How these humans stand this blasted sun is simply beyond me; it drys my skin, fills this whole courtyard with searing light, and actually forces me to sweat. Never before has a piece of scenery dared to cause such an affront! Sweat should be welcome only in the throes of passion or beading across a slave's back when they work in my name. I would curl my lips up in disgust if it weren't so unsightly. A true lady has standards, after all, even if she can't have her way.

All around, my new "brothers and sisters" go about their business in the full light of day, acting as if the water pouring down their overly fleshy bodies is somehow commendable, a mark of their piety and humility. Revolting. There is no honour to be found in menial labour or mundane chores; that is the work of lesser creatures who have no potential to become something more refined. But there they are, holy warriors of the greatest faith in all of Morhaine, wasting their time and effort on "building character." Perhaps if they built proper walls or half-decent security protocols, they wouldn't be such easy prey for infiltrators and saboteurs. One has to be appreciative of laxity when being an infiltrator, so on some level I thank their stupidity, but come now, there has to be an acceptable level of naivety when it comes to such matters. The Matron believes this land has grown soft with peace, but it is not the land that degraded, oh no, just the people's brains. All the better that I have come here to tear them away so that their betters might use it more efficiently.

Making certain that none of my stupefied rage shows on my appropriately attractive face, I bow my head and smile at a pair of passing paladins, which they return in kind. True, I should outrank them as a newly annointed Bishop of Morashir's faith, but I have found that things like rank are blurred amongst humankind. In public, they certainly make a fuss of things between nobility and peasantry - as is just - but in private, mortals dispense with social codes in some effort of believing they are all of one people. How can they bear the shame of being approached by their servants or family members of lesser rank? Truly, the more I learn of them the more I come to see that such failings are deserving of a strict correction, one that we succubi must provide for their betterment.

"Sister Valery, a fine day to you. I am pleased to see you in good health once more," a voice chimes in from behind me.

"Ah, good Brother Michael, your words are always appreciated. The shock of the anouncement took quite a lot out of me, as you could imagine. But laying about is hardly a productive use of my talents, so I persuaded the head nurse to allow me to get some fresh air, assist with the initiates," I reply, turning towards the impressive man behind me.

His towering, muscular form would look perfect on the battlefield, yet somehow the templar makes his soft, yellow robes look just as natural. The grey hair helps, I must admit, as they combine so well with his grey eyes. A smile splits his sun-darkened stone wall of a face as the man chuckles. "That intrepid spirit of yours must be why the High Priestess chose you in the first place. Morashir only knows how long it took me to finally believe she had judged me worthy to join the Arcane Templars. Truth be told, there are some mornings when I question how I actually became their Grandmaster! Hahaha!"

My lips give him a perfect grin made natural by his foolishness. That very doubt, present in the useless hearts of all mortals, is another fantastic tool that makes my infiltration so very much easier that anyone, even Matron Vyxeia, could have anticipated. A little feigned modesty and the most paranoid human will forget their caution, leaving just enough of a sympathetic gap to wiggle inside. "I must say, your brothers in faith were likely surprised as well. It's not every day that a fossil starts moving around instead of being buried properly," I say without missing a beat.

Michael lets out a roar of laughter tha turns a few heads our way, particularly amongst the training initiates in the courtyard below. "How a cleric can have such tender hands but vicious tongue, I will never know! Oh, blessed Mother of Scholars, but she can play a prank on us down below!"

That deep voice rumbling from the huge templar is tempting enough that my hands clench up at my sides, nails digging deep into soft palms. All rumour has Michael Coran portrayed as a pure man of virtue, but the stench of lust around him is nearly irresistible. A courteous man, he's never made any open attempts at courting me, but perhaps I should test his resolve right now, see if a little forwadness would have him humiliate himself in front of all these young faithful, ruining a pristine reputation forever and tainting this holy ground just a little quicker than-

Thankfully, my escalating thoughts are cut off by someone calling out to me. "Valery, you should have let me known you were there! No one told me that old Giselle let you out of her clutches," shouts a very, very familiar voice. I don't need to turn towards it to know what I'll see, but as has happened with increasing frequency of late, I cannot stop myself from doing so.

A smile even brighter than the sun peeks out from a tired face, matted with dirt and sweat from an intense day of training young initiates to not stab themselves in the foot or smash their face with a mace. A toss of her brown hair reveals two gleaming golden eyes, sign of divine favour amongst mortals, though I cannot fathom why. That stupid grin does nothing but expose the woman's gullible mind, no one could ever take her sweat-stained face as anything but that of a commoner's, and bright eyes can't even cover up her innate dullness as a person. Frankly speaking, not a single positive aspect exists in the nusiance quickly running my way.

So then why, I must ask myself, can I feel my face relaxing away the forced smile I direct at everyone in this temple? Why does my breath catch in a suddenly tight throat? How is that I, infamous Valery Silcarri the Heartrender, chosen by the Dark Lords Below to topple an entire nation and its faith, find myself unable to look away from some stupid mortal woman I wouldn't bother to glance twice at back home in the Sunless Court?

Utterly oblivious to the thoughts in my head, Diana takes a running leap towards the balcony where Michael and I are standing, grunting when her robe-bedecked form makes contact with its stone face. Not that such an impact jars her in the slightest, as one of her hands still firmly grips the railing, and only a moment later she heavens herself over it in an undignified heap. "Val, you look great! Why are you always skulking around in the shadows like this? You should come and spar with me a little," she says without an ounce of self-awareness or apparently even noticing the templar beside me.

I am not so narrow in notcing things, however, and so it's easy to see the sudden discomfort that comes comes over the training initiates and Michael; he poorly fakes a cough before saying, "Spirited as ever, Sister Diana. I'll excuse myself now, Sister Valery, so as not to ruin the mood."

Diana's eyes widen as, like I expected, notices her senior templar. "Oh, Grandmaster Michael, were you chatting with her? I'm so sorry, I'll head back to the initiates if you want to continue."

You idiot girl. Shaking my head, I give a sorry smile towards Michael. "I appreciate you coming to me for advice on the spoilage issue, Grandmaster, and I will write up some ideas later for you to consider." He gives a hasty nod of thanks before hurrying away, leaving me the chance to give Diana a firm smack to the back of her head. "Have you ever tried using your brain, or were you born without one?"

Diana gives me a sheepish look, unfazed by my harsh words and actions as always. "Well, you've been sick the past few days and they wouldn't let me visit, so what was I supposed to do? Come on, Val, a little friendliness never hurt anyone, and Michael will forgive me like always," she says, giving a little yelp as I deliver another slap in the same place.

What did this girl eat to make her head so damn hard, literally and figuratively? My hand hurts more than her head does, of that I'm certain. "Show some respect to the Grandmaster, and need I remind you that I'm a Bishop now? You can't go about jumping, literally at that, into other people's conversations like this. I'm going to have to bring this up to the High Priestess when I next meet her, as clearly you have too much time on your hands."

Then I suddenly find myself wrapped up by the taller woman's strong arms and crushed against her sweaty body. "Oh, Val, I missed you too!" she exclaims, spinning me about through the air as if I were a child. The long red robes of her order, the Defenders of Wisdom, flutter about as well, letting everyone watching this debacle get a glimpse of Diana's very voluptuous curves.

I should feel ashamed of this situation, a proud succubus such as myself being treated like a favoured pet by some overzealous owner, or perhaps enraged by this mortal's brazen temerity. But no, all I can think about right now is how nice Diana smells, how strong this seemingly soft idiot actually is, how much I might have actually missed seeing the dopey smile right in front of me. Dark Lords Below save me, not an ounce of demon in me can scrape together hate for Diana despite her innumerable faults.

When she finally gets tired of humiliating the two of us, not that she would ever have the self-awareness to know that's what she's doing, she lets me down with a wide smile. "Now that you're better, we can finally take on that mission to Orebore. I've got everything ready except for food stuffs, but we can just rough it like always. Let's get a move on!"

A third slap to the back of her abnormally thick skull quiets her down. "Good initiative, but poor planning. I have duties to handle before we can leave, not to mention the problems that have piled up during my recovery."

"What? But that's all boring stuff other people can do. We need to be out there, fighting evil and defeating monsters. I'm sure there are enough smart people to handle the daily work of the temple."

"Perhaps you should consider becoming one of those smart people yourself, Diana. I've spent my life trying to rise the ranks of our faith, and I'm not going to throw it away so we can gallivant around the countryside again," I firmly declare. Yet that resolve is already faltering at her increasingly sad expression. She's probably thinking of this mission as a way to cheer me up after my "sickness," which in truth was just a way for me to briefly return to the Sunless Court and report my accomplishment at becoming a highly ranked official of Morashir's faith. I'm in a perfect position to finally begin corrupting my peers, or else assassinating them so that others more vulnerable to my charms can be brought in to the temple.

But... Yes, I suppose for the sake of my mission, I should accompany Diana on this simple request for help in the dwarven city. It would be quite suspicious if, right after I become a Bishop, others in the temple began acting strange or disappearing in the night. I should focus on securing my own influence, and what could help more than returning as a hero alongside someone whose loyatly to Morashir could never be questioned? In fact, I could even brainwash a few merchants or travellers along the road in order to expand my information network while I'm at it. I'm already ahead of schedule, so taking some time to consolidate my advantages early might be a better idea than risking exposure under Inaleth's eyes.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I plop my head down onto Diana's shouder, which is as high as I can reach on the statuesque woman. "Oh, alright, we'll do things your way. But only after you take a shower." Otherwise, I might not be able to stop myself from attacking her the moment we leave the gates.

She furiously nods and, with only a shouted cry to make my way to the store room to gather our supplies, she sprints off, blissfully unaware of how valuable a tool she's become.

***