Homecoming

Wrote 17.1 and 17.2 — 1h06m26s — 2021/08/26

Polished 17.1, 17.2, and 17.3. Worked on organizing the rest — 1h08m21s — 2021/08/29

Polished 17.1, 17.2, and 17.3. Separated several sections into chapters 18 and 19 — 1h37m35s — 2021/08/30

Polished 17.1, 17.2, and 17.3. Wrote 17.5. Polished 17.6 — 1h21m31s — 2021/08/31

Polished 17.3 and Wrote 17.4 — 46m18s — 2021/09/13

Moved 18.1 to 17.4. Polished 17.1 — 27m37s — 2021/09/15

Polished 17.1, 17.2, 17.3, 17.4, and 17.5 — 3h10m55s — 2021/09/16

Polished 17.3, 17.4, and 17.5 — 53m55s — 2021/09/21

Wenifas carried Evereste to the top of the slight hill overlooking the massive house. Caught in her feels, the priestess set her baby under a tree and stared up at the mountains as tears welled in her eyes. Evereste poked about the grass—as happy and burbling as ever—in absolute contrast to her mother. Indeed, the priestess felt it was a good time to mourn those she’d lost; to cry over Derris, and now Claiten and Meu. She couldn’t stop crying as her thoughts turned from one to the next.

Oh Derris, she called to his spirit. If there was ever a lover worth keeping, it was you!

Oh Meu! A better friend a lady has never had!

Oh Claiten, such a brave boy, and so protective of your failing mother!

Claiten was the worst of it. Her pride and joy, her growing boy was just beginning to show the kind of man he would be when she lost him; inquisitive, dashing, courageous… Tears flowed as she thought of his ashes, kept in an urn next to Traust and Apulton. What was she to do with them? She had no mantle, no house where she might display them. If it weren’t for Evereste she wouldn’t even care to go on. Evereste; the baby with the undying fascination with fire. Why, at the Claiten’s pyre, she’d grabbed for an ember half the size of her hand! The way she played near fire, it was a miracle she’d still never been burned!

The pyre for the son was a quiet and somber affair. The duke had no grand speech to give. There was no song and no dance to break the grief. There was only the crackle of the fire, the curl of the rising flames—and Evereste trying to get closer.

After a few hours, the men drifted away, heads hanged. Only Celesi, Scurra, and the lady Paye stayed with Wenifas until the ashes burned low. The priestess thought she’d cried herself out as the fire dwindled down—yet here she was, not even a full day later, her eyes filled with sorrow once more—as she stared out over the cresting mountains.

Someone approached. Realizing she was no longer alone, Wenifas looked up to see Baet standing a short way off. She glared, frustrated that he always seemed to present himself when she least wanted to see him. Of course, there was the fact that she never wanted to see him, felt she could live a long and happy life without ever seeing him, or at least a happier life.

The Saot raised his hands in hopes of quelling her anger. “I’ve been meaning to have a word,” he began. “You had a special boy, and I was teaching him how to fight,” the guard said as he pulled the naga blade from his belt. “I guess I didn’t teach him fast enough,” he hanged his head. “Claiten was very proud of this dagger. Meu gave it to him, after she took it from the naga. I don’t know if you want it, but I thought maybe….” he trailed off with a weak shrug.

Wenifas took the offered blade and turned it in her hand. She recognized it, of course. Since Beletrain, her son was never without it. She smiled to think of her son trying to gut the guard and cursing the man, simply for dancing with her. But that’s not how it went. She tried to gut him first—and almost managed it. The priestess pointed the dagger at the guard. “I don’t know what you said to my boy. I don’t know what made him like you in the end. I do know he went from trying to kill you, to sneaking off so he could train with you.”

“He thought you’d be mad about it,” Baet answered.

“Oh I know why he was sneaking—and I was mad,” Wenifas noted. “Still, you were his friend when there were few friends for a boy to find. I want to thank you for that. Friends were always a big part of Claiten’s life.”

Baet gave a nod. “He was a good kid. Given a couple more years, he would have been the right kind of terror.”

“Given a few years,” Weinfas wiped her eye.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Baet replied, then, having said his peace, he turned to leave.

"How’s your friend?" Wenifas called after him.

“Toar? He’s finally up and about,” Baet smiled. “He says he sees the world through a shake of pepper—but at least he’s seeing the world.”

“Good to hear it,” Wenifas smiled.

"Don’t feel to bad for the lad,” Baet began. “Between his face and butt, he has plenty of scars to impress the ladies.”

“Not everyone’s first concern is impressing the ladies,” the priestess snorted. “What of Komotz?”

“Better one day, worse the next,” Baet shrugged. “The others want to go on to Hearthstone and bring him with us—all except Scurra,” he noted. “I’m beginning to think she never agrees with the others.”

Wenifas eyed the guard. “She was right the last time.”

“Yeah, but nobody’s always right,” Baet shrugged. Not wanting to say anything more about the contentious brother, Baet turned to leave.

“Wait,” Wenifas said. She reached into her robes and pulled out Cloud Breaker. She turned the weapon in her hands. “I don’t want this anymore,” she said with contempt, then tossed the musket to the guard. “It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill the naga. It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill you. I beginning to think it will never kill.”

Baet gaped at the musket tucked in its holster. Reverently, he placed it around his waist. “Well, if it’s gone faulty, maybe I’ll just use it to scare my enemies,” he smiled. “Thank you,” he added with a serious air. “I’ve felt quite naked without it.” He was about to say something more, but the priestess held up her hand and waved him away. With a nod, Baet decided it was best to leave her to her grief—otherwise he risked a stabbing. He turned and walked back toward the house, giddy as can be to have Cloud Breaker back on his hip.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Paye found the letter on her dresser as she prepared for bed. She unfolded it and read it, somewhat perplexed that Homoth wanted her to send the ornament that hanged over the mantle back to Hearthstone with the others. He didn’t give a reason for wanting it, he simply asked her to give it to Aim or Duboha for safekeeping on the trip home.

Paye stood in the main room and stared at the heavy decoration, adorned with precious stones and metals. She thought perhaps she should deny his request. After all, it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to the family, and it belonged at their house in Excergie. There was little use for it back in Hearthstone. Still, her brother had left her quite a nice note, and she had not seen him in such a long time, so she climbed up over the mantle and pried the large ornament off the wall.

The ornament was much heavier than Paye anticipated. It came off the hook and promptly pulled her off balance. She would have fallen, and dropped the piece to boot, if not for the helpful hands of Baetolamew. “Easy there,” he smiled, as he steadied her, then helped her off the mantle. “Ma’am,” the Saot said, then turned and made his way out of the room.

Paye watched him go. There seemed to be more swagger than normal as he walked away. He turned and glanced back as he got to the hall. A sly grin crept along his lips, and he gave her a wink. Intrigued to see that something had changed with the man, Paye realized he was handsome devil indeed.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The next morning, as they all prepared to leave for Hearthstone, a true miracle occurred—though it made Aim jump. A serpent with wings like an eagle swooped out of the trees and wrapped around the priestess before anyone could do anything about it. The creature was massive. The weight of the beast caught Wenifas off guard and almost tumbled her to the earth. Wailing and sobbing, the priestess struggled to right herself as the serpenty twisted about her . Cursing and sputtering, Aim pulled a blade and rushed to intervene—but Andrus grabbed his arm, pushed him aside, and stopped him.

“She returns,” Andrus gaped at the beast as he wrestled Aim aside.

“What?” Aim asked.

“Not what. Who,” Andrus replied. “The skin-walker! The one you told me to keep an eye on,” he ribbed the big man. “Don’t you know that’s Meu?”

Aim frowned. “That’s not Meu,” he replied. “That’s… that’s… what is that?!”

“It’s Meu!” Andrus insisted. “Didn’t you see her when we fought the naga?!”

Aim shook his head, “I didn’t see anything like that.”

Andrus frowned. “How’d you not see that?”

“What? You mean with the everyone screaming and fighting?” Aim began. “You mean with the cloud kraken, the dragons, and naga—far too many naga?!” he huffed. “I almost got skewered by a fish fork!”

“So much for situational awareness,” Andrus shrugged.

Aim put a finger in his cousin’s chest. “I made it out without a scratch! You finished the fight on your back and had to ride in the wagon!” He turned back to the winged serpent that wrapped around a giddy Wenifas. “That thing fought the naga?”

“You’re the one that told me to keep an eye on her,” Andrus noted. “You never noticed anything strange?”

“Just that,” Aim replied. “Just the fact that she’s strange,” the big man frowned. “Meu’s a skin-walker?” he repeated, barely believing it. Yet, the priestess was in no danger as she hopped about, stroking the curious beast, laughing so hard that she cried yet again.

Andrus grinned, nodded, and limped toward the house.

“Hey! Where you going?!” Aim asked.

“To get her something to wear!” Andrus replied. “That way nobody else tries to stick her with a blade!”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Everyone was excited by Meu’s return. Indeed, it was the big event of an uneventful day. After that, the company packed up their belongings, put Komotz in the back of the wagon, and proceeded west without much to-do.

The Jindleyak decided it was best to take them to the Trandhill mansion at the near edge of the city, considering the esteemed status of their guest. Still, they had another da'y’s travel before they made it that far. Evening came. Camp was set.

As the others slept, Meu slipped from the the priestess’ tent. She crept about, dodged the watch, and lingered near Creigal’s tent. She could hear the man tossing and turning. She scratched at the door. Shortly, the duke pulled open its buttons and glared into the night. When he saw it was the sin-walker, his face relaxed—brightened even—as he looked at her with increasingly appreciative eyes. Meu entered and sat. Soon she was telling him of the last time they saw each other—during their battle with the naga. She filled in the details of her fight with Golifett. She explained how Claiten saved her life. She spoke of getting grabbed by the mighty leviathan—of being pulled through the clouds while entangled with Golifett. As the cloud kraken through the air, the naga panicked and flailed—yet, the leviathan didn’t have a good hold. The naga and the wyrm both slipped loose—which was equally bad for the naga. Golifett fell. A tendril lashed out from the leviathan but failed to regain the morsel, before the beast rushed off after the dragons. Meu relaxed out of her stone form and followed the naga down, until he smashed into a small grove. Meu found Golifett tangled in the high branches of an oak with lifeless eyes, bent and broken.

After that, the search for her friends began. She climbed into the cloudless sky, quite blue and clear after the morning’s storm. She realized she’d been carried generally east of their camp, which she eventually found, though it was already abandoned. She followed the road to Excergie, which she didn’t reach until the next morning. then continued to go east until she reached Hearthstone a day later. She figured there was no way the party had come so far so fast, and decided they must have stopped, so she turned back and retraced the road, until she reached Excergie. She searched in town—mostly at dawn and dusk, when the light was bad, and she was less likely to be spotted. She’d actually just given up fo the day and had curled up in a tree she heard Wenifas scolding her child about the dangers of fire—and that’s how she found them.

Creigal smiled at the tale.

Meu changed the subject. She stared at the duke and said, come south with me, with nothing but her eyes. What are the chances you’ll find this thief anyway?

“I will find the thief, I am sure of it,” Creigal confided.

How can you be so sure?

“My daughter comes to me in my dreams, you see. She begs me to continue.”

Dreams could mean anything, Meu replied.

Creigal shook his head. “I considered going home, especially when I was prisoner to the Ministrians. But the dreams., so vivid, so clear. She begs me not to let her go so easily—even though she is dead and I shall never see her again. And so, I am assured that I will find the thief’s trail.”

Sometimes, dreams are just dreams, Meu stated. Say taht you cannot find his trail? How long shall you search?

“Until it is hopeless,” he smiled.

You say yourself that war comes to your home. Do you not want to be there to defend it? Meu argued.

“I was never going to be the one to defeat the King,” Creigal admitted. “That would take the entire people. I believe they will be strong enough with my nephew to lead them.”

If you come south, you can be with me, Meu noted.

Creigal smiled. “And that is the best reason to go,” he shrugged. “I suppose one never knows. Perhaps I won’t find the thief’s trail and I will have nowhere else to go—or perhaps the thief came north only to turn around and go back. Perhaps I will find myself in Gaurring once more—yet still chasing the thief.”

Meu frowned. You don’t believe either of those possibilities, she noted. You’re convinced this Humbert continues afield.

“I feel this is far from done,” Creigal nodded. “From what I hear, this Humbert is conniving and opportunistic. I do not see him settling down with these Jindleyak,” he admitted. “Why must you go south? Why don’t you come with me?”

Meu grinned. Ahh, but we all have daughters, she began. One of mine is about to hatch her first clutch. I wish to be there for her, in the first days, when it is most difficult.

Creigal nodded. “That is a noble cause indeed. What if I promise to come south after I deal with Humbert.”

Meu smiled. I shall have my daughter and grandchildren to keep me busy. I believe the time will pass quickly for me.

They continued to talk until the duke had to take the watch. He relieved Baet, then sat among a jumble of boulders at the edge of camp. He was alone maybe twenty minutes, before Meu joined him. They sat under the faint light of the Tears of the Broken Moon with Tristmegist high above, and gazed off into the trees. Oblarra was below the horizon, which suited Meu just fine, as she never cared for its creeping red light.

For a time they talked, until Meu ran out of things to say. Then she leaned on the duke and rested her eyes. Before long, Creigal noticed she’d fallen asleep. He smiled and smoothed her hair. She woke to find herself being carried into camp. “My watch is just about done,” he said as he placed her in his tent. “I will join you shortly.”

She smiled and nodded, then closed her eyes once more.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The next day, as the party continued east, a rider bearing the colors and insignia of the Oak and Beast approached upon the road. Duboha rode out to meet the sour old man. They exchanged a few words, then waited for Creigal to join them—and also Carringten—who was never far off. Having nothing else to do, Baet crept at the edge of the conference.

Duboha introduced the grim old man to the Saots. “This is our cousin, Roustich.”

“They have more cousins than the duke,” Baet whispered to Carringten.

Without hearing the comment, Duboha continued. “He has unsettling news out of the south.”

“There is blood,” Roustich began. “Bouge marauders have sacked the town of Solveny.”

“Solveny?” Carringten shook his head. “Why should anyone wish to harm Solveny?”

“They say it is retaliation for what has happened in the west lands,” Roustich answered. “But I figure you will know more about that, since you have come from that direction.”

“The false war,” Creigal nodded. “Dressed as Saots, the Ministrians emptied the west lands. But their troubles come from Wibbeley, so the question stands: why Solveny?”

“There is much misinformation to this war,” Duboha noted. “The Ministrians empty the west lands with the Degorouth’s blessing—despite their open declarations and protestations against the ‘Saot invaders’. Indeed, I’d heard rumor of refugees in Rynth Falls. Mostly men. There was speculation that Kezodel was forming an army—though nobody could figure to what end. He certainly wasn’t about to use it to protect the west lands, which means there’d be no action against Wibbeley,” he shrugged. “Perhaps they simply lashed out at the nearest Saot city.”

“That is not all,” Roustich cut in. “Many of the marauders continued south, sacking villages and farmsteads. Among them were Saot officers, dressed in red and black, bearing the insignia of a bird in flight.”

“Gaurs?” Baet shook his head. “We barely trade with Trohls, much less the Bouge. Land’s End could cut us off whenever they like, and if I’m reading the winds correctly, they’d do that immediately. Who’d believe we’re making secret military alliances with a people we don’t know?”

“In times of war, sense goes right out the window,” Carringten noted. “That's how these Trohls could be convinced to strike south at Solveny, instead of going after Wibbeley, where their troubles truly originate.”

“So they sack a Noethrin town under false colors—but to what end?” Duboha wondered.

“Minist wants war between the Noeth and Gaurring?” Baet shrugged.

“What makes you think it is Minist behind this?” Carringten asked.

“When is it not?” Baet shrugged.

“Minist always wants war,” Creigal cut in. “And Solveny is a perfect target. It is subject and very loyal to Rathar, Count of the High Plains.”

“Why should Land’s End wish to strike against High Plains?” Duboha asked. “Is not Rathar a bannerman to the Dunkels?”

“Oh, Rathar is sworn to Land’s End,” Creigal agreed. “But they do not like each other. There has often been animosity between these families, and the current generations care nothing for each other,” he continued. “Still, one finds himself with the alliances he has, and not always the alliances he wants.”

Carringten spit, “Politics.”

“Always politics,” Creigal smiled. “Solveny is not loved by Land’s End, which means the King has little use for the town. Perhaps Solveny was targeted because it would offend the Noeth so little to lose it—though they might make a good show,” he surmised. “I am sorry for Solveny and High Plains both. This latest iteration of Dunkels are a sordid and uninspiring lot. To think they’ve conspired with the king against their own subjects does not shock me at all.”

‘So you think the King is involved?” Duboha asked.

“Of course he is,” Creigal replied. “The Dunkels might be an opportunistic lot, but they are not so ambitious to come up with such a complex plot—to sack one of their own towns using foreigners and officers of another duchy. They would not make such an ambitious move without backing.”

“So you think they move against Solveny as a prelude to attacking Gaur, since you are not there to protect it?” Duboha asked.

“I’ve left good men in charge,” Creigal replied. “Yet, perhaps our enemies think too much of me. Or perhaps they think their throat-cutters have been successful. Or perhaps they think I will not hear the news.”

“But you have,” Baet smiled. “And now their troubles shall begin.”

“You and I might have little to do with it,” Creigal noted.

Carringten studied his master. “Then you still hope to find Humbert’s trail?”

“I do,” Cregial nodded.

“But war?” Baet said.

Creigal shrugged. “We’ve been at war with the kingdom for years.”

“Now it is an open war,” Baet replied. “Can we hope to fight both the Kingdom and the Empire?”

“The Empire has interests in Hof Hebrin, Borzia, and now the Trohl Freelands,” Carringten replied. “What makes you think it has any more men?”

“There certainly seem to be enough of them mucking about,” Baet shrugged.

Creigal shook his head. “I do not see how the Empire can manage all its current conquests and still bring any bulk of men to bare against Gaurring.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Baet noted.

“Perhaps,” Creigal shrugged. “If the Empire moves against us, the Gods help us. But I think not. I think the King believes it is enough to have Land’s End attack us from the north, so he can pinch us from the south and west with his own forces.”

“He shall have us on three sides,” Baet nodded. “With our backs to The Breck,” he smiled.

“I cannot believe the King thinks we actually war with The Breck anymore,” Creigal replied. “By now he must know that we are secret allies. Still, he thinks he can win, and so he has acted.”

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Duboha began. “So this King burns out a Noethrin town, blames it on the Trohls, and suggests you were the one that got the Trohls into the town in the first place. And he does all this just so he can attack you?” He shook his head. “Seems like a lot of trouble just to war with one of his own duchies.”

“Agreed,” Creigal replied. “But there are other duchies to appease: Pagladoria, Ewile, Kelm. He paints us in a bad light, so although they may not support him, they may not support us either.”

“And none of these duchies will come to your aide?“ the Trohl continued his questions.

“Ewile is unlikely to involve themselves, but I do not see Pagladoria or Kelm sitting on the sidelines, and I do not see them siding with us,” Creigal noted. “In my estimation, it looks to be Gaur and The Breck against Danya, The Noeth, Kelm and Pagladoria.”

“Only we have black powder,” Baet grinned.

Duboha eyed the duke. “Do you think he engages because you have left the duchy?”

“Perhaps,” Creigal shrugged. “He may not fear me, but I’m told he suffers a healthy respect. It makes sense that he would act while I am far from home. Yet, war is slow. It is just as likely a coincidence that I have left the duchy just as the King’s plans have started to unfold.”

“Seems like quite the coincidence,” Baet noted.

“It doesn’t hurt that he clears out Solveny and weakens Rathar of High Plains,” Carringten said. He turned to Roustich. “Did you say these Trohls were burning and killing their way south, toward Gaurring?”

“That is the word,” Roustich nodded.

“With a Gaur officer?” Carringten continued. “And I assume there are few survivors—very few survivors indeed?”

“Ravaged and raped,” Roustich replied. “‘Left for dead’ is the term I hear bandied about.”

Carringten looked to Creigal and the duke nodded. “They’ll be Aerindoun’s men in your uniforms,” the Borz stated. “Perhaps it is Banifourd.”

“Still leaves Garf, and he seems like the type to relish such dirty work,” Baet added.

Creigal spit. “How did I ever trust such men?”

“One does not always like the alliances he has,” Carringten shrugged. “Banifourd was sworn to you. Despite open disagreements, he served you often and well; and not only was he at hand when you arrived home, but he was known to have connections in the Noeth,” the captain stated. “There was every indication that he was the right man to bring.”

“Yet, he turned on me,” Creigal noted. “When I needed him most, he turned on me.”

Baet nodded. “That’s how a good spy operates.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.9 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Paye and Baet Argue About his Upcoming Duel

Pye was furious. "You chose the musket?! You mean to kill my brother?!"

“I mean to live!” Baet stared at her, unsure what else to say. "It's a duel to the death, and It is my best weapon! Or do you hope I will die?!"

"You will not kill my brother!" Pye raged. She stomped from the smithery as Baet and Valleris stared after her.

Valleris shook his head.

Baet stared at the smith, angry that he had witnessed the exchange, and even more angry that he was keeping his peace. "What?" Baet snapped. “Come on, out with it!” he begged.

Valleris looked up at Baet. "This is the way it is with women: even if you win, you still lose."

*Remove Valleris*

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.10 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Toar tells Celesi his secret. Celesi cries to Wenifas. Wenifas reveals that she's pregnant. Andrus approaches Celesi as she plays with the kittens.

chapter 18 (after Creigal talks to Meu)

the door slams as Celesi comes inside, runs to Wenifas, and immediately starts bawling. Baet sees Toar moping as he steps through the garden and decides to go after him

Although Celesi meant to leave without much ado, she flung the door wide as she hurried toward the garden. She was several steps into the yard when the hinges took hold, reversed the pull, and banged the door shut with such a force that Baet half thought it was a musket.

"Balls," he muttered, as he stared through the small window and caught sight of the distraught girl, her cute butt waggling an she went. The door banged again as Wenifas ran out to be with the girl, a fine figure for sure—a worried frown creased her face as she glanced about. Then the door sounded again—only this time the hinge merely creaked as Toar stepped out and softly set the door home. He turned the corner of the house, and headed toward the small creek that crept down the sid eof the property.

It was obvious to the guard there'd been some sort of unpleasantness between the two youths, and it wasn’t fair that Celesi had Wenifas to comfort her. Baet knew the only thing to do was follow after his friend and see to it that Toar was okay. He stood, stepped through the house, and gave a solemn nod and a thumbs up to Sephonie and Aspen as he stepped through the common room. He turned the corner of the house, followed after Toar, and felt a touch foolish as the door banged close once more.

Toar walked at a good pace for several minutes before he finally settled on grassy slope, then stared across the water with a huff. Not wanting to be a sneak, Baet continued after his friend, stepped close, and sat himself nearby. He glanced at Toar and snorted. “Balls of a day” he said, then picked a stone loose from the dirt, and lobbed it into the river.

Watching his friend from the corner of his eye, he plucked another stone from the ground and absently sent it into the drink. Toar turned as Baet pulled a third knocker from the earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Toar shrugged.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Toar said.

Half an hour earlier, Celesi had corned him in the barn, as he played with several kittens.

“Hey,” she glared as she spied the fragile felines and sat next to them. “I heard a rumor…” she began.

“Did you now?” Toar replied, not interested in discussing it. He had a feeling this was coming.

“I hear you’re thinking of going north with the duke,” she charged.

“I am going north with the duke,” Toar confirmed.

“Creigal says, it might be dangerous,” she noted.

“Yeah, I heard the same thing,” he said without looking up from the kittens.

Celesi glared at him. “I don’t want you to go,” she said. “Stay here.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

“I want you to,” she pouted.

With a huff, Toar stood and tried to leave—but Celesi sprung from her seat and cut him off. “Stay,” she ordered him softly. She took his hand, and began to rub the palm with her fingers.

“Celesi—” he began.

Still holding his hand, she stepped closer, so that her breast was pressed against his palm. “Stay,” she repeated.

Toar stared her in the eye and admitted that she was incredibly attractive—if somehow so amazingly naive. How is it that she didn’t get the hint? “Celesi, I’m not staying,” he said as he gently pulled his hand from the soft, supple, mounded flesh.

Her face a roil of mixed emotions, she stared at him for several long seconds. She finally snapped, “But why?!”

Toar lowered his eyes and shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“I love you!” she blurted and lunged at Toar. She half tackled him as kittens scurried out of the way. With her arms wrapped about his neck, she begged, ““Stay with me.”

“Celesi—”

She pulled him down and lifted herself close to his ear. “Put a baby in me,” she whispered.

Celesi stared up at Toar, surprised to see his tears in his eyes. Why was he the one that was about to cry? He was the one being impossible! To her surprise, Toar slowly lowered himself so he was resting upon her.

She moaned as she ran her hands through his hair. “See?” she smiled. “You fit me just right.”

For several long breaths he rested against her. “You wanna have babies?” he finally asked.

“We have friends around us. I feel this is a safe place.”

Slowly, and despite her insistent hands, Toar sat up. To Celesi’s surprise, he tugged at his belt and undid his pants. She would let him, of course—but she had not expected him to agree so completely and immediately.

As he undressed, Toar spoke. “I used to live in the house of Kezodel, when I was quite young,” he began. “I was a slave, but more importantly, I was a servant. Kezodel had many wives and women that he used all the same, no matter his status. He was a jealous and guarded man. He was forever suspicious, and I was very close to his women.”

Celesi wondered at his point as he slid down his pants and exposed himself. She’d never seen a full grown man in the buff, but a childhood friend had told her to expect a large fat finger between his legs where he had nothing but hair. She cocked her head in question as she stared up at Toar, confused.

“He couldn’t have men around his women, so he made sure I wasn’t one in the only way that matters,” Toar confided, in a flat emotionless tone, without looking at her.

Celesi gasped as she finally realized what he was saying. She looked closer to see a small disfigured lump of flesh buried under the hair, the mere stump of a mighty tree. “Sweet Jeiju!” she covered her mouth, and this time when she began to cry, it was not for herself.

His shame supreme, Toar pulled up his pants and did his belt. “I hope you have your babies,” he said as he turned and began to leave. “But you will have to have them with someone else.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.11 +_)(*&^%$#@~

try and work this bit of the story into the segment above

Celesi blushed and hanged her head. "He was raised among a harem, you know. He worked for Kezodel." Celesi began. "One day, Kezodel brought a young girl into the harem, twelve or thirteen years old. Some of the women were jealous. They knew Kezodel preferred the young ones, and they were getting a bit long in the tooth. They were worried they'd be given to lieutenants, or cast off and forgotten. They plotted to kill her."

"He told you this?" Wenifas asked.

Celesi nodded. "A few of the nicer ladies hatched a plan to help her escape. They devised their own scheme on top of the ladies that meant to kill her. A few of guards were seduced. A couple were drugged. One was out and out killed. It was all easy enough for women of pleasure, with smiles on their faces and knives behind their backs. Toar snuck the girl from Kezodel's home. At the time, he was even younger than she was. It was the first time he was ever out of the house. You see, he was born in Kezodel's service. He was raised to serve his women-folk. And since Kezodel was forever jealous, precautions were taken," she explained.