'What are you doing?' snapped the exalted voice of one of The Gods' representatives on earth, the noise, sounding like a whip-crack through the warm air of the modest tavern room, made Naamah leap to attention, slamming the lid down on the small, ornate box in front of her.
She turned, smiling, her face the very picture of innocence, if you ignored the fangs, curling black horns, and the little forked tail swishing nervously behind her, 'nothing!' she sang, 'how's things downstairs?'
Orlina shrugged off her shield of justice and hung her mace of face-smashing back onto her belt, 'under control,' she sneered, 'you made quite a scene on entering.'
Naamah kept her back pinned to the dresser, cocking her head, her too large, all black eyes absorbing any light that touched them. It was no surprise her mere presence had nearly started a riot, even with her powers choked by the enchanted, thick iron collar around her throat, she was an alluring sight. Slim, short, purple-skinned, wearing a tight top that left little to the imagination and exposed a toned, totally flat stomach (as succubi, born from unholy magics, don't have belly buttons). Her breasts were small, but perky, and her hips flared out obscenely from the black leather trousers she wore, which were so close to her skin, you'd think she had to dress herself in oil each morning to slip into them. A mental image that she, no doubt, would happily encourage.
Orline now turned to give the succubus her full attention. She had been given a simple order, to make sure that Naamah, who was apparently very keen to join her party of adventurers, arrived at their camp in one piece. It had only been a few days of travelling, with a few more yet to go, but already she felt her patience being pushed to its limits. Though she protested her innocence, trouble had followed them like a bad smell. First it had been a convenient band of roving, randy and rutting minotaurs who had torn up their camp-site and sent them sprinting into the woods to hide, Naamah giggling and whistling for them all the way, another time, an over-enthusiastic Orc guard had tried to arrest Orline for kidnapping, and now this, a small-scale uprising in the tavern had nearly separated her from her quarry, after she "accidentally" spilt an entire cask of ale down her already thin top. If Naamah hadn't sworn, under a truth spell, to provide new information on the movements of some dangerous demonic hordes, she would have cut her loose, or struck her down, already.
Naamah stared back with those demonic eyes, pondering her "escort". She really did cut a lovely figure. Statuesque was the word, her dark skin glowed with health, with those proud features, clear, bright eyes, full of wisdom and courage, her armour shining, not a single hair out of place. Her body was powerful, and well-endowed too, as Naamah had spotted while they bathed at a river one day. Her unquestionable beauty was only emphasised by the esteem with which she held herself, and her holy mission. If only, Naamah sighed, she wasn't such a bitch.
'What are you scheming?' she said, reaching for the holy symbol she wore around her neck, the only item of decoration she wore, 'is it a-'
'Malevolent machination?' Naamah finished for her, 'A diabolical doing? A serpentine stratagem?' she suggested, 'no. It's none of those, for your information I was inspecting a memento.'
'A memento?'
'Yes, your holiness, is that acceptable?' Naamah folded her arms over her chest and stuck out her plump bottom lip, 'honestly. First this collar, then I'm not allowed to wear my clothes..'
'Those strings were not clothes.' Orline snarled, thinking back to the pathetic excuse for an outfit the succubus had first met her in. She didn't know where to look.
'And now I can't have my things!' Naamah continued as if she hadn't spoken, 'Perhaps I should start wearing my hair up too?'
Orline bit down on saying that's exactly what she should do, the long, pitch black hair only drew attention to her peachy butt after-all. She relaxed her grip around the sigil on her necklace, 'I... Apologise.' She forced the words through gritted teeth, 'I'm only being cautious.'
Naamah grinned and pranced across the room, she only came up to the Paladin's chest plate, and stuck her little button nose up her to speak to her, 'don't worry about it, we're all friends here.' She pointed to the box on the dresser, 'just don't open it okay?'
'Is it cursed?' Orline gasped, that sanctimonious edge back in her voice, 'how did you-'
'It's not cursed!' She cut her off before she could get going on one of her sermons, 'no spells, remember?' She gestured to the collar again, 'it's just personal, that's all.'
Naamah began to walk past her, swaying her hips masterfully as she did, Orline intercepted her, sticking out armour-plated arm out over the doorway to block her path, 'and where do you think you're going?' She asked.
'I'm going to get some food, I smelt something really good on the walk up here.'
'You understand that your collar-'
'Will render me in unbearable pain should I try to escape, yeah, I know, I'm just going to get some lunch.' She scowled, and averted her gaze, her lower-lip wobbling with expert precision, 'to think you don't trust me... ' she said miserably.
Orline stiffened and swallowed hard, '... Fine.' She spat out finally, '... Enjoy. Don't be too long.' Each word of courtesy was chomped down on like it was about to turn around and bite her back.
Naamah's mood brightened immediately, she ducked under her arm and with a flirty wave, disappeared out of the door, singing quietly to herself. Orline listened after her, until, for the first time what felt like forever, she was alone with her thoughts.
She collapsed back onto the cheap, sunken bed with a weary sigh, her armour felt very, very heavy. She was sore, and grouchy, her muscles were tight and her skin was chaffed from the constant travel. She wanted a bath, a proper one, with oils and candles and a sponge, but most of all she wanted some real food, something homely and honest, instead of the dried beef and hard-tack she had been gnawing on for most of her journey. Oh yes, she knew suffering only strengthened the soul, and she knew that when she joined the holy order, she renounced such petty desires of the flesh. But they were still there, gnawing at her consciousness.
She forced herself to sit up and stripped off the heaviest parts of the plate, she had just begun the long process of oiling her metals when she found her dark-eyed gaze, drawn, inexorably, to the little box on the dresser. She tore her stare away and back to the monotonous task at hand, but her mind wandered to just what kind of memento a succubus might keep.
'I will not look.' She grumbled to herself, 'it would be wrong. I will not betray the trust she put into me.'
"What trust?" A little voice in her head perked up, "trust in a creature that exists to seduce? To sow seeds of discord?"
Orline's grip tightened around her oil-cloth as she wrestled with her conscience. Surely, she must have a right, no, a moral duty, to ensure it was nothing dangerous? Yes, of course, that's what it was.
Even while she was coming to this conclusion, she was already halfway across the room, dressed in her undershirt and trousers, her plates abandoned on the bed behind her.
She approached the box with trepidation, extending her senses for any hints of dark magic in its structure, however she felt no such thing, and leaned over to study the container. It was, admittedly, lovely, if a bit garish. About the size of a woman's jewelry box, the wood stained the same dark purple in Naamah's skin, inlaid with silver, inscribed with binding runes. Ah, bindings, she thought to herself, so it did hold something more powerful than an innocent memento. Satisfied now that her suspicions were confirmed , she felt a fierce grin come over her face, returning to the bed to fetch her holy weapon, her blood hot and ready to smite, she flipped the little heart-shaped latch keeping the lid closed, and pushed it open.
She raised her weapon, eyes burning with righteous fire, but no monstrous teeth came out to tear her throat, but instead, a slim, violet tentacle, poked itself just out of the box, probing the air, almost tentatively, flicking one way and another, as if sniffing its new environment.
Disappointed, Orline leaned in to study the strange creature. It was slimy, that was for sure, goo dripped off of it and covered it in an oily sheen. The very tip was about as wide as her thumb, what body she could see was dotted with deep suckers. She let her weapon fall to her side, extending her free-hand to feel for dark magic around the beast. She couldn't sense anything like malevolence, if anything there was a simple happiness inside the creature, emanating from it like light from a dull lamp, and she had just started to feel quite silly when the probing tendril wrapped itself curiously around her hand, tasting her skin.
