Author's note: This story is a romance erotica that contains a considerable amount of buildup and before getting to the sex scenes. If you're looking for wham bam, you may want to move along.
"Adventures of a Half-Elf Harlot" imagines the things that happen in between the scenes of a typical D&D game, or under the ubiquitous curtain of a "fade to black." Its protagonist, Zelia Brightstar, is a powerful sorceress and cleric of a goddess of death who regularly risks her life and saves the realm with her two best friends, but the plot centres primarily on Zelia's relationships with ordinary people, the things she does between earth-shaking battles, and, most of all, her love life. For those who love adventure RPGs but wish there was more kissing...
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Zelia and Ignatius: Part 1
The hour was late as Zelia lay awake in the tiny attic room.
It was still strange to her, to have a room of her own. Technically she was part-owner of a small castle, but it didn't feel like home, at least not yet. They were so rarely out at Warsong Keep anyhow, what with travel so restricted now in and out of Faramon, and Chrysmer's Black Circle keeping a close eye on everyone who passed through the gates.
They'd been trying to keep their heads down, busying themselves in other ways so as not to draw suspicion while they figured out how to bring Chrysmer down and find the missing Queen on whose behalf he supposedly ruled the kingdom.
The paladin Alessa kept her lodgings at the temple of Tyr, spending her free time in training and temple service, and was so well-regarded within and without the religious community of Faramon that Chrysmer dared not touch her. Amara had moved in with her spymaster boyfriend Marcus while they planned their wedding, and she was busy back and forth between ruling Nordenburg her alternate identity Bronwyn Avondale, and locally with her work for the Hand.
Thodorlun had offered Zelia a spare set of keys to his apartment, but he was rarely in the city and she hadn't wanted to accept free lodgings out of pity. She'd set up her tent again in the Crossroads, camping at the centre of the city with all its other homeless vagrants, curled around her staff of fire at night for warmth, until one day Leda had shown up with a canister of hot tea and refused to take no for an answer until Zelia had come back with her to her shop, the Golden Spool.
And so, Zelia had lived with her mentor, working as Leda's assistant every day in the shop and watching away the nights in this small moonlit room with all its modest comforts.
Well. It would be a misrepresentation of things to say that working for Leda was the only thing she'd been up to...
Shafts of moonlight moved across the pale skin of Zelia's arm as she slid her hand down over her belly, awakening her senses with the pleasure of self-touch as she relived her latest encounter with Ignatius...
The sun had been unseasonably warm that day, for so early in the year. Zelia had waited outside, kicking slush piles while she waited for Alessa to pick up her helmet from the smith.
It seemed to Zelia her friend was being given new honours and decorations practically every other week, and today she would be an honoured speaker at the second annual gathering of five of Faramon's major faiths at the Temple of Tyr. Alessa's ceremonial armour would be gleaming for the occasion.
The door banged open and the tiefling paladin emerged from the sooty workshop, eyes squinting in the bright spring sunlight.
"Let's go," said Alessa.
Zelia matched the taller woman's strides as they made their way towards the Pews district.
"How's ol' Jurgen doing these days? Sour and surly as ever?"
"Oh, yeah. He's just like that I think. I dunno, he kind of grows on you though."
Zelia laughed, and they continued walking for some time in the amiable silence of close companions. At length, she said,
"Can you believe it's been a year since..."
"Since we raised a small army to put a lich in the ground?"
"Yeah."
Alessa chuckled.
"It's been a weird year."
"A year since I took up the cloth," said Zelia, grasping the iron holy symbol of the Raven Queen with a gloved hand.
"Yeah, before that you just used to fry people with lightning all the time, and occasionally turn into a goat."
"True—I did do those things."
There had been dreams again, almost every night now leading up to the anniversary of when they'd led a dozen holy warriors to the south and laid the lich to his final rest. Zelia had been dreading the day of its commemoration somewhat, and was glad for Alessa's company. It was hard to feel too down in the presence of a paladin.
Speaking of paladins...
As they crossed the street and reached the main entrance to the temple of Tyr, Zelia's thoughts turned to Ignatius. She'd first met him a year ago today, at an assembly much like the one they were about to attend. She hadn't seen Ignatius since the ball at Warsong Keep three weeks ago, when she'd made it plain she fancied him. They'd had feverish sex in a broom closet that night, and hadn't spoken since.
Amara was waiting for them at the door, her cloak still smelling of the north woods.
"Ooh, you got the teleportation circle working again?" Zelia whispered.
Amara nodded slightly and held a finger to her lips.
"Not here. Come on, let's get inside."
Within the spacious atrium of the large, white stone building, there was a buzz of activity. Last year when the leaders of Tyr's worship had invited representatives from Pelor, Ioun, Bahamut, and the Raven Queen to gather here, it was on the word of Alessa, Zelia, and Amara that an ancient foe had risen in his tomb. This time, there was no undead threat, and though there still was very real danger in the reason behind this reunion, there was an air of collegial excitement in the convening of so many disparate worships in one place.
Temples were strange places; Zelia avoided hers as much as she could help it.
Fine quality linens were being draped over all the tables in the common areas, and preparations for feasting were being laid out for after the assembly. Filing into the great worship chamber were priests and clerics of all five temples in their official garb.
Zelia's eyes lighted on Ignatius the moment she entered the high-ceilinged chamber. He was chatting to a cleric of Ioun—the one who always fiddled with her hair, Zelia couldn't remember the woman's name.
His eyes glanced upwards and he saw her. He paused for just a moment, staring back at her, running a hand along the strong line of his bearded jaw before returning his attention to his conversation.
It was enough to make her blood sing hot with new desire, and her stomach do giddy flops of anticipation in her belly.
Alessa excused herself to find her place at the front, and Amara came with Zelia to stand with the delegates from the Raven Queen temple.
Zelia's friend Tess greeted them, nodding beneath the impersonal white mask and black robes that clerics of their faith typically wore. Underneath the sombre, spooky garb, Tess was a kind and thoughtful person with a delightfully macabre sense of humour, and Zelia enjoyed her greatly.
"Hey," said Tess from behind the mask.
"Hey!" said Zelia.
She herself had never worn the white mask, and was dressed for the occasion in the couture black leather armour she'd commissioned when she took up the faith, black breeches, and black leather boots with feather designs tooled into them.
Her raven, Corrick, a spirit sent to her from the goddess, chose that moment to fly in through the oculus in the ceiling of the great chamber and swoop down dramatically to land on Zelia's arm.
"Haven't seen you in awhile," she said to the raven, speaking mind to mind. He sidled up to his accustomed roost on her shoulder and let forth a loud croak, drawing looks from those nearby.
Tess leaned over to her and whispered,
