Greet the heroine

You pick the maple syrup jug up off the table, wander over to the edge of the balcony, and pour it off. From very far below there's an outraged squeal as the blonde paladin of Etherial gets a large quality of warm maple syrup poured over the top of her head.

She looks up, just in time to cop another jugful of maple syrup to the face, this one poured by Daisy. It coats her pretty, irate features, messes up her golden locks and even trickles into her chainmail, creeping between the full, ripe breasts beneath her leather jerkin. You hear a faint stream of curses drifting up to you, but most of them are carried away by the breeze.

"Interesting," says Daisy, cocking one sensitive dark elf ear. "She says her name is Caitlin the Crusader, and she has sworn a mighty oath to destroy all evil, wheresoever it might lurk."

"Oh, no! That means us! Daisy, whatever shall we do?"

"I guess we'll have to trust to your labyrinth of traps to defend us," says Daisy, as the furious paladin brandishes her sword and charges straight into the castle, hollering a war cry. You and Daisy look at each other, and smirk.

You count to ten, then teleport down to the punishment dungeon. There's Caitlin, trapped in a golden cage, dangling above a pit, looking very surprised. She's surrounded by a circle of laughing goblins, half of them holding picture boxes. Two sardonic succubi in elegant black dresses lean up against a wall, smoking cigarettes and exchanging catty comments.

"Fiend!" Caitlin shouts, seeing you arrive. "Release me!"

"Sure," you say, and nudge a wall lever. Immediately the cage plummets into the pit. There's a splash, a squeal and the sound of clothes-dissolving acid doing its work.

You pull Caitlin back up. She's huddled in her cage, blue eyes wide, roses blooming in her fair cheeks, blonde locks clinging to her slimy shoulders. Stark naked, except for her boots and a few stray scraps of leather. She sits down quickly, drawing her knees up against her full breasts, golden-thatched pink pussy lips peeping between the curve of her thighs.

"This," she says, primly, "is not funny."

The goblins, laughing hysterically and taking pictures from every angle, capturing her burning blush, the slopes of her breasts and the sidelong nude curve of her rump, beg to disagree.