Malekith, died. It was an outcome to be expected from a being long bereft of the flames of life. In his final moments, Filnon couldn’t help but feel sorry for a man who had lived his life at the behest of others, even without knowing who pulled the leash. And so, after he fell to her sword, she disappeared from the arena and flitted over to the harbour, charting a ship out to Arbay. She didn’t want to go there exactly, it was just somewhere that was not here. After all, she’d just killed the Witch King in front of everyone and stolen his crown that granted great magical power to the wearer. The country was going to erupt in violence, an orgy of back-stabbing and front-stabbing, and she wanted to be nowhere near that mess. Especially considering her rather eminent role in starting it all.
So, a nice little cutter was out of the harbour and off towards the horizon before news reached the dockworkers. A good chunk of gold sped that along, and the Druchii were no strangers to quick exits, given their political state. A new life in a new world. Would be nice.
“I hear Arbay has some lovely clothing” Malekith’s personal chef commented, from next to Filnon.
“How do you always keep up with the fashion of the world?” Filnon asked, cool and a little dry in tone.
“Shop. I browse the fashion section pretty often. Not a lot of good looking stuff that can also be worn in Naggaroth, but still. Nice to see” she’d reply, staring out to the horizon.
“Well then, care to show me?~” Filnon would ask, looking over with a smile.
“Later. It’s thin and airy and the worst kind of clothing for a sub-zero sea voyage”
Filnon would exhale, and reach down to take the hand of the chef.
“Mmm, not even to comfort a poor widowed woman?” Filnon would ask, sliding in close. The cook bristled with irritation at that, and then loudly exhaled.
“Ohh, you. Alright, but you get to play that card once. You hear? Once”
With that, she took Filnon’s hand and turned towards their cabin. A small thing, not designed for two people, but they’d make it work.
“So how long do you think this is going to last? Or am I stuck like this forever?” She asked, opening her inventory and swapping her castle clothing to the Araby dress. Thin sheets of fabric covering basically nothing, with a transparent veil to covered her face.
“Hmm. This is doing nothing for me” Filnon commented, shaking her head and opening her shop.
“Ohh? Even if I do this?” the chef asked, putting her hands behind her head and shaking her hips in a seductive metronome.
“Even if you do that. I’ve no love for my race” Filnon would reply, buying something from the shop and handing it to the chef. “Drink this”
The chef would pout a bit, and then take the potion and uncork it.
“I hate potions. Most of them smell like old feet and taste even worse. It’s like, why can’t they just have a nice jasmine tinge to them?” she asked, knocking back the vile concoction and shuddering. As she shuddered, her skin flushed with colour, and the short black hair became long and red to match her eyes again.
“Now that, does something for me” Filnon would comment, stepping up and kissing Estaria’s lips passionately. Longingly, as if she truly believed their little song and dance.
“So, how did you find out about this whole messaging thing?” Estaria asked, flicking the intangible system box.
“I was playing around reading the new things we got after being bound together. And saw that, so decided it was the perfect thing to put the plan into motion without anyone hearing us” Filnon replied, sliding herself into Estaria’s embrace.
“I’m glad it worked. Even though the ending was terrible, I am glad it worked” Estaria replied, stroking Filnon’s head. They stayed there, in the comfort of each other’s embrace for a while, before Estaria got animate again. “Ohh! You know, you should drop the idea of going to Araby and whatever you had planned there, and come to my place” Estaria exclaimed
“The…Empire? You want me to come to The Empire?” Filnon asked, unsure and very skeptical.
“Yea! We’ve got mercenaries from all over. Dwarves, Northmen, Bretonnians, Wood Elves, even Orks. A Druchii is easy to just slide in there. We will roll into a outlaw’s cove near Norden and slip in more quietly, just to be sure though” Estaria exclaimed, nodding. And then, awkwardly stroking her collar. “Slavery is illegal though, so we’ll have to find something…different”
Estaria would blush a little at the thought, but it seemed Filnon was already well prepared.
“I’ve been planning this for a while, we just never really got the downtime to do it. And, well, now is as good as any, I guess” Filnon would take Estaria’s hand, and gently slide a pitch-black ring onto it. Her system told her that it was a pure Obsidian Ring and that it was granting a twenty percent chance to ignore any magic that was cast at her. Made sense, Obsidian was the bane of Magic, most famously used by the Black Guards of Morr, to strike down the vile undead.
“I’m guessing this isn’t just because it’s pretty?” Estaria commented. It being anti-magic was striking, given the troubles they had recently. Filnon asked that by running her hands through Estaria’s hair, and then grabbing it and pulling, dragging her to the bed where she straddled the woman.
“I love you, and respect you, but you are mine. And I will not lose you again. Not to Gods or Daemons” Filnon replied, a fire burning in her eyes. Apparently, the whole situation bothered her more than she ever let on. But now, after the stress she had suffered, it all came pouring out.
“Mmm, then I will be forever more, all yours. My Mistress~ My wife~ My Lir Lakh Babh” Estaria would reply, putting her hands up to the headboard in a sign of sensual surrender.
Filnon would slid her hands up, and with a dexterous move, tie her to the headboard with some strong, silken rope.
“Slaves of Naggaroth get punished most terribly for sullying Druhir with their inferior tongue. I hope you are ready for a very, very, long night~” Filnon replied, her hands sliding down Estaria’s arms, and stroking her lips.
And then, to further the torment, a head strip of velvet was tied around Estaria’s eyes, leaving her blind to the comings and goings of Filnon’s hands. It was, as she threatened, a very long night for Estaria. Her body was Filnon’s plaything, used as she saw fit. Cruel, but loving. Harsh, yet sensual. Painful, yet pleasurable. And worst of all, she pushed her beloved wife to the edge, and then pulled her back again, repeating the dance over and over without a single moment’s pause or heartbeat in which Estaria could catch her breath.
The squirming, her own moans, Filnon’s gently whispered coos that mixed sweet nothings filled with love, and mockery oozing with precisely honed venom filled the cabin. Filnon, it seemed, knew her game very well, and after everything she had been through, was playing the role with more vigor than she ever had. Pressing up against the line that might see Estaria end it, and yet never going over. Bringing every ounce of Estaria’s ability to resist to the surface, and then easing off just enough that she did not think to do anything other than beg and plead, in a way that stoked the fires of the game anew.
It was, all in all, a most wonderful night.
