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A Paladin's Fall (Caius/Elaebryn)

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CaiusWickersham

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The Order of Paladins of Shelyn heard rumors of a devil cult on the rise far to the north of the land. They sent out a group of paladins to investigate and stop this evil from becoming too strong and harming the land.

That was many seasons ago, and there was no news from the paladins since. No messages carried by songbirds, except for the mention of locating a slaver gang taking the beautiful women of a village and following them to their hideout to stage a rescue. After that was nothing but silence.

Concerned of what seemed like a slaver gang capable to defeating several skilled paladins, the Order had no other recourse but sending for their champion paladin. They prepared their greatest arms and armor for her, anointed with holy oils and kept vigil over for several nights with her in prayer.

On the morn, her quest began with a map to the village mentioned in the last message received and a temple praying for her success.
 
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A career in service of the Eternal Rose had yielded a strong woman with a forceful personality tempered by holy vows, and equally skilled with blade and brush.

The champion paladin saw herself first as an artist and a diplomat, with her martial prowess a necessary but secondary concern. Years of training had produced a fine warrior, capable of matching the greatest swordsmen of the realm at tourney and truly without peer with the glaive. But this was accomplished as much through religious devotion to artistry at temple as through martial instruction. Long before she had mastered the glaive, the champion paladin had mastered first calligraphy and then painting — and among her duties to the Order she was formally recognized as an instructor in those areas of artistry. She wore naught but common or travelling clothes in her daily life at temple and among the people of the city, but donned heavy armor for physical training — which included hours of practice each day of both blade and brush, for their movements were married in her mind.

She was a kind and perceptive woman whose devotion to beauty, to elegance, and to noble-mindedness informed her artistry and diplomacy. She was quite satisfied with having only rarely spilled blood on her various missions prior, having pursued at every opportunity the peaceful path of negotiation and often succeeding. She was hardened to the necessity of violence, and suffered neither guilt nor hesitation at the prospect of dispensing death with grace and mercy. But she did feel remorse for each time she had chosen to end a life, and did not allow herself to hide behind the pleasant lies of having been forced into it or having no other choice. She knew that with the charge of her goddess, her order, and the temple, she carried a terrible licence — to forever snuff out any hope for beauty or redemption.

And so the champion paladin accepted the ambiguous assignment and took up the anointed vestments with great humility and rumination. Though she was always hopeful for a peaceful resolution, before leaving the temple Elaebryn steeled herself to the possibility of what may lie ahead for herself and for those who would cross her. For should the situation find it necessary, she reminds herself, I will become Shelyn's justice — I will kill.

She took with her the armour and glaive that had been prepared for her, anointed with blessings from the clerics of Shelyn and enchanted with magical wards. The glaive, Denouement, bonded with Elaebryn immediately — evidence of Shelyn's favour and the righteousness of her charge. She threw a traveler's cloak over the gleaming chest-plate of her armour, to avoid drawing too much attention to herself for good or ill. Over this she wore also the red and silver clerical vestments of her order about her shoulders, a masterfully-crafted heavy mace of cold iron at her waist hung by a cord from her belt, and an equally masterwork silver dagger in a sheath strapped across her back at the waist. She carries by a strap slug over one shoulder a small travelling pack with adventuring and survival supplies like a compass, flint and steel, her map, rations, and water. She also took with her a horse with saddlebags to carry the other necessities of dungeon and journey: bedroll, blankets, camping supplies, climbing and delving equipment, cooking supplies, mundane tools, tent, and of course her brushes, ink, and several blank canvases and rolls of parchment to practice her art while on the road.

Before setting out on her mission, she visits the local adventuring guild, market, meeting places, and taverns to see if she can gain useful information and hire travelling companions.

She seeks information about the village where she's headed and the routes between, about the regular and rumoured dangers nearby, and about the best routes and likely weather. She seeks also a few souls to accompany her on the journey, if for no other reason then to enjoy their companionship on the road and split up the night watch. And if by traveling in her retinue one of these folks may come into the service of her goddess, then all the better. She offers to pay up to three individuals a daily wage for their service, and to split among them half of any loot they may acquire on the adventure. She freely relays whatever information she can about the dangers of the situation with an honest but honeyed tongue, admits when she does not know the answer to a question, and assures them that they are hired not to delve a dungeon but to stand watch, mind the horses, and keep camp.

Regardless of how much information she may gather or whether she can recruit anyone, Elaebryn will not linger long in the town. She intends to make a day's travel before dark, and leaves in time to do so.
 
Elaebryn was able to recruit two local bounty hunters who had been charged with dealing with the slaver gang. Seeing as they were handling the same target, it made sense to travel together for safety's sake. They were decked out with mail and stout swords and shields. They didn't speak much, and were indifferent to her quest, but they were willing to fill her in on the target they were both after.

The slaver gang was based out of the kingdoms to the north, primarily the ones in the desert towards the coastline. They were a large operation, and had connections in territories, but it was rare for them to be operating this far out of their normal routes. The slavers typically wore black tabards emblazoned with a white scorpion and were feared in the communities they preyed upon. They weren't picky about their targets, and usually bought slaves from those communities willing to cast out their outlaws and surplus mouths when they didn't just raid the villages for who they could take.

After two days' journey, the bounty hunters see trash along the road that could be the remnants of a caravan having stopped to eat before heading off along with fresh wheel ruts in the dirt. Several hours later, Elaebryn and the hunters find a wagon by the side of the road while the horses were being watered. Seven men dressed in black tabards stand by the wagon while two more tend to the horses.
 
Upon catching sight of the men in the distance who fit the description of the slavers, the champion paladin astride her horse signals for her two companions to remain behind while she rides on to meet them alone. "Three-to-one is poor odds," she says should either of them balk at the idea of not outright fighting them, "and there will be plenty of time for you to 'deal with them' after I speak to them." She encourages them to retreat, to hide themselves from view, to keep a watchful eye, and to shout aloud should any others turn up from the surrounding area.

With that matter decided, the woman in travelling clothes and clerical vestments goads her horse onward to approach the group of seven men at a leisurely trot. She is to all the world a travelling cleric of Shelyn by her dress and glaive, and as is the custom she calls out in greeting to them once she is near. Unless they are immediately hostile she will play the part she has many times in the past and which fits her current dress — a friendly face willing to patiently endure rough manners and harsh language with courtesy and return grace in kind. Should she be met with conversation, then she stops her horse and rests her blade at her side to ask about the conditions on the road ahead and to offer her assistance without price should any of the men be suffering ailments or wounds.
 
The men look up at her and she can see a white scorpion on their chests. They brusquely tell her the roads are fine and they don't require her assistance, though they do wonder what a priestess of Shelyn is doing with so many weapons and no instrument.

The two by the horses look toward Elaebryn and flick their hands in a particular manner towards one of the men by the wagon. That man moves his hands furtively and while it seems the man talking to Elaebryn doesn't seem to notice, there is definitely a growing tension among them and their postures grow more tense.

The one slaver by the wagon looks straight at Elaebryn, "Or could it be that our 'priestess' here is hiding behind a little bit of cover and she's got some help, say two bone-crushers here to bust up our little business and make a little coin on us? Tell you what, priestess, you tell your little mercenaries to sod off and we won't kill you three, torch the wagon, and leave you all here?"

Another slaver comes out from behind the wagon and waves a clay vial to show he's serious about his threat to destroy the wagon and its contents.
 
The woman on horseback unflinchingly retains her composure, showing neither fear nor shock in response to their words. With her non-dominant hand on the saddle horn, she twirls the glaive Denouement once in her dominant hand then plants its butt in the ground. It is a traditional gesture of peacefully invoking Shelyn's blessing and laying aside one's arms, that is perhaps also a somewhat intimidating display of physical strength to a perceptive onlooker — for she has driven it over a foot into the hard earth, such that it stands alone when she removes her hand from its shaft. The fluttering red ribbons tied at the head of the pole arm, which had added flair and spectacle to its twirling, now stream like a pennant in the breeze while Elaebryn makes a point of visibly moving both of her now-empty hands out before her with palms up-turned.

"Please be at ease friends," she says with a soft and comforting tone that belies any physical exertion whatever. "T'is true my traveling companions wish you gentlemen ill, but they have the sense not to fight you so outnumbered. And for myself, I wish only to pass without bloodshed and be on my way to meet a group of the faithful I heard last came through this way." Her words could not be more convincing if she tried, for she spoke not only with a practiced tongue but also with the conviction of truth in them. "If you would be so kind to direct me toward them," she says in the same good-natured tone, "then my men and I shan't trouble you."

She remains all smiles even as she declines her chin toward the man with the presumably flammable flask. "T'is an excellent decanter you have there," she offers. "As fragile as good will. Best to be put away somewhere safe, yes?" Though she clearly understands the threat, she is also supremely confident she can intervene to heal the slaves, put out the fire, and so on — she would not be goaded into breaking the truce she had declared by striking her weapon into the earth.
 
There is a rustle in the brush at her sides as the two bounty hunters draw hand crossbows and fire. One hits the slaver with the flask and kills him while the other hits one of the horse tenders, killing him. The horses rear and bolt and the other tender and one of the slavers go after their only mode of transportation. The other five slavers only have clubs at their belt while the bounty hunters draw their swords and enter into melee with them.

Despite some contusions, the bounty hunters convince the slavers that the cargo isn't worth their lives after killing three more of them. After the remaining three slavers run off, the bounty hunters look at Elaebryn, "Just walking away from them wasn't the deal. We thought you paladins were supposed to uphold justice. What justice is there in letting these slavers spread like a plague?"

They open up the wagon and there are people crammed in tight. A crowbar to the chains bolted to the ceiling lets them loose with the keys on the slavers handling the shackles. The bounty hunters tell Elaebryn they'll escort the slaves back to the village where they can arrange travel back to their homes.

In the wagon's supplies are casks of food and water to restore Elaebryn's supplies and perhaps take some more if her horse is up to it. Also in there is the journal of the slavers, detailing their human cargo and payments for what they brought in. They mention a single city close to the border of the desert kingdoms several times and it seems to be their drop-off point for hauls. There is a lot of mention that a drow "better pay well" for the people being brought in since some were considered slaves of high value to her.

The journal mentions a party of paladins meeting up with the slavers while they were heading out on a run. The paladins didn't give them any trouble, especially after seeing they had nothing in the wagon at the time and went in the direction of the city while the slavers moved on with their route.
 
The champion paladin is off her horse and upon the slavers within seconds of the first shot fired.

As quarrels are loosed she rushes past the standing combatants and toward the fallen slavers. Without a thought to either side of the fight, she kneels before the closest fallen man and touches gauntleted hands to his chest. Though she is incapable of restoring life to the dead, so great is her conviction that her mere touch is enough to capture even the weakest ember of life still in the body and fully heal all wounds. Elaebryn completely ignores the melee going on around her as she goes from one fallen man to the next, ignoring any blows she may suffer from either side. With quiet resolve she attempts to save and heal the men in the order they fall, and if she even hears the contemptuous words of the bounty hunters then she does not show it until after she has made this same attempt for each man they cut down.

Only once she has exhausted these efforts does the paladin acknowledge the bounty hunters. Regardless of how many she was able to save, her words are the same: an excerpt from the tenets of her order. "I never strike first, unless it is the only way to protect the innocent." Quiet fury rages behind her eyes, but she neither raises her voice nor allows that enmity to despoil her words. "I accept surrender if my opponent can be redeemed, and I never assume that they cannot be." She pauses just long enough for it to appear she may be done speaking, then continues. "There is no justice served by cutting down the weak, who could not have slain me were I alone. I could have simply bought the slaves from them, bought the location of their contacts and headquarters, and perhaps in time shown them a better way than this. And what was the sense in attacking them only to let them flee!"

Lest she launch into a sermon that will likely fall on deaf ears, she stops herself here having said the gist of what she needed to convey — that bloodshed was unnecessary, and that she is disappointed with the bounty hunters. After the enslaved are freed and the caravan looted, Elaebryn sternly suggests the mercenaries avoid her in the future before sending them on their way. She sets out alone, following the trail as best she may of the bounty hunters who fled. Though she remains externally tranquil throughout this entire ordeal, the paladin holds onto that quiet rage for nearly an hour after setting off on her own. Dwelling on these thoughts perhaps makes her somewhat less wary than she would otherwise be as she pushed her supply-laden horse onward into the waning light as sunset approaches.
 
Elaebryn's distraction proves a mistake when she is ambushed by several slavers, including some of those who fled. They identify her as the one who attacked her and they fell on her with swords and maces, intending to bring her down in revenge for the loss of their men.

They surround her, and the men who ran nod to their comrades, though they do tell them she did attempt to heal the men the hunters cut down. While there seems to be an acknowledgement that she did try to be kind to them and the bounty hunters are gone. Still, they need to make up for their loss of cargo. If she goes willingly, they'll take her glaive and secure her on her horse as a prisoner.

They lead her to their home base, the village marked in the journal of the earlier caravan. There, they strip her of her armor and lock her in a cell in the basement of a fortified stone building on the outskirts. The room is dimly lit with torches and Elaebryn can see tables and benches set around the room and chains everywhere.

After several hours of solitude, a dark-skinned elf comes into the room and up to Elaebryn's cell. "So, this is the paladin who has come to disrupt my operations? Of course, given that you surrendered so easily, you must not be much of a paladin."
 
Set upon suddenly and surrounded, the paladin nonetheless endures strikes against her person with patience and composure.

Allowed the opportunity to go with them without bloodshed to where she wished to be anyway, Elaebryn hesitates for only a moment before agreeing to go with them and surrendering her arms. But not without first offering a warning: "You will return that blade, Denouement, to me no later than sunset tomorrow." She does not mention the other weapons, which she also allows them to take. Whether they acknowledge or accept her terms of surrendering it seems not to concern her, nor after testing the ropes that hold her to her horse does she seem terribly concerned with being so bound.

Elaebryn offers no resistance whatever to being led by the slavers, and makes no trouble along the ride to what she can only assume is their headquarters. The only odd thing she does along the entire trip is to heal herself in exactly the same way as she attempted to restore health to those who fell in the previous battle — and even then only if she has suffered significant wounds beyond what her armour could absorb during the ambush.

Upon arriving the slavers find her oddly compliant, and they need not roughly "strip" her of her armour for upon catching their intention she instructs them in the location and workings of its various buckles, fastens, and straps. As though she were being attended by squires, she poses and postures in the most accommodating manner to facilitate their swift and proper removal of its burden from her shoulders and torso. Again she names the religious artifact she willingly surrenders, and offers the same warning: "You will return that cuirass, Proem, to me no later than sunset tomorrow." She does not mention the other bits of armour that form the suit — chausses, gauntlets, greaves, and so on — and allows them to be taken from her as well. Again she does not seem concerned by whether they acknowledge or accept her terms.

Once left to her own devices, the paladin situates herself as far from the door as she can and sits to compose herself in meditative prayer while she waits. Whomever may be spying on her during the wait might notice the occasional twitch or minor shift in posture, but these are few and farm between. She holds the same pose for the duration, and notably just prior to the dark elf's arrival her eyes spring open and she takes and releases a deep breath as though to steel her composure.

"I likely have no interest in your operations whatever," says the paladin from her position at the back of the cell. "But since I am here, I will gladly tend to any illness or injury your men may suffer before I continue on my way."
 
"Don't give me that sort of speech, paladin. I know why you're here. You're after your friends, aren't you? Well, they did come here and I could tell you where they went, but not without something in return. You're such a pretty thing and I've been rather bored. I'd like to have some fun with you."

Since Elaebryn is being so cooperative, the drow lets her out of the cell and brings her to the center of the room, putting her in shackles hung from the ceiling. She removes Elaebryn's shirt from her body with a curved dagger and exposes her back. Taking a whip, she cracks it over the paladin's head. "First, you are going to ask me for a proper disciplining for being so evasive with me."

Whether she does so or not, the drow proceeds to lash Elaebryn's back with the whip, leaving gashes in her skin as the whip tears it on each impact. She grins at the paladin and simply asks her after fives strokes, "How does that feel, paladin?"
 
The paladin nods in response to the drow's question: yes, she was here seeking after her friends. Though quite content to be free of her cell, she made no effort to escape while being led toward the center of the room. She frowns but does not struggle as she is placed into shackles: either she is supremely confident of her ability to escape, or she is completely naive as to what fates befall those who find themselves bound in the care of the drow. Perhaps both?

Either way it is clear she does not immediately understand the drow-woman's game. She watches with more curiosity than concern as her garments are rent, hers a face of confusion when she speaks. "I beg you forgive me," she says contritely, "that I have misspoken. Ask me plainly and I shall answer true." And then she cries out in mixture of pain and shock as the whip bites into her naked flesh, her body arching and twisting reflexively away from the lash with each subsequent stroke. She answers abruptly, quickly, like a soldier responding at drill: "It burns!" Clenched teeth prevent further outcry against the lingering pain, and though her eyes are squeezed tightly shut to prevent tears her wounds openly weep her lifeblood down her back — running red over white.
 
"Oh, it hurts does it? We need to work on that." She picks up Elaebryn's face and kisses her on the lips as she keeps talking to her. "In time, you will find this to be quite plasurable." She kisses her in between phrases before stepping away from her and removing her leather corset.

The drow bares her breasts to Elaebryn. They are perky and ample, forming perfect and soft hemispheres on her torso. The nipples are proportionately sized and invite those who gaze at them to kiss and suckle on them, their darkened skin a shade darker than the rest of her flesh.

"Do you like them, paladin? Are they beautiful for you to gaze at. Perhaps you would like to experience them with your hands and mouth? Just say it and tell me what you are prepared to endure to have that chance. Your friends certainly liked them. The leader was more than willing to endure twenty lashes to touch and nurse from them. She moaned like a strumpet with each lash over ten. Do you think you can perform better than her? A champion like yourself should be able to last a while."

She toyed with the whip before getting back into position to lash Elaebryn's back. Whether Elaebryn took her up on her offer or not, she would flog the paladin until she either yelped in pain, gave in to pleasure or just went unconscious. She wanted to see just how far her lovely little victim was able to go.
 
Perhaps to the surprise of the drow-woman, the champion paladin freely accepts her kiss and actively encourages each subsequent. Likewise, her gaze follows as the dark elf retreats to put on a show — to which she responds with a deep, slow breath and eyes falling half-lidded to savour the moment. "Your body is a wonder," she replies in a voice barely above a whisper when asked her opinion of the drow-woman's breasts, "and I would sing its glory. But—"

Here she opens her eyes wide again, and slowly exhales the breath she had caught. "But," she says again in the same bedroom-whisper as before, "there is a darkness within you that cries out to know not just erotic love. Cut me down from here, and I will show you perfect beauty as pales before these violent delights." She seems to completely ignore the rest of the dark elf's speech, and when the whipping resumes she once again cries out in pain at the first lash then falls silent with clenched teeth. Her body bucks and spasms, writhing on the end of her shackles like a ribbon in the wind. And through dozens or perhaps even hundreds of lashes, she remains silent yet responsive as blood is drawn and splattered all about her.

Eventually her posture visibly changes, her head lolling backward as she widens her stance and breathes deep as she did before when she was visibly drinking in the physical beauty of the drow-woman. Shuddering exhalation, exactly as before, would seem to indicate that she has actually come to enjoy the pain — or perhaps merely has found comfort in her ability to endure it? Impossible to say from without. Regardless, she neither loses consciousness nor utters another cry. Just very controlled, deep breathing with her head thrown back. She has even stopped fighting against the restraints and jerking with subsequent strikes. Has the poor girl gone into shock?
 
The drow smirks at her ability to bear so much pain. Whether she's learned to enjoy pain or got off on how much she endured was irrelevant. She roused Elaebryn out of what reverie she was in with smelling salts before looking her in the eyes again, "Don't try to tell me your body is nicer than mine, paladin. Now, if you're going to try to persuade me to turn from the darkness, you're going to need to do more than just give me words. You're going to need show me acts."

She moved the paladin's head to her breasts and lets her nestle there so she can feel them rise and fall under her skin. "And you were off to a good start at first. You did say you liked my breasts, paladin. Show me how much you like them and I might be persuaded to give you something for your back. If I'm persuaded that you do intend to truly try to convert me and help my blackened soul, I may just let you have some fun with me. After all, if you're going to convince me, you need to bring me to your level, paladin."

She produced a healing salve from her hip pocket and let Elaebryn see it so she could see the drow was serious. She looked at her with a smile to see if she was truly willing to bring the drow to her understanding with something more than a lecture. If she was going to get information from this drow, she would need to play her game for some time.
 
The paladin merely flutters her eyelids as the drowess approaches with smelling salts and again takes a deep, long breath as they are offered. She has a pleasing smile even as she visibly shudders, as though the experience of inhaling the smelling salts is unpleasant, but this does not remove the glaze from her eyes or the contented sigh from her following exhalation. "I will remain with you until sunset tomorrow," she says with the barest hint of a dreamy lilt to her voice. Had she become euphoric — high — from this experience? Her eyes flutter again, then gain focus as her attention narrows onto the dark elf just as breasts fill her vision.

Without hint of hesitation or shame, and with eyes wide open and clear, Elaebryn presses her lips against the offered flesh and seals them against it as her cheeks hollow and her tongue washes across the captured, gently suckled area — and then just as quickly as it was captured, it is released, and her lips migrate elsewhere to repeat the process. As though hungry for the taste of it, the bound paladin kisses, licks, and savours each unique patch of flesh she may reach from where she is — except, she pointedly avoids ever directly stimulating a nipple. She will tease around them; she will kiss and lick the areolae and allow perhaps the briefest, transitive touch as she passes over to a different patch of skin.

"Even now," she says after several such kisses, and in the same dreamy lilt, "I could strike you down where you stand." Still her hungry mouth seeks delicious elf flesh with her lips and tongue. "Let me down," she says breathlessly, "and let me show you a better way." Regardless of the dark elf's response, she continues to please and tease her chest.
 
The drow smiles at Elaebryn teasing her breasts with her lips. "It will take you much longer than sunset tomorrow to convert me, paladin. And perhaps I can persuade you to wish to remain with me even longer. As far as striking me down chained as you are, I would love to see you try. But, you are showing some sign of being a good girl, so I will give you the salve. I will let you out of the chains if you promise to be a good girl to me."

She rubs the salve on the paladin's back and the wounds close for her, the pain subsides. She also takes the time to rip off more of Elaebryn's shirt to expose her body further. She looks at the paladin's breasts and ponders whether the rest of her body will be as pleasing.

The drow waits to see if the paladin decides to move to her nipples. They are peaked and hard, ready to release milk to the mouth that suckles them. She had always been able to lactate freely and her master made her body even more pleasing. They never dried up and the milk was more that just nourishment for infants. Her adult slaves often found themselves drawn to the temptation of the sweet and creamy milk she bore to them for being especially obedient "And just what would this better way be? Loving all things for what they are without the joys of flesh. Your friends tried that and she had to concede she couldn't teach it to me."
 
The captive woman smiles at the monologue given her, but does not immediately reply.

She arches her back and breathes deep once more as her shirt is ripped off entirely, revealing an entirely average bosom and a torso that otherwise perfectly falls between the sometimes-conflicting views of beautiful and muscular. She is fit, lean, and 'ripped,' as they say, but she bears neither unsightly bulges nor excessive muscle growth. If she does possess great strength beyond those of most women, then it must come from something beyond her physical body — for though she is in excellent shape, she looks in no way to compare to the burly men who brought her here. Her stomach is flat, but for the divots of a washboard; her hips are wide, but sculpted; her shoulders and arms are as wide as an average man's, but still soft unless she flexes — which she notably does not.

Only after the drow falls still in waiting does the paladin move. "As you wish," she says, and lifts one leg to drive a knee into the drow's midsection with enough force to lift her off her feet; and, more importantly, with the power of conviction behind it such that holy damage is inflicted upon the evil woman. It is her conscious will that not enough damage be inflicted to actually kill the drowess, should she be capable of delivering it in a single blow, but merely to demonstrate the extent of her power. If the drow-woman still stands and seems healthy. She only makes the one strike, feeling it serves to demonstrate her point.

"I promise to be good for you," she says after she has assaulted the drow. "You have my word and my name as Elaebryn, the champion of Shelyn. I shan't harm you unless you force my hand, and shall stay with you and be good for you — until sunset tomorrow. I am here entirely because I wish to save your soul, to bring you beauty and joy. Why not take the first step and cut me down, that we may explore beauty together?"
 
The drow is angered by her attack. "That was a bit uncalled for for a paladin that claims to be all about beauty and joy and not fighting if they can find an excuse not to. But I did say I would like to see you try and you showed me. I'll forgive you this one, but do it again, and you likely won't get any information on your friends. I doubt you want to return to your order in failure."

She released Elaebryn and brought her up from the basement and into a bedroom. Incense burned to provide an arousing scent to the candle-lit room dressed in scarlet. The drow brought Elaebryn to the bed and brought her down on top of her to worship her breasts again.

"Now, show me your beauty, paladin."
 
The paladin takes note of every inch of the corridors between the prison and the bedroom, though says not a single word along the way.

Only once she is actually in the bedroom with the drowess does Elaebryn speak, complimenting the interplay of light, shadow, and smoke that creates such a sensual and inviting chamber. She allows herself to be led to the bed, following along and returning the dark elf's affections. It is only after she is bade into action that she responses, but rather than behave as she did previously when so invited the deceptively strong woman — for her grip is like iron as her fingers clutch the back of the drow-woman's head — pulls her captor close to herself, buries her face between her own modest bosom. "Lucky that my breasts are humble," she says as she forces tit-flesh into drow-face, "let you confuse them for mountains."

Her dominant hand meanwhile grips the drowess by her nethers, two strong fingers prodding at the covered opening while thumb presses against pelvis and the two outer fingers curl inward to take a grip of her crotch. "Is this what you wanted, my dark lover?" She squeezes her left hand against captive pubis, driving fingers further into cloth and flesh without being capable of actually penetrating. Her right meanwhile relaxes its grip, both for the dark elf to breathe and to speak lest she be smothered by human breast. "Or would you prefer me passive, as before?" Immediately, she releases her hold entirely and falls backward onto the bed cushions to reveal herself to the drowess and her mercy.
 
The drow angrily gets up and grabs the paladin, dragging her back to the dungeon and her cell. "I release you from your bonds and promise to be a good prisoner. I forgive you for assaulting me once and then you decide to attack me again in my own bedroom. This is how paladins of Shelyn truly behave, then? I see I was wrong to take your word for anything."

She throws her into the cell and locks the door before locking it shut and ringing a bell. Five slavers come down into the dungeon armed with pikes and take positions around the cell, the lethal points aimed at Elaebryn.

"Kill her."
 
Elaebryn seems confused by the sudden withdrawal and escalation, though she says nothing about the matter. Arguing with an angry person rarely has a useful outcome. And so she goes along with the drow-woman back to her cell without a word of protest, and stumbles into the cell. She presses herself against the back wall as much as she may, seeking to avoid the altercation if possible. "Please," she says as she makes eye contact with the pikemen, "you have so much to live for." And so she refuses to strike the first blow, allowing them if they insist to pierce her flesh with the pikes before responding.
 
The drow stops them a moment. "I've got a better idea for this. She wanted something from me. She'd just kill you all when you pierce her and that serves no purpose at all. You know the protocol if we get compromised. Follow your instructions, you will be rewarded. Good luck to you all."

The slavers left and cleared out while the drow remained where she was and brought a pill out from her pocket. She bit down on it and immediately collapsed and foamed at the mouth as she went into a seizure. After only a few seconds, the seizures stopped and she lay very still. Whatever information she had on the paladins was gone forever.
 
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