The plant has designs on the Paladin

Action Focus [TC] Take (physical)

Lavorra does her best to stamp down the fear overtaking her, but the trials and ravages of the last day or so have whittled away at her usual resolve, and the fate ahead of her grips her as tightly as the entwined creepers.

She gasps at a shifting of her natural bonds, tightening around her legs and loosening on her ankles, lifting her up and into the air. Her feet slip from her boots, which remain pinned to the forest floor, and she is drawn slowly towards the closed bulb of the flower at the centre of the vines.

Lavorra squirms in the air, legs thrashing against her bindings, her arms now pinned to her sides as the vines reassemble to wrap around her torso. Her tunic hangs half open, her breasts threatening to spill free as she is held horizontally in the air.

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

With a yelp from Lavorra, they do. She whips her head around at a whisper of movement between her parted thighs. A lone vine, this one ending in a bulbous, ribbed appendage slides determinedly between her thighs, and presses itself against the soft fabric of her leggings.

I’m going to be fucked by a fucking flower.

“No! No you don’t!” She wriggles, desperately attempting to free herself, trying to slip one bare foot from the coils. She feels her leggings being inched down, slowly, almost teasingly, and shivers as the phallic vine begins to rub against her crotch. “You - you - ohhh…”

She cannot suppress a forlorn moan, as the ridges of the phallic vine rub between her legs. Then her leggings are whisked off her, and she feels the sinuous, soft plant-flesh on her own. The ridges bump over her lips, parting them ever so slightly as they go, stroking her outer labia. The sensation is incredible, and surprisingly tender.

Lavorra’s eyelids flutter, her squirming changing tone.

N-no, I have to get free. It’s just playing with its food…

—

Topic Focus [2S] Current Need (mystical)

The plant is not all it seems, there is magic afoot that may aid Lavorra.

—

As if on cue, the petals of the giant flower begin to open.

Lavorra gasps at what emerges, which progresses into another moan as the tip of the phallus-vine probes her folds.

Green-skinned and bright eyed, with layers petals forming a head of pink “hair”, high and firm breasts with deep emerald nipples, a slender and shapely torso, flaring at the hips before joining with the rest of the opening flower. A female figure rises from inside, its form sensuous and very appealing.

It’s an Alraune!

A forest spirit, she recalls, from her Wood Elf upbringing. Lavorra feels her own nipples rising in arousal, both at the gentle teasing of the phallus, and the form of the being before her.

The Alraune smiles sweetly, reaching out to cup Lavorra’s cheek. With its other hand, it touches the Holy Symbol that swings in the air below Lavorra’s neck.

The Paladin feels a tender, loving warm spread through her. Without words, the Alraune communicates, recognising their bond as protectors of the natural world, and servants of the Matron. It welcomes her, offers her rest and protection.

And pleasure.

Lavorra feels a rush of vulnerability, but one that feels so very right. Here and for now, she is safe. The ugly bruise across her chest dissipates, leaving only supple pale skin, dusted with freckles.

Oh. That’s okay then.