Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: The Games of Chaos, Part 2/8

Paladin squinted up at the studio lights, the dazzled condition warring with his indignation. Serpentine coils glided by overhead, and still the creature prattled on in its strange tongue, invoking some bizarre rite called the Words of the Sponsors. Who could possibly guess what deities such a creature might venerate? Yet there was clearly some power there, as otherworldly music rose all about, followed by that strange disembodied clapping.

Reaching out with his divine senses, Paladin grimaced. There was evil nearby, that much was certain. Yet strangely it did not seem to emanate from his host.

“Hey,” said a voice. “I see you have not been skipping leg day.”

Paladin whirled, then he fell into a fighting crouch. It was her. The black-robed (or rather, disrobed) servant of undeath who had dogged his thoughts so often now stood before him. And her golden eyes were filled with mischief.

“Turn back around,” cooed Necromancer. “You’re even prettier from the rear.”

The white-haired temptress curled her fingers into grabby little claws, and contrived to make a sound in her throat like the purring of a great cat. Despite himself, Paladin recalled the moment of their first meeting. Of how he’d thought to turn this woman to the path of righteousness, and of what might have lain between them had events played out otherwise. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what, but then the studio lights were full upon him. He blinked, and there was the great scaled head of the creature called Kek Tarley hovering before his face.

“Welcome to the show,” it said. “And why don’t you introduce us to your partner?”

“My partner?” said the baffled champion. “You mean this foul harridan?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like trouble in paradise.” The creature put one claw to the side of its face, a scaled caricature of scandalized intrigue. From everywhere and nowhere, the sound of laughter rose to fill the space.

“And what about you lovely ladies?” smarmed Kek, turning his mercurial attention to the other figures in the room. “It says here in my notes that you’re both runners up in the Miss Brass Pageant. Is that your origin story?”

“Yes!” said the blonde, perhaps a trifle too quickly. “That is our origin story and nothing else.”

She seemed to glance at Paladin as she said this, a nervous twitch playing about the corners of her full red lips. It did not take the world’s greatest Sense Motive score to understand the cause. An innocent maiden standing unclothed before so many strangers, she must surely feel the weight of that collective gaze. Paladin averted his eyes as a decorous warrior ought, and so did not see the highly-distinctive black blade disappear from sight behind the girl’s podium. Instead, he found himself confronted by an apparition of unbridled fury in his own booth.

“Harridan? Really?”

The death mage stared boldly up at him, arms folded beneath her impressive bosom. There were honestly few places in the room where a man could avert his gaze.

“I stand by my words,” he said.

“You seemed to feel otherwise during the hot springs arc.”

“That was the love springs’ doing!” he cried, and felt the sting of the lie once more. He resolved to cast another atonement spell when he had the chance. But as his gaze wandered out over the chamber, he felt some stirring of that old love spring magic. For receding into the distance was podium after podium, each with its own set of oiled anatomy glistening beneath the lights. And even if Paladin could not be certain, he was prepared to guess that there would be a great deal to atone for before this ordeal was through.