“Lady” Moire

Ilyanas Tomb of Doom


And so for a time the crew and I joined the Shadow Thieves, and I became the henchman of Moire, a rather vulgar thief, but an effective thief. Her vulgarity  was an extension of her boldness, that’s why it was fairly easy to find myself on her silk sheets, nude, eating occasional nibbles from a purple ball of tar-like “Hebris” compound imported from the far lands.

Yes, there were chains on my feet, and often on my wrists–especially if I drifted off to fantasy land composed by the “Hebris” tar, and thus dreamed in a precarious position. I allowed this to happen to me, for it was the quickest way to get Moire to trust me as her “inferior.” When she grew tired of my devoted caresses, she slapped me, unchained me, and tore the brass bowl of Hebris from my  hands. “Look at you. Little more than my whore…

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