Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 03

"Oh my gosh, you're hurt, Sir Tinsley! Did I not get here in time? Oh I knew I should have come immediately when I heard the commotion, but we were having a contest to see which of us could put away the most tankards of Jolsten's Stout, and I had my money on Fexx, so I wanted to see if he'd pull off an upset, and you know how Mister Marcus is with 'forgetting' to pay out if you aren't right there, so I had to stay. And it looked like Fexx was going to do it too, but just as they got into the home stretch he threw up all over the place, and some even got into Lindsey's hair, and she ran around screaming, so while that was all going on I thought I'd come out and see what all the fuss was about, but then I just saw this bank of fog appear from no where, so I decided to sneak around the side, and I saw you and that wererat..."

And there was the headache. Alan lifted his hand and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. It was enough to make him forget the slash that still seeped blood down his own arm. "That's quite alright Faringalia. I'll live. We need to get Count Varonne in and tended to, he's been burned."

"Oh no! Well he's in luck because Charity just came back from her expedition to Northwing, did you know she fought a dra-"

"The Count, burned. We can talk about things later Faringalia," Alan cut Phantasmagoria off as he often did, then turned to advance wearily toward Vick and Daphne. The gnome woman padded along on sandal clad feet in his wake, gazing out at the bodies they passed. She was still chattering away, but Alan could hardly be bothered to listen. By now, the bank of fog had largely cleared, and as expected, the stranger was gone.

Alan crouched near Vick, "You going to be alright, old man?"

The Count nodded, "Yeah, it'll take a bit more than some pansy bard to end me."

"And you, Daphne? You took a pretty bad hit."

The elf looked paler than she had. Much of that robust tan was gone, but it only left her looking more haunting in the mixture of moonlight and lamplight. "Nothing you can't help me with, Alan." She traced the tip of her tongue over her lips, and gazed to him hungrily.

"You never stop, do you Daphne?" Alan sighed. "Come on, let's go. We need to get these wounds tended to. Then we can explain to Faringalia what's going on." As much as he hated to delay the rescue, he knew they'd need to be in top shape to carry on. He cast one last look back across the carnage in the street. Already the sound of the city guard approaching could be heard in the distance. He didn't mind leaving their assailants there so much, they'd deserved it, but the boy from the Count's service. That stung. The poor bastard had probably gone his whole life without so much as seeing a monster like that, then went and got offed by one. It was a real shame.

Daphne nodded, then moved to help Alan lift Vick to his feet. It was fortunate she was so much stronger than she looked. As Vick's discarded armor glowed cherry red on the pavement, Faringalia watched it with curiosity.

"It should cool down in a few minutes. We'll have someone come out and collect it," she finally decided. By the time she looked up, the other three were already stumbling into the tavern. "Wait for me!" The gnome squeaked as she ran to catch up with the three.

It didn't take that long to get their wounds tended to, and not much longer to explain the situation to Faringalia. She wasn't the only spellcaster the Reavers could claim now, but she was the most capable one present in the headquarters on a regular basis. After hearing what had befallen Elizabeth, the gnome girl agreed without hesitation to accompany them. Although there were plenty of others available there as well, most of them believed that raiding the thieves' guild was beyond their abilities, and frankly Alan was inclined to agree.

The best piece of news, however, was when one of the serving girls said something about needing to clear up 'Master Steelwright's room'. Apparently, old Garthur was due to arrive in town sometime that day.

"We have to wait and ask him." Vick had voiced his opinion immediately, "I know he'll be willing to help."

"I can't stand Elizabeth being abused any longer than I can help."

"Alan, I know it must be tearing your heart out here, but you've seen what we're up against. That minstrel must have been hired by Devron, and that wererat can't be the only one they have lurking around. Elizabeth's a strong woman, she'll be able to endure."

"The minstrel said something about delaying us. He didn't say he was there to stop us. Just delay us. Delay us how long?" Alan tried not to sound frightened, but he couldn't hide it from someone he'd known as long as Vick.

"Pull yourself together man. It won't do Elizabeth or anyone any good if you just run in and get yourself killed. It's also very late. You don't want to be in the midst of infiltrating the place, only to have dawn come up on us."

Alan frowned at that statement, "What does dawn have to do with anything?"

"You're the one who wanted the damned elf along, you figure it out." Vick near spat the words, but quickly calmed himself, "Look, I didn't mean anything by it Alan. You know if she is hurt, you'll want someone who can help her, and Garthur-"

"Garthur's the only one I'd trust, you're right." Alan rested his head in his hands. "So we wait through tomorrow, set out as soon as night falls."

"That's the plan."

Alan pushed himself up and started toward the stairs. "I need to get some rest then." By then, Daphne had already disappeared with some servant girl, and Vick was flanked by a barmaid on one side, and the studious priestess Charity on the other, although Charity's attentions seemed focused on the faint glow of healing blessings that radiated from her hands. Vick said nothing more, just watched his old friend go.

Alan ascended the stairs quietly, then gazed out from the balcony over the common room. The Reaver's Rest hadn't really changed over the years. Solid wood construction with a cozy atmosphere. The guest rooms were on the first and second floors, though most were on the second. A grand bar dominated the common room below, and a few barmaids still dashed back and forth even at this late hour. Light came primarily from the hearth and a pair of hanging iron chandeliers overhead, the latter of which were riddled with numerous candles. The walls were decorated with trophies gathered by those who fought under their banner over the years, mostly from Alan's time, although a few impressive specimens had been added in recent years. There was a wyvern head mounted in the rafters that he hadn't known about, and an impressive one at that. Maybe the slump their little adventuring company had been going through in recent years had come to an end.

The patronage seemed more diverse than Alan remembered it from the last time he had visited. Back in their heyday, the Reavers had attracted guests from all over the kingdom, wanting to commission them for jobs, trying to join them, or simply wanting to be seen in public in their company. In recent years that had dwindled, until the tavern mostly served adventurers that were on the rolls of the Reavers and a few stubborn elderly locals who had been hanging about since the previous owners. That night, aside from the crowd around where the Count was being treated, Alan counted numerous faces he didn't recognize even at that late hour. A good number didn't have that 'adventurer' look: short tempered, scarred, and armed to the teeth. Indeed, a number of them appeared to be merchants and travelers.

Alan's usual room was at the end of the hall, and so he advanced slowly along. His hand trailed over the railing as he watched the crowd below. It was so nostalgic it was almost heart rending. He wished he was twenty or thirty years younger, to be out and about with sword in hand once more, except without the ever present threat of Jaron Daar looming over his shoulder.

A soft moan drew Alan's attention to a room nearby. The door was ajar, and through it he could easily see the two forms upon the bed within. His breath caught as his gaze drifted over their forms. Smooth legs slid along smooth legs, as the woman on top pressed her toned thigh up between those of the woman below. Her ass was bare, those succulent curves tight as ever, and her back was arched to allow the flat of her belly to press against that of the servant girl. Full, plump breasts pressed to a softer set just as large, and their movements caused peaked nipples to drag lightly against the other woman's. A long nailed hand rubbed gently at the nape of the servant woman's neck, and although Daphne's dark locks cascaded down, they did little to conceal the way her lips near devoured the other woman's.

The servant woman drew one of her own hands down the elf's spine, while her own smooth thighs parted. Another whimpered moan was offered up as the kiss broke, and she arched her back, pressing her body up against Daphne's lean, nude form. There was a quick dart of Daphne's tongue along the woman's lips, and then the elf's keen eyes drifted up to catch Alan's. Daphne fixed her gaze upon his, and a wicked smile crossed her intoxicating features. She raked her hand through the servant girl's brown hair, drawing it aside to bare the woman's neck.

Alan reached out a trembling hand to grasp the handle of the door, just as Daphne's lips descended to the other woman's neck. He pulled it shut, cutting off his view just as that soft, startled gasp rose from within the room. The old rogue lay his head against the door-frame, as he worked to steady the race of his pulse. It wasn't like the elf to leave herself so exposed unless she wanted to be seen, that much he knew.

As he turned from the door, Alan was in for another start, for there, standing between himself and his room, was the white clad form of Charity. A disapproving frown lingered on her lips, though in truth, Alan had never known the priestess to wear any other expression for long. A few years older than his Elizabeth, the priestess was still at her peak, with long blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun, and soft brown eyes that seemed to brim with compassion, even when her expression did not. She always clad herself in whites, and tonight was no different. A simple shawl hung about her slender shoulders, and beneath was that high collared, long sleeved dress of hers. A modest cut, it did nothing to hide the broad swell of her bust, or where her waist tucked in. She was fit, but she wasn't waspish as Daphne. Her hips flared out, outlined by the fall of those long white skirts, but the contours of her legs were only hinted at when she walked. Ankle length, only a hint of her soft white slippers could be seen from time to time as she stepped forth.

"I still don't understand why you keep her alive."

Alan sighed, "This again? Charity, you know the arrangement. She surrendered to Vick and agreed to be his servant until he released her."

The priestess walked right toward Alan, then delicately set one hand on his chest. Her hands were sheathed in white kidskin and felt so warm, so gentle against him. "She enjoys tormenting you, Sir Tinsley."

Alan looked to her eyes, then his hand lifted to take hers. "I can deal with the torment, Charity. We're just honoring our agreement not to kill her."

"I don't like to see you tormented," Charity's voice fell, as did her expression. It startled Alan to see that disapproval melt away into something almost vulnerable. "Sir Tinsley, if you do not mind me saying so, I think that you find her tempting. That is why you cannot destroy her."

Alan frowned at the priestess's words, and looked away. Charity lifted her free hand to cradle his cheek, and drew his gaze back to hers. He stared into those big brown eyes of hers for a moment, in silence.

"It is alright, Sir Tinsley, it is in man's nature to be tempted by things he desires. If that were not the case, evil would have few tools at its disposal. I just worry for you, Sir Tinsley, every time I see you, my heart aches for you."

The wording brought Alan's brow to raise, "What was that?"

The blush that crossed the priestess's features was instantaneous and deep, turning her normally fair complexion almost cherry. "It's just... just that, with your situation, I want the best for you, Sir Tinsley. You are a good man despite your past, you deserve it."

Alan gave her hand a light squeeze, before finally releasing it. "Charity, I've known you since you were just a small girl running around the temple, hoping one day to become an acolyte. I keep telling you that you can call me Alan."

Charity's blush only intensified, coursing down her slender neck to contrast with the white of her dress. "I... that wouldn't be proper. You are a titled noble now, Sir Tin-"

He cut her words off by the application of a single fingertip to her soft, moist lips, shushing her with the movement. "Alan," the old rogue spoke firmly.

The priestess left those warm lips in contact with his finger perhaps a bit too long, but finally she turned her gaze back up, watching him through thick lashes. "Alan," she breathed the word out, as if savoring the way it tasted as she spoke it. When she saw the kind smile light his features in response, a soft, nervous giggle rose, and her cheeks burned all the brighter.

Alan nodded to the priestess. "Well Charity, that's better. And... and I understand your concerns. To tell the truth, I do find Daphne tempting. Damned tempting."

The blush remained, though Charity's expression grew more solemn. Her hand returned to his cheek mere moments after having dropped away, and once more her other hand rested on his chest. "Why does she tempt you, Sir T... Alan? Is it her darkness, her naughtiness?"

The old rogue's brow furrowed as he regarded the priestess. He tilted his head to lean into the warm, gloved hand at his cheek, "A bit of both, I'm afraid."

The white clad woman swallowed nervously, then nodded. "So you like naughty women?" As if she were trying to understand. "Even though you are married?"

"Who said my wife isn't naughty in her own way?" He said it jokingly, trying to reason out the priestess's motives, but immediately regretted it when he saw her blush return, and her head duck. When he parted his lips to speak again, this time it was her finger that shushed him, resting delicately across his lips. The hand at his chest fell, just to clasp over his. With a light tug, she led Alan onward. At first he was confused, but then saw she was tugging him with the gentlest of movements toward his own room. Pushing the door open with the curve of her rear, she drew him in.

The interior was dark, save for the light of the moon shining through the window. The furnishings were simple, just the way he liked them. A large bed, a simple wardrobe, a tub in one corner, and a single all purpose table with a couple chairs. Better than the common chambers, not as regal as the noble guest rooms.

As the door shut with a click, Alan tried to speak again. Again that gloved finger reached to shush him, lingering upon his lips. The priestess gave a shy look up to him, then slowly, hesitantly stepped in toward him. She seemed uncertain at the proximity, but then her lean form pressed up against his, leaning into him. One of her hands came to rest at his waist, the other lifted to run through his graying locks. She was soft, oh so soft and warm. The warmth was a pleasant contrast to how chill Daphne had been earlier in the night.

"What are you doing, Charity?" His words came out gently, as if afraid to break her with just the wrong tone.

The priestess ducked her head, and rested her forehead against his chest. Then she spoke in a soft, almost squeak of a voice, "Being naughty."

This time, when Alan tried to speak, it wasn't a finger that caught him short, but the soft press of those full lips. Charity lifted her head and kissed him gently. It was the clumsiest kiss he'd ever been given, but it seemed she poured her whole heart and soul into it, standing on tiptoe to press her form against his, her breasts to his chest, the hand within his hair glided to the nape of his neck. Alan rested his hands lightly on her wide hips, then returned the kiss slowly. Gradually, she seemed to pick up on what to do, and soon her tongue darted out to lightly flick over his lips.

When the kiss broke, Alan looked to her eyes. Charity spoke in a soft tone, gazing into his own eyes, "It is not just men who may be tempted."

The old rogue took a deep breath to steady his nerves. It was full of her, she smelled of candle wax and incense, of dusty books and quiet halls, if such a thing had a scent. "Charity, you don't have to-"

"Don't have to what? Be naughty?" She breathed the words out, as her eyes closed. "Alan, tomorrow night you go into danger, with questionable allies. I want, just once, to touch you." Her hand laid on his chest, then slid down slowly, along his tight torso, she traced over his abdomen through that midnight leather.

"Your vows... and my wife. Charity, I don't want you to break anything just for this."

Her hand continued down, and she traced delicate fingers along his waistband. "I can't do a lot of things Alan, even at my... naughtiest. But there is one thing I can do, Alan. One thing I've wanted to do for you for a long, long time." Each time the priestess said his name, she positively moaned it out, and then she began to descend, sinking to her knees.

Alan rested his hands gingerly on her shoulders, just as she knelt before him. Her long skirts pooled about her legs, her hair remained tied back as tight as ever. He simply gazed down at her without comprehension, at least until her deft fingers began to undo the buttons of his fly. "Charity," he gasped out.

Her brown eyes gazed up along his body, "Hush, Alan. Let me do this. I want to do this. But please, I've never done this before," her tone was pleading, even as her gloved hand slipped into those leggings, soon finding his rigid member. He was hard, ever so hard. "I've only read about this." Her fingers stroked along his length, teasing him harder, while her breath washed over his hot flesh.

Alan gave her shoulders a squeeze, then a soft groan escaped him at the first touch of the priestess's tongue to his cock. Charity dragged her tongue from the head down along his length toward the base, then drew back, licking her lips. "It tastes different than I expected." Another lick followed, this time swirling about the pulsing head of his cock.

Alan's grasp on her shoulders tightened, he was sure he would leave bruising, and he leaned himself back against the door to his room. Again that delightful tongue teased over his manhood, tracing along the underside this time, from just below the tip to the base, then back up. Her gloved hand circled the base of his cock, and she began to lick it with faster, more intense strokes. He could feel the wet moisture of her tongue feverish against his hard flesh, the play of her breath over skin slicked with her saliva.

"Oh gods," Alan panted the words, which brought a frown to Charity's lips.

"Don't take them in vain," the priestess chastised him, though the effects of her warning were perhaps not what she intended. Her lips brushed his cock with each syllable, her breath teased down its length.

Whatever amusement Alan would have found in the situation was dashed when her warm, wet lips began to engulf him. His eyes screwed shut as he stroked one hand to the back of her head. He cradled her head gently as she began to bob upon him. At first just the head of his member fit between those soft lips, then a bit more each time. Her tongue stroked up and down the underside of that shaft, just as she took more of him into her mouth with each move of her head.

The dashing old thief wondered just where she had read about what she was doing, for when the thick tip of his cock brushed the back of her throat, she swallowed him down. He went wide eyed, gazing down at that bobbing blonde head as she took his length deep into her throat. In fascination, he could do little but stare as she took more and more of him down, until her lips met about the base of his cock. One gloved hand slipped to gently cradle his sac, her fingers played lightly against his flesh.