Exit Continuation: Debauched Dream Aftermath

Maryn of South-Arbor was definitely not nervous. She was one room away from a squad of holy knights and bearing a special defensive amulet given to her by the head priestess herself. So Maryn was most certainly assured of her safety, and not at all worried about the task that very priestess had assigned her.

She was simply visiting her good friend Trent and his comrade as they recovered from the... bout of insanity they'd suffered yesterday afternoon. Just visiting a friend to deliver his meal. A friend magic had driven mad with lust and turned into a mindless **** less than twelve hours ago.

...if it were any other than the head priestess making such a request with the claim Trent's existing fondness for her would offer any kind of shelter, Maryn would certainly be making her complaints. That such a simple and cordial relationship which had not progressed at-all beyond comradery and goodwill could do something substantial as penetrate corruptive magics sounded like the sort of folly a heroine would suffer for in a naughty book. But who would know the goddess' workings better than her highest servant?

Swallowing heavily, sighing, and then lightly striking her cheeks to compose herself, Maryn gracefully lifted the tray, announced herself, and made her way into the room. Trent and his comrade were both awake. They were each sitting on the side of their bed, engaged in a riveting conversation which had Maryn's cheeks flame scarlet as she nearly dropped the tray of food she'd been asked to deliver.

"-they were sweet - like good milk - with the barest traces of sweat. It must be because her highness' excellent pedigree, that the taste was not fouled by her exertions." Trent's friend was saying, his hands making obscene gestures as he mimed a kissing action.

Trent was shaking his head, ignorant as his friend of Maryn's sudden presence in the room despite her clearly announcing herself, "I'm sure it was a pleasant taste, but what was your cock doing? You had access to such a quality woman and you didn't even properly lay her down? Come on, man. I'm sure my kid's going to be a prince!"

"As if~!" Trent's friend scoffed, "like they'll let her highness bring a bastard to bear, when she wasn't even in her right mind at the time."

"Oh no she She was in her best mind. You were probably too busy rubbing your face down her--"

"Ahem!" Maryn called, delicately balancing the tray on one hand while her other fingered her protective amulet. Both men blinked and turned to eye her, their gazes roaming up and down her form with uncomfortable harmony. "I... brought your meal, sirs."

They're not even looking at the food on the tray, and they're licking their lips.

"You know what, Trent?" The man Maryn had no name for asked, "How about we try things the other way around this time and see how you--"

His words were cut off as Maryn flung the tray of food at him and triggered the amulet's enchantment. Radiant chains appeared from sparks of magic and restrained the guards even as a pulse of magic signaled the knights in the next room. To the knights' credit, they responded immediately: Maryn was halfway through the door when they reached it and was gently brushed aside as he stormed within, radiating righteous energy.

Another soothed her into the corner and cast spells to assure her well-being and safety, but Maryn didn't care. She should have known better than to believe in that sort of fairy tale. Why had she even gone inside...? Surely, protective amulet or not, it would have made more sense to have a man deliver the meal if nothing else. But she wanted to visit her friend, so she begged the priestess to let her do it. Reluctantly, the priestess had agreed.

Now, what had come of it?

Maryn breathed heavily into a cloth provided by the knight and cried. She was such a foolish girl, how could the goddess grace her with a miracle?

Lilian Paran woke slowly, lost in a daze of dreamlike nightmares regarding matters she... normally would not think on for long. Matters like... how nice a man's back looks, without his shirt. Or how pleasant his front looks, without anything at all. How it would feel to take one by the shoulders and fall, tangled together, as she desperately tore her dress and joined her womanhood with his masculinity, calling out loudly as--

--she woke, in fact, with a start. For a time, Lilian lay listlessly as she stared at the ceiling without seeing it. Her breaths came in quick and inconsistent stutters as she sought for air, overcome with a foreign - yet strangely familiar - feeling. That, she realized as she gathered herself, was not a dream. That actually happened. She... she truly debased herself in such a way, amongst many others including even... Even sweet Cheryl, on the ground amidst no less than three men and...

...strangely, unnaturally, Lilian did not regret it at all. Peculiarly, twistedly, she... perhaps, even, enjoyed it. Indeed, with a start, she realized that simply thinking back on the... events... which occurred when last she was awake... her legs shift, her heart flutters, and her hands twitch toward certain... places.

'Was I... truly such a lustful woman?' Lilian thought to herself, lifting to her eyes the hand which had just sought after her womanhood. She had never really thought about such carnal matters before: merely put them out of her mind whenever discussed as such things were best left between one's husband and one's self but...

...somehow, that thought felt unnecessarily restrictive. Unfulfilling. Indeed, it stirred little excitement. Certainly she knew that mechanically, physically, pleasure would arise from such stimulus and trusted that she likely could learn to achieve similar levels but...

...but there simply wasn't the same spark of excitement that came to mind when she thought of her easily she was taken, there and in public. How anyone might have seen her. How she could see others, just the same, and it was all so unrestrained and careless. Carefree. It was... fulfilling, in a way that Lilian could not quite fathom, but even so could not deny.

Taking a deep breath and rubbing at her temples, the young noblewoman did her best to put such thoughts aside. Even now she understood that such matters were best left for one's marital bed and duties therein and so, she resolved to herself a thought that seemed only intellectual in the past: she should seek a husband.

Sliding out of bed and at last recognizing her place within the castle's hospice, Lilian set about preparing for her day first by changing from the clean nightgown she'd been provided into the simple daywear the staff had retrieved for her from her quarters.

If she, perhaps, left some pieces of apparel out which she would usually apply... well it was all certainly unnecessary to begin with. And woe to anyone who would notice such a thing and then dare reveal such, because they certainly had no business being aware of such places...

...although, if such a thing were called out...

Lilian's cheeks pinked at how the thought was... not at all unpleasant as it should have been. They were still faintly pink by the time the staff - under escort - got around to checking her condition and finally pronouncing her clear of mind.

As they should, Lilian considered. The insanity of the spell aside it was certainly her own business that she found such activities to be... not unpleasant... and it was certainly her own business to explore such things in private, at her own pace. It's not as if she'd been exposed to such stimulation before, after all, so the only way to confirm would be to... research a little.

And study was, indeed, an activity Lilian held great familiarity with. The trick was how in this case, she would also need... practice.

King Artram Armelia, sovereign of the kingdom founded by his house, was not a man prone to anger. Calm, rational, and fair in all respects even to the least pleasant of company. However, attacks on his people were certain to draw his contempt and swift retribution. Attacks on his family, moreso. Both, at once?

The good King Artram was not, at this time, pleasant company.

It was a fact sensed by all in his presence given even the most seasoned of knights dared not draw his attention unnecessarily as he stalked the castle halls. Between the measured march of his steps, the looseness of his arms, and the readiness of his sword hand... There were many signs of danger such that even those with no military background could recognize the danger of the King's mood even before meeting his eyes.

Having just returned from his youngest daughter's sickbed, where she had only just awoken after being afflicted with some manner of curse most... obscene... by actors unknown... Artram was incensed. He had been afraid. Worried that perhaps after her experience, young Cheryl might shrink away from his presence for fear of a man's touch. Instead, she had all but flew into his arms.

It was a display of affection not altogether unusual, but not one that had been displayed since suspiciously similar villainy had afflicted her elder sister.

Without a word, Artram had rubbed at her back and spoke words of assurance to her and it was as he followed her lead and they sat upon the bedside he realized... She was not crying. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame and she was smiling brightly, with the same sunny smile of her youth, as she begged of him the details of what punishments he'd planned for the perpetrators. Of those who assaulted her, and those who'd cast the sorcery, and even of she - herself - for falling prey to it.

Cheryl smiled brightly, unknowingly, and heedlessly as she rambled on her speculations, all but begging him without thought to enact one or more punishment upon her and all involved and, equally heedlessly, driving herself into his knee and growing... uncomfortably passionate.

It was with this realization Artram understood that both his daughters now had been struck by similar afflictions. That the demon he slew four years ago had been a scapegoat for another, and that he had failed twice now. That even now, wherever the creature was, it likely gloated in triumph at the shamefulness his children now embraced and at his helplessness to correct them.

Gently and more tenderly than ever before, Artram separated from Cheryl and straightened her hair.

He then stormed out of the room, and doors no less than six rooms in either direction rattled at his exit.

There would be blood for this.

Artram would not stop until the very thought of a demon existing within his halls would seem laughable as water freezing amidst the hearts of the earth. And he knew just where to start. After all, had not a conspicuous young individual fallen straight into his elder daughter's lap shortly before?

He was no fool, of course: the young lad likely had not brought the sorcery about.

But his arrival could not have been a coincidence, and Artram would not be denied answers.

[AN: A lot more 'tell' than 'show' than intended, but here are some brief blurbs with regards to things happening around and after the Exit aforementioned.]