Fable - Ask Seven For A Secret

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Zyndyrr K'yoshin

Zyndyrr K'yoshin

The Night's Eye
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They called this tavern The Threatened Trumpet, which was something of a misnomer to at least more than one inhabitant. The music within it, a band of live musicians given to a stage where they played instruments, included everything but the trumpet. The violin was in their hands, the lute too, with the steady gait of the drum to set the mood, but no horn that echoed across the floor.

Neither was there any semblance of threat from them or the patrons in their midst. Most folk were jovial enough, sticking to amiable conversations or staying in their corners smoking pipes or rolling dice. Even the drunken ones were a merry enough bunch, chugging ale whilst others sipped sherry and felt like the best way to spend their time that night was to engage in intellectual conversations.

Truly, there were all kinds of people as much as races in this tavern in this village, and the latter was named Rothrun. Located in between Annuakat and Ragash, in the far west of the continent of Liadain, there was nothing special about it that did not exist in a settlement typical of its make.

It sported this tavern as much as that blacksmith beside it and the stables that one man had passed; an apothecary and a general store on the corner; a manor house for the lord and a village hall for them all.

However, what drew this man’s attention was none of the above, save for that tavern, The Threatened Trumpet. After traveling, spending more than one night sleeping in thickets, under hedges, roughing it in the wilderness, perhaps tonight he would get a bed.

For the moment, however, the drow settled for a corner of the tavern to sip his mead. His countenance was hooded, for not everyone appreciated the ashen skin of his species. Whether they did or didn’t in this part of the land, it was as much of a habit for him.

In his outfit, Zyndyrr K’yoshin wore a green cloak which covered his black steel armor, hid his possessions, though the scabbards of twin scimitars at either hip were not hidden, not that it mattered. He had not entered this tavern for violence but peace; to sit at ease, sip his mead, and listen to the musicians. One was a woman, a comely thing, and she did sing with the voice to put a trumpet to shame; liquid lyrics to tame the most violent ocean.

Where you go, where you go, when will I ever know?
You boast of your ventures, O my bold adventurer.
Yet ever do you stray away from me. I’m so alone.
I call. You don’t answer. You call me your lover?

Zyndyrr listened, gaze unwavering, eyes on her.

So brave, so you say, into the meadows at night.
With your sword, your cloak, O yes, O so very bold.
Yet you don't know, not to be told, how I'm so cold.
Go with curses, seven for a secret. My love. My knight.

Zelici
 
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"Another! And keep'em comin'!" Zelici cried out merrily as she slammed her shot glass back down on the table. She grinned over at the man across from her, her opponent in this impromtu competition. There was a crowd around the table who after cheering her latest successful drink was now looking expectently at the man who had challeneged her.

"Wha's tha matta, Roger? Too much already? Thar's not a bit of shame in admitting defeat and turning the coin to me. A deal is a deal and you did well! Lasted way longer than the other guy from the last town I was in!" The strange woman said. Strange because not only was she pale, but she had a whip like tail covered in white scales flitting in the air behind her and horns growing out of her hairline and pointing back. Similar to a goat.

"Sdstap talkin and...gnnn lemme drink yah she devil!" Roger slurred back at her. He managed to pick up the shot glass that was set before him, but he missed his mouth completly. The drink went down his shirt and splattered the floor.

"That's it! The strange miss wins!" said another patron who was acting as referree apparently. He shoved the coin at Zelici and she slide the multitude of pieces into her backpack. Grinning, she left the table then and moved to the bar just as her defeated opponent emptied his stomach onto the table. Well she wouldnt be going back to that one....

She ordered ale and some of whatever the tavern was serving to eat and scanned the room for another place to sit and eat. She spotted a table tucked away with only one occupant. It was promising so she moved towards the man and his table.

"Excuse me, ya mind if I join you?" she asked. She couldnt see much of him so she didnt know what he was, but she did know he was fully engrossed in the musicians. She hooked a thumb back at her former table. " My spot just got defiled," she said.
 
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Some men hunt, some hawk, some tumble dice. Zyndyrr was just remembering the words that fit his lord father; not far off from the mark. An elitist of a man, a beast of a man, which was ironic, considering his father considered others beneath him to be no less fitting than dirt under a boot.

Zyn’s father was a drow if ever there was one, at least in their section of civilization, there in their Underdark, where any sentient soul who was not a drow was just another slave and, if they failed to obey, they would be flayed.

Here? The son of K’yoshin was free. Sure, Zyndyrr could be merciless, was proven to be a cruel bastard of a being, but he was not his lord father, not by any means. Perhaps, ultimately, that was why he had been exiled to exist in this piss-shit tavern to begin with. His father would certainly call this dwelling above the surface as no less; for it was not drow, it was not dominion, its governor was not spider.

Some play dice. Some play cards. Zyn caught onto a game of cards at a table away from the bar. “Strange miss wins” said the ref. The cloaked drow didn’t know what game they were playing yet, somehow, he did know the woman as if she was already his.

Now there’s a feminine face. He sipped his mead, licked his lips, the taste of liquid suddenly sweeter that moment. She was pale-faced, hair as silver as his own, blue eyes unlike his crimson. Zyn noticed this of her person between her movements from table to bar and bar to table. The latter was his as he cradled his gaze on her arrival and words.

“Defiled?” His crimsons gazed into her sapphires. Did not grimace. Did not smile. “It’s an open seat, miss, so sit if you please.” He sipped his mead nonchalantly. Gave nothing away in his speech. It was neither defiant nor receptive, though what was hidden within was his excitement.

She is a beauty. A rare breed with that pallid countenance as far as the drow of his homeland environment. “What are you drinking?”

Princess Zelici
 
Crimson eyes in a grey face and a scent unknown to her. Was that face handsome? Scared? Old? Young? She couldn't quite tell and his scent, while enticing, didn't tell her. Or rather she didn't know what to make of what she smelled. She couldn't parse out the information. Yet. That was interesting. She tilted her head curiously. Her tail twitched behind her as if it was a separate being and she smiled when he agreed to let her sit with him. Mischief lived a free, full life is her sapphire gaze and currently it was focused on him. She pushed her long hair back behind one ear and slid into the seat near him, but put her back to the wall. Her bag went to the floor next and she put one of her legs through the straps to keep it in place. It made it harder for would be thieves to try to take it.

"It is, but I have learn'd some people don' appreciate tha company of a stranga," she said in her carefully practiced rough accent. It hid how she actually spoke and helped her blend in even as her looks made her stand out.

"Fa example, ya could be waiting fa some friends ta eat with or ya could have a shady dealing planned," she said. She grinned wickedly and leaned closer to him. "Or ya could be a thief or a slaver, waitin' fa some lone fool girl ta fall in ya trap," she said. With a chuckle she leaned back again. She sipped from her mug of ale.'

It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened to her. She was pretty and unusual and she was alone. Her human form was deceptively small and delicate looking so slavers and criminals tried to take advantage of her. Of course they always got a nasty surprise, but she'd gotten in some tight places and had been hurt. She'd learned caution. She was a dragon, yes. She was powerful, yes, but she was alone and trying to keep a low profile.

"Any way, yah. Defiled. Tha fellow I was having a drinking challenge with just threw up all tha dwarf whiskey he just drank," she said. She tilted her mug toward him to show him. "Just drinking plain ale now. The whiskey was good, but I actually prefer sampling local brews. How about you?" she asked.

She hunched in the chair, under the guise of getting more comfortable, but really she just wanted to see if she could get a peak at under her tablemate's hood. She was curious and it drew her focus. Behind her her tail curled up the chair and wrapped around it. Then unwrapped and disappeared under the table. Could she tug the cloak off a bit?

While she studied him, she noticed his weapons. He was pretty heavily armed for a traveler. Where was he going? Was he a sell sword like her?
 
The way this woman spoke was accented but, in retrospect, accents meant little and less, at least to this man given his adventures amid the surface of this world. Beneath it? That was a different story. The Underdark that he termed his own world beneath a world was a bit more limited in variation. Above it? More accents and dialects and languages to be discovered, but one was simpler as the other.

As this lady of silver mane mentioned this man of hidden visage waiting for some friends to eat with him, Zyn grinned, knowing his kindred were thieves and slavers just like him and he may yet take this woman into his grip and make her regret ever making jest of her position.

However, this was no trap for her. She sipped ale. He sipped mead. No more or less, really. The dwarf yonder? Whiskey was his folly. That meant something to Zyn. Dwarves could drink even elves like him under the sun or the moon. She is no human. No lightweight puny excuse of a person.

She also had not beckoned him to reveal himself except for that tail of hers but it was just as well. Zyn liked her silver hair so felt it only right to return the gesture; so he lowered his hood with one hand, lifted his drink with the other. Fuck you, father.

“I prefer listening to music in silence, to be honest.” He sipped his drink, never taking his eyes off the woman who shared his presence. “But am willing to make an exception.” The music had indeed shifted, as tended to happen, with new lyrics from the woman.

Backed by mountains high and low, O where will I go?
I travel with my backpack and stick in hand, so alone.
Wondering if I may brave this expanse with someone.
And, if not, then at last will I know my journey is done.

Princess Zelici
 
Well, well, well. Her pupils dilated with interest as her mysterious table mate revealed his face to be quite handsome indeed. A fresh wave of his scent accompied the motion and she inhaled discreetly. The spice of male, the scent of the road, sweat, and something earthy. Sharp features, jewel colored eyes, silver hair like hers, and grey skin. He spoke finely and he had the pointed ears of an elf. She hadn't met a grey skinned elf in a place like this before. The lady dragon had met one before, but she hadn't been interested in being good company. Her gaze slipped down as she wondered if he was so fine in more hidden places. He must be in some good shape surely?

She grinned back at him and raised her cup in response. "I'm honaded," she said. And she was. Zelici was also interested in seeing more of what was under that cloak. She moved a little closer to him, but looked toward the singer. A fitting song given the mood. "Being alone all the time can get lonely," she said as she propped her head up on her hand. Her elbow rested on the table. She let her hair, which he seemed very interested in, spill over her shoulder. It was quite long, to her waist in fact, and well kept. She did need a bath. What traveler didn't, but her hair wasn't full of snarls and tangles like many travelers. Zelici took care of herself. She couldn't stand being dirty for long. Even if getting clean meant spending extended time in cold streams or lakes. That tail of her's moved from his cloak and chose to wrap lightly around his calf.

Her food was brought. Simple fair, stew, bread, hard cheese. Surprisingly there was fruit, berries and a couple apples. The tavern owner must have an orchard or a garden. She plucked up a berry and slipped it into her mouth before waving her hand at the spread. "Help yaself if ya hungry. I owe ya fa sharin' ya table and chattin with me," she said.

That was the problem with being from a social species and society, she got lonely after a while. It was nice to share a meal and conversation. She seemed to realize where her tail was and her cheeks turned a little pink as she pulled it away.

"Sorry abou' tha," she said. She wrapped it around her own leg.
 
Honored or not, it was just a gesture that the man gave this woman to join him at his table and, if she didn’t, she could go piss in the wind if it suited her. A beautiful creature she was, however, and he had to admit to himself that he was interested in how she had managed to drink the dwarf under the table. Zyndyrr K’yoshin could be a crude brute of an individual as much as an elegant gentleman. Which person would settle into this conversation as this woman got settled in?

It was a round table, and never mind knights, because this guy who sat at it in the corner of the tavern was no knight. Neither was he some upjumped cutthroat. What most folks saw was simply a knife-eared grey-skin. They didn’t know he was also the son of Xarton K’yoshin, head of the House of K’yoshin, Lord of Starfall in the common tongue. Though that meant nothing above the surface. It meant nothing for a son who was forsaken, forgotten, abandoned, and banished from his own homeland and inheritance.

More importantly at the moment was that there was a chair opposite from Zyn’s position. What did this woman do? Scooted closer to him for no other reason than because she wanted to get close to him. That was a gesture that would not be forgotten. Neither would her tail that snaked away, though he wasn’t shy about showing his interest in women. Zyn simply didn’t at the moment except for a hint of a grin on his ashen countenance.

He barely blinked, gave nothing away on his face, but he definitely felt that tail wrap around his calf.

Pretty is an understatement, Zyndyrr K’yoshin of the Underrealm. She had light blue eyes, almost violet; thin lips, angular countenance; hair as silver as his, and to mention it again was another way of just not understating his appreciation for beauty. Obviously she wasn’t human, given the indications with her horn and tail. He had mead. She had ale. They both had company.

What Zyn didn’t have was food. He wasn’t too hungry. Though, as his tavern companion slipped a berry between her lips, he was suddenly as hungry for those lips as the food she had offered him. “Thank you kindly,” he thanked her kindly, wondering if she might yet notice how purposed his manner of speech was.

No, he would not hold her own tongue against her, but being a bit of a jerk was just in his nature.

She apologized, tugged her tail away from his leg and back toward herself, as Zyn just watched her with a delayed response. “Sorry about what?” Was he playing dumb? Playing? Genuinely uncertain? That was up to her. His eyes were on her as he waited for an answer.

Princess Zelici
 
She crooked a silver brow at him. Was this man messing with her or playing games? It felt like court games which she normally wanted nothing to do with, but this time....This time she wanted to play. There was an air of danger about this man that stirred her blood. He could be an ally or an enemy and that made him....enticing.

If he wanted to play, she would play. Her tail coiled around his calf again as she popped another berry into her mouth. Perhaps he didn't catch her interest? She was communicating it quite clearly, in dragon. That could be the problem.

"Oh neva mind." She said breezily and quirked a smile at him. He could help himself or not. She did not move away. Instead she turned her gaze to the singer and ever so softly hummed along to the tune. Maybe she would sing tonight. Not here and not for all these people. Maybe for an audience of one?

"Are ya stayin' in town?" She asked while soaking a piece of bread in the stew.
 
He felt the tail again, pretended not to notice it yet again, offering nothing but a stoic countenance, this time not with even a hint of a grin. Another berry between her lips, but suddenly Zyndyrr wasn’t as interested in that gesture. There were other items of cuisine on her plate, never mind berries, as she had offered.

Cheese. Bread. Stew. Apples. Other fruits. Zyn wasn’t too sure about the stew. He had a spoon but was in the mood more for bread and cheese. He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter just then, in no rude manner, simply to catch his attention amid the music.

“Butter, please.” The waiter nodded and walked off as Zyndyrr K’yoshin set his bread and cheese on a plate, waited, and did not keep his eyes off this silver-haired woman in his presence. At her question, he didn’t hesitate, just waited all over again.

Then again, it might take some time for that butter to come to him. There were plenty of other patrons in this tavern and that stew did look delicious. “I don’t know yet,” Zyn answered honestly as he soaked a piece of bread in the stew.

He lifted the bread to his lips, bit into it; it was delicious, and his manner of doing this was simpler than her playful gesture with her tail curved over his lower leg. “A quiet people, a peaceful land, my father always said.” And flayed them if they disobeyed this statement. He swallowed, licked his lips, gaze unwavering from his companion dining with him.

“This is a simple enough town but…” Trailing off, the son of K'yoshin washed the bread down with another swig of mead. “Perhaps I’d need a better reason to stay in this town besides meat and mead, bread and butter, stew too.” He remembered the dwarf, wondered if this woman could drink this man under the table, or what else they might get up to. “Can you give me a reason?”

I walked across the rock; alas, I haven’t found love.
I told myself my soul is for adventure, yet I’m a liar.
Flutes cry as they die, broken violin, drums to dust.
What good is a journey if I’ve no man to bring fire?

Princess Zelici
 
Zelici chuckled. "Peace is rarely peaceful for those in charge," she said softly without her fake accent. She didn't mean to slip, but the idea of a peaceful life was ludicrous to her. She had spent far too much time watching those who controlled the peace of others claw each other to pieces. She saw no harm in it however because if she stayed with this man and worked with him he'd hear her real accent anyway. And she would like to spend some time with him.

She turned her gaze back to him and held up two fingers. "I can give you two reasons. Reason one, I wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you." She said and put one finger down. "And two, I have a lead on a job I wouldn't mind splitting the reward for," she said.
 
Well, the words of this woman suddenly shifted from as accented as a country bumpkin to as standard as Zyndyrr’s own. Reflecting on them, there was wisdom that dripped from her tongue. If only she knew the half of the phrase as Zyn gave.

A quiet people, a peaceful land. Yes, yet in the Underrealm, in the lands of House K’yoshin, in the settlement of Qel’karia, people were quiet because they feared the punishment of speaking up. The land was peaceful because, if it wasn’t, then Zyndyrr’s lord father would send soldiers to those who did not keep the peace. The outcome was usually along the lines of disproportionate retribution, never mind being flayed alive.

She is a woman of mystery, isn’t she? That the lady let escape her tongue on purpose or accidentally didn’t make her intrigue fade away. Pretty was one thing. Mysterious? It didn’t take a dark elf to wonder over her. Zyndyrr did.

Two fingers. Two reasons. She wasn’t shy, didn’t hide her intention, and he could appreciate the sentiment. Those two fingers? He could certainly find another use for them. “Job. Bed.” He said, savoring the taste of his mead, and forget the bread.

“I could use both.” He tilted his head. “One comes before the other, however.” It didn’t take an idiot to realize that it was evening, the tavern was cozy, the music was lively, the fire was warm, the food was good and the drink was too.

“Tell me about this job.” Zyn bit into his cheese, not the wheat, cleaned it between his teeth, eyes into eyes, wondering what she might taste like. “I’ll cover the room.” Though it wasn’t a statement made as though Zyndyrr considered this woman to be some whore. She didn’t need to drink him or that dwarf underneath the table for her to show her talent.

Zyndyrr wasn’t a singer, wasn’t a drummer, a fiddler, a musician. He just liked to listen. This woman in his presence? He didn’t yet know what to make of her and, though they flirted and they played, he could appreciate it was the same for her as he listened to the lyrics in the song that shifted, turning his cup on the tabletop.

“Zyndyrr K’yoshin,” he introduced himself to his potential partner, in one way or the other, without looking at her. “Call me Zyn.”

Fly though I might…I will never escape this plight…
See a bird in flight…but can a bird fly with no wings?
Fly though I’ll try…my wings are tired…give no beat.
See a bird die…I’m finished. I won’t sing my goodbye.

Princess Zelici
 
How easily people gave their real names. She remembered when she had been so free with her words. Now if she gave her name she never knew who could be listening or if it would leave a trail. Sometimes she gave a completely false name and sometimes she didn't. Today she gave part of the truth.

"Zelici and you may call me that or Zeli. A pleasure to meet you, Zyn," she said with a slight purr. Under the table her tail slithered further up his leg.

She ate some of her stew, organizing her thoughts and letting her tail do things. Such as poke at the little gaps in his armour and trace buckles.

"Agreed," she said and smiled at the waiter who came to check on her. She requested butter and a pitcher of mead for the table. And more bread and cheese. She ate neatly and steadily, but heartily. And she showed no signs of stopping. Traveling by foot burned calories and traveling by air burned even more. If she was to keep her strength up she had to eat. And this was why it would be nice to have a companion. To serve as a cover for the amount she ate. She wouldn't have to tavern hop until she was satiated or go hunting. Luckily she only needed a big meal once a day or two, but still that was a lot of food for a petite looking woman. And she was not one to starve herself and grow weak.

"There is a lord in this town looking to hire a pair of skilled swords. He won't give a lot of details unless you take the job and he is paying very well. He wants an artifact brought to him from some old crypt ruins. Normally, I go on jobs alone, but he is adament on pairs," she said.

She reached out and gently took his hand in a delicate grip, but her palms were calloused. "But if I have you, we're a pair, you see?" She said and looked at him with a smile.
 
Zelici. Zyn tasted the name, how the Z slipped off his tongue, and undoubtedly reminded him of his own. Zeli. Even her shorthand form of address was no less delicious, like this bread dipped in stew, and forget the butter. If he ended up bedding this woman before the night was over then dinner didn’t even matter. The entire tavern would be a distant memory in those moments under covers.

She certainly made no motion to indicate she had different intentions. Her tail curved further up his person, though Zyndyrr also offered no indication that it perturbed him. Yet he was no longer so stoic. He tilted his gaze her way, daring her to lift that dangerous appendage even further. It did not go unanswered. He hoped she liked the feel of his steel.

More food ordered, more drink. Zyndyrr would partake in whatever plate was offered. He might even pay for it, but it did help to remember his real payment would come later. He didn’t need to be a desperate man to know those lips would taste better than this.

Motionless, except for letting Zelici take his hand into her delicate if calloused grip, Zyndyrr did not look away from her, just lifted his mead for a leisurely sip. He licked his lips, as if he might already taste hers in a kiss, and finally answered, eyes into eyes, though his lips were rigid beside her smile.

“We are indeed.” His thumb became like her tail at that moment, curving over her fingers. “And I have a blade at either hip for another pair of swords.” What kind of warrior was she, he wondered? She struck him as more of a sorceress. Then again, those horns might just gore. She could hold her liquor and gorge on dinner, that was for sure.

“I will take the job.” Lord, she said, and that generally meant he would not share the presence of the simpler sort in this tavern. “We will, better yet. Though I imagine he is in his manor, yes?” Likely sipping fine wine and dining like I might be were I still with my lord father.

“As I said…” Zyndyrr sighed, as much with memory as into those light blue eyes. “Job. Bed. One comes before the other.” And not necessarily in that order. “And we’re already in this tavern. Not some lordling’s manor.”

Princess Zelici
 
Who was this man who acted and spoke so enigmaticly? It didn't matter. As her tail slid up she felt his interest and it stirred her own. She finished her meal, left coins on the table, and stood. Another fluid motion brought her bag over her shoulder.

"Excellent, to bed then," she said. She meant to enjoy him like a fine wine. She did not need to know if he was a good man or a bad man or morally grey. He had agreed. He was strong. And they were spending at least this night together.

" We can visit the lord in the morning," she purred. Still with fingers curved together she would give him a little tug to lead him along. If he let her she would lead him to the bar so the room could be rented. If he did not her fingers would slip from his and she would go to the bar anyway to secure their room and then leave him to pay.

What kind of night would they have together?
 
Moments passed between his words to her. Job offers. Offerings of food and drink. Payments. Prospect of bed for them both. A good night’s rest for this man and this woman. Time passed slowly, leisurely, expectantly, given they were just two patrons in a tavern at the end, surrounded by ones as much like them as different, and musicians. Of which, yet again, the song did shift.

Pay me for a day and I will be on my way.
Service given, payment earned, I do say.
Yet you do mistake me as another dame.
I am the lady of the lake, know my name.

The singer had heart as she played the harp, her lithe fingers fiddling those strings with liquid rhythms, as if she had the power of water in between them. Never mind Zyndyrr’s lord father at that moment. The man be damned, be cursed, for he could not appreciate the movements of women, their intelligence different from his, their gifts beyond their hips. He was the real idiot. Was Zyn?

Perhaps. However, at the moment, he simply wanted to exist as a man. Be wanton. Let the lust within him rise like blood to his fists, for Zyndyrr K’yoshin had crushed hips as much as lips, as much as men and women. From slaves to traitors, nameless if aimless, accident or purposed, such was the way of the dark elf from the Underrealm.

No. Not at this moment. He remembered another tavern, another woman, another dance. Azura was her name. Fair of skin as the fabric of her dress. Why should this moment be any different? Though Zyn and Zeli hadn’t danced, they had embraced one another hand in hand, fingers filling the spaces between fingers, and shared meat and mead, salt and bread and butter.

Folly, Zyndyrr. It was Zyn’s own voice inside his own mind as much as his father’s. Do not want her. Want none of these creatures. Go back. Come home. Reclaim your lordship as promised. Words of morning, not mourning.

Do not go gently into that good night.

An echo. Broken as the bark of a willow. Cursed words. They lingered as if they dripped from this woman’s lips before him. Fuck you, you piece of shit. Go skin your beasts as you treat them like sheep.

Not just women. Men. Anyone who wasn’t drow. Anyone who wasn’t considered cattle, not even fit to be battled. Though the past was a trifle amid the eyeful of Zelici and her lead. She led Zyn along, a little tug, to the bar but, as promised, she would offer no coin any further.

“A room,” Zyn demanded simply, half-leaning on the counter, half-wanting to take her on it right then and there, and let this tavern watch as their audience, and cut the heads off of anyone who protested because they were worth shit and piss in his presence in the end.

“Here is your key, sir,” said the barkeep. Zyn accepted silently, his eyes too busy gazing into Zeli’s, imagining what was going to happen in their bedroom. What he would do to her in a heartbeat. Zelici. Zeli. O he already liked to address her as both even in his mind.

“Follow me.” It was his turn to lead, hand in hand, so away they went. Up they go. A short flight of stairs. A simple tavern, a gentle song. A quiet people, a peaceful land. Those were Lord K’yoshin’s words, not his son; and let the father call the son a bastard if he wanted; Zyndyrr was better.

“Table. Chair. Bed.” Zyndyrr gestured as he and Zelici entered their chamber. There was a jug of water, a pitcher of wine, a platter of meat and cheese and more given that the drow had further ordered treats to bring with them. This was no harlot in his presence. This woman had treated him. He would treat her in turn.

“We can wash up in the basin, if you want, or maybe—”

He didn’t wait. Or maybe she didn’t? Who had interrupted who?

Who knew, yet what Zyn did know is there was no more moment to waste.

So he shut the door, all but slammed it, all but thrust his lips onto hers, and lifted her to the nearest surface with her legs wrapped around his hips. It just so happened to be a wall. Fine. She could sigh against him, try to breathe but it would be fruitless.

Zyndyrr K’yoshin would stand tall before his woman, let the fire within him burn higher than the pyre of his homeland, become a beacon of fervor. A tower in their chamber, and he would not let her lips escape his, cradling her against him. If they did, he would just kiss her all over again, and steal her breath as surely as her tail had trailed his steel.

Princess Zelici
 
So two legged men could bed a women like they meant it. Zelici was pleased to find out as their bodies crashed together like waves. It mattered not who made the first move. they were here now.

She was not a passive princess as they kissed. The harder Zyn kissed her, the harder, fiercer, she responded. She let her own fire coil in her belly even as she was crushed between wall and man and held there. Her legs wrapped around his waist, it was slimmer than she expected, and her hands went to his hair. She tried not to prick his scalp with her claws, but well, this wasn't gentle lovemaking. This was carnal, more violent, and she was more than alright with that. If she didn't have to mind her claws or strength with this man, even more reason to keep him around.

She forgot herself and bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood if he didn't stop her. There was too much between them. His armor and her clothing and light armor were in the way of their flesh touching. Clever fingers and that mischevious tail worked together to find the clasps of Zyn's armor and undo it. She either let each piece fall free or flung it out of her way. When his back was exposed she dug her claws into him, holding on as they kissed like they were about to combust. She couldn't get his chest piece off, they were too closely pressed together. Her fingers slid down his back and then moved to his belt buckle. Soon his weapons were flung to the floor as well. Her bag was crushed between her and the wall. It was uncomfortable, but she didn't care.

Show me what you can do, Zyn. Their pasts and what they were did not matter. Only this. Their heat. Their bodies pressed together. Kissing as they would consume the other.
 
Good. Good. It was one word, one thought, one moment, as meaningless as whatever existed outside of this chamber. Words were wind. However, it meant a hundred words, painted a thousand pictures. What was good was the taste of her lips, the shift of her hips against him, the press of himself against her as well.

What was good was the passion that had thrust itself inside Zyndyrr K’yoshin’s heart; a fervor that burned quite unlike the kind that he gained by driving his blade into another person’s heart.

This wasn’t the fire of spilling the blood of a slave, of flaying someone alive, and neither did he want to hear such a scream. No, he simply wanted to hear this woman scream his name. To moan out, not in pain, but in complete and utter pleasure as she surrendered to him.

What was good was that this woman was just as ferocious as him, didn't subside in silence or go limp, but gripped him tightly with her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezed and squeezed his hips like some vicious bitch, with her fingers digging into his shoulders, with her lips all but bludgeoning his.

Claws. Horns. He wanted her to go on. To have her way with him as he would have his way with her. Fire could not burn without fuel and, if they were just two fools in a tavern, then to hell with everyone. So be it. It was only them. Damn the rest. Take her to the bed. Thoughts flowing in instants. Ravish her, Zyndyrr K’yoshin!

Lovemaking was the intention. Lust was the stimulant, the kindling, with hearts beating, the need to feed dripping from their lips. That meant the man’s, that meant the woman’s, and that meant her other two lips that would soon open up to him like tulips.

He needed to breathe, against his better judgment, flesh threatening to bleed by her violence, but he loved it. He felt the weight of the day release into the evening, like the armor from his shoulders, but she truly was foolish if she figured Zyndyrr would simply let her get away with it.

Her fingernails raked his back, scraped his skin, made him wince in another instance of passion, not anguish. Fuck her bag. Her back was what was crushed between him and the wall. Comfort didn’t matter in this position. Only violence. Only anger. Only the fury of their fire. They had already made the deal. So beats the drum.

Sealed in fire and blood.

His buckle undone. He needed to shed his other layers. To let his flesh burst from the shell. Her as well. That dress? Her fabric too? Did she think it meant anything at the moment? That only she had claws as sharp as a dragon? Idiot. I will show you.

He broke her chains the next moment. He hoped she would gasp for him at the motion, whimper, never mind a whisper, for words were wind. He lifted her garment up her hips, fingers gripping the curves of her thighs, felt her bare skin against his, soft as satin, which only enraged him, made his blazing hunger hurt even worse.

So he didn’t wait. He ripped her dress, exposed her chest, pinched the skin of her neck between his teeth, growled like some foul beast, and stepped away from the wall. He didn’t carry her far. He still stood tall. The next moment, she didn’t.

Zyndyrr tossed Zelici onto the bed and stood before her, taking a moment to just gaze at her face, at her legs, to relish at her pathetic dress. His tongue ran over his lip, tasting remnant hints of mead, but her kiss superseded it. Soon she would kiss him again, with her other lips, for they would not find his lips but the sword he had kept sheathed until this moment.

Princess Zelici
 
Zelici sucked in air when their kiss was broken with a loud gasp. Only to moan for him when he freed her of her bothersome clothes and bit her. They were in the way of their flesh meeting. And she liked the bite a lot. The scars of bites from other lovers decorated her body. Would he find them all? Who knew? It did not matter. There were other scars peeking out now from battle. From her adventures. All had a story.

She was more than ready for the third sword all men kept sheathed except for moments like this. If he thought to indimidate her by tearing her dress and throwing her to the bed... He was quite mistaken.

Zelici was not shy. She let her ruined dress lay about her like petals of a flower. Her light blue eyes locked on Zyn and full of fiery hunger. Playful too. She smirked and let her fingers trail down herself as if it mattered not if he joined her on the bed. Legs spread a little wider, the goal still hidden by her ripped garment.

Her skin was flushed. Her pale lips bruised and bright red. Her almost purple eyes playful and hungry. Where he had bitten her bright red. Who needed words? Her eyes and body said it all.

Take me already.
 
As Zyndyrr gazed at her face, half-naked, he didn’t wonder over her former lovers, as much as he had his own. They were words in the wind, dust and dead memories, buried like bone. No, all he saw was her, Zelici, a lady of his dreams as any other, but here before him in reality. Sure, he had his scars, for it didn’t take a slave to be whipped or scraped, for even a lord’s son could be treated as dirt beneath a boot when the occasion called for it.

Though those memories could be fucked like she would be. He would take them to the grave like he would take her to the furnace, burn her, make her skin sting and tingle with a fire and a desire she had not yet imagined. Was it because he was Zyndyrr K’yoshin? A drow? The forsaken heir of a noble house's land amid a spider’s queendom? It didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t remember his father, his queen, but would only think of her, Zeli.

He took the moment in, let his imagination get the best of himself, as he would drown out the outside world in a well. Zyndyrr was not shy. He let his breathing be seen, his pectoral muscles heaving, his ripped abdomen lifting with the anticipated feeling of her clawed fingers gripping his stomach the same way she had unbuttoned his trousers only moments earlier.

Petals of a flower. Yes. No. She was both. She was closed. She was open. His passion was maddened, but he had control. Untold was his soul. Drow. He was a dark elf. He was far from himself. He was a man who knew how to stand.

So he savored the moment, taunted his woman as she taunted her man, him standing, her laying. Her fingers snaked down her navel, slipped past her belly button, trailed a tail of utter pleasure for both of them as her hand dipped between her legs, and he felt his heart skip a beat right there and then.

Women. Some fucking idiots of men expressed that word with vengeance, with hatred, with damnation. Zyn? They were persons like him, creatures to celebrate, to appreciate the curvature of her leg. From calf to thigh, that damned leg did not hide from his eye.

Her light blue eyes, like violet, stole his crimson irises, his soul. Her hips, how they dipped unlike the drow’s did; how her puffed chest pushed out like his pecs; and her backside, though hidden on that bed, would soon find a grip of malice within his hands as the man just then advanced.

Shut up already.

Zyndyrr was on her in a moment. If she resisted, if she didn’t want this, she would have to show him, really show him, and he would end it. If she didn’t, if she played, she would find that he was not a man to be played with.

No, he would open her up like a budding flower, he would spread her petals, he would seize her and be with her. His lips, brushing against the crook of her neck, took in her chin, her lips.

Fingers curling into her hair as silver as his, cradling the top of her head, as his other hand curved under her thigh, lifted it, and the rest was…lost…forgotten…remembered…captured in endless bliss…and fuck this tavern…fuck his father…fuck time…let Zyndyrr K’yoshin die…and let this bed be his deathbed.

Princess Zelici
 
He wanted her. She wanted him. This night it was as simple as that. Man and woman coming together with a vengeance of want. Of blood and bruises and moans of pleasure. Of wrestling for the top position. She moaned Zyn's name for him multiple times through the night. And she found his moans sweet. Very little sleep was had.

The next morning found Zelici stretched over top of Zyndyrr's body as if he was her bed. Her cheek rested on his muscled chest which she nuzzled. The dragoness shifted position and rested her chin on that muscled chest to watch Zyndyrr's sleeping face. A small smile curls her lips and she cannot stop the gentle purr that rumbles in her chest. She aches in sweet places and she wants to bed him again, but they had a lord to meet. And she was hungry.

So the princess rose and slipped from the tavern bed and her bedmate's embrace and padded first to her bag to pull out a long green tunic that went past her knees with slits up the sides of her thighs. Once dressed in it she went to the table and began to eat while she waited for the dark elf to wake.

How does one seduce a dark elf sell-sword to be theirs?
 
She wanted him. He wanted her. They got what they wanted: Each other. They didn’t go gently into that good night, however. Rather, they were pretty rough. Yet it was lovemaking as much as lust. Fast. Ferocious. Toward their crescendo, as the drapes billowed to let in some wind and cool the beads of sweat glistening their skin, Zyndyrr went slow, and when his moment came it was at the same time as she cried his name.

The next morning was going to be as lazy as one might expect for either of them. Exhausted, having barely slept, Zyndyrr spent some earlier moments just gazing at the ceiling, his naked body under the covers save for his torso, resting his head on his arm and his other around Zelici's shoulders while she was still sleeping into the evening.

It was to his own regret he closed his eyes the next moment. She wouldn’t know it, wouldn’t glimpse it on his countenance, but his dreams were filled with terrors. He never stirred, never made a sound, for if he did other women would have told him, but those nightmares were cursed.

Afterwards, some liked to get up and get away after last night’s endeavor. Of course, the drow had already sworn his swords to a contract on offer. Furthermore, he didn’t want to move after his sleep, what little he had.

So, fine, but some didn’t like to cuddle. He didn’t mind. Generally in the sense of letting his woman cuddle him as he just stared into stillness, listened to silence, for his thoughts were louder than last night’s chorus before and after their bodies intertwined.

Though, when he was finally awake, Zelici was there one moment and gone the next. She wasn’t on the bed anyway. Zyn tilted his head, found Zeli at the table. She hadn’t left him, not that it would have mattered. He would have simply left this tavern and found another.

She wore a green tunic, split at the leg, showing the same skin his fingers had gripped. He liked those thighs and hadn’t been shy about showing it last night. Sighing, a breeze creeping through the curtain, Zyndyrr K’yoshin rose from the bed as the same man, no different.

“Smells delicious.” He paced over to her in no tunic, no outfit, just his shorts where the rest of his body was bare skin and muscle. The table was fresh with eggs, bacon, oranges, coffee, other treats. Sitting adjacent from Zelici, he poured himself a cup, sat back, and gazed at her face. I could take her all over again. Shift her hips into my lap. Make this table bounce up and down until it cracks.

“Was it sweet?” He sipped his drink. It was bittersweet like his dreams. “The fruit. You have juice on your lip.”

Princess Zelici
 
Zelici greeted Zyndyrr with a smile and then finished the bite of bacon and egg in her mouth. The drow wouldn't know because she had had more food brought in, but she had packed away quite a bit of meat and bread already. But honestly eggs were her favorite besides fresh fruit. The tavern owner, used to all kinds, was wise enough not to remark on how much food was taken to the room shared by drow and dragon. If she ate enough now she wouldn't have to eat as much or at all while on their mission and the supplies they carried could all go to Zyndyrr. Who she was sure was one of those who had to eat every day.

She wasn't shy as she ate. Zelici was sure that Zyn had already figured out she wasn't human. She was just curious how long until he asked what she was. The dragon princess wasn't sure how she'd answer. Something to worry about if the time ever came.

Still feeling playful she leaned closer to the drow and kissed him so he could taste the sweet juice on her lips. Orange and apple she believed it was. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" she asked and sipped more juice. Then set her glass down and stretched with a groan. Much like a lazy cat. And her tail curled around his thigh again.

"I figure we can sleep another few hours or do something else to pass the time until it starts to get darker," she said. Evening time was when lords were usually at residence. Home from doing business of running their villages and managing their affairs. And they could head out when the roads weren't so busy. She was no stranger to traveling at night.
 
It wasn’t unexpected. He had teased her with his comment, but he had not taunted. He didn’t know this woman. She didn’t know him. Perhaps that was for the best. He didn’t want to let her in. Oh, she had let him into her, over and over again, and they had both relished it.

A violent man, he was violent with her, but not in the sense of violence. Her own fingers had dug into his skin no differently, had bitten him, and he loved it. Every fucking moment. His lord father would have a field day making of fun him for this. Misogynist prick.

If Zelici wanted to taste juice she had only to lick her own lips. What she wanted from him was different, and she was not alone in the notion. Zyn’s lips were tasteless until that moment, as they kissed in that delicate click. It was quite ironic, because how they kissed each other back in that bed wasn’t delicate but violent; but it was far from toxic.

“I slept,” he gave vaguely, looking away as he shifted a plate toward him and dropped a hard boiled egg onto it along with a rasher of bacon. It was enough to take his attention away from her pretty face.

What happened next, well, back down in the tavern floor, he would have been expressionless, given to his emotionless self. Yet, as he felt her tail curl over his thigh, Zyn couldn’t help but grin. “You mean like eat breakfast?” He asked as he slipped a piece of bacon between his lips. Salty. Meaty. Delicious.

A forkful of sausage next. A bite of orange as juicy as a lady's juices. All washed down with a hearty swig of coffee. “Talk about our past, perhaps? What makes you, you? What makes me, me?”

He leaned back again, twirling a butterknife between his fingers, never letting his gaze waver from her face. “Or maybe we could have a dance downstairs?” Or dance in my lap as I grab your hair. He narrowed his vision. A steak knife was beside his plate. “How about a game of Five Finger Filet?” He chortled. "Fit for a drow...and a dragon...isn't it?"

Princess Zelici
 
Zelici was used to violent men. Violence and dominance it went hand in hand where she was from. For while they were civilized creatures nothing quite conveyed 'listen to me' then being pinned or punched in the face. She had no doubt humans and other races would find her culture barbaric and untamed. But to her it just was. Court games danced with displaces of dominance and aggression. Fights broke out if display was not enough. The men were just as rough as the women and vice versa. In dragon form there was no sexual dimorphism between males and females of her species. They grew to the same sizes. They learned to fight in both forms.

She'd read and heard during her travels it was similar for drow which was probably why she got along so well with Zyn.

"Or a drinking game, but I don't recommend it. I'll win," she said with a wink. She was unperturbed by him guessing her species. There were many different kinds of dragons after all. Few had royalty and cities. And she didn't mind telling him about her people. She just didn't intend to tell him her status.

She watched him. Watched the knife he twirled. Such talented fingers. She liked his grin. Zelici tilted her head in a slight nod at him for guessing what she was. It must have been the tail that gave it away. Maybe how much she ate.

"We can dance or talk. We're an odd pair out here," she said. She picked up the steak knife and splayed out one hand. She started slow, stabbing the knife between her digits, but built her way up in speed. Kept her eyes on Zyn.
 
If Zyn had already broken into a grin, his lips split the next moment at her comment, baring teeth. Of course, how could I have forgotten? This woman drank a dwarf under the table. She was pretty, she was lithe, but she wasn’t weak. She had proven it while drinking as much as what she had done to Zyndyrr K’yoshin. That made him all the more curious about her as a person. He already discovered much and more about her body—from hair to horns, thighs to thorns.

She was even more elusive in the way she failed to answer his question. Was she dragon? There was more than one kind of breed as much as there was more than one type of woman. Maybe he had guessed correctly but, in the end, he also would not show it, right or wrong. His thought drifted just then to last night’s indulgence of flesh.

Interwoven, theirs was no song, no poem, though right or wrong didn’t matter in the moment. Only Zelici’s face did. Only her breasts, her lips, above and beneath the surface of her skin. Like the curve of her legs or of her hips. Same with breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Coffee. Oranges. Only the taste mattered.

“We can do both,” Zyn said simply, even gently, given to serenity in the privacy of their room. There was no tune of the tavern up here, especially in the morning, so the world was its own piss poor story. He didn’t give a shit about it, or about other women, or about his memories. Only this woman. Only Zelici.

“Fuck me,” Zyn said, eyes into eyes, before glancing between her fingers and the knife and the wood. “Pun unintended.” He licked his lips, tasted blood, though he was not bleeding. "You are good." He picked up his own knife, waited for the moment. Hopefully she was as familiar with this game as she was versed and trained with a dagger. Daggers for eyes. Blue as violet. Shit. What a beautiful woman she is.

“Don’t slip.” The moment she did, blood would drip, and it would be Zyn’s turn to stab between his fingers. "Tell me about your parents." A random question? Perhaps, but if given to him the anger might just make him trip.

Princess Zelici
 
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