Eric woke with a groan, sprawled sideways on a tavern mattress, one boot still on, one sock missing, and the faint aftertaste of ale and hot spring minerals lingering on his tongue.
He stretched like a smug cat, scratched his bare chest, and blinked blearily at the ceiling beams above. He was alone this morning, no naked elves posing in the mirror for his entertainment. Still, there was a satisfying ache in his thighs from the previous evening.
"That," he muttered, "was a damn good day."
Downstairs, the tavern's common room was already humming with quiet morning energy--low sunlight slanting through dusty windows, the clink of mugs being cleaned, and the unmistakable sound of Annabelle's voice... in
lively
conversation.
Eric descended the stairs in his trousers and a loose shirt, hair tousled, looking very much like a man who had slept like a god and had no shame about it.
At the bar, Salem was leaning forward, chin on hand, eyes sparkling as she and Annabelle laughed over something whispered between them. Ivy sat nearby, tucked stiffly onto a stool, hands wrapped around a mug like it might anchor her to reality. Her cheeks were crimson.
"She actually said that?" Annabelle was saying, mid-laugh.
Salem smirked. "Word for word. You should have seen the bard's face! Though technically it was Ivy's..."
Annabelle wheezed. "Gods above, I can't believe you actually lost your virginity through an out-of-body experience! Though I'm not one to judge, what with my mimic fetish..."
"His tongue has a rhythm of its own," Salem agreed slyly.
Ivy let out a tiny whimper and stared into her cup like she might find answers there.
Eric grinned, strolling up behind them. "Morning, sinners. Did I miss a prayer circle, or are you worshiping me instead?"
Annabelle choked on her drink.
Salem didn't miss a beat. "Just recounting your performance yesterday, love. Isn't that right, Pinky?"
Ivy squeaked. "I think I'm gonna pass out."
Eric slid onto the stool next to her and nudged her shoulder. "Don't worry. Happens to all of us our first time having sex with ourselves."
Ivy covered her face.
Annabelle finally caught her breath. "You know, you could go check in with Seymore. I bet he'd love a taste of our new tiefling friend.."
Ivy blushed silently. They'd clearly filled her in on the mimic downstairs, and how it
filled Annabelle in
on a regular basis.
Eric waggled his eyebrows. "After breakfast."
From across the room, the dull rustle of parchment caught their attention.
Chris stood at the quest board, arms folded, scanning the cluttered notices pinned to it with narrowed eyes. A breeze blew in through the window beside him, making his coat flutter slightly.
"I'm surprised you haven't moved in with that board," Eric called. "Is it your emotional support notice wall now?"
Chris pulled down a thick piece of parchment, sealed with a strange chain-shaped wax crest. "We're low on funds. Salem's spell components. My arrows. All that ale you put back in the evenings. All of that takes coin. Gold. You got any?"
Eric shrugged and pulled his empty pockets inside out. "I'm charming. I've never had to pay for a drink in my life."
Annabelle giggled. "You'll pay for these. One way--" She glanced slowly down to his crotch. "Or another."
Chris ignored the sexual tension and crossed the room to the bar, parchment in hand.
"This one," he said, sliding it onto the counter.
Annabelle raised an eyebrow. "One of the more serious jobs. Go big or go home, I guess."
She flattened the parchment while Salem read aloud:
"Cleanse the Temple of the Chained God. Location: Ravine northeast of Hollowpine. Status: Active corruption. Compensation: Arcane relics of divine heritage--plus hazard pay."
Annabelle looked up. "This isn't a simple exorcism. The temple's built around bondage worship--pleasure and discipline tied together, quite literally. The magic there didn't die with the god it served. It
sleeps.
"
Eric perked up. "You said 'hazard pay' and 'bondage' in the same sentence. I'm in."
Annabelle leaned on the bar, serious now. "It's not just about relic-hunting. That temple's magic is bleeding into the surrounding woods. Local wildlife's been turning hostile--boars in heat, vines attacking travelers, nymphs too aggressive to talk to. If you purify the site, you'll cut the corruption off at the source. It'll help the villages reclaim peace."
Ivy looked thoughtful, her mug held close. "You said it was built for a god?"
Annabelle nodded. "Vesperis. Long gone now, but his domain was... control. Sacred submission. Ecstasy through surrender."
Ivy's eyes widened slightly. She stared into the middle distance, a small wrinkle forming between her brows.
Eric leaned over to whisper. "That wrinkle means she's thinking impure thoughts about the quest, right?"
Ivy whispered back, "I'm just wondering how much of me I have to hold back if I want to stay on my new gods' good side."
Salem tilted her head, watching her with quiet amusement. "You don't even know what gods are sponsoring your divine magic yet. For all you know, this is the kind of shit they get off to."
Ivy's blush deepened, not just from the flirtation, but from the admission that until she knew more about her faith, she'd have no idea how innocent--or naughty--she'd need to be to stay in their favor. As a general rule, gods tended to favor purity. The benevolent ones, at least.
Chris simply tapped the parchment again. "We leave at noon. Any objections?"
There were none. They'd wish they had.
~~~
The road northeast of Hollowpine wound through pine-shadowed ridges and lush lowland woods, the scent of wild mint and sap rising in the spring air. The terrain grew more rugged with each hour--soft forest floor giving way to narrow switchbacks of shale and root-choked trails that climbed toward the ravine.
Salem moved in quiet reflection, her staff swinging casually over her shoulder. Ivy walked beside her, unusually quiet, her usual shy glances turned inward today.
Eric trailed behind them with a leisurely gait, lute strapped across his back, humming a soft tune about "blessing the bindings" and "submitting with style." He added the occasional wink toward Ivy, who blushed harder each time and pretended not to hear.
Chris, of course, walked at the front--bow ready, eyes sharp, senses tuned. Even here, in bright daylight, he didn't trust the quiet.
It had been hours since they left Duskhallow, and Ivy hadn't said more than ten words.
Salem finally nudged her. "You alright?"
Ivy looked up, startled. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I'm just... thinking."
Salem arched an eyebrow. "About the chains?"
Eric chimed in behind them, "She's clearly wondering if the Chained God took notes during the hot spring session. Can't blame him."
Ivy shot him a glare, but it softened quickly. "It's not just that. I mean--yeah, I'm curious. I'd have to be dead not to be. But..." She looked down at her hands, curling her fingers slowly. "When I cast a spell now, it doesn't feel the same. It's not the Velvet Thorn's energy. It never really was, I don't think. It's something else. Warmer. More powerful today. But still quiet."
"Not all deities have our best interests at heart," Chris mused from ahead. "Be careful putting your trust in something so powerful--and so secretive."
She bit her lip. "I've been praying, but... no one's answering."
Salem was quiet a moment. Then she said, "Most gods don't talk aloud. Some don't talk at all. You just keep doing the work. The connection follows."
"I guess," Ivy whispered.
But that uncertainty stayed in her shoulders, in the tension of her tail, in the way her eyes kept scanning the trees like she expected to find her faith hiding behind a rock.
