One of the more difficult problems of being one of the most powerful psychics on a given planet is that the people you could go to for consultation on a problem you couldn't figure out on your own were few, and far between.  Not to mention exceedingly dangerous.  With the two dragons who had the Discipline unreachable, the one human psychic on the same scale being an intractable warrior for the side of the angelic beings and distinctly unwilling to remotely assist her, and the remainder being alien monstrosities such as the Elder Brains or the Ashokian contemplatives, few creatures were available to her for assistance.

Which is why Pillory found herself sliding through the soft pearlescent haze of the elemental plane of boring.  

Well, that was not entirely accurate, as the few things that broke up the monotony were by definition not boring. Physically traversing the astral plane was a task not for the weak minded or faint of heart, the least reason of which was that life that existed in the astral fundament was inherently inimical to the sanity and well being of others.  In Pillory's case it lead to far too much introspection for someone who had lived over three thousand years.  Doing was far more her preference than thinking, which often confused those who knew her well.  

The main complication was that since travel through the astral plane was an act of will, and she could easily set a part of her mind to that task, it left the rest of her mind free to wander.  Since the problem she was dealing with was at the forefront of her mind and she had already determined she needed help, her mind worried at the issue like a dog with its bone.  She would much rather be playing with her thrall, or continuing her pet's training.  It was a relief when she a trio of physically manifested warriors appeared around her and paced her.  

She ceased her headlong flight through the nacreous material that separated physical world from its spiritual sources, and studied her would be captors with great interest.  

Thin, rangy humanoids with skin the color of pale champagne or white wine, drawn tight over their lean frames.  Their long faces were even more spare of flesh, leaving them sunken cheeked and hollow-eyed, with their upturned noses making their faces skull-like masks.  This was a deception as their darker eyelids surrounded narrow eyes of deep red, orange, and amber respectively revealed their intact skin.  Their ears were both pointed and serrated, while their dark hair was styled in different ways for each.  Their armors were slim and well kept examples of banded mail, baroque and polished to a deep, rich shine previous to staining with umber or sienna.  Their clothing was equally colorless, brown and simple chamois and softened canvas.  The hand-and-a-half swords that one of the males and the single female held were incredibly baroque, the lower third widened and crafted with protrusions, hooks, and wicked barbs.  

Each of them was festooned in jewels and gold; most of the jewels were not faceted but given simple cabochon polishes, rounded and bright.  Straps crisscrossed their armor, hung from their belts and were laid across their vambraces and greaves; each was a fastening point for an array of wildly different styles and kinds of brooches, beads, medals, and pins.  Braids of metal beads hung from their dark hair, and the feminine one with corn-rowed hair alternated each braid with a length of leather hung with tiny rubies and emeralds.  Any one of the yellow-fanged, white toothed creatures could easily have bought the ransom of dukes and princes, if not queens.  

One spoke, thin lips issuing a raspy voice.  “You will accompany us to our city.”

Pillory's response was simple and straightforward, and seemed to surprise the woman and man who had not spoken.  “I will.”  The speaker showed no surprise at all.  Nor did he bind the prisoner or draw his own blade, instead turning and willing himself through the rarefied mists of the astral at a pace she could match easily. 

Pillory knew very well what they saw.  With no worldly culture to concern herself with, she had dressed as she saw fit for once.  Human enough at first glance, her hot blue eyes lively and interested, her copper-red hair a wash of curls held at the back with a simple ring of beaten silver.  Pale and seemingly delicate of build at the cusp of womanhood, she seemed barely older than a child to most.  A simple while linen tunic with loose sleeves and laced at the throat and chest, and leggings of white leather tight at the hips and thighs, loose at the calves over pale snakeskin moccasins suggested asceticism, which the rest of her accouterments vehemently denied.   

Her own jewelery was no less baroque than that of her escorts and a great deal more functional in subtle ways.  Smoked glass curlicues and piping around white leather bracers that would protect her better than their armors would them; the diadem of gold infused leaded crystal, the violet and red shadows shifting in the lightless void that afforded her mental armor just as powerful; a ring carved from a single diamond, glittering with potent wards and protections.  A silver necklace with a spider carved from rubies and backed in platinum, a weapon unlike any other.  She carried a single true weapon – a dagger carved of a rainbow crystal, a golden gleam deep within illuminating the potential for psychic-powered destruction.

It was more a tool than a weapon – her body was a far deadlier weapon, and her mind deadlier still, even before one took into account her psychic prowess.

The quartet quickly found their goal looming in the distance, stone carved away from large domed landscapes wherein life dwelt.  It was as if some round ball of mud had been rolled through large, moss-agate disks, and then the mud had been washed away so the backings dwindled away from each dome to meet in a tangled lump at the center.  Pillory knew very well not to judge size in the astral.  Here there would be no way to determine the size of the place until one could compare it to the small insects that flew lazily from one section of stone to another between the domes outer area....and knew that they were dragons.  It was one of the cities of the Githyanki, and those dragons were their steadfast allies.  

Without her escort it could have taken much longer to find the place, but the chances of not running into an escort were slim.  The warrior race was innately gifted with psychic power, and eyes were not the only way to notice a visitor from afar.  As they approached one of the milky domes, the leader of the group slowed; Pillory and her two more aggressive escorts slowed in response.  The glass rolled away from them, peeling back like some chrysalis to allow them entrance.  The humid mists roiled below, and they floated slowly into the vast woodland of the upper-city.

Here there were many of the children of Gith:  men and women walking, speaking aloud or in silence, practicing their martial techniques, and only a few taking note of the escort and their unusual visitor.  Chief among these was an ancient specter of a Githyanki, in full plate mail and bearing a sword taller than Pillory stood.  The sense of that weapon's alien awareness of her was disconcerting even for her, and it always was no matter how many times she experienced it.  As he approached, he removed his gauntlets, exposing spindly, thick-knuckled hands that bore darkened spots, as did his noble, undeathlike countenance.  Eyes that burned like coals around pits of darkness studied her as she grinned fiercely up at him.  His own accouterments were no less baroque and gaudy as the others but among them were two of particular note.  The first was a dagger that was the twin to her own, a single solid piece of deep crystal bearing its own deadly cargo of power.  The second was a brooch of silvered glass, much like her bracers; it was shaped in the manner of a flower with a series of thorny branches that formed a sigil beneath the simplistic flower. 

When he finally spoke it was with the harsh rasp of a voice long disused.  “I see you are as unchanging as we, despite your sojourns in the world of time and matter, Gish Pillory.”  That caught the attention of the two escorts who had followed her.  The lead escort seemed unsurprised.

“You are as imposing and terrifying as ever, Grand Marshal Ulhre.  I have missed you.”  The Grand Marshal gestured and the two warriors sheathed their weapons.  Pillory stepped aside and bowed over one upturned hand, the other nearly covering her open eyes so he was almost entirely blocked from her view.  “I bring both tidings and questions, the first for the Council of War, the second for the Convocation of Sight.”

“Rise, and walk with me, Gish.  You may keep your escort if you wish.”  She did rise, and glanced at the trio of warriors.  The leader looked at her with aplomb, while the other two bristled at the implied insult of being lower rank.  Ulhre appeared to ignore their discomfiture.  

“Knight Ylreh may go if he wishes, or accompany if he wishes.  I don't know these two, though she's pretty enough.  Have I truly been away that long?”  Her voice fell easily into the cadences and tones the Githyanki spoke in, the language soft in her throat as it was not in theirs.  Ylreh bowed in a similar manner as Pillory had.  “You may rise and walk your way, Knight Ylreh.  Give your mother tidings of ichor and brine, if you might.  I recall her with great fondness.”  

A faint smile tugged at the thin lips of her chief escort.  “I might, please the Gish if it may.”  He turned and walked walked silently down the cobbled path, the ringing of his accessories and baubles against each other and his armor a strangely joyous sound in the misty forest as it joined that of others who walked instead of floated.

“What is this thing that it commands our betters as less than yourself, Grand Marshal?!”  The female's voice was less harsh, though still rough.  She was young, in the scheme of things.  Age was more a matter of experience and mentality than the physical passing of time in this place.  In the astral plane, biology took a back seat to mentality, when it could be bothered with at all.  “She is no more than a human child at best, and a shapechanger at worst!”  She looked at her companion-in-arms, but he deliberately turned his head away and closed his eyes, earning a disgruntled noise from her. 

“Cavalier Mehre, if you are so insensate to the evidence of your eyes and ears, then perhaps your instructor shall be required to give you remedial training in the patterns of thought for logic.  Cavalier Jureh clearly understands.  Intuitive pattern or logical pattern, Cavalier Jureh?”  Now the female Githyanki was fuming, her amber eyes bright and hatefully fixed on the Grand Marshal.  

“Intuitive at first, then logic as more evidence mounted, Grand Marshal.”  He turned to Pillory and Bowed, hiding his eyes from her, as he bowed over his cupped right hand.  “Excuse me from this duty if you might, Gish Pillory.  I would tend to my companion-in-flight, who was injured.”  As with other many biological functions, healing was impossible in the realm of the astral; only psychic energies that manipulated the body could repair injuries.  

“I will excuse you, Cavalier Jureh.  Give to your companion-in-flight tidings of blood and pain, if you might.  Perhaps it will ease his ire.”  Pillory grinned as the dragon-rider turned and left, hosing to move up into the 'sky' by will rather than walk to the dragon's aerie.  She turned her attention to the angry Githyanki warrior, and considered her with interest.  “You're feisty but none too bright,” the psychic observed, dropping the nuance of the language in favor of a more human tack.  “Still, I have more important issues to tend, and you will be excused.”  

Then she turned her back on the alien woman, taking a step in the direction the Grand Marshal faced.  

“I dispute your claim to title-” the dragon-rider started, only to be interrupted by the telepathic rumble of Grand Marshal Ulhre's true voice.  

{This Duel Is Not Sanctioned.  Your Costs And Pains Are Your Own to Earn Or Deal.}  His expression had not changed, but the emotional content of his mental emanation was more than merely disapproving; it was downright condemning.  {As Challenged, The Venue Of The Duel Is Yours, Gish.  Make The Finish Quick, If You Might.}  His slow, rasping voice followed in a mild rebuke.  “And perhaps Cavalier Mehre will benefit from the education provided by a gish.”

As Pillory imagined the Mandala of the Voice Within, the telepathic susurration of countless voices slithered through the minds of those nearby.  Then her own voice – far less impressive than the Grand Marshal's – issued to the minds of those nearby.  {My choice of venue is here, and the time, now.  I see no reason to delay.}  As Mehre drew her strange blade and saluted Pillory, Pillory returned the salute by raising both her hands, one higher than the other and both strangely clawed.  She took a wide stance, seeming part dancer and part mime.  

The Githyanki warrior's blade swung out and down, even as the slight woman-child stepped into the swing and bought her arms together.  The blade flashed away from the paired glass-and-leather bracers to strike from the other side, only to meet empty air as the red-head  stepped into the warrior and slammed both hands into her belly armor, avoiding the blade entirely.  

Rather than simply moving with the blow and bring the sword in to cut the human down, Mehre found herself staggering backwards and struggling to breathe the nonexistent air as her guts twisted in reaction to the sledgehammer blow.  Her ribs ached and her tensed muscles refused to relax.  She recovered quickly enough to whip her blade down at the girl's arms only to find that she was several feet away already.  

“Tell me your companion-in-flight's name, Cavalier.  Tell me what her name is, so I can speak of how you failed to slay a human child.”  She prowled slowly around her Githyanki prey, her clawed hands shifting slowly to counter the warrior's sword positions.  Mehre lashed out with the blade, but the human didn't fall for it – she knew the Githyanki's reach already.  “Or shall I simply announce your shame to the flight in whole?”  

Mehre hissed angrily, “I am going to tell Amcadren how petty a threat you made to your betters, slave.”  She stepped in and was mirrored by Pillory, who deflected the blade off of a bracer and drove her fingers into the underside of the woman's arm, forcing the blade even higher before she drove her elbow into the warrior's chin and snapped her head back.  The chirp of agony that erupted from her clenched teeth was atavistic, much like the 'fangs' of bone that had clipped her teeth when the impact occurred.  

Pillory slid away from the wild swing of the blade and then was back inside the warrior's reach, her clawed hands gripping the back of the woman's head and her thumbs pressed firmly to the lower lids of Mehre's eyes as she stared down at the frail seeming human girl.  “Amcadren?  A male?  Perhaps I will avail myself of the services you receive....”  The Githyanki breathed slowly, holding stock still, but the flicker of anger in her expression betrayed her.  “Yes....I think I shall.  You will be learning that using that empty pit you call a mind to understand what you see and hear as the Grand Marshal suggested.”

Mehre's breath caught when Pillory grinned in a manner that brought to mind the deadly creature she flew with into battle.  “Rather, merely what you hear, Cavalier.”  The whistling shriek of a Githyanki in pain filled the dome as Pillory's thumbs banked the amber flame of Mehre's eyes.

It was some time later, if time had meaning in a place where it did not pass, that Pillory found herself traversing the massive caverns and smooth passages deep within the city's depths.  Calling them the city's bowels would have offended the creatures that lived there, but it was an insult that Pillory kept in mind, just in case.  The aerie was vast, and the walls decorated by strange combinations of draconic carving, Githyanki stone-shaping, and vast piles of loot from many different planes of existence.  Not much in the way of treasure per se, but armors, skeletons, weapons of such variety that Pillory couldn't name them all, and what were perhaps chariots of strange metals and bizarre design.  Trophies and curiosities.

Her visit to the Council of War had been pleasant, with her information on the currently active cities and works of the brain devouring Illithid race giving them insight on which ones they could most effectively strike.  This information concerning their ancient ex-masters was part of what made her accepted within this particular city of Githyanki.  Her ability to survey and survive the hostile underworld by herself gained her a great deal of respect and fear among a great many races, but her willingness to risk the Illithid enclaves made her very valuable to the Githyanki.  Her rank among their kind – Gish – was not honorary; it was an actual rank with real power, given to those who practiced war and magic in the service of their Lich Queen in equal measure. 

The visit to the Conclave of Seers had been less pleasant, but more fruitful.  The Seers were a difficult lot at best, their love of mystery and their unwillingness to make observations that could not be misconstrued or mislead.  On an intellectual level, Pillory could understand the problem:  fate, free will, possibility compared to probability, and other issues of the temporal such as slipping into time-lines and realities where time had different meanings and paces or could be changed.  As an individual, it simply pissed her off because she understood the world she was working within quite well, and much of their oracular advice was nothing better than she could have provided on her own.  Still, the few truths and facts and possibilities that she had managed to pry from their withered hands and well protected minds were enough for her to begin making moves against.  

Now that work had been finished, she was merely interested in playing. 

The very nature of those chosen to become Elan made them prone to activities that were dangerous.  Adventurers were already insane by the standards of most races, their desire to capture dangerous creatures, explore ancient and dangerous ruins, protect caravans from monsters and bandits, all things that sane beings found abhorrent or admirable in equal measure.  But there were a few individuals that could not consider anything less.  Their incredibly broad desires were insatiable, and they could imagine no other way to live, dreading the idea that an injury or the infirmity of age would end their adventuring careers instead of their life.  Death in the face of adversity was the only acceptable death, yet they did not risk life and limb without caution and care because there was always one more new discovery, one more experience to be shared, one more tale to be told.  

Pillory was little changed from the person she had been when she had become an Elan.  Her desires and pleasures had been exotic from the beginning, and fifty human lifetimes had not made her jaded.  They had made her more capable of indulging her interests, which had grown more complex and dangerous with age; they now ranged from toppling empires to building societies.  The xenophilia she had always been afflicted by had finally become more of a hobby than a paraphilia in her long life as well.  Still, there were times when she could indulge her appetite for danger and her appetite for alien flesh simultaneously.

Amcadren's lair, like most of those the dragons who fought alongside the Githyanki cavaliers possessed, was near the center-point of the stone starburst that supported the domed cities.  The strange caverns near their lairs were not as isolating nor as private as one would expect a dragon's lair to be.  The reason was twofold:  first, anything that could have fought its way to this place would have had to deal with a literal army of Githyanki; second, the proximity of the dragons to one another would place the intruder in the presence of numerous dragons rather than a single dragon.  It helped that most people made the assumption that the dragons that were allied with the Githyanki were the wild, dark-hearted red dragons of the material world.

Pillory made no attempt to hide her arrival, and a number of the dragons were known to her personally, and she them.  Like their Githyanki companions, the dragons did not age, hunger, thirst, or heal in this place.  It was one of the few places that could provide an ancient Elan a sense of continuity and friends that did not die, fade, or pass on.  Certainly there were undead that could provide such friendship, but Pillory preferred her friends alive.  Admittedly prejudicial, but carnal relations with undead things often required so much more effort in her opinion.

It did make a useful bargaining chip on occasion, though.

This time she had no intention of bribery, coercion, or seduction in mind.  Dragons, as fecund and playful as they could be, had attitudes shaped by their very essences, and unlike the chromatics that many believed the Githyanki cavaliers rode, these dragons were neither lawless, playful, or prone to dalliances outside their paired cavalier.  Several of the dragons were following her, youthful ones less familiar with her personally and more familiar with her legend or rumored nature.  Most of those that she new personally she had already greeted and explained herself to, and there would be no interference from them.  As the Grand Marshal had announced, the pain and costs of Mehre's ill-advised duel were hers to bear, and Amcadren was one with Mehre for all intents and purposes.  It would be foolhardy to an extreme to not ensure Mehre's mount and friend was aware of just how bad a mistake it was to challenge Pillory from a position of ignorance.  

Amcadren's lair was a large cavern, a spherical opening from the tunnel that was polished smooth, almost to mirror brilliance.  It reflected the dragon's hoard of coins and trophies, as well as his own magnificence, making the place seem larger.  If it was truly spherical, then the bedding of silver, gold, platinum, electrum, copper, and other, less identifiable coinage was no less than four feet deep in the center.  The collected pillage of hundreds of worlds, used as bedding for the dragons, since the Githyanki had near to no use for such treasure outside of their decorative jewelery.  There were a number of weapons as well, several of the Githyanki's own make, won in duels by Mehre and given to her bosom companion as gifts or for safekeeping.  

The dragon was not particularly massive by the standards of dragonkind – only a very few were, and they were truly ancient beings, older than Pillory dared imagine.  This was one who was youthful, though fully grown in terms of their own kind.  Faceted eyes of flowing gold gazed down at her as she approached his lair boldly.  

He was no less magnificent than his brothers and sisters, and Pillory had to admit that he would have daunted her in her relative youth.  His body was surrounded by a pale corona of shifting light shot through with the occasional spectrum of rainbows; his scales were a swirl of deep red and gold shot through with orange and yellow, even the slightest movement giving the impression of a body of molten fire boiling to the liquid crimson and gold surface.  The translucent membranes of his wings were brighter crimson shot through with shifting washes of gold dust.  The spines and spurs that crested his head continued down his neck, along his back, to the serpentine tail that jutted with fins and spurs.  His jaws parted, the seeming glow of his scales giving way to an actual white-hot glow from deep within his body as his tongue flicked out, tasting her in the air.  

{So you are the one that blinded my Cavalier; you who are called Pillory, Eternal Child, Gish of the First Order.  I am surprised you do not lay claim to the title Grand Marshal yourself, and rule us as you would rule others.}  His contemptuous thoughts and sneering intonation were indication of how young he was in comparison to some of the others.  Of an age to match Mehre undoubtedly.  {Have you come to claim a prize for winning your so-called duel?}  

There were very few Githyanki here, almost all visiting their companions or the companions of their fellow warriors for one reason or another.  There were a trio of dragons who had followed, keeping a respectful distance.  One settled onto his haunches and forelegs, wings folded and kept back; his Cavalier laid a hand along his shoulder, curious as well.  The other two settled for sitting upright, watching with interest.  The Githyanki kept close to the walls or to corners, where they could duck behind in case of stray spells, psychic blasts of kinetic or elementary energies, or the hideously destructive breath weapons of the alien dragon.  

{Not at all,} replied Pillory in an equally wide broadcast of thought.  {I am merely finishing the duel that was begun.  You are your partner's companion, and so it would be remiss of me not to treat you with the same respect and concern that I showed her.}  She unbuckled her belt and slipped it free of the loops of her tight trousers, setting the gleaming dagger in its sheath next to the belt.  Unlacing the throat of her tunic, she shamelessly pulled it off, baring small, firm breasts and pale skin, supple and young.  

The Solar Dragon turned his head, giving her one eye as he studied her carefully, though she had no doubt the other was using the mirror-polished surface of his cavern to inspect the area around his cave entrance carefully.  {Oh, you plan to leave your accouterments for my lover to treasure after I burn you to a wisp of plasma?  I assure you, your flesh is of no interest to me.  Cavalier Mehre is far more enjoyable than your fragile, immature body could be.}  His mocking tone had no hints of concern of fear; his ego was far too grand a thing to allow for the possibility of failure, much as his cavalier's had been.  

Pillory feigned an injured tone, more nuanced in its mockery than his was.  {I would have you know this body is finely matured for the society it was born in, and is much more durable than you think, sun-lord!  I will therefore have to demonstrate that maturity and the skill of my lovemaking upon your own body, to show you what your youthful companion is sorely lacking in.}  She slid her trousers off as well, folding and laying them atop her folded tunic.  Her loincloth was last, the untying of the knot at one hip being enough to allow her to step free of them.  

Looking up at the dragon as she picked up her belongings and set them just outside his lair, Pillory continued.  {Are there any restrictions on power or skills that you wish to impose before I turn you into my personal pleasure-slave?  For my part, I'll use no coercive enchantments that will strip you of your free will.  There would be no pleasure in that sort of victory.  Nor will I use the power of cold against you in combat, for similar reasons.}  One could not bargain in good faith with the chromatic dragons, but this was no such creature.  The outer dragons were a kind far removed from their casual cruelties and petty games.  

The dragon rose to his feet, his tail splashing a wave of coins along the walls of his lair as it lashed in agitation.  {I see no reason to limit my power against something that will come apart at the slightest touch of my talons,} Amcadren replied haughtily.  His wings fluttered in agitation before he furled them tightly at his sides, a nervous tic that Pillory took great amusement in.  Here they would only be weapons, as movement was more a thing of will in the astral.  

{Very well, but you cannot say I did not give you fair warning!}  Pillory clashed her bracers together, the crystalline decorations ringing with an intensity that pierced the ears.  She took two running steps in her pale moccasins, and leaped at Amcadren. 

She slipped way from the dragon's assault as Amcadren lashed out, his massive jaws clashing as he tried to take Pillory out of the air.  There was a bright golden flash as she slammed her fist into the armor at the back of his head, and he staggered as she soared past him and circled his head.  He turned his head slightly to place her squarely in sight of one eye and unfurled his wing.  The hissing sound of his tail slicing through the air should not have been enough of a warning, yet Pillory pirouetted as it slipped by her, and again when he tried to strike her with the return stroke. 

The dragon's antics brought laughter to the girl's lips, and when he swept the room with his wing by performing a barrel roll she preceded the wing by more than a dozen feet, taking as much advantage of the infinitely maneuverable medium of the astral as he tried to.  She had to admire his bold attempt to crush her with the entire weight of his body when he had her between himself and his hoard; if she'd needed to breathe it would have been far more worthwhile.  As it was she expended a goodly amount of power to maintain the integrity of her inhuman body, repairing the damage even as it was done.  

He has presumed her to be unprepared when she arrived, but in truth much of the trip to reach his lair had been for the sole purpose of preparing herself for this battle.  Before she had turned her mind to the more esoteric and subtle methods of telepathic disciplines, Pillory had been a practitioner of the body manipulating sciences which gave her protections and defenses as well as awareness far beyond human senses.  Despite her militant training she was no warrior; her extraordinary combat skills were the result of centuries of honing and her psychic abilities.  Against the Grand Marshal she would have had to resort to much more potent means of ending a battle.  

Against the egotistical young dragon she had over thirty lifetimes worth of experience in combat – his lifetimes, rather than human ones.

With another burst of psychic energy, she drove both her hands into the thick scales of his hide, eliciting a roar of pain as she penetrated the shimmering glow of his flesh.  Hot blood poured over her arms as she clutched at the wound forcing him to rear back in his youthful ignorance.  When he did so she shot away from him, flinging an arm back at his face and spattering his own molten blood across his snout.  {It seems that first ~and~ second blood are mine, Amcadren.  Care for to try for third?}

His answer, predictably enough, was a blast of white hot flame, the inferno that dwelt at the heart of suns.  She did not attempt to dodge the blast though the other dragons who watched did, and she immediately discovered why.  The fires overwhelmed her potent protections, piercing even the immunity that she had wrapped her body in.  It took a good portion of her power, nearly a twelfth, to repair the damages that were being done to her body.  Only the fact that the only things she wore were artifacts of her own creation prevented their destruction as well. 

Snatching the ruby and silver spider amulet from her neck, she tossed her hair back with her other hand and smiled at the astonished dragon.  {No?  Then I shall end your embarrassment as quickly as possible, before we put on a grand show indeed.}

Even as he leaped for her, talons spread and jaws wide, his mental projection was an appalled demand:  {What in the name of the Void ARE you, abomination?}  Crushing the jewel in her hand she flung it at him, hundred of ectoplasmic threads swirling around him.  He tore many of them away as he lunged for her, his jaws catching naught but air.  

{Abomination?  How rude,} she commented idly as she swooped between his claws and slammed both of her fists into his breastbones, the flash of golden energies that accompanied it piercing his defenses and making him draw back in pain.  Pillory remained where she was, gazing up at the magnificent creature.  {Most will call me Pillory.  You  might call me....}  She grinned fiercely and sent her power through the filaments of ectoplasm that he was entangled by.  {….your mistress!}

The delicate threads were useless in and of themselves, barely noticeable after so many had been torn away.  Where they touched each other, they had adhered, forming a thin network of strands along the dragon's body and wings.  A net that did not catch.  Once her power flooded the ectoplasm that changed.  The threads crystallized, and grew, shimmering rainbows of diamond that grew and twisted, ensnaring the massive creature in a twisted, scale-tight cage of gleaming shards, thorns of the diamond digging into his nearly impenetrable flesh and holding him fast.  

His neck and head were largely free, and Pillory pulled a tiny sapphire from under her left hand bracer, concealing it within her palm.  When he lunged at her, rather than attempt to dodge or flee, she stuck her right hand into the gaping maw and squeezed.  The explosion that struck her blew her backwards out of his mouth, and the roiling white flames he expelled exploded to the sides, striking the walls in splashes and bolts as he thrashed his head helplessly, trying to crush the six foot wide bubble of impenetrable force she'd left in his jaws. 

Pillory worked on healing her injuries and cleaning herself up as he struggled against the unbreakable diamond bindings and the improvised ball gag she'd created in his maw.  His mental howls of anguish coincided with his roars, and the diamond spurs and spikes dug harder into hi scales, threatening to cut into his flesh and body.  As he struggled ineffectively, Pillory floated to where her clothing lay, pleased that the unexpected and misdirected gouts of primal flame had not disintegrated them.  

Allowing him to attempt every last avenue of escape, the ancient psychic poured a vial of oil into her hair and slowly began massaging it over her body, the lack of gravity making the job much easier.   The ascetic coated her skin in the slick oil, giving her skin a silvery sheen.  Pillory enjoyed herself, stroking her supple, youthful skin, playing with her firm breasts, teasing her nipples.  She turned to watch the magnificent creature writhe and thrash, his glowing body decorated in diamond and muzzled by shimmering sapphire light.  Soon, very soon, she would have her way with him.  Her fingers slipped between her legs – front and back – and she sighed, arching as she oiled both of the passages there, her body as tight and virginal as when she had been formed.  Transformed.  ~Made~.

The dragon Amcadren panted heavily, immobilized and helpless bound by diamond and force.  Though he could have fought for days on end it was clear to him that the more he struggled, the more threatening and potentially more painful the diamond thorns would become.  They were already uncomfortable, but they had not yet penetrated his hide.  Pillory walked over to the dragon, licking the fingers she had used to prepare her sex with clean.  Ignoring the audience that had slowly returned to watch, she walked around the dragons head, running her fingers along his upper jaw.  

{I concede defeat, Gish Pillory.  You are indeed a capable warrior with arms and power alike.}  The grudging admission was met with silence as she gestured, slowly turning Amcadren over using telekinesis to place him right side up for the moment.  Her eyes roamed over the glowing, vicious maw spread wide by the glowing bubble of force.  Amcadren could have easily swallowed three or more of her in a single mouthful, save for that sphere.  {Is that not what you desired, admission of your superiority?}  Even now his haughty arrogance bled through his mental voice.  

{I am surprised at you, Amcadren, truly shocked by your faulty memory.  Almost insulted.  It is rare, the occasion where I take it upon myself to indulge a male, even one as magnificent as yourself.}  She paused at the corner of his gaping mouth, her tiny delicate hand stroking a thick, elongated fang almost three time the length of her palm.  Looking into the faceted dome of his golden eye, the streaming liquid gold radiating from the empty darkness of his pupil, she smiled wickedly.  {Did you not pay attention when I announced the outcome of this duel?}

Amcadren stared at the diminutive human-like creature, the monstrous thing that he'd made the horrible mistake of assuming was human.  She tilted her head, and spoke aloud, though softly.  “If you think that you could simply roll over crush me, burn me to ash, then I shall warn you, one time.  I have used scarcely a third of my power against you Amcadren.  If you decide to provoke me, I assure you, I can make this far less a pleasure than I promised.”  It was a lie, of course – she'd used barely a quarter of her energies in the fight and in her defense.  The other was no lie at all.

The dragon shuddered, and his thoughts were tainted by hate and resignation.  {Do with me as you will, then, monster.  I assure you I will take no pleasure in it.}  

{Oh, but you will, Amcadren, you will.  I am nothing if not skilled and inventive!}  She smiled and turned to face him, lifting one foot and placing it inside his mouth, amused by the shocked widening of his pupil behind the triangular facets of his eye.  Her hands slid along other fangs, smaller fangs than the one at the corner of his jaw.  {I doubt that your lover ever attempted this, frail, foolish thing that she is.  Perhaps you will suggest it.}  Their audience had grown, and it was for their benefit she mind-spoke.  She had not wished to threaten him in front of the others, granting him the dignity of losing gracefully.

Not that he would see it as such, but his feelings no longer mattered.

Pillory rose up on her other leg, and slowly moved her wet, shining slit over the thick, long tooth.  It was rounded, and not very sharp at the tip, but it was long and wide enough at the base to be a problem for her.  Still, it was a good starting point, especially since he could see much of her.  Pillory pressed her foot along the soft, moist flesh of his gum line and then slowly pressed herself onto the fang, using her grip on his other teeth.  She bit her lip as the curved, conical tooth spread her open, speared her.  A soft groan escaped her lips as she pulled away, taking only a third of his fang into her tight body.

She slowly rode the thick, steel hard fang, slowly forcing more and more of it into her tight sheath.  Pillory was forced to adjust her grip several times; Amcadren was salivating, and she was aware that he was tasting, scenting her arousal.  Still, she forced herself to take more and more of his tooth, until she was filled and over-full; she made a soft, high pitched noise, half pain and half pleasure as she pressed her sex against the soft flesh at the base of his fang, let him taste her directly.  The mental voice she spoke with was rich with pleasure and satisfaction.  {I've not had so much in me in decades....but there is much more to fill me with, is there not, Amcadren?}

{You would tear your body apart trying to mount me,} he said, but she could feel the beginnings of lust, the curiosity that he could not help, under the revulsion and shame that his helplessness placed him in.  

She laughed, a shuddering, delighted noise as she lifted herself from his slick fang, her juices coating it.  {You really do not bother to learn, do you, sun-blood.  Never you mind, I will educate you thoroughly.}  Rather than removing her foot from his maw, she stepped INTO his gaping jaws, carefully walking along his soft, incredibly hot flesh.  Here it was pale crimson, coated with a layer of the same gold shimmer as his wing.  Turning, she placed her back to the sphere of force that kept his mouth from closing....and straddled his tongue.

{What are you ~doing~, mad creature?}  Amcadren's shocked mind-voice was aghast, almost appalled.

“I swear to the dead gods, you have the least inventive lover....” Pillory complained as she closed her eyes, placing both hands on the length of flesh she straddled and then slowly beginning to slide her heated, moist sex against his hot, throbbing tongue.

Trapped in place by the glowing sphere, the tongue still writhed and twisted as Pillory pressed her crux to it.  She sighed in pleasure as the rough surface stoked her need.  She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the width of it, and pressed her shimmering flesh for him to taste.  The sensation of his tongue along her body was exquisite, the roughness coating her nipples, her sex, her thighs, her belly, caressing her face.  It started to lash and writhe harder, and Pillory couldn't help but moan.  

Amcadren could taste her heat, her pleasure, and something else, a sharp, biting tang.  It was exotic, and enticing, and he tried to push the thought of the pleasure he was giving and the musk he was tasting from his mind.  {What is this taste that is not of you, creature?}

Not deigning to take offense, Pillory replied, as she sat up, clutching his powerful, muscular tongue to her body.  {A mixture of quicksilver and a mystic oil that increases slipperiness.  The oil tastes unpleasant, and so I have provided you a candy to enjoy as well.}  The poisons were working on her as well, but her body's nature and a modicum of her own power kept her from being overwhelmed by it.  She felt, more than heard his mental shock, and laughed as she continued stroking her sex along his throbbing, squirming tongue.  Pillory licked the length of flesh she held to her body, the heat in her center pooling and drawing tightness from her muscles.  

Moving more quickly, she rode his tongue harder, until finally she cried out, pleasure overwhelming her senses.  The taste of her pleasure at his expense made Amcadren shudder and she laughed again, spreading herself over his tongue and licking it again in an obscene kiss from inside his mouth.  

Drunk on power and poison, she slowly crawled to the edge of his mouth, and then slowly floated away turning to face him as she did so.  Pillory reached out, and telekinetically turned Amcadren onto his back.  {You disgusting monster....} he growled, realizing she was not done with him yet.  The humiliation of being put on his back, belly exposed and treated as little more than a living doll for her pleasure stung deep.  

Her laugh was giddy, and she floated up, over him, admiring the glow of his scales, the power of his form.  The helplessness she had inflicted on him.  {Count yourself lucky, sun-blood, that there are not others here would would take advantage of your foolishness.}  She landed lightly upon his chest, and slowly walked to the gash she'd torn just under his diaphragm.  {At the very least, I will relieve you of this.  Let further pain I cause you be a-purpose.}  Under the intoxication of the poisons and the intense orgasm she'd drawn from his unwilling flesh, her mental voice was accented by her mother tongue, one from a people long since dead upon the world she called home.

He lifted his head as much as he could to watch her from one gleaming eye as she knelt, her hands glowing as she repaired the rent scales and torn flesh.  Despite her apparent kindness, Amcadren knew very well that he was totally at her mercy.  There would be pain, as well as pleasure before him.  Disgusted by his own acceptance of her mastery, he watched as she moved to the vent between his legs.  

Licking a stray droplet of his hot blood from her fingertip as she finished healing the wound she'd inflicted upon him, Pillory weathered a galvanizing jolt of intense power from his immortal blood.  She drew on the well of psychic power to mitigate the deadly properties of the dragon's blood, and laughed giddily.  Going to her hands and knees before the vent of his sex, she broadcast her thoughts to all who cared to hear them.  {Let us then see what treasure lies within your magnificent body, city-slayer, sky-god.}  

She had already augmented her senses to levels that could drive a lesser mind mad with an inundation with information, and one of them allowed her to feel the surfaces around her at a distance.  This touch sight, combined with the telekinetic force she could use, allowed her to slide non-existent hands into the soft, hot flesh, and draw what she felt inside out, slowly.  His swollen organ was thick and pulsing heavily, not yet erect enough to slip free of his vent on its own.  The quartet of smaller grasping organs slipped free of his vent as well, spilling bout the magnificent length of translucent crimson flesh.  She could see the gold and white arteries and veins deep within the surface.

As she lifted it with huge invisible hands, stroked it to fullness, the shaft of Amcadren's maleness was nearly an arm-length-and-a-half upright, and tapered from a hand-span in width to a forearm's length at the base.  Pillory used the strange combination of touch-sight and telekinesis to play with the massive, pulsing organ as she walked around it, keeping well away from the mindless, instinctive movements of the shorter, thinner grasping organs.  {How beautiful you are, sun-blood.  This one imagines your rider has never dared more than kiss this lovely thing with her nether lips.}  

Amcadren hissed through the gag she'd provided:  a massive, hate-filled sound.  {No mortal flesh could take more than the few finger-lengths she manages without great training....}  The measurement was translated by their mind speech; she was certain he'd used another word, perhaps tooth or claw length.  {Perhaps splitting your body in twain will appease your mad desi-}”RAAAAAAUUGGGH!”

Pillory glared at the dragon from the other side of his male's flesh, her blue eyes glittering angrily, though she was still smiling.  His maleness writhed in her invisible grasp as she clutched at it, the grasping organs flailing like a mad anemone or a nest of crimson eels as they sought the untouchable flesh that squeezed his pillar tightly.  {One thinks one has heard quite enough of that.}  Her muddled, drunken thoughts spilled into his like a torrent, a mind so old, so powerful as to be nearer to one of his own kind than anything human.  

Relaxing her grip as he thrashed under her, Pillory levitated a few inches from his body to avoid being spilled off.  Her power slid along his rippled, pulsing flesh, the crimson translucence glowing faintly as more of his potent golden blood filled it.  {And yet it grows thicker and steadier rather than retreating.  One thinks you have been keeping secrets from your Cavalier Mehre, Amcadren.}  She settled on his belly once more, kneeling worshipfully before his maleness, her hands slowly moving, lifting, dropping, the invisible forces stroking, milking his massive organ.  

Amcadren bit back a mental accusation of obscenity, of perversion, unwilling to risk another demonstration of her skills.  Despite himself, despite his bondage and her power over him, he found her working of his organ pleasurable, and he utterly hated that pleasure even as she gave him more.  The fact that several dragons, male and female, had joined the growing group of Githyanki warriors only made his humiliation complete.  A new sensation made him turn his eye upon her once more, and he stared at what he saw.

Pillory's svelte, delicate body was pressed along the length of his maleness, his grasping organs wrapped about her slim legs.  She was massaging the entirety of his length from one side with the invisible power of her telekinetic will, pressing him against her soft, cool skin, the quicksilver an exciting tingle along his maleness.  {One suspects that this is less unfamiliar, though no more imaginative than would be expected of a pretty dullard....}  At the burgeoning anger she felt from his thoughts, she pressed both hands to his pillar, and he screeched in agony as a rime of ice coated the pulsing throbbing organ.  

{One believes one has heard enough of such things.}  He felt her mind in his caressing, exploring, and he writhed, but his own physiology kept her in place, rater than the arms she had wrapped about his pulsing male-sex.  The grasping tentacles wrapped firmly about her legs held her fast.  When she found what she wanted in his mind, his brain exploded in raw, unparalleled pleasure as she twisted the pain and pleasure centers of his brain into a complex knot.  {A short while only, for which one considers you welcomed in your gratitude.}

The sheer volume of contempt with which his ego-maniacal mind was overwhelmed was utterly inhuman and he found himself actually GRATEFUL to her, to his shame.  Grateful she had not seen fit to make the changes permanent.  Grateful that she had given him pleasure, in place of the agonizing pain of the frozen world.  Her body felt hot long his shaft as she moved, writhed, fondled, ~licked~ him.  She pleasured him, body and power, and he began to shift, to writhe in his bondage.  

Which is when she ceased.

Amcadren hissed in frustration, as Pillory slipped his grasping tendrils clutches and levitated upwards to straddle the end of his member.  {Watch, sun-blood, watch as this frail human body gives you what your lover cannot.}  She lowered her legs and allowed his grasping tendrils to wrap about her legs.  They immediately did so, and pulled, her shallow, delicate flesh spreading and moving against his maleness.  Closing her eyes, Pillory concentrated all her will, focused all her power into her inhuman body.  

As he was commanded, Amcadren watched as Pillory was forced down his shaft, her sex splitting, spread, her flesh stretching and accommodating, inhuman resilience beyond any mortal flesh.  Oh, it hurt her, it hurt her exquisitely, and she pressed her hands to his shaft as it filled her, six finger-lengths, half a forearm-length, until she took nearly a full length of her forearm of his member into her tight body.  All she could manage of her her breaths were hot, quick gasps.  His pulsing, hot flesh was lodged deep inside her, pressing, clenched in cool human flesh.  There was no blood, no tearing – he could see the outline of his shaft within her belly, and then her blazing blue eyes looked at him.  Her rictus grin of triumph and pride was terrifying, and yet he could not deny that she felt like no other had against his body, about his maleness.

She reached down and he felt her power engulf his sex, move, ripple along his male-flesh, and he spilled inside her.  He felt and heard her scream as his pulsing, rippling organ disgorged molten silver seed into her cool body, spilling from the tight seal of her cunt over his length.  The force of it nearly pushed her a hand-length from his potent maleness, and the psychic forced the grasping organs to release her with her power, lashing them with it.  She toppled over on his male organ, fell headlong into the thick, shining seed, metallic and hot.  Pillory's body clenched and pushed her entirely from his sex in the throes of her own climax.

Amcadren steeled himself for more punishment, even through his climax as he spilled his silvery seed over her pale flesh.  The high pitched squealing, pulsing noise she gave out was unlike anything he had previously heard, from any living creature.  Certainly no Githyanki had uttered such a noise, and his prey never had.  So it was with some shock that he watched the delicate, not-nearly fragile girl forcing herself to a sitting position, scraping a handful of the silvery sperm from her face.  

Laughing.  

Pillory laughed at herself, at Amcadren, at the audience; reveled in her power and her life.  She'd wasted fully two thirds of her massive wellspring of psychic energy for this – a tumble into liquid silver seed, spilled from a captured dragon's pillar of a sex she'd taken almost a third of into her woman-child's body.  She'd been scorched by solar fire, poisoned herself twice over, and raped a dragon.  

She laughed, because life was good. 

When she freed Amcadren he'd done nothing more than lick himself clean at her behest, as she cleansed herself once more, and then retreated to his cave.  Pillory dressed, and left him wondering at what kind of mad goddess she was, and flew to the healer's enclave in the city.  She restored Mehre's sight, with the warning that thoughts of revenge would lead to a fate worse than death.  Mehre believed her, looking into those shining, laughing eyes.  Finally, Pillory said her goodbyes to the Grand Marshal Ulhre – after regaling him with the tale of her conquest, complete with imagery and sensations.  

As Pillory made her way to the shifting, colorful curtains that separated her home from the astral plane, she relived the experience a few times to enjoy the atavistic return to her native mentality, her native state.  It might have been worth a favor to thank him for that brief moment, but she ~had~ defeated him in combat.  Perhaps next time she would have to have him and his rider.  The Elan laughed to herself with no one to hear it, imagining the look on their faces when she suggested it.  

Maybe in a few centuries.

~XS