<span style="font-weight: bold">Ambrosia</span><br/><br/>The desire to ride Xarithe's face awhile is quite strong... or to seize him and stuff him dowm my throat, somewhere it seemed he was more than willing to go. But time is pressing, and, after all, I've just eaten, having no need for a further meal in this moment and sex being my preferred apertif before a meal, or as a digestiv with my belly still roiling... "I suppose we must," I agree, as Xarithe suggests our return.<br/><br/>The cultist is dead when we do.<br/><br/>Its a waste of life and meal, but I don't blame my comrades for refusing to eat her corrupted form... rather the sin lies with her 'God'. I shrug, and slip lithely-yet-cautiously past the foulness of the body. Plenty more meals in the world, such that one will hardly be missed, though admittedly I more usually think that when tipping some struggling thing down my throat...<br/><br/>The travelling is brutal, as the weather turns against us, the storm mouthing us like a baby yet to come into its teeth. The staffmagus - Turilia - takes it hard, and I'm tempted to offer her the warm and safe, if compact, accommodations offered by my stomach. But of course that would only slow me, and from the way she shies from Gorun and Xarithe's snake Sira I doubt she would accept... shy, pretty wizard girls were so... she merely, I thought, needed to be more comfortable with making meals of her enemies... lacking the strength to devour by main force, and the instincts that came with it, I could well imagine the fascination vorish spells would hold, yet the risk and taboo of scribing them to one's own spellbook...<br/><br/>I smiled. Feeding squirming meals to sweet innocents was<span style="font-style: italic">such</span>fun.