Kathra settled herself in her bath, her hand closing on the scepter she had, even in the bath. The adamantine rod would not corrode or suffer from submersion, and being without it, especially while all her other protective gear lay piled nearby, would be inviting assassination.

Tomorrow would be an important day. As the slave's fingers finished their treatment of her long pure white hair, Kathra smirked. The luxuries of living on the surface were pleasant, and bordered on making her soft. If she didn't delight so much in causing others pain it might even make her as soft as the bitches of the elven nations she planned to subjugate...