<table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://i371.photobucket.com/albums/oo154/PhantomPistoleer/Elf_by_artbytravis.jpg)</td><td><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 30pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Edwardian script itc;">Draque Cyredeplith</span></span><hr/><tt class="bbc_tt">Elven Rogue/Ranger, Level 3;<br/>Current HP: 25 (13); Condition: Normal (Excited);</tt><hr/><br/>Draque had listened intently to the exchange between Fern and the Lady, but as was his course, he remained silent and out-of-sight.  Even when Fern looked to him, specifically, he was taciturn.  Indeed, the Lady proposed a very strange solution to a problem that made him almost desperate.  So as Fern contemplated her escape, Draque slowly sidled up behind Fern, pressing his chest against her back and his palm against her stomach in a deliciously soft manner.  His other hand removed a few strands of her temple and placed them over her pointed ear.  Then, he whispered to her:<br/><br/> "It will be all right, Fern.  Put the harness on and we might yet get out of this.  You will not have anything to fear from me."  His breath smelled like pine, and it beat Fern's cool skin with its warmth.  <br/><br/>Lethargically, Draque's hand rotated over her womb, his eyes glancing at the nude elven women lustfully.  Even the grim, bitter and cynical Draque was succumbing to the enchantments of this place.  Then, his touch slowly traveled down her pelvis, to her womanhood, caressing her lips only very slightly before withdrawing and holding her hips.<br/><br/> "It's our only chance," Draque implored.<br/></td></tr></tbody></table>