You follow Sir Verheart, listening closely.

"Whyja wanna be a paladin, boy?"

"They're strong," you reply after a moment, opting to be honest with him. "But mostly I wanted to be an adventurer and couldn't afford the training."

He grunts, making you flinch in embarrassment. "No shame innit," he replies. "Most be thinkin' the same when they come 'ere. But what makes a paladin strong?"

"Besides being able to fight, they can do magi- er, miracles," you correct yourself. "They can heal themselves and others, too."

"And smite, 'n banish, 'n command the fouler creatures of the world," he continues. "You're familiar with the 'myth' of the paladin, then."

You frown as the two of you round a corner, passing a group of priestesses with heads bowed and incense trailing behind them. "Myth?"

Verheart grumbles at your question. "Myth, yes. What do paladins do?"

What do they do? What kind of question is that? "They... fight. I guess. Fight demons and devils. Bad people, too."

"They die," he bites in reply, making you trip in surprise. "Paladins are born martyrs, boy! Fight, fight, and keep fightin'. Every day as their oath demands until they breathe their last. No paladin has ever died except ta the blade or fang." He leads you into a courtyard stamped flat of any grass or stones and lined with racks of poles and blunted swords. "You can't be a right proper holy blade 'less you gettit through your head, else I won't bother tellin ya how. Follow?"

You nod and bite your lip before mustering your courage. "You're still around, though."

Verheart gives a grin far too vicious for a man of his age. "I am, aren't I? That wassa good thing ta notice. Now, if you'll shut it, we'll be seeing how hopeless ya really are."

And so began your training. Verheart's first few weeks of instruction were brutal and they weren't helped much by the uncomfortable bed you were provided during it, but you pressed through, holding to the spark of anger you felt when he told you to leave, and soon he (begrudgingly) accepted you. You moved into the guildhall while you trained along with a dozen other young men and women, spending your free time back at the temple. It was impossible to form any connections with anybody between the grueling bouts of exercise and sparring, and any moment you weren't getting beaten around a ring, you were trying to catch some **** sleep before you were roped back into another damned geography or history lesson.

Once it was time for the initiates to separate into their courses, you were moved back to the temple. Only occasionally did you visit the guildhall to train, and the adventuring instructors there turned out to be laughably less intense than Verheart. When he wasn't physically pounding your skull in, he was cramming it with more verse and theology than you'd ever cared to know. The priestesses were a little nicer about it, but even their gentle souls could spit poison if you messed up a recitation.

When Verheart was called away on urgent business, you were given a brief but very welcome respite. The single real comfort the temple provided to its permanent residents was a well-managed bath house, an amenity you gladly indulged yourself in.

You sigh as you dip your feet in. Firestones bubble at the bottom of the basin, keeping the room steamy and the water hot. You feel the muscles in your sore legs slowly loosen and relax as you shirk your towel, drawing a content sigh from your weary voice. It had been hard to focus on the cants today as your mind had wandered practically the whole time. It was rather unlike you, really. Your stature isn't the only thing that's changed since you came: you've mastered most of the church's precepts and liturgy and rarely have trouble repeating it. It was a small comfort that you weren't the only one who seemed to be distracted - the other acolyte's stumbles had landed the lot of you in a three-hour long recitation at the behest of the disgruntled Matron.

But no matter. You'd gotten through it and now you have the rest of the evening to yourself. Verheart won't be back until late tomorrow at the earliest, so you can retire early without any bruises to nurse in your sleep. He'll probably **** extra work out of you tomorrow just to make sure you didn't get too comfortable, but that was a problem for later. Now you were just going to sink in up to your chin in the bath and-

"Well, and here I thought the bath was empty."

You just about jump through the stained glass window at the purring voice. You whip around and gape at the barely-covered form of a woman slowly approaching. Everything about her, even the way she's walking, is unspeakably lewd. Your moment of shock is quickly followed by panic at the realization that you're exposing yourself. You fall backwards into the water and come up spluttering, covering up your body as best as you can.

Long black hair frames mischievous green eyes and a luscious smirk. "Well, no point in being all shy now. Besides, I was enjoying the view." She keeps coming forward and you notice the towel starting to slip off of her smooth shoulder.