Stars Rift, a community where change is the normal, the reality all who live or trade here deal with moment by moment; plans, plots, murder, mayhem and the pursuit of the most hedonistic of pleasures encompass it. Change just is, all know, accept and deal with it as it happens.

The one exception to his rule has always been the academy. This great bastion of learning and knowledge, where the arts of magic are taught to students, scholars come to discover and hone skill for purposes best left to the imagination.

Constant, unyielding, unbending, always there – a true solid foundation for the community; and yet even here the forces of change demand their tribute. A series of events have come about, one along with the other that is turning this stability upside down on its head; what the future holds no one knows definitely save for one thing – Charity is up to her ear-tuffs and then some with it.

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Tonight Justin watches over the inn while his father is off making deals for the various ales, beer, spirits and wines the customers so enjoy. He is happy to have some time free of his father; a father who only sees the value in family for the extra coins able to be generated. Coin, coin and more coin; that is the one true love of his father – not necessarily his only son.

The new sign, squeaking in the breeze as it hangs over the inn’s door reminds him of one definite change that has happened; let his father rage all he wants, for the sign now shows the places new name.

“Wolf-packs Den – Come in and have a bite.”

He knows, as he silently mouths the name, that it is far from original or very creative. Yet it does have some advantages, as his – a massive shudder goes through his stout frame – new family of were-wolves howl in great delight. Not a were-wolf himself, or dinner even, he managed to have a night with the Manx twins, and now the mothers-to-be are holed up elsewhere awaiting the birth of the newest pack members.

There has been one constant here though, now gone, that he misses dearly – Charity the cat-girl. She has moved to the Academy at the request of the Chancellor Storm Dragon himself.

There is one more change though, for good or bad, a fortune teller who gives her name as Mystique – swathed head to toe in desert robes, veils that muffle the voice, and gloves that extend to up under the sleeves, the only clear sight is her amethyst colored eyes unnerving all about her performances.

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For six days the crowds have been drawn in seeking her advice and fortunes to be told; her knowledge, skill and ability are such that many a deep secret is made known – to the delight of rivals and the damnation of the ones who now are vulnerable. She shows secrets of what is to come – of loves to be found and lost, great deeds done, wrongs that need to be righted, great rights needing to be wronged! Oh the range of cliental she draws are strange – showing up in disguises and speaking in all manner of languages, coded, or visual signs of letters and symbols floating in the very air between her and them.

Tonight though is a gathering of students from the Academy; twenty four students and four Journeymen who are of the faction belonging to Master Fox-glove. The leader is one called Jolah the Brazen. Rude, crude, brash and belligerent to the core of his being, he bullies and intimidates all around him. Now when tact and diplomacy would be the best case to handle a situation, he reverts true to style – supported by a band of sycophants.

“Why then, tell me why, will you not just give to me the answer I seek?” Fists pound against the table hard enough to make it bounce around while the voice; one that reminds all of a petulant spoiled brat finally told no continues to make the whining demand over and over again.

For many a minute the one called Mystique sits still until sudden laughter cuts across the entire inns room. All who hear it understand to the core of their being this sound – for it carries the authority of the wind of Fate and Destiny itself. Others hear the fortunes of treasure won and acclaims made unto the ages in their honor. For a small group though, all that is heard is the silent howl of an open grave.

Silence follows the laughter coming her. All eyes turn fully her way, undivided attention at hand.

“Oh the young pup who knows not what to ask; for you demand an answer to a question not considered or even spoken. So then speak your one question and then be gone – you are a pup who is not worth notice by those who are by far your betters.”

Rage builds in his eyes, clear indication he is fighting to control the torrent of scathing remarks awaiting the dam to be breached. “Very well then I shall ask a question. I demand to know my destiny and how to solve the killings going on of the mages at the academy; along with how each murder is tied in with the infernal cat-girl Charity and the Chancellor – so I will be able to claim my rightful place as a Master of the Academy instead of as a lowly student of the first year. I DEMAND MY DESTINY NOW!!!”

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Hearing the rage in the shouted end to Jolan’s question Justin looks over with grave concern; signaling for the half-ogre bouncers to position themselves to ‘escort the young man outside, via the wall if needed.’ Even the normal call of wagers, bets and shouts of encouragement are silent – all know something is happening beyond the ken of their own lives. Some of those with more sense than the rest bolt for the door or out the nearest of windows while time remains – and for most, there is precious little left.

Seeing those glowing amethyst eyes of Mystique Justin notices finally a pulsation in the armbands he wears, a gift from the Chancellor that provides his body the protection of plated armor from harm, and briefly enhances his strength when at labor with heavy loads. He recalls with each pulse happening – and with growing unease as well – the warning that these will save him or someone dear to him in the future…

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Mystique laughs once again. “So then the young pup without teeth has courage; demanding what he feels is rightfully his and his alone?” Jolah nodded, arrogant grin on his face, and smugly crossing his arms in recognition for his way being the best. His gaggles of associates snicker and howl encouragement about how his day of glory and fame is now at hand.

“So be it.” She responded with casual dismissal for his actions.

Picking up the top card of a Tarot deck, one emblazoned with the a setting sun, she laughs aloud as it begins to glow with the brilliance of a rising sun. A casual flick of the wrist sends it whirling across the table to land just inches shy of the Jolah. All see it pulsating with the light, power feeding upon power for the inevitable release about to occur.

Screams and pandemonium encompass the room as people hopelessly run for doors, stairs or dive at the very windows secured shut against the winds. Jolah and his associates look upon the card, clearly understanding that their doom is now at hand; all their vaunted self worth and pursuit for instant glory is coming to an abrupt and quite final end.

“Queen captures Knight,” Mystique calmly says as the world explodes in a devils brew of light, heat, fire and smoke. Death has come, calling for the masses tonight.

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Upon the rooftop chimney a lone figure looks over both the community and the academy – both of which are so soon to belong to him and no others. With the coming of the Academy ball he will be the last piece standing, the King of the chess board. All opposition shall be swept clear, save for some he leaves – puppets and selected agents to maintain his hold should anyone arise again to challenge him.

So efficient are some of those agents at work, their task being one of causing chaos and passing the blame to the Chancellor and his lady love Charity, the newest Headmistress of the School. Constant and unyielding pressure is what he wants – pressure, pressure, and yet more pressure from within and without. So much pressure that when he makes the last moves, the academies leadership will be divided and unable to coordinate any measure of response.

He owes Charity, o’ how he owes her for what she dared to do – sick a Dire Tiger of all things upon HIM. Soon he will have his revenge; and should his agents fail, then he will do so personally. Yet right now another matter needs to be tended to – pressure and chaos await…

He draws forth a set of twin blades – the Katana of far eastern warrior elites, of which he has personally claimed the lives of sixteen Journeymen and seven Masters over the last weeks. Both blades glow with white hot, their inner fires matching his simmering anger, rage, and desires for revenge.

He slaps them together to generate a clear, loud ringing. Once, twice and then a third time they ring – each one bringing forth a quartet of fiery spheres that spread above the city, impacting in the main trade market. Screams mix in with the echoing thunder and roar of the detonations. Cries of the injured and survivors who seek escape or to aid the injured are joined with the creaking and crashing of structure after structure crashing down as they no longer can stand on their own strength.

Already his agents are leaving notices that these strikes are solely directed upon those who do business with the Chancellor or his lady love. The descriptions given in these notices are so insulting and vulgar decency forbids their being mentioned; also the fact that those speaking them in just the order listed summons a number of monsters from across the cosmos – with lethal results delivered to everyone about them.

In the distance he observes the shock and fire of a blast, a piece of the sun brought forth on the community itself briefly turning the night into day. Yes! Mystique once again shows the cost of hiring her is more than justified by the results she is delivering.

His feline ears flap back and arms raised skyward to show the glowing blades in the moonlight also show the marks of a tigers strike – the very same one he barely survived after Charity sent it upon him.

“The queen takes the Knight; and the king clears a quartet of pawns. Soon will come checkmate at the ball.”

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Soaring above the lands of the Iron Hills, which below meet with the Emerald Sea, the great eagles honey amber feathers glisten in the light of a noon day sun. A special destination is her goal – actually that of hers and her companions. For among these clouds, and the high hills that rightfully should be called mountains save for their parents on the horizon of the Granite Reach range that climbs miles upon miles above them, are the near mythical floating islands.

Actual islands adrift in the skies, flowing on the currents of the wind and few manage to reach to explore and delve their multitude of secrets. Today though she is visiting for another reason, one hopefully nothing will once again interrupt – such as it has become all too frustratingly frequent for her desires.

The little dragon Patches whirls swiftly about her, doing a barrel roll and circling her about ten or twelve times as if to say “see how easy this can be done!” Her eyes just roll skyward as her wings pump hard to climb again into the updraft sweeping from the ground. This freedom in the air she loves, and being able to effortlessly alter her form into different shapes is one to be explored as she can!

Patches begins showing off HIS command of the skies, colors flowing and shifting across all iridescent patterns as he flips over on his back while still going forward on outstretched wings. At least until a great shadow that blocks out the sun for some distance passes overhead…far overhead of these two. Three loud and echoing sets of “Scree!” sounds let all know that the king of the air, the sovereign himself has arrived.

Wings spanning over eighty feet across, eyes alight with amethyst fires, beak large enough to swallow a warhorse in one bite, and talons on feet capable of lifting a bull elephant with ease or stave in the hull of the largest ship that sails seas or sky. Such majesty in a giant predator, one knowing no equal among the skies or the ground saves for the largest and most insane of dragons.

Whole armies have been known to tear off in panicked flight when the merest rumor of one approaching is to be heard. For this is the legendary bird of birds – The ROC.

“Showoff,” calls out Charity – giggling to herself at the antics of her beloved Storm Dragon. Oh how he does love to show off. He is always seeking to impress and reveal new wonders about himself; as she does for him.

Soon enough her destination comes into sight among the clouds about it. The island that floats in the sky, high above all else, tropical jungles lush with life flowing from steep cliff edges to the heights of the twin mountain summits. Soaring among the trees, listening to the ruckus raised among the avian communities, and the silence when her companions shadow comes overhead, she seeks the lake mentioned at the journeys beginning.

“There, just below us” – she tells her companions by her telepathic mind link – “and to the right!”

Angling into a steep dive, speed climbing with each second she alters the descent to keep her landing spot in sight – the glittering patch of light on the lake’s surface. Just short of the surface and a fatal impact a glowing iridescent light enfolds her form; impacting into the water with nary a ripple in the water. Moments later a seal with honey amber fur speeds off to the shore – calling for the other companions of hers to hurry up.

Once she has reached the shore the seal is encompassed by the same lights as had appeared about the eagle; and Charity returns to her natural form – a luscious cat-girl. The harness bag she had been carrying drops to the sand and she commences searching for and finding a towel to dry herself off with and wrap up in when that task has been finished.

Seeing the large Roc circling about as it comes in for landing she just stares in abject wonderment; a form akin to that, she decides, is one more shape she will learn to command. One more of many there are yet to choose from with her expanded abilities.

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Circling with grace and agility that belies the size of his current assumed shape, Chancellor Storm Dragon takes his time while circling around the landing area. Sometimes being a bird this size and a eighty foot wingspan is a disadvantage; especially when the area he wishes to land in has his beloved and her little dragon friend Patches.

He sees with keen eyes Charity taking out of her harness bag his own little companion, a field mouse simply called “Mouse” and his latest conquest in a one-mouse war on felines; a small and magically charmed winged bobcat he uses as a mount. Those great eyes roll up towards the heavens at yet another talk he is going to have with Mouse about the natural order of things…

His mind drifts back over all that has happened these last few days. Change has come about, and as is becoming the norm it seems to focus upon Charity. “Must be one of those ‘cats bring bad luck’ things so many people are always complaining about,” he thinks.

For in his current form of the Roc, he learned long ago that his voice is capable of shaking earth, crushing rock, and shatter trees for a large area if he so chooses.

Charity…so much love she has for him and he for her in return.

Just the fact that SHE turned out to be the one who solved the nine mysteries at long last – the ultimate of tests in which any practitioner of magic can claim, if they survive over a thousand horrendous kinds of death – the coveted title of Headmaster in the hierarchy of the academy, one who alone answers to HIM.

Oh how the look of consternation on her face when that last statue hiding the secret transformed into a Unicorn that reared up as if to give her battle; and then linked with the other sights in a web of fire and light. The exact same look he had when it was revealed by Headmistress Pele who the fortunate one was.

“I finally got to see Charity confused and undecided.” He thought. “She never gave any consideration to what would happen AFTER she won the position. Such was her desire to just simply SOLVE the mysteries, and gain their secrets – one of which is the ability to change into over a dozen chosen forms of creatures; such as with him the Storm Dragon and the Roc.

Almost immediately she moved into quarters close by his own, the area now having been restored from the battle that claimed Journeyman Nicholas; the same battle that all but claimed them as well. And now that idiotic Fox-glove is stirring up more and more trouble…

Circling one last time around he descends to skim the wave tops so as to land on the beach ahead by her side. His attention is diverted for a moment by the quick blur of Patches swirling by and the towel about her form now departing with him. The sight of her screaming at Patches, and the heaving of her bared chest, those two perfect treasures shimmering in the light off of them, makes his heart race.

Touchdown is about to happen…almost as the large fish jumps out of the water, its head over sixty feet across and clamps cleanly down on his body, pulling him under the water.

While being dragged under he summons the magic at his command; transforming into a shape more appropriate to fishing than flying…after all, he does love a good fish dinner.

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Standing by the shore a short time later, Charity breaths in relief both at having her towel back and the sight of her beloved – soaked and back in human shape – standing next to the carcass of a massive dragon carp…the little critter who tried to have him for dinner. Almost two hundred feet in length and bearing the talon marks from the Storm Dragon that killed it; she just whistles softly – when her beloved wants to make an impression in the shape of the dragon whose name he bears, he does so spectacularly.

“I have got to learn how you do that.” She said.

“A dragon shape – no more than one- think of what kinds of fun I could have in that form – sailing the skies and waves, explore under the water…” Her words trail off as she imagines all that could be achieved in such different forms. Oh how much mischief she could succeed at, the pranks to be carried out. At least until the sad look on his face brings her solidly back to earth.

“Charity you need to understand,” he told in his most solemn of voices, “with all the abilities you have gained, and yet to fully master – others will seek to bring you down for the position you now hold. They will see you as a rival just for what they think you can do. These new abilities of yours will carry awesome rewards yes, yet it will bear responsibilities as well…just as Atlantis learned when they roused my ire to full wrath.”

“But enough of this doom and gloom talk we came here for a lesson of another kind,” his hands flow in a swirl of movement; the spell thus cast creates a dozen and six long stem roses of all colors for her. “That is if you are still of a mind for some…intimate instructions shared between the two of us?”

“Yes indeed…my Stormy. Oh and since you caught the fish you get to clean it. I don’t eat fish.”

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Later on the two of them sit next to the warming fire, his clothing spread about on the rocks to dry while she had donned her usual garb of loose shirt and breeches. Little Patches asleep with a full stomach (of eighteen fish). Tropical jungle about them it may be, yet enough of a chill reaches out that Charity joins him under the blanket. For one moment there is peace about, no chaos, no rushing here or there, no panic, nothing going wrong.

Arms about her waist, he draws her closer, nuzzling nose to nose in one of her favored expressions of affection.
Oh how he loves having her close, seated in his lap, in which he gets to see and drink in each detail of her features. The light of the fire plays in a ever shifting swirl of light and shadow across them, hiding here for a instant then showing clear before covering once again. That silken hair, colored honey amber with white streaks in its length bound in three groups of French braids, while twin strands hang wildly down the sides of her cheeks.

So begins the song of love once again with these two as he slowly begins caressing the brows above her closed eyes, each cheek and then along her neck before flowing as soft silk to the base of her ears. He feels the slight shudder she gives off – the thrill of passion and sensations to come from one of her most pleasurable spots. The fingers flow back to her cheeks and brows, then return towards the ear again, repeating the cycle many a time to bring more twittering shudders.

Charity then takes his hand up in her own, both entwining fingers into his as she presses lips so soft to each of his fingertips; eyes closing and ears lowering – signs of her ease – as she savors the scents inhaled from so close up to him. The tangy smell of his manly musk odor, the blanket about the two of them, his still dampened hair, all of these combine into a cornucopia enrapturing her mind. Such a turn on it is for her, heart now beating just a bit faster, desire and body heat building upwards.

Eyes of emerald green and sapphire blue look dreamily at him. Oh how he falls so deep, and so fully with each glance into them. Lips move closer and closer, hover for an instant and then join as one; softly and long is this one special kiss, which with them marks the true turning point in all for them. Arms move up to around his neck and shoulders, feeling the rock hard muscles and scars acquired over a lifetime of hard battles won. His are firm around her waist, drawing her into him, feeling the small of her back and drawing a arching reflex with a gasp of air as they find one of her more sensitive spots.

She moves her lips onto his neck, a series of pecks and nibbles driving him nearly to the edge of madness and then back down again as only she could do. Each kiss and nibble given back upon her own neck and cheeks does the same for her, sending her upwards to the heavens in bliss few others can excite in her being. Her very being keeps screaming “let’s get it going girl!”

The first caress upon the back of her ear, along the base causes her head and back to arch upward, sending a tidal wave of bliss down her body and back up once again into her brain – now feeling like a volcano has gone off and resetting itself to only one temperature – raw, unadulterated lust.

Gradually his kisses and pecks descend to one partially exposed shoulder where her shirt has shifted; breaths deepening and rapid come forth from her as the swaying and rocking of those hips move in time to the dance of her body. Suddenly she sits back, letting go and swirling into motion – trouble once again has come their way he is sure of.

Looking around from beach, to lake to the skies and jungles nary a sight or sound indicates anything is wrong; just that giggling laugh of hers as a babbling brook combined with a wind chime in the mountain meadows. It takes him a moment to understand, as she playfully twirls her shirt on one fingers end before tossing it over to where his own are drying by the fire.

Hands in hands she guides his onto her breasts, each one between the “W” shape ink-brush marking of her own heritage. Tingles of electricity flow up from fingertips to his brain; delight at feeling each inch of them, seeking the nipples out and playfully circling each one bit by bit. Her movements and breath shows the rising fires of passion as well, now clear in her eyes like molten rock in the core of a volcano.

The tender and sweet taste of them in his mouth is delightful; he uses lips and tongue to swirl and softly peck on each one while stroking between and about with fingertips. Back she leans upon her arms, caught in the moment as her body continues to react with a twitch here and there, eyes fluttering and moving upward in rapturous bliss of his efforts to please her.

To her abdomen he moves next, adoring each muscle with kisses and swirling fingers; finally he asked of her to lie down on the blanket. Quicker than a flash of lightning she does so as he slips off her pants and panties. So awesome and beautiful of a sight he beholds, drinking in each flowing curve of her features from face down to her toes, shadows and light playing across the whole.

Repositioning himself, he lifts her buttocks up into both hands, delighting in the clear view he has of her womanhood, glinting with moisture upon it. His own manhood thunders with the desired union, soon to be if all goes well. On one thigh he starts the soft kisses and pecks, little breaths of air and nuzzling of cheek to muscle, drawing out gasps and giggles of delightful bliss from her. Pausing for a moment as he is almost there, he swiftly repeats the pattern on the other thigh, and then on her body just above her pelvis.

Her body enters into a rhythm in tune with his each action, twitches and twitters combine with gasps and soft moans, bubbling giggles and firm hands on his head – trying to pull what remaining hair he has out – the fruits of his efforts.

When he parts those lower lips with his own, working on her one spot meant for pleasure alone in females across the cosmos; her gasps grow in intensity and body thrusts forward while he speeds up and slows down, does circles and the alphabet as patterns to heighten her pleasure. Such a sweet taste she has, along with the smell of her body, sweat beading up about her body from the workout; all combine to be an aphrodisiac of the uttermost delight for him.

“Don’t stop! Don’t STOP!”

She has reached out to him in this moment of supreme ecstasy, her mind to mind touch letting him feel how each and every fiber of her being and body is so much ALIVE! Fires of impassioned bliss, euphoric streams of color and patterns flow in a panorama of portraits.

He also feels the love she has, to the depths and heights beyond what he would have dreamed at this point in their relationship…

“DON’T STOP AT ALL!”

So each and every sense of her body floods her brain into a tidal wave of overload; pushing her past the point of no return. Her release is instant and loud, echoing throughout the jungles in a cacophony of sounds. The smile on her face is worth more to him than a dragon’s hoard of gold and gems.

Quickly she motions to him to move atop of her, clearly desiring the consummation of the relationship once and for all time. Save for the problem arising of a sudden cramping in his muscles, not a Charlie horse or such, but in his manhood – stimulated for far too long now it gets revenge.

Calmly as he can, trying to work the kinks out without success, he looks sadly at Charity.

“I am afraid there is – shall we say, ‘a bit of a complication has come about.’ “

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Cuddling up once again that evening by the fire, blankets and robes fighting off the chill they talk about their lives, dangers faced and challenges won. Even the failure on his bodies’ part to consummate their union once again brings no shame or condemnation from her – just acceptance and understanding that it will happen in the fullness of time.

Inevitably thought the talk returns to the latest of events happening that involve the Academy. Specifically the one who seeks revenge on the BOTH of them for reasons unknown; no matter how much they speculate nothing is clear, save that the mages of the academy are targeted and chaos is running rampant even by the standards of Stars Rift.

“Personally I say it has to be Master Fox-glove; yet that arrogant, simpering, sycophant of a weasel does not have the aptitude or brains for such a complicated plot. Especially involving this one called ‘Mystique’ who is credited with killing so many…”

Hearing the sharp gasp from her, he looks over to Charity; shock and dismay clear upon her face, shaking her head as if in denial. “What is it? Do you know of this Mystique?”

Nodding her head, she explains the story of how once she had been hunted by a band of self righteous, hypocritical and arrogant party of knights and mages. How they considered her an abomination on the world to be eliminated, due to the mixed heritage she has.

“The leader of them was a lady mage by the same name; who also loved such plots as we face now. She loved to strike at certain targets first hand, leaving a calling card with her given name upon it – at least until someone turned the tactic back upon her…hmm.”

He held his peace while she was deep in thought; finally asking “What became of her?”

She just glumly answered “I sent her to the final doom – eradicated for all time. She, like most of the band was of the cat-folks.”

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The young mages eyes stand wide in terror, comprehending the slow death advancing upon her while she is held fast by the ultimate mind killer – fear. No sound can escape her open mouth, or draw her eyes away from those shadowy forms approaching, a dozen in count. Nor can her ears turn away from the promises made by them to what they will first do to her in the most exacting of details; then they will get rough.

One comes forward ahead of the rest, a slim sword in hand, ready to begin the fun – he slashes for her head and she flinches down, hands and arms clenched over her skull knowing there is no escape…none…

Gack!
Gurgling sounds?
Thud?

Her ears encompass the sound of metal ringing upon metal in a rapid and escalating cycle; quickly followed by a second thud of a body hitting the ground. “What is going on…?” Daring against hope somehow things have changed she takes a quick peek with one eye. Oh what a sight she sees indeed!

A lone figure with the cowl of his hood part way back stands with twin blades, the Katana of the most elite of warriors of the Far East at the ready. At his feet lay the mortal remains of two who would attack her; their blood slowly pooling up about them.

“You killers are without honor,” growls a deep and trill voice, reverberating down the alley, “so now I give you the choice, flee and live or stand and perish. And I do so hope you chose the latter option. I so enjoy nothing more than ending the lives of honorless dogs such as you.”

Even as he finishes speaking three shadows erupt in movement, sword and knife swinging in a combination of high-low-high-high in strikes to catch him off guard. Two come from his left one from the right – a deadly set in which no matter what one will get to him and end this farce of a hero…almost. Faster than lightning he rolls to the ground and spins, kicking back and low with one leg…doubling over the lone attacker when the impact of his foot catches him in another version of the “Nutcracker” maneuver.

Quickly rolling to his back and spinning into a low crouch he blocks each knife thrust coming in low as the swords pass overhead. His counter move severs hamstrings above the ankle; causing them to begin falling until viper quick strikes with his blades end this part of the match, their heart and lungs skewed through and through.

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The young mage watches the rest of a savage and brief struggle by the remaining killers; move and counter move; this master warrior is in complete harmony of body and blades. Move and counter move soon ends the confrontation; his twin blades glowing briefly with a soft moonlit glow as blood and gore dissipate in wisps of steam.

In a flourish of artistic elegance he tosses both blades into the air, turns and bows to her with a rakish grin and catches each on the downward flight without even looking. He moves forward with the grace of a dancer, body flowing step by step like silk across the skin of an emperors most favored courtesan. When she sees his full features, panic ignites once again; save that he stops and stands, hands clasped together before his chest, and awaits her response.

Those feline ears are distinct, as the features of his face – so similar to one recently come to the Academy. He is too of the cat-folks as is Charity; yet of a distinctly different blood line – his features are the smoother and iron honed form of the jaguar, complete to white hair with circled camouflage spot patterns among them.

Many a minute passes in silence between the two, he just waits, not staring or showing much emotion even; just waiting for her to come to some decision. “My…my thanks…for the rescue…good sir…” She looks to see his move, another short bow in acknowledgement. Assuming she knows the next answer before the question is to be spoken, she begins to unfasten her blouse for him…

“What…do I owe you for this…?”

He waves one hand casually, “Please my lady mage, not what you think. Will you deliver a message to the Headmistress Pele for me? Only if you wish to do so, no demands will be placed…for it is my honor to come to the rescue of one as lovely as you are.”

For a moment she feels her heart racing and heat building up as desire begins to build; her face is in a major set of blushing as his sheepish grin is displayed. “I will good sir…?”

“My name among humanity is given as Dancing Tiger, please tell the headmistress that of the Hidden Aces that the one called Dancing Tiger is on hand, awaiting her call. In the meantime I will commence culling some of this rift raft into the afterlife.”

He turned and walks off before disappearing into the night.

(Part one of Cat Girl Charity – Transitions ends here)

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