Three figures stood in the moody, torch-lit corridor of the Vorester Inn. One a fair maiden called Lissam, the other her brother called Donald, dressed in the garb of a one. They argued with a barrel-chested bodyguard that had all the grace and features of a walrus - beard included. Lissam and Donald raged with the flame of argumentative passion at the portly man.
"Sir, we've walked miles to see Sir Layton," pleaded Lissam, "Please don't let our trek go to waste. All my bro-sister desires are two autographs from her childhood idol. Please don't deny her that."
"Indeed," agreed Donald. "I bring no harm, I only bring two sheets of parchment for the autographs and a couple of harmless questions for Sir Layton." Donald pushed the papers forward like the bodyguard didn't see them.
The bodyguard pushed the papers back. "How did you hear about Sir Layton's coming?" inquired Sir Layton's bodyguard. "Sir Layton maintains a low profile when traveling. I'm not exactly sure how two peasant sisters such as yourself could come onto such information. Explain."
Donald answered, "A farmer from the nearby village told us. He said that Sir Layton was going to the capital for a tournament, and the capital is miles away from here, right? So we came to the conclusion that Sir Layton would need respite before moving on. We aren't as cunning as you think, guard. We are just two poor girls who want two mere autographs." Donald inwardly smiled as he maintained his feminine falsetto with ease. Maybe too easily?
"Very well, you look harmless enough - but listen well," he bent over and stared into Donald's emerald eyes, "I hear anything that sounds queer and I'll get the sheriff to string both of you up, peasant girl or not. Do I need to repeat myself?"
Donald gulped. "Not at all, sir" The guard moved aside and Donald hurried past the stout bodyguard and down the hallway.
Donald considered his burning shame a minor small sacrifice in the quest of meeting Sir Layton, the slayer of Vikstrom, the black dragon. With every movement came the gentle swish of his sister's blue blouse and gray long skirt about Donald's body, sending waves of embarrassment through his dainty body. A rumor that Sir Layton enjoyed answering the questions of young women was responsible for the scheme. As Donald touched the cold brass doorknob with a sweaty hand, he prayed those rumors were true and Layton's eye were dull to his deceit.
Within the cozy room equipped with a desk, chair, curtained window, and bed, laid Sir Layton on the floor, performing crunches with mechanical efficiency. Donald had never seen many half-orcs in his lifetime due to his isolated upbringing, but Sir Layton was no doubt a prime specimen. Sweat glazed his dark green body, abdominal muscles rippling with each powerful crunch. Donald watched in sheer adulation, pondering how much unfettered masculinity could be packed into one man.
Sir Layton did a few more crunches before he noticed Donald's lingering, worshiping eyes. "Oh? Hello there," Layton said as he got to his feet, scratching his dense black beard full of sweat, "I'm Sir Layton, hedge knight and dragonslayer, and you are?" Sir Layton's voice boomed towards Donald, shaking him out of the staring.
"This this this - is amazing! I can't believe I'm actually witnessing you in the flesh. I can say with full confidence that I am your biggest admirer, Sir Layton!"
Sir Layton smiled. "I get that a lot. Can you tell me your name or not, little miss?"
"I am Don - I mean - I am Dolly," blurted Donald, and his shaky hands pushed the blank parchment paper towards Sir Layton, "Could I please have your autographs, sir?"
Sir Layton looked at the parchment. "Isn't that cute?" he said, stretching muscular arms over his head. "How far did it take you to get here, sweetheart?"
"It was an absolutely dreadful three miles from my village to here, but all is fine now. Could I have two autographs please?"
"I'll get to those, I promise," said Sir Layton in a reassuring voice before walking to his bed and sitting down. "Why don't you take a seat by me? You look tired, Dolly." Sir patted the bedding besides him.
Donald's face grew red and hot as his heart fluttered. This simply couldn't be true! Almost stumbling on his skirts, Donald made his way over to the bed, plopping his bottom mere inches from Sir Layton. Donald's hands were in danger of excitedly crumpling the paper like a fool.
"How's the seat?" asked Sir Layton. "Comfortable, no? I paid a lot for a quality room like this."
Donald struggled to find the words. "It's... it's an excellent place. My feet were quite tired from walking all day." As Donald knitted his hands, he noticed the oppressive musk Sir Layton's body order had; it was a dense, rich scent that dug claws into Donald's nostrils with steely tips. For some reason or other, it put him at ease like a gaseous sedative. "Can I ask you how your day has been?"
Sir Layton shrugged. "Not much," he admitted. "I've been on the road towards Kallad for a few weeks now, so I decided to stop at this pleasant little inn for some respite, is all."
"For the annual tournament?" asked Donald.
Sir Layton nodded. "Of course, dear."
"Are you nervous at all?" Donald thought he noticed Sir Layton's chestnut eyes wandering towards his skirts, but ignored the thought. "I've heard of men twice your size suffering grievous wounds during duels there."
"And I've inflicted grievous wounds on men twice my size," said Sir Layton before barking cruel laughter that shook Donald's core. "Don't you see my body and all it's wonderful scars? It's like a bodily record of my successes that all can gaze upon and touch - actually, would you like to?" Sir Layton laid out his hand, waiting for Donald's to place his there.
Donald silently grasped before laying his small hand in Sir Layton's large, sandpaper palm. Now, this was surely a dream, but what dreams were tangible? He let Sir Layton guide his hand, fingers brushing against a canvas of dense muscle and crisscrossing scars of all sizes and shapes. Donald found himself absorbed in the chaotic masterpiece drawn with blades.
"Pretty, is it not?" asked Sir Layton with a softening look in his eyes. "Seeing it just isn't enough for you, Dolly - I want you to taste it."
"Come again?" asked Donald, stunned. Sir Layton removed Donald's hand from his scarred torso, and inserted a finger into Donald's open mouth. Donald opened his eyes wide at the sharp bite of salt and testosterone his finger provided.
"How was my taste?" said Sir Layton in a husky voice, placing a firm hand on Donald's left lower thigh, slowly rubbing up and down it like the flesh was tender.
