A crowd of bodies stumbled through from the slipstream and into Drell’s chambers, dust in their eyes and breath labored to exhaustion. Brisha grunted and dropped Follan onto the metal floor, then reached to feel a burn upon her shoulder where a sandwraith whip had scorched her.

“That was exceedingly unpleasant.” She grunted in pain. “I elect we leave the elf behind, next time.”

Drell just shook her head in quiet exhaustion. Her plan to simply race past the sandwraiths and into the dunes -and then into a slipstream- had been met with several crucial complications. She had not quite believed Fel when the pale elf had informed them that the sandwraiths were on the lookout for her specifically. To speak of it strictly, she would not make that mistake again. The next time an elf told her how much trouble they were, she would wholeheartedly believe every word uttered.

This habit on tumbling back into her home wholly exhausted had quickly grown stale, Drell realized. She was once more fond of a leisurely stroll back in, as a general rule. The orc stumbled forward, Veska’s weakened body still in her arms. Her own burns from where the sandwraith’s whips had attempted to ensnare her burned with a savage ferocity as she walked. Veska, she deposited gently in her gloriously soft bed, and promptly slumped onto the edge herself.

“Okay.” She addressed the others, all of whom -save for Fel- seemed to have scorches on their bodies. “My humble abode. Welcome. Behave yourselves. Don’t fuck around with things you have no idea about. If in doubt, ask. Maybe I’ll even know the answer. Can anyone tell me how to make Veska better?”

A silence filled the room, broken only by Folan’s sporadic coughs.

“I have no knowledge of demonic restoration.” Brisha finally volunteered. “It is common knowledge, however, that succubi restore their powers through lust.”

Drell’s tired mind concluded this was indeed a sound idea, yet it had some complications in itself.

“And I suppose someone here has a solution matched only in brilliance by its sheer depravity?”

Fel’s eyes gleamed with Malice atop a lazy facade as Drell spoke.

“Indeed, darlin.” She drawled, already steamed atop Drell’s own throne. “It involves me an sturdy McCurvy here.”

“No.” Brisha rebuffed her, tone blunt. “I am not your walking sex dispenser.”

“Oh but you could be.”

“Well,” Follan awkwardly suggested, out of place and nervous. “You could, you know, I mean-”

Drell gazed flatly at the wolfman as he stammered, clearly uncomfortable with voicing his thoughts out loud. The poor, innocent soul stood out like an unhammered nail among those gathered here, and it showed.

“Look, just speak it,” Drell sighed, Veska’s head in her lap as she kept watch over the succubus. “Whatever you have in mind to suggest, everyone in this room has assuredly done worse.”

“Well, you could give her a blowjob.” Follan suggested, shame on his face, eyes averted.

Drell stopped, paused and then frowned at the idea.

“Yeah, I don’t quite know about that one there.” She admitted. “Feels somewhat weird. Dubious consent and all that.”

Fel, however, decided this is the cause she would enthusiastically die on a hill for.

“No, no, nay.” She casually drawled and sat upright on Drell’s throne. “By all means, go ahead. You do want the precious maiden to be alright, don’t ya?”

Drell crossed her arms and frowned at the elf.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well then, steer into the most optimal course o action,” She pressed. A gleam in her eyes, a wicked smile on her face. “I’m sure everyone here is curious as to who can suck the best. Y’all take turns tendin to her, I watch, she heals up, everyone's a winner.”

“I notice you are markedly absent from the list of those who should suck.” Brisha stated, arms folded.

Brisha shook her head firmly.

“No.” She rumbled. “Not only does it feel wrong, but we aren’t here to get you horny, Fel. You are still a guest here.”

“Shudfuckles.” The elf cursed and slumped back, expression in a mock-frown. “Foiled again.”

“Not everyone is as sexually deviant as you.” Brisha informed her frankly.

“Hmph.” was her only reply.

Drell rubbed her tired head and yawned. After several straight hours of non-stop adrenaline that followed an intermediate length of fucking Brisha, she was tired. Sleep called, and she would answer soon, whether she willed it or not.

“Although nothing fruitful has immediately come of this, thanks to a certain elf, another idea has presented itself.” The orc spoke as the world swam before her. “One I will pursue. Tomorrow.”

Brisha took pity on her weary state -something which she was partly responsible for- and nodded.

“I will ensure these two secure decent quarters in the meantime. And ensure the elf does not suddenly come to possess anything too dangerous for her own good.”

“You speak as if ya have any way to stop me, bull.” Fel drawled.

“Would you perhaps like a demonstration?’ The minotauress offered, expression flat.

Fel eyed her up and down, a single tooth sunk into her lip as she considered.

“Much as I would enjoy bein grappled and held up like some helpless maiden in them strong arms, with those massive boobs pressed gainst my back and beggin for mercy. I’mma goin to pass on that tonight.”

Brisha gave no reply as the elf sauntered away, Follan in tow.

“I feel that between the elf and your succubus, the elf is more depraved.”

Drell laughed tiredly at that.

“I have a feeling you are likely right.” She sighed. “Thrones, I’m exhausted.”

“Then I would suggest you remedy that with copious amounts of sleep.” The she-bull rumbled. “She has survived several days of being directly impaled into a banishment circle. I am certain a night in her lover’s arms will not end her.”

With that, she turned and strode away, off to corral Fel into behaving and find a nights quarter for Follan. For her part, Drell simply sat and held Veska. The succubus had not spoken since they had left the Phoenix Queen’s temple, and this worried Drell more than anything. But she had a faint solution, one that required tomorrow’s dawn to arrive with all haste. Even as tiredness gripped her form, Drell’s worried mind refused to sleep. She drifted along its edge, always too fraught for Veska’s sake to be completely pulled under sleep’s soothing currents.

Her waking dreams were not pleasant ones that night. Visions of her past, the time spent in her mother's warcamps, her inevitable falling out and departure. The oaths she had sworn out of spite that her name would be far more widespread and her promiscuity legendary. Dark times for a young girl. And now that girl had grown into a woman, one that still chased those dreams.

She woke to the first ray of dawn as it struck her square in the eyes.

Against all fates, she had actually fallen asleep while seated and was slouched forward, Veska still held in her arms.

For a moment, she sat there and softly stroked her lovers face. Haughty even while at the edge of life, she fondly noted. Her hand traced down Veska’s cheek and came to cup her face. Awkwardly, the orc leaned down and planted a kiss on her brow, head angled to avoid poking Veska with her horns. For a time, she simply sat there in the cool morning light, not wanting to tear herself away.

Inevitably, she had to. Drell shuffled aside and out from under Veska’s unresponsive form. Muscles groaned tiredly as she stood and adjusted her crimson-skinned lover into a comfortable position.  With one final glance back, she hobbled from the room, a weight of tiredness, wounds and inflamed muscles across her shoulders. The freshly closed scar down the chest cracked and bled as she walked, red staining her clothes.

Follan dropped the pot he carried as Drell limped into the kitchen. The sound led a vicious assault upon Drell’s ears, one that caused her to wince. She gazed around as the wolfman gaped at her with concern, and noted that the place was far cleaner than she had last left it. The various cooking tools were scrubbed and hung from neat racks, the ingredients she had left lying around were tucked away into metal cubicles that projected cold. Everything looked…neat.

The wolfman interrupted her thoughts, worry writ upon his face.

“Miss Drell, I believe you require clerical attention, not breakfast.”

“Nice of you to worry about my soul,” Drell grunted and plopped down upon one of the benches before a steel table. “But I'm hungry.”

“I speak less out of concern for your spiritual health and more for your physical well-being.” Follan replied with obvious concern as he hauled the empty pot back up and onto the counter top.

She grunted and waved off his concerns.

“I’m an orc. Takes a damn lot more than this to kill me.”

“If you state it to be so.” He carefully replied, eyes still on her with a worried look. “But I believe breakfast will be cold. Try as I might, I have not been able to locate any firewood with which to heat anything.”

Drell stared at him blankly, then realized she had never taught any of the rest exactly how to use the kitchen. A pained grunt wrested itself free from her lips as she stood and hobbled over to him.

“If you ever started an actual fire in here, I would toss you off the top of this ship.” She winced in pain and grabbed a handle. A metal lid flipped open as Follan leaned against the smooth black countertop to observe her.

“I would remove my hands from that spot in your place,” She cautioned and twisted a dial beneath. Heat radiated upwards from the space Follan’s hand had vacated in haste, and the wolfman yelped in alarm.

“Yes,” Drell sighed. “Foreign sorcery, elder magic and other blasphemous things. But most importantly, it makes breakfast.”

To his credit, the furred demi-human learned fast, and Drell only spent a mildly painful amount of time to show him the basics. She could almost see the starstruck look in his eyes as she guided him from one tool to the next, teaching him in moments what had taken her weeks of trial and error to learn. In some ways, she was envious that he could learn so quickly what had been a period of continued frustration for her, in others, she was proud to teach him, although still exhausted.

Her only issue was that these benches had obviously been made for smaller species than her in mind. As such, she awkwardly straddled one and waited, exhausted to her core as Follan practically bustled around the kitchen and whipped together a meal for her.

She waved off his concerns that he did not know what orcs liked to consume.

“Whatever you’re making, it’s better than my own terrible cooking.” She grunted. “Trust me.”

The clang of hooves on steel signaled Brisha’s arrival long before the minotauress bent through the low doorway, annoyed look on her face.

“I have come to find that these low human doorways have grown old rather quickly.” The larger woman grumbled. Drell nodded in tired empathy. They were already a nuisance for her, and Brisha’s larger stature made them go from awkward to an obstacle.

“Perhaps we could invest in enlarging options.” The minotauress suggested as she cast around for a place to seat herself. She came up dry, and a look of annoyance crossed her otherwise calm face, “And proper seats.”

“A splendid idea.” Follan absently agreed, busy stirring a pot of some foreign food that smelled absolutely delicious to Drell’s empty void of a stomach. With nowhere to seat herself, Brisha opted to cross her legs and sit on the floor next to the table instead. And she still had her chest and shoulder comfortably above the metal surface.

“You mentioned a solution to Veska’s woes.” She rumbled, eyes on Drell.

The orc tiredly sighed and rubbed her eyes, at a loss on how to explain it smartly. In the end, she simply gave up and laid it out in blunt terms, words short and tired.

“Veska feeds on two things. Sunlight and lust. Can’t give her either right now because I’m not sure anyone would want to fuck an unconcious and unresponsive succubus. Anyone I trust at least. So I’m going to where I can find both of those things and bring them back here. After I’ve had something to eat and won’t collapse from hunger, anyhow.”