A year passes

Though the political climate remains tenuous in the cold North, perhaps out of some strange form of self-preservation or for other reasons, no open war breaks out between the different Lords and Ladies of the Lords Alliance. Much better that it benefits your growing realm, small as it is, as the new Palace nears completion and the population slowly grows larger.

Yet, you remember that so too do the Northern Lords benefit from this peace – all wish to maintain their hold on power; all are loathe to relinquish it. At best, this was only time bought to preserve their tenures ever slightly longer.

“And Imyelmel is yet to finish the first phase of its construction,” You muttered, peering over documents, “Red Larch is more than fortified, but Amphail to the South and Westbridge have yet to recover from their devastation.”

In the year that passed since your accepting of refugees, the monster raids had grown worryingly frequent and in brazen numbers, and smaller, less well-defended towns like Amphail and Triboar were victimized by their rampage.

The Lords’ armies fought day and night to preserve as many of their subjects’ lives as possible, but they moved too quickly to be caught in a chase, and none held enough strength to maintain an expedition to clear the many nests throughout the North. None, save perhaps the Treants of the Great Forest and the Magocracy of Silverymoon.

“I wonder if sister is doing well since the attacks, and her family as well,” You muttered, “I ought to write her a letter once my work’s done.”

You heard knocking on your door, and turn to see Vethraga enter your office, nursing her pregnant belly and wearing a simple robe.

“Still not asleep?” Asked Vethraga.

You had long since fallen in love with the Illuskan, bedding her almost every single day of the year as for both love and stress relief. Inevitably, she had gotten pregnant with your firstborn son, a Half-Elf named Yentorin.

“No, I can’t,” You said, shrugging helplessly, “How about you? And our twins?”

Vethraga affectionately strokes her taut belly, saying, “The little girls are fine, the Druids say so. Think they’ll grow into fine warriors like you and me?”

“Perhaps,” You said, “Or perhaps they’ll become more effeminate girls preferring a more scholarly disposition.”

“Oh please, what good Illuskan woman in her right mind would want to give up her strength in exchange for books and scrolls?” Vethraga countered.

“Does being less of a standard warrior make one any less strong in spirit and mind, much less the body?” You argue back.

Vethraga laughed, saying, “You certainly are eloquent; few would manage to win their arguments against you.”

“Would you have me be any less eloquent, my dear?” You asked.

“No, I find it a most endearing quality about you,” Said Vethraga, who then proceeded to kiss you, “And one of several things that made me fall for you.”

You merely kiss her back, and with hasty and deft hands, you undress each other as you collapse onto bed, and throughout the night, Vethraga rides you to satiation, your sexual desires slaked with genuine love.