Dragon (s)layers: Thepaladin Gambit

Author's Notes

This story was never published to Literotica, but since I'm trying to get back into this series while I work on polishing up the first novel, I thought I'd release this as well. It takes place shortly after the end of Volume 4 (as its posted on LE), I believe.

I warn you, this was written quite a while ago, and contains little erotic content, but it does bridge the gap between the group meeting Leslie and her later involvement in the plot in volume 4 onwards. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for your patience and time.

A

Dragon (S)Layers Origins

Novella

Chapter 1: Behold, the Stupid Seamstress

"Many would question why Isira, a goddess of hedonism, even needs clerics or paladins when the natural inclination of humanoids is to avoid pain and bring, or derive pleasure within our lives. Yet here we are-- some might say 'stuck'-- with a goddess who's servants work diligently to ensure the hungry are fed, the sick are made comfortable and Virtue is protected until its owner is prepared to relinquish it.

Contrasting their slavish devotion to these tenants, you will see them fly their tattered banner against the tide of social norms, parading themselves around like the one true miracle of society even while they scream out whispers in the dark, begging for some meaning to their directionless and mediocre lives. Deep within they know the fate all hedonists share.

I say this not to condemn them but to highlight the difference between principle and application: Many would say Isira represents pleasure and freedom, I would postulate that if She truly offered what Her faithful preach, there would be fewer tears shed by hungry children in gutters the world over. It's telling that even Her clergy have to die in order to have the chance to receive Her blessings rather than She choosing the most fitting candidate before their passing.

In a fair, just world She would be there to fill stomachs when crops fail. She would stop our wives and daughters from being subject to unwanted advances and assaults. She would not allow us to suffer disease or heartache...But this is the real world; either abandoned by, or a reflection of, the divine.

Make no mistake, people suffer in Her name as they do for any other god. It's just the wine and lustful sweat that make that suffering less obvious."

-Sarah Kettar, Cleric of The Great Engineer

Letters From the Gods Volume 591

Leslie

It had been a long time since Leslie had cried. There were times when she'd lost herself in the village or walked into someone's home by accident, or once when she'd accidentally poked some girl in the eye trying to find her way around. Tears had flowed those days-- frustrated, angry tears; not all of them her own.

But those crying sessions didn't have shit on this one: her new eyes felt alien and her head was sore, but soaked in tears that tasted like wine, the older seamstress was smiling ear to ear. She could see! Granted, most of what her silver eyes saw was run down, ugly and in bad need of a mold scrape and fresh paint, but her world was awash in colors she thought she'd never see again and something more, something primal and just as alien.

Hope.

She could feel it, even now sobbing on her tattered and decrepit couch in her ugly little home she was wracked with bodily tremors that sent new waves of weakness through her but she'd never felt more alive.

The urge to wipe her eyes came and went, but it wasn't her hand that stroked the tears away-- an ancient warmth brushed across her rounded cheeks, sweeping them dry before fingers laced through her brown locks to cradle her head.

Isira held her close as she sobbed the years away; in Her incomprehensible beauty, the goddess of pleasure wasn't one to let a new 'friend'- some might use the word 'minion'- just languish on the floor. She'd scooped up the crying mortal after they made their deal and now, some hours later She was still holding her.

Like anything, though, Leslie knew it couldn't last forever. She turned her gaze up to the voluptuous woman holding her and sighed a shuddering breath. "You must be pretty disappointed."

"Mmm?" Isira pouted Her lips in thought, "Oh, I suppose I am."

Leslie opened her mouth but she was stopped by a finger.

"I expected to be offered tea, or at the very least a virgin of some description." Her grin was infectious and Leslie found herself mirroring it.

"Suppose we can find one of those if that's what you want."

"Tempting! But no," She booped Leslie's nose. "I have something else in mind."

Powerless to stop Her, Leslie laid there atop the goddess, her elbows digging into the couch as she wondered just what would come from that finely formed mouth.

"I think..." Isira drew the word out. "I want to play a game."

Leslie breathed in her goddess's scent, with her new senses she felt the radiant power contained in the woman's presence; She was powerful, incredibly ancient and warm-- Her power had a distinct taste to it, like sandalwood and vanilla spent time spit roasting lavender until it came so hard it cried. She was a staggering beauty, but it was Her metaphysical presence that made the goddess Isira approachable. She was like an open book just begging to be explored. She was friend and lover and mother and family all in one, She was home.

So it wasn't as surprising when Leslie balked at the idea of playing a game. "So is it everyone you want to 'play with' who gets new eyes or am I a special case? It's the hair, right? Wear it in a bun one time and you're branded the slutty librarian for life."

Isira chuckled a musical laugh and ran Her hands down Leslie's shoulders, easing into a sitting position that left the mortal's head in Her lap instead. She took Her time exploring the older woman for whatever qualities She thought were important-- when She spoke it was with finality. That voice was satin against Leslie's soul. "We can discuss spit roasting later, but for now I need my paladin..."

Leslie sputtered, Isira was smiling all the while.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

"W- Where?"

Isira tutted, "It took my last paladin eight years before he started questioning me and you've managed it in one afternoon!"

"Sorry, I--"

"No, no. You've made your bed, now you can lie in it."

Leslie started to apologize but in a flash she was being tickled head to toe. She fought it and giggled uproariously for the first time in what felt like forever. It was no use, of course, but she curled up against the back of the couch trying to protect herself. "Ack! Stop, stop!"

"This is where you apologize!" Isira said playfully as She continued.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Don't question the woman in the slip dress, got it! I said sorry!"

Isira hopped up off the couch and wheeled on Her heel taking in the home. Simple though it was, She seemed interested in the clothing Leslie hung from its walls-- each of them a work of art in their own right, practical and fashionable to those who understood the value of clothing. Any one of them was infinitely more modest than the airy slip of a dress Isira wore. The goddess plucked one of the dresses off the wall, holding it out for Leslie with a smug little grin.

It took Leslie almost a minute to compose herself, another to take in the dress-- and only three seconds to blush the deepest crimson her lightly tanned features could produce. It was so short! Sure it was pretty, and the stitching was competent considering she'd been blind when she had made it, but had it always been that short?!

Isira was having none of her hesitation. The goddess thrust the dress at her with that same knowing smile that said She knew there was no way Leslie would resist.

She was mostly right.

Mostly. "Uh-- What're we going to do?"

"We're going to play a game of cards," Isira stated casually. "Don't give me that look, you're going to enjoy it."

The declaration lanced through Leslie sending her heart into her throat. Her palms felt clammy against her knees and wariness swelled in the pit of her stomach as she looked to her goddess, her savior. The bringer of sight and lover of all mankind couldn't have been any more cruel if She'd tripped Leslie, slapped her ass and laughed as she faceplanted. "I-- I can't do that."

Unconsciously her gaze drifted to the smashed urn between them, the spill of human ashes cast a dark halo around the ceramic mess. Untouched by her hands, her only companion in the darkness-- the very reason she had been blinded in the first place; David had been there to listen to her cry but he had taught her a valuable lesson. A lot of them, in fact. She massaged her finger where her wedding band should have been. "I can't..."

"No?" Isira stepped over the mess, crouched down in front of Leslie and watched her studiously. She squinted, tilted her head, checked her over from various angles. "I could have sworn I met my paladin this morning. Who's this ravishingly attractive young lady that she left in her place, hm?"

"I- I-...I can't."

"Hm..." She eased into Leslie's space as if She owned it. Again tilting Her head to inspect, the goddess's smile waned. "Oh Keiter, my dear little friend, what've you brought me."

"I'm sorry--"

"Ah, ah, ah." Isira raised a finger. "If you're going to wear my lotus, I expect you to make it bloom, young lady." She poked the necklace Keiter had given her. Sometime during the day after he left the bronze lotus flower had indeed closed up again. Strange. "But! We can make that happen in time," She hopped up and danced away. "Get dressed! We're going to make an evening of it."

"Uh--" Leslie swallowed. "But-- O- Okay? But there's not much to do around here."

Isira chuckled. "Keiter

did

ask you to see with new eyes, didn't he?"

Leslie fidgeted when the kobold's words were thrown at her. "Sure but that's not going to change anything. It's a farm town with a caravan route--"

"Leave the details to me, your training begins tonight!"

For some reason the reassuring smile Isira gave her was anything but assuring. In fact, it looked kind of manic. Leslie bit her lower lip as she eyed the dress, wondering what she'd agreed to...

* * * * *

From the stories Leslie had heard about divine servants, they could wield unlimited power and had instant access to their patron. Someone had been full of themselves when they told that one; Leslie still couldn't hold a tune to save her life. She kept trying, if only to fill the awkward silence as she roamed the narrow road between farmhouses and the inner circle of buildings that composed the village.

It was a joke, who the hell in their right mind would've made Leslie a representative of their faith? Leslie pulled on her mantle, fidgeting with it while her sandals crunched the dirt underfoot. She was a mouse sneaking by cats more so than the paladin Isira insisted she was. But if nothing else, the burgundy dress and silver mantle did accent her form quite well. What she lacked in raw sexuality and voluptuous curves, she made up with by well preserved eastern features, tastefully arranged brunette locks and long legs that were absolutely bristling with goose bumps as she pattered through the village.

"Enough moping, you silly girl." Isira threw an arm around her. Leslie sunk into Her warmth as if it would shield her from the passing glances of the soldiers and farmers alike. The village was like a giant set of rings coming to the caravan landing in the middle, but for every blind alley they walked through Leslie felt someone watching. Isira's presence drew people in like moths to a flame.

Not that she could blame them.

Isira chuckled playfully, "They can't see me, dear. Not yet. Any attention you get is all yours."

"O-" Leslie blushed furiously. "Sure, that's fair. Dress me like a whore--" She bit her tongue, glancing at the goddess who was wearing considerably less by pure thread count. "This isn't going to be easy, is it?"

"As easy as you wish to make it," the goddess smiled. "And no easier, because that would be quite dull!" She prowled through the village, leading Leslie to the Little Kettle inn-- throwing open the doors She took solid form in a flourish of magic and a lyrical melody that danced through the drab little building and filled it with life.

The handful of patrons that were there turned to see the cause of the disturbance-- some laughed, some stared. Someone mentioned high class whores. They all went quiet when Isira spoke.

"A fair evening one and all! Who would give us the pleasure of a dance and the satisfaction of a good drink?!"

"I'll give ya some satisfaction!" Some old man shouted.

"You then!" Isira sauntered over to him, Her high heels clicking sharply against the floorboards-- not a single pair of eyes turned away from Her beauty. More than a few people turned away in jealousy when She thrust out a hand and pulled him up as if he was a toy. A second later the ambiance of music picked up to take center stage and fill the room with an upbeat saucy tune.

Leslie gaped as she watched the tables and chairs part to make way for the two of them. Wood clattered and patrons groaned their protest as their chairs slid from under them. The bartender started to complain but Isira wasn't listening, She twirled with her dance partner as they worked out who'd lead and the steps they were comfortable with.

After a moment one of the other men in the room turned his gaze to Leslie who was doing her best impression of a wall flower. He smiled politely. She glanced away. Gods, was Isira

trying

to scare the crap out of her?

Apparently so.

Isira danced with the man for a little while as Her newest convert watched from the sideline. When the bartender went to throw Her out, She whispered something in the woman's ear and like that, the woman's whole mood changed. She turned to the patrons and shouted something to the effect of free ale.

This statement lead to someone running to get their friends, in turn bringing a bunch of caravan drivers and guards, leading to more dancing and a

lot

of drinking. The music filling the dreary little inn waxed and waned as new partners took to the makeshift dance floor and as more people became comfortable in the company of strangers-- some of which Leslie recognized as farmers from the village-- out came the dice and cards.

Every throw of the dice sounded like thunder to her. She hugged her arms under her mantle, leaning against the wall, watching Isira entertain every man-- and a few women-- that came by before She passed them off to someone that matched them. Husbands lost wives for the evening and wives found new and exciting company or, more rarely, rediscovered their husbands as they danced.

Through it all, the goddess was polite and warm to everyone that crossed her path-- even those who tried to treat her like a whore. Never once did She give up Her poise or candor, She didn't get mad or even offer rebuttal, maybe it was telling that She didn't

really

interact with people so much as gloss over them and their little concerns...

It struck Leslie then that She wasn't the only one who felt alone in a room full of people. Isira kept them at a distance because they had little to do with one another-- even as She made them smile, She kept herself distant.

She also drank like a sailor. Every few minutes She'd get a refill on her ale and have it gone in mere moments. Somehow She didn't fit the stories that'd been told about Her, but to Leslie that made all the more sense. It made Her all the more beautiful.

"Hey, lass!" Someone shouted to her. "Why don't y'take a load off," It was the man who'd smiled at her earlier. When she started to reject him Isira's presence swelled in her mind, She pushed on Her mortal minion like a finger against the back of her neck.

Leslie rubbed at the spot, stealing a glance at Isira who winked in return. Maybe it was divine matchmaking, maybe there

was

something she was supposed to learn. Leslie wandered towards the table trying not to get jostled by the dancers. "That's got to be the most civil version of 'why don't you sit on my lap and we talk about the first thing that comes up' I've ever heard."

He chuckled, "Could do that, too." Without a thought he kicked the chair out beside her, "but I leave that to the kids. Getchya somethin' to drink?"

"Uh, sure. I'll have what you're having."

"Water it is!"

Leslie waited for him to return with a pitcher and tankard, her gaze wandering to watch the dancers. Someone in a nearby table shifted their hand displaying a set of cards and collected the pot that filled the middle. She wrung her hands warily. It was just harmless betting between friends, that was all.

There was no need to worry, she promised herself.

When the older man returned he poured her a drink, it took some effort for her to take it and her smile felt empty. His face wore the miles of the road like broken clay, potted with years under the sun and a weight under it all that made him seem older than he should have been. Yet, through all of it he had a strength about him, as if defying the world and his age was a challenge rather than a death sentence.

"So," Leslie ventured. "This is probably where I pretend I'm either more interesting than I am or mysterious or something."

"Y'could." The man shrugged, took a drink. "Aint like I haven't seen it before..."

"Right." She looked to the table as if it'd provide some kind of answer as to what she was supposed to do next. He graciously let her stew in her awkwardness. "So--"

"So."

"Yeah. Not very good at this social thing," Leslie tried another smile. "So if you've got something in mind..."

"Not really," he sipped his water. "Y'just looked miserable. Everyone around ya smilin and you doing a good job o' fakin it, but y'know what they say about misery, right?"

"It loves company?"

"Psh, nah. Misery's a cold bitch who wouldn't know a good time if it slapped her in the face, but she can't stand it, absolutely cannot stand it when," he leaned in for effect, "the thing that's slappin her in the face is the one that's miserable."

Leslie fingered the side of her mug absently. As she traced the grain of the table a thought struck her. "So what happens if I slap Her?" she flicked her head towards Isira just to see if the goddess was paying attention. Surrounded by so many dancers She didn't seem to be.

The man cracked a smile. "Ah, lover's spat?" He said it with a calm that suggested he was familiar with such relationships.

"No! No, no, gods no...she's not like that-- well maybe. But not with me, I don't think? No, think-- I don't know."

"Well when you put it like that."

Leslie waved it off. "I'm just...confused. I mean, there's knowing things and then there's

knowing

things."

"Like what?" The man slid his tankard aside and clasped his hands, she could sense him looking at her and it took Leslie a moment to realize she wasn't actually looking at him. It was a habit from when she was blind, a way of acknowledging someone without having to 'look' at them. She turned her gaze up.

Where did she even begin? "Where I come from the stories of the gods being uh...not so friendly to mortals are pretty common. But let's say I had my mind changed, then let's say I was shown first hand that maybe I was wrong."

"With you so far."

"I don't mean that I was dipping into pasture pies plucking multicolored mushrooms, but actually

saw

reasons why I was wrong."

"Uh huh? Not seeing a problem here, grow'n up isn't a bad thing. Y'gonna get older every day anyway, why not get a bit wiser, too?"

Leslie dampened her lips. "So what if I wasn't wrong-- what if the gods are assholes and I'm gonna be used?"