Though the Oracle had long ago lost the use of her legs, Di-Nah, her bond-slave turned acolyte, had legs enough for both of them.
And what magnificent legs they were! Long and shapely, they carried Di-Nah through the jungle with both speed and grace, even as Di-Nah carried her mistress in her arms. The Oracle found being carried in this way by the toothsome blonde warrior was not only practical, but also pleasurable, and she indeed took great pleasure in being able to cuddle against her alluring acolyte's pneumatic chest. Din-Nah didn't mind and happily bantered with the Oracle. Still, as they approached their destination, their mind turned to less pleasant thoughts.
Of all those the Bat Man had trained, none had absorbed his lessons as well as the four Nightwings, who had mastered the great man's techniques so thoroughly that each was said to surpass even the Bat Man's skills in one area. They were the most trusted of the Bat Man's warriors, the most beloved, his daughters in all but name (save the youngest, who was his daughter in truth). But sadly, they had taken more from the Bat Man than skill; they had inherited some measure of his pride. Unwilling to tolerate their mentor's domineering, all-controlling ways, they had left the Tribe of the Bat and struck out on their own. They still fought to defend the weak and the helpless (though it was said some of them did not always reign in their inner darkness as they should), and found allies in other Tribes. But the break with their mentor was too bitter, the wounds too deep. Any and every attempt to return them to the fold had been rejected, sometimes violently. So there was no way of knowing how they would respond to the Oracle's plea for aid. They might accept, but they were just as likely to refuse, or even take advantage of his weakness to take Gotham for themselves. And that was assuming bearing the scent of the Batwoman (who despite wearing the Bat Man's symbol had always walked her own path) would convince them to even allow her to speak.
As they entered the grove of high trees where the Nightwings nested, both the Oracle and Di-Nah became silent. There was a long pause, until suddenly, a small figure dropped from the trees. The figure proved to be that of a slim young girl who had just begun to bloom, short for her age, but with strong, sleekly muscled limbs. She wore a red vest, one breast adorned with a symbol in yellow, a vertical bar that collided with a curve at the top, with a sharp point descending from their meeting. The vest had once been held closed by yellow laces, but these had frayed, and the vest would've shown quite a bit if cleavage if her breasts had been more than buds and she had any cleavage to show. A flap of ragged green cloth covered her loins, a green mask (which was really too small to hide anything) was over her eyes, and she wore a tattered yellow cape with a black hood (which was down). Her face was cherubic, dominated by big blue eyes and framed by glossy raven hair. All in all, a pretty girl-child, already becoming a beautiful woman, who under normal circumstances the Oracle would relish seducing and initiating into the ways of womanhood.
The girl's adorable features twisted into a scroll. "How dare you," she hissed, brandishing a sword almost as big as she was. "None of the Bat Tribe may approach the nest of the Nightwings and live."
Her voice was high and youthful, and even squeaked a little. Combined with the oversized sword, she should've been comical. But the way she held the sword showed that she knew how to use it, and though it was squeaky, her voice was steady and forceful. And there was a hard glint in those beautiful blue eyes, one which made it clear that she was not posturing or playacting; her threat was deadly serious, and the girl was quite capable of carrying it out.
"Hold on," said another figure emerging from the trees, walking with the easy confidence of those who knew themselves to be strong. "Why don't we have some fun with them first?" The speaker was a woman grown, a few years younger than the Oracle herself, though her night-black hair was streaked with white. She wore a mask like the younger girl, but hers was a vivid red, and her whole face was painted that color. The rest of her garments were more drab; a tattered brown jacket, and what had once been matching pants but now were reduced to a bikini bottom. The jacket's fasteners were gone, and it hung open, revealing the supple flesh beneath; both the high, firm, globes of her breasts, and the toned, sculpted muscles of her stomach. She was lissome and wiry, her legs sleek with muscle, and through rips in the arms of her jacket one saw that the same was true of her arms. Her face was lovely, angelic even, with eyes as a blue and beautiful as the younger girl. But there was a look in those eyes, hard like the other, but also angry, and more than a little cruel; the younger girl was capable of great violence, but this one would enjoy it.
A third girl dropped emerged from the trees. She was older than the first girl, younger than the second, of an age with the Batgirls. She wore the same mask as the younger girl, and a similar cape; though her's was black on the inside, lacked a hood, and had a high collar. She wore the same vest as well, but had the breasts to fill it out, and indeed showed highly delectable cleavage. She had once worn sleeves and leggings, but all that now remained was a black loincloth covering her womanhood and some scraps of red fabric adorning her arms and legs. She was a bit more voluptuous than the other two, but was still well-muscled and athletic. Her face was fine-boned, her features regal and aristocratic, with cheekbones you could cut yourself on, while her blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and intellect. Her body language was tense, and her expression strained; she was not eager to hurt anyone, but was prepared to do so.
"Don't you think, we should let them explain why they came here first?" Her voice was melodious, but her tone was confrontational. It was clear that there was no love lost between the three, and they spent a moment glaring at each other. Finally, the youngest one broke the silence with a grunt.
"Tt. We should let the Eldest decide."
The third girl nodded in agreement. "Yes, she'll know what to do."
The one with a red-painted face seemed about to argue, but eventually relented, shrugging her shoulders. A tense moment passed, and the Oracle and Di-Nah trembled. Not in fear, though they were more than a little afraid, but in lust; for with their lovely faces and lovely faces, the blue-eyed and black-haired Nightwings were among the most desirable females they had ever encountered.
Seconds passed, and the tension grew. And then a figure dropped straight of a tree. Di-Nah and the Oracle gasped, for the beauty of the eldest of the Nightwings was second only to that of hte Princess of the Amazons. The Eldest Nightwing's face was painted in a blue imitation of the mask's worn by her sisters, and a stylized bird was painted above and below her chest in the same color. She wore nothing else. And the Oracle thanked the great Bat-Spirit for that, because in that moment, the idea of the exquisite features and perfect body of this gorgeous creature being in any way concealed struck her as being an obscenity equal to any of the depravity of Arkham's madwomen.For a moment, the final Nightwing examined her guests. Then she smiled at them. Her raw sex appeal hit Di-Nah like a physical blow, and she fell to her knees in awe and lust. Only the strongest act of will kept her from dropping the Oracle and playing with herself right then and there. The Oracle, for her part, forgot all the speeches and clever arguments she had planned to make, and simply stammered out...
"The Bat Man is dying. Please, we need your help."