Dorant gave the agitated woman a neutral smile and listened respectfully to her tirade. She imparted interesting details about the circumstances of the babes conception, and he wondered if she would have had she not been so upset. Was Locke Tyrven the Farseer she spoke of? He did not know. The affairs of his people were far removed from those taking place upon dry land. It was an alien world to him so far ashore, and frankly too two-dimensional for his taste. How these people could know anything about one another without sharing space and substance with each other was beyond him. If this entire meeting had been in a water dragon court, the players would have simply gone into their liquid forms and mixed until details were exchanged and consensus was reached.<br/><br/>“Of course he does, good woman,” Dorant said with perfect earnestness. “He, after all, the father of the child. I should be very interested in meeting him as well. I’m sure the High Priestess felt she had very good reasons for doing as she did. Needless to say, the past is now the past, and we must deal with the tides as they turn even now.”<br/><br/>If he saw the stubbornness in her jaw, he gave no indication of it; his patience was implacable. A ripple passed over the surface when she declared Shahazen to be dead, but it was a ripple over an ocean, and he let it pass. He noted that the daughter was not hers either, but he saw no point in telling her that. Crianxiiliathellendra had done quite enough to get this one riled up. Leave it to a black to muddy the waters and leave them uncleaned.<br/><br/>Dorant’s armor flowed without a sound as he followed behind the woman, following her to where the child was being kept. After passing through many hallways without a word, the woman seemed to calm somewhat, as was fitting for entering into the presence of one so young. Needless distress need not enter that little world so soon. More information flowed unbidden from the Loremaster, and Dorant stored it away with an acknowledging nod. He followed her through the door and into the bungalow, and the distinct scent of new life touched his nostrils. His peaceful features broke into a gentle smile, and not a moment too soon. The wet nurse was ordered out and so she went, but not before flashing him a blushing smile. She looked nervous, but Dorant found he rather liked the color that rose in her cheeks. His gaze followed her as she passed him, then landed back on Marlon as she stood over the child.<br/><br/>There, in the crib, lay the daughter of his Goddess. A reverent hush swept over him, and it seemed to him as though the air was cleaner, and full of light, though it was no brighter in the bungalow than it had been without. He approached the peaceful sleeper, then tilted his head to look down and little Laraday’s face and smiled. “Fair tides and warm waters, little priestess,” he whispered. He lifted a hand to brush his long, blonde hair back from his face as he looked back up at the Loremaster. He kept his voice low, so as to not wake the child. “In all the excitement, I’m afraid I never learned your name. I am Dorantanton, High Priest of Shahazen. I have heard her voice, Loremaster, and I feel I can assure you, she is not dead, and cares a great deal for this little one. And for her late mother as well. The tides of this world are strange, but some things are the same under the waves as they are above them. She is beautiful.”<br/><br/>~~~<br/><br/>Miri’s hand on Cria’s strand felt soft and vulnerable, and stirred an age-old hunger in Crianxiiliathellendra’s black heart that had burned since the time the earth was young. The scent of Miri’s arousal poured off of her, and Crianxiiliathellendra knew she felt it too. Cria was pleased, and it showed in the small curl at the corner of her lip. The woman tried to escape, but the draw was too strong, and Cria felt pride rising in her breast.<br/><br/>Miri whirled around, and the professional composure she had shown in the hall before was melted away. Now Cria watched as lust bloomed in the other woman’s eyes, flushed her chest, and she thought she could feel the heat pulsing from her lover’s loins, for that was already how she saw Miri. Miri shook her head, but Cria was watching how she touched the orb, meaning to lift it away, and fondled it instead. Then she lifted her gaze to the other woman’s eyes and addressed her words. “Miri Ora Sur,” she said, drawing out the name with sensual delight. “I believe it is customary to thank a guest who comes bearing gifts, but I would not know, as my kind do not make a habit of such things.” She stepped closer, then lifted her hands to brush Miri’s silken hair back from her shoulders, and put a needless knot in the two hairs she’d severed. Needless, because even undone the necklace had clung to Miri, and the necromantic energy that she bore within her. “The time will come when you will need my gift, Miri, and when that time comes, you need merely let your gift flow into the ends of these hairs, and you will be able to sip from the vastness that is now yours. When you do they will fuse together, and bond with your power. Do not think such a thing strange, because dragons do not truly have hair. What you wear is a spine, like a thorn from a rose, a natural defensive weapon.  Where I have many, now you have one.”<br/><br/>Then Cria slid her hands up Miri’s neck, and gazed down at the woman’s lips as she cupped Miri’s jaw in her hands. She gazed like a lover parched for a kiss, and for a long moment did nothing at all. When she spoke her voice was still, but it filled the hall around them. “You can have this. You will have this. And your service will be greater still.” Then she withdrew her hands, and watched Miri continue toward where the sick lay dying.<br/><br/>She followed three paces behind, listening to the words Miri spoke with a dragon’s grin spreading wider with each one. Of course she would not use her gift to heal. She did not need it for that. But she would need it soon. Cria would see to that.<br/><br/>They came upon a hall thrumming with a chorus of agony, and Miri paused. Crianxiiliathellendra paused with her, staying a respectful distance behind. She was a guest after all, and she was as good as her word.<br/><br/>The sickness and despair coming from that hall was not nothing to the black dragon. She could feel the death seeping out of each one of the wounded, and with it their pain, their anguish, their confusion, and their despair. It was true that she had wrought each of those things herself upon her hated enemies, but this lamentation did not please her. This suffering served no purpose at all but for fear. Fear of an enemy she should have killed long ago when she had the chance.<br/><br/>Cria reeled in her aura completely as she followed Miri into the thick of the misery. Miri was proud, and would not ask for help. Crianxiiliathellendra would witness that pride.