Lavorra takes a chance

It moves away. How much of Lavorra’s gear is she able to gather?

_How Much - [_5] More than expected

She moves quickly in a half-crouch, ignoring Lorkan’s muffled cry of alarm, and the brush of his hand on her ankle as he tries to pull her back into the trees.

She strafes, keeping her eyes on the Daemon, which lets out a throaty keening sound, as it gropes this way and that.

Her bare feet dance across the dirt and grass - deft and skilled, her Wood Elf heritage still keen, despite her days in plate armour.

That armour is nowhere to be seen, when she reaches the pack, and she lets out a soft Elven curse. But she grabs the sling of it, and mercifully finds her shield waiting too, looping her arm through the straps.

This is much, much better than nothing.

She scampers back, painfully aware of how ludicrous she must look, tip-toeing across the camp site without a stitch on, her weighty breasts clapping against her skin before she holds them in place with her shielded arm.

When she returns, hurrying into the undergrowth alongside Lorkan, she comes face to face with his freshly engorged member. He seems to have gotten over the horrors much more quickly than she’d have expected.

“Really?” She rolls her eyes, “enjoy the show did you?”

She can’t quite take her eyes off it though. Actually seeing it for the first time, thick and proud and veined, with a slight upward curve…

Don’t even THINK about it.

He shrugs, unabashed, “You could have gotten us killed with that stunt, though at least I had something good to look at.”

She blushes, digging into her pack. “Go put your bloody clothes on.”

She manages to retrieve a simple green tunic, just long enough to do for a skirt and regrettably low-cut; a pair of white leggings and brown boots mean she doesn’t have to go around with her arse hanging out. She pulls them on hurriedly, wrinkling her nose as the tunic rubs against the dried seed on her back. If she survives, she’s going to need a bath. Several baths.

She glances over her shoulder, hefting the shield. The Daemon is currently distracted, stamping his palms into the rapidly disintegrating body of one of the outlaws.