Putting Names To Faces. (And The Price Of The Bargain Is Explained.)

"Oh?" Hehrakkess asked, crossing his illusions arms and 'leaning' against the doorway. (Not the one which led towards his sleeping chamber...)

The thief, (he could tell now she'd been the one to touch the book,) gestured broadly. "To translate a snatch of an ancient Drow ballad, 'the price of the bargain, goes in what lies unsaid; the cost of the deal, to the living and the dead.' To make this deal with us you must be willing to make one of the ultimate sacrifices: not your life, well not in the traditional sense, though you will be binding yourself to this new city and its people for the rest of your days; not your soul, precisely, though you will be forever altering where you will spend eternity when you die; freedom; is debatable, you're bargaining away your freedom to wander and act on impulse for freedom from fear and loneliness; without giving up your right to solitude when you desire it; so I'd call that one less a sacrifice and more an exchange. No, what you're going to have to sacrifice in order to accept the deal is your personality." The Rogue said, who clearly was the eldest of the three Drow, and equally clearly the brains of the outfit.

"Ahem, what my sister is trying, in her typically over-verbose manner, to explain, is that before we will throw our lot in with you you would have to not only accept, but embrace a ritual of Atonement from our Druid companion. It'll change you, but not as much as you think, just polish out those rusty spots from being a hunted fugitive all your life: Leave you less conniving and greedy, more a man of your word, even tempered and honest, but not to a fault. You'll say what you mean and mean what you say, no more and no less. You won't be making any huge donations to charity, unless there's some kind of percentage in it down the road, but you won't be trying to swindle anyone for kicks either. You'll abandon your hate and bitterness, but let me assure you, if you'd ever known life without them you wouldn't want them anyway. Like I said, polish away the rusty spots, and rust; is a weakness in the steel..." Their Sorceress sister explained, and Hehrakkess just let the illusion tap its chin slowly, as if thinking.

He'd already made up his mind, he just had to dispose of these people and put the plan into action without them. Hehrakkess NEEDED his hatred, cunning, greed, and pain: they kept him sharp, kept him alive! These women had already given him everything he needed to make the plan work with or without them: why pay for something you'd already gotten for free? Problem was there was one last trick to this game, and on this draw they had the oldest of all trump cards...

"Before I agree to anything I'm going to have to insist on knowing whom I'd be working with." Hehrakkess began his little dance of deception, never realizing that even masked by the Illusions the five adventurers already sensed they had to sweeten the deal, and by unspoken accord knew exactly what to do to reel the 'Bluefin Dragon' into their nets.

"Kasey McDonald and this is Shannon McDonald" The Inquisitor said, indicating the Druid.

"I'm Illiamdia'ae, and these are Zebeyolinkiira and Zebeythrae'oyss," the rogue said indicating her two sisters, "collectively of the house of Arabghym."

It was in a sense a pity, and in another a blessing, that Hehrakkess didn't speak Elvish, let alone the Drow dialect, because if he had those three names would have set off all manner of mental alarms, but unfortunately, or fortunately, they were as meaningless to him as they probably are to you...

"How soon can we set out?" Hehrakkess asked, and the others confered for a minute.

Finaly Zebeythrae'oyss stated "We have made a long march through the desert heat, is there somewhere we can freshen up?"

Hehrakkess, considering himself a gentleman, for all that he occasionally played the dastardly villain, had his illusory double guide them to a bathing room, filled the stone tubs with pure and cool water via his Palentier, and then left them.

Hehrakkess shut down the scrying Stone and stretched, then griped it again and looked in on his Kobold minions. Most of them lay sprawling across thier Warren, sacked out by magical slumber. The few who had resistance to that canard were bruised but not dead and both bound and gaged in various out-of-the-way corners of the complex. Using his innate magics and the power of the Palentier to project them at a distance, he busied himself freeing the strongest Kobolds from their bindings, ordered them to wake their fellows, and then await further instructions.

Hehrakkess dragons senses alerted him to the approach of four of the Adventurers well before the entered his Chambers, but he didn't understand his danger until it was too late, and then he was well and truely trapped. When Hehrakkess first sensed the Adventurers striding onto his lair with nothing on but non-magical backpacks he dismissed the threat, what could they do without their gear? But when he suddenly noticed they were opening the door to his very sleeping chamber it was already to late! It was lucky for him that this was not part of some carefully crafted **** scheme, because other than his native Draconic might he was utterly unprepared. What his opposition had in mind was a strike of a wholey different kind however, and involved **** in only the very loosest possible sense...

Eyes widening Hehrakkess watched his front door open in horror, then choked at what he saw. Of course he had been aware the Adventurers were nearly nude, but it was one thing to sense that through his Draconic Senses and quite another to see it in the flesh: and what flesh it was!

The elfin maidens had undone their hair, and it trailed behind them on the ground for a good two yards. Their youthful breasts bounced gently with each step and swayed each time they took a breath in or let one out. Their dark skin shone bluish in the dim light of thier single uncovered Lantern, and their crimson eyes gleamed with the same promise that assailed his nostrils with each breath, wafting forth from their moist and slick cunts...

The human women were notably older, well past their first bloom of youth, but what they lacked in virginity they more than made up for with the promise of experience and skills honed over a decade of fertility rites and lustful liaisons with men of all kinds. Their breasts didn't bounce and sway as they once had, their flesh was marked by both freckles and scars, and their pussies had less of that sweet youthful tang, but he saw no less clearly the naked lust for the ultimate sexual conquest blasting forth from their brightly shining eyes...

Dragon kind has always been perversely attracted to humanoid men and women, according to their own preferred types of partners, and Hehrakkess was more susceptible than most; not only because he always had been slightly more attracted to humanoid women than average, but because he had had no outlet for his sexual urges to speak of except a device like several padded garrots with which he masturbated every other day for more than a decade. The promise in the women's eyes was unmistakable, the dull throbing ache of involuntary celibacy suddenly turned to an icicle piercing him to the core, and it was all over but the formalities...

"You are trying to bribe me to accept the ritual with sex, aren't you?" Hehrakkess asked, knowing the answer before he uttered the question.

"They say the love of the right woman can change a man, if he's ready to change..." Their Sorceress said, stalking forward fearlessly to touch one half outstretched tallon. Something about that statement rang false, and Hehrakkess recoiled when he realized what.

"But YOU don't love me, this is just a means to an end," he spat bitterly.

Suddenly his left hand was seized in a grip of velvet sheathed steel, and for the first time in his life he truely understood the term "electric shock"...

"My sister cannot love someone before she comes to know them over several years, but I CAN, and I DO!" Zebeyolinkiira exclaimed desperately. "My very NAME means 'Dragon-lover-disciple'. Tonight, here, now, this is my destiny: YOU are my destiny! But I have fought so hard to get away from the pain and chaos of my heritage, destiny or not I won't throw that away; not for you or anyone else! Please; please don't make me chose Hehrakkess, accept the druid's offer; join me, love me, and let my love heal you!" She pleaded, deaperate tears running freely down her face.

Even in a Chromatic Dragon's heart there exists the tiniest spark of good. The chances it can ever be set to tinder and built into a bonfire like that of a metallic dragon are slim to none, but it doesn't have to be. Not everyone has to be a bonfire, there are also those who just have a few logs burning in a fireplace to keep them warm at night, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's not Ideal, but if those-who-are-above-the-gods had wanted to make an IDEAL omniverse they would have had to start by locking you and me out...

The spark was there. Lust served as tinder. A young woman's love was the bellows to stoke the flames. Magic provided the first few cords of kindling to get the fireplace hot and make the chimney draw...

Could they keep the little blaze stoked?

Time would tell...

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