The small room was redolent of flowers and blood, and the scents disturbed Danielle as she made her way to the back curtain that separated the foyer from the true workroom.  A slender elfin girl dressed in black leather and a startling amount of crystal jewelry watched her as she entered.  Her eyes took in the shadowy shape that followed, but no words were spoken.  Danielle gave a fleeting moment’s curiosity over to the lack of weapons the Varana evidenced, but she let the thought slip from her mind.  

There were other, less pleasant thoughts preying upon her mind today. 

The Poisoner’s workshop was filled with an incredibly expensive and startling array of glass and metal, powders, liquids, and scents.  She looked up from the mortar and pestle she was working with, and blinked slowly at the young woman who entered.  Close to her own age, she was, with blonde hair hung in shining curls to her full breasts.  She was muscular, and the bastard sword at her side showed why.  Her grey eyes were wade and bright with pain, while her pupils were wide and darted over the room nervously, despite her apparent poise.  

Auaei stood slowly, her gaze lingering over the freshly burnished chain mail shirt and the simply cut black tabard that was free of identifying marks.  She brushed the thin, bejeweled braids that hung along her temples back, over her shoulders – they were finally long enough to do so and stay for more than a few minutes.  Her own sharp eyes flicked over the other girl, taking in the empty, decorous quiver and the much abused belt.  “Welcome back, Danielle of Saint Andalline’s.  I was wondering when you would return.”  

The slight young noble woman pulled off her apron and dusted the pale grey leather of her sleeves off.  The knots and braids that were attached to her upper arms and the thighs of her leggings drew Danielle’s attention and she studied them, though she did not take out the wand that would tell her if they were indeed mystical in nature as she suspected.  Drawing a wand on Auaei was not a wise thing to do; she would have a better chance of surviving if she drew her sword.

Walking over to a large trunk, the girl knelt and lifted the lid, exposing racks of vials.  She selected four of them, and rose slowly, the lead foil capped vials shimmering.  “These are what you desired.  The insubstantial grey will grant quiet and silence; the viscous white is the Universal Solvent; the marbled blue is the slippery oil.”  The last she held and lifted up, gazing past it at the young woman’s face.  “And this is the love philter.”  The black liquid was thick and ominous.  

Danielle controlled her expression as she took the last vial and placed it into the pouch for carrying potions she’d recently bought.  Auaei flashed her an amused smile, not a trace of mockery or arrogant knowledge showing on her face.  Danielle looked down and counted out the required coins, the gleaming faux-silver ringing softly as she set them on the smooth granite tabletop.  

gPlatinum today.  You have been doing well for yourself.”  The girl ignored the coins – currency was almost pointless for her to deal in – and leaned against the counter top as Danielle turned to leave.  “You know, I cannot say I approve of the use you are putting that liquor to.”  

Danielle paused and slowly turned around, looking at the platinum haired woman-child with faint disapproval.  Her expression did nothing to change Auaei’s expression of course.  A smoky black shadow sinuously detached itself from the darker corners of the room and padded, catlike in form but noiseless and ephemeral, to sit next to the noblewoman.  “I am not using it to enthrall young noblemen or take advantage of unsuspected merchantmen,” she stated with an ironic, bitter smile.  

Auaei glanced down at the black cat-like shadow, which looked back up at her with eyes barely a few shades lighter than its misty, substance-less body.  Her piercing eyes lifted.  “I am well aware of that; if that had been the case I would have made no mention of it.”  Danielle felt heat rise to her ears and cheeks.  “There can be some detrimental side effects to using that how you are using it.”  She pushed herself off the table, and the silent shadow that was the Varan slipped past Danielle to take Auaei’s hand and step behind her, eying the strange not-cat with the same impassive expression she’d worn since Danielle had started coming here. 

Danielle shook her head.  “I appreciate the warning, Poisoner, but I have no desire to be a burden upon anyone else with my problems.  You will simply have to trust that I am knowledgeable in my doings, as I trust you to be.”  A touch of the haughty arrogance she’d learned at the hands of those she’d practiced with returned to her voice and though she regretted it, she did not apologize or look down.  

The pale girl inclined her head as the elfin Varana whispered into her ear and she kissed the black leather of the girl’s glove, causing Danielle’s blush to deepen.  Noticing this, the Poisoner took a step forward and smiled.  “A mind given over to such powers time and again cannot be trusted to make decisions for itself, Danielle-miss.  It is not impossible you could take solace in another way, with another, even for a short time.”  The Poisoner smiled and lifted one hand, palm up, fingers together, a welcoming. 

The young warrior-maiden only hesitated for a moment, before the sound of boots and soft voices came from the foyer.  Danielle broke the momentary hesitation, and shook her head.  “Best not, though I believe the offer was well meant.”  She started to leave, noticing the group of men and women slowly entering the small, close shop.  Danielle paused and turned, her companion-shadow slipping to join her and swirl about her ankles.  “Why are the love-philters black?”

The smile she was given was flat and unhumored as Auaei answered her.  “Because my mother always told me that black was the color of a lie.”  Danielle gazed into the noble-born eyes, unsure if it was a jest or an insult, before she was distracted by a freckled faced redheaded girl sidling past her, turning to study the warrior’s face with an inviting smile.  She turned and left, unwilling to stay in the presence of strangers or kindness any longer. 

Danielle’s mother had left her in the care of the abbess of the small nunnery, leaving for her quest to recover the Moaning Diamond.  As yet, she had not returned, though sometimes the wind would bring softly whispered messages to the abbey, messages laced with hope and continued perseverance.  Danielle had continued her training, trying to become a warrior knight, perhaps even a crusader or paladin of the Lawgiver.  

She sighed as she mounted her stallion, thinking back on how it had all started to fall apart.  Nudging her horse into a slow walk, she tugged her black cloak about her, feeling the soothing presence of its protection grip her more tightly.  

It had begun, innocuously enough, with the occasional breaking of practice weapons.  Not hers – save for once – but her opponents seemed to be incapable of controlling their blows or exceedingly talented in the choosing of inferior make.  Then there were stumbles, little mistakes of clumsiness that even the young ladies and girls with better training than her seemed to make when they play and practice dueled.   Even the one time her weapon broke, it had been fortunate for she would have cracked her own ribs upon the weapon if it had not snapped when she fell upon it.

When the Duchess Gianna Eibon and her daughter Nivisa Eibon arrived while touring their lands, they had been welcomed.  The abbess, who disapproved of their landlord’s religious practices, tolerated their arrival more than welcomed it; however it was clear that the young Heir to Family was in need of rest and recovery and more for her sake than her mother’s power were they welcomed into the halls of the Lawgiver.  

The orphans, students and acolytes of the nunnery were fascinated by the daughter Eibon; pale, wan, yet neither listless nor willing to show weakness, the girl had charmed her way into the world of the abbey’s younger members with startling speed.  She answered all of the usual questions regarding the faith of the Feyt Ensurat, the strange ancestor worship of the Great Family that ruled this region, with patience and honesty.  Despite the girl’s obvious ritual feeding of the undead ancestors her family worshiped she was surprisingly good natured and kind.

Danielle had struck up a conversation with the girl when Nivisa had arrived to watch the sword practice one morning.  She seemed especially interested in how Danielle had comported herself, and Danielle had basked under the attention since it was good attention for once.  

"I think you should consider ceasing your training, ne’Tecthelion.”  Danielle stared at the slight girl in shock, and then laughed, thinking it a joke.  Nivisa had smiled but she shook her head.  “If you wish to remain in the good graces of the nuns and your fellow students, I truly think you should consider this."

"I've been taught all my life that the Lawgiver accepts all those who work in good faith and follow the ways and rites of the One Path, Lady Nivisa.  I really can't - er, cannot imagine the nuns rejecting me because I'm lucky.  I -am- lucky."  The nuns were adamant about how she should speak to her betters, though Nivisa herself was tolerant of the lapses.  "My mother would be heartbroken.  She might not say as much, but I believe it would devastate her if I stepped aside in my training.  There are many girls who are stronger and faster, but I truly believe that I can be a warrior of the Lawgiver."

The pale girl smiled wanly and looked at the earnest young girl.  She pushed the single thin braid that hung along one temple behind her ear and sighed.  "I can see this means a great deal to you.  Then, if you would, I should like to teach you something.  I understand you are taught prayers and holy writ to recite.  Would it offend you if I taught you a certain recitation?"  

Danielle looked dubious.  "I would not wish to offend the Lawgiver or the Darkness that Lives...."  

Nivisa Eibon laughed, a startlingly bright sound.  "Oh, I would never teach you the prayers of the Feyt Ensurat!  No, this is merely a spell of magic, not given over by deity or devil."  Her eyes sparkled, still amused by her friend's misunderstanding.  "My father taught me of the other Shadow, the Darkness which Abides.  Not life, nor death, but everlasting, a reflection in darkness and power of this world."  She ran her fingers along the oily-looking silver of the shadesteel signet ring she wore.  "It will give you succor on dark nights when nothing else can."

Hesitantly, Danielle nodded, unwilling to risk her new friendship.  She had met Nivisa near midnight, and the girls had practiced a quiet, strange little ritual that had cemented the two girl's friendship and trust.  Danielle had known it was magical in theory, though neither of them had the talent in magic required.  She didn't really have an explanation for how she knew, and that had bothered her for a little while.

The next day, before the noblewoman and her company had left, Nivisa had sought Danielle out and given to her a small pouch.  "For the time when you truly need the comfort of our friendship ritual, ne’Tecthelion."  She also gave Danielle a chaste kiss on the cheek, making her blush and inciting a bit of laughter and scandalized murmurs among the acolytes and orphans.  Danielle knew the braid meant the other girl was already betrothed and hadn't worried over it; though she could not imagine why Nivisa Eibon, one of the Heirs to the Rule of Thirteen would choose to follow a Varanae tradition.

Life had continued much the same, for several weeks.  Then, during a particularly brutal training session where she had been pitted against one of the best of the acolytes, disaster struck.  And unfortunately for all concerned, it was disaster with intent.

Dragging herself from her self indulgent melancholy, Danielle dismounted in front of the Red Lantern House she'd been staying at.  Such places on occasion needed mercenary help, and she was well trained with the sword; her penchant for leaving people battered but alive and relatively unharmed (but very thoroughly chastised; her mother would have been proud of that, she thought bitterly) made her particularly useful for a brothel, and they were tolerant of her nature.  She would have a hard time getting work anywhere else.  

And her room was very nice, better than many inns she'd stayed at.

"Well, there y' be, sweetheart!  You'd near t' be getting soaked, for it's rain tonight!"  Madame Dewara was a jolly sort of woman, well fed but not dumpy, cheerful without being ingenuous, and one of the few people Danielle had found who didn't outright despise her for what she was.  "It's a slow night anyways; th' Silent Guild is all the custom I have, and like as not they'd pay pennies, aye?"  She took Danielle's cloak and swiftly folded it and set it over one muscular arm, the ritual greeting almost comforting to the warrior as she walked with the tall girl. 

Stroking the twin braids of her beard with thumb and index finger in a gesture that Danielle had come to associate with the Madame's motherly instinct, she commented, "Y' look peaked, dear; no need t' stay up t'night, there'd be nary a reasoning t' do.  I can have Marl brew y' a draught, or some chicory...."  Her clean cheeks and hairless upper lip glowed; Danielle suspected she'd been drinking the potent mead she'd acquired a fondness for.

"No need, Madame; I will be fine.  I've an alchemist's drops to ease my night.  Though, I'll likely be useless to you for the entire night," she suggested, unable to keep the entire truth from the woman.

Opening the door to Danielle's room, the dwarf clucked disapprovingly.  "Did I nay just say tha' very thing?  Y' rest tonight, and tomorrow will be a better thing."  She half bowed as she delivered Danielle's cloak back to its owner, and smiled at the touch of soft lips to her warm cheek.  "Aren't y' sweet!  T' bed wi' y', now."  She shut the door, leaving Danielle to her own devices and the thoughts that had preceded her purchase of those devices.  

Unbuckling her sword belt, Danielle set the bastard sword against the wall near her bed, and then she unbuckled her wear-belt, with its cargo of pouches and the Elvencraft Quiver.  Two of the crystal vials she removed and set on the desk in front of the large mirror - an actual silver-glass mirror almost two feet high and nearly that wide - and then she slipped off tabard and chain shirt.  These she folded and set under the bed, laying the black tabard entirely over the shimmering chain mail to further hide it.  The sleek shadow that tried to be a cat brushed past her hands, barely a breeze to hint at its existence as she leaned over.  

Stripping off the padding and her trousers, as well as her boots and socks, she remained sitting on the bed, only folding and carefully setting aside her clothing from habit.  The despair that had been threatening to overwhelm her was slowly creeping up from the depths, and she swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat.  It took so little; an offer of hot chicory coffee and an order to get rest, the offer to stay the night with a young woman, poisoner or not and sapphos or not, the brush of a companion made from wishes and night shadows....

Danielle's combat style had always tended towards the defensive.  She was strong but not particularly brutal, and her mother's influence had pushed the girl towards careful, considered offense from a strong defense.  Tioli, an orphan who was training to become one of the Lawgiver's crusaders, had more than a touch of Otherblood in her veins and while she was not necessarily cruel, she was much stronger and more eager to win than Danielle.  

They were using metal practice blades that time - still blunted but plenty heavy enough to break bones without the thick leather and cloth padded armor they were wearing, and even then they left bruises.  Tioli's heavy handed attacks were meant to batter through an opponent's defenses and tire them out; Danielle's was less blocking and more redirecting the blows, making their techniques somewhat self defeating.  The fact that they were both using bastard-style practice blades made the fight all the more intense.  

When Danielle lashed out after defending herself utterly for an entire series of attacks on Tioli's part, she managed to follow the larger girl's blade in and deliver what would have been a fatal blow.  Enraged, the would be crusader slammed her practice blade against Danielle's and renewed her attacks, though Danielle had fully expected the exercise to be called once her blow had connected.  

Her defensive techniques were helping her - she was nimble enough not to need to block, and her redirection of Tioli's assaults bought her time, but a quick glance at the arms-mistress told her this time she was not going to be so lucky.  The woman watched her try to deal with the enraged orphan's assault, and the other girls were watching, awestruck by the fury and the strange lack of fairness the arms-mistress was showing.  The defensive techniques could not last forever, and finally Tioli had disarmed her, swatting the blade away and stomping on it.  

Rather than call for surrender, Tioli hefted her blade, not hesitating as she prepared a purposefully injurious blow to the unarmed squire.  SOMETHING erupted from inside Danielle, and Tioli lost her balance, just a little, even as she swung down.  When Danielle leaped into her, the hilt of her practice blade caught Danielle in the shoulder blade but she fell backwards, the sickening sound of bone and gristle shifting as Tioli twisted her ankle.  With a dreadful, angry wail Tioli collapsed, and Danielle rolled off of her, feeling hot, excited, almost elated as she recovered her wits.  

Tioli sat up and reached for her, but overbalanced, her hand landing on the ground next to Danielle.  Danielle turned to face her, alarmed, and in doing so managed to accidentally kick Tioli's already wounded ankle.  She crawled backwards, staring at the enraged, sobbing half-orc, and in doing so kicked some pebbles into the girl's eyes, blinding her even further.  The arms-mistress finally called a halt, and Danielle turned, stunned at the blatant abuse they'd both had to suffer through for the call.  

As a healer moved to help Tioli she stood up and dusted herself off, feeling bewildered by this strange situation.  She did not expect words of praise for defeating Tioli - though she'd won the battle, the real fight at the end had been won by sheer luck.  Her eyes strayed and she saw the healer and the arms-mistress in a heated and whispered conversation.  When she had been told to report to the abbess, she knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.  

As she bathed with water warmed by a simple cantrip, Danielle recalled with perfect clarity how the abbess had gently explained to her she was unsuited for the title of paladin; she could not ever be a paladin, for she had been touched by a Power - and not that of Donblas the Lawgiver.  She remembered the hot tears as the abbess, as gently as she could, told her she was a hexblade, a cursecast warrior, and that it was in her blood and soul, and she could never serve the Lawgiver so.  She could become, eventually a crusader, yes, but never under the auspices of any God of Order or Purity.  

That night she had taken her mother's old chain shirt and her spare sword, ones she had worn and used in her younger adventuring days, and left a long letter for her mother.  She had run, run into the darkness, a broken shell of what had been an innocent girl.  She had quickly discovered the true nature of the world - though Danielle was enough a warrior to keep her virginity intact she was no longer enough of an acolyte to preserve her faith and innocence.  Soon she was a sell-sword, but only as long as she could prevent those she worked with and worked for from discovering her true nature.  

One night, in the depths of despair, she had recalled what Nivisa had warned her of, and she searched for the pouch she had been given.  The black ink with its own strange crimson glow, the crushed black pearls, the two silver beads the size of cat's eyes.  The ritual had helped - it had given life to a piece of the nightshadows, and she would never be alone again.  

But it wasn't enough.

Danielle sat, naked and clean, in front of the mirror.  Looking into her own eyes.  She looked the same, but she did not feel the same.  It was a horror, to have held onto the shining beacon of her mother's faith, to have striven for the glory of the Lawgiver, only to discover she was body and soul an agent of Xiombarg and Ygorl.

The catlike shadow slid onto her lap and sat there, a thing of night and shadow and malevolent unluck, weightless and with only the merest shred of substance.  That was even mostly in her mind.  She absently ran her hand through the black drift of smoke like mist that shivered from its 'substance', and picked up the vial of black liquid.  Running her thumb over the lead seal, she recalled how she'd discovered the properties of the elixir from talking with the whores in Madame Dewara's employ.  Her own experiments with magic had led her to discover how to enthrall and charm people temporarily; the elixir, though less potent and of shorter duration, was effective in another way.  

She took the vial of blue oil in her other hand, used her thumb to open the thin lead seal, and drank the sweet black liquid in the other vial, eyes tightly closed.  She felt the strange, almost blissful numbing of her depression and the lightening of her heart.  Danielle swallowed....and opened her eyes, looking into the mirror.  

The hexblade felt the hate and loathing she held for herself fade into warm, beautiful acceptance and a desire to keep safe and protected, even loved.  The love philter overwhelmed her deep seated fear and anguish, making her into someone who cared for herself for a little while.  She rose, her mind spinning, her body tingling and sensitive, above and beyond the typical affect for such a potion.  The slippery darkness oozed down her legs, and Danielle laughed softly as she walked to the bed, her fingertip running over the lead foil cap of the other vial.  

She was never quite sure if it was a side effect of being a hexblade, the effect of using the elixir of love upon herself by looking in the mirror, or just some broken aspect of her own mind, but there was a hallucinatory quality to the effects of the love philter.  It eased the pressures in her heart and mind and made her feel good.  Very good.  And the same quality or effect also held true with the oil of slipperiness she bought.  She held up the marbled blue liquid in its crystal vial, smiling.  She'd once been told that what she was about to do was an obscenity, but then, what she was also classified as an obscenity by the tenets of that faith.  

Danielle slipped onto the soft fur cover of her bed, and opened the vial.  It would fade away into nothingness in a short while, but it would last long enough for what she needed it for.  And there would not be much of a mess to clean up!  The young woman giggled, and poured the liquid across her firm breasts, shivering at the cool sensation of the salve.  It dripped down her breasts, across her muscular, toned midriff, and along her legs.  She emptied the vial, letting the droplets fall onto her thighs, then dropped the vial to the floor, reveling in the sensation of the oil on her skin.

With a shudder of ecstasy, Danielle ran both hands over her breasts and through the oil, covering herself in the slick blue liquid.  Either the oil itself or the effect of the love philter gave her a strange sort of dualism, the hands she felt not entirely her hands, the body she felt not entirely her body.  She tweaked her nipples and giggled then began to slide the oil over her body, rubbing it over her bare skin.  It even felt good on the few scars she carried.  

Once she had covered her body, she continued, covering her face, running her fingers through her hair, and then rolling over, applying it to the soft, warm fur.  The bed - well used feathers pushed to the edges, had a large dip in the center, making it difficult for her to fall out.  She laughed softly once more, squirming over the luxurious fur, as she considered how difficult it would be to help herself back into bed.  The fur soaked up the oil and spread it even further, so that when Danielle turned over the fur itself applied the oil of slipperiness to her back and her muscular butt.  She wiggled it into the fur, enjoying how the sleek, oily fur felt against her skin.  

Thoroughly coated with the magical oil and utterly involved in her potion-driven Narcissism, the delirious girl ran both hands from her breasts to her thighs, stretching in her bed of nearly frictionless fur.  The sensation made her arch and she spread her legs, letting her fingers caress, open the flower of her cunt and slip between the soft, equally slick petals.  Her breathing quickened as she ran one hand back up, touched her breasts, her throat, her face, the queer duality of her sensations make it almost as though another were with her.  

The thought brought her darkling companion to her, the oil meaningless and ineffective to its illusory substance.  But with a simply cast cantrip, a few little touches of magic, the darkness took new form, took on the illusion of substance.  Danielle moaned as the androgynous shadow, with eyes of iridescent black pearl, crawled over her began to touch her as she touched herself.

She rather doubted that Nivisa Eibon had this in mind when she'd taught her the ritual.  A smaller, less vocal part of herself hinted otherwise.

Her hands worked, not merely between her legs, but across her skin, caressing, teasing, lovingly giving what she tolerated from no one.  Fear made her alone; loneliness made her mad; madness made her foolish.  All these thoughts slipped away as the shadow of her companion fell to the bed between her legs, shadowy hands, delicate and soft urging Danielle's legs wider, so that the head which moved between her legs could kiss with fleshless lips and caress with substanceless tongue.  Caught in hallucinatory madness of her self-induced love, Danielle half-created, half imagined the sensation, her fingers reaching down to spread, play, open, allowing the shadow its own strange pleasure.

The strange chill of her shadow-lover's touch made her moan, and her own nails dragged along the skin of her breasts.  The oils prevented her from clawing herself, but the sensation was delicious and she thrust her hips, pushing more of the shadow's face against her nether lips.  One slender arm of darkness moved under her as she writhed, caressing other, equally sensitive places beneath her.  Sliding over onto her front, Danielle eagerly offered herself to her spectral companion, her hands opening her body front and then back, her oiled fingers entering her back passage with preternatural ease.  

The sensation of her ghost lover's attention, the feel of the chill not-flesh sliding into her body, entering her secret places untouched by any but herself, was one of the most intense sensations she'd ever experienced.  She cried out, her body shaking, the slippery fur moist and warm and sensual, her fingers easily sliding in and out of her body, the shadow caressing places inside unreachable by flesh and blood.  

The hexblade arched, flipped, thrashed in her nest of slick fur and oily lust, the shadow sliding across, over, into her body, a dark image that more and more resembled the one who created it.  Kisses made of night and darkness, caresses of cool mist, gentle, eager thrusts of fingers little more than a cool breeze entering flesh untouched and never meant to be touched brought desperate cries of pleasure from the hexblade's throat.  Danielle cried out as she slid two, three, four fingers into each of the places she wanted to fill, the shadow of her companion, sliding against her body, darkness sliding in and out of her own flesh, caressing her from within, kissing her, hungry and eager to please.  

Madame Dewara tugged both of her beard-braids unhappily, agitation evidenced in action.  The woman who had paid her so much gold to add the insanity-mist candles to the room had been young, almost too young to allow into the brothel, but there had been something about her that had worried Dewara.  So she'd obeyed, and the results were audible outside Danielle's door.  The girl's self-love was one thing, but the drug had turned it much more intense, perhaps too intense.  Yet she didn't try to seek an antidote to the candles from the Poisoner; the Guild had forbidden any contact with her save through the higher ups.  

Dewara was not that concerned over the life of a lonely girl no one looked after that she'd risk her own.

The next day, an exhausted and somewhat dazed Danielle rose, shuddering as her catlike companion sat watch at the edge of the bed.  It poured itself to the ground, and silently padded to the door.  Danielle blinked, straining to listen; at the barest edges of her hearing she caught snippets of a song, perhaps a hymn to the Lawgiver.  

Shaking her head to clear it she washed, careful with her feminine places; she'd overindulged, and the spells she’d used on her dark companion had left traces of themselves along her skin that she still felt.  The memory of intangible hands sliding in and out of her sex, her....well, other places....and the intense, beautiful caress along her hammering, thundering heart....they gave her a pleasant little frisson as her companion wound about her legs.  She dressed slowly, sighing; the darker thoughts pushed to the back of her mind once more by her self-indulgence.  

The song persisted as she walked down the hall, though it was hunger urging her to seek out others.  It was too early yet for anyone to be waking in the brothel itself; she slipped out the front door with a bare nod to the day-guard the Silent Guild provided Madame Dewara.  Her companion remained close, a sleek thing shaped like a cat and so very not one.  

The song became louder, and she felt a peculiar lassitude steal over her, an odd melancholy.  It seemed to lighten the closer she got to the source of the noiseless song; it was a warm, gentle hum, strange tones that shifted and changed slightly, a harmony that sounded very much like the hymnals of the Lawgiver....but not quite.  She found herself slowly hunting back and forth through the streets, cutting across alleys when the sound became more distance, and nearly running as it got louder.  

It became a whispered, wordless litany in her mind, promising love, companionship, protection.  The thought that the song was a lie came to her, and even thinking that brought tears to her eyes.  It wasn't a compulsion - she knew what those felt like, and she was incredibly resistant to such things.  This was different; and as she found the source, she understood how different.  

Sitting in one of the mercantile squares was the pretty redhead she'd seen at Auaei's the day before.  With her were her companions, by and large other young women, though there were a couple of men as well - both clearly warriors and very protective of her.  The song became a chorus, and the promise was kept.  She fell to her knees and drew her blade, offering it hilt first over her arm to the svelte redhead who wore no armor and carried no weapons save a slim crystal knife.  

"I offer you the blade that is mine, to serve you....mis...mistress."  The word sounded right.  Felt right.  She knew there would be no turning away, no jealousy or hatred among this girl's servants.  

"You are the last, and the best.  Rise, my lovely warrior."  The élan handed the blade back and smiled up at her thrall as she rose.  "I have been waiting for you," Pillory said.

~XS