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Adult/Slash >> The Cruelest Fate by Lord_Onisyr >> Hits: 109
ChaptersThe Cruelest Fate (R)Chapter 2: Patchwork Drow (R)Chapter 3: Simple Comforts (R)Chapter 4: Rains (R)Chapter 5: At Play (R)
The Cruelest Fate


Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don’t own them; I’m just examining all their possibilities.


Author’s Note: This story takes place after “The Lesser Evil” and a short while before “The Lesser Evil: Hooligan’s Holiday.” Once again, Drizzt is a different character in this piece and I strongly recommend reading “The Lesser Evil” before this one and it might give more detail information to “The Lesser Evil: Hooligan’s Holiday.” This story has been begging to be written in some form and I at last found the proper plot with which to do it.


“The Cruelest Fate” is rated R for strong sexual themes relating to male homosexuality and some strong language, though I ask all my readers to keep an open mind.



Drizzt allowed his elbows to sink further into the wool blanket while savoring the itching burn in his back caused by the constant pricking of a small needle stuck underneath his skin repeatedly; a sensation he found rather exhilarating as well as cleansing. Mazn’reysla’s gentle, yet repeated jabs were taking his mind off so many things that had plagued his thoughts for the past day, yet occasionally those painful thoughts would pass through again like a specter.


He cleared his mind again and felt the itch of the blanket press further against his bare abdomen as he concentrated on the itch in his back. His keen ears opened further and caught the sounds of the village just outside the opening of the cave a few feet away. A familiar group of drow were cheering someone on. Then came the clashing of steel and the occasional grunt of a human voice he recognized all too well. Drizzt smiled and looked towards the opening of the small cave; apparently Artemis had found a sparring partner.


Drizzt allowed his head to swivel around slightly to see the High Priest sitting next to him in a cross-legged sit, his stylus covered in blood and a bright green inkwell beside him almost empty. Drizzt craned his neck further to see the bright green markings on his skin that took the shape of vivid leaves. He flashed Mazn’reysla a smile and turned his attentions back to the front of the cave. The strong, early spring breeze outside gently wafted through the opening and delivered the fresh smell of leaves and melted snow that cut through the wet must of the rocks. Cormanthor was in the midst of its yearly youth; the fresh breeze of early spring carried a lingering chill that still refused to die despite the warming weather. Small patches of snow still lingered on the base of the trees, yet multi-colored flowers pushed through and gave the snow its greatest competition for ground.


It was a place Drizzt Do’Urden’s instincts screamed at him to avoid.


The drow had spent the past year savoring the hot, humid weather of summer, the turning leaves and nipping chill of autumn, and the winter’s snows and bitter cold. These were all seasons that held promise for him; seasons that reminded him of life, especially the wonderful life he lived now. Then the first warmth of early spring slowly crept over everything, the sun shining higher as the snows melted and the air became fresher.


Drizzt felt the dread in his heart as everyday past. Even in Baldur’s Gate, where the weather was much warmer than in his unlamented former home of Icewind Dale, he could feel the all too familiar turn of the seasons and the lingering ache in his heart. The day was drawing closer. He wanted to ignore the seeping dread in his being, yet it could not be pried out at all.


All these thoughts floated through his mind again despite all his efforts to push them out. No matter where he was, it would be this day everywhere: the exact one year anniversary of his wife’s murder. One year ago that day, Drizzt Do’Urden was a different man in a different life with his beloved Catti-brie beside him. It was early morning, just after sunrise when they met a group of bandits in battle; the skirmish ended with Catti-brie Do’Urden’s head flying from her body and Drizzt Do’Urden falling apart inside.


It had taken Drizzt the whole year to recover himself. He lost everything that day, personally, emotionally, spiritually, everything. The phoenix who emerged from these ashes was a completely different individual; the Companions of the Hall shunned him, Icewind Dale cast him out, Mielikki abandoned him, though all were through a combination of his own doing as well as the cruel hands of fate; while his new companions were the drow of Cormanthor, his new deity was the dark god Vhaeraun, and his new brothers were Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri, his mortal enemy proving more sympathetic and understanding than all his goodly companions. He forsook the life of a goodly ranger for that of an assassin; and in his mind it was a good trade. His former life was spent convincing himself that he was just another goodly elf, now he embraced his true nature as the violent, lustful drow he was.


It was a time when he was convinced everything was perfect; all of his personal struggles resolved as he savored his new life. Nothing, however could not prepare himself when the weather turned and it became that time of year once again.


He thought he could handle himself, simply put the day out of his head. He still thought this through a few more tips of the bottle than he would like to admit and his chaotic nature taking a few more lives than necessary. Drizzt finally admitted the truth to himself after an assassination of a heavily debted trader became a messy affair. A single blow to the back with his shocking dagger should have been enough to take care of the job quickly, yet what the whelp received was a twisting stab at the electricity fried his internal organs. His teacher Entreri, also his superior in Bani Pilazi’s thieves’ guild, was less than pleased, though Drizzt didn’t expect him to merely give him a screaming and then calm to order him to Cormanthor for the night.


Entreri had also proven himself once again as Drizzt’s loudest voice of reason; the veteran assassin was a staunch student of law and was the perfect balance to Drizzt’s chaos. He knew his surly friend could have merely cast him out for the night as a liability to his business, but Drizzt strongly suspected that there was indeed a tinge of empathy in his words. Nevertheless, the wave of a teleportation wand delivered Drizzt to Cormanthor and the company of his people just after sunset. An hour later, Entreri and Jarlaxle also arrived in solidarity, he hoped, though that was hardly likely. It was probably more in their own need for a small retreat most likely, though Drizzt slightly suspected the other motivation.


When he last left his companions, Entreri was listening to a young braggart boast about his own sword skills while Jarlaxle was sitting by the fire telling exaggerated tales of his own exploits to some children. Drizzt had occupied his growing unease by playing bones with a few of his colleagues. Then Mazn’reysla approached; his friend, his spiritual counselor, his colleague, came up to him with his usual calm gait and whispered a suggestion in his ear.


Now it was two hours later and Drizzt still felt the itch in his skin, though Mazn’reysla’s more careful strokes told him his work was almost complete. At last, the itching stopped.


“I have a mirror down the corridor,” the High Priest said calmly.


Drizzt propped himself on his elbows with a grin and gradually lifted himself to his feet, facing his friend’s innocent gaze. Mazn’reysla smiled and turned around, walking further down the stone corridor with Drizzt following close behind. This cavern was Mazn’reysla’s private workshop. As a wizard, he used it to store spell components and tomes while experimenting on spells of his own making. As Vhaeraun’s High Priest, he also used it as a meditation chamber. It was also the place where he would summon the avatar of his god for further information, though it was a ritual that Mazn’reysla rarely needed to perform; he had been born with a strong attunement to the planes. Vhaeraun was a constant presence, he could even see him anytime he wanted and hear his voice even more frequently. Mazn’reysla also had a private chamber in a lower level where he kept and tortured enemies to Vhaeraun and the Auzcovyn Clan and he was especially skilled at what he did.


Mazn’reysla led Drizzt down a winding corridor adorned with various bunches of dried plants, some even containing the severed fingers and toes of enemies as a cruel adornment. Their way ended in a small, dark room lighted by many purple, glowing tapestries lining the rock walls and illuminating a circular, red cushioned mattress in the center. Mazn’reysla raised a tiny hand and lifted aside one of the tapestries, revealing a large, obsidian mirror. Drizzt turned around and looked at Mazn’reysla’s handy work: a small clump of bright green vines collected at the union between his neck and shoulders that contained leaves so detailed they almost looked like they were popping out of his skin. A tiny amount of blood still oozed out and the flesh was still swollen, but this was perfect.


Drizzt grinned as he looked at the design in awe. Just a year ago, he had no desire for any body adornment. His ears were pierced when he was a small boy as per drow fondness for jewelry, which added to the appearance of nobility. When he first reached the surface, the earrings came out and the holes grew in within the year. He wanted nothing to remind him of his former life and embraced simplicity in all things. That was another thing about him that changed in the past year. Since then, Jarlaxle re-pierced both lobes and Drizzt had added a few rings since then. Just a month back, one of his fellow Auzcovyn soldiers volunteered to add another hoop to the side cartilage of his left ear underneath the one he put in last year. Now his High Priest had tattooed his back and was now inching closer to him and gently dabbing a cloth covered in a sweet smelling salve over his raw skin. It was a cooling feeling that swam through his skin and made him feel wonderful.


“Many thanks,” Drizzt said, “you are indeed and artist.”


Mazn’reysla gave his usual calm smile and dropped the cloth on a nearby trunk, the glowing tapestries illuminating his fine, champagne-blond hair to a shade of glowing golden while his skin shone more like polished obsidian.


“The pain is cleansing,” Mazn’reysla said softly. “That little burn souring your flesh leaves all your hurts to charred cinders; especially regarding a human woman.”


Drizzt furrowed his brows taken slightly aback at this sudden turn in the conversation, though he did his best to remain calm and allowed the priest get his point across. Mazn’reysla never said or did anything without a higher purpose that was usually for Drizzt’s benefit. It was Mazn’reysla who saved his life last year after he had been shot with an elven arrow. He was his former classmate and the one who introduced him to the faith of Vhaeraun, even summoning the avatar of the Masked Lord and allowing them both a formal introduction. Drizzt came out of that encounter with a long scar across his jaw, a new scimitar, and faith in a new god.


Drizzt didn’t know whether he should shout out all of his inner feelings or box Mazn’reysla’s ears for being so brash. Judging by the cleric’s raised eyebrows and patient smile; he knew the look on his face said everything.


“I have touched on a rather raw subject,” the cleric continued, “one that you have made a point of avoiding for the past year, though it eats at you. There are two types of pain, Drizzt; there is the kind that drives you, burns out the venom, makes you feel alive, and then there is the kind that simply kills you. You are drow, so I know you savor the former, but you need to let it destroy the latter.”


Drizzt looked into his beaming red eyes. Something inside screamed not to trust this cruel creature. He was a true drow in every way; cruel, violent, scheming, though he was completely unlike the rest of his Menzoberranzyr kin. Somehow, Drizzt felt completely comfortable in his confidence. Mazn’reysla was merely a few years younger than Drizzt, but his face made him look like age never mattered; an innocent visage that held much venom.


“I met her when she was just a child,” Drizzt said, feeling numb as the words came out, wanting to finally have so much free from his soul. “The she grew to womanhood. I could have had her anytime I wanted, but I could never even bring myself to call her beautiful.”


“Your honor got in the way,” the High Priest said in a tone of understanding, though he gave a small sneer of vindication.


“That changed during the war against Obould,” he continued, ignoring Mazn’reysla’s expression and just letting everything pour out. “It took me thinking she was gone for me to at last admit my feelings. Then we were reunited, made love for the first time, and were married within the year. Two years. For two blissful years she was completely mine, we had each other and nothing mattered.”


“Then she died,” Mazn’reysla said with no hint of emotion.


Drizzt nodded, allowing the numbness to creep in further and block out any stabs of pain or emotion.


“Killed right in front of me,” he replied. “That was the beginning of the end.”


“That was when Mielikki began to cry and Ilmater screamed in anguish; when Lolth spun her web a little eagerly and our Lord told me to watch for your appearance.”


Drizzt sighed hard; these were words that said everything. He looked to the wall and gave a silent nod.


“So I see you suffered the cruelest fate any drow could suffer,” the priest said, looking at his friend. “I understand.”


Drizzt stared right into Mazn’reysla’s eyes and gave him a sneer of doubt. He was probing him, or maybe finding the sore spot and massaging it out.


“To love,” Mazn’reysla said.


The words struck Drizzt hard, their meaning suddenly making sense.


“Love is not a word in our native vocabulary,” the cleric continued. “The way of the drow is personal pleasure; fine wine, fine food, fine sleeping quarters, and bedmates by the hundreds. We like being pleasured, though to actually feel is a different story. A drow capable of feeling love is the most vulnerable; a fool when betrayed, lost when the love is lost.”


“Have you ever felt love, Mazn’reysla?” Drizzt asked without missing a beat.


Mazn’reysla gave him his usual calm look, but it was a look tinged with a hint of sadness.


“I have felt,” he responded, “that is bad enough. I have come to appreciate personal pleasure, but there are those little pricks that get you sometimes.”


“Very true,” Drizzt said with a tired smile. “So you know what I feel.”


“It has been exactly a year since your human was killed,” he said distantly.


Drizzt nodded, though he knew something inside the priest was ready to come out.


Mazn’reysla was still at first, biting his lower lip almost nervously. Then a small finger shot forward and trailed down his stomach, finding its way just under his belt. Drizzt gave a sharp intake of breath. Mazn’reysla looked at him with a calm look that seemed to reveal all that was building up inside him.


“What are your true intentions, Mazn’reysla?” he asked, giving him a pointed, yet curious look.


The hand traveled further down his trousers, a touch that Drizzt welcomed. This was dangerous territory; Mazn’reysla was a cruel and powerful drow. He was also very child-like and innocent; beautiful maybe? Drizzt smiled and Mazn’reysla’s eyes seemed to glow in response. His hand traveled down further as if he received his signal and gently clutched his most intimate being. Mazn’reysla’s grip stopped for a second as he looked at Drizzt in anticipation, his wide, red eyes in a look of curiosity. Drizzt smiled; Mazn’reysla would not act further unless given permission. He was behaving more like a shy young man becoming intimate with a woman for the first time than a lust-filled drow getting what he wants; or maybe a shy young man finally admitting his feelings to a distant crush.


Drizzt let his muscles relax and he nodded. Mazn’reysla continued his grip, slowly massaging. Drizzt gave a small sigh, feeling the small hand work absolute wonders as his mind screamed at him to end this; his conscious mind, however. The High Priest leaned in and lightly brushed Drizzt’s neck with his nose, then leaning in further and lightly nibbling on the skin. His bite became slightly harder, though Drizzt savored the slight pain as the rush continued and his mind continued screaming at him. It was a scream he used to hear all the time: the scream of a mind guided by stoicism and self-denial, a scream that would pierce his being every time he went against any of his old “principles.” The last time he heard this voice was right after he slaughtered all the laypeople in a chapel of Ilmater and for some reason it returned over…such a minor thing. Drizzt had learned to silence the voice, as he did now while allowing the waves of pleasure from the hands of another male.


Mazn’reysla then stopped, sliding his hand out of Drizzt’s trousers. Drizzt looked at him in incredulity. Mazn’reysla merely smiled playfully.


“What game are you playing?” Drizzt asked in a teasing tone tinged with a bit of irritation.


Mazn’reysla gave a profound blink and smiled.


“No games,” the High Priest responded, his innocent look still intact. “I am just wondering what you would do now.”


Drizzt paused and studied a glowing tapestry on the wall, giving a long sigh as he tried to order his thoughts. Mazn’reysla stared at him and Drizzt swore he saw him growing impatient; it was a sight he savored for a second.


“You lost your wife one year ago tonight,” Mazn’reysla continued, his normal cool breaking slightly. “The fate of love is now past to history. Now you have been recapturing who you are, finding the pleasure that you denied. Until now, that has only consisted of nights of drinking with cheap whores. I’m sure that can get boring. In my opinion, you need to expand your horizons a little.”


“Like having another man,” Drizzt responded with a small smile. Like being taken by a cruel, powerful dark elf, his mind responded back, though the baser part of his being managed to throttle the voice at last. “You want me,” he said, giving a tiny voice to his cautious before it died.


“Of course,” the High Priest said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I want to help you free your mind, get rid of your inhibitions and fully enjoy your life.”


“The fact that you have wanted to ******** me the first second you saw me at the Academy is irrelevant,” Drizzt replied as calmly as possible.


Mazn’reysla at first looked at him in denial, though the downward turn of his eyes indicated defeat.


“Fine,” the High Priest continued, his voice shaking slightly as it all began to come out, “You are completely beautiful; the mysterious, handsome warrior I first met in Sorcere. Yes, I did just want to ******** you.”


“Those pesky emotions, so uncharacteristic of a drow, snuck in,” Drizzt said.


Mazn’reysla nodded slightly, trying to wrestle down a calm look.


“I didn’t take you while you were in your deep Reverie,” the cleric said, finding the strength in his voice.


“I know you never took me in my coma,” Drizzt responded. “Because my companions never left my side and would have delivered you a slow, painful death.”


“Well, that and rape is against everything I believe,” Mazn’reysla continued. “I would like to have you, but that is a personal opinion. The rest is up to you.”


Drizzt stared at him and Mazn’reysla stared back, his unnervingly calm gaze taking more of a purpose. The fallen ranger was ready for anything at that point, though this was a bit of a new experience. He never had another man before, the closest thing he had ever come to such intimacies was kissing the avatar of Vhaeraun in defiant rage: a moment he had to say he found somewhat enjoyable.


He continued looking at Mazn’reysla, who maintained his quiet gaze. Drizzt then put out all thoughts of reluctance in the wave of curiosity and lust that surged through him now. He grabbed Mazn’reysla’s shoulders and started kissing him passionately, pressing his lips violently against his and forcing his tongue in between. Mazn’reysla pushed him away with a great force and gave him a look of teasing scolding. The High Priest then grabbed his shoulders gently and pushed him towards the Reverie couch, leading him gently to a sitting position and kissing him with less gusto.


None of the kisses were deep; in fact they were tiny pecks gentle enough to spur Drizzt on even more. His passion was less quelled, though less rough. He simply allowed himself to be pulled into this heated moment, the slowness making his body heat rise even more. Mazn’reysla moved aside and gently led Drizzt to lie completely prone on the bed. He was so taken in this moment that he barely noticed Mazn’reysla had already slipped his boots off while his trousers were following close behind.


He is controlling you, a voice screamed in his head as the black, leather pants were now on the cave floor and he was completely nude before this strange drow. He is playing with your emotions so he can have his way with you and you are just going along with it like the fool you are.


Drizzt allowed his vision to focus more, becoming perfectly aware of everything that was going on. He was a warrior and physically he could overcome Mazn’reysla if necessary. He did not feel the need to do that, not because he felt safe, but he felt completely comfortable. He searched through his mind trying to find any evidence of mind control, but Mazn’reysla was not a psionic and his wizard school was not Enchantment. Drizzt’s elven senses felt no presence of magic; just his own complete curiosity and passion taking him over.


Mazn’reysla straddled him with his knees. His boots were already off and Drizzt reached up and undid the strings on his tight, leather trousers, gently peeling them down and revealing all of him. Mazn’reysla gradually unbuttoned his black tunic and threw it to the floor while sliding down his trousers. Drizzt now had a nude male leaning over his own naked form. He looked up and saw Mazn’reysla’s soft, champagne-blonde hair hanging down and framing his beaming face. His body was small and had little muscle tone, making him look almost like a beautiful woman, though his flat, toned chest and exposed phallus made him obviously male. It was a sight that appealed to Drizzt even more, the total uniqueness of this whole situation making his body even warmer. Mazn’reysla then reached for the black, cloth half mask on his face and slowly removed it, placing it gently on his pile of clothes. His beautiful face was fully revealed and all Drizzt wanted to do now was savor him.


The High Priest then reached down into his belt on the floor and produced a small vial that Drizzt recognized as jasmine oil he frequently used for anointing, uncorking the bottle of yellow liquid with one finger.


“Shall I continue our little experiment?” the High Priest asked.


Drizzt nodded fervently, though he was a bit nervous. He knew he was about to be taken, though given Mazn’reysla’s personality, he knew that the High Priest was sharing an experience with him. Mazn’reysla leaned down and kissed him softy, one hand lifting one leg over his shoulder, and the other following on the other. Mazn’reysla’s hand raked down Drizzt’s chest, his mid-length fingernails leaving marks down his skin and producing a passioned sigh. He the smelled the oil and braced himself for what was to come next.


“This will be painful at first,” Mazn’ryesla said.


Drizzt nodded, beckoning him to continue.


It indeed started as a searing pain, and then quickly erupted into absolute bliss; a sensation he had never known before but quickly enjoyed. Mazn’reysla’s pace was gentle. Drizzt looked up and saw the cleric’s hair gently bobbing across his thin shoulders as his innocent face was locked in a state of calm, almost as if he was in the midst of meditation; a sight that unnerved Drizzt and made his partner more beautiful. Drizzt closed his eyes and allowed himself to be taken by the pure wave of bliss, the small pangs of pain only adding to his ecstasy. He started to caress his partner’s torso, but then the waves of pleasure caused him to grip tightly on his hips and guide him deeper.


Mazn’reysla quickened his pace and raked his nails down Drizzt’s chest once more, gently rubbing his nipples as his eyes opened briefly to gaze at Drizzt in his ecstasy. His pace became harder, almost violent. The pain returned, joined by the burning itch in his back as perspiration mingled with the fresh cuts as they dug deeper into the soft mattress, though he savored it all. It was a chaotic rapture that had taken him over; like the purest form of play. Drizzt looked up and still saw Mazn’reysla’s face in its look of quiet meditation, only this time his eyes were closed and he allowed himself some long sighs; all the while locked into a savage pace while grabbing Drizzt’s side and digging his nails into the skin. His pace became more violent, though Drizzt wanted it to continue, the wave slowly building and coming near its end.


He let out a series of passioned groans as he heard Mazn’reysla’s gentle sighs and felt him release. Drizzt gave another groan and the wave passed. He felt the High Priest withdraw, though he remained prone in absolute bliss. Mazn’reysla came to a cross-legged sit beside him and leaned forward, his face in a look of smug satisfaction.


Drizzt allowed his vision to focus as he finally found his voice.


“That was ******** amazing,” he gasped.


Mazn’reysla just continued staring at him with his calm gaze.


“Did that clear your soul a little?” the High Priest asked.


Drizzt raised a hand and gently caressed the length of Mazn’reysla’s jaw. Mazn’reysla closed his eyes and sighed. Drizzt gradually came to a sit and embraced him, kissing the side of his face and his neck. His partner shivered and melted at the touch. Drizzt’s hand gradually traveled to those thin locks, which he suddenly clasped with a violent force.


“Did you enjoy having your way with me?” Drizzt hissed in his ear. “Now are you going to run out and tell our entire village that you played Drizzt Do’Urden like your whore?”


Maz gave a happy sigh, his eyes still closed.


“You know the answer to that question,” he cooed.


Drizzt gave a wide smile, loosening the grip on his hair and smoothing out the pulled roots. He leaned in and kissed him, biting his lip to the point where he drew a tiny spot of blood. Mazn’reysla gave a long sigh as he melted further into the embrace.


“So are you going to keep me waiting,” Mazn’reysla whispered, opening his eyes and giving Drizzt an impatient look.


Drizzt grabbed Mazn’reysla’s shoulders and roughly guided him onto his back, taking the vile of oil with a grin.


* * * * *


“And what in the name of the Demonweb did you do to yourself?” a familiar voice called as Drizzt mingled through the crowd of nightly revelers.


Drizzt looked behind him to see Jarlaxle coming through the crowd, the mercenary’s visible eye fixed on his bare shoulders. He stopped and felt a slender finger gently tracing the bright green vines embedded into his skin and giving off a slight sting. Jarlaxle examined the design with a look of great interest, nodding in approval at its beauty.


“Mazn’reysla is indeed a man of many talents,” Drizzt said, giving a playful glance to the masked, black-clad figure beside him and receiving one in return.


Jarlaxle seemed to notice the exchange, giving a small smile and throwing his nose in the air as if to avoid the subject entirely.


“I see he is,” the mercenary replied, giving Mazn’reysla a curt nod in recognition before going off to find another group to play with.


Drizzt chuckled and continued through the crowd. The air took a chill, but he was more comfortable with his shirt off; enough to sooth the burn in his skin and dry the sweat that had gradually built up over the past few hours. He glanced down to his abdomen and saw the marks from Mazn’reysla’s fingernails had indeed faded with that salve the High Priest had given him just a few minutes ago. Drizzt breathed in the fresh breeze, letting it mingle with the rest of his surging senses as they slowly calmed. He had allowed himself to be taken by another man; a man who allowed himself to be taken in return.


Drizzt looked over again to Mazn’reysla, who stared ahead with a smile broader than any he had ever seen. The cleric had feelings of some sort for him. If it was true love, he was doing a good job of hiding it, though a part of him doubted it was simple drow lust. It was something, and Drizzt had to admit he felt something for Mazn’reysla as well that he himself had yet to define. Maybe it was better for the both of them if that something was forever undefined.


Drizzt casually passed his human companion, who was drinking a mug of ale with his sparring partner and conversing casually. Drizzt could feel the black eyes regard him for a second before abruptly returning to the design on his back.


“That’s some nice work,” Entreri said gruffly, before patting Drizzt hard between his shoulder blades and his neck and sending out a wave of pain, followed by a dirty laugh.


Drizzt looked back at the assassin, who was still giving him a wicked grin. He flashed him an obscene gesture and with a smile and walked off;


Mazn’reysla walking closely beside him.