Will she have to pay a toll?

Failure Move - [3] Offer a Choice

Gripping the Paladin’s scarlet hair, as he pins her arms with his knees, the blond bandit turns her head from side to side.

“Pretty little thing she is too. No wonder she went down so quick. Only natural for a knife-ears like her.”

His one-eyed comrade chuckles cruelly, while Lavorra blushes violently at the slur, her freckled cheeks turning ruby-red.

“You watch your Matron-damned tongue you vile -“

She’s cut short as Blond yanks her head, shoving her face against his crotch. Even through his leather britches, his musk is overpowering, momentarily emptying her head of any coherent thought or plan of action.

She squirms, legs kicking frantically, as he rubs his stiffening package against her trapped face, her eyes beginning to water at the - not quite foul, but unclean and potent - smell of flesh.

“Blasphemous little tongue she’s got.” One-eye chuckles, as Blond grinds himself against her face with a throaty groan. “Get her up on her knees, I want to see if that idiotic tit-plate she’s got on matches the real thing.” He moves closer, beginning to unbuckle his belt.

Lavorra’s eyes are wide with alarm, fear starting to overtake her disgust and anger. Knowing exactly what’s coming next, she wriggles as hard as she can, desperately trying to break free.

“Stop that.” The tanned man orders, firmly pushing One-eye aside, and cuffing Blond around the head. He releases Lavorra’s hair, and she gasps for fresh air, her head slipping back.

“She’d have knocked both your heads together and left you in the dust if it wasn’t for me.” He speaks arrogantly, but no one can deny it. “She’s tougher than she looks, I reckon. We could use her, or we could use her.”

“For the big job, you mean?” Blond looks up at him, a slow smile emerging on his crafty face. “Not a bad idea Lorkan. Not bad at all.”

“So what’ll it be, Elf-girl?” Lorkan asks, looking down at Lavorra, his piercing brown eyes locking onto hers from their darkly painted surroundings, “I’ll give you a choice: we take you back to camp as our prisoner, where I’ll be first in line to see you under that armour. Or you help us grab up the gold we need. You do that, you’ve my word we’ll let you go and not one of my men will touch you. Besides, once we’ve got that gold, we won’t need to be lurking around roads anymore. Choose.”

Lavorra’s chest falls heavily, and she does her best to avoid being mesmerised by those striking dark eyes, as she weighs up the proposition.