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The Selfishness Of Love free porn video
“Thank you, Dywyr. I know that you think it’s foolish of me to want to come here.” Iona cringed as they passed a stall hung with the butchered meat of humans and other sentient races. Once she could breathe past the smell again, “I’m glad you’re here to keep me from ending up like that.”
“You’re welcome.” As always, his voice was uninflected. Iona couldn’t see his face, but she was certain that it hadn’t changed expression.
“You’ve made a lot of progress over the last couple of years, but I think we still need to work on how you interact with people,” she observed quietly. “And I need to work on dealing with this excessive amount of jewelry.” Iona knew that she was safer posing as Dywyr’s slave given the cities treatment of the less-powerful races. She could be walking down the street with a little entourage of water elementals, but that took so much energy. It just didn’t make sense to come for sight-seeing and then be too tired to see straight. It didn’t follow that she had to like it, though. About to launch into another explanation of social mores and customs for Dywyr’s benefit, she was stopped short by the whizzing past of a speeding hovercar. The crowd scattered, and Iona watched in frustration as a pair of slave girls across the street tried to dodge. The pretty-looking chains they wore as attachments to their master’s litter were no less strong than steel, and did not give. The grazing impact of the hovercar’s bumper sent both girls spinning around face first into the side of the litter’s frame with a crack. Iona dashed over to the now slumped bodies, tabling her rage as she knelt down. A long crack in one slave’s head was leaking blood, pooling in quickly gumming streaks in the folds of the silks she wore. The other girl was dead, her neck broken. She could wait until Iona worked on the one that was still alive. Confident that Dywyr would watch over her while she worked, Iona settled into the ritual that might let her save this girl’s life. Her eyes closed and psionic energy changed the world around her. Every cell in her body surrendered its latent capabilities, and she saw the slave girl through her closed eyelids. The gash in her skull was a brilliant green, and other more minor injuries were highlighted with various intensities of color. Her hands, now a ghostly white, reached past the hair and skull of the girl into her body and began to draw the edges of the damaged tissue back together. Where the pieces were missing or too badly damaged, she created new flesh, blood, and bone, drawing on the pool of energy available to her. She grew distracted for a moment, thinking about how weird she must look to crowd members unfamiliar with the psychic variant of surgery. Regaining her focus, she finished work on the skull and moved on to the minor fractures and cosmetic flaws caused by the impact.
Some time later, the girl’s life saved, Iona transferred her attention to the dead slave, coming out of her trance to do so. Surgery just wouldn’t work on this one. Iona drew in a deep breath before continuing. It would be so nice to fall asleep, she thought. Channeling all of that energy was exhausting, although it had grown less so over the years that she had refined her talent. Placing the fingers of her right hand on the phoenix tattoo over her left breast, she rested her left hand on the forehead of the body. The popping noises of a fire in full blaze filled her ears, and she nearly choked on the phantom char in the air. The skin around the phoenix tattoo felt as if it were burning, and the hand on the slave’s forehead seemed to be sinking through the skin with heat. Iona concentrated on the cooling touch of water to block the pain that ripped through her, starting right over her heart in the middle of the tattoo and streaking down her arms. That would fade in time. Pain is temporary, she reminded herself, and the reward of healing another is permanent. The owner of the girl directed another slave to snatch his now-living litter bearer back. Iona sighed. There were limits to what one person could do in any given day. Changing the basis of an entire society was beyond her on this one. Dywyr stood with his wings outstretched to gain as much space in the crowded streets as possible. Iona realized that he must have been paying pretty close attention to her to notice her discomfort in crowds, and this made her smile.
“How long did I take,” Iona wondered. It had been day when she started, and it was light out now, but she knew from experience that that didn’t mean much.
“Five hours,” was his reply. “Many beings wanted to buy you.”
Iona rolled her eyes and started to speak. A peace-keeping official in the city’s armor came forward and addressed Dywyr, pulling out a tablet as he did so.
“Your slave has violated several laws, most importantly the ones prohibiting vandalism of property.” Iona was confused until she realized he meant the slave she had healed. He went on to list the specific infractions by article name and number. “You have the options of turning it over to the city, or paying the fine it incurred.” The official stopped his recitation, looking expectantly at Dywyr.
“I will pay.”
“Sign here.” Dywyr signed the tablet, and the official walked off. Iona was pinker than she had been before, and avoided looking at Dywyr. Who knew that helping someone could get you in trouble? Apparently, Dywyr did. She was used to acclaim and sometimes awe at her abilities. To be honest, kind of expected that short of thing. Well, Salamir just wasn’t a place like anywhere that she was used to. This reminder in place, Iona sighed and ventured, “How about the scenic route to the hotel? I don’t care how tired I am from using my powers, I want to see at least some of Salamir.”
“OK.” At least he doesn’t look mad, Iona thought. Other people might not be able to read him, but I can, she assured herself. Now smiling again, she turned to follow Dywyr.
A creature strode across the street to them that Iona realized was a basilisk. Very large, very scaly, and carrying with it the ever-present threat of it deciding to turn someone to stone through it’s gaze. Iona hoped that this encounter wouldn’t last long, and bit her tongue to prevent unfortunate outbursts. She also hoped that the thing was not a telepath. Basilisks had been her father’s favorite villain when he told his children bedtime stories. Discovery of that would most likely not extend her lifespan.
“I would also like to buy it, Sir Ylan.” Iona’s curiosity was triggered hearing this creature say Dywyr’s name, but she kept to the expected demeanor of slaves and remained silent. “It’s not often that one finds such a beautiful slave that is also so useful.” The beast grabbed Iona’s arm with its tail, turned it so that the tattoos on her wrists were visible. “And Thelarian. Very nice. It’s so tiring to replace humans every few decades.”
“No.”
The basilisk removed its tail and made a casual offer. “Then I challenge you to a fight in the arena. The winner will be its owner.” Iona was doubly irked. She wasn’t so wanted as they’d thought. And she hadn’t stopped to consider that Dywyr’s arena reputation would bring every half-trained gladiatorial aspirant running as soon as he returned to Salamir. Maybe coming here was a bad idea for a lot of reasons.
“No.” Dywyr, in an obvious effort not to make the creature mad, added, “You would be a challenging opponent, but I no longer fight for the entertainment of others.” The basilisk let out a low growl, but did not press the issue.
Over the next few hours, Iona and Dywyr explored the stalls and shops of the interdimensional marketplace of Salamir. Her fatigue wore off almost instantly from the excitement of new experience. Even through the numerous challenges issued to Dywyr, and the discomfort of her slave wear, Iona couldn’t help being fasci
nated by the variety of goods and services being offered. The variety of beings here was also staggering. Iona felt like the stereotypical tourist as she caught herself staring at dragons and demons, elves and gargoyles. It was relieving when they were approaching the hotel and were hailed by a human. They might not be her species, but they looked like it and to Iona, were a lot less threatening than dragons.
The man was a walking rack of discount energy clips, guns, grenades and knives. And sweat, Iona noted. The heat would fry anybody wearing that much. She absently wondered if there was some kind of body modesty taboo where he was from. She knew Dywyr was sizing him up as a possible opponent. You can take the gladiator out of the arena…she brought her attention back to what was going on.
Smiling, the human clasped forearms with Dywyr, ignoring Iona.
“Sir Ylan? Bigshot hero?”
“I am Sir Ylan.” Iona thought about taking this opportunity to coach Dywyr, but decided against it. He was probably already a little upset from all the fuss today.
The human’s manner changed from friendly to cocky and insulting. “Well, my patron has a friend of yours, name of Benny Velasquez. If you’re willing to fight, I’m willing to hand him over. You don’t even need to win to get him back. When you show up for the fight, he’ll be delivered wherever you want. I just want a chance to show Salamir what a flash in the pan, one shot wonder you are, you scaly, flying freak.”
“Proof?” This sounded a little cryptic to Iona, but it apparently made sense to the person Dywyr directed it at, who reached into a bag and pulled out Benny’s guitar case. Iona held her hands out without really thinking. The man stopped in the process of putting the case back, shrugged, and handed it over. Iona held it carefully, hoping that the centuries-old instrument was still intact. Benny would be furious if it wasn’t. Iona fervently informed herself that this would be relevant.
“I will kill you.” Iona blinked as this came out of her friend’s mouth. She wasn’t sure why, but it always startled her when he was violent. She considered him much more gentle than that.
“Sure you will, scale-boy. You just be at the Great Arena tomorrow at two o’clock. You get your friend, alive and well, and I get my shot.” Not waiting for a reply, he started off, then stopped and turned to Iona. “Just think, tomorrow this time, I could be your owner.” His smirk got wider as she pretended not to hear him. In reality, she was just thankful that Benny was still, at least in theory, in fair condition.
Once inside their room, Iona turned to put some new things away, stating crisply, “Well, I hope his cute little predictions don’t come true. I know you’ll be training until the fight tomorrow, so just please remember to have the staff here feed me. I hate not being able to take care of myself, but this was my bright idea.” Her tone changed, lowering as she turned slowly back to face the man behind her, “Dywyr…” then more normally, “Never mind. You just do what you have to and I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Dywyr turned, stopped, and spoke again. “You know what to do if I fail?”
Iona nodded. “Don’t worry. I remember, and I’ll make sure that Benny does, too.”
Dywyr left the room then, presumably to train and to order food. Iona settled into a comfortable position and began to meditate. When her mother taught her and her sister to meditate, she told them to concentrate on one image, a familiar one. That would help anchor them as they explored themselves. Iona used to use the pyramid at the center of her town, and then the glyph for water that she knew so well. Lately, she had been using Dywyr’s face. In her capacity as his social instructor, she had to be able to read his face when it changed expressions.
As she thought, she felt the reserves of mystical energy in her body regaining what they had lost through helping the slave girl. Should Dywyr die tomorrow, she would probably remain in Salamir, a slave in reality then. This possibility didn’t much concern her. Iona was sure he could handle most anything Salamir had to offer. But it would be pretty bitter if he escaped from slavery only to die back in the arena.
Now in need of distraction from her morbid thoughts, Iona started casting spells. She summoned a lesser water elemental and had a long conversation about the different types of rain. As she thought about how Benny and Dywyr would react if present, she admitted to herself that only a meteorologist, water elemental or water mage could possibly find this conversation interesting. Just before falling asleep, her thoughts returned to the fight.
Iona looked around the booth. Very clean. Much cleaner than one would expect a booth of an arena in a hideous, monster-filled city to be. She sighed and reminded herself once again not to make assumptions. The booth’s other occupant was Benny, stuffing his face full of snacks from the vendors. When she and Dywyr had arrived, Benny had been displayed to them. Dywyr had gone into the preparation area, and Benny had been given over to Iona. As they still had hours before the fight, she ran him back to the hotel, waited for him to shower and then brought him back. This had been somewhat interrupted by Benny’s joyous reunion with his guitar. Having decided it might come to harm at the arena, Benny had reluctantly left it behind when they returned. Iona recognized that as a true act of love.
Having eaten now, Benny was curious. “So, what happened?” From what he’d already told Iona, he didn’t remember anything about the previous day, and had had a horrible taste in his mouth when he woke up. Iona’s tentative diagnosis was that he had been drugged.
“Well, Dywyr got a lot of challenges yesterday. One of them was from some human who said he had you, but would give you back if Dywyr showed up to a fight today.” Iona was arranging the settings on her screen as she told him this. She could see just fine, but the commentary would be in Salamirian if she didn’t figure out how to reset it for this booth’s station.
“Oh.” Benny mulled this over for awhile. “Who’s he fighting?”
“That same human guy. He was wearing a bunch of low-grade energy weapons and grenades. I didn’t see any hand to hand gear besides knives.”
“Not much of a challenge for Dywyr.” Unconcerned, Benny had gone back to munching the various snacks.
“Yeah. I’m wondering what he has up his sleeve.”
“What do you mean? Dywyr is the hand to hand man, and still damned good at range. An armorless cheapskate is no way a match for him.”
She spent the next few minutes explaining to Benny the number of small, easily concealable devices he could have that would pose serious threats. And that was without taking personal spells or psionics into account. Tapping one long, unpainted fingernail on Benny’s medallion, “Like this. Mr. Armorless Cheapskate could be wearing an armor medallion, just to give you one option.”
Benny held up a hand. “So you think he’s gonna die, Io?”
“Oh, no! I just wanted you to appreciate what he’ll be facing. I’ve no doubt that we’ll be walking out of here when this is over with a healthy Dywyr. He’s sensible, well-trained and not too cocky.” She looked at Benny directly now, “But I promise not to propose any more trips to Salamir as good ideas. I’m very sorry that you were taken, and I’m very sorry that Dywyr is getting ready to fight right now.”
In line with Benny’s image, he shrugged with utmost nonchalance and said, “Hey. It’s over now, and nobody got hurt.” He looked toward the center of the arena. “Yet.” Looking more closely at Iona, “But if you wanna maybe express your guilt in a way that will make both of us feel better…”
His sentence was ended by Iona’s fist wrapping itself arou
nd his throat. Iona figured that he had a tendency to forget how strong and not interested in him she was. Maybe not forget, more like indulge in wishful thinking. Benny closed his mouth and a glaring Iona released him.
Massaging his neck, “Geez, Io, you need to loosen up. Maybe you’re a little more worried than you’re letting on, huh?”
Iona saw a nine foot tall insectoid vendor, and pointed. “Hey Benny, it’s within lunging range and possibly female. Go ask it to sleep with you.”
Fidding with the dials on the side of his chair, Benny responded with, “Io, I don’t think you’re gonna be sitting down for this fight. At least not in these chairs.” Iona just quirked an eyebrow. “I see dragon, elf, minotaur, titan….but I don’t see a setting for cranky Thalerian.”
“Switch off, Benny. I’m not in the mood for this right now.”
“I think somebody is more attached to Benny Velasquez than she wants anyone to know. I think this someone used to think affairs with us short-lived humans were a bad idea. I think this someone has changed her mind, but doesn’t know how to say anything to the man whose sex appeal has conquered her oh-so-logical arguments. I think…”
“I think Benny Velasquez should shut up because the fight’s about to start.” Iona shelved her annoyance at their conversation, focusing totally on the bottom of the arena’s bowl.
Over the radio in their booth, they heard, “The challenger is one of Delranda’s nobodies, a real human’s human, all guts, no brains, and bad equipment. He has no record in the arenas of Salamir and no recommendations. But he’s found a patron to pay the money and come here today to get in the face of the defender, and doesn’t seem to have any worries. No one knows if he’s a mage, a psychic, or just some guy with a grudge, but let’s have some pity-cheers for Jack Daltrey.” There was some half-hearted cheering for the human who walked out onto the sand and began posing. The radio continued, “Defending his reputation and, we understand, involved in a little side bet, is Sir Dywyr Ylan, one of the world’s champions of good, member of the Brotherhood of Ilothi Knights, devoted to protecting the world from chaos, evil and destruction.” There was a lot of laughing in the arena. “Sir Ylan used to be a gladiatorial slave right here in Salamir, even if he never made it to this arena, but today he’s returned to face the challenge of Jack Daltrey. His record is 12-0-0. Alright spectators, let’s watch incompetence battle futility!” There were a lot of cheers at that, as the beings in the arena got more excited about the match. Iona decided not to take the time right now to be pissed that Dywyr’s effort, and by extensions her own, were being called futile. There would be time for that later.
Iona watched Dywyr as he went thought his posing, flexing, dancing routine. When they’d first started traveling together, she’d thought he danced for pleasure. Later on, he’d corrected her. He had been taught to dance to show off his grace and dexterity. Now, he was striking airborne poses and ignoring his opponent as the human tried to put on a show of his own. The radio called for all bets to be placed. Iona asked, “Are you going to bet, Benny?”
“Nah. If it’s not a sure thing, I’m not interested.”
Iona bet half of hers, registering the wager with the screen and feeding her credit stick briefly into the machine.
Once all of the bets were placed, the radio came to life again. “Let the fight begin!”
Dywyr reacted much more rapidly than the human and leap-flew across the arena toward him. Just in time, Daltrey got his pistol out and fired. Dywyr parried the shot with one of the glowing blades suddenly extending from his hands, the mark of the Ilothi Knights. Now on top of the human, blades gone for now, Dywyr knocked the gun aside and pinned one of the human’s arms behind his back. Daltrey kicked up, the cameras catching sight of the vibro-knife sticking out of the toe of his boot. Not completely unprepared for this, Dywyr did not let go, but his grip did loosen a little. Daltrey took full advantage of this and squirmed free, whirling to face Dywyr again with his hands outstretched. Dywyr extended his hands as well, and as blue light started to leave the Ilothi Knight’s, white streaks of lightning descended on him from the sky. He was surrounded by a nimbus as the forcefield he wore absorbed the energy of Daltrey’s attack. Daltrey’s smirk further faded as Dywyr still managed to expel the energy he had prepared, and the human staggered back, his armor somewhat less whole than it had been. Daltrey tried his lightning spells again and again, but they didn’t seem to be able to pierce Dywyr’s forcefield and the crowd was beginning to get bored with watching the Ilothi Knight slowly destroy the human. Iona was subconsciously holding her breath. Dywyr had to be wondering the same thing as she was—What had this guy been counting on to get him through this fight with victory? Holovids of Dywyr’s other matches were easily available.
Kierra
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