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7/9/2025, 3:23:02 AM
In that case, you can think of a few other ways to get some rust upon his blade. One of your pillow friends back in the Squire Corps liked to gush about how gentlemen in their forties were the best!, when chatting about your preferences in men. You personally preferred virgin hunting - men who never had a woman before were always so deliciously eager - but you now have a convenient way to experiment with that.
Later.
"Very well, Martin," you accept his oath. Giving him your hand, you help him to his feet. A vicious smile meets his mirthless expression, and you give him his first task. "Now heed my words carefully. The first target your blade shall be turned against... is me."
=================
"Fall back!"
After nearly fifteen minutes of fighting, the invading Dreadknight finally calls for his forces to fall back. Holly sighs in relief when she peeks from the window and sees the skeletal archers disappearing into the wheat... for good, this time. She sends a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord of Light for delivering her home from the damned who rode against the adventurers and the militia. Death or worse awaited the faithful who dared to resist evil, if evil triumphed here.
"Why did they retreat?" her dear husband, Alaric, asks. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for something off about the situation. "They only lost one of their archers, and a single man-at-arms. We had the advantage, but they still..."
He looks at one of the buildings where that monster in mental crashed the door open with his great iron hammer. Even alone, a man in full harness is a force most folk aren't ready to stop. When backed up by hearty men-at-arms, well, the corpses of adventurers and Holly's neighbors thrown from the windows showed what that sort of force could do when determined. Perhaps they got what they came for, or perhaps they knew about the hamlet's trump card and fled...
"Men of Emberheart!" a familiar voice cries. Martin Aurelion, the village's best warrior... if one did not take magic into account. "Victory is ours! I say, victory is ours!"
Holly looks out the window, and sees the rugged man frog-marching a woman to the center of town. A beauty some men might call peerless, almost like that strumpet Erin who seduced the adventurers who had come to protect them in Lord Kettleburn's name with her sinful body. No, even more than that, and Holly could tell with just a glance that she too spread her legs for incubi that came in the night. A whore for demons.
The woman's hair was meticulously straight, even the bangs, something she doubtlessly wasted countless hours upon in the morning when she could have simply kept it out of her face by tying it with a ponytail. Her build declared a maturity that her face did not, not a single wrinkle or laugh line or flaw upon her skin, a fresh-faced woman in her early twenties with the sinful curves of a woman matured. Curves she did not hide away from sight as was proper!
Later.
"Very well, Martin," you accept his oath. Giving him your hand, you help him to his feet. A vicious smile meets his mirthless expression, and you give him his first task. "Now heed my words carefully. The first target your blade shall be turned against... is me."
=================
"Fall back!"
After nearly fifteen minutes of fighting, the invading Dreadknight finally calls for his forces to fall back. Holly sighs in relief when she peeks from the window and sees the skeletal archers disappearing into the wheat... for good, this time. She sends a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord of Light for delivering her home from the damned who rode against the adventurers and the militia. Death or worse awaited the faithful who dared to resist evil, if evil triumphed here.
"Why did they retreat?" her dear husband, Alaric, asks. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for something off about the situation. "They only lost one of their archers, and a single man-at-arms. We had the advantage, but they still..."
He looks at one of the buildings where that monster in mental crashed the door open with his great iron hammer. Even alone, a man in full harness is a force most folk aren't ready to stop. When backed up by hearty men-at-arms, well, the corpses of adventurers and Holly's neighbors thrown from the windows showed what that sort of force could do when determined. Perhaps they got what they came for, or perhaps they knew about the hamlet's trump card and fled...
"Men of Emberheart!" a familiar voice cries. Martin Aurelion, the village's best warrior... if one did not take magic into account. "Victory is ours! I say, victory is ours!"
Holly looks out the window, and sees the rugged man frog-marching a woman to the center of town. A beauty some men might call peerless, almost like that strumpet Erin who seduced the adventurers who had come to protect them in Lord Kettleburn's name with her sinful body. No, even more than that, and Holly could tell with just a glance that she too spread her legs for incubi that came in the night. A whore for demons.
The woman's hair was meticulously straight, even the bangs, something she doubtlessly wasted countless hours upon in the morning when she could have simply kept it out of her face by tying it with a ponytail. Her build declared a maturity that her face did not, not a single wrinkle or laugh line or flaw upon her skin, a fresh-faced woman in her early twenties with the sinful curves of a woman matured. Curves she did not hide away from sight as was proper!
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