Storm’s eyes widened a bit at Philomel’s mention of the Crystal Caves. He had been there, fought aside her, and had the sword in the room to show for it. Perhaps more interestingly, he had been teleported to the caves from a hotel room not so different than this one, with only a pair of worn dress pants upon him. The sword had wrestled him from sleep, where he lay aside another professional.

You screw too many whores. Been keeping the profession bustling for a decade or more, now. Lucky the damn thing has rotted over and fallen off from all the trouble it causes you.

Silently, the wizard strode to a tall bureau, where he unfolded discarded clothes and continued dressing once more, proudly displaying his oft blue-glowing Rat. The blade thus far had proven much more trouble than its worth, but the electromancer hoped that eventually the tide would turn and his sword would be of more use than to balance weight on his belt.

“Here, this is the sword; took it from a casino operator that ran a few hustles outside of Concordia. I did win the weapon, more or less fair and square, before he tried to cross me. We know how those stories oft end.”

He flipped the blade once, watching the hilt topple dutifully before landing in his hand. The sword was finely balanced, if unspectacular. Re-sheathing the phallic item, Storm spoke effortlessly as he attended to realigning the buttons on his half-silk shirt.

“Thing was a glorified paperweight before the caverns. Then they all glowed a sapphire blue – things got wild. I think you even brought out that snake-monster friend of yours, if memory serves.”

A quick comb through his hair pulled his peppered hair taut to his head, and he smiled at the mirror in the corner, finding a stray hair to extract between two teeth silently. He looked every part the diplomat again, and was ready to take action.

“Attila can carry the two of us, and a few hundred pounds of cargo. Strong as three oxen and dumb as ten hammers, that one.” Looking at his shoes, he smiled; the great black stallion was a consistent source of humor, and perhaps his most loyal companion.

The bedroom door opened with a creak, and the gentleman gestured at the opening for the incredible beauty. At the last moment as she stepped to exit, he pivoted on her, grasping her with a firm tenderness at the hip and pulling his second hand to her feminine jaw. Without delay, the aging aristocrat kissed her firmly, surprising her for a moment but remaining gentle and non-threatening. The kiss was only firm enough to make his intentions clear; they were intentions he would reiterate before following her out.

“More enjoyment ‘later’ sounds wonderful. The sooner we can deliver that ‘later’, the better.”