The War Mother, alone but badly injured

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief and a strand of saliva and daemon-cum connects your lower lip to the imp's cock. Something silver flashes through the air above you. A knife impales the little daemon and drives it into the wall. It grasps at the blade of the knife and looks from you to the interloper.

"Damned bitches," it whines and then bursts into flames. The **** fire of the imp leaves nothing but a stink of brimstone behind.

You look up to see War Mother Gisella standing in the doorway of the laundry. She has scratches down her face and her cloak is torn away form her breast, exposing much of the pale softness of her bosom, but you are largely oblivious to her wounds.

"War Mother," you moan as you begin crawling toward Gisella, **** to rub your body against hers.

She falls to her knees and draws your head against her bountiful chest. Her hold on you is strong, too strong for you to take one of her ripe tits in your hands and begin suckling on it, but you're content to nuzzle against her. "My poor, poor child..." She utters her prayers to the Burning Rose, repeating the words softly over and over, until the haze of the daemonic toxin is lifted from your wits.

The thought of all that recently transpired causes you to sob for your lost purity. "Mother... the daemon... I... I'm sorry!"

Gisella comforts you just long enough for the tears to pass. "There is no time," she says, helping you to your feet with a pained expression. "We've been betrayed and the abbey is under attack from within. You must escape. My horse is tacked and waiting in the stable. Ride to the abbey at..."

She sags against you and you see the blood darkening her blue cloak and dripping onto the floor at her feet. You help her upright. Free from the effects of the imp's venom, you're just now realizing the extent of the War Mother's injuries.

"The High Abbey at Gerlangen," says the War Mother. "Take this."

The War Mother passes you the ornate, double-edged blade that you recognize as the sword of Saint Magdalena, the virgin martyr. It is centuries old and carefully preserved. Now its white blade is stained with the blood of daemons. It is heavy in your hands.

"It is the relic sword of our order," says the War Mother. "Guard it with your life and take it to the Supreme War Mother in Gerlangen. You did not abandon your oath did you?"

The pit of your stomach twists. You were violated, more than once, there is no denying this, but you were under the influence of the imp's toxin. You did not abandon the oath as such, not willingly. So why, then, are you suddenly struck with such guilt?