Seated at a table, Warren glared at his knife as he ran a whetstone over the edge. He'd been sharpening it for half an hour and the edge was so thin he had already nicked himself several times. He was waiting, foot tapping impatiently on the floorboards, for the team to finally get down for breakfast. They needed to leave right now, they had to get away as quickly as possible, they needed to save Lycinth-

But Lycinth had been missing for almost two years. Realistically, nothing would change in the hour or two it was taking Ash to realize it was long past dawn. Still, an itching sensation was working its way through Warren's mind, telling him urgently that they didn't have a moment to spare.

Reflecting, even Warren could agree that Lycinth was an odd character. He carried with him a sense of quiet that suggested many layers of calm plastered over a core of emotions and contradictions. Warren's first impression of Lycinth had been one of light, a torch left to die out in the inky blackness of the Under-dark.

The day after Arris had invited Warren to bodyguard the shipment of flowers, Warren took his ruskan and used the usual roundabout way to get to the secret greenhouse. He was sure it'd be a simple job, but just in case the Lilio were sniffing around he bought an expensive pair of slipper-like shoes that had been enchanted by the Lilia, the branch of Lilio that practiced magic. The shoes were light as feathers, and allowed the wearer to walk, run, and climb silently and quickly. It was a feature of life in a drow city that climbing was often necessary, and Warren had no intention of leaving himself stranded without escape routes.

The path he was following was spiderweb thin, barely more than a collection of small rocks and pebbles pushed together. His ruskan wasn't fazed by the rough terrain, its long fingers and toes gripping tightly to the ground as it carried him up the side of the cavern. The ruskan were curious creatures, bred by the Lilio expressly for transport in the deep caverns and underground rivers of the Under-dark. They were content to graze on the various plant matter that grew in all the moist cracks and corners, as long as they got a couple spiders a day as well. Occasionally the Lilio would go on spider-raiding hunts for that very reason, fighting through the thick, clogging webs so that they could feed the spiders - ranging from the size of a rabbit to the size of a chair - to the baby ruskan.

Faint noises from ahead of Warren caused him to look up, towards the cave exit he'd been heading towards. Light emanated from it, along with shouts and the sound of metal and stone. That wasn't Arris, or either of the other drow coming to help that night. Had the Lilio already caught on?

Warren jumped off of his ruskan and tapped it twice on the shoulder, the signal that it should head back to the city. He dropped his pack under a rock and took off around the trail, trying to get a better look into the passageway. As it turned out though, he didn't need to.

With a large amount of squealing and banging a wagon emerged from the passageway, crudely and hurriedly made out of a patchwork of wooden planks. On the wagon, two dead bodies lay. The wagon was still a good distance away, but Warren could see that one of them was Arris. The other, he assumed, was one of the other two in on the deal. That was strange... the Lilio didn't normally kill people. And they wouldn't have such an informal wagon.

Warren crept closer, trying to get a better glimpse of the people surrounding the wheelbarrow. There were five, with black clothes and hoods. As he watched, one of them pulled the hood off and blinked furiously, attempting to get something out of her eye. Warren went stock-still, barely breathing. It was Hrilla. The last member of their team. As the wagon rattled past his hiding spot, Warren could make out symbols attached to every drow's clothing. They looked rather like a sideways s, wrought in bronze. it was the mark of the Loili, the splinter Lilio group that had been haunting Ssussun for months. And Hrilla had joined them. 

Slipping away, Warren climbed back down to the path to think. There was an emergency ruskan where the greenhouse had been built, hidden in the bunker. It was probable that the Loili had destroyed the entrance to the Surface, but he doubted that they had gotten rid of the entire system. Too many valuable items - they'd come back later to do an excavation. He estimated that he had two days or so before they came for him.

Reflecting on his past alone in the inn, Warren realized how lucky he'd been to escape. It had taken the Lioli three days to discover he was gone and figure out where he must be hiding. By then, he had managed to grab supplies and vanish into the city. He'd managed to survive off of his stolen items and coins for some time, but it was only a matter of time before he was caught. He was on death's door, waiting for the inevitable to occur. That's when Lycinth appeared.

Surface dwellers don't normally come to the Under-dark, and if they do they almost never go to a drow city. Even if they were to go to a drow city, Ssussun was one of the last ones they would choose. Such a large drow society wastes little affection on others and wastes even littler time killing them. So there was quite a stir when a young man, wearing silver armor and with blond hair, arrived in the cavern. Bets were placed on how long he would last, ranging from five minutes to a high of four hours. But to Warren, he represented a way out of his predicament. Warren pinpointed where Lycinth was and (knowing what would happen eventually) waited. Not half an hour in, a slight sound showed Warren that he was correct. A drow was creeping up on Lycinth, dagger in hand. Farther back some of her friends were egging her on, laughing in delight.

As soon as the young drow was in the doorway of the small cavern Lycinth was staying in, Warren dropped down from where he'd been hiding and hit the side of her head with his knife handle, knocking her senseless. Her friends glanced at each other, unsure of what to do, but Warren took a few steps towards them and they quickly vanished into the darkness.

Lycinth sat up and stared at Warren. "What did you do that for?"

Warren stared back, dumbfounded. "She was going to kill you!"

"No, she was going to try. You didn't have to stop her."

What? Out loud, Warren replied, "Look, I need your help. Let's just agree that I saved you, okay? That saves us a lot of bother."

Lycinth looked unconvinced. "Alright, I suppose. What do you need?"

"I can get you back up to the surface. I know a way."

"Okay. And in return?"

Warren took a steadying breath. This was his only chance to escape. "Can you show me around the surface? Or at least tell me what'll kill me - I need to leave, but I don't know what I'm dealing with up there."

Lycinth's face cleared. "Of course! That's why I came down here - I needed someone with a good sense of the underground for a mission I'm taking. If you come with me, I'd be happy to get out of here!"

A tiny movement from Warren's right caught his eye and he whipped around, staring at the passageway. Small shadows suggested that the drow who had been hanging back before were there again, and this time with friends. They had to get out of there. "Great, sounds awesome. Can we leave now?"

"By all means." Lycinth grabbed his pack and stared expectantly at Warren. "How do we leave?"

"Like this." Warren stared at the wall, looking for the crack he knew was there. Finding it, he slipped around Lycinth and beckoned him in. "There's a tunnel here. It doesn't lead out, but it connects to another tunnel that we can use to access the regular cave system. That one'll get us out."

Lycinth eyed the crack skeptically, but even he could see the drow shadows behind him and he was eager to leave. "I suppose we should get out of here. There are too many children with knives here for my liking."

Warren snorted. "I've had my knife since I was eleven." Catching Lycinth's puzzled expression, he hastily clarified. "Elf years, y'know? Eleven is very young."

"Ah, that makes sense. It is still young for humans, though."

In this way Warren scrabbled and crawled and waded and climbed through the crevices and caverns of the Under-dark, and out of the only life he'd ever known.

It stinks, as in the smell. You know, two (or more) sweating and moaning persons going at it can get pretty nasty with all that genitalia waving around everywhere.

It is not visually appealing often; parts of it are, don't get me wrong. But a dirty crack is the same anywhere I see it: gross.

I suppose the sounds aren't too bad, that is until a sneaky queef escapes or bellies slap together just a little too hard. I giggle a bit during those moments.

The physical sensation of touch is nice, unless my nipples are grazed; I tell ya, I just do not get nipples, they confuse the heck out of me.

Hair gets in mouths, body fluids get on the bed, sometimes we just aren't into it, and sometimes a snuggle is all we need.

You know what, though. Sex is beautiful and fun, so long as everyone consents. There are a lot of feelings that I can express only during sex. Words that cannot be expressed through language, emotions that can only be felt during the chemical throws our brains go through during sex, and I have never felt closer to my significant other than at those times.

So much that I wish I knew how it could be said is expressed during those moments.

Sex is so much more than a climax. It's a longing, a build up, a giggle, a tickle, a rush of excitement, and a sigh of contentedness.

It is resting in the arms of someone you can trust and feel safe with. It is one of the many ways to express our internal desire to be loved and to love.

Just don't touch my nipples.

I could not see my opponents eyes behind her face mask, but I knew they were in there watching me as she intended to give me all she got, ready to pummel me, blow after blow after blow upside my head, hammering into my meaninglessness, but I had no intentions of giving up.

At first I said without clenched fists,

"No, no, no. That's not for me; no thank you ma'am," waving my pointer finger back and forth right up in her face and she just decided to humor me, walking away from our fight all high and mighty knowing she'd be back, unceremoniously whispering,

"Fat chance. We all know who's gonna win this one when the fat lady sings."

Like a windswept egg dropped from its nest onto the pavement, it came upon me so suddenly with the refusal still glued to my tongue, the pressure mounting and mounting until I believed I had no choice but to walk out to the end of the pier.

"Oh, that's how it is," as I decided the time had come to surrender. So I said,

"Hit me. Hit me again and again till my bruised skin falls off and jumps in the boat with the pain and I don't even need to watch because I can already hear them all singing,

"Row row row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream."

After some time, one by one, uninvited, from the point of no return, the boats began to come back and I told them to stop but there was no one left within them to navigate, so naturally they began to amass, to pile up, stacking themselves so haphazardly suffocating everything near and dear, including me.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" I said to her waving my fists in the air, "Do you think we can start over?"

And my unmasked opponent said to me, "You do know you already crossed the finish line, don't you?" Fat chance."