Sex will be occuring, but not in the first few 'episodes'. If you have any suggestions as to how I can improve my writing please don't hesitate to leave a comment.

Chosen

As the wretchedly cold winds whipped about the clearing, the tan-scaled Dreki Vakar watched with detached disinterest as the Trial reached it's predicted conclusion. The victorious girl, whom his reptilian eyes fell upon, would not survive the night unless it was the goddess' desire to see otherwise. The Dreki Vakar watched with inhuman apathy as tiny flecks of snow drifted down onto the girl's shuddering body as she lay, curled upon the once white ground.

Pearls of ruby had danced about her person when, against her, the final blow was struck. She had not lost, hers was the killing blow, yet he who 'till this day had been the Jarl's son; he who had been favoured by the gods; he had dealt a dying thrust with his sword. The chipped, cold, iron tip had pierced the girl just below the shoulder. The blade, a noble weapon looted from a noble man, had continued upwards on it's destructive journey. It had parted her flesh, drove through muscle - raw red meat - before it had finally reached it's elected destination. The girl lay, curled, amidst the once white ground the sword wedged into her shoulder blade. The crowed cheered.

Some would debate the value of Penticanian faith. They, bold scholars, claim that faith cannot exist where proof of the divine lies. The Penticanians counter such an argument by pointing out the apparent inactivity of so-called civilised gods. 'At least the Dreki Tivar care enough to show themselves' is often the Penticanian response.

One such proof of the divine watched, with the same dispassionate gaze as her Dreki Vakar, as the human clutched pitifully at the item of her demise. The goddess was annoyed. Normally the Trials went without such issues as this. Normally one would remain and become a Dreki Vakar, the other would die. It was clean, simple, unsurprising. The goddess held an acute dislike toward surprises; surprises and the interference of Shaline elves.

The Shaline Emissary shook her head and sighed at the barbarism on display. She had foreseen the jeers and shouts of the crowd. She had foreseen the young girl die here, scant feet from where the Emissary stood, she had seen that so many times. The Emissary had also foreseen in vision what would come after the girl's death and she knew why it had to be stopped. The elf did not know then just how wrong she was. So, with decisive steps the Shaline Seer strode towards the injured form.

Nobody stepped forth to oppose her as the Emissary knelt beside the wounded girl and closed her eyes. The elf blocked all things, but the sword, from her trained mind. She ceased to hear the jackal crowd; she ceased to feel the wind on her skin; she ceased to sense the presence of the draconic form lurking behind her; all she knew was the weapon.

With her mind, the elf separated the metaphysical border between reality and the Aether. Channelling magic through her body was not an unpleasant experience, no Lamia would describe it as such, but no Lamia would describe it in the same way either. For her, it always started as a warm tingling in the tips of her fingers, followed by a nervous empty feeling in her stomach and finally the exhilarating release as by her will the world was remade.

By the Emissary's will the sword faded from the girl's body, turning into more snow which hovered about the elf's form as blood rushed to her cheeks. The Shaline closed her eyes as she focused on the difficult process of stitching flesh and bone. The wounded girl opened her eyes and screamed.

The pain was like no other, it was worse than when the sword had found it's mark. It was a thousand needles pushing their way, slowly, into her flesh. It was her body stretched upon an Inquisitorial rack. She clawed at the snowy ground, howled at the sky and called out begging the goddess to end her torment.

The Emissary licked her lips as the power continued to spread though her nubile elfin body. She continued to focus on the convulsing young girl and her wound. Focused on the completion of the spell, despite the dampness spreading between her legs. Finally the elf stood, shaking, as the spell reached it's conclusion. No words were uttered, no apologies made, the Emissary just left the girl lying there and strode back to her position beside the Dragon whom the ignorant barbarians had named 'goddess'. The Dreki Vakar uttered a low growl as he caught the Emissary's aroused scent.