Solla, Jana's second in command.

Turning to the ebony-skinned Southerner, you ask if she has any recommendations.

"It would be a shame to travel up here and not bathe in one of the hot springs. The water can be rather... enjoyable." The foreign warrior says, her full, seductive lips briefly forming a playful smile.

"A fine idea. O-of course, it would be even more enjoyable with your company." You say. Solla takes your rather blatant propositioning with good humour.

"You know what? Why not?" Jana's second purrs, in a rich, deeply accented voice. "It's been too long since I savoured the waters."

With that, the Southerner leads you to a more sparsely occupied part of the cave system, to a smaller spring, the round expanse of water barely bigger than the heated bathhouse's pool back in Itheria.

That said, the steam rising lazily from the surface does make the spring look mightily inviting. When Solla divests herself of her weapons and armour and steps in, even moreso.

She is shameless in her nakedness, and rightly so. While her body looks the part of someone who lives for the battlefield, a few requisite scars breaking the pattern of smooth black flesh, there's a pleasing womanliness to her. Thick, childbearing hips, the beautiful curve of her cocoa-colored tits. You promise yourself that you'll have your cock between them within the hour.

"Are you going to get in, or just stare at my naked body?" Solla challenges you after a moment or two. You give your answer by removing your travelling raiments, setting them down, and making for the edge of the water.

Apprehensively, you dip your toe beneath the surface. Withdrawing it, feeling nothing but the heat of the spring, assuages your concern these waters share the "purifying" magic of their namesakes.

Of course, the White Torch could be full of shit, you muse, before climbing down into the spring. Your mother had dealt with several anti-demonic factions when she was Regent. Usually, it was simply a matter of playing the prim and proper survivor of demonic malevolence, manipulating them into executing a few unrelated peasants, then returning to her usual debauchery once their zealotry was sated.

It would be several years before you would learn just how intelligent and effective the Order could be. For now, you simply sank into the warm water, up to your chest, savouring the comfortable warmth.

"You know Solla, I haven't seen many women like you." You admit, eyeing her up and down again.

"Men like you are uncommon to me, also." Solla tells you. "When a cripple was born to my tribe, we simply left them behind. Better one dies in the desert sun than the whole tribe."

"Really?" You ask, prompting a nod from the Southerner. "The desert must be harsh. I imagine you find Beatha far more hospitable?"

Solla gives a half-hearted nod. Even that's enough to make her voluminous curls bounce, the bottom of them growing damp from contact with the water.

"I often feel I've found a second tribe up here. I'm happy to wield my sword in service to Beatha. But..." the dark-skinned woman bites her lip softly.

"But?" You ask.

"I was a mercenary, a sell-sword, for a few years. I sometimes miss the freedom. Being able bed any man I desired..." Solla admits.

"I could always help with that." You smirk, lifting your prick and idly stroking it, just beneath the water, to make your point.

Solla can't resist, and seconds later, she's spreading her legs, arms holding her in place against the very edge of the spring.

"Come and take me, cripple!" Solla moans. You're not about to ignore an invitation that open. Moving across the centre of the spring (thankfully, it's not so deep that you have to swim. Between your infirmity and spending most of your life in the capital, you'd never learned), you join your body with hers, savouring the fire sparkling in Solla's brown eyes as you enter her.

You find yourself actually moving that little bit easier while you're in the spring, the water making it that little bit easier to thrust in and out of Solla.

"At least you can fuck like a real man..." she moans, as you start pounding her cunt, faster and faster, reaching out with your left hand, steadying yourself on the edge of the spring.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" You promise, your bodies intertwined. Craning her neck forward, Solla begins kissing you. There's an unusual taste to the desert flower's lips. No less appealing than any woman you've kissed before, just subtly different. It was understandable, she was your first woman from off the continent, unless one counted your mother. Her reference to meeting your grandfather before you left had been the only thing she'd told you of her origins in eighteen years.

You and Solla fuck for a good long while, your moans of delight echoing out across the cave walls. Clearly, the warrior woman cares not if her sisters in arms hear her in the act.

Eventually, your stamina runs out, your climax draws close. You feel yourself pulse within Solla's tight black cunt.

"Come in me, Cripple King!" Solla moans exuberantly. "Breed me if you can!"

As impetuous as the fighter's request is, you're not about to refuse the desert-born beauty. Just as you feel yourself reach the brink, you hilt yourself within Solla, instead of drawing away from her.

With a long groan of satisfaction, you come, shooting Solla full of the sustaining life **** of the Itherian royal line.

"Not bad, Southerner." You chuckle, pulling the warrior in for an embrace. "That said, call me a cripple ever again, I'll flip you around and fuck you up the arse until it bleeds." you tell Solla, staring her straight in the eye.