<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/xWvVE62.jpg)</div><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Hectavia Koth (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1743167)</span></strong><br/>________________________</div><br/>Hectavia's gaze traversed each loincloth as they rose provocatively in front of her. The lust-crazed part of her wanted to get down on her knees and beckon them all around...<br/><br/>"Poor Sand," the tiefling crowed sultrily as the half-elf drew the short straw, literally. "But you mustn't fret. Perhaps you'll get a chance." She offered a crooked, smirking smile and then turned her attentions to the two winners. Broos was utterly silent, in a way that drew her attention even while Terrence asked his question. She locked eyes with the half-orc, her red ones full of a desire that she finds mirrored in his own gaze. The intensity made her already-dripping loins flare with heat and want.<br/><br/>Reluctantly, her attention flitted back to Terrence and his question. Rather sharply, Hectavia retorted: "Now, of course. I'm inviting you to<em>fuck</em>me, not organizing my itinernary." She'd had servants for that, of course. She can't resist, moreover, an enticement. "So I truly don't know what you're waiting for. I'm quite sure Broos here won't be waiting much longer."<br/><br/>Indeed not, because the tiefling let slip her magical raiment, the silken, diaphanous black fabric flowing down around her hips and long legs like water. She's left bare, her body sublime in a way that only an intentional sculptor could have made, while her unnaturally-hued skin reminds all that she<em>was</em>sculpted, and by something powerful and vile.