Can Lavorra find a way to save herself and Zeya?

So Sir Henry is involved, in some capacity, with the Daemons and their presence in the Delwald.

Anger - and perhaps a little jealousy - bubbles up in Lavorra’s chest as she watches Zeya’s dexterous tail loop around Sir Henry’s waist, the wizard’s hips slapping into Zey’s thighs with a fleshy clap.

Zeya babbles sweetly, telling him how big he feels, how wet she is, how she’s his little devil whore, and Lavorra blanches to think that not long ago. That was her. Her friend’s ankles bounce on their master’s shoulders, her ruby fingers gripping the lip of the desk as he pounds her atop it.

No, not our master. Stinking pervert rat-bastard of a wizard I’m going to cut your heart out with a spoon.

She breathes - still able to, despite the paralysis spell - trying to calm herself and focus, to keep the overwhelming anger at bay.

Give yourself to the Matron, serve with a kind heart and a clear head.

She can’t move, held mid lunge in stasis. But she can breathe. Lavorra puffs her lips out, producing the faintest “poh” sound.

She can make sound. Can she speak?

As the clapping of flesh on flesh continues, the wizard and the Tiefling’s grunts and groans an **** on the senses. Lavorra thinks back - reluctantly - to the previous night. With the clarity of her discovery comes the memory of the moments in which the Mage’s spell slipped.

She recalls, with a thrill of horror, coming to her senses, knowing who she was, helpless as Sir Henry buried his manhood to the hilt in her throat. There were other times too, as he took her from behind, used her ass and her pussy and almost every part of her. He would slip, mocking her or cruelly teasing her with comments about her true identity - or else would allow her to remember for the pleasure of seeing her frightened, confused face.

He called me Paladin. And I woke up. Few things are more important to me than my oath - my friends of course. What about Zeya? What does she love?

“Aah…” She rasps, trying to **** her breath into the shape of words. “App…”

“Moaning are you?” Sir Henry calls over his shoulder, his buttocks shaking as he bends low over Zeya, pinning her down. “Knew a whorish little fairy like you couldn’t resist.”

Can Lavorra save the day?

Yes/No (Even): _[_5,6] Yes, and… her cry distracts Sir Henry, and gives Zeya a fighting chance

How well does Zeya do?

How Much: [4] About average

“Apples, Zeya! Red Coast bloody apples!” Lavorra blurts, yelling at the top of her lungs.

Sir Henry grunts in confusion at the same time that Zeya shrieks, her mind temporarily breaking through its magical bondage at the triggering phrase, no doubt a violent flood of awareness battering her violated mind.

“-off me!” She hears Zeya squeal, a breathy undertone to her voice, the unfortunate reality of still having Sir Henry’s cock buried between her lips. She wriggles on the desk, one bare foot kicking out at him, knocking into his shoulder without much ****.

“Stupid hell-bitch, serve your master!” He roars in frustration. Zeya returns to mewling helplessness as he forces her mind back into its box. But with his concentration diverted, the spell holding Lavorra inert dissipates.

Before he can realises his mistake, she throws herself back into her lunge, picking up where she left off. Sir Henry turns just in time, eyes wide and satisfyingly afraid, as Lavorra crashes into him, her Holy Icon blazing with righteous light.

The silver letter-opener is bathed with the radiant energy of a divine smite, as Lavorra jabs it into the vile wizard’s forehead, burying it deep.

With a garbled grunt, the Mage’s eyes roll back. He falls back against the desk, bumping against Zeya. Free once more, and for good this time, she kicks at his corpse, pushing him away from her with a shiver, and the body slumps to the floor.

As he falls, Sir Henry’s body undergoes a rapid change, transforming from the mature, handsome older man they have known, to a wizened and impossibly ancient cadaver. Perhaps another of his sick enchantments.

Lavorra doesn’t spare him another look, rushing to the table and flinging her arms around Zeya, whose own arms are already outstretched, her lip trembling.

Her dress pulled up around her hips, and her bodice in disarray, she looks quite a state, as Lavorra does her best to avoid looking between her friend’s legs. It breaks her heart to see Zeya - usually chipper and even flirtatious in the face of danger and **** - with tears in her eyes, on the verge of crying.

She clutches the Tiefling girl to her, cushioning her face against her chest, her nose buried in Zeya’s rich dark hair as her friend sobs in fear and exhaustion.

“Shh, hush now sweetheart. You’re safe now. He did it to me too, but he’s gone. You found me.” She murmurs, standing on her tiptoes to comfort Zeya as her friend sits atop the desk, her arms and legs both wrapped around Lavorra, clutching onto her.

“The fucker’s dead. I’m here.” She continues to whisper to Zeya, until she’s not even sure what she’s saying, just cooing and murmuring, cradling her in the warmth of her bust.