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Snowfall began as a trickle an hour before dawn, and by the time a sparkling sun was peering out through the fluffy clouds, the way from the grimed alleys of the undercity to the hallowed paths of the District of Lords, to the moor outlands and marshes, to the very shores of the Cold Sea was a blanket of silver. A sleepy pillow of winter.

Patrolling officers who enacted Her Majesty\'s order to clean up the polis each morning after a night of indulgence, encountered several snoring drunks folded in on themselves by the steps of taverns. The Gold Cloaks gathered to their armored flesh their capes to keep out the biting cold.

"Awaken and seek out shelter by order of the Queen! Her Majesty would not have you lot freeze to death in consequence of your hedonism." They slapped many of the hedonists out of their stupor.

One drunk fastened to a bottle by a graffitied brick wall adjoining a tavern, as he roused from his slumber, scoffed at the patrols and flipped them the bird.

"You shouldn\'t stop people from enjoying a night out in the elements. This is the Matyr\'s spunk right outta the skies, we should roll and bathe in it. Metal-headed cunts!" He cussed and staggered away.

"Yeah! I should have let THE MATYR\'S SPUNK kill your ass, idiot wanker!" One officer hollered after him.

Away from the drowned, immaculate rooftops of the Capitol and far into the trails due north of the gray Woods, a swanky blue carriage pulled up to the only estate for miles around, Emberfall. Snows and fog clashed on the acres of quiet land, rolling the air with minimal vision. And the man within the buggy was far more impressed with the recluse environment than the stately Manor he pulled up to.

A heavy-set and jowled carriageman held open the door as the wintry stranger tumbled out.

"Thank you, Jameel. Don\'t wait up."

The man who spoke to the equestrian was short and hairy, built like a leprechaun. His ears were large and floppy, and his salt-and-pepper mop looked stringy falling from his head. It entered his beaver black eyes and made him into something of a scare. Like the Little Man from the children\'s books used to scare them into being good.

The man\'s face couldn\'t be described as beautiful. He held in his hand a fresh canvas for oil works and a cradle for paintbrushes. Yet, to this dwarven entity, Jameel, the carriageman bowed and folded up his large umbrella.

"I will wait, Camerlengo, in the stables," he said.

The Manor\'s doors opened then with a flourish.

"Come in, come in!" Cora was at the other end, smiling proudly and waving the little man in.

This grey-haired [Hobbit] who looked like he secretly sold girl children of to distant lands under blood moons was the infamous and notoriously known artist for his depraved works, Camerlengo. Despite his untrusting appearance, Camerlengo wouldn\'t hurt a fly.

His own body was imperfect, and some might even say frightful, but when he put those odd gnarled hands of his to paper, what came out of it was the utmost perfection.

Camerlengo could draw a dry well in relief and carve every single emotion one could perceive. If he saw it, he could draw it. All of his pieces, though corrupted and leaning towards the satanic, boasted stupendous attention to detail.

His charcoal works went for as much as [300 000] Eldorian gold coins on the open market; the more twisted ones gobbled up in secret auctions for as wrecking a price as ten million.

Nobility of the kingdom paid top gold to have the man make family portraits of them. But Camerlengo rather preferred to depict nude forms of the ladies—if their husbands wanted to watch was up to them. His pieces were raw and controversial. The Highfather called holy fire upon his head every single time one of his blasphemous murals graced the mansion of some member of high society.

Girl models begged him to paint them naked. They offered among fat purses their own body, but Camerlengo had never touched a woman since his first sketch in his school handbook.

He was the ultimate voyeur. He appreciated human beauty, in all its frailness and little imperfections. He rather liked to watch than fuck.

Many rumored that demons whispered in his ear, that his fingers were the talons of [Mahorr the Malevolent]. But in all the gossip and criticism of his works, the little weird artist was the most beloved of aristocracy. No one dared do more than talk against him. He had only his single name, Camerlengo. He was inspired and talented.

And his pieces, some so vulgar it had to be sealed off immediately unveiling still sold like crazy and had noble Lords dipping into their fortunes for a taste of visual indiscretion.

This very Camerlengo was in Rafel\'s home. And he brought his pencils.

Cora showed him to a cozy lounge.

"Please sit, Camerlengo. I\'ll be just a moment."

The Hobbit stopped her at the door when he said, "Ah! I see...you haven\'t told him yet. You haven\'t told the Earl of my arrival. You paid for my services clandestinely. I like it."

Cora didn\'t turn around and only repeated.

"I\'ll be just a moment."

She ran the entire way up the gilded vestibule to a higher storey on the mansion. Without knocking, she pushed in through the door of the Masters bedroom. Rafel\'s chambers. The suite was empty and she was looking around when the beautiful man himself stepped out from a large bathroom to the side. He had just come off a hot bath and steam poured off his lean muscles. His body was toned like a tiger\'s.

And he was naked.

Resisting the urge to take a quick peek at his lower regions, Cora dove for the huge dresser and grabbed off a towel. She held it out to him and didn\'t turn her eyes away when he wrapped it around his golden thighs.

"I know you didn\'t just come in here to ogle me, Corazón. Tell me, what\'s wrong?" Rafel\'s dark voice hit her.

His room smelled like mountain dew and Cora took her sweet time in going back to his closet and rummaging through the hangers.

Rafel inched closer behind her.

"Corazón?"

She quickly turned and slammed into his chest crisp black slacks and a freshly laundered onyx shirt. It had real gold fastenings. Rafel peered down at her, from the clothes in her hand to her lovely face. Her blue eyes met his. He was close enough to smell the springy bath cologne.

"Why the formal wear?" Rafel asked.

"I may have invited...I did invite Camerlengo over to—"

Rafel sighed and turned away. Cora instantly dived to pacify him. She hugged his strong back and folded her small hands into his front. His chest was a great expanse. His abs were as slabs of rock against her resting palms.

"I\'m sorry. I know you don\'t like posing or pictures. But I wanted something of you to hang on our walls beside the anonymous nude female. Something of us! Besides, you\'re so beautiful it\'d be a sin not to paint you. I mean...fuck!

Just look at your body. You\'re a fucking god."

Rafel remained stiff and inhuman at her words. Cora splayed her fingers over his warm, broad chest. Her blue nails dipped into his fine skin.

"I can tell him to leave?"

"No." A hard rumble. "He\'s already here. But again, that\'s what you wanted, isn\'t it?"

Rafel turned around. Cora was struggling with her smile. She beheld sparks flit about in his eyes and she straightened her face.

"I\'m sorry, My Lord. Please don\'t be angry with me. I won\'t pull some shit like this again. Witch promise! I will make it up to you."

Rafel slowly lifted his left hand and touched the curls of her silver hair. His wrist grazed her fade. He whispered softly in the bedroom.

"For you, Corazón, I will let a fucking dolphin paint me. However, I\'m looking forward to you making it up to me."

His pink lips were to close for comfort or modesty. Cora quickly pushed the clothes into his free hand and pulled away from his scorching torch. His fingers tore lightning into her flesh.

She said, "Get dressed, you handsome devil. I\'ll get the girls, set the stage, and we\'ll all be waiting in the Landing."

Ten minutes later, as Rafel swaggered down the high spiral steps of his home, he found all the young women under his command finely appareled and waiting by the foot of an executive chair. They were all already in their poses for the painting. They looked amazing in their costumes. The theme for this piece Cora had thought of was the Underworld.

Of course Aya Naamah was in black, flaunting her lush assets. She, the succubus—no need to get out of her character. Ravenna was a virgin nun and wore the matching alluring costume. It was more sinful than holy though. Rafel thought he saw her nipples through the immaculate habit. Annabelle, the newest addition to their family was a smashing vampiress in her red cowl.

Her decollétage dropped down to her navel, glorious pale skin on display. Finally, Corazón; the initiator of it all was the enchantress in her blue swarming robe. Her silver hair was gelled and she was the only one who had tight pants underneath her druid tunic.

His women were beautiful.

\'I would sit through this entire session just for them,\' Rafel reckoned inwardly.

He greeted and shook hands with the famous artist, already set up in front of them on a stool with a fresh canvas.

"Thank you for doing this, Camerlengo."

The talented Hobbit bowed. "You honor me, Your Grace. The Queen speaks highly of you. But I already thought so even before she ever uttered your praise."

"Now you honor me, Camerlengo." Rafel laughed and fondly patted the man\'s back before striding forward to take his seat.

The House of Emberfall was a beautiful one, and the Lord of the Manor himself looked below to the enchanting women at the foot of his black boss seat and smiled. They all grinned back at him. Camerlengo held up his hand and counted from five downward. At one, he dropped his arm and started painting.

The chefs were cluttering silverware in the Dining Hall across when Camerlengo finished, exactly at lunchtime.

He stepped down his high stool, looked a bit at the family portrait before him, and then expertly turned the swivel on the canvas cradle so his models could gaze at their virtual selves. Ravenna was the first to react.

"Holy fuck!"

Annabelle was next. "By the cold iron of the Drowned God!"

Aya and Cora were speechless. All the women stood to their feet and Rafel joined them, his fair head looming a foot above. Silently and utterly mesmerized, they moved in unison for the finished piece.

"You have no human hands, Camerlengo," Rafel complimented.

Before them all was a depiction of wonder. It looked exactly like the real deal. The shadows, tweaks, and touchups. Rafel\'s executive seat had been exchanged for a throne of shadows, four extremely attractive supernatural concubines flowing out at the obsidian foot of it. The umbras twirled and wafted around their succulent figures.

When Rafel caught the engraving of a pentagon imbued with a crescent moon at the top of the dark throne, just above his red hair, he turned a quizzical expression to Camerlengo.

How did the man know the arcane symbol that sat stop his throne as Apollyon?

The dexterous artist had sidled in next to them and was also peering down at his stellar work. It wasn\'t pride that glazed his eyes. It was interest. He caught Rafel\'s stare and winked back.

"You have a name for it?" Cora didn\'t lift her riparian eyes off the piece.

Camerlengo looked clear across to the gold sprouting horns bursting out Rafel\'s flame hair and gave answer. His response was as inspired as his dark additions to the painting.

"The Horned god, I was thinking."

"I like it." Cora asserted. She called. "Mia!" And the loyal pixie came buzzing in, a trail of pink fairy dust trailing behind. "Mount this up, will you? Thanks."

"The spot, mi\'lady?" Mia offered.

"You pick," Cora replied.

Mia looked to the fifteen foot oil work and knew that it would make an excellent mural.

"Please Camerlengo, have dinner with us?" Cora vied.

The artist nodded and they all traipsed as a file to the arranged Dining Hall. They all settled in to a perfect lunch, the girls enamored to the little talented painter and asking questions of him. Rafel was quiet. Camerlengo definitely knew of his [Divine] origins. He wondered though if the beloved Hobbit was part of the clandestine group the Count, Sir Lucius had mentioned some weeks back.

What was it again: The Enlightened Ones?

Yep! That was it.

Rafel looked around the table, and discovered that he had many friends in the Fae Empire—much more than even he knew of.