Black Sky Legion

Chapter Sixteen

Matters of Silk, Steel, and Bones

***BSL***

"Forgemother, you wanted so see me? Is it about the Frost Dragon bodies?" Lurk bent down to scratch under the chin of the Forgeling that pawed at his leg, helping to distract him from the events of the previous day. Up on her dais, the Forgemother returned the first floor sphere to its orbit behind her head, then nodded.

"No, High Lord, though we are progressing well on that front. Using Platinum Wyrm hide in concert with Frost Dragon scales is showing promising results in resisting their unusual magic. There is another matter... Something... Something you need to see." Though it was hard to determine the worry in her tone, the Forgemother was clearly hesitant.

Lurk's jaw tightened. When the Forgeling whined, he managed to fake a smile with most of his attention remaining on the Forgemother.

"What is it? Is everything okay?"

"Something that... Well, it is best you see for yourself, High Lord. This is from a [Survey Beacon] I placed on a plateau that Novus and I visited the other day." One of her claws manipulated several brass keys on the side of her metal platform, rotating crystal lenses to project a floating disc of blue light just above the floor. Represented in miniature was the rocky formation in question.

"I smelled a peculiar metal. Concentrated. This is what the Beacon revealed." At her word and a few more keystrokes, the image was cut open to present a cross-section of the mountain. Rendered in bright red contrasting the blue, was what appeared to be a warped, cone-shaped deposit of metal that the Beacon identified as a mixture of Fatemetal and Darksteel in text boxes for Lurk to read. Underneath the names, the listed measurements were staggering. Over three-hundred-thousand metric tons of pure Darksteel as well as an additional hundred-thousand tons of the much less dense Fatemetal. Not ore. Actual refined product.

The sheer quantity alone made Lurk's mouth water a little. How many more Darksteel fortresses could he make? They were not solid Darksteel of course, that would have been insane. Or using it to plate the walls being erected outside to protect The Citadel? Or the Fatemetal? It was a high-tier ore from Niflheim with a few unique and interesting properties. While he had never found himself needing much of it, the prospect of so much falling into his lap certainly got Lurk's mind churning with possibilities. Several Forgelings gathered at their creator's talons, talking excitedly about the find.

Of immediate concern was its potential origin.

"That's strange. This... Is this from YGGDRASIL? As far as we've found, metal from the old world doesn't occur naturally here."

"It's not just the composition, my Lord." With a twirl of her claws, the Forgemother stripped away the surrounding rock to show just the metal. Once visually exhumed, Lurk's eyes widened. Although not every minute detail was visible, the shape of a giant sculpture became clear. Almost three-hundred feet tall, it sat on a tiered base that accounted for much of the bulk. Lurk tapped his scaly chin, remembering the distinctive silhouette made by the cloak, pair of forward curving horns, and fists on a sword hilt, the blade point down between the figure's feet.

"That looks just like one of the statues from the central Niflheim city. An Ice Titan. How did it get there? But... Different. There's something about the head I can't place. I wonder if we have any records in Cognitio to confirm. I'll have to ask Silkeena. I know where we can start, at least." He mused aloud. Crouching down, Lurk rested his claw on the shoulder of a Forgeling. "Could you run over to the library and get the Art of the Nine Worlds, please? It should have some pictures of the central cities I think might help us."

Nodding emphatically, the Forgeling galloped off to enact the will of her creator.

The Forgemother returned a slice of the topography and continued.

"It is without a doubt not a natural formation. Based on erosion, it seems as though the statue replaced the top of the mountain and then due to its weight, sank into the softer soil until it hit rock sturdy enough to hold it. I would say it fell from the sky, but something that large would have left a crater difficult to miss."

"Why do some things appear as if placed, and others drop from the sky? We're still waiting on Mags to give us more information on these Meteor Fields that Lapua and Ten Gauge have reported on, but this is just further confirmation that we're not the first things from YGGDRASIL to appear. No matter where it came from, this is an opportunity we can't pass up. That's... A lot of premium material." Running his tongue over his teeth, Lurk swallowed back a pang of pure draconic greed.

"I took the liberty of securing the area with a Sensor Network and Type Fifty Sentinels. Type Twenty-Five Sentinels are in reserve in case of trouble. Your foresight has gifted me with every tool I could ask for, High Lord." She gave a languidly contented wave of her tail, placing several blue crosshairs above the statue. Sentinels were automated sentry guns that the Forgemother could deploy at will. The only drawback being travel time depending on how far away the targeted place was.

Naturally, this was only the first step. The Forgemother altered her display to show only the mountain top. Flat areas were carved clean, platforms, walls, and defensive towers springing into life around the highlighted dig zone.

"With your permission, this will serve a dual purpose while we exhume the metal by being a waystation between The Citadel and our operations in Orza. In light of recent events, I have approved Ten Gauge's request for construction of a Hydra flak tower over the Orza watch keep his squad is based in. A vast improvement over their current housing. In addition, the Flayers in Orza have finished processing the remaining valuable components off the slain Platinum Wyrms and is awaiting Wyvern recovery teams. The mountain is a good distance between us and Orza that it should do nicely as a midpoint to transport material back and forth."

Even though the battle in the mountains was still fresh on his mind, the Forgemother's diligence did a great deal towards putting him at ease. Being able to rely on the guardians of The Citadel took a great deal of weight off his shoulders. Ruling Black Sky Legion, commanding its troops, managing its resources had grown considerably more difficult. Yet Lurk's resolve to do it well had only strengthened, while his guardians rose to the challenge.

"This looks excellent. We are going to be need forward operating bases like this. Not to mention what a find! You've done wonderfully, Forgemother. Thank you." Lurk let out a breath so heavy he felt all the lighter for it.

"I did not wish to begin operations until I had conferred with you, High Lord. I am so glad you are pleased." Although she could not exactly blush, the Relic Iron between her horns roiled a bit faster as her inner fire flared a bit brighter. Despite all the power the Godmaker possessed, she was still a creature of emotion, craving love and adoration.

"I appreciate that. We've never had to move that much tonnage before. There's no way to get the whole thing back here in one go, is there?" Immersing himself in a problem, a puzzle, was another welcome respite.

"It will be slow going. Even with a mobile blast furnace on site, getting the mass melted down is going to be labor intensive."

Humming to himself, Lurk considered the physical limitations imposed on them. If the world had still been a game, then such a wealth would have been easy to gather. That did not mean he had to accept such limitations.

"Why don't we cut it into pieces rather than trying to smelt it at the mountain? I'm sure you could make quick work of it here in the forge without needing to turn it into ingots first. We already use Greater Wyverns with [Lightweight Cargo]. Buff them with [Titan Strength] potions, and have them lift the pieces with chains enchanted with [Burden of Atlas]."

"Carry pieces back to The Citadel? That would certainly expedite things. We have talon sheaths that confer strength bonuses as well. What could we use to turn the statue into pieces small enough? From the shipbreaker yards of the Molten Shore! Of course! Line Cutters, Plasma Torches, and Gravity Claws. It is just solid metal, so the Forgelings do not have to be careful or delicate." Her tail waved excitedly as she produced blueprints for the items in question. Immediately the Forgelings joined in, discussing the make and use of such powerful instruments their High Lord provided.

"Exactly right." Edges of his mouth curling upward, Lurk was glad that his passions had found their way into the keepers of The Citadel's forge. The Forgemother reminded him of just how many schematics, blueprints, and plethora of other plans he, Harmony, and Woodsolution had collected. Sometimes it was purely for that little check mark in a menu saying that they had gathered every possible thing in a given area or for various factions throughout the nine worlds. That freedom of choice and wealth of opportunity had been YGGDRASIL's strength.

From airships to skimmers to pirate vessels, walking castles, flying castles, and more, YGGDRASIL's systems worked because players tended to fill in the gap with intrinsic motivations. They took the tools provided and made their own fun. The sandbox, with all the molds for sandcastles waiting to be discovered.

Recognizing the bittersweet ache in the base of his horns, Lurk understood how much he missed shipbreaking within YGGDRASIL. Taking a large vehicle and artfully reducing it to neatly organized stacks of components had a cathartic quality to it not unlike the satisfaction of completing a puzzle. Bad things tended to happen when a Line Cutter beam went through fuel lines. Lurk only had to learn that lesson once. Hacking apart large metal boats meant to traverse lava seas was soothing in its intricacy. In a genius move, the devs used broken skimmers from the brawling mode in combination with the pre-designed hulls to give a greater sense of variety.

When he had been trying to quit smoking the first time, he had used the game within a game as a coping mechanism. Small craving? Pull apart a small boat. Need to zen after a supremely difficult day of work? Purchase salvage rights on a dreadnought and be lost for hours in deconstructing the volatile systems woven throughout. Racing and brawling were his end goal in shipbreaking for parts, though the greater stakes precluded relaxation.

While Lurk was reminiscing and the Forgemother excited at the prospect of industrial-grade toys, the Forgeling sent out returned with the book in her mouth. So careful and controlled, that even held in teeth of surgical sharpness the covor bore not a scratch. Once Lurk took it, the Forgeling was free to speak.

"Apologies, High Lord, it took me a moment to interrupt miss Silkeena and Lord Nox from their wrestling match. Miss Silkeena said she shall find every reference Cognitio has available post haste." Sitting back on her haunches, the Forgeling lifted her chin, hoping for her Lord's approval.

"Thank you, sweetie." Lurk affirmed with an affectionate head pat. Just like her larger counterpart, the Forgeling preened as Lurk flipped open the heavy art compendium. After consulting the table of contents, he moved to the chapter dedicated to Niflheim. In one of the actual screenshots of the city, an Ice Titan statue was clearly visible. Only this one had a Fenrir sized wolf standing at its side and different horns, more closely resembling its actual in-game counterpart. He turned a few more pages and came to the concept section. There among a few other designs was an exact match to what was buried in the mountain. According to the artists notes, their errant hunk of metal was a design that had almost made the cut.

Lurk was unsure what to make of such information. At least he did confirm its likeness to something from YGGDRASIL. Why the unfinished version and not the real thing? How did the timeline work for it to have been there long enough to sink as far as it had?

He really needed a cigarette.

The Forgemother put away the many schematics she had open, remembering herself and adopting a more somber tone.

"I may have gotten a bit carried away. There is something else. Something... A bit more troubling, my Lord. It's below the statue. Though the [Survey Beacon] does not quite have the resolution necessary to accurately display it."

Closing the book, Lurk watched as the Forgemother lifted the projection so high he saw the edges of its depth from below. There seemed to be a mass beneath the statue of... Static?

"What is that?" Lurk's brow furrowed so hard his scales nearly wrinkled.

"It would be most expedient and accurate to convey through a mental connection, High Lord. If... that would not be too bothersome." The Forgemother moved over slightly on her dais to make room.

"Of course." Pulling on Mask of the Psion, Lurk hopped up into the space offered. Up close, the heat she radiated was a strange comfort. Maybe it he was just glad to be away from the cold north. So near, he had to crane his neck back to look at her.

"Can you show me?"

The Forgemother nodded. Claws that were as long as he was tall curled protectively around him. The Ancient Incarnate turned to face the projection and placed his claw on the Forgemother's own.

He was unprepared for the rush of connecting to his Imperitor Titanica. Touching her mind was akin to dipping his feet into a small solar system. Through her, Lurk was connected to The Citadel in a way he would have never thought possible. Each floor was its own tiny world, strung together orbiting the fiery heart. Little lights representing all the lives adorned the layers as stardust. Crystal drops on a starry blanket. Moving and glinting. Flitting to and fro in a symphony of fireflies. Brighter stars in the constellation were the floor guardians, with the brightest being himself as Harmony was away in Kadusia.

Everything had a color, taste, smell, even texture.

There was the spiced gun oil of Alpha and Omega. Racking bolts. Humming [Implosion] mines. The bunkers themselves were hard knots of reinforced concrete that were bumpy to the touch, so encrusted with firepower they felt more like a hull covered in barnacles.

Clattering shields from the Eternal War contrasted the smooth grass and fluttering banners. Harmony's practice range added a distinctly singed portion to the floor.

Of Skitharix and his domain, was color with no pigment, echoes without sound, and an indescribable taste somewhere between old tea leaves and well cared for leather. The Flesh Keeper's home, the Church of Knives, seemed to move, even to the Forgemother. Not out of maliciousness or ill-will, it just forgot where it was sometimes.

Below the fourth floor was the slippery wetness of the Mystic's Reef. Currents moved through the underground bubble of water. Waves from the smaller creatures, and the larger displacement of the Leviathan. Caring for the living artistry of the reef was a pleasure for the Forgemother. Its luminous colors contrasted the dark waters.

Oddly, it was the ash plains of the sixth floor which had the most pleasing texture. Ash so fine there was no grit, and Darksteel, polished smooth and cool to the touch just beneath. There was a bitter almond aroma rising from the flowers growing in the dust of devastation. Pleasantly alluring in concert with the deadly ripples of the [Radiant] obelisks they grew around. Darksteel fortresses formed a network of symmetrical blades. A pattern of razor edges that resembled a flower just as the petals blooming in the ash.

Although the seventh was really nothing more than an arena, gravity pushing at the floating island of stone from all sides lent a certain weightiness. A shell of void around a nucleus of light with a dash of slow burning coals underneath.

Wingbeats from the eighth. A bubbling river of lava and brooding Wyverns tending to nests. Rough hewn stone retained its natural shape. The Citadel's legacy as a Burn Dungeon lived on in The Scar and Effluvial Tide. For that reason, an almost vintage feel permeated the largest section of The Citadel. Lurk smiled as he noted that the Forgemother kept track of wherever Novus slept and adjusted the ambient temperature to make sure he was comfortable.

Most intricate in its complexities was the final floor. From the throne, map room, Cognitio, Arboretum, forge, treasury, firing range, and all the other components wove together in web of interconnected parts. Much of the functions were automated by magic, yet it still fell on the Forgemother to regulate everything. Avatar of Metal made a forge a part of her own body. Humming in the back of her mind were calculations of weight, output, as well as temperature of each furnace and the liquid metal churning through her pipes. Nova Crystal control rods danced a ballet to the orchestra of hammers and anvils.

All that at the speed of thought. Lurk knew it was only the overview. A surface glance only. While it would have been easy to lose himself in that widened perception, he still had work to do. Beneath the wonder he felt on his own, he sensed the Forgemother's concern.

Sorry, please proceed.

Through the Forgemother's more precise perceptions of the data given by the [Survey Beacon] Lurk was able to see what lay below the Niflheim statue on the edges of the data projection. It was finer than what the probe was really meant to render. On the broader scope, especially beneath the comically large statue, there seemed to be odd grains of sand. Narrowing down and down, further and further, the Forgemother brought Lurk along with her sight.

Bones. The static, grains of sand, filling a wide area under the statue, were incalculable numbers of bones.

He understood then why the Forgemother had recommended showing him through a psionic link. Through her, Lurk could appreciate the quantity. As she manipulated the image and once again stripped away the earth, the scope of the deposit became clearer. Even so, the [Survey Beacon] only went so into the mountain.

It's a mass grave... Almost as if the whole mountain was full of bones. How...

I do not know, High Lord Lurk. The top layer has been crushed somewhat by the statue, so it goes to reason that the bones are older. Making them at least several hundred years old. Though there might be evidence of more recent additions. Hard to tell with the Fatemetal interfering with the [Survey Probe].

If it's all from the old world then we'll need to take care of it as soon as possible. What's going to be the best way to get rid of all that? Hm... Better question, is there anything we can do with them?

I am glad you asked, High Lord. Refinement will depend on their composition. We will not know for certain until the statue is out of the way, though I have several ideas. I scrounged up some old alchemical formula for promising transmutations. Once samples are available, I shall draft a proper report.

Do you think we'd make anyone angry by digging them up?

I doubt it, High Lord. Oxelan and Orza are primarily human. These skeletons are from a wide variety of species and in a place none of their cultures hold any special regard for. Many are Frost Giant. The rest are hard to discern, though my hypothesis would be that they can be traced to Niflheim as well. When we get to that stage of the dig, hopefully answers will be forthcoming.

Pulling off Mask of the Psion, Lurk broke the mental connection.

"Meteor fields. Statues. Bones on top of bones underneath relics. How has this whole continent not been completely overrun by the undead with all this? What is going on? Every time we find something new in this world, I have more questions than answers. Whatever the case, this poses a serious problem." Folding his arms over his chest, Lurk's tail lashed back and forth in agitation.

"What are a few undead to the might of Black Sky Legion?"

"Even if we can, what about Oxelan, Orza, and Kadusia?" Frowning, Lurk began pacing rapidly along the lip of the dais.

"A fair point, High Lord." The Forgemother rumbled, following his movements as he took only a few steps before turning sharply, repeating the motion. Down below, several Forgelings watched him, their heads waving to and fro.

"Other than dig up every mountain, what can we do to prepare for this? We need to check around the cities. Information is vital. Training Sharpshooters into Commandos is going to take time. I need to make more Painlords..."

"My Lord, what about the Sunhammer?"

The Forgemother's suggestion caused Lurk to pause. After only a moment he gave a dismissive wave of his claw.

"The Sunhammer? No, no, that was just a theory build. An experiment to see how big of an artillery piece I could design. The Type One super-heavy would've been only for show. Able to reach anywhere on Muspelheim, drawing power from the forge with the control rods disengaged. Really what good is a giant fire gun when almost everything on Muspelheim is immune to fire?" Remembering back, he had been so excited to get the blueprint, only to be greatly disappointed.

It was a tool to allow the Forgemother's power to reach outside of The Citadel. Or would have been, in a game sense. As an excitable gun nut, after having put so much time into getting the pinnacle Type One, Lurk had been expecting a firearm he could take with him. That did not stop him from designing a weapon of ludicrous size using the template, though it did dissuade him from actually building it.

"High Lord, we are not on Muspelheim anymore. Would it not serve us better here?" She lifted a claw for her Lord to lean his worries on.

"Hm, its biggest drawback was not being able to shoot into the other worlds. But we don't have to worry about that. There's only this one. I mean, I've always wanted an excuse to build it."

"An excuse? There is no need for such a thing from the High Lord of The Citadel. If its construction would serve you and the Legion, then that is all the reason the forge needs." Her chest puffed out at the declaration, a flare of inner light accompanying it. Seeing the Forgemother excited reassured Lurk a good deal, stroking the smooth metal of her claw.

"This world isn't like Muspelheim, Forgemother. It's fragile. If we start punching craters into it..." Lurk trailed off, thinking of rivers and lakes so polluted by chemicals they regularly caught fire. Of a world stripped of green save for in glass bottles.

"I understand your concern, High Lord. However, would not the alternative be worse? If there are more such graves, then a halfway competent necromancer could have an army in short order. Fighting back such a tide would be easy for The Citadel. Though it could take time that the mortal kingdoms may suffer for. The Sunhammer could be a direct answer to such a threat."

Though torn, Lurk was still fresh from the battle against the Frost Dragons. The ice of their magic was hard to dispel. Even more chilling was the idea of waking up tomorrow to a desolate earth overrun with undead.

"Well, if you fight fair, you're doing it wrong. Alright, Forgemother, build the Sunhammer. And pray we never need to use it."

***BSL***

More battles needed to be fought and won that day. Fortunately for Lurk's sanity, they had exceptionally lower stakes.

A Corsair squad moved carefully through hostile territory. While the main force engaged the enemy they were tasked with sneaking around and capturing the objective. Six of them had managed to get into the courtyard of the opposing Darksteel fortress. Standing proudly in the middle was their prize, the red flag.

From behind, a rain of bolts caught them unaware and they vanished in puffs of green smoke, banishing them back to the designated home base to lick their wounded pride and await their penalty timers before returning to the field.

"Yeah, suck it blues!" Taunted the Corsairs on the walls.

Each team had brightly colored red or blue armbands. Their rivalry as old as competitive gaming. Blunt training bolts flitted across the designated training zone. Squads of Corsairs from both teams fought over slabs of Darksteel clustered together and small towers which had been erected between the two forts chosen for the exercise.

From their perch on the balcony of the central fortress, Lurk and Phage had an excellent view of the mock conflict.

"It seems you've fallen right into my trap, Phage." Lurk pointed out.

"A cunning move, High Lord. Though perhaps your trap shall end up serving me quite well." She countered, hiding her expression behind an ornate Darksteel fan as well as her mask. The many eyes etched into it made clear who had made the fan for her.

Even after the failed capture attempt the blue team kept up the pressure, sweeping around both sides of the fortress walls and reducing its defenders to puffs of smoke. So occupied with repelling the smaller attack, the reds were put on the back foot by the sudden aggression. Soon most of the red team sat in the penalty room, helpless to prevent a triumphant blue from making off with their flag to score.

After watching Phage encourage battle between the two teams, Lurk began offering his own pointers. Before long, each of them had picked a side. There was no commander role in this version of YGGDRASIL capture the flag, yet that did not stop them. They organized squads and appointed group leaders to coordinate. Other than that, they mostly let the game play out as normal. Without menus, Lurk could not even hazard to guess what kind of experience the Corsairs might gain. Trial and error would hopefully light the way.

While fresh reinforcements from the reds pushed the blues out of their base, Lurk's attention wandered a bit to the floor at large.

Wearing Mask of the Keeper brought sharp contrast to the environmental threats, pointed red symbols depicting the nature of the hazards appearing in the corner of his sight wherever he looked. Dotted around the grey plains, [Radiant] obelisks limned in the telltale emerald flame of the Plague Elves, surrounded by fields of the ash blooms. Their petals danced in the green light of desolation.

Although a muted gloom provided ample light to see, if the sixth floor was breached then all visibility would cut. That alone was not much of a defense. Some form of night vision was part of every player's standard kit. That's where the Baleful Lanterns came in. Trophies from Harmony's Gravedigger escapades in Helheim that were mounted on the walls of the Darksteel forts. They could be aimed like spotlights, blinding rays of darkness specifically able to cleanse any sight buff that was not racial.

In addition to massed carbine fire and Phage herself, the floor's very structure was an active participant in its defense. Taking the lessons in constructing the fourth floor, Lurk had programmed slabs of Darksteel as well as other obstacles to emerge so as to herd foes into fields laced with razorwire bombs and the like. In the center were the forts themselves, Darksteel curtain walls overlooking ditches filled with nests of spikes. From the central fort, festooned with sharp crenelations atop even sharper ramparts, eight smaller forts pierced the ash like points on a compass rose. Far enough apart to make the spaces between a deathly maze while close enough to be in range of heavy Thresher support from the many ravelins jutting out of the main battlements.

In an especially devious twist, Lurk had designed the physical entrance down to the next floor to move away from the enemy. Most players would think to attack the central keep when in fact each outer fort had a path down, yet only one would be open at a time. Only once every Corsair in every fort was dead would the path stop changing. Easier said than done as the Plague Elves were the chosen racial inhabitant not only for their immunity to the radiation, but also for their movement. If pressed, the Corsairs would slip through emerald fire to another fort. Eventually the force would snowball and the enemy would have to overcome a concentrated garrison. Just because the architectural coding of YGGDRASIL required there to be an exit did not mean it had to be simple.

After a detailed account of a highly public guild raid was released, a preferred tactic of assault became teams brute forcing their way through obstacles with terrain destruction magic. Darksteel was prized for its property of being almost magically inert. While not the most durable compared to other metals, any spell did only the barest fraction of its damage.

Looking out on his work, Lurk wondered if it would be enough. Though Phage herself had proven to be a player killer of the highest order, her actual home had never been truly tested. It did not matter how good he was. No matter the dedication or planning, all it took was one enemy being better.

As his stomach sank low, he looked to Phage. His Pale Rider was brightly attentive, ornate fan folded in her lap. Above the curving fangs of her mask, her eyes glinted in excitement, flicking between different positions, no doubt calculating where to make her next move. Before, Phage only had a rudimentary set of behavior parameters to follow. Attack. Defend. Retreat. Aggressive stance. Passive stance. Skill usage frequency. Now she could live up to the wicked cunning of Dreadsoul and Despoiler combined with Pale Rider.

If some of Lurk's worst case scenarios came about... Maybe he did not need to worry quite so much.

Regardless, it was relaxing to just spend time with Phage, sipping Chryssilum tea and watching the age old battle between reds and blues. It also helped having a small creature in his lap. Soot purred like a pudgy draconic cat as Lurk stroked his back. Spilled loosely across Lurk's thighs, Soot resembled more of a melted puddle as Lurk rubbed right between his little wings.

"I must say, High Lord, I believe it's masterfully clever of you to turn my training into a game that can strengthen its participants." Phage leaned back in her seat with a jingle of brass. Only a few materials were resistant enough to withstand Phage's aspect without crumbling. In the comfort of the home designed for her, she could be more at ease.

"Thank you for inviting me, Phage. You're quite good at this."

"I learned from the best. Those scaly mongrels in the north stood no chance before a real dragon, High Lord. I hope you allow me the honor of their annihilation." In a strapless dress and without her gloves, a distortion visibly rippled the air from her shoulder down her arm. The flex of power slipped between her fingers before she crushed it in her palm. Ever one of etiquette, she snapped open her handheld fan as bird of prey would ruffle its plumage to hide demurely behind it.

"Now that is something I would pay to watch." Chuckling, Lurk took another sip of tea before settling back with a sigh. "All of this is a bit of a shot in the dark. We don't know if capture the flag or paintball is going to be worth our time." He grumbled at the uncertainty.

"Paintball, High Lord?" Cocking her head slightly, Phage looked far too cute.

"Yes, rather than bullets, the guns are loaded with little balls of paint that burst on impact. It's one huge colorful mess. Wrath and Ruin should be setting up a simple course on the surface for the Demi-Claws to train as we speak."

"I hope I can be there when Wrath and Ruin play. They are going to be quite the sight!" Phage tittered. "I never knew there were so many wonderful games. I should have asked about them ages ago."

Lurk could not have faked a smile if he had been trying.

"Funny you should mention games. The Forgemother found what seems to be a statue from Niflheim in a mountain she and Novus visited. We discussed using shipbreaking tools to take the statue apart. Shipbreaking was quite the fun game back then." As he spoke, the Ancient Incarnate stared off at nothing, his train of thought set adrift. "I just... Think it's strange. There are also bones underneath. So many. Peculiar. In the old world, once a monster was defeated, the body would usually just disappear."

"Well, it has to go somewhere, doesn't it?" Although ridiculous, Phage's answer was delivered with absolute seriousness. The frightfully accurate observation brought Lurk back to reality. He put a pin in the idea and saved it for later.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud. Anyway, I like to think I was a fairly competent rider back in my prime. Racing those things across the water at speed required a certain finesse. Skimmer brawling was my best field. Probably because I could blow up the other people. Or the multi-leg endurance race across the nine worlds. Lava sea. Cloud ocean. Ice sheets. Each one needed special modules or enchanted components. My old boats might still be in the treasury somewhere. I can't remember if I put them in the Hall of Memories or not. It's been too long since I took my favorite sail-skimmer for a casual ride." Stumbling headfirst into the pit of nostalgia made Lurk's horns ache.

Perhaps he might just do that. There was an ocean less than a day's flight away. Maybe take Harmony out on that luxury cutter he had loaded with cosmetic winnings from his races, pack a nice lunch, and make a day out of it. The weather was turning towards chill. How far south would he need to go to find a sandy tropical beach?

The reds and blues kept clashing with our without oversight, so Phage perked up at the chance to learn more about her Lord.

"Skimmers are special craft that ride just above the surface, aren't they? You built them too, Lord Lurk? I have never considered such a thing. Though nothing is beyond your abilities, High Lord. How do you make them, and what do they look like? No doubt yours are the best."

"I wouldn't say the best. Few other people ever had the patience to build everything from scratch, or just copied others. I was certainly proud of a few of my designs." Continuing to rub Soot's back, Lurk spoke at length about what used to be a passion of his.

Naturally he began with the weapons. His memory was a bit patchy, though he did remember all kinds of useless specifics about the ones he used the most. Once he was able to make explosive ordnance that he could manipulate with Gunpowder Sage he found himself catapulted into the highest leagues of play where competition truly became fierce. Skimmers loaded up with cannons, and magic missiles were only one aspect. Racing, whether it pushed the limits of speed, endurance, or both, presented different challenges to be overcome by hull design, armor plating, or enchanted shielding.

The longer Lurk talked, the more enthusiastic he became, adding personal anecdotes along the way. By the end of it, Phage's elbows were up on the table between them as she leaned forward, eating up every word. She encouraged him, expressing great interest in every facet.

"Belial's Bounty was insane and unfair. The bounty pacing terrible. It only lasted two weeks and because of that only very few got the final reward. The flaming guitar was the most difficult to get, but worth all the blood, sweat, and tears." Smirking as he recalled the triumphant battle which had seen him gain the trophy, Lurk's claw flexed closed around a control stick for a battle barge that was no longer there.

"A guitar is a musical instrument, isn't it? Does it cast fire spells?"

"No, but I'm sure any song would be quite... Hot." Lurk's digits danced down invisible strings as he snickered quietly, even adding a bit of flame to his palm for effect. After a moment, Phage got the joke, half groaning, half laughing.

"I'm sorry, Phage. Get me talking about these sorts of things and I'll just ramble on." Petting Soot's back in long strokes, Lurk apologized for both the pun and his meandering. The Gunpowder Dragon cracked an eye open at the shift in attention. Lurk waggled a claw in front of his snout and Soot grabbed a digit carefully in his teeth before settling.

"High Lord Lurk, I have never heard you 'ramble on' about anything. Your knowledge is enviable and any opportunity to learn from you is a blessing. Besides, I enjoy listening to you talk." She declared without a speck of irony. Phage meant every word, and would defend such sentiment to the death. Although he found it sweet, Lurk believed she was just being polite for his sake.

As he was about to answer, Lurk turned his head as if listening to someone whispering in his ear.

"Sorry, Phage. Harmony needs help with something real quick. Probably a signature on a trade agreement with Kadusia. I'll be right back." As Lurk stood, Soot grunted indignantly at being so disturbed, grumbling even more when held out across the table.

"At your leisure, Lord Lurk." Phage eagerly took Soot, laying him on his back to rub his belly. While the Gunpowder Dragon was most fond of Lurk, he was beginning to tolerate Phage. Especially when she started feeding him bits of charcoal.

Lurk pulled on Mask of the Unbound and stepped away...

...Right into a tightly cramped changing room, wood panels all around.

"What the- oh, hi." Lifting the front of his magical mask to make sure he was not seeing things, Lurk looked his wife up and down.

Harmony stood in a bra, loads of jewelry, and nothing else. Stormgold bracers, armlets, and a wide set of necklaces covered more than cloth did. The scent of feminine sex was thick in the confined space and Lurk took a deep breath of his wife's pheromones, licking his teeth as he spotted the trails of gold running down her legs. From his angle, Lurk could only see the top of her puffy mound and the scales that concentrated at the V of her thighs. He was quite interested in the liquid gold pooling there. With his nose being a great deal more sensitive than it used to be, he noted the sharper musk as well as the brighter sheen to the juices of his sexy dragoness.

"Mm, there's my big strong dragon." She purred, cuddling right up to him. A moment later she welded her lips to his. Their tongues wound around each other as Harmony's infectious passion ignited Lurk's even as her physical warmth got him to slide off his coat. Her palms roved over his tank top down to the groin of his pants which quickly tented. Quickly freed, Lurk's claws coaxed her toned thighs to part. Using the pads of his digits, he better appreciated how swollen and slick her scale-speckled peach was.

Breaking the kiss first, Harmony rested her chin on his shoulder. "Hey, darling, I think I'm in heat. It's like a waterfall down there." Gyrating her hips, her coo set his heart racing. "I also put a [Silence] enchantment down so we can be as loud as we want."

"Mm, you think of everything. Good thing being different species means we don't have to worry about birth control. I bet we could figure out [Create: Dragon Condom]. So you're not cramping, just super horny?" With her juicy mound cupped in his palm, he circled the teardrop entrance with the pad of one claw.

"Hell no I haven't had any cramps, thank goodness. I always imagined going into heat would have cramps too, but all I have to deal with is mother nature turning on the faucet every time I think of you." Harmony groaned as she leaked freely. Usually she was only this much of a mess after she had worked herself up enough to gush.

"That's awesome." Despite wanting to plunge right in, Lurk delighted in playing with his messy girl. Slipping up and through her slit, tugging at her plump labia, and feeling her shudder whenever he dipped inside or grazed her clit.

"Maybe for you. You haven't had to change your underwear three times today." Harmony complained even though her gold-flecked eyes danced with mischief. Turning her butt towards him, she spread her legs wide enough for her heels to touch both sides of the little space, bending forward to give Lurk easy access.

"Why wear underwear at all? Why don't you just wear a skirt for me and just lift it up whenever you need... Help?" Rubbing her haunches with one claw, Lurk massaged the base of her tail with his other, leaving claw prints in her own golden juices. Harmony's extra appendage twitched as her lover draped it over his shoulder. In the enclosed space she had her wings retracted and Lurk took great satisfaction in the way she shivered as he traced the marks where they would emerge.

"You're just a pervert who likes me in skirts." She shot back.

"And? Going into heat is your fetish. Though I can definitely see the appeal." Transfixed by her wanton pose, Lurk unbuckled his pants and hissed in relief as his stifled length sprung free. In the confines of the dressing room, he had to crouch down a bit to get the right angle. Using a claw to guide himself, Lurk dragged the tip of his cock through the channel of Harmony's sex. "Heh, remember when we did it in the Sasha's Secret dressing room?"

"Sh-shut up, don't tease." She whined. In truth of course she loved every second of it. Each time his head pushed against her clit, Harmony moaned and wiggled her rump.

"Besides, it makes a lot more sense biologically for mammals to just have a small heat, rather than the uterine gymnastics humans go through because of weird reproductive evolution. It lines up much better with the background lore of your race too." Absently rattling off, Lurk reveled in watching the aureate juices of her natural flow collect along the ridges on the top of his cock.

"You can tell me all about it later. Cock now, please." Harmony squirmed in impatience as she only caught about every other word from her husband. As soon as she caught his tip in her entrance, she pushed back to impale herself. She gyrated her hips and moaned openly as her walls refused to open quickly. Puffy lips slowed progress as her estrus-afflicted insides were tight beyond reason, and somehow more welcoming too. Gradually her petals engulfed the fat dragon cock all the way to the root. Lurk nearly went cross-eyed as Harmony stubbornly forced her sex to take all that he had to give.

Usually, Lurk bottomed out inside her with still a few inches left outside. He had to stretch out the end of her tunnel to bury himself to the root. Especially whenever Harmony had her hips tilted just right that he rubbed the entrance to her womb. Yet her season had left the smooth muscle of her cervix much softer than normal. All the better to nestle up against.

That was all the persuasion he needed to take over. Once enough girly juices were spread along Lurk's length, he was able to properly thrust in and out despite her tightness. She met his motion, slapping her luscious backside against his crotch. Strings of sticky gold connected the two of them. As his pace quickened, his grip on Harmony's waist tightened while he grabbed one of her horns to keep the eager female in check, weaving his digits through the jeweled chains strung along them. He did not want to accidentally pull back too far and slip out.

For a while, Harmony was more than happy to just enjoy the steady pounding. Pressure gradually built up inside her. There was a particular spot in her swollen delicates that ached for relief. Rolling her hips up and down, side to side, trying to get the head of the girthy tool perfectly lined up. Lurk tugging on her horns got her to arch her back just right. She gasped as the handsome dragon slapping his hips against hers found the mark. Harmony's eyes watered from the jolt that ran from deep in her belly to the tip of her tail.

As Lurk ravaged her with short, powerful strokes, he rammed full force into that secret place again and again. He could tell it was a good angle by the sharp rise in the pitch of her moans. Harmony expected to explode in orgasm. Instead, her core melted. Rather than a crushing release, the pleasure just built and built until her whole body was singing and her velvet walls rippled around her mate. Her ecstasy plateaued rather than peaked. And it took a whole lot longer to come down. While not exactly an orgasm, she was not about to complain.

Even though he did not experience it the way she did, Harmony's heat still had quite the effect on Lurk. More than just the physical sensation of having sex, the scent of her musky season was intoxicating. It triggered the animalistic part of his brain and guided him as surely as the first time he opened his wings that this female needed to be ploughed and sown like a loamy field.

So he did as any man worth his guns and gold would, digging in his talons for leverage as he pumped his wife full of seed. Even though he was hilted within her, Lurk still tried to press in even inches he did not have, feeling the end of her tunnel barely able to cope with his endowment. With Harmony's insides so hot, Lurk's cum actually cooled the raging estrus in her belly. Each flex of his length was another load to swell her insides. Her walls dragged on his ridges as he straightened his posture to relieve the burn in his thighs from the workout. When he pulled out, her lower lips remained slightly parted from the brief but intense pounding. Male seed mixed with her golden juices in equal measure as her chalice overflowed with milk and honey.

Sliding down the wall as Lurk released her horn she could not even be bothered to lower her tail. Harmony giggled, being more than a little cum drunk. As she turned to face him, she came eye level with his member and her estrus flared back to life at the magnificent sight.

"Can you get hard again? Please?" She begged, tenderly wrapping her fingers around his manhood.

"Hmm, I can try. You want it bad, don't you my sweet thing?" Petting Harmony's hair, Lurk gazed down into those beautiful red and gold eyes of hers. Rather than answer, Harmony leaned forward and took Lurk's partly flaccid length into her mouth. The scent and taste of them mixed together sent shivers from her chest to the tip of her tail. It did not take much to get her draconic mate back to full mast. In moments her jaw ached from opening wide enough to take Lurk's cock halfway while avoiding her teeth.

Unfortunately that had ever been her limit. Despite having a bit of an oral fixation, she had to accept that Lurk's girth made going any further next to impossible. She was at least well-practiced. Using one hand to stimulate his base, she employed her tongue to squeeze behind the pronounced ridges along the top of his length. Working her lips around him, she bobbed her head forward and back. While one of her scaly hands stroked what she could not suckle, her other slid down to play with herself. Two fingers on her clit rubbed fast and hard. Because of the sloppy mess her slit had become, the pads of her fingers had difficulty getting the right friction on her stiff bundle of nerves.

Too horny to think, she forced his tip to the back of her throat and a little further, pleasantly surprised by how far she could go. Lurk groaned at the temperature of her mouth, giving encouraging tugs on her horns. Taking a deep breath, she slid him further than she ever had before. Because he had climaxed a minute ago, his manhood had just enough give to follow the curve of her throat. Still expecting to choke, she kept going until her nose bumped into Lurk's groin. Both of them were surprised.

Moaning around her mouthful, she delighted in how his ventral bulge pushed down her tongue. Harmony always wondered what it would be like to control her gag reflex to such an extent. Inadvertently swallowing around him she also noted the way his ridges gave even more wonderful texture along the back of her throat. When Harmony reached up to her neck and touched the notable bulge there, girly juices gushed from her petals. The triumphant sexual thrill of having finally achieved the impossible sent the hormone clouded Scalebound over the edge.

Harmony experienced a mind-shattering orgasm even as her cries were muffled by both her spell and the mouthful of cock. As much as she wanted to ask Lurk to face-fuck her with her horns as leverage, she could not think of much beyond the mixture of juices freely flowing between her thighs. Finally running out of air, she popped him out of her mouth with a gasp even as a bit of drool trailed from her lips to the tip of his cock.

"Hah! Oh, gods, sorry. You're still... Really big." Cupping her mound and quaking in the aftershocks, Harmony gazed up at Lurk with a hazy, awestruck grin. This was made marginally more difficult by the profound ache in her jaw. She chirped in surprise when Lurk pulled her up into his arms. At his coaxing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Lifting her up, Lurk's claws dug into her haunches, spreading her backside as he plunged in with one stroke.

"Hrn... I'm not done yet." Lurk groaned the promise as his cock was sheathed in another hold of hers. Harmony only giggled as he bumped his nose against hers before he began to move.

His tail entwined with Harmony's, pulling it down which stretched her slit and let him glide in and out even easier. Their mixed juices dripped down their tails as his girth forced already spilled seed out of her. If before Harmony's slit had been wet and puffy, then sloppy seconds was a romp in soaking wet velvet paradise. He took the liberty of long, deep thrusts, plunging his cock from tip to base each time.

In their many years together, the two of them were well acquainted with the needs and moods of the other. Lurk knew quite well that his darling dearest dragoness wanted a good hard rut. For him to make use of her as his cocksleeve to wring out every drop of seed and breed her cunny until she could hold no more. A need he was more than happy to oblige, bouncing her on his tool in their standing pose. He focused on building back up to a steady rhythm, his thighs began to burn from the exertion, making it rather difficult to maintain. Though he remained hard, it was to be slow going, and he growled in frustration.

She knew him too, holding on for the ride and working her inner muscles to milk him, relishing the coital duties of being his wife. As he rumbled in pent up desire, Harmony found her own pace, clenching down every time he pulled back and relaxing as he pushed back in. Lurk's snarl turned into a moan as each ridge of his member caught on Harmony's entrance, the sensitive flares being held and massaged by hot scaly pussy. As Lurk reached glorious release once again, he crushed his hips against her buxom petals. He poured another load into the still gooey insides of his lovely dragoness with relish. Locking her ankles around his back, Harmony helped him get as deep as he liked.

Even though her sex was already stuffed, Lurk was more than virile enough even on the second go for the end of her tunnel to swell. Harmony basked like a lizard on a hot rock, luxuriating in the fullness. The pressure she craved. Softening much quicker the second time, Lurk's cock slid free along with a deluge of milky honey. Harmony's petals slurped along the draconic tool as he unsheathed himself just like her other set of lips.

"Mmm, thank you, my king." She panted into his shoulder.

"Anything for you, dear queen. I love you." Nuzzling into her crimson hair, Lurk relished their closeness.

Giving his tail one more squeeze, Harmony untangled herself and as she stood, her contents notably sloshed with more than a little pouring out.

"I don't think a towel is quite going to cut it." She deadpanned. One [Clean] scroll later, and the mess was well taken care off. Even though the floor and her sex were wiped free of evidence, her insides still brimmed with essence and the sweet musk of their union clung to her skin.

Realizing that the excuse of 'helping her try on underwear' might be a little awkward, Lurk hurriedly buckled his pants while pulling on his coat.

"Shit, ah, let me head back before you open the door." Struggling with the sleeves of his coat, Lurk winced as he bashed his knuckles against the wall behind him.

"Just gonna hump and run, dear?" Harmony teased.

"No, no, I don't want to hold you up. And I think I might die from shame if someone caught us." Even as he pulled on Mask of the Unbound, its four eyes darted in every direction. No longer blinded by lust, Lurk's paranoia took hold.

"You're fine, silly. I love you too." She was more than happy to let him off the hook. After all, she had been the one to give him a booty call, she thought with a grin. They could have more fun later that night.

Stealing one last kiss, Lurk stepped away.

After spending a minute or so not really thinking about anything at all in her afterglow, Harmony began leisurely clothing herself. Floating on a cloud of endorphins, her heat was satisfied for the time being. Even though her shirt and pants were simple more for the sake of comfort, her many pieces of jewelry left no doubt as to Black Sky's wealth. Once she navigated the maze of hair and horns to get her shirt back on, she also equipped her Crown of Arbitration.

It was an elegant circlet made from obsidian not unlike Nova Crystal with long dark shards standing up along Harmony's brow. Instead of iridescent mana waves, the Crown of Arbitration unfurled long ribbons of parchment from the back of the circlet through her hair, the thick paper branded with glowing orange pyromancy runes. Though not an actual class, following through the laborious questline of Pyre Arbiter was where she had gotten most of her spells.

While Lurk had been shipbreaking, Harmony had been scouring the Lost Libraries of Ra, Apollo, Amaterasu, and Surya. Dungeons scattered across the nine worlds that were labyrinths of books and scrolls which tested Harmony's dedication. Each wing of the different Lost Libraries were to unlock a single spell. Every one to be conquered, collected into a tome, then sacrificed in rituals to transcribe the spell tomes into the glassy shards. Harmony acting as the arbiter of what to burn.

Just as Lurk had earned Soot for the special quests of Gunpowder Sage, the Crown of Arbitration was of little practical use. It had been a physical quest item, gaining complexity with each tome she discovered and offered to the pyre. In the end, it was hers to keep, and made an excellent conversation piece. Her passion usually leaned towards longer, albeit smaller projects. Each point of the crown was the culmination of hours of work. Each a set of spells she had chosen and fought for. She had worked damn hard to perfect her hybrid blend of melee and magic and was damn proud of it.

Checking herself in a summoned mirror, Harmony deemed herself presentable and opened the dressing room. Crisis turned, smiled, and graciously stepped out of the way, having guarded the door while Harmony 'changed'.

With a flip of her hair alongside rustling parchment, Harmony strolled back toward her group.

The Whispering Fletcher was a high end Kadusian crossbow lounge. Although she had only played it once, Harmony was reminded of the bowling alley from a dive game full of old sports. A long counter led off from the entrance, a hundred or more ranged weapons arrayed along the back wall. All available for rent. Further down was a bar area serving drinks while the kitchen situated in the back churned out overpriced appetizers. Servers in outfits befitting the ritzy nature of the Whispering Fletcher moved about the shooting lanes, delivering food, alcohol, as well as various arrows and bolts. There was a fair crowd present, of dukes, duchesses, and others of similarly wealth and station occupying the tables.

Many patrons turned to stare. Many more pretended they were not staring. A few souls were brave enough to take the chance to approach and introduce themselves along with the interests they represented. No one in Kadusia was ever quite prepared to deal with the Scalebound's intimidating combination of height, sheer presence of magic, and disarmingly genuine smile. Her soft words were wrapped in Stormgold that were backed up by Crisis' very large sword.

Though the distractions were numerous, all Harmony had to do was follow the music.

Being royalty, Harmony and Ismeena had the largest lane to shoot at their leisure. Around which gathered the retinues of the two queens. Ismeena was naturally accompanied by city guard, selected for their bravery and experience. The job of Kadusian guard was viewed as a selfless vocation with those seeking glory off with their king, fighting for the Coalition. Only the best were given the thick plate armor in city colors tasked with the responsibility that went along with it to protect their home's monarch. Two other men were with her as well, standing politely for Black Sky's ruler to return.

Harmony's entourage was much smaller, and chosen with purpose.

Stacked in a crescent roll of coils, Cream drew slow, calming symphonies from her cello. Along with her musical talent were the ample assets nearly spilling from her low-cut maid outfit. Her chest gathered as many stares as her polished ivory snake half. Harmony was not blind to the primarily inhuman appearance of Black Sky Legion and made sure to balance the presentation with the cultural sophistication of the cello.

Though her squad was outside, Lapua's exploits among the Seekers made her the rising star of adventurers in Kadusia. As something of a celebrity, numerous retainers had approached Lapua to ask for themselves about the tales they heard. The Neverborn always took every opportunity to extol her true Lord and Lady. Crisis himself was a much more enigmatic presence. Even more so when Lapua clearly deferred to him as a superior. She greeted him with a flare of her halo, the two of them exchanging silent conversation.

The only other visible attendants were two Corsairs. All of The Citadel's Plague Elves wore ornate respirators and light armor of black leather mixed with chainmail. These two had been given special treatment in addition to their normal armor and weapons. A barbed wire braid in fashion with Phage for the female, and a brass circlet for the male. Both had their long cloaks embroidered with red dragons in flight as heraldry representing their Fair Lady. As a finishing touch, they were given responsibility for the pair of messenger ghouls, the freshly polished undead ravens sitting pretty on the Corsair's shoulders.

"Just in time, Queen Harmony, it's your quiver." Ismeena hid her sly smile as she waved. In fearsome company, Queen Ismeena favored her Direwolf mantle.

"What's the score now?" Stepping up to the line, Harmony calmly acted as though she had only been gone a few moments rather than taking twenty minutes of raw sex to scratch the need between her legs.

"I'm ahead by four."

"We'll see about that." Harmony challenged with a smirk, raising the carbine the Corsair handed her to take aim. Unless it was flinging spells, ranged combat was not Harmony's forte. Fortunately, her bracers, while decorative, also let her wield the carbine even though it was outside her job class.

Thunk! Her first bolt went straight into the wood above the target. There was still a bit of post-coital quiver to her arms. The next two flew considerably better, hitting the ring just outside the bullseye.

"Ah, damn. Well, we're tied again. I'm really surprised this is your thing, Queen Ismeena. No offense, it's just many women I knew rather disdained anything physical."

Stepping back, Harmony handed back the carbine as she and Ismeena traded places. One of the Kadusian guards waited, holding out Ismeena's personal crossbow. Light and inlaid with silver filigree, a string that once she had needed help pulling, now easily retracted back into its catch with only one of her hands.

"Kadusia has a long, long history of war. We learned a long time ago that the monsters who have tried to knock down our walls do not care to differentiate between men, women, and children." Thunk. Inner ring. "My grandfather would tell me stories from the old Seekers. I grew up hearing about the adventures of the great heroine Josephine. Her and her fellow Seekers were my favorites." Thunk. Outer ring. "Belgrave women are expected to be able to look after ourselves. You've mentioned before, were there not monsters where you came from?" Ismeena asked, landing a bullseye with a triumphant cry. Polite applause followed.

They traded places once again.

"Oh yes, all over the place. Sometimes they were so thick you couldn't walk ten feet without having to fight your way through them. But they hardly ever attacked the cities. Not directly, anyway." This time, Harmony took more careful aim as she spoke. Her first bolt hit the inner ring. Even though projectiles were not Harmony's expertise, it was impossible to escape Lurk's skill and passion for teaching after being married to him for so long. And besides, she thrived on challenge.

Keeping her muscles locked, she adjusted the barbed sights of her carbine ever so slightly and sent another. Bullseye. Her third and final shot of the match nearly split the feathers of the second. Bullseye. Firm applause from Crisis, Lapua, and the two Corsairs lauded their Fair Lady's victory. Cream paused to clap as well before launching into a sprightly triumphant tune.

"Good show, Queen Harmony. My failing health has me woefully out of practice. Something I will have to change." Graceful in her loss, Ismeena trailed a hand along the Amulet of Vitality. Harmony sat down at the table to chat, relax, and drink a bit of wine.

While one of the Whispering Fletcher attendants went downrange to retrieve the bolts and reset targets, one of the waiting men took his chance.

Head Wizard Lysander approached the two rulers, stopping at a respectful distance and bowing so low his hat nearly fell off. Then he straightened so quickly it was instead flung backwards off his head. Ignoring the lost article, he refused to lose traction.

"Queen Harmony, I would like to purchase one of your Amulets of Vitality. For the good of all Kadusia and in the name of magical learning, I beg of you. I have dedicated my life to advancing our city's wizard academy to catch up with those Heymon bastards. If I can replicate even some of the power within your Amulet, then I will be able to advance our enchanting capabilities by great leaps and bounds. Maybe enough to help turn the tide of the war." Lysander continued with his rehearsed speech.

At first, Harmony was hesitant. Then simply weighed the advantages and disadvantages, coming to the easy conclusion. What was a single Amulet compared to the goodwill it would generate? Just to be sure of the wizard, her eyes flicked to Lapua. The Neverborn gave the slightest nod. Having a psionic on call made judging character a much more precise science.

"You may have one. However, since the design came from Black Sky Legion, if you manage to replicate it, we expect fair compensation. Five percent royalty on gross sales. Lapua, can you draw up a proper contract for him at the embassy?" Producing one from her inventory, Harmony gave the Amulet of Vitality to Lapua.

"Of course, Lady Harmony." The Neverborn answered. "Please come to the embassy later, Lysander, and I will be happy to accommodate you."

Lysander was nearly beside himself, nearly tangling the sleeve of his robes as he gestured wildly.

"I've not put years of my life into studying artefacts for nothing. The Heymon have been ahead of us in producing enchanted items for too long. Mark my words, Kadusia shall be the hub of magical learning it was always meant to be! Thank you! Thank you, your majesty." The Head Wizard marched off, forgot his hat, turned to get it, and marched off again.

The last person seeking audience was Ramon the tailor. A charmingly effeminate fellow, so sharply dressed that even Lapua had to respect the fine sapphire gemcloth of his vest and emerald tunic. He was in actuality, a demi-human. Long rabbit ears stuck straight up, covered in rich brown fur while a fluffy cottonball tail shook as he walked were his two obvious traits. Having a tail actually made him quite the versatile craftsmen, knowing what was actually comfortable for species with tails to wear.

"Greetings, Queen Harmony, Queen Ismeena." Normally bubbly, Ramon was dour, working a handkerchief into fraying in his hands as he bowed. "I do not wish to intrude on your good spirits, your majesties..."

"Nonsense, Ramon. Out with it, man." Ismeena insisted.

"It's simply awful!" He wailed, falling to his knees while clasping the handkerchief to his chest. "My best clothing designer has betrayed me! Senford, the filthy scoundrel, has reneged on his contract with me to work for that harlot Sommers to help make her dreadful gowns. I don't know what he sees in that crone. I've tried talking to the tailor's guild, but since Senford is the only one in Kadusia who can make gemcloth, the guild refuses to punish him."

"I may know someone. He has some very good craftsman skills. Let me see what I can do." All Harmony had to do was hold out her arm and one of the messenger ghouls came to her. "Go to Skitharix. Ask him to make something... Pretty, and feminine, please. Nothing fancy. Something you can carry back."

"Yes, Fairest and Most Radiant Flame." The messenger ghoul gave a deferential fan of its wings before taking off into its portal.

Within scant seconds, the ghoul returned with two bits of clothing.

"That was fast. Let's see..." Harmony unfurled the largest piece, a long white camisole so sheer and light it almost floated. Passing it along to Ramon, even Ismeena reached out to touch the heavenly top.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" Ramon cried.

Eagerly, Harmony rolled out the other article only to be rather confused at first. At least until she realized that it was a pair of jet black underwear with the front made into a screaming skull visage. Looking on as the ornately decorated messenger ghoul preened itself on the table, Harmony realized that perhaps she should have been a bit more specific.

"Okay, wow. That's a bit strange. Sorry about that." She held the... Inspired piece out at arms length.

"No, please, Queen Harmony, do not apologize for quality! All true artists have some eccentricities. I'm sure there's a client somewhere who would be thrilled for this." Ever the eye for quality, Ramon took the bottoms too, gazing in wonder at the arcane stitchwork needed to render such detail.

Lapua lent a helping hand or four.

"Ramon, you should come to the Legion embassy as well. Skitharix was kind enough to spare one of his Flayers to work on its interior who should be more than capable and we could iron out a commission agreement. That way you no longer have to worry about the tailor's guild. If it is agreeable to you, Lady Harmony."

"I feel bad for working you so hard, Lapua."

"Not at all, Lady Harmony. I should be thanking you for gifting me with such varied and interesting duties." Lapua answered and every Legion member there nodded along.

"Before I go, I must ask, Queen Harmony, did your husband enjoy your last purchase?" Ramon asked with a wink and a smile.

"Oh, believe me, we both did." Harmony put a finger to her lips as her tail waved demurely.

As he left, Ramon's grin was a mile wide.

In the absence, Ismeena could not fully contain her sorrow. "Your husband is very lucky to have you, Queen Harmony. Though I'm glad for you, my heart yearns for my own king's safe return."

"I understand completely. We could help you visit him. You could be there and back in a day." Harmony made the offer with sincerity, as one married woman to another.

"As grievously tempting as that is, I must decline. You are too generous. My duty is here. As has always been the charge of the Queen of Kadusia to look after the city and her people in times of war." Straightening in her seat, Ismeena naturally took on the posture of what was expected of her.

"I've been meaning to ask a bit more about King Reinald. Was he born king?" As a way of changing the subject, Harmony broached the line of questioning for her own curiosity.

"No, no, the Kadusian counts come together and vote when the previous king passes as dictated by law. My betrothal was arranged as part of my mother, the Countess Belgrave, casting her vote in favor of Reinald." Though she did not smile, there was a cunning glint in Ismeena's eye.

"You were forced to marry him?" Harmony blurted.

"Most would think so. In truth, we fancied each other a long while before being married. He and I spent a good deal of time convincing my mother and his father of the union so we could be together. We were quite daring back then in many, many ways." Petting her Direwolf mantle, Ismeena was lost in youthful remembrance. Then she leaned close to Harmony and spoke in a conspiratorial hush. "You know, I could have told Ramon about how much you liked his clothes. You two were really going at it in that dressing room."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Harmony immediately deflected.

"I could see both of your tails underneath the door."

"Oops. Well, it probably won't be the last time."

The two queens laughed together.

***BSL***

In a step, Lurk returned to the comfort of The Citadel. Breathing in the cool air of the sixth floor once again, he switched back to Mask of the Keeper and plopped down into his chair.

"Sorry, Phage, things took a bit longer than I thought." He spoke between gulps of tea that had grown lukewarm.

Giggling a bit, Phage reached across the table and adjusted Lurk's disheveled shirt and coat. More than just his disorderly look, it was the flecks of gold along the hem of his shirt that gave him away. Soot grumbled noisily at being disturbed, flopping out of Phage's lap to curl up on top of Lurk's talons.

"Do not apologize on my account, High Lord. Your duties, as well as your bond with Lady Harmony are absolute. Though the match did conclude in your absence."

"Who won?" He asked.

"You'll be pleased to know that both teams fought with tenacity. The reds took the objective, but the blues defeated more enemies." She looked out at the field where exhausted Corsairs conducted post-battle discussion. Each team gathered together to compare notes on what worked and what had not. Most of them had been fighting since that morning.

"Has anyone grown more powerful as a result?"

"I had several Corsairs try to fire either an Impaler or Shardstorm." Phage shook her head. "No one yet, High Lord. If it is possible, then we will find a way."

"Don't worry, Phage. Even if no one gains power, they will gain tactical experience. If nothing else, I hope they had fun. I know I did." Stretching, Lurk cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. "I think I'm going to go wash up, then tinker with a few old designs of mine. Maybe root around in the treasury a bit. What are are you going to be doing later?" He asked out of politeness and curiosity, genuinely enjoying the richness of life in The Citadel.

"There's a special someone I plan on spending the evening with." Eyes crinkling with a hidden smile, Phage idly traced the etchings in her fan.

"That sounds wonderful! I'm glad you're..." Lurk paused. "Uh, Phage, you don't need... Um, condoms or anything, do you?"

Phage, one of the strongest entities in all The Citadel turned a bright shade of ruddy pink.

"Lord Lurk, I-! While I... A-a-appreciate the offer, I don't think that's what Skitharix had in mind." She hid her face completely behind the pleats of her fan.

"Oh, I suppose... If you did want to... With anyone. Well, just... I mean, in case you need protection, you can ask me anytime." Although any protection would actually be for the male rather than the floor guardian, his offer was sincere. Guilt gnawed at him a bit for perhaps overstepping her boundaries. So he stood and made ready to depart. Soot meeped, more disgruntled than ever.

"Wait a moment, Lord Lurk, please." Phage implored him, shooting to her feet in a jingle of brass anklets. Quickly rounding the table, she looked up at him, wavering in indecision as a blush still burned in her cheeks. Then Phage hugged him. Only briefly. Only with the barest squeeze. On her own floor she had much greater control of her power. She was still extraordinarily careful. "Thank you, High Lord. Thank you for spending this time with me."

Phage let out a small gasp as Lurk hugged her back. She was enveloped in the folds of his greatcoat as he held her head against his chest. So close, the mild tang of spiced gun oil filtered through her mask. Lurk sensed her power lapping against the damage barriers from Mask of the Keeper. Rather than make him worry, it rekindled his awe. She was no less deadly, no less dangerous, but so much more in control.

"Really, Phage, if you ever need anything, if you ever need to talk, I'll be there." It was his duty, as leader of Black Sky Legion, of The Citadel, and her creator.

In answer, Phage just held him tighter, enjoying the way held her shoulders and petted her hair.

They broke apart, laughing as Soot's incessant meeping could no longer be ignored.

***BSL***

In the the tallest spire of the central keep was Phage's personal living suite, the Pale Rider's personal stable just below. Phage appeared at the bottom of her penthouse in a plume of emerald fire. She let her hair down from its braid, still enjoying her more relaxed attire.

Fortunately, Lurk's meticulous attention to detail meant her abode had all the amenities she might need. Everything that was not made of corrosion resistant material was blessed with renewal enchantments fueled by the floor directly. The bottom tier had a small dining area replete with preservation enchantments, able to summon the finest dishes from The Citadel's kitchens. While the protection on the food would wear out quickly in her presence, Phage at least was able to enjoy her meal without it rotting on her tongue.

That particular quirk was one of the many reasons Lurk had never used her build himself. It was simply too difficult to maintain without a base like The Citadel.

Her attention was drawn to the trail of fabric leading up her stairs. Flowers made of the silk bloomed up from the unfurled banner of cloth. Phage followed them up to her bedroom.

Above the dining area, her spacious living quarters had two sets of tall windows on either side, looking out at the forts bellow. There were sitting area built under the windows, a tall wardrobe, and a door that led off to private bathroom. Hanging in the circular dome of the minaret of her tower were windchimes made from emerald Data Crystals of a bygone era. A resource he had hoarded in case of need for so long they had gone out of season. Lurk could have traded in the defunct material, but found their decorative value worth far more than the pitiful exchange rate on offer. During the sixth floor's artificial night cycle, they could be used as light sources.

A luxurious queen-sized four poster bed sat beneath the largest cluster of decorations. All Darksteel and silk curtains, plump pillows and baroque bedspread. At the foot of the bed was an ornate chaise lounge, upholstered in the same black and white.

At the top of the steps, Skitharix waited for her.

"Your timing is perfect, my lovely. Look, look! Lady Harmony wished me to make some pretty things for her. Oh I hope she liked them. I considered sending her these." He held up a dainty pair of panties that were so sheer as to be see-through. Covering the crotch of the undergarments was a nest of roses and ash flowers rendered in silk. A bouquet for the wearer's secrets in a delightfully sexy way. "But I felt the screaming skull was more feminine." The rough metal rasp of his voice grinded through the words like a whetstone.

In his excitement, he had spilled several bolts of different colored silk. Flowers sprouting around the holes in the fabric where he had entered a creative frenzy to fulfill his Fair Lady's request.

Stepping around the petals of the peculiar garden, Phage took the rejected design and giggled at the antics of her companion. "Skitharix, is this what you wanted to do? I would love to play dress up." She turned the garment over, admiring the woven petals.

"Ah, I suppose I haven't told you the actual reason, in my haste. While performing my morning rituals in the Church of Knives, I stumbled across several sealed jars of Abyssal Ink and was struck by inspiration! High Lord Lurk must have left them there for me to find." Skitharix clinked his fingers together. In truth Lurk had simply left them there in his long hiatus, and when asked, had merely played along.

Clearly Skitharix was getting off topic.

"Focus, dear." Phage knew how easily he got distracted.

"Yes, yes, of course. It is quite simple, my radiant mourning dove. I wish to paint you." Lifting a hand of knives, he summoned an easel, tall canvas, and a stand topped with ink pots and brushes.

"Skitharix, how delightful. I would love that. Is there anywhere you'd like me? Shall I sit? Stand?" Phage was excited at the prospect.

"I can't decide, honestly. Your beautiful elegance is the most incredible. But so is your elegant beauty! Such a conundrum. Your charming grace. Your graceful charm." Hunching over, Skitharix splayed out his finger knives in hopes of cutting the answer from the air.

Phage thought for a moment, and decided for him. While Skitharix was still mumbling to himself, she changed into the lovely silk lingerie he had made. Going over to her bed, she pulled down the front of her dress and let the garment fall free to pool around her feet, kicking off her anklets as well. Naked but for her underwear, and mask, she felt supremely vulnerable. Yet, trusted no other to see her in such a way. By holding onto the canopy support she hid behind, her arm covered her small bosom while giving her hips enough tilt to show off the decorative roses between her legs.

"Skitharix, love, over here." She hoped her pose was erotic, rather than smutty.

Perking up as he remembered where he was, Skitharix peered from under his hood and froze for a moment. "Magnificent," He whispered like a razorblade across a leather strap. Clicking forward, his cloaked hulk ducked behind the canvas to depict his vision of her.

It was easy for Skitharix to lift a series of brushes with his strings and paint that way. With machine precision guided by an artist's eye, he rendered her image in black ink on the stark white canvas. His strokes captured the smooth contours of her limbs, slight dip in her waist, up to the harsh grinning visage of her mask. Phage was already a masterpiece, so all he had to do was ink her as she was, lean with muscles taut as a whipcord. Befitting the Pale Rider in her nature. Unbound from its braid, her raven black hair cascaded down to her lower back in a waterfall of dark.

In scant minutes, he was done. Her exact likeness transcribed in shadow on the tall canvas. He only kept the poster of the bed and the dress rumpled at her feet as backdrop. The rest of the space was dedicated to her, and only her. Despite the harshness of the midnight ink, Skitharix was quite pleased with the results. He turned the painting around for Phage to see. She came out from behind the bed, not at all minding the way he drank in her expanse of ivory skin.

"It's wonderful." She breathed, unprepared for the quality of his portrait, blessed by the opportunity to see herself through his eyes. Phage wanted to ask if he would hang it in his home, to be reminded of her. She wanted to hug him as she had Lurk, and remembered that Skitharix was much more fragile.

Struck by melancholy, Phage sat down on her lounge. Then overwhelmed by it, she lay back, covering her eyes with a forearm. "Skitharix, are you happy with what we have? Do I... Meet your needs?" She felt remorseful at the selfish question. Which in turn only deepened her contrition.

"Well of course, my devastatingly delightful damsel. What more could this humble puppeteer ask for than to bask in the presence of High Lord Lurk's most beautiful creations?" He hovered close at her side.

"It does not bother you that I cannot... We cannot... Have closer contact?" She held her hand out, a ghost breath from Skitharix' trailing cloak, peaking underneath her forearm.

It was strangely fitting that as unintended incarnations of Lurk's grief and madness, that the two of them were forever entwined, yet not meant to ever touch.

"Is that what has you troubled? Does it bother you, Dread Lady that this creature is but metal and wire? Even were we able to have closer contact, I am machine and nerve. I cannot give the union of flesh." Bright vermilion eyes flashed within the sockets of his metallic skull, burning like coals in the depths of his hood.

"Of course not, Skitharix. I would love you all the same." She answered without hesitation.

"I do not need to touch you to be close to you. Nor do I have to use my knives or strings for us to be together." He stood directly over her. "Close your eyes my raven-dove. Let my words be what touch you. High Lord Lurk's gift to me was expanse of the mind. Allow me to share that with you. Dance with me in the spaces between the swinging pendulum of real. Madness is just another word for abstract thought. And within, there is no such thing as limitation."

He spoke more, but the words became blurred as Phage allowed herself to drift.

She felt him touch her as the moon touched the sea. Her ocean, still and calm, was tugged by the heavens. Her waves lapping at him. Skitharix caressed those curves he had been painting with the gravity of his want. His contact was a wing, feathers, paintbrushes. So soft and gentle. Though her outside was that of poise, it was also that of unbreakable Darksteel resolve. That was her duty. Her purpose. Steel and bone wrapped in silk. And with Skitharix, all she knew was silk.

Within that space she was the ocean, pulled and pushed by the moon, yet she was also engulfed by Skitharix, falling back into the depths that were her, and now him. In the next moment they were as yin and yang. Two halves of a whole. Equal. Warm breath on the back of her neck. Lips leaving ghostly kisses on her throat. Unreal fingers trailing up the buttermilk expanse of her stomach while hands kneaded her thighs.

As his feather touch caressed the modest swell of her breasts, liquid silk soon trickled from her core. Her sensitive buds stiffened and her bosom broke out in gooseflesh as more attention fell there. Skitharix was utterly delighted by the demure cuteness of his raven-dove's nipples. Skitharix followed the kindled pleasure to its source. Her vulva was plump with pink arousal and blushed more shamefully than her cheeks. Though she knew it was impossible, Phage also knew that she reveled in the way Skitharix parted her. She was a creature of the real, and craved her sex to be opened and filled.

Within their shared space, Phage's nethers were rendered into a flower, her delicate pink slit adorned with drops of sticky dew. Skitharix then was the gardener. He was a meticulous creature, grooming her from top to bottom, stem to pistil. The way her pearl glistened as a treasured center to her sex was almost irresistible. He got there slowly. More folds, petals, and secret places for him to explore and expose. When he pulled back the nerve-rich hood protecting her clitoris, strings of that floral dew formed a crystal web as she bloomed. She was so responsive, and he was far from done.

She was somehow more than Skitharix could have ever imagined. A living canvas that breathed and moaned and writhed beneath his strokes.

"Would you sing for me, raven-dove?" Just at the asking, Phage tasted Skitharix' want of her, and glorified herself in it. To be coveted for herself was enough to warble songbird moans. Just like a rose, the petals of Phage continued to blossom under the skilled artistry of her lover. That same expertise which painted her likeness, now reached into every crease and fold.

Soon her feminine desires rooted themselves in his rich soil. He fed her with virile masculine lust. She was a field of ripe fruit trees and he was there to harvest. That fruit hung heavy with juice and eroticism in equal measure. Skitharix was a master within their realm, and formed her ache, need, want, into a proxy that pooled in his grasp, plucking her fruit and sampling its sweetness. He pierced her with his own desire to know her from within as any artist seeks to understand the heart of their lover.

Heady maleness stretched her wonderfully taut. Skitharix strung her tight and played her nerves as a master musician ran a violin bow across them. While her moans rose in pitch, he complimented the song by supplying a bass that made her whole body vibrate. A rumble of pleasure that quaked the roots she had buried in him.

Every secret place inside her was naked before her lover. The lips of her sex were flushed, the inner walls clenching. Skitharix knew every detail as the smooth muscle of her cervix responded so nicely to his circling brushstrokes. Finding just the right amount of stretch to apply to her tunnel was a delightful task. Once he discovered the proper pressure, he maintained it as a constant undertone, her rose forced to display its vulnerable belly.

His impossibly intimate reach did not end there. Skitharix reveled in understanding the furthest sacred depths of his silk-steel raven-dove. Her womb was a cup that overflowed with lush ambrosia. A magnificent melody of muscles and nerves surrounded her chalice in a symphonic cocoon. Skitharix found the range of sound and color he could illicit by pulling and tugging on the right chords turned a trickle into a river of ecstasy for Phage.

Then it was time for the crescendo. His being poured into her as their intercourse reached its peak. Climax engulfed Phage, her edges blurring as the sea churned, distorting the reflection of the moonlight on its waves. The liquid need that gushed from her womb formed ribbons of color weaving together as she for a blinding moment, did not know where she began, and he ended.

Shuddering and disengaging from the dreamspace, Phage was right where she had left herself, gone out of time for quite a few minutes at least.

Skitharix gave Phage space to catch her breath and also to recover some of his own vigor. She tried to stand and immediately sat back down, her legs quaking. Reaching a hand between her legs, she pressed a hand to her throbbing, overly sensitive sex. Oh yes, her mind had made real the climax Skitharix had coaxed from her. Also her pretty new panties were completely soaked.

Finally finding the strength to overcome the wobble, she peeled off her soiled undergarments and tossed them onto her discarded dress.

"That... Was amazing." She panted.

"It was my pleasure, truly." Skitharix whistled as a crackling shudder ran down his spine, twitching all the while. Phage then surprised him by lifting up her mask just enough to keep her face hidden, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the air a scant few inches from his cheek. His mechanical heart skipped a beat as the unfiltered breath of affection from death herself washed over him. Then he watched in admiration as Phage's toned, naked backside sauntered toward her bathroom.

As untouchable grief and flayed madness, their union could not be physical. Yet because of this, neither were they bound by such petty limitation.

Never to touch. But forever entwined.

***BSL***

Author's Notes:

So, as a hilarious aside, Harmony's heat was inspired by something I read some time ago, asking whether or not elves would have periods. And, as stated in my chapter, it makes much more sense from our understanding of the natural world, if elves just periodically had times where they were just extra horny! I won't go into the full details or else we'd be here all day. It is a fascinating subject nonetheless!

Harmony's Pyre Crown was inspired by those items in game that really have no intrinsic value except to stand as markers of accomplishment. Those cosmetics or pieces of armor that serve no purpose except to show off what someone has accomplished.

In my head, really, YGGDRASIL was everything. Every minigame and social space and activity you can imagine. A bit of everything all mixed together. All to fuel unprecedented player freedom and customizability. Ship breaking. Racing. Fighting. Exploring. Trading. Mining. Everything! To me, anyway.

Until next time, gentle reader.