The Erotology of the Sylph

The Monster Hunters Association is the creation of Jonathan Richards, originally appearing in the Monster Ecology stories in TSR's Dragon Magazine. Sorry again, Mr. Richards. I never thought I would be writing another one of these, but you have to follow your muse. And sometimes one's muse is an unfortunate sylph.

This is a piece of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons fanfic, and follows from the previous story, The Erotology of the Nymph.

Thank you to Steven Jackson for beta reading and suggestions.

*****

"Sylphs are beautiful, humanoid women with wings like dragonflies. (...) Aerial monsters occasionally feed on them, but they are in greater danger from evil humanoid males who attempt to capture them for dark purposes."

-Monstrous Manual (1995)

*****

Zantoullious the Gangly groaned and cricked his neck, adjusting himself on the gently undulating carpet of flying that was floating steadily above scrubby, alpine mountain valleys. He pulled his somewhat dirty grey robes tighter around himself. It was cold up here. The problem with mountains was that they were so high.

At least it was only the two of them on this particular Monster Hunt. President Dreelix's carpet technically had room for four, but that was rarely a pleasant experience. Zantoullious had spent many hours trying to get comfortable on the mat while not accidentally elbowing Lady Ablasta or kicking their honored club president. Two riders was much more comfortable... and the bony Zantoullious and three-hundred pound Grindle the Coin-Counter averaged out to about two average-sized humans.

"You okay back there?" Grindle called behind him, as he flew the carpet. Much like a seal in arctic waters, he seemed unbothered by the cold.

"I'm fine," Zantoullious responded, wearily. He once again raised their gem of seeing to his eye and squinted through it. It had been made from a ruby, and other than giving the endless shrubs and mountain goats a pinkish tone, it had done them absolutely no good whatsoever so far.

"Actually," he admitted, "let's land. I need a break." Grindle, agreeable by nature, made no objection, but brought the carpet down to smooth landing on a... flat part that jutted out a bit. Whatever that was called. Zantoullious had an extensive vocabulary related to wizardry, alchemy, and enchanting, and Grindle's mind was a veritable encyclopedia of up-to-date economic data, but neither of them were... mountainologists. Or whatever.

Zantoullious brooded while Grindle laid out his portable hole, extracted a roast chicken and a skein of wine, and tucked in.

"No sign, eh?" Grindle asked, delicately wiping his mouth with one sleeve of his stained, sweaty wizard's robe.

"I would have told you if there had been," Zantoullious answered, peevishly. They were here to follow up on reports that had trickled in to the Monster Hunters Association that a sylph had been spotted in the area - more than once, in fact. When they had spent the previous night in the nearest city, a round of drinks had been more than enough to get every trader and trapper in the area talking about it. Even after ruling out the unlikely claims (a one-toothed prospector had insisted that he'd been invited to spend the night with a cabal of a dozen beautiful sylphs, who showered him with every pleasure before vanishing in the middle of the night and stealing one of his boots), there were numerous corroborations that yes, a sylph often foraged in this area. One with long blue hair.

You would think that if crusty fur-traders on foot could regularly spot a sylph, two wizards flying in the sky with magical detection equipment would have no trouble, but so far it had been an exercise in frustration. When Zantoullious had suggested this venture, it had sounded so reasonable - simply go grab a flighty, attractive nonhuman and bring her back for... careful academic study, and the eventual economic benefit of the Association. It would surely be elucidating to compare a sylph, up close and personal, to Azurielle the Nymph, the erstwhile enemy of the association whom President Dreelix had recently turned into a near-mindless asset. Sages had long speculated that the two species were related, after all. There had to be some explanation for why so many species of monster resembled distinctly fuckable elven women.

Of course, the fact that Azurielle was such an asset (Zantoullious spent a pleasant moment contemplating her near-platonic ideal of an ass) was part of their problem. When Dreelix had captured her, it had initially been with the intent of selling her for a king's ransom, to fill the coffers of himself and the Association. However, when it came right down to it, none of the officers were eager to take such a step. Better to acquire some merchandise that they were less... personally attached to.

"Well, it's only natural that we'd be having some trouble," Grindle soothed, philosophically. "We usually hunt animal monsters, or the occasional vegetable, like that shambling mound. Elementals are new." (1).

Zantoullious muttered agreement, and kicked a rock off the ledge in frustration. How the hell did you go about finding a single, human-sized creature known to roam widely, that could fly and turn invisible at will?

Not for the first time, Zantoullious wished that they had more support - for instance, from Spontayne the Studious, the most powerful wizard in their organization, or even Willowquisp the Zoophile, who would surely have dredged up far more information about the sylph's behavior, habitat, and probably bowel movements than he had. But those two, along with Buntleby of the Western Grove and his former adventuring buddy Rhionda the Swordmistress, represented the... less practical faction in the Association. If they knew what the group's leadership had been up to lately, they would surely object strenuously. Zantoullious shuddered to think of what mighty spells Spontayne might use to register his objection. Hence the need to keep this expedition small and on the down-low.

Just as he was internally bemoaning their situation, Grindle pointed out with one meaty hand. "Look over there."

On the other side of the valley below them, navigating a steep natural trail on the next mountain over, was a stocky figure. They trudged slowly, but steadily and confidently.

"Who do you think it is?" Grindle wondered. "You'd have to be crazy to hike this deep in the mountains, alone, on foot."

"Not even a mule," Zantoullious agreed. "They can't be carrying many supplies."

"And look! See the sun flash off them? I think they're wearing metal."

The two arcane colleagues exchanged a look. Metal armor, able to summon food and water at will, probably certifiably insane - all the tell-tale signs of an adventuring cleric.

Zantoullious made a decision. "Let's go ask if they've seen anything."

"Are you sure?" Grindle asked, beginning the multi-step process of rising to his feet. "We don't even know what god they worship."

"Grindle, I refuse to spend one more minute looking through that cursed gem at edelweiss, and since Dreelix won't trust me with the command words for the carpet, it's not like you can take a turn. We may as well see if that priest knows anything."

Soon they were pulling up carefully alongside the traveler in mid-air. Grindle was a much better pilot than Dreelix - Zantoullious wondered if they could find more excuses to leave their president behind in the future. The cleric... if there had been any doubt, the ornate war mace strapped to their belt dispelled it... stopped and turned to face them. They wore a hooded grey robe over chain mail featuring a bloody axe, a symbol that Zantoullious did not recognize.

"Hello there, stranger!" Zantoullious waved, putting in more friendliness and cheer than was natural for him. "We mean you no harm, and would simply like to inquire about your travels. Perhaps we could give you a lift?"

The stranger pulled back their hood, revealing a reddish face with a blue snout, sharp teeth, and gleaming yellow eyes.

"I'll take that offer," the hobgoblin said in fluent Common, in a guttural voice. It promptly stepped on to the carpet and sat cross-legged next to the stunned Zantoullious. They could smell the musky scent of its fur, and at this distance it was clear that the creature was at least six-and-a-half feet tall, and all muscle. Hobgoblins were a warlike humanoid species often at odds with humans and their demihuman allies. Other than ones temporarily called by one of Ablasta's monster summoning spells, Zantoullious had never met one in person.

The three sat on the carpet for a moment, awkwardly.

"I'm headed southeast," the hobgoblin prompted, and Grindle slowly elevated the carpet and flew them between the looming peaks surrounding them.

"Now then," the hobgoblin said casually, after they were well underway, "what are you hoping to get from me?"

Zantoullious tried to gather himself. "Er... we were wondering if, in traversing these mountains, you might have, uh, seen any signs of any, er, human-esque beings with, you know, large butterfly-looking wings? Perhaps gathering berries or herbs or some such?"

The hobgoblin chuckled, gratingly but with apparent genuine humor. "Trying to bag a sylph, are you?"

"Well, we're scholars, you know," Zantoullious hedged. "We're simply trying to learn more about the lesser-known and elusive creatures that inhabit the less-illuminated corners of..."

"Yeah, we're hunting sylphs," Grindle affirmed. Zantoullious shot him a glare, and he shrugged.

The hobgoblin scratched his chin. "And you're just... flying around looking for one? Hoping you see it before it sees you? And then what?"

"Well," said Zantoullious. "Er, if we can get within range, we came prepared with hold monster spells, or if she didn't notice us, we would attempt to follow her back to her lair and, er..."

The hobgoblin shook his wide, dusky head. "Yeah, right. Sylphs are highly magic resistant, and in a mid-air chase she'd lose you faster than you can roast a halfling. Let me down over there." Grindle automatically obeyed the command of the humanoid cleric, depositing him on a rough ledge near the bottom of one of the innumerable alpine valleys.

"Well," the hobgoblin said, stepping off the carpet, "you saved me the rest of the day of travel, so I'll give you some useful advice." Despite themselves, Zantoullious and Grindle leaned forward in anticipation. "You're both ignorant morons who couldn't enslave a hogtied elven whore. Give up." It started to turn away, in a gesture of obvious contempt.

Zantoullious felt the weight of that derision, and it stung. He had spent much of his life buried in books, achieving a not-inconsiderable amount of arcane might... and then found that somehow, that earned him surprisingly little respect from anybody. Fundamentally a coward, he didn't want to pick a fight with this self-assured hunk of muscle and blessings, but at least he could get in the last word. "We're not amateurs," he called at the hobgoblin. "We've subdued a nymph, you know." He spoke with confidence, despite how far he was stretching the definition of 'we'.

The hobgoblin turned back with a sneer. "You must be mistaken. A dryad, maybe."

"No, it's true," Grindle piped up. "A nymph. Safe to look at, can't escape, all nice and convenient."

The hobgoblin gave them an appraising look and fiddled with a ring on his left hand, before apparently deciding that they were too dumb to lie. (2) "You can look at her? How?"

Zantoullious swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. "Perhaps we can make a deal? We'll tell you about the nymph, and you tell us everything you know about sylphs."

"Everything I know, eh?" The hobgoblin barked out another short laugh, and thought for a moment. "Sure, why not. Walk with me."

*****

The hobgoblin ("you can call me Rakar," he informed them, in a tone that made it clear that was not actually his name) led them to a sort of weathered rocky gazebo in the middle of the valley - clearly little-used but sufficient to provide shade and shelter, and the only sign of habitation that they had seen all morning. Rakar sat himself down on one of four rough stone stools positioned around the outside of the structure, while the two Monster Hunters claimed others and explained Dreelix's successful nymph-neutralizing stratagem and its results.

The hobgoblin seemed to find it all quite amusing, pressing for details about the various ways in which Azurielle had been abused. Zantoullious quickly turned red and muttering, but Grindle, adaptable to the social situation as always, was happy to take the lead.

"... and then she sees the hell hound and she makes this sound like..." The treasurer attempted to emulate the particular whine of fear. "But you know, the hound was surprisingly adept at positioning her. Of course, it helped that she had the strength of a baby, but still. Very deft at pushing her tits down, ass up and holding her there. We didn't have to help at all." And so on.

When he was finished, Rakar chuckled. "You're a good storyteller, Grindle. And I have to admit, I've learned some things. A cursed robe, deliberately damaging their beauty... who would have thought?" Zantoullious was suddenly conscious that by sharing their proprietary methods, they might have just sealed the fate of more than one fantastic avatar of natural beauty.

But nothing to be done about that now. Rakar was continuing. "Now let me return the favor and teach you a bit about sylphs. For example, here's one. Cunt."

For a second, Zantoullious thought that the cleric had simply barked out a swear for some reason, but no. To his astonishment, something appeared in the air next to Rakar. The first thing the wizard noticed were the enormous butterfly wings, about four and a half feet long, tinted green but so translucent as to be almost invisible. They jutted out in almost parallel directions, bound together at the base by a tight, rough rope. And attached to those wings...

Unfolding out of a fetal position was a slight, slender woman, about the same height as each of her wings. She had short purplish hair that seemed to rise upward, elfin features, and wide, bright eyes that trained on Rakar's face with desperate attention. Her pale skin was heavily tattooed with goblin runes that Zantoullious could not read, but also symbols that he readily got the gist of, such as the arrows pointing upward from her inner thighs to her tiny, clean snatch, or the bulls-eyes around nipples... although those particular ones were hard to see clearly, because she was wearing a sort of top consisting of more rough rope above and below her breasts, with lengths of twisted wires running between them to dig, clearly painfully, into the bulging flesh of those red, scratched-up sacks. Her hands were encased in fingerless black leather gloves, and a gag of a similar material was secured around the back of her head. Finally, around her neck was thick collar of the same Hobgoblinish black leather, with a heavy metal ring hanging off of it.

Rakar casually yanked the air next to the slyph, this action somehow pulling her down to the ground. Then he unhooked the gag, drawing it forth and revealing that it had been holding a long, polished wooden phallus deep in place. The creature's throat visibly deflated, and her whole body spasmed for a long moment (3) as Rakar did so.

"Thank you!" she gasped out with passionate sincerity. In response, Rakar delivered a blow to the size of her head with the full force of his meaty fist. It left a vicious red pre-bruise on her cheek and sent her light body crashing to the stone ground, tears leaking from her slightly slanted, almond-shaped eyes. While she was dazed, Rakar unbelted his sturdy leather trousers, pulled out an equally lengthy blood-red dick, and then lifted the slyph, who appeared to be completely weightless, positioning her on her back in the air with her head hanging backwards. Then once he was properly lined up, he rammed his cock balls-deep in her tiny throat, which bulged just as widely, if not more, than it had when housing the gag. The sylph gurgled, as the hobgoblin casually began jerking her head, and her entire weightless body, back and forth on his manhood in an act of slow masturbation.

"Where didshe come from?" Zantoullious demanded, open-mouthed. This was not the first time an enslaved, gorgeous nonhuman woman had been suddenly presented to him, but it was a difficult thing to keep blasé about.

"She's been with me the whole time, of course," the hobgoblin shrugged. "Her collar is tied to my waist by invisible rope made from her own hair. Very securely, obviously." (4)

"She's been flying after you?"

"Hah. Flying? Not exactly. This whore will never use her wings. But sylph wings are only for moving horizontally - they levitate naturally, so it's not hard to pull them around behind you. Good exercise, really."

He indicated the black leather encasements around the sylph's hands.

"Sylphs are natural magic-users, but they still need to use their hands to cast. The gloves prevent that, and hands are wasted on fuckholes anyway. The gag is mostly to keep her mouth-cunt trained to be filled at all times; she knows better than to speak without permission."

"And what's the purpose of the, er, brassiere bit?" Grindle asked.

"... That keeps her tits in constant pain." Rakar looked slightly pained himself from the stupidity of that question. (5)

"Wait, wait." Zantoullious held up his hands, flustered. "Let's back up. You've ALREADY captured a sylph."

"Sure." Rakar smiled down at his slave. "My particular order of priests has been doing it for generations. This one's my personal property. Her name is Vrolvrenuc, but since you humans would mangle the pronunciation and the meaning doesn't translate (6), you can call her Cumdump. I happen to be up here in the mountains to grab another sylph, for the glory of Maglubiyet. And personal profit, of course."

"Maglubiyet?" Zantoullious furrowed his brow. The name of the moderately-feared god of goblins and hobgoblins was familiar, but... "Don't you goblinoids have a god specifically of, er, slavery and oppression? Ker... kor..."

"Khurgorbaeyag, yes. But he's an underling to Maglubiyet. It's all well and good for Khurhorbaeyag's clerics to do MOST of the slaving, but it's a divine imperative that Maglubiyet's followers take the best slaves, so as to reinforce the hierarchy." Rakar intoned the word hierarchy with just as much reverence, or more, than he gave to the names of his gods.

"And sylphs are top-of-the-line, eh?" Grindle asked, eyeing the floating, throat-fucked morsel hungrily.

Rakar grinned. "Try her out yourself."

Grindle didn't have to be invited twice. Rising and casting off his robes and trousers, he pulled the sylph's legs apart with his muscular arms, muttered a cantrip of lubrication (one of the first goals of the average teenage wizard's apprentice), and positioned his rapidly-thickening cock at the entrance to her pussy. The size discrepancy between the two bulky men and their tiny fleshlight was stark, and Zantoullious couldn't help but stare in fascination. The sylph's eyes visibly widened, too, as Grindle slammed forward to fill her most feminine orifice. A pained grunt came out from her cock-filled throat.

Grindle's hands fumbled around the sylph, trying to figure out how to most efficiently hold a partner unencumbered by gravity. He settled on wrapping one meaty hand around the base of her wings, just over the rope, and the other on her left hip to keep her steady. Between the two new friends, they found a rhythm that jerked the poor thing back and forth between their proportionately large phalluses. It wasn't long before they both twitched and released their cum into the creature; in Rakar's case, directly down her throat into her stomach. She must have been well-trained, though, because when the hobgoblin pulled her off and wiped the remaining seed off on her face, she barely coughed. She simply took a shuddering breath with a sigh of pleasure and immediately turned to begin licking Grindle's tangled, dirty, and surely odious genital area clean.

"Well?" Rakar asked.

"Very good," Grindle reported, sweaty but clearly pleased. "Very tight. Not as good as a nymph, I mean, but what is?"

Rakar accepted the truth of that comparison this with a philosophical head tilt. "Here's one advantage over a nymph. You might have just knocked this cunt up."

"Is it that easy?" Zantoullious asked, seizing on this opportunity to return to more academic ground. "Sylphs are a kind of elemental, aren't they? They can be impregnated by humans?"

"Why don't you field that one, Cumdump?" Rakar asked, reaching over to pull the sylph off of Grindle by the back of her barbed wire brassiere.

"Ah!" she cried out in pain as her titflesh bulged out between the cruel barbs. "Of course, master!" Rising to her feet, Zantoullious was able to see her in full for the first time - a picture of slim, colorful elfin beauty, if you ignored the tattoos and cum dripping down her leg and smeared all over her bright, slightly glassy-eyed face.

"We sylphs are not full elementals, but elemental kin," Cumdump explained, with rote precision. "Out of all the common elemental kin, we are the closest to mortals, because we are meant to be fuck slaves. We have mouth, cunt, and ass holes to pleasure you with, and we even need to eat, a little. (7) We seem to feel pain and even pleasure, but they are merely crude facsimiles, like we are facsimiles of real women. The purpose of our false pain is to help teach us proper behavior, or once we are trained, to entertain and amuse our masters." She smiled with her mouth, but although she was facing the two human wizards, she never met their eyes, staring out blankly at the air between them.

"Like the elements themselves, we elemental-kin are natural resources destined to be harvested and exploited by superior civilization. In the wild, we are cock-hungry sluts who seduce mortal men for their cum, but all our children are sylphs, because we're worthless parasites. I'm told we usually like to mate with elves, because we're sinful beings who hope to escape our proper role of getting dominated by real men, but anything that can breed with a human can breed us, too." (8)

"So practically anything at all, then," Grindle commented. Zantoullious nodded. Humans had a bit of a reputation in zoological circles.

"I myself am a second-generation slave," the sylph noted proudly. "And I have birthed five new slaves already, as you can see by the size of my slutty painbags." Which did indeed look larger than average, especially on her diminutive frame.

"A little bonus of breeding them," Rakar explained. "They start to grow some passable tits." (9)

"But if it's that easy to, er, breed them, why bother coming all the way out here to capture another?" Zantoullious asked.

Rakar frowned. "Unfortunately, impregnating them is one thing and birthing them is another. Once a sylph lays an egg, it needs to be incubated by an air elemental, and you can't just summon one with a spell - it doesn't last long enough. We've got a Censer of Controlling Air Elementals that does the trick, but it's good for only two eggs a year, at best. (10) And then the little bitches grow at about the same rate as you humans - so slow! So you can imagine that demand for these cunts is much higher than the supply, especially when we start trading them off to orcs and ogres as part of political deals."

"So..." Zantoullious asked. "How do you intend to capture a sylph, then?" Here was the crux of it. A chance to grow their practical Monster Hunting knowledge by leaps and bounds.

"Hah. I'll show Grindle because I like him." Rakar grinned toothily at Zantoullious. "What's-your-name, you're a weak, limp-wristed pansy, but you can stay too because you're with Grindle."

"... Thank you." After a moment of hesitation, Zantoullious decided that respect was, perhaps not his lot in life after all.

The hobgoblin cleric returned the gag to Cumdump's mouth (she gave a little sigh as it slipped down her throat) and dismissed her to curl up and once again float invisibly by his side, the world's most rapable balloon. Then he produced some chalk, and began inscribing a magic circle on the stone surface of the gazebo. As he did so, he began to speak again.

"It took some time for us to work this out. Early sylph hunts turned out badly more often than not - regiments fried by lightning bolts, torn apart by air elementals. We managed to find their nests a few times... they're actually easier to find from the ground than the air... (11) but they roam so much that they're rarely at home, and are very careful to scout the area out when they return.

"Turns out the answer is simple," he continued, lighting a candle in the center of the circle. (12) "First, we useauguries to find a favorable time and location for a capture. After that... it turns out that it takes an elemental-kin to catch an elemental kin."

"Ah!" said Zantoullious. Clerical magic wasn't his specialty, but he remembered seeing this particular protective circle in a long-ago tome. "An /aerial servant?"

"That's right. Strong, flying, fast, practically made for kidnapping flighty little fucksleeves. And it's a summons, not a spell aimed at the little cunts directly, so their magic resistance can't help them. Here we go."

Rakar cast a protective spell to activate his magic circle, then began the surprisingly short incantation to summon his helper. Goose pimples rose on Zantoullious and Grindle's necks as the planar boundary was weakened, and a hole punched through to the primordial Inner Planes, the power of the god Maglubiyet demanding the compliance of a mighty inhabitant of the Elemental Plane of Air. The wind picked up, and sparking blue smoke oozed out of an invisible pinprick of a hole in the air, assembling itself into a crude semblance of a human, with empty eyes and a cruel, void-like gash of a mouth. It made a noise like the hissing of steam through a kettle that was not quite boiling.

Rakar intoned instructions to it in a divine, or possibly goblinoid, language that the wizards could not understand, and it shot up into the air with a strange whistle of wind. Zantoullious breathed a sigh of relief. Rakar looked after it and nodded in satisfaction.

"Aerial servants are aggressive buggers, though," he commented. "If they can't fulfill their task, they get frustrated and come right back to kill the summoner. And don't ask me how, but sylphs seem to know when one is coming after them. If you dispatch the servant from too far away, they have time to hide from it. (13) My mentor was crushed to death by his own aerial servant - squeezed so hard his head popped right off." Rakar chuckled again, with a good humor at odds with the content of his anecdote.

"That's why we perform these rituals in the mountains, close to the target. My order has several different sites, of course - this is one of our oldest ones." Rakar detached a wineskin from his belt and took a swig of some deeply pungent brew.

"And now all we do is wait."

*****

Mistral laid her herb bag to her side... a beautiful brocade that her mother had received long-ago in trade with the elves, somewhat worn now but still precious... as she slowly and carefully packed it with gentian, hovering just above the hard mountain rocks. Herb-gathering was one of the few times when it was necessary to become visible... you needed to see your own hands, after all. As her mother Shamal had taught her, she had eyed the skies carefully for signs of perytons or hunting wyverns before revealing herself.

What her mother didn't know was that she had deliberately chosen to harvest a patch of gentian clearly visible from a small mountain trail, just as a couple of human men had been travelling down it with heavy packs, for their mysterious human purposes. The sylph had pretended not to notice them, although her hearing was excellent and she'd flushed with excitement as she heard the indistinct murmur of the two men as they stopped to stare.

She was the closest she'd ever dared to come to mortals, less than a hundred feet away, and the men had a full view of her coltish, almost five-foot tall body: long, light-blue hair and brighter blue, iridescent wings, diaphanous two-part robes with a hint of gold that were supposed to cover her thoroughly (albeit gauzily) in a somewhat modest fashion, but which she had cinched back the top part of to pull tight against her pert breasts and reveal her smooth, slim navel. She wondered whether humans' eyesight was good enough to notice her perky nipples pushing out against the thin material. Casually, she bent over while kneeling in midair, pretending to reach for a growth nestled deep in a small crevice in the stone. She thought she could hear a sharp intake of breath on the air, as the men were treated to a clear view of her peach-shaped ass, the translucent cloth draped over it obscuring little but the details of her smooth, pink mound.

Then they had to go and ruin the moment. "Hi, you there!" one of the men shouted, his voice resounding through the valley. Instantly, Mistral clutched her bag to her and turned invisible, floating herself into the air and using her powerful butterfly wings to glide silently closer to the men.

"You idiot," one of the burly men said, cuffing the other on the back of the head. "You scared her off."

"I had to try," the other man said, defensively. "They say sylphs sometimes take mortal lovers."

"Yeah, heroic types who bring flowers and golden fucking necklaces," the first man said. "You think one's gonna spread her legs for a moron who courts with 'you there'?"

With gentle whoosh of air that the imperceptive humans didn't even notice, Mistral launched herself away, afraid that if she stayed longer, she wouldn't be able to control her laughter. She darted through a canyon between two looming peaks, propelled partially by her wings and partially by the wind being funneled through the pass. The wind did not chill her - it never did.

These mountains were familiar - they had passed through them many times before, and maintained a nest a half-day's fly to the north, nestled in the trees near a spring never-frequented by humans or their ilk. Her mother had warned her sternly that there was always danger, that sylphs had gone missing in these mountains before, but Mistral had never had any close calls. She was full-grown, much too old to follow in her mother's wake all day, but wouldn't officially be an independent adult until she attended her first Grand Sorority, the next of which was still two years away. Their current compromise to satisfy their naturally individualistic natures was that they traveled together and met up each night, but they each generally did what she liked during the day.

Mistral's mother had strictly forbidden her from interacting with mortals on her own, but she never said a word to them, so technically she wasn't breaking any rules. Nor did she intend to. Mortals were always a bit dangerous, and she was hardly ready to lay an egg at this point in her life. Simply teasing them would be entertainment enough for the next hundred years or so. (14) Mistral looked forward to taking her first actual lover at the Grand Sorority; her mother refused to go into explicit detail about such things, but had made it clear that she would have no difficulty doing so. (15)

Inexperienced, and distracted in her thoughts, Mistral didn't notice the tell-tale, but subtle, change in the wind that indicated an air elemental was moving nearby. Nor was she looking up to see the aerial servant flowing gusting over a snow-dappled peak above her, the smokey contours of its form sharpening into humanoid shape as it sighted its target. (16)

By the time she noticed the strange flow of the air, a hand was wrapped around her neck from behind. She instantly struggled and tore at it, but it was as strong and implacable as iron, and another arm quickly wrapped around her tiny waist, pushing her back against a soft yet completely unyielding floating body. "Syyylph," she heard a voice hiss, in the whooshing elemental language that she and her mother only ever used during their occasional prayers to Akadi or Chan, Princess of Good Air Creatures.

Tears filled her eyes, but with the hand gripping her neck she could neither call for help, nor even twist back to see what she'd been caught by. She tried to flap her wings, but they were spread wide apart by the intrusion of her captor between them; she tried to levitate up or down to dislodge it, but to no avail. Mistral's eyes fell on her brocade bag, on the rocks just in front of her - she must have dropped it when her momentum was suddenly arrested.

Then she had other things to think about, as she suddenly and quite unexpectedly felt air gust against her pussy. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was still slightly moist from the titillation of her casual venture into cockteasing, and the blow of air across her tiny young clit made her body shiver. However, this had merely been an exploratory grope to find the right spot, not a caress intending to arouse her. Because just an instant after that, she felt her lower lips blown apart by a powerful aerial phallus, just as hard and implacable as the arms holding her still.

Quickly and brutally, little-constrained by issues of friction that might slow a flesh-and-blood rapist, the young sylph's pussy was filled, drops of blood scattering down to the ground as her maidenhead was shredded and the swirling winds of her pillager blew them from her body. A few drops fell on her mother's brocade bag, forever staining its intricate foliate designs.

Mistral's mouth opened in a breathless scream. Her entire mind was concentrated on the brutal raking of her sensitive inner walls, the hurricane forces pushing against her cervix. She barely noticed the wispy tendrils of smoke running over the outside of her body - her thighs, her only recently-grown breast mounds, the edges of her wide-open lips. Barely noticed, that is, until she felt a tickle of air exploring the tiny, tightly-closed bud of her sphincter...

As her captor adjusted its grip to better hold her and began to fly with her through the air, she managed to get out a scream. The first of many.

*****

Rakar, in an especially gregarious mood once he'd began drinking, regaled them with stories from his hobgoblin tribe while they waited. They were brutal, cruel, and generally extremely dirty.

"Amazing," Grindle commented after Rakar concluded a particularly compelling tale. "I'm learning so much about the sexual characteristics and practices of hobgoblins. We should be writing this stuff down."

"The topic does hold a surprising amount of interest," Zantoullious admitted.

Grindle unfolded his portable hole on the floor of the gazebo and began rummaging around in it for a notebook, but was interrupted by a rising, distant sound of wind.

"Here it comes," Rakar commented, rising to his feet from within his protective circle. "You two must have prepared see invisible, right? I suggest casting it now - this is worth seeing."

The wizards, along for the ride now, followed the hobgoblin's direction, and soon identified the smoky shape of the invisible aerial servant, riding the winds over a nearby ridge at incredible speeds, then slowing as it approached. Each of its powerful hands gripped the outstretched, fragile arm of a sylph, even smaller than Rakar's slave but no less shapely and beautiful, splayed out facing forward and struggling to no avail. Her body was on full display, her tightly-tied top revealing every curve and her delicate skirt billowing upward in great gusts emitting from the summoned elemental-kin.

Of course, the eye was immediately drawn to the pulsating plumes of blue smoke rising from the crotch of the aerial servant, flowing in violent circuits into the pussy and asshole of the sylph, whose eyes were rolling back in her head as she let out involuntary, throttled shrieks. It did not appear to be necessary for the aerial servant to thrust in the traditional sense - its body matter was itself flowing into and out of the sylph's rapeholes in a constant, and presumably pleasurable circuit.

"See?" Rakar asked his astonished companions. "Usually an aerial servant just grabs its target and returns it with no fuss, but when you ask it to fetch a sylph... well, this happens. Can't blame them, I suppose." (17)

Nevertheless, he motioned for the aerial servant, which reluctantly approached and presented its prize to the summoner within the circle, hissing venomously again as it did. Its smoky elemental members withdrew from its victim with a hiss and a disgusting sort of cross between a creampie and a queef, leaving both holes gaping and violently twitching. Rakar seized the sylph's arm. Then, its summoner having officially taken custody of the delivery, the aerial servant swiftly dissipated, departing the plane with a last reluctant glower.

The sylph was dazed, fucked-out, her eyes blurry with the tears she'd been crying during her brutal transportation. "Thank you," she gasped out in heavily accented, unpracticed Common, apparently under the impression that she had just been saved. "My name is Mistral. Where am I...?"

Rakar rifled in his pack with his free hand, and removed a length of rough but sturdy rope. "Oh, don't worry about that," he said calmly. "All you ever have to think about again is obeying."

With a practiced deftness, he looped the rope around the base of Mistral's wings, looping it into a simple knot and pulling it tight. The girl gasped as a new pain and discomfort registered through the fog of her pillaged ass and pussy. Somehow regaining a second wind, the poor creature started to struggle... although the slight, coltish girl's struggles against the hulking, muscular hobgoblin were ineffective almost to the point of comedy.

"Free me, you monster! Help! Help!" she screamed in Common, in between bouts of what sounded like strident singing, which Zantoullious took to be the Sylph language.

"Nobody here will help you, you dumb planar slut," Rakar said in irritation. Addressing Grindle, he explained, "She'll be easier to handle once we break her in. I'll let Cumdump help rape her; she deserves a treat. But for now, give me a hand."

Grindle approached his new friend, who had finished with the wings and was now attempting to bind the sylph's hands behind her back. The flat-chested morsel looked up at the corpulent wizard, and pleaded "Please, sir, help me!" Tears streamed down her bright, doe-like eyes - the very picture of beauty and innocence. A bright trickle of blood was seeping out of her fresh young pussy - apparently the aerial servant had been her first lover.

Grindle wound back his leg and kicked her in her ravaged cunt with his sturdy, filthy leather shoe, and the sylph's eyes rolled back in her head as her world exploded with pain once more.

"Nicely done," the hobgoblin praised, binding her twitching (but now non-resisting) hands tightly together.

"I was the best kicker in the village as a kid," Grindle acknowledged modestly.

Their cheery camaraderie was interrupted by a sound that Zantoullious was intimately familiar with: an arcane invocation, the verbal component of a wizardly spell. In a high, confident, feminine tone. All eyes whipped toward the source.

His see invisible spell still active, Zantoullious was able to see the now-familiar figure of a sylph - this one not bound or restrained, but floating high in the air just outside the gazebo, wrathfully gesturing towards Grindle and Rakar. She was apparently older, a judgement Zantoullious made not based on her overall appearance... like all sylphs, her face was smooth and young-looking, her hair lustrous and wavy (and in this case, blonde), her wings clear and strong... but specifically on the size of her bust, conical perky mounds almost as large as those of Rakar's slave but considerably more free under her gauzy garments. Those jugs indicated that she had been, and perhaps currently was... a mother.

The spell went off before anyone could respond. Rakar and Grindle both froze in place, staring - obviously the effect of hold person, a spell well within a sylph's magical capabilities. The younger sylph joyously called out to her parent in their musical language, but was as yet unable to break free - Rakar's frozen hand was still tightly gripping her rope handcuffs.

Zantoullious realized that the mother sylph had not yet noticed him. Perhaps it was his grey robes, blending in with the pillar of the gazebo that he happened to be standing next to, or perhaps the two hulking men abusing her daughter had simply captured her attention to the exclusion of all else. Either way, he had a moment, and probably only one, before the child informed her mother of his existence and she most likely fried him on the spot with a lightning bolt. But he could hardly do the same - if sylphs' magical resistance was as formidable as Rakar had implied, even his most potent spells were unlikely to take effect. And he couldn't reach her from her current elevated vantage point, not even if he unfolded his extendable staff. There was the magic carpet, but only Grindle knew the command words. He had no options.

Unless...

As quietly as possible, Zantoullious muttered the words of a spell, one that didn't even require him to rummage around in his pockets for material components. An instant later, the mother sylph's head whipped around, looking out at the mountains behind her, lowering herself to ground level and floating backwards into the shelter of the stone gazebo. She called backward urgently to her daughter, who returned the favor, shouting a warning... just as Zantoullious tackled the new arrival with a running leap, leaving them both rolling around on the rocky ground outside.

The sylph was a petite, sylvan woman... not the most intimidating wrestler. (18) But Zantoullious was a nerdy alchemist past his prime, with a tendency to skimp on food because his personal finances all went towards maintaining his up-to-date lab. (It frequently needed to be repaired due to unfortunate explosions. Alchemy was a messy business.)

So it was a pretty sad spectacle as the two flailed at each other. One hand grabbing her forearm, Zantoullious punched her in the face several times, weakly enough that it probably wouldn't leave a bruise. The sylph tried to yank her arm away and free herself by levitation, and when Zantoullious grabbed on to one of her legs to keep her grounded, she kicked at him viciously with the other. Unfortunately, since her legs rarely needed to actually support her weight, they lacked the muscle that other humanoids would have, and the impact of her shapely arches in his face did little except to remind Zantoullious that he was not a foot fetishist.

Taking a page from his colleague's playbook, Zantoullious yanked down on the sylph's leg as hard as he could with one hand while uppercutting semi-blindly with the other. Luckily, he found purchase at his target, and managed to strike the woman in her groinal area. Her gauzy undergarments were no protection at all, and she let out a gasp, the momentary distraction enough for Zantoullious to finish pulling her down and pushing her to the ground, her wings splayed open and pressed painfully to the ground under her back. Sitting on her stomach, he began striking at her full breeder's tits and arrogant face again and again. His blood was up and his wrath was growing. How dare this bitch. She was just a minor elemental, another weird mockery of a person. A monster.

When Grindle (finally freed from his paralysis) suddenly appeared at his side, easily pulling the sylph away and securing her with one meaty arm wrapped around her waist and arms, Zantoullious felt more alive than he had in ages. Grinning into the creature's wrathful face, he gave her tits one last heavy slap, sending them wobbling weightlessly back and forth in the air. The triumph of human ingenuity over the unnatural. This was what Monster Hunting was all about.

*****

Between them, they quickly secured both sylphs. Rakar hadn't come prepared for two new captures, but Grindle had turned up plentiful quantities of rope from the bottom of his portable hole, packed away long ago for some previous Monster Hunt and never used. They put it to good use now.

The two sylphs' arms and legs were spread wide open, tied to hooks that Rakar quickly stone shaped from the rocky material of the floor and ceiling (clearly, the same magic that had created the gazebo in the first place). The position would have put torturous weight on most women's wrists and arms, but for the levitating sylphs, it simply put them on full display as they wiggled desperately but enticingly, their limbs and bound butterfly wings straining. The humanoids hadn't bothered to undress them, since their gauzy garments concealed little and, now torn and disheveled from their ordeals, provided a certain charming element of dishabille.

One would have expected the mother sylph to have more developed hips, or lines about the mouth, or some other physical tell of her age, but no. Physically, the two could have been sisters, twins even, with perfect slim, pale, shapely bodies, somewhat taller than Cumdump but still short by the standards of human women. The most prominent difference between them was, of course, the bust. Mistral's perky nipples were the only major point of interest on her only slightly curvy, cleavage-less chest; whereas her mother's significant (and now bruised) jugs, capped with wide arerola, wobbled hypnotically as she struggled, magically ignorant of gravity. Zantoullious wondered whether she had raised her children over the course of two hundred years, or four, or six, or even eight. To think that sylphs retained their youthful good looks throughout their thousand-year lifespan!

The mother had apparently spent some of that time developing an extensive vocabulary of swears and hurtful insults in the Common tongue, which she dispensed at the three mortal conspirators throughout this whole process. They made makeshift gags out of more rope, to loop roughly and uncomfortably through the sylphs' mouthes and muffle their speech.

"That was a close call," Rakar commented, once their captives have been secured. "They don't have young often in the wild; I don't think any of my order have ever run into a mother and child before." He looked over Zantoullious appraisingly. "That blonde whore might have slit our paralyzed throats if not for you. What was that spell you cast, anyway?"

"Oh, that waswhispering wind," Zantoullious replied, tearing his attention away with difficulty from the struggling of their two prizes. "I memorized it in case we needed to communicate with our fellow Association members back home. When the mother attacked, instead of attempting to enchant her directly, I created the sound of another aerial servant flying... I had just heard it, so it was fresh in my mind... and sent it on the wind around to her back. Assuming another enemy was incoming, she naturally moved under cover in response, thus getting her within arm's reach."

"Well, it was a good job," Rakar admitted. "I owe you one." The furry humanoid gave a toothy, wide smile. "So in return, how about you take the mother sylph back to your little monster hunting club, and I won't bash in both your heads and take all your stuff like I was planning to."

"Thank you," Zantoullious responded automatically. "Wait, what?"

"My head too?" Grindle asked, looking slightly wounded.

But the hobgoblin had already moved on. He tugged on his side rope. "Cumdump. Give these two a little welcome to their new life."

The enslaved sylph appeared and unfolded herself again, shuddering slightly Rakar pulling her gag free from her well-trained throat again. The two wild sylphs' eyes widened as they got a good look at her - a mirror of their own sylvan beauty, turned into a debased canvas of tattooed degredation. She gave a wide, welcoming smile that didn't meet her soulless eyes.

"Oh, how wonderful," she said. "I knew you would succeed, master, but to think you've saved two of our lost sisters."

Her feet touching gently on the ground, Cumdump walked in front of the two horrified bound sylphs. There was something awkward and cruel about the movements - even though she had been denied flight her entire life, it was still clear that her slender body was not truly built for walking, either.

"Rejoice, sisters," she said brightly. "You've been living without purpose until now. You might think of your wandering as freedom, but what have you accomplished?" She giggled. "Our people have never built cities, or civilizations, or won wars. We don't even make our own clothes or goods. (19) We're such dumb, worthless cunts!" Cumdump's voice suddenly turned strident and full of self-hatred, and she awkwardly punched herself in the face with one of her leather-encased fists, then in the chest with the other. The jagged metal of her brassiere jammed into her sensitive titflesh, drawing a trickle of blood in at least one spot. The eyes of the sylphs, and even the wizards, widened in surprise - only Rakar looked on placidly.

"Freedom is laziness," Cumdump continued, in control of herself again. "Freedom is purposeless. Now you can have a purpose. You'll be a fucksleeve. A rape hole. A dickwarmer, painslut, cockgobbler, bitchslave. You'll probably hate it because you're lazy cunts, but that's the gift of your new masters. It doesn't matter whether you hate it! They'll make you do it anyway! They'll give you value!"

The young sylph, Mistral, was crying, tears leaking down the sides of her face. (20) But something different was happening with the mother's expression- a fiery blaze of fury mixed with incredulity. She struggled to speak, despite her mouth being roughly held open by the thick, painful rope.

"I can't understand you!" Cumdump exclaimed brightly. "And it doesn't matter what you say anyway. What matters is now you're going to have a chance to prove your value." She smiled back at her master, who casually drew a sharp, cruel-looking knife and tested the tip.

"Remember," he said, meeting the mother's eyes. "You don't need your wings, or your hands, or your clit, to be useful. And neither does your daughter. So perhaps you'd better impress us."

*****

Maybe he had low standards, but as evening fell, Zantoullious considered himself adequately impressed. The mother sylph, whose name had turned out to be Shamal, was on her knees in front of him, attempting to demonstrate her worth. Her arms and legs were still tied to the stone hooks, but they'd let out the upper robes so that she could move her hands fairly freely... enough to mash her buoyant udders around Zantoullious's naked, erect cock. They'd been at it for a while, and the inside of her tits were smeared with the alchemist's precum. He wished he could make her lick it clean, but given that her hands were free, she'd been fitted with the cockgag to make sure there would be no spellcasting.

As she continued her efforts, Zantoullious watched her eyes. He'd never seen a slave... a monster, he reminded himself... have to adjust to captivity before. Since they'd stolen her intelligence, Azurielle the nymph's reactions were more like an animal than a person - panic and pleasure, useless fight or useless flight. Shamal's delicate eyes were filled with intelligence, and in them Zantoullious had already seen a clear progression from anger to desperate intensity to resignation. Now her bright, beautiful eyes were focused on massaging good feelings into her captor's cock with her fuckpillows... and occasionally glancing behind the wizard's crotch to see her daughter. Her maternal instinct couldn't be overcome, although it pained her every time she looked. (Also, Zantoullious made sure to slap her, twist her sensitive wings, or dig his sharp, dirty fingernails into her abused titflesh whenever her attention wavered. He didn't know much about training pets, but knew that consistent discipline was important.)

The cerulean-toned Mistral was bent backwards over one of the stool-shaped stones, her limbs tethered to stakes driven into the ground. Rather than facing downward, she was on her back, forced to use her levitation ability to raise her top and bottom ends off the ground to avoid a torturous arching of her back. Rakar, was leisurely pounding her tight eternally-young cunt with his massive monstrous dick, each thrust producing a squeal of pain mixed with inexorable, unwilling pleasure. Luckily, these noises were muffled by the dripping cunt of Rakar's slave Cumdump, who was floating over her new sister-slave in a 69 position, lapping at Mistral's tiny nub of a clit and grinding her crotch into the girl's unwilling mouth. For her part, Cumdump's asshole was being reamed by Grindle, who happily reported that it felt even tighter than her cunt. Though he appeared to be doing his level best to loosen it.

Zantoullious watched as Shamal stole another glance at her daughter, forced to pleasure not only a monstrous rapist but also one of their own fallen kind; a lesser creature born into captivity. He wasn't proud to admit it, but the despair that he saw there made him even harder. He could feel his body tightening, getting ready to spray his load of sperm over this sylph who was likely older than the most distant ancestor his family could recall.

"Well, Zantoullious?" Rakar called over. "How's your slave performing? Does she need to be punished?"

"Oh, er, no, she's doing fine," the alchemist replied. The conversation was a welcome distraction to prevent releasing his swimmers too early.

Rakar rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to find a reason to punish her, you fool. You can't let her get complacent this early."

"Oh," the alchemist acknowledged, embarrassed by his inexperience in this field. "Well. I don't know that we have the same, uh, flair for training and discipline that you do, but I suppose that since we intend to sell her, it will soon be the buyer's problem."

"Just make sure you get an egg out of her first," the hobgoblin reminded him. "Maybe someday you can enjoy your own fucktoy sylph daughter... assuming you can still get it up by the time she's grown." He laughed crudely.

"Oh, we shouldn't have to wait long," Zantoullious answered absently. "Restoring youth is quite difficult, but making people older is a well-known side-effect of most time magic. Enough haste spells should do the trick to prematurely age a child sylph to a mature one. And I should think that with a little research, I'd be able to distill that effect into a sort of elixir of aging which would, ah..." (20)

His orgasm swelling, Zantoullious on a whim grabbed Shamal by the back of the hair and pulled her head down in front of his cockhead. Jets of splooge shot out, pooling in one of her eyesockets, then, as he repositioned her, the other. Her body heaved as she began to cry for the first time today, the reality of her fate hitting home. Her eyes shut tight, and unable to open them, the tears mixed with the cum, and she sobbed around the phallus filling her throat. Zantoullious just sighed with satisfaction.

When he recovered, her realized that both Rakar and Grindle were staring at him, and had even stopped thrusting. Grindle grunted himself as his body, confused by the change in sensation, decided it was time to ejaculate his second load of the day into Rakar's sylph slave. ("Thank you for ruining this fucksleeve's asshole, master!" she mumbled into the young sylph's pussy.) Rakar had a professional rapist's steely control over his erection and did not cum, but he thoughtfully teased, then pinched, Mistral's clit, creating more moans as she clenched her pussy around him.

"Zantoullious," Rakar commented, after a moment. "You have some pretty good ideas. Let's keep in touch. Maybe scrawny humans like you can contribute to the cause of slavery and exploitation after all."

The tattered shreds of Zantoullious's moral compass stirred at this characterization of his efforts, but found it hard to overcome the waves of post-orgasmic good feeling filling his body. He decided to simply nod and accept the compliment graciously.

"It's good thinking," Grindle agreed. "Of course, before the Association can start practicing sylph husbandry, we're going to need to get our hands on one of those Censers of Controlling Air Elementals or similar. High investment costs." He casually pulled his filthy, deflating dick out of the ass of Rakar's slave and wiped it on the pastel blue hair of the now glassy-eyed young Mistral. "Now that we have experience dealing with elemental-kin, what do you think about nereids...?"

*****

FOOTNOTES:

1: The five kingdoms of life are, of course, animal, vegetable, elemental, supernal, and undead (debated).

2: In fact it was aring of truth, rendering its wearer immune to deceit but also unable to lie themselves.

3: Sylphs, as creatures of elemental air, do not NEED to breathe, but find mild sensual pleasure in the sensation of air passing into their lungs. If prevented from breathing for long enough, the eventual sudden release of drawing breath will sometimes be enough to bring them to orgasm.

4: The creation of this invisible rope is a simple process, but a sylph's hair only grows at the same rate as a human. The hair can be mixed in with a certain quality of other fibers and still retain the enchantment, but nevertheless only about a foot of rope can be made from a single year's worth of hair growth. Since sylphs like to wear their hair long, about ten feet can generally be harvested from a single captured sylph. Upon the sylph's death, all such rope will turn visible.

5: Because of a sylph's natural levitation ability, they have no need for a bra to provide vertical lift to their bust - their chests are always unnaturally buoyant. However, a bigger-breasted sylph might wear garments to prevent them from flopping around uncontrollably, or for aesthetic or sensual purposes.

6: Vrolvrenuc is one of many goblinoid words for a slave. Its nuance is that the slave is so low in the goblinoid social hierarchy that everybody else should feel better about themselves just because of their existence, but also that the slave should feel grateful that they're allowed to exist in the hierarchy at all instead of being killed. Compare to "gunkok" (a worker slave equivalent to a tool), "enkoc" (a slave not worth thinking about at all), or "dragaruc" (a slave, but at least you're not being called any of those other words).

7: Sylphs are omnivores, but after reaching their full growth in their late teens, they eat and drink less than one would expect for a humanoid. It's perfectly possible to sustain one on a diet of nothing but piss and cum.

8: Almost any humanoid species, and many non-human ones such as dragons, can breed with a sylph, who will invariably conceive a female sylph child. However, creatures of animal intelligence or lower, whether humanoid or not, will never cause a pregnancy. It's possible that if a sylph was fucked by an outer-planar creature known to produce half-breeds, such as fiends or celestials, that a sort of hybrid might result, but no instances have been verified.

9: Sylphs are small and slim by nature, and young adults are quite flat-chested. However, unsurprisingly, their breasts swell slightly during pregnancy. Even after they finish breastfeeding (which never lasts longer than a year), the fat in their chest does not diminish, and is added to with each successive pregnancy. A sylph in the wild would be unlikely to have more than four children over the course of her thousand-year lifespan, but a breeding slave in captivity can eventually develop truly ridiculous udders.

10: Incense of meditation must be used in conjunction with the censer when the elemental is initially summoned for the purpose of incubation, but after that the censer can be kept burning using non-magical incense. This must be maintained for six months - if the censer goes out, the elemental will be freed. This requires approximately 2700 gp worth of high-quality incense.

In theory, a sylph could be compelled to summon an air elemental for this purpose themselves, as they naturally would. However, this is obviously a dangerous proposition. In addition, sylphs born in captivity, and sufficiently young sylphs, cannot summon air elementals at all: individual alliances with air elementals are only negotiated at the Grand Sorority, a gathering of sylphs that occurs once every 28 years.

11: Because they are occasionally preyed on by aerial carnivores such as perytons, sylph nests are usually disguised from above, hidden by trees, rocky overhangs, or such. If the sylph is not at home but in the area, their home will invariably be protected by an alarm spell.

12: As a hobgoblin, Rakar cannot progress beyond 9th level as a cleric, and needs the assistance of incense of meditation to cast an aerial servant spell.

13: Aerial servants are predators to sylphs on the Elemental Plane of Air - fleeing from them is one of the reasons that many sylphs migrated to the Prime Material Plane to begin with. Sylphs are very adept at sensing aerial servants' movement on the winds. If the aerial servant is travelling to them from at least one days' worth of travel away (24 miles when weather is clear, 12 or less in the case of strong winds), the sylph will inevitably detect their approach. At this point they generally hide in a pre-prepared airtight hideaway (since sylphs do not need to breathe) or rope trick spell until the servant departs in frustration. As a last resort, sylphs do fly faster than aerial servants under normal conditions: however, a sylph's flesh-and-blood wings can tire while the servant cannot, so this is rarely successful.

14: Sylphs are extremely sapphic, as one might expect from an all-female race. The spectrum of their sexuality generally runs from bisexual to lesbian (though even lesbians will be expected to reluctantly spread their legs for mortal men when the time comes for them to reproduce). Exclusively seeking sex with men (and thus, non-sylphs) would be considered a somewhat perverse fetish.

15: It's most common for sylphs to lose their virginity at the Grand Sorority, which, besides fostering trade, news, and renewing of friendships, is an opportunity for an enormous sylvan orgy. Any sylphs who have come of sexual age since the last meeting are traditionally public use, to sexually service their elders or be toyed with by them, depending on taste. This opportunity to enjoy nubile sylph bodies goes a long way in encouraging every member of the species to attend. Mothers are responsible for ensuring their daughter's attendance, and they have the right to use their child before anyone else, and it's not uncommon for a young adult sylph's first experience of penetration to be the fingers, then fist, of their own parent - a satisfying payback for the many years of child-raising stress.

16: All air elementals and air elemental-kin are able to see each other, even when they are invisible to other eyes. This ability does not extend to invisibility effects from non-air elementals.

17: Aerial servants delight in raping sylphs, and will do so at every opportunity, not only when deployed to retrieve one as part of a summons. This sexual aggression has led scholars to speculate that the species are related, such as sylphs being a result of aerial servants breeding with nymphs. However, this is incorrect. Aerial servants reproduce asexually, as a result of being torn apart by maelstroms on the Elemental Plane of Air. They just like raping sylphs for fun.

18: Slim, short, and elfin, Sylphs have an effective strength of 4, with a corresponding -2 to hit and -1 damage applied to physical attacks, including punching and wrestling. However, their innate levitation powers give them a base Weight Allowance of 40 pounds, rather than 10, before becoming encumbered.

19: This is not completely true - some sylphs do weave the diaphanous robes favored by the race, through secret and proprietary methods. These are then traded at the Grand Sorority. But for the most part sylphs do acquire goods from other, mortal races via trade, theft, or exchanging sexual favors with solitary mountain travelers.

20: Sylph tears are highly efficacious in the production of potions of levitation.

21: Such accelerated aging will not result in an adult sylph with its full complement of Intelligence: rather than Exceptional (15-16), they will top out at Low (5-7). Obviously this is still more than enough for most purposes to which a sylph might be put. They will still gain their innate spellcasting and levitation abilities, but will be unable to cast 4th-level spells. (As per Player's Handbook Table 4: Intelligence.)