<br/>The raven-haired lady with the Tymoran symbol giggled uninhibitedly as the tressym was passed to her, and she cuddled it affectionately against her own chest. The cloth of her priestly robe folded in easily, revealing the definition of generous cleavage in which she nuzzled the winged kitten. "I am Islif - well met! How I wish my business here were as pleasant as your company, as this orchard, as such a darling little beast as this!" She stroked the tressym kitten between its ears. "But I must confess I am here on more serious business. I hail from fair Arabel, an ever restless city which has rebelled against the crown time and time again down the centuries. The late king's death has rekindled all too many restless revolutionary feelings. This has dampened trade and profit; and temples, so reliant on the generosity of those with the coin to spare, are hard-squeezed. The Lady of Luck's is no exception; such is weal and woe. I mean not to complain, for what could be a better testament to the threads of luck which govern our world, but simply to explain how the following situation came about.'<br/><br/>"Our very temple grounds are, perhaps unwisely, collateral against debt we must needs took. The creditor, apparently, has proved not particularly savory, and far too creative for my tastes in proposing alternate means of recompense. You may know that Tymoran initiates typically undergo initiations which vary in nature, and tend to involve submitting oneself to chance of one kind or another. It seems our creditor is in turn somehow owned by a dragon who dwells in the foothills to the north, who has bade as follows: if we cannot otherwise pay off our debts, we must at intervals choose initiates whose trial will be to go to this dragon, and be its...well, harem-slaves for a time, for it seems the creature desires to create half-breed spawn among the race of men. And so, quite simply, I have gone from town to town trying to take the measure of those with the glint of adventure in their eyes. in the hope of finding and setting some heroes against such a beast as this. For you see, my initiation was nigh, and I am to be among the female initiates submitted and mated to the dragon, if I cannot find those who would...deal it with otherwise."<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Jhessail moaned softly as Dev'lan scrubbed, her hands tightening against the edge of the tub until the knuckles, despite the rosy hue her tan skin took on amidst the warmth and close contact, were white. " 'Tis true then! Elves<em>are</em>so adroit with their hands!" She tossed her head back, lips quivering. "But indeed, I yet owe you an explanation for my...originally approaching you. Know, then, m'lord: I hail from fair Arabel, an ever restless city which has perhaps-regretably rebelled against the crown time and time again over the thirteen Obarskyr-reigned centuries Cormyr has enjoyed. The late king's death has rekindled all too many restless revolutionary feelings - or so rumors have it, most pervasively and in great number. This has dampened investment and trade. Temples, so reliant on the generosity of those with the coin to spare, are hard-squeezed. The Lady of Luck's has been no exception."<br/><br/>"Our very temple grounds are, perhaps unwisely, collateral against debt we must needs took. The creditor, apparently, has proved not particularly savory, and far too creative in proposing alternate means of recompense. You may know that Tymoran initiates typically undergo initiations which vary in nature, and tend to involve submitting oneself to chance of one kind or another. My own was soon to come before me. It seems our creditor is in turn somehow owned by a dragon who dwells in the foothills to the north, who has bade as follows: if we cannot otherwise pay off our debts, my temple's leaders must at intervals choose initiates whose trial will be to go to this dragon, and be its...well, harem-slaves for a time, for it seems the creature desires to create half-breed spawn among the race of men."<br/><br/>The blonde turned in the tub, back towards Dev'lan, suddenly clinging desperately to his bare hips with her hands. She gazed up at him, her face and trembling lips mere inches from his engorged elven member. "I am to be the next. If the dragon remains alive...I will be taken to it, and mated to it, my body forfeit to the beast's whims for one full moon."