Lylla Aramintore

The Aramintore Tradition

The silver haired gentleman ushers them through the hallway with swift abandon, one arm clutching the slender wrist of the Quel’dorei halfling as she clings neatly to his side.  With one hand curled around his shoulder, and sweet nothings whispered into his ear, the latch to the lavish suite is quickly unlocked, revealing the glorious splendor within.  Wide, blue eyes search the room as an excited smile spreads across her plush lips, one hand dropping to demurely raise the hem of her skirt as she stepped over the threshold and into the room.  “Oh, this is exquisite!” she exclaims brightly, raising a hand to cover her gasp as her eyes lite upon the four poster bed in the center of the room.  Collapsing back onto it with a gleeful giggle, Lylla bounces once on the feather mattress, crossing her ankles as the silk skirt cascades around them.  Crooking a beckoning finger, her eyelids drop as a sultry smile spreads across her face, the corner of her lips tugging upwards as flashed a coy wink in her human suitor’s direction.

“Shall I pour us a drink first?”  His raspy voice fills the space, harsh and haggard like the beard that hangs from his chin.  

“Oh no…let me, my dear.  Surely you deserve to be spoiled on this night!”  She pushes herself off the bed, brushing past the Colonel with the slow pass of a delicate hand to his chest.  “I’ll fix us something nice while you make yourself comfortable…”  She winks again, tipping her head to the side to let her platinum hair flow freely down one shoulder.  It is the night of his retirement and the fortune of chance has allowed her presence at the boisterous party being given at the Legedermain Lounge.  A soldier’s loneliness led her to his lap, where she’d spent the bulk of the evening, before a few dusky whispers and careless slips of well-placed fingers gained her access to his room above.  Making her way over to the small bar, she begins to pour two glasses of fine, aged whiskey from the crystal decanter.  A glance over her shoulder paired with another sweet smile ensures that the Colonel is indeed making himself ready, with shoes kicked off and jacket strewn over the dressing chair that stands in the far corner.

“Here you are, my dear…”  She hands the awaiting gentleman his glass while bringing her own to her lips for a tasteful sip, her eyes playing over his face as he accepts the drink with a nod.

“Cheers, darlin’…”  He raises his glass in mock toast as a wolfish grin grows across his face, age-squinted eyes dropping lasciviously over her feminine form.  

Raising a finger to trace the crease in her ample bosom, Lylla steps closer, a pink slip of tongue wetting her lips.  “That was quite the party tonight…your men seem to really have taken to you.  I bet you were quite the formidable force out there on the battlefield.”  A little ego stroking never hurt, and it is matched with the caress of soft fingers against bare chest as they find and play at the opening of his shirt.  Reaching down to raise the hem of her skirt, she straddles his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed, black stockings and the hint of a garter now showing beneath as her thighs rest neatly against his.  

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the old war dogs you meet, don’t you pretty lady?”  His chapped lips part into a grin as a hoarse chuckle rumbles in his chest, one gruff hand resting against her stocking-covered thigh as the other still clutches his drink.  She takes it from his grip with a grin, setting both on the side table before a hand moves to rest on his shoulder, her thumb gently flirting with the base of his ear.

“Oh no…”  she laughs demurely, a shake of her head spilling long, wavy hair over her shoulders.  “I’ve not met any quite like you… Certainly none that I’ve wanted to join in private chambers.”  As she finishes the statement, her chest is pressing against his, lips poised just before that grizzled old mouth as she begins to press a soft kiss to them.  The Colonel’s eyes flutter closed with a groan, his hand falling slack against her leg.  With the huff of a sleep-heavy exhale, he falls onto his back against the bed, jaw dropped slack with the effort of another groan that quickly devolves into a heavy snore.  Sitting up fully on his lap, Lylla gives a roll of her eyes, grabbing hold of her skirt as she pushes off the veteran.  “Fucking finally.”  She exasperates, straightening her clothing and reaching down the front of her dress to pull out the bulky padding beneath her breasts.  

Stepping around to the side of the bed, she gives his face a few hard pats, ensuring the state of his slumber before starting about the business of rifling through his pockets.  “I thought you’d never go out, you old lug…”  She chuckles, pulling a fat sack of gold from one of his pockets and stuffing it down the bodice of her dress.  A few more trinkets and trophies procured and stowed and she makes her way to the open window, looking back only once before slipping through and out into the night.