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Ugliest bunch I've ever seen!"Gareth glanced at the poet group and agreed. Poets were usually well behaved or at the very least... clean. This group of huge unshaven men and muscular woman looked extremely out of place clutching Star-staves and threatening to burst the seams out of robes meant for slighter frames."Those are Warriors!" Gareth recognized some of the faces at last. "Has everyone gone insane?"Rowann laughed, then began running a sharpening stone across a steel blade that looked twice her size."Usually when something crazy happens," she explained, squinting down the length of her blade with an expert's eye, "I expect you were behind it. I am surprised that you don't know... or even somehow caused... the Inter-Path games."It all made some weird sense. The Poets were all playing Rogues and the Rogues were Mages. Gareth shook his head in wonder. It was all due more or less to the Dagger of Kija that Pteri clutched so tightly. Time was running out, if only there was some way. I am alone. I think about words. Bitch. Fuck. Cum. Blow job . Words that we don’t use in polite speech. I think about words. Small tits but sensitive nipples. Wet pussy. Hard cock. Pearl necklace. Jacking off. Fingering. Pinching your hard rosebuds atop your tits. Stroking my cock in front of your face. Sticking my tongue between the folds of your wet lips. Clitoral sucking. A finger up your ass. But not words of love and romance. No flowers. No dinners by candlelight. I touch myself. It is dark. I am alone. Now I am hard. I feel the first drops emerging from my tip, and my hand slides both along the smooth skin and with the slick lubricant I am producing. My hand slides along the smooth skin, but slowly and quietly. I have to be careful. There is a door. But it is only a door. Doors are meant to be opened. They can open at any time. I touch myself. I think of words that create images. I think of pure images. Of memories. Tight black leggings with no underwear. The outlines of lips.
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