The Brothel and the Deadsword

Ebele watched the procession of knights, lords, and lordlings as they came through the door as she had done many times before. It was again the middle of the month, and yet again, the king was treating many of those in his court to a trip to "Madam Belle's". In the purple lighting of the lobby, she could see already that this group was even larger than the king's previous.

Sitting on her stool, she unconsciously traced the outline of the quite-transparent fabric draping over her ebony skin. She'd found that the stool was a great vantage point with which to scan the men as they entered. With her complexion giving away her origins from the Sunlands, she often attracted clientele with a taste for the "exotic"; she'd learned early how to pick out those sorts of men. Well into her 20's, she'd spent years perfecting her methods.

In the Sunlands, her work was considered honorable, and girls like her were treated with reverence. As girls became women - and if they especially enjoyed their profession - they could obtain positions of true influence.

Here, in these lands, though....she had to be careful. Luckily, this crowd had no exotic inclinations - and for that, she was rather grateful. She had heard horror stories from the other girls about some of the king's more fearsome knights. Being associated so closely with the king brought impunity in certain matters that there should be no impunity for...

Not an issue for her, thankfully. With the knights safely partnered with other girls, Ebele could more easily find a partner whom she wanted - one who would make for an enjoyable time.

Ebele watched the procession finish filtering in. Like clockwork, no sooner had the procession finished, the king addressed his court in his signature booming voice, bought a round of mead for his entire court, gathered many of the girls nearest him, and proceeded off to the aptly-named "King's Room." Only after the king whisked away with many girls in tow did the true debauchery start.

Scanning the room, she saw the ironically-named Lord Rephrain sitting on a nearby couch dawdling a topless Olivia. His girth indicated that he had likely never refrained from a meal in his life, but he paid handsomely - and he was kind. Nearby, Madelyn was atop a stage seductively peeling off articles of clothing while a few rugged-looking men cheered her on. Madelyn seemed to have a gift for seductive dancing that Ebele did not - and it showed. She'd already collected an admirable pile of coins beside her.

Scanning the room further, she found the bar. A lone man was sitting at it drinking from his mead. Paying no attention to the debauchery around him, he was slumped over his drink. Even from here, Ebele could tell that the man was deep in his forlorn thoughts. Intrigued, she decided to hop off her stool and introduce herself.

As she approached, she could clearly see that the plain green tunic on the man gave him away as none other than Lord Belwyr - "The Deadsword". Legend had it that his nickname had been ironically given to him by older pages and squires when he began his martial training as a youth. He had apparently been such a pitiful swordsman that the squires were making cruel bets on how many battles the boy would survive. But the boy proved to have a gift for battle. Indeed, he'd survived many battles that more-skilled swordsmen had not. Those who voiced his nickname now did so in a much different tone.

As she approached him, she hopped on to the stool adjacent to Lord Belwyr and smiled. "Hello, handsome! I'm Ebele." He *was* handsome, in truth. Very handsome. She studied his features as he turned to face her. Likely around 40, he'd shaved his balding head to the skin. He was the sort of man on whom a full head of hair would have seemed out of place - his shaved head made him look more fierce. And without hair, his prominent cheekbones popped out more; his stubbled square jaw was more apparent. But his eyes...his green eyes twinkled with a deep intelligence, a deeper kindness...and an even deeper sadness.

Reaching out and grabbing her hand in the customary way, he introduced himself simply: "I'm Charles."

"Lovely to meet you Charles - 'Deadsword' Charles." Her tone was both playful and flirty.

"Heh," came his wry chuckle in response as he let her hand slip from his. "No one's called me that to my face in some time. You know, Ebele, you're...stunningly beautiful. Too beautiful for this place." As he said "this" he motioned around the lobby with no small amount of disdain.

"You don't like this place?" she asked, playfully mimicking his own gestures as she said "this."

"Don't get me wrong - I appreciate a woman's beauty as much if not more than the next man. I've known women even when...." Pausing mid-sentence as if recovering from some shocking revelation, he continued "...even when I was with Claire. But these places...they're full of women with no other options."

"In your country, these places are not considered good?"

Lord Belwyr took a swig of his mead before replying. "Heh, you're a very smart girl. I see it in your eyes. You know how this country perceives these sorts of places."

"In my country, these places are considered holy, and the girls who work in them are treated with reverence. The girls who are very popular with the clients - and who grow into popular woman - earn titles and royalty. It is all about perspective, I think."

"Awww, yes. A custom many of my countrymen would find strange, I think. And yet they patronize these places all the same."

Shifting the tone of his voice, he continued "And your accent is quite subtle - you've been away from the Sunlands for some time. You're something of a fellow countryman, yourself."

The more The Deadsword conversed with her, the more his sadness seemed to melt away to be replaced by a confident curiosity. Ebele began to feel a flutter in her - she was intensely attracted to this man.

She leaned in closer to him - close enough to smell the subtle aroma of horse and sweat emanating from his riding clothes. "Why don't you come to my chambers with me - I want to talk more in private..."

Again, he gave her a wry smile before tilting his gaze down and responding: "Girl, I'm old enough to be your father...I must confess that this old man would rather not sully you."

Ebele leaned in and placed both of her hands over his free hand. "A man such as yourself? Sullying? No my lord...I would be honored. You're a beautiful man. In the Sunlands, even the priestesses would fight over you."

Again, The Deadsword seemed amused by the thought. And with a kind smile, he seemed to give in. Somewhat.

"Ebele. You're a bright girl...I just need someone to talk to. Nothing more. I lost... Claire a year ago, and I just recently married my daughters off. I need feminine company - but not in *that* way." Holding his hand and staring into his eyes as he said it, she could see an endearing vulnerability wash over the grizzled warrior. She said nothing, but squeezed his hand in support. It seemed to wake him from his thoughts, and his tone turned more playful.

"But I also need a bath, too. It seems that you're also quite brave - I know that I must smell of the poor beasts who brought me here."

"My lord, most of the men that come in here smell of worse things, I assure you."

Lord Belwyr's glance seemed to instinctively shoot over to where Lord Rephrain had his hand up Olivia's dress. With a knowing, wry smile, he signaled to Lord Rephrain and asked "Like him?" with only his eyes. A sense of humor too...Lord Belwyr was a fearsomely attractive man.

Wordlessly, she grabbed his hand in hers and signaled for him to follow. The Deadsword rose from his stool without resistance, and so Ebele took it as a sign of approval. With Lord Belwyr in tow, she flitted through a dreamlike sequence of curtains, hallways, and furniture where more often than not lovemaking could be heard - if not seen.

Arriving at the door to her chambers, she twisted the doorknob and pushed it open to reveal it's familiar sights. Silk drapes clung to and fro while a colored window let in rays of purple light. In the Sunlands, only priestesses themselves had more luxurious chambers.

Entering the room and closing the door behind him, Lord Belwyr was clearly impressed as he scanned around the room. "A lovely room, Ebele. Unlike me, it smells of lilac."

She gave a throaty, hearty laugh in response before teasing him. "Well that is why I must make sure you have a bath! I cannot let you ruin my chambers!"

Walking over to the bathtub adjacent to her window, she gave the knob of the faucet a few quick turns. Before long, a jet of steaming water rushed out and into the tub.

Lord Belwyr's eyes immediately fixated on the steam rising from the tub. "Geothermal water - in this place? Quite luxurious, I must say." The Deadsword's tone was part derision, part genuine astonishment.

"Yes, my lord. Warm water to wash away all of our worries. Now let's get you in the bath..." She made sure that the tone in her voice was sultry if not too seductive. The Deadsword had made it rather clear thus far about his intentions.

Before walking over to the tub, The Deadsword removed his muddied riding boots and placed them on a rack next to the door. As he did, she admired his manliness. He had a combination of ruggedness, kindness, and intellect that she she found very sexy.

Bootless, Lord Belwyr padded over to the bathtub. When Belwyr came within arm's reach, Ebele wordlessly began to unlace the strings of his plain, green, tunic. Unfastening each string slowly - seductively - she noted that his eyes were scanning her over. For the first time, he seemed to notice the sheer blue fabric draping over her ebony skin. And when his eyes fixated on her even-darker nipples...she felt an undeniable flutter.

"Forgive me my lady...but you are a stunningly beautiful woman." As he said it, his eyes seemed transfixed on her bare collarbone. For a moment, she imagined how it would feel if he gently pecked her collarbone with his lips.

"Nothing to forgive my lord...you are quite kind." In truth, he seemed genuinely kind. While she enjoyed her time with many of the men who came through here, few made her feel so good as this man whom she was undressing.

Grabbing the bottom of his tunic, she gave a slight tug up to indicate that the tunic was ready to be removed. In unspoken coordination, Lord Belwyr lifted his arms, and Ebele slipped the tunic off.

Stepping back to look at her prize, Ebele noted immediately that even in middle age, the man was in phenomenal shape. Unlike many of the men who frequented this place, The Deadsword's body looked as strong as any youth's - it was clearly a body forged by a lifetime of martial training. But then Ebele noticed the plentiful scars crisscrossing his strong frame, and she could see what a lifetime of training had cost him. A moment later, Ebele realized that her hand had unwittingly begun to trace over Lord Belwyr's scarred, muscular frame.

"Yes. Many scars."

"They're so sexy...." In truth, Ebele hadn't seen half this many scars on even the most fearsomely-reputed knights that frequented this place. Ebele found the scars strangely arousing.

"I have...seen many good men fall. I've cut many down myself - that's where most of my scars come from. I wish the world was different, but it is the world that we have." Again, an undeniable sadness crept into his voice.

Tracing evermore of his scars, Ebele's hand came to a scar that must've come from a devastating wound. At the bottom of the ribs on his right side, a large, shiny, pink region of flesh hinted at a grievous injury. Again, her fingers traced it over. This time, though, Ebele felt more sympathy than arousal.

"Awww yes, you found *it*." The Deadsword's tone indicated that among innumerable scars, this one stood out foremost in his mind.

Continuing to trace her hands over his many scars, she asked "Why don't you hop in the tub and tell me about it while I scrub you clean?"

Before he could respond, she began to deftly unlace his pants. He studied her until his laces were undone and his pants had fallen to his ankles. With his legs free, he said nothing. Silently, he kicked his ankles out of his pants resting on the floor and stood in all of his naked glory adjacent the tub. With his legs freed from his pants, she stepped back to again admire her prize. Ebele was disappointed to find that he was not erect - but she *was* pleasantly surprised by the size of his manhood. Had the man frequented the brothel, he would have earned a few more nicknames besides The Deadsword. She found herself anticipating how his girth would fill her; how her eyes would roll back at the feel of it stretching her out. Hopefully she could seduce him soon, but if not...she did enjoy his company.

Scanning him over as he stood naked, she even found that Lord Belwyr was just the right level of hairy. His muscular chest was covered in tasteful levels of hair; his pubic hair was trimmed - an unusual habit among clientele. Where Ebele had once felt a flutter, she now felt a tingle between her legs.

Wordlessly, The Deadsword lifted one leg and then another into the bathtub before easing into it with a prolonged sigh. Ebele again found herself disappointed that his considerable manhood wasn't eager for her; she'd noted that it carelessly swung back and forth as he stepped into the tub.

"It's very hot...almost too hot. But thank you for this, my lady." Having eased all the way into the tub, he let his arms hang over the edge of the tub. Even in the tub, she found that he exuded an effortless, sad, dignity.

"My pleasure my lord...now tell me more about 'the wound'."

As Lord Belwyr started into his story, Ebele grabbed a nearby sponge and began to scrub his arms slumped over the sides of the tub.

"Yes...well. It's quite a famous tale. I'm sure you've heard it. Much of what you heard is likely exaggerations, though." Ebele nodded, acknowledging that she was familiar with the story. Everyone had heard about The Deadsword's exploits in the Wolfwood, after all.

"You see...they don't call it the 'Wolfwood' for any beasts that live there. In times of rarity, the local peasants know that the forest can help sustain them. And in times of devastating scarcity...well...they know that it makes for a great place to ambush nobles to take what they need."

"Uh huh..." She was listening intently as she scrubbed him, but she was also taking admiring glances at his muscular body just beneath the surface of the shimmering water. He didn't seem to notice - his stare indicated that he was reliving his story.

"Well, on this day, the King saw no reason not to take a shortcut through the Wolfwood. He simply *had* to get home at his earliest convenience. Riding beside him, he asked my thoughts on the matter. I urged him not to. The peasants were starving; food had become scarce. Even their children were starving after a brutal winter. But he was stubborn."

Listening to him as she did, Ebele dunked the sponge in her hand under the water with an audible splash and squeezed. With it full of water, she hovered it over him and gave it a gentle, constant squeeze and watched the resulting stream of water part over his muscular, scarred chest.

"Almost as soon as we entered the forest, we were set upon. Peasants who'd turned to banditry to survive. One was so skilled with the bow that he had somehow managed to fire off three arrows before any of us knew we were under attack. Each one went through an eye slit of a fellow knight. It could have been me, but luck was on my side. When I'd realized what happened to my colleagues, I kicked at my horse. With a shout I lowered my visor, grabbed the shield slung across my back with one hand, unsheathed my sword with the other.... and charged into glorious battle certain I would take an arrow through an eye. God help me, but the adrenaline of it all was like nothing I'd ever felt..."

Ebele began to use the sponge in her hand to scrub Lord Belwyr's shoulders. His perpetually-tense shoulders seemingly relaxed as she in turn drenched them in sponge water and scrubbed them gently.

"...Another arrow, and my horse fell out under me. Somehow - somehow! - I stayed on my feet. The king *still* remarks about that impossible feat. Time lost all meaning; conscious only of the master archer continuing to drop my fellow knights, I lifted my shield up and began to carve a path through bandits to get to him."

As he got deeper into the story, The Deadsword's brow furrowed and the look in his eyes transformed into something deadly. It was a look that both scared her and turned her on like nothing she knew possible.

"Focusing only on the master archer in front of me, I could see only death in the peripheries of my eye slits. I could see that my colleagues continued to fall to the ground with arrows protruding from them. I thought nothing of it - I was focused only on that bastard with the deadly aim. I continued forward, shield up, intent only on the prize. I killed every man who got in my way - or so I thought. I did not see it coming. One of the bastards I had just cut down came running back at me. I didn't see him until the spear had already split my chain mail and lodged between my ribs. Truthfully, I barely felt it I was so full of adrenaline. Instinctively, I turned my hips and did a backslash with such fury that the man's head seemingly exploded. I hadn't even realized that he was there until I saw my blade kill him."

By now, The Deadsword's cheeks were blushed; his eyes were full of vivid memories. With his shoulders and arms clean, she began to drizzle sponge water over his head.

"I dropped my shield - I had to. I couldn't pull the spear protruding from me with my sword-hand. No sooner had I placed my hand on the wooden shaft of the spear than I felt something in my shoulder. And then something else in pelvis. I paid the strange feelings no mind. Instead, I pulled the spear from me. But then another sensation in my arm. With the spear removed, I looked to see three arrows protruding from my body. I knew that the bastard thought he was the predator - he was waiting for me to lift my head so he could land an arrow through my eye slit. I gave him no such opportunity. From the bloody forest floor, I grabbed my shield and raised it shoulder-level. *Then* I looked up. As soon as I did, an arrow bounced off of the top of my shield just near my eyes. I had never felt such anger before; such a murderous rage."

Lord Belwyr's brow furrowed evermore throughout his story. His look indicated he was somewhere else, living a different life. Now, more than ever, Ebele felt intensely attracted to him. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him; to feel his passionate embrace in response. For a moment, she considered reaching her hand into the tub and grabbing his manhood in her hand.

"As I walked purposefully towards the bastard firing arrows, another fool charged me. Yet another fool who would feed the forest floor with his blood. When I had cut that man down - the last - the archer knew his fate. I could see it in his eyes. To his credit, the bastard fought to the end. Like a goddamn hero. As I approached, he unfastened the sling across his back, grabbed his sword in both hands, and charged me. I parried his unskilled blow and ended him with a riposte that the king tells me was the most graceful he'd ever seen. The moment was bittersweet like nothing I can explain. With him vanquished, all I could see were the bodies of half-starved peasants littering the forest floor beside my closest friends."

With a frenzied, feverish look in his eyes, his burning glance turned to meet hers. "God help me. It was both the thing I'm most proud of and the thing I'm most ashamed of. It was both my finest hour, and my darkest."