Half-Elf Harlot Ch. 01-02

Author's Note: The first two chapters of this story were published previously under a different account. They are being re-published here for continuity with the new chapters as they are released. Thank you for reading, and if you've already read the beginning of this story, stay tuned for the next few chapters, coming soon!

This story is a romance erotica that contains a considerable amount of buildup and before getting to the sex scenes. If you're looking for wham bam, you may want to move along.

*****

Chapter One: Before Barovia, and After

She'd hardly seen Ignatius since _____'s tomb.

Zelia couldn't bear to say the name of the lich they'd killed there, still, not even to herself. Dreams of his phylactery, that unholy emerald whose existence threatened the possibility of his rising once more, haunted her more nights than she'd admitted to her party members. Whenever they were in Faramon, Zelia could feel the presence of the emerald, locked and sealed though it was in the vault of the temple of Bahamut for safe keeping.

The dark horror Zelia had felt ever since she'd first entered that tomb and see the lich's rise was always with her; it was the reason she'd dedicated herself to the service of the Raven Queen; it was the secret bitter taste at the back of her smile now every time she told a joke, or read the cards, or saddled up for battle once again with her companions. And perhaps it was the reason, Zelia thought, as she strode through the high arched entryway of Pelor's temple, for her apparent weakness for dedicates of this sunny god.

An antidote.

Temple acolytes tripped over themselves as Zelia barrelled through the hallowed halls of Pelor, her black cloak billowing dramatically in her wake. Amara, the bard, went with her, but Amara was charming and subtle and was not the one that tended to unsettle the clergy. It was Zelia, the sorcerer-priestess of the goddess of death—she who had read the cards of the lich, who could transform herself into a bird with a snap of her fingers and rain down fire and lightning on an enemy encampment, all with a spring in her step and a mischievous smile on her face—that drew the mixed reviews. Even her own temple didn't quite know what to make of her.

"Hello! You there!"

Zelia shouted the words, pointing a black-gloved finger at a young acolyte who was attempting to carry an overlarge load of folded linens across the hall.

"Could you tell Ignatius we're here, please?"

The acolyte stared at her like a startled rabbit.

"Um..."

"Zelia Brightstar and Amara, Greatest Bard in Faramon. He's here, isn't he?"

"Y—is he expecting you?"

"Well he will be when he sees us, won't he? We haven't got all day, please and thanks!"

Zelia levelled a frighteningly broad smile at the young man, who dropped his linens and took off almost at a run. Hands on her hips, she glanced over at Amara, who was busy making conciliatory hand gestures toward everyone in sight, most of whom were now staring in their direction.

"Honestly, Zelia, if you would just let me do the talking, I'm sure we could've found him with a little less, ah, fanfare."

Zelia shrugged and pointed down the hallway with her chin.

"My way seems to have worked alright, I'd say."

Approaching from the far end of the echoing hall was that bearded glory of a man, Ignatius, paladin of Pelor, grinning from ear to ear.

If people didn't know what to make of Zelia, they certainly knew how to feel about Ignatius. He was the sort of person you naturally thought of when you wanted babies blessed, or kittens rescued, or needed a cover model for your "Clergy of Faramon" fundraising calendar.

His burnished golden locks tumbled from his head in majestic waves, his sun-emblazoned tunic was dazzlingly white, and as he went down the hall with sure, long-legged strides, worshippers and clergy alike couldn't seem to stop themselves from smiling in his presence. It was sickening, really.

"Zelia! Amara!" he boomed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

There it was again. The man's infuriating cheerfulness.

Zelia was cheerful, but hers was a playful, impish cheer born of constant dedication to throwing off the judgements, strictures, and expectations of others all her life. As far as she could tell, Ignatius' sunny disposition was simply due to an overwhelming goodness of nature. She'd rolled her eyes at him when first they'd met, and convinced herself for some time that she didn't like the man.

Yet here she was, using her last free afternoon in town to drag Amara to the temple of Pelor with a vaguely stated intention of checking on their Pelor allies after the disastrous public address at the palace the day before.

Ignatius clasped her hands warmly in greeting, and again she was taken back to the darkness of the tomb, when last they touched: a dozen holy warriors, their faces illuminated by flares of unholy green and crimson light as the lich rose, terrible, before them. She remembered how, for almost the first time in battle, she'd held off blasting her opponent with all the arcane might that coursed through her veins and looked instead to how her allies fared. How, seeing Ignatius hit with a sickly coil of green unholy energy and go down, she'd run to him, and used the only healing spell she'd known to restore him—not much, but just enough.

The look in his eyes, when she'd lain her hand upon his chest, has been a grateful one, but in that moment, bare of all his usual charm and vigour, she thought she'd seen some other thing as well. An honest meeting of the soul.

And so, when he now shook her hand, Zelia felt her skin prickle with electricity, akin to the feeling she got just before she cast a spell, but warmer. She waited an extra beat before letting him release her, and felt the colour rise in her cheeks as she addressed him.

"We ride soon for the north. We don't know yet how long we will be gone. We come to you to make sure Faramon has its protectors still, until we return. I—"

Zelia paused, stealing a sideways glance at Amara.

"I didn't see you at the assembly, yesterday. Did you... hear what happened?"

For a moment, her heart froze in her throat. Surely, the glamour the corrupt regent had cast over the gathered people had not infected his mind, too?

A fleeting shadow darkened Ignatius' brow before he answered, and she exhaled in relief.

"I heard," he said, his face still pleasantly composed but now with the weight of gravity behind his features. Speaking lower, he added, "I'm glad you three are leaving the city; it will be safer for you elsewhere for the present."

"Not safer where we're going, I'm afraid, but I'll take heart knowing that not all of Faramon is helpless under Chrysmer's lies."

At that moment, Amara interjected with an artful laugh, hitting Zelia on the shoulder as she said, beneath her breath,

"Watch what you say in public, Zelia..."

To Ignatius, Amara extended her hand and said,

"Well, friend, now that we've touched base we really must be going. Our northern mission requires much preparation, and I'm afraid we're still somewhat short on the kinds of protections we require for the journey. I trust our friends in the Pews will continue the good work of the gods until we return. Now, Zelia, let us be getting on, shall we?"

Ignatius looked back and forth between the two half-elven women, concern clear in his handsome face.

"You're travelling somewhere dangerous? I know the three of you can handle yourselves, but you let me know if there's any assistance the temple of Pelor can provide and it's yours."

Zelia thought of Thodorlun, waiting steadfastly at the front lines of the greying mists that encloaked the northern lands, eyes grim and watchful.

"Pelor helps already."

" So—um—goodbye, Ignatius. See ya on the flip side."

She was in the process of raising her hand in an irreverent salute when he surprised her by gathering her up in a crushing hug.

It had been a long while since anyone had given Zelia a hug, and from the stiffness of her initial surprise she softened into it, returning the large man's embrace as if they were not mere acquaintances who'd fought together once.

"Come back safe," Ignatius said into her hair.

When he put her down, her eyes were bright with held back tears. She nodded, waved goodbye, and turned to follow Amara back towards the door.

"If we make it back alive, Amara," she said, as they left the golden halls of Pelor for the dreary grey streets of Faramon, "well, let's just make it back, ok?"

A small smile quirked the corner of the bard's mouth.

"Ok."

*****

The din of laughter and conversation echoed off the stone walls, still mostly bare while the tapestries were at the menders.

Zelia herself had overseen the repair and reconstruction of Warsong Keep's hangings and textiles, a fact which she took as a testament to her own growing skill as a weaver and worker of fine fabrics.

It had been a month since their return from the northern kingdom, and they'd needed it to recover. When their steward, Bryce, had announced that arrangements had been settled for the soft reopening of Warsong Keep & Winery, Alessa had flicked her tiefling tail and cautioned against hosting a party at their estate, so soon, and with everything. Amara, however, had been delighted, and declared a ball was just the thing they needed to feel themselves again. She'd spent the entire past week at Carys's, working out the night's entertainments.

Zelia was glad at the prospect of some merriment, finally, at the long-empty keep the three of them had come into possession of as a demon-haunted ruin a year ago. And now, as she looked around the ballroom to see it full of lords and ladies and friends and allies, she felt a warmth in her chest she hadn't felt since returning home.

Beside her, Thodorlun squeezed her hand affectionately and released it.

"I'm going to go and sort us out something to drink," he said gruffly, and made his way through the crowd, a head or two shorter than most people there.

Zelia watched him go, idly fingering the iron holy symbol of a raven that, even now, in her party finery, she wore around her neck. It had been a gift from Alessa, given when she'd first announced her intention to dedicate herself as a cleric of the Raven Queen. Even though she now owned a much more powerful, magical symbol of the goddess, this was the one she kept with her always.

Meandering through the crowd, Zelia spied her tailorcraft mentor, Leda, and wended her way over to say hello. Leda embraced her warmly, kissing her on the cheek in greeting.

Zelia did a little twirl to show off the dress she'd made herself for the occasion: short, black, loose-fitting, and glittering with a thousand tiny gemstone stars. It wasn't the fashion of the day, but she delighted in flouting convention, and the cut went well with the way her wavy black hair, grown out now just past her shoulders, bounced as she moved.

"Whaddya think?"

She'd accessorized sparingly, wearing only the iron pendant and an elven circlet set with a single burning orange gem. Those who had seen her use the circlet sometimes sweated when they looked at it, which honestly suited Zelia just fine.

"I love it," Leda said. "You stand apart in any crowd, my dear."

"Thanks!"

Leda began to compliment the progress on the repairs to Warsong, when Zelia caught sight out of the corner of her eye of a tall man with a close-cropped beard and a mane of dark gold hair, across the room.

Ignatius.

She had tried her best for nonchalance when making sure *all* their allies from Faramon's temple district were on the guest list, and she hadn't been sure he was actually coming until just now.

Zelia put a hand on her mentor's shoulder.

"Would you excuse me for a moment, Leda?"

The older woman, used by now to far more abrupt entrances and exits by her strange pupil, waved her on.

Trying her best to be inconspicuous, Zelia made her way toward the large knot of party guests gathered around Ignatius. Being inconspicuous had never been her strong suit, though, and since she was, after all, one of the hostesses of the evening, she could hardly go two feet without being drawn into conversation by one of her guests. Shona Shiningblade wanted to know when Zelia was going to come by to see her latest creations in the leather room; Amara had to introduce her to a new prospective patron of their brewery side business; several of the ladies whose cards Zelia had read stopped her to share their delight in her prognostications coming true, or to recommend her services to their friends.

Once or twice, in a brief parting of the crowd, she thought she'd caught Ignatius' eyes on her, but alas, the unfamiliar duties of a hostess kept her quite more detained than was her custom.

"There you are."

Zelia turned to see Thodorlun, several glasses of wine held precariously in his large dwarven hands.

"I know its a fancy winery," he said," but do they really have to make the glasses so small? And they wouldn't even fill the damned things up, so I had to ask for extra."

She smiled at his dwarven grumbliness and relieved him of one of the glasses.

"It's good shit though, right?"

Thodorlun took a sip, the silver beads braided into his beard clinking against the glass.

"Aye. I mean I'm an ale man myself, but aye."

Zelia watched as Thodorlun downed all three glasses of his wine and ran his fingers over his moustache in satisfaction.

"You're cute," she said, smiling.

"Come here," said Thor, and he placed his hand around the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss.

Zelia was pleasantly surprised; she was used to him being shy with public shows of affection. Normally, it was only once they were alone that he put his hands on her like this. She cupped her hands around his face, and her finger touched the scar he'd gotten fighting revenants in Argynvostholt, near his left eye. She felt him stiffen, and he pulled away.

"I'm going to get more wine," he said. "Maybe this time I can convince them to give me a full cup like a grown and proper dwarf."

"The strong stuff's in the basement," Zelia whispered in his ear. "Just make sure you don't disturb Marvin when you go by, we promised him peace and quiet tonight."

Marvin, one of the elemental beings that resided in Warsong Keep, was a friendly enough sort once you got to know him—provided you didn't try to drink from his fountain or sing badly in his presence.

"I'll catch up with you later, ok?"

Thodorlun nodded.

"Enjoy your party, Zelia. You deserve it. I'll raid your cellar and then get some air, I think. Your water fellow isn't the only one in mind for a bit of peace tonight."

He'd always been an introspective sort, and in the time they'd spent together in the city this past month Zelia had noticed that often festive atmospheres seemed to draw out his urge to seek solitude. She wondered if he'd always been that way, or if it was the work he did that had made him so.

Sometime later, Zelia left the ballroom, her cheeks suffused with warmth from wine and laughter. Knowing there was like to be a lineup at the main floor bathrooms, she jogged up the spiral staircase into the relative peace of the upper floor.

The night air was cool coming in the open windows. She paused at one of them and looked out at the starry sky, saying a silent prayer to the goddess.

From the woods to the west, the soft cry of a raven rang out.

She was just rounding the corner of the last steps on her way back downstairs, returning to the warmth and light of the main hall, when she nearly ran headlong into Ignatius.

"Whoops! Sorry, didn't see you there."

"Lady Zelia! No, let me apologize. I was searching for a restroom, but not using the eyes in my head, apparently."

"You can just call me Zelia, Ignatius."

"Oh," he said.

A pregnant pause stretched out between them as they stared at one another.

"I was heartened to hear of you return," he said at last. "I'd been meaning to call on you—ah, all of you, that is—but the Pews are being watched now more than ever, and—"

"Oh, fuck it," Zelia said, and leapt up onto her toes to kiss him.

He tasted of sun and warmth and honey.

"Sorry," she said, breaking away to see Ignatius looking rather stunned. "I've wanted to do that for a really long time."

"You... have no idea," he said huskily, and Zelia kissed him again.

This time, he grabbed her by the waist, gripping her tightly, and backed her up against a hard stone wall. She opened her mouth to his, and he crushed his hips against her pelvis.

"By the gods, I've wanted you," he breathed, and his mouth moved hungrily over her neck. "From the beginning."

One hand slipped easily beneath the loose fabric of her dress and closed around her breast, bringing her nipples to full and immediate attention.

A guttural sigh escaped Zelia's throat.

Across the hall from them was a small storage closet, and Zelia pointed at it.

"In there."

She ran toward it, taking Ignatius by the hand, and he followed willingly.

Inside the dark, cramped closet, he slammed her up against the door and pressed his body into hers, pining both her hands above her head.

"What spell do you have me under, woman?" he said, his breath hot on the skin of her pointed ear.

In the dark, Zelia smiled.

"I'm afraid you can't blame my magic in this case. And what about you, oh shining Paladin of Pelor? Aren't good guys like you not supposed to handle girls in so rough a manner?"

"I don't know, you seem to like it," he growled, his free hand running up her waist, pausing for a moment around her throat.

"Yes, I do," she breathed, weak-kneed.

"Then 'good' and 'nice' are not always one," he said, releasing her hands and twisting his fingers through a fistful of her hair instead.

"By Pelor, I can't resist you, Zelia."

"I never asked you to."

She felt the muscles of his thigh, hard from daily martial practice, as he used his leg to force her thighs apart. She gasped and began to sink into the sensation, but his hold on her hair kept her in place.

"Fuck me, Ignatius," she breathed.

She heard the rustling of cloth and then, seconds later, his cock was inside her, thick and rock hard. The fulfilment almost overpowered her. She bit into his forearm to keep from crying out, and tasted blood.

Ignatius sought her mouth again with his and she bit that too, less hard, but it was enough for him to draw back and whisper,

"What, do I hurt you, sorceress?"

"Don't stop," she pleaded.

In one swift motion, Ignatius spun her around to face the door, pinning her there with one hand against her upper back and plunging several fingers of the other into her aching, waiting cunt.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes, yes!"

She started to come, clenching around his strong fingers as he fucked her, feeling the wiry hairs of his beard against her neck as his teeth grazed her throat, threatening to repay her.

She willed him to have all of her and he did, thrusting his cock into her again and fucking her until his hot come sprayed inside her, filling her, and he tensed his heavy body up against hers.

"Zelia..." he whispered, into her hair, when he was spent.

She twisted around beneath his weight, savouring his scent and sweat-damp skin, and waved her hands in the air as she said a brief incantation.

Several motes of pinkish-purple light blossomed into being and hung in the air around them, softly illuminating their flushed features.

Ignatius turned his head to look at them.

"Could you have done that this whole time, or is that like an after sex thing?"

Zelia giggled.

"I was in a hurry before."

He pulled back enough to study her face, eyes soft with recent pleasure.

"I like you, Zelia Brightstar. You scare me a little, I won't lie, but I think I'm into it."