Bliss

*******NOTE*******

This chapter has very little erotic content and serves mainly to move the story along. You have been warned.

******NOTE********

Durzai had woke from his strange dream in a cold sweat. Dark elves lived far beneath the surface, where lava flows and the emanations of magical crystals kept things at a pleasantly warm temperature. It made him feel strange. He felt as if the ejaculation had at least been real; all the signs were there, including a wetness beyond what could be expected from sweaty sheets. However, a dream would not explain the phantom pains from where he had been clawed by the apparition claiming to be his daughter. He checked his body, and found no marks, but the pain was there. No matter. It had indeed been pleasurable, and the minor pain after the fact was nothing a warrior like him could not endure.

He stood and stretched, the normal waking routine of any mortal race, but it soon melded into a limbering exercise specific to the drow elves. He had gone the route of strength, using his brute force whenever he could, but he had vowed long ago that his speed and flexibility would not be sacrificed.

So he stretched. He thought of how Ailztirea would appreciate his range of motion in her bed, and a small growl escaped his lips. A knot of hate formed in his belly, and he thought of the half-drow girl from his dreams. He would not couple with his Mistress if he had any choice.

He thought of her as a spider. She had certainly played the black widow's game in the past. There was a sadistic coldness to even her most heated moments. Her erotic games were calculated, planned, designed to give her the most pleasure. It was adherence to her expectations that spared him the brunt of her punishments. Lesser males had died trying to please her. He had had to become attuned to her wishes, understanding exactly how much resistance she expected and supplying it, but also submitting at precisely the moment she expected. For all his skill at her games, he still believed that it was his size that gave her the greatest thrill, the domination of a hulking warrior, proving that she was stronger.

Durzai believed in passion, not planning. He hated the way she had forced him to become as calculating as her. He was happiest when he faced an opponent, and he could let his emotions run wild, using the pent-up anger to fuel his strength, then knowing a few moments of peace as he stood over their broken corpse, with their blood on his face.

A close second to that was when he was instructed to stud for the daughters of the House. Though the five who weren't his own were cut from the same cloth as their mother, none were at her level of madness and cruelty, and two were wild like him, full of angry passion that made their lovemaking anything but. He wondered if Ailztirea had not lied to him and if he was the father of those two as well, not the six that were acknowledged as his. Even among the depraved drow, that would be a crime. Perhaps their goddess would punish Ailztirea, he fantasized. He doubted it, though. The Spider Queen would not deign to punish one of her most favored servants for breaking such a taboo.

Durzai headed for the practice floor as he mused; he needed to work out some of his aggression.

As he stepped into the round, arena-like room, he scanned for a sparring partner, though he was really in no mood for it whatsoever. He NEEDED to work out the aggression; he didn't necessarily WANT to. He spotted a small female in the abbreviated robes of a novice priestess. She was awkwardly swinging a short sword, obviously distressed with the balance, but just as obviously unskilled. Her small pointed breasts heaved under a tight silk shirt, framed by the stiffer fabric of her vest, the vest that marked her as a minor servant of the goddess. It was the informal clothing of her station, not the temple robes she would wear at the academy she was no doubt enrolled in. Another little future tyrant in their matriarchal society.

Durzai thought she could use some practice, and closer scrutiny.

Modesty is not a dark elf virtue; her vestments were of the type that might be worn over armor in battle, just a vest and half-skirt of their House's color. Underneath, she wore leather shorts and that breast-molding silk shirt, less clothing than the sleepwear of some of the more prudish races of their world.

She glanced up nervously, as well she might, when he approached. She quit her fumbling with the small weapon, and waited for him to speak. Good. She didn't have the haughty attitude of a priestess yet.

"You seem to be having some trouble," came Durzai's rumbling baritone, deeper than most drow.

"Yes."

No excuses. Another point for her.

"Worry not about that weapon, until you can survive long enough to use it."

Her pretty brows furrowed.

"You are to be a priestess, in service to the Spider Queen. You will always have a retinue of protectors, and your own divine spells to defend yourself. If someone is swinging a weapon at you, worry about defense, not swinging back, little princess."

The way he ascribed the title to her made it clear it was not a compliment. He didn't know who she was, but she must have been very young. He envisioned her tiny body beneath his, smiling evilly for a moment, then he remembered the unlikelihood of that happening, and his face curled into a snarl. He whirled his practice chain around his head, the only moment of warning the diminutive priestess got. The chain, a simple length of metal links with a sheath of black silk, wrapped around her ankle, and she was jerked from her feet. The real weapon that it represented would have sawed at her leg with it's barbs, and he favored poisoning it for battle.

"Defense, little princess."

Durzai dumped the female on her rear many more times, wishing he was playing a far better game with her, wished it was a whip in his hands, wished she was naked instead of nearly so. Her weapon flew from her hands as her arm was nearly wrenched from its socket. She had no defense, no way of threatening him, and he could have done anything to her, except what he wanted to do. He held her tangled by the chain a moment longer, seriously contemplating hauling her that way to his bedchamber. He thought of trying his hardest to split her in two, then anger rose up as he thought of the one who was worthy of such attention: Bliss. She had said her name was Bliss.

"Go. Your lesson is over." Durzai couldn't keep the growl from his voice.

Durzai watched her hips sway as she limped from the practice room. Some of the House soldiers were staring, and he thought he might be reprimanded before the day was over. He left, still snarling.

Nothing in his waking life could interest him at that moment, so he took out his handcrossbow, a weapon the drow were famous for, and pricked himself with the bolt. His steps were faltering by the time he returned to his room, and he was asleep, put out by the dart, before his head touched the pillow.