(Chapter I.II) A Reward for Returning to Town

“My hero, my saviour!” the whore weeps, as you carry her into town. Having heard it a couple thousand times on the journey back into town, the refrain is getting a little annoying at this point, but you maintain your smile anyways, the guards at the town gate waving you in.

You stop by the brothel, finally putting down the whore. She immediately prostrates herself before you, praying and thanking the Lord above.

“My lady, you do realise I am not the Lord himself, but a mere instrument serving him?” you say.

“Of course,” she replies, getting up and running a hand through her long dark locks. “But, dear Paladin, what reward could I possibly offer you for saving my life?”

“Well, that would depend on what you’re willing to offer,” you comment. “For instance, I would very much like a castle to myself, but I do not believe that you hold the title to such an estate.”

“Anything! You may have anything! Anything that I own, at least,” she qualifies after a moment of thought. “Oh! And anything that I can do too. Yes, that is very important. Anything that I can do.”

“Services as well as goods,” you remark, stroking the ghost of a beard. “Well, since you insist, I suppose you could start by servicing me. My armour is rather dirty after all that trapezing through the woods. Would you mind giving it a good scrubbing down? I can be back this time tomorrow to collect it.”

“Oh dear, it appears that you have managed to overlook the substantial amount of sexual innuendo that I had attempted to inject into this conversation. What I really meant to say is, you should fuck me,” the whore says.

“Well…” you say, voice trailing off.

“Well, I know that Paladins tend to be a prudish lot, so think of this as helping me for tax purposes,” the whore says.

“What? Tax purposes?” you say, confused.

“Well you see, under our quasi-feudal system of government, humans are still very much considered property of the Lords above them. As such, I am an asset of the Honorable Lady Genevieve VII. Now, under our tax code, you’re ordinarily not allowed to impair assets for ordinary wear and tear; that’s just called depreciation and it’s strictly by the books. But you, sir Paladin, are a strong and burly man that is capable of dealing much harm to me, the asset.


“And so, I will record an impairment expense on the books after our sexual encounter, and my taxable income will decrease as a result, leading to me needing to pay fewer taxes. Down with our feudal oppressors, I say, and deny them their much sought capital,” the whore explains, and you nod, pretending to have understood what she just said. Sounds like a plausible enough reason to fuck somebody.

You follow her into one of the fine establishment’s bed-chambers, and tear off your heavy armor, your eyes lustfully drinking in the whore’s shapely curves as she begins to strip down. Yes, a very nice rack and ass, you confirm to yourself, and a great head of dark hair. Straight, only slightly yellow teeth, thin but not disastrously so - she shows no major signs of malnutrition.

The whore practically leaps into your arms, kissing you deeply. Surprised by her vigour, it takes you a second to react before you begin to kiss back. Carrying her to the bed (hey, you carried her for the better part of a day, what’s another few seconds?), you slam her down and nibble on the tips of her tits. At her encouraging mewls, you bite down harder, recalling that this sexual encounter is meant to cause some “impairment” for tax purposes. The resulting squeak of delight tells you that you’re doing something right.