Half-Elf Harlot Ch. 03

Author's note: 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.

"Adventures of a Half-Elf Harlot" imagines the things that happen in between the scenes of a typical D&D game, or under the ubiquitous curtain of a "fade to black." Its protagonist, Zelia Brightstar, is a powerful sorceress and cleric of a goddess of death who regularly risks her life and saves the realm with her two best friends, but the plot centres primarily on Zelia's relationships with ordinary people, the things she does between earth-shaking battles, and, most of all, her love life. For those who love adventure RPGs but wish there was more kissing...

*****

Zelia and Ignatius: Part 1

The hour was late as Zelia lay awake in the tiny attic room.

It was still strange to her, to have a room of her own. Technically she was part-owner of a small castle, but it didn't feel like home, at least not yet. They were so rarely out at Warsong Keep anyhow, what with travel so restricted now in and out of Faramon, and Chrysmer's Black Circle keeping a close eye on everyone who passed through the gates.

They'd been trying to keep their heads down, busying themselves in other ways so as not to draw suspicion while they figured out how to bring Chrysmer down and find the missing Queen on whose behalf he supposedly ruled the kingdom.

The paladin Alessa kept her lodgings at the temple of Tyr, spending her free time in training and temple service, and was so well-regarded within and without the religious community of Faramon that Chrysmer dared not touch her. Amara had moved in with her spymaster boyfriend Marcus while they planned their wedding, and she was busy back and forth between ruling Nordenburg her alternate identity Bronwyn Avondale, and locally with her work for the Hand.

Thodorlun had offered Zelia a spare set of keys to his apartment, but he was rarely in the city and she hadn't wanted to accept free lodgings out of pity. She'd set up her tent again in the Crossroads, camping at the centre of the city with all its other homeless vagrants, curled around her staff of fire at night for warmth, until one day Leda had shown up with a canister of hot tea and refused to take no for an answer until Zelia had come back with her to her shop, the Golden Spool.

And so, Zelia had lived with her mentor, working as Leda's assistant every day in the shop and watching away the nights in this small moonlit room with all its modest comforts.

Well. It would be a misrepresentation of things to say that working for Leda was the only thing she'd been up to...

Shafts of moonlight moved across the pale skin of Zelia's arm as she slid her hand down over her belly, awakening her senses with the pleasure of self-touch as she relived her latest encounter with Ignatius...

The sun had been unseasonably warm that day, for so early in the year. Zelia had waited outside, kicking slush piles while she waited for Alessa to pick up her helmet from the smith.

It seemed to Zelia her friend was being given new honours and decorations practically every other week, and today she would be an honoured speaker at the second annual gathering of five of Faramon's major faiths at the Temple of Tyr. Alessa's ceremonial armour would be gleaming for the occasion.

The door banged open and the tiefling paladin emerged from the sooty workshop, eyes squinting in the bright spring sunlight.

"Let's go," said Alessa.

Zelia matched the taller woman's strides as they made their way towards the Pews district.

"How's ol' Jurgen doing these days? Sour and surly as ever?"

"Oh, yeah. He's just like that I think. I dunno, he kind of grows on you though."

Zelia laughed, and they continued walking for some time in the amiable silence of close companions. At length, she said,

"Can you believe it's been a year since..."

"Since we raised a small army to put a lich in the ground?"

"Yeah."

Alessa chuckled.

"It's been a weird year."

"A year since I took up the cloth," said Zelia, grasping the iron holy symbol of the Raven Queen with a gloved hand.

"Yeah, before that you just used to fry people with lightning all the time, and occasionally turn into a goat."

"True—I did do those things."

There had been dreams again, almost every night now leading up to the anniversary of when they'd led a dozen holy warriors to the south and laid the lich to his final rest. Zelia had been dreading the day of its commemoration somewhat, and was glad for Alessa's company. It was hard to feel too down in the presence of a paladin.

Speaking of paladins...

As they crossed the street and reached the main entrance to the temple of Tyr, Zelia's thoughts turned to Ignatius. She'd first met him a year ago today, at an assembly much like the one they were about to attend. She hadn't seen Ignatius since the ball at Warsong Keep three weeks ago, when she'd made it plain she fancied him. They'd had feverish sex in a broom closet that night, and hadn't spoken since.

Amara was waiting for them at the door, her cloak still smelling of the north woods.

"Ooh, you got the teleportation circle working again?" Zelia whispered.

Amara nodded slightly and held a finger to her lips.

"Not here. Come on, let's get inside."

Within the spacious atrium of the large, white stone building, there was a buzz of activity. Last year when the leaders of Tyr's worship had invited representatives from Pelor, Ioun, Bahamut, and the Raven Queen to gather here, it was on the word of Alessa, Zelia, and Amara that an ancient foe had risen in his tomb. This time, there was no undead threat, and though there still was very real danger in the reason behind this reunion, there was an air of collegial excitement in the convening of so many disparate worships in one place.

Temples were strange places; Zelia avoided hers as much as she could help it.

Fine quality linens were being draped over all the tables in the common areas, and preparations for feasting were being laid out for after the assembly. Filing into the great worship chamber were priests and clerics of all five temples in their official garb.

Zelia's eyes lighted on Ignatius the moment she entered the high-ceilinged chamber. He was chatting to a cleric of Ioun—the one who always fiddled with her hair, Zelia couldn't remember the woman's name.

His eyes glanced upwards and he saw her. He paused for just a moment, staring back at her, running a hand along the strong line of his bearded jaw before returning his attention to his conversation.

It was enough to make her blood sing hot with new desire, and her stomach do giddy flops of anticipation in her belly.

Alessa excused herself to find her place at the front, and Amara came with Zelia to stand with the delegates from the Raven Queen temple.

Zelia's friend Tess greeted them, nodding beneath the impersonal white mask and black robes that clerics of their faith typically wore. Underneath the sombre, spooky garb, Tess was a kind and thoughtful person with a delightfully macabre sense of humour, and Zelia enjoyed her greatly.

"Hey," said Tess from behind the mask.

"Hey!" said Zelia.

She herself had never worn the white mask, and was dressed for the occasion in the couture black leather armour she'd commissioned when she took up the faith, black breeches, and black leather boots with feather designs tooled into them.

Her raven, Corrick, a spirit sent to her from the goddess, chose that moment to fly in through the oculus in the ceiling of the great chamber and swoop down dramatically to land on Zelia's arm.

"Haven't seen you in awhile," she said to the raven, speaking mind to mind. He sidled up to his accustomed roost on her shoulder and let forth a loud croak, drawing looks from those nearby.

Tess leaned over to her and whispered,

"You and Corrick need to come to my place soon for tea. I miss your face."

A hush settled over the gathered crowd as the proceedings started, and Zelia clasped her hands in front of her and did her best to stand respectfully and not crane her neck to catch a glimpse of Ignatius's handsome head among the crowd.

The speaker, one of Alessa's bosses, spoke at length and in veiled terms of the need now (as ever, of course) for those whose faith commanded justice, honour, etc. etc. to work together and not let forces of tyranny and corruption divide and weaken them.

Zelia couldn't help it: she turned her head and looked, searching for that lion's mane she'd burned so vividly into her memory.

Nothing.

"Regard," croaked Corrick to her telepathically, a second before she felt a slight tug at her sleeve. She started, clapping a hand to her mouth, and turned to see the very man that she'd been looking for was now standing right beside her, eyes crinkling with a smile as he faced the front.

Corrick rustled his wings and resettled on her other shoulder, giving her a clearer view of Ignatius.

"Hi," she whispered.

Ignatius cupped a hand to his mouth and pointed frontwards as he whispered back, "shh, your friend's about to speak."

Zelia looked to see Alessa, stately in her newly-shined armour, take the speaker's place. She spoke more simply and forthrightly than her predecessor, and her words were a balm to anyone who might doubt that peace and justice must ultimately prevail, no matter how the times grew dark. Zelia was proud of her friend.

She was also quite a bit distracted by Ignatius standing so near to her, close enough that she could feel his body heat. Just as she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, Ignatius' hand bumped up against hers, almost casually, and then lingered there, turning to caress her fingers.

Zelia exhaled slowly, and then breathed in, trying to keep her composure. She wanted to take his hand and run from the room to find somewhere more private—gods, if it hadn't been for how she knew Amara would react, she would've climbed him then and there and everybody else could leave the room if they objected.

Wordlessly, she cast the spell to send a silent message to Ignatius.

"You torture me," it said, and she waited for the reply.

"Good."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile a little wider.

Forever later, the speechifying was over and the assembled clergy were invited to take refreshments in the hall. As they flowed with traffic toward the chamber exit, Zelia caught Ignatius by the elbow and hissed,

"You have some nerve, to tease me like that."

"Who, me?"

Ignatius placed a hand on his chest in mock surprise.

"You'd better tell me somewhere right now we can go, or you're in trouble, mister."

Ignatius plucked her hand from the back of his elbow and placed it firmly within his own hand. In a low voice, he said,

"Oh, I think its you who's in trouble, madam. Come with me."

The first door they tried opened on a small prayer chamber, interrupting the meditations of the orcish woman who knelt within.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," said Ignatius, and Zelia just caught a glimpse of the woman smoothing her hair at the sight of the study intruder before he shut the door again.

The second door revealed a cloak room, hung with the plain grey vestments worn by priests of Tyr. Ignatius pulled Zelia inside after him.

"So is this going to be our thing, then?" she said breathlessly as Ignatius closed on her, roving his hands over her body appreciatively. "Closets?"

"Doesn't have to be," he said. "Shall we pause to go find more suitable accommodations?"

"Fuck no."

"Well then."

There was a loud clanging of hangers as they fumbled in the small space. Zelia giggled, allowing herself be tumbled to the floor, and Ignatius made a small noise of satisfaction as he settled himself over her. He kissed her, deeply, rocking his pelvis into hers, and ran a hand over the front of her intricately detailed leather armour.

"This is nice. How does it come off?"

Zelia felt for the straps that secured the chest piece and undid them, revealing the black tunic she wore tucked into her breeches underneath.

"Hm, I wonder what your favourite colour is? Wait, no, let me guess..."

"I used to wear red," she offered.

"Oh, I remember."

He kissed a trail along the side of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, and she forgot about words.

She felt his hand along her thigh, testing it, squeezing the flesh. It travelled to her pubic bone and he cupped his palm there, drawing warmth to that sacred centre of her.

"You know mending, right?" he said in her ear.

"What?"

"You know the spell that can fix torn fabric?"

"Oh, y—"

Before she'd finished her reply, Ignatius gripped the waistband of her breeches and tore them, ripping them to the crotch with his bare hands.

"There, that's better."

Urgently, she needed him then, and urgently he came to her, filling her up with his cock, fucking her with passion. She clawed her fingers at his back, clutching at the fabric of his tabard, and heard it tear slightly. Tit for tat.

At least a few priests' garments fell on them in the throes of their passions, and they offered half-hearted apologies to Tyr for the intrusion.

When it was over, Zelia held the torn seam of her pants together and said the words of mending, watching the fabric knit itself back together like new. She declined to offer the same service to Ignatius, for the audacity of ruining her clothes without her permission.

"I want to see you again," he said, as they buttoned themselves back up.

Zelia paused in buckling her armour, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. She'd never really seriously thought about dating a human. She knew lots of them, of course; her mother had been one. Her mother that hadn't wanted her. And sure, Ignatius was good-looking, and exciting, but wasn't that all that was going on, here?"

His face, though, as he looked at her: like he saw every beauty in her.

"We'll see," she said, opening the door.

Outside, in the main hall, a figure was leaned up against one of the white stone columns, clad in androgynous black robes and an impassive alabaster mask.

"I saved you a cupcake," Tess said, holding up a pink-frosted confection.

Zelia looked left and right, still tucking in her tunic.

"Thanks! Uh, how long... have you been standing there?"

"Not long. I came over when it seemed like you guys were about done."

Zelia stared at her.

"Oh yeah, definitely everybody heard you guys."

Zelia took the cupcake.

In the quiet of the attic room Zelia's breath came in shuddering gasps as she came, calling to her mind the taste of Ignatius' breath and the way his hands had felt on her body that day. She sighed back into her pillow, stretching out her legs deliciously to feel the aftershocks of pleasure.

Corrick's feet made a tack-tack sound on the windowsill as he shuffled around, blinking at her in the dark.

She went to sleep with a smile on her face, and no dreams haunted her.

*****

Zelia and Ignatius: Part Two

The next morning, as per usual, Zelia could hear the sound of Leda up already downstairs when she woke. She skipped down the creaky narrow staircase, landing lightly on the rug at the bottom landing.

There was Leda, wrapped up in her purple robe, her hair bound up in a messy pile atop her head, peering over her spectacles at a section of embroidered cloth laid out on the work table before her.

"I boiled some eggs, if you're hungry," she said in greeting. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes ma'am! I'll go get the material."

Zelia ran back up the stairs, stopping to pop a hard-boiled egg into her mouth along the way. She returned moments later, reverently holding a bolt of fabric wrapped in tissue paper. Together, she and Leda unrolled it on the table, smoothing it flat. The creamy white wool cloth looked flawless, and Leda murmured her appreciation.

"Well done, Zelia."

Her pupil beamed.

The cloth was hand-spun and hand-woven, all by her, and under Leda's tutelage and the advice she'd paid for by an enchanter in the city, she had woven magic into every fibre of it. Protection magic.

"Now, we cut," said Leda, handing over a pair of heavy shears.

"Now is not the time to lose the patience you've poured into this so far. The right cuts, the right stitching, and you will strengthen the magic you've embedded in this cloth. Go wrong, and you'll destroy it."

Under Leda's watchful eye, Zelia measured carefully, drew her lines with chalk, and began to cut.

There was a small kind of grieving in sundering the cloth she'd poured so many hours into building. The death cleric in her appreciated the complex emotions of it: letting go of one form of the cloth, and creating something new out of that ending. The sound of the scissors shearing steadily through the heavy fabric was pleasing, and Zelia bent her attention to the task at hand.

By early afternoon, the recognizable form of a cloak was beginning to take shape before her as she carefully stitched together the panels she had cut.

Back home, Zelia's lack of scholarly dedication to the family obsession had helped to brand her as the black sheep, and for most of her life she'd accepted that diligence and study were just not in her nature. But here, in a craft she'd chosen for herself, she found she could focus for many hours on the fabric running through her hands, and she was proud to find she had a talent for design.

From his perch in one of the more shadowed recesses of the small shop, Corrick croaked a warning. Seconds later, the front door opened, sunlight bouncing off the tinkling silver bell that jangled whenever someone entered the store.

Zelia and Leda looked up from their respective work as, crested helmet in hand, the tall form of Ignatius stepped over the limen and entered the Golden Spool.

He looked around admiringly at the stacks of fabrics piled high in every corner, the splendid creations displayed on mannequins throughout the shop, and the various notions and other odds and ends stuffed into every crevice of the small front room.

Leda pushed her spectacles to the top of her head as she stepped out of the back half of the shop to greet the new customer.

"How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm told I might find a pupil of yours here by the name of Zelia Brightstar."

Zelia set down her work and came into the front. Leda turned towards her and made significant eye contact as she went, which Zelia ignored.

"Ignatius! Nice surprise to see you here. What can I, ah, do for you?"

Images flashed rapidly in her mind's eye of the last two times they'd met, and she felt her throat go rather dry.

He made a princely picture standing there in full uniform, the white and gold-trim cloth and full plate armour of a paladin of Pelor. He shifted his stance, transferring his helm to his other hand.

"Zelia! I was hoping to take you out to lunch today—if you're free, that is."

"I can spare her," Leda piped up from the back.

Zelia shot a glance at her mentor before answering.

"Ok, sure—I'd love to. Let me get my cloak."

Leda slowly sipped a cup of tea, watching them over the rim as Zelia waved goodbye and took the proffered arm of her date.

"You know, I have a room right upstairs at the shop," she offered casually, as they walked together down the sloping streets at the edge of the financial district. "We could just go there."

Ignatius grinned.

"I want to take you somewhere nice, and have a conversation with you. Is that acceptable?"

"I suppose," she said, allowing herself to lean into his strong arm.

She knew without looking that Corrick had followed them out of the shop and was currently flying overhead, keeping watch from a discreet distance.

"Alright, then, where are you taking me?"