion, helping her pull herself together and make a place for herself in the capricious land she’d found herself in.

Nyalla had, of course, asked Zoanna to care for Reyna. Her Torian friend, unfortunately, had to refuse. “I have to be at the Inn, performing,” she’d explained apologetically as the two of them relaxed in the sitting room of Zoanna’s cottage, “When the caravans arrive, there’s always more coin to be had. If I don’t show, I lose out, and some talentless hack might move in on my territory. I’m sorry, you know how much I love the both of you, but I just can’t do it.”

The merchant suddenly pulled his manhood out of Nyalla’s mouth, well before she had coaxed a second load of seed out of him. She was puzzled by this, but her confusion only lasted a moment, as he turned her over again, once again shoving the full length of his manhood into her velvety depths. She gasped at his sudden entry, crying out as he began to fuck her again and his hips slammed painfully into her reddened ass cheeks. Even so, she decided that if this was all he wanted, humoring him until he finally fell asleep would be fairly tolerable, if not exactly pleasant.

Unfortunately, she misread the man’s intentions. He only plumbed her sex for a few strokes in order to coat his shaft with the most readily available lubricant - the mix of his seed and her nectar that coated the insides of her womb. Without warning, he withdrew his cock from her slit, repositioned himself, and before Nyalla could do anything about it, shoved it savagely into her rectum and began ruthlessly ass-fucking her.

Nyalla howled and shrieked at the violent intrusion, her hands spasming frantically, uselessly fighting the chain that bound her by the wrists to the bed frame, her rectum squeezing to try and expel the man’s cock. She’d rarely ever been taken in this way, and the man’s savage assault forced her anal canal to stretch and tear, feeling as though he were tearing her in half. All of her futile struggles only seemed to excite the man further, however, making him thrust even harder. “You like that, bitch?” he slurred drunkenly, “Take it, whore! Take it all!”

With Zoanna unavailable, Nyalla has been forced to take a chance on someone she’d only recently met, a tall Drak Sen named Savuriel. The circumstances of their initial meeting hadn’t been what she’d ordinarily think would lead to any kind of friendship. She’d spent a late night preparing for the job at hand, getting her ducks in a row with a fence that she met in town. After the meet, she’d been walking down the deserted street, preoccupied with plans for the score, when a hand reached out of an alley and grabbed her by the hair. Before she could react, she’d been dragged into the alley and pushed face-first against the wall.

“Hey!” she’d protested, feeling her hands get pulled behind her back. “Let me go!” she demanded, even as the rope was knotted about her wrists, binding them tight.

“What, already?” came the voice of her captor, deep and oddly melodious, “We’ve only just started!”

She felt her captor loop rope around her elbows and bind them tight, forcing her to thrust her breasts out. A sudden thrill of fear went through her, and she became terrified that the man was a slaver, that he would take her away and she would never see Reyna again. “Please!” she pleaded, “Please, do whatever you like with me, but just let me go home to my daughter afterwards! Please!”

She felt hands covered in fine scales slide her skirt off her hips and allowed it to fall to the trash-strewn ground. Turning her around, he cupped her delicate chin and forced her to look up at him. Scales glittered like ice in the dim light, pale blue eyes met her gaze. “I promise you,” he intoned solemnly, “I will personally deliver you to your daughter.” With that, he ripped open her vest and let that garment fall to the ground as well. Having Nyalla bound and naked but for her shoes, he proceeded to pluck her up off the ground and set her down on an overturned rain barrel. The rough wood scraped the soft skin of her buttocks as he spread her legs wide with his hands.

Maybe this will be over with quickly, Nyalla thought, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes, preparing for the abrupt thrust of a cock into her inner depths. Instead, fingers eased her nether lips open, and she felt the feather-light flick of a tongue on her clitoris. She gasped as her eyes flew open in surprise, looking down to see the Drak kneeling before her, lips and tongue playing her sex enthusiastically.

Ooh! she thought, as her arousal began to quickly mount and a moan of pleasure burbled up from deep within her, Maybe this won’t be so bad after all!

It was at least a couple of hours before Savuriel finished with Nyalla. He then helpfully escorted her to Zoanna’s house, even going so far as to cast Mend and Clean on her torn garments. He did not, however, unbind her arms, and seemed to regard any suggestion that he do so as a lighthearted jest on Nyalla’s part. So, she was unable to put her clothes back on, and could only clutch them in her hands as the pair of them made their way through the seedy parts of town.

Fetching up at Zoanna’s house, Savuriel knocked on the door, sparing Nyalla the necessity of banging her head against it.

“I’ll be right there!” Zoanna called, opening the door a moment later. Her eyes widened as soon as she laid eyes on Nyalla. “By all the horny gods!” she cried, stepping aside so Nyalla could enter, Savuriel following without being asked, “What happened to you?”

Nyalla caught sight of herself in one of Zoanna’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors, almost laughing at the image. She had to admit, she was quite a site. Her hair, usually brushed to a high sheen, was mussed and rumpled. She was dirty all over, her knees were bruised, and she still had the aftereffects of Savuriel’s orgasms - and her own - oozing from between her legs.

“That Drak Sen happened to me,” Nyalla replied wryly, wiggling her hands impotently. “By the way, would you mind? Where’s Reyna, anyway?”

“Oh, of course not!” Zoanna said, springing to undo her friend’s bonds, “Reyna’s in the other room. She tried to stay up and wait for you, but the poor thing just couldn’t keep her eyes open! You’d better get cleaned up before she sees you!”

“Good idea,” Nyalla said, rubbing her chafed wrists once Zoanna got her arms freed, “Keep an eye on that Drak, too. I think he means well, but he’s a little crazy.”

“Means well?” Zoanna asked incredulously as Nyalla stepped into Zoanna’s bedroom, pouring water from a pitcher into a waiting bowl, and wetting a cloth to wipe herself down with, “Nyalla, he raped you!”

“All rapists should be like him,” Nyalla observed, “I can’t remember the last time I came so hard. He might be worth keeping around. Where is he, anyway?”

There was a moment’s silence, then Zoanna replied quietly, “With your daughter.”

Nyalla panicked, throwing on her clothes haphazardly as she ran to where Zoanna stood. However, the scene in Zoanna’s sitting room stopped her in her tracks - her daughter, blinking sleepily, but happily placing a plush animal on Savuriel’s head, the Drak blinking bemusedly, placing another fuzzy toy on her daughter’s head, making her giggle delightedly. Nyalla’s heart warmed to the Drak’s tenderness with Reyna, but she glided forward, fixing her clothes as she went, to collect Reyna.

“Mommy!” Reyna crowed delightedly, leaping into Nyalla’s outstretched arms, “Savriel was helping me chase away a bad dream!”

“Hello, blossom!” Nyalla whispered, nodding her appreciation to Savuriel. “I’m sorry you had a bad dream, but I’m glad to hear that Mommy’s friend chased it away.“

The Drak winked in return and stood, returning to Zoanna’s kitchen.

Nyalla gathered Reyna up in her arms and stood as well. “Come on, blossom, time to go home.” Reyna didn’t answer, but just snuggled in her arms and closed her eyes, her thumb finding its way into her mouth.

Nyalla glanced towards the doorway to Zoanna’s kitchen. She wondered why her friend no longer stood there, then heard a commotion coming from within. “Let me go, you lout!” Zoanna shrieked, and then there was a clatter and clanging, as if the table were being abruptly swept clear. “Nyalla!” she shouted, “This reptile is tying me to the table! Make him let me loose!”

Nyalla stood dumbfounded for a moment, trying to sort out how to accomplish what Zoanna wanted with her arms full of her sleeping daughter. There was a distinctive ripping sound. Zoanna cried, “Stop! Don’t you…! Don’t! Stop! Don’t…! Ooh!” Her tone changed, from shrieking to crooning. “Ooh, ooh!” she moaned, “Oh! Ooh! Don’t stop! Ooh! Nyalla? Ooh! No hurry! Ooh!”

An amused smile playing across her lips, Nyalla carried her daughter to a side door and slipped out of the house.

The next day, she found the Drak Sen languidly sunning himself on a bench in one of Nanthalion’s public squares. “Savuriel, can I have a moment of your time?”

He opened one eye, regarded her lazily for a moment, then opened the other and sat up. “Why, of course!” he said, “Do you care to sit?”

“No, I’d rather we walk,” she replied, offering her hand to him.

He eyed the hand for a moment, as if it was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever seen. He took the hand and rose, but then twisted her arm about behind her, locking the wrist painfully. Nyalla gasped at the sudden wrenching, thinking that she might have to put up with being raped by him again, then thinking that wouldn’t be so bad. However, he didn’t make any move to strip her down or bend her over the bench. Instead, she feels him slip a leather collar about her neck, lacing it in place with his free hand. She could not suppress a shiver, but he seemed not to notice as he attached a chain to the steel ring at her throat. “There!” he says, smiling, “Now, I’m ready to walk you!” He starts to amble down the path, fortunately setting a leisurely pace that Nyalla has little trouble maintaining.

“I wanted to ask a favor of you,” Nyalla began, as soon as she was sure no one was within earshot.

“You’re not going to ask me to let you go, are you?” Savuriel asks in a worried tone.

“No…I mean, yes! I mean, no that’s not why I sought you out,” she replies.

“Oh, good!” he sighs contentedly, “What do you want to ask me?”

“In a few nights, I’m going to need someone to look after my daughter,” she says.

He stops and turns to stare at her. The whimsy and madness are out of his eyes entirely, and his gaze is more penetrating than Nyalla had thought possible. For a moment, she is transfixed as he holds her helpless in his gaze. “Why would you trust me with your daughter?” he demands.

“I…there is no one else,” Nyalla admits, “but I’ve seen how you are with her, and I…I just think I can trust you.”

He holds her in his gaze for another long moment, then finally nods, his eyes then taking on their usual dreamy demeanor. “Well, of course you can,” he observes, drawing her close to him by the chain, until she found her body pressed firmly against his. “When you need me, I will be there,” he promises, “Now…perhaps you might do me a favor as well.”

Nyalla looked up into his eyes and saw the heat begin to rise in them. She found her breath caught and her heartbeat begin to rise in anticipation. I really do need a little more…fun in my life, she thinks. Reading his intent, she sinks to her knees. He smiles and unlaces his trousers, allowing his erect cock to spring out at her face level. “You read my mind!” he exclaims, “How did you do that?”

Nyalla shrugs, but she does not answer, already taking the drak’s shaft into her mouth, something like eagerness making her oblivious to how public the display of submission was.

Having arranged for her daughter, Nyalla had only a few details left to iron out. Specifically, she went to a consignment shop in town and bought a dress of green velvet with a plunging neckline and slits to mid-thigh on either side to reveal her legs. New, the dress would have been fit for the daughter of a prosperous noble house. However, it was somewhat threadbare. Anyone deigning to wear it would appear to be a lady who had fallen on hard times. Nyalla guessed that the merchant would find such prey irresistible.

Finally, the night arrived. The merchant was in town and trolling at the Lonely Inn. Nyalla donned the dress and stood in front of the mirror. One more preparation to make: she murmured arcane words she’d learned from Zoanna and watched her appearance change before her: her cheekbones lifted a bit, her nose lengthened and took on more of a point, her eyes changed from hazel to clear blue, and her hair changed to from ebon to blond, the hue of spun gold. In short, she became the picture of a desirable high elf maiden. Nodding to herself, she checked to ensure that Reyna was secure in Savuriel’s care, slipped out of her little shack, and made her way to the Inn.

Her mark was there, flush with his earnings, drinking, leering at the females of various races, protected by his henchmen. Nyalla had to play a delicate game here - she had to be noticed by him, but act like she was trying not to be noticed. She was causing a few heads to turn, and she realized she also had to be grabbed by the merchant before some other randy soul decided to find a use for her.

Deciding simple ploys were usually best, she simply ordered a glass of fire wine and wandered the crowd, seemingly aimlessly, but drawing close to her mark. Eventually, she turned and pretended to bump into him by accident, sloshing a little wine on his sleeve, but the rest of the contents of the glass went down the front of her dress, ensuring his eyes would be drawn to her breasts, the exposed parts heaving and colored by the pale red liquid, the gown clinging even more tightly to the rest. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as if mortified, “I’m so sorry, milord! Please forgive my clumsiness!”

The merchant began to sputter in indignation, then got a good look at Nyalla in her guise as a high elf noble down on her luck. Delight and desire flashed through his eyes, and he reached out and grabbed Nyalla’s wrist. “Wench, this tunic costs more than you could possible fetch at auction!” he declared, his words slightly slurred, “I’ll teach you mind where you walk and who you bump into!” He shoved her towards a laughing guard, who wrenched her arms behind her back and began forcing her towards the stairs. “Oh, no!” she pleaded, “Please, have mercy! Let me go!” Inwardly, she thought, Well, this part is going easier than I thought.

From there, it was a simple matter of being bundled up to her mark’s room, bound to the bed by the merchant’s henchmen, waiting for him to arrive, and being used as his sexual plaything - although the word simple didn’t do justice to the feeling of being torn in half as he savaged her anal canal, unable to do anything but shriek and howl. Finally, after what seemed like an epoch, the man stiffened, moaned, and unleashed his second load into her, finally withdrawing from her battered canal when he was finished and his shaft was starting to wilt. Collapsing beside her on the bed, he regarded her through half-lidded eyes. The malevolence there made Nyalla shudder, despite his inebriated, drowsy state. “Get used to that, slut,” he slurred, his eyelids drooping drowsily, “You’ll be taking that again very soon…yes, very soon. Very soon and…very often.” He yawned, his eyes drifted shut, and in mere moments he started to snore.

Nyalla rolled off her stomach and onto her back - gingerly, because her ass hurt from the brutal reaming. Cautiously, she nudged the man. His snoring continued uninterrupted. Thank the horny gods for that! she thought, I thought he’d never go to sleep! Taking advantage of the natural flexibility of her race, Nyalla lifted her legs and folded herself in half, so she could reach her feet with her shackled hands. Deftly, she opened the secret compartment in the stiletto heel of her left shoe, withdrawing from them a pair of lock picks, with which she went to work on her restraints. First one, then the other popped open, surrendering to her skill. She secreted the picks back where she withdrew them from, then locked the shackles around the merchant’s wrists. The man’s snoring continued unabated.

Without bothering to dress, Nyalla ransacked the room, quickly locating the safe under the floorboards in the corner furthest from the door. This lock took several minutes work, but it, too, finally fell to her expertise. Swinging the heavy door open, she found small sacks of platinum trade bars and rare gemstones - wealth in its most concentrated, portable form. She emptied the safe of its contents and searched the rest of the room. Anything valuable and easy to carry went into one of the sacks, adding a considerable amount of jewelry and some potions to the haul. The merchant also had a small fortune in expensive clothes - he hadn’t been exaggerating about the value of the tunic she’d spattered wine on. They were too bulky to steal and fence. However, she didn’t want to leave them, fearing he might sell the fine garments in order to finance a search for the thief who had cleaned him out. She was more concerned about personally hired retribution than about the law in Nanthalion. Instead of trying to take his clothes with her, Nyalla piled them in a heap and poured the man’s supply of ink all over them. By the time the man awoke and summoned aid, she was sure that each and every garment would be thoroughly ruined, at least as far as resale value went. As thoroughly robbed as he was, the man would barely be able to afford to return home, being hounded out of Nanthalion by those whose contracts he’d be forced to break. Nyalla would be safe from his retribution.

Finished in her mark’s room, she pulled the green gown back on, went to the window with her haul and opened it, peering out at the grounds below carefully. She didn’t want any witnesses to her exit. Spying nobody, she stepped out onto the narrow ledge and closed the windows behind her. Then, she cast Feather Fall on herself and stepped off the ledge, swallowing reflexively even though she knew she would not plummet. Drifting gently to the ground, she looked about herself again. Still, she spotted no witnesses, and so she made her way back toward town, as nonchalantly as possible.

It took her an hour to return to her little shack, having first dropped off her night’s haul with the fence she’d arranged beforehand. The Moriel would be several days moving the merchandise, and would take a hefty commission off the top, but Nyalla trusted him to keep his end of the bargain. Tired and sore though she was, elation added more and more spring to her step as she neared home. She was worked up, and she wanted to celebrate, but she needed someone to celebrate with. That clumsy merchant hadn’t given her any release at all, and she found she craved some.

Slipping in quietly so as not to disturb her sleeping daughter, Nyalla spotted Savuriel sitting in the doorway to Reyna’s tiny room, back to one jamb, eyes closed as if asleep as well. Nyalla crept to the doorway, her gaze falling on her daughter, peacefully slumbering, clutching her favorite plush cat. The sight of Reyna, and the knowledge of the benefit that the money she’d made tonight would bring her, brought Nyalla the contented sense that the ordeal had been worthwhile.

Gradually, she became aware that Savuriel was not, in fact, asleep, and was looking up at her. She stepped aside, allowing him to rise, the Drak towering over her. “Who are you?” he asked, barely audibly, but still freighted with menace.

Nyalla stepped back in alarm, the realized that she still wore the appearance of a high elf. Heart warmed by his protectiveness towards Reyna, she allowed her disguise to fade, her true features returning. Savuriel’s eyes widened in surprise, but he smiled and took a step towards her.

“Oh, Nyalla!” he whispered, “You’ve returned!”

“Yes,” she said, taking another step backwards, gradually leading the Drak towards the door to her own small bedroom, “How was Reyna?”

“A delight,” he replied softly, following her as she backed away, “and your errand, it went well?”

“Well enough,” she admitted, glad of his presence for more than just the protection he’d afforded her daughter, “Although I find myself not ready to go to sleep.” She took another step back, crossing the threshold, and another, the backs of her legs bumping into her mattress. “If I may be forward with you, I don’t suppose you’d like to tie me to my bed and have your way with me until the sun comes up?”

Savuriel simply stepped forward and shoved her backwards onto the bed. She bounced once on her mattress and looked up in surprise. The Drak already had her left foot in hand, strapping on a leather cuff secured by a short length of rope to her bed frame. Each other corner of the bed had similarly pre-positioned restraints waiting. “I’d planned on doing that all along,” he told her, strapping the cuff around her other ankle.

Nyalla let herself relax, lying back onto the bed and allowing Savuriel to secure her wrists in place without a struggle. “Well,” she purred seductively, “it’s nice to know that there are things a girl can count on.”

The End

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