 
## Dragon (S)Layers: The Paladin Gambit

A Dragon (S)Layers _Origins_ Novella

By

Tammy Silverwolf
The _Origins_ series is a series of novellas that introduce characters in the Dragon (S)Layers world and serve to tie up character motivations and how they became involved in the main storyline(s) within the primary series. They're meant to be read with or without prior knowledge of the setting and can function as self contained tales.

If you enjoy this novella, would like to learn more about the Dragon (S)Layers world or just want to check up on what else I have in the works, you can find more information at my website: http://tammysilverwolf.com

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-Tammy Silverwolf

# Acknowledgments

This project absolutely would not be possible without the support, guidance, and when necessary, boot in my ass from my patreon supporters. It's because of them I'm able to purchase the necessities of life and spend my time writing rather than flipping burgers. I cannot more strongly thank and praise them for what they do; they allow me to live the one dream I've always wanted and be what I never thought I could be.

Alonsis

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Thank you.

You've changed my life more than you'll ever know.

#  
# Chapter 1: Behold, the Stupid Seamstress

" _Many would question why Isira, a goddess of hedonism, even needs clerics or paladins when the natural inclination of humanoids is to avoid pain and bring, or derive pleasure within our lives. Yet here we are-- some might say 'stuck'-- with a goddess who's servants work diligently to ensure the hungry are fed, the sick are made comfortable and Virtue is protected until its owner is prepared to relinquish it._

Contrasting their slavish devotion to these tenants, you will see them fly their tattered banner against the tide of social norms, parading themselves around like the one true miracle of society even while they scream out whispers in the dark, begging for some meaning to their directionless and mediocre lives. Deep within they know the fate all hedonists share.

I say this not to condemn them but to highlight the difference between principle and application: Many would say Isira represents pleasure and freedom, I would postulate that if She truly offered what Her faithful preach, there would be fewer tears shed by hungry children in gutters the world over. It's telling that even Her clergy have to die in order to have the chance to receive Her blessings rather than She choosing the most fitting candidate before their passing.

In a fair, just world She would be there to fill stomachs when crops fail. She would stop our wives and daughters from being subject to unwanted advances and assaults. She would not allow us to suffer disease or heartache. . . But this is the real world; either abandoned by, or a reflection of, the divine.

Make no mistake, people suffer in Her name as they do for any other god. It's just the wine and lustful sweat that make that suffering less obvious."

-Sarah Kettar, Cleric of The Great Engineer

Letters From the Gods Volume 591

### Leslie

It had been a long time since Leslie had cried. There were times when she'd lost herself in the village or walked into someone's home by accident, or once when she'd accidentally poked some girl in the eye trying to find her way around. Tears had flowed those days-- frustrated, angry tears; not all of them her own.

But those crying sessions didn't have shit on this one: her new eyes felt alien and her head was sore, but soaked in tears that tasted like wine, the older seamstress was smiling ear to ear. She could see! Granted, most of what her silver eyes saw was run down, ugly and in bad need of a mold scrape and fresh paint, but her world was awash in colors she thought she'd never see again and something more, something primal and just as alien.

Hope.

She could feel it, even now sobbing on her tattered and decrepit couch in her ugly little home she was wracked with bodily tremors that sent new waves of weakness through her but she'd never felt more alive.

The urge to wipe her eyes came and went, but it wasn't her hand that stroked the tears away-- an ancient warmth brushed across her rounded cheeks, sweeping them dry before fingers laced through her brown locks to cradle her head.

Isira held her close as she sobbed the years away; in Her incomprehensible beauty, the goddess of pleasure wasn't one to let a new 'friend'- some might use the word 'minion'- just languish on the floor. She'd scooped up the crying mortal after they made their deal and now, some hours later She was still holding her.

Like anything, though, Leslie knew it couldn't last forever. She turned her gaze up to the voluptuous woman holding her and sighed a shuddering breath. "You must be pretty disappointed."

"Mmm?" Isira pouted Her lips in thought, "Oh, I suppose I am."

Leslie opened her mouth but she was stopped by a finger.

"I expected to be offered tea, or at the very least a virgin of some description." Her grin was infectious and Leslie found herself mirroring it.

"Suppose we can find one of those if that's what you want."

"Tempting! But no," She booped Leslie's nose. "I have something else in mind."

Powerless to stop Her, Leslie laid there atop the goddess, her elbows digging into the couch as she wondered just what would come from that finely formed mouth.

"I think. . ." Isira drew the word out. "I want to play a game."

Leslie breathed in her goddess's scent, with her new senses she felt the radiant power contained in the woman's presence; She was powerful, incredibly ancient and warm-- Her power had a distinct taste to it, like sandalwood and vanilla spent time spit roasting lavender until it came so hard it cried. She was a staggering beauty, but it was Her metaphysical presence that made the goddess Isira approachable. She was like an open book just begging to be explored. She was friend and lover and mother and family all in one, She was home.

So it wasn't as surprising when Leslie balked at the idea of playing a game. "So is it everyone you want to 'play with' who gets new eyes or am I a special case? It's the hair, right? Wear it in a bun one time and you're branded the slutty librarian for life."

Isira chuckled a musical laugh and ran Her hands down Leslie's shoulders, easing into a sitting position that left the mortal's head in Her lap instead. She took Her time exploring the older woman for whatever qualities She thought were important-- when She spoke it was with finality. That voice was satin against Leslie's soul. "We can discuss spit roasting later, but for now I need my paladin. . ."

Leslie sputtered, Isira was smiling all the while.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

"W- Where?"

Isira tutted, "It took my last paladin eight years before he started questioning me and you've managed it in one afternoon!"

"Sorry, I--"

"No, no. You've made your bed, now you can lie in it."

Leslie started to apologize but in a flash she was being tickled head to toe. She fought it and giggled uproariously for the first time in what felt like forever. It was no use, of course, but she curled up against the back of the couch trying to protect herself. "Ack! Stop, stop!"

"This is where you apologize!" Isira said playfully as She continued.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Don't question the woman in the slip dress, got it! I said sorry!"

Isira hopped up off the couch and wheeled on Her heel taking in the home. Simple though it was, She seemed interested in the clothing Leslie hung from its walls-- each of them a work of art in their own right, practical and fashionable to those who understood the value of clothing. Any one of them was infinitely more modest than the airy slip of a dress Isira wore. The goddess plucked one of the dresses off the wall, holding it out for Leslie with a smug little grin.

It took Leslie almost a minute to compose herself, another to take in the dress-- and only three seconds to blush the deepest crimson her lightly tanned features could produce. It was so short! Sure it was pretty, and the stitching was competent considering she'd been blind when she had made it, but had it always been that short?!

Isira was having none of her hesitation. The goddess thrust the dress at her with that same knowing smile that said She knew there was no way Leslie would resist.

She was mostly right.

Mostly. "Uh-- What're we going to do?"

"We're going to play a game of cards," Isira stated casually. "Don't give me that look, you're going to enjoy it."

The declaration lanced through Leslie sending her heart into her throat. Her palms felt clammy against her knees and wariness swelled in the pit of her stomach as she looked to her goddess, her savior. The bringer of sight and lover of all mankind couldn't have been any more cruel if She'd tripped Leslie, slapped her ass and laughed as she faceplanted. "I-- I can't do that."

Unconsciously her gaze drifted to the smashed urn between them, the spill of human ashes cast a dark halo around the ceramic mess. Untouched by her hands, her only companion in the darkness-- the very reason she had been blinded in the first place; David had been there to listen to her cry but he had taught her a valuable lesson. A lot of them, in fact. She massaged her finger where her wedding band should have been. "I can't. . ."

"No?" Isira stepped over the mess, crouched down in front of Leslie and watched her studiously. She squinted, tilted her head, checked her over from various angles. "I could have sworn I met my paladin this morning. Who's this ravishingly attractive young lady that she left in her place, hm?"

"I- I-. . . I can't."

"Hm. . ." She eased into Leslie's space as if She owned it. Again tilting Her head to inspect, the goddess's smile waned. "Oh Keiter, my dear little friend, what've you brought me."

"I'm sorry--"

"Ah, ah, ah." Isira raised a finger. "If you're going to wear my lotus, I expect you to make it bloom, young lady." She poked the necklace Keiter had given her. Sometime during the day after he left the bronze lotus flower had indeed closed up again. Strange. "But! We can make that happen in time," She hopped up and danced away. "Get dressed! We're going to make an evening of it."

"Uh--" Leslie swallowed. "But-- O- Okay? But there's not much to do around here."

Isira chuckled. "Keiter did ask you to see with new eyes, didn't he?"

Leslie fidgeted when the kobold's words were thrown at her. "Sure but that's not going to change anything. It's a farm town with a caravan route--"

"Leave the details to me, your training begins tonight!"

For some reason the reassuring smile Isira gave her was anything but assuring. In fact, it looked kind of manic. Leslie bit her lower lip as she eyed the dress, wondering what she'd agreed to. . .

#

From the stories Leslie had heard about divine servants, they could wield unlimited power and had instant access to their patron. Someone had been full of themselves when they told that one; Leslie still couldn't hold a tune to save her life. She kept trying, if only to fill the awkward silence as she roamed the narrow road between farmhouses and the inner circle of buildings that composed the village.

It was a joke, who the hell in their right mind would've made Leslie a representative of their faith? Leslie pulled on her mantle, fidgeting with it while her sandals crunched the dirt underfoot. She was a mouse sneaking by cats more so than the paladin Isira insisted she was. But if nothing else, the burgundy dress and silver mantle did accent her form quite well. What she lacked in raw sexuality and voluptuous curves, she made up with by well preserved eastern features, tastefully arranged brunette locks and long legs that were absolutely bristling with goose bumps as she pattered through the village.

"Enough moping, you silly girl." Isira threw an arm around her. Leslie sunk into Her warmth as if it would shield her from the passing glances of the soldiers and farmers alike. The village was like a giant set of rings coming to the caravan landing in the middle, but for every blind alley they walked through Leslie felt someone watching. Isira's presence drew people in like moths to a flame.

Not that she could blame them.

Isira chuckled playfully, "They can't see me, dear. Not yet. Any attention you get is all yours."

"O-" Leslie blushed furiously. "Sure, that's fair. Dress me like a whore--" She bit her tongue, glancing at the goddess who was wearing considerably less by pure thread count. "This isn't going to be easy, is it?"

"As easy as you wish to make it," the goddess smiled. "And no easier, because that would be quite dull!" She prowled through the village, leading Leslie to the Little Kettle inn-- throwing open the doors She took solid form in a flourish of magic and a lyrical melody that danced through the drab little building and filled it with life.

The handful of patrons that were there turned to see the cause of the disturbance-- some laughed, some stared. Someone mentioned high class whores. They all went quiet when Isira spoke.

"A fair evening one and all! Who would give us the pleasure of a dance and the satisfaction of a good drink?!"

"I'll give ya some satisfaction!" Some old man shouted.

"You then!" Isira sauntered over to him, Her high heels clicking sharply against the floorboards-- not a single pair of eyes turned away from Her beauty. More than a few people turned away in jealousy when She thrust out a hand and pulled him up as if he was a toy. A second later the ambiance of music picked up to take center stage and fill the room with an upbeat saucy tune.

Leslie gaped as she watched the tables and chairs part to make way for the two of them. Wood clattered and patrons groaned their protest as their chairs slid from under them. The bartender started to complain but Isira wasn't listening, She twirled with her dance partner as they worked out who'd lead and the steps they were comfortable with.

After a moment one of the other men in the room turned his gaze to Leslie who was doing her best impression of a wall flower. He smiled politely. She glanced away. Gods, was Isira trying to scare the crap out of her?

Apparently so.

Isira danced with the man for a little while as Her newest convert watched from the sideline. When the bartender went to throw Her out, She whispered something in the woman's ear and like that, the woman's whole mood changed. She turned to the patrons and shouted something to the effect of free ale.

This statement lead to someone running to get their friends, in turn bringing a bunch of caravan drivers and guards, leading to more dancing and a lot of drinking. The music filling the dreary little inn waxed and waned as new partners took to the makeshift dance floor and as more people became comfortable in the company of strangers-- some of which Leslie recognized as farmers from the village-- out came the dice and cards.

Every throw of the dice sounded like thunder to her. She hugged her arms under her mantle, leaning against the wall, watching Isira entertain every man-- and a few women-- that came by before She passed them off to someone that matched them. Husbands lost wives for the evening and wives found new and exciting company or, more rarely, rediscovered their husbands as they danced.

Through it all, the goddess was polite and warm to everyone that crossed her path-- even those who tried to treat her like a whore. Never once did She give up Her poise or candor, She didn't get mad or even offer rebuttal, maybe it was telling that She didn't really interact with people so much as gloss over them and their little concerns. . .

It struck Leslie then that She wasn't the only one who felt alone in a room full of people. Isira kept them at a distance because they had little to do with one another-- even as She made them smile, She kept herself distant.

She also drank like a sailor. Every few minutes She'd get a refill on her ale and have it gone in mere moments. Somehow She didn't fit the stories that'd been told about Her, but to Leslie that made all the more sense. It made Her all the more beautiful.

"Hey, lass!" Someone shouted to her. "Why don't y'take a load off," It was the man who'd smiled at her earlier. When she started to reject him Isira's presence swelled in her mind, She pushed on Her mortal minion like a finger against the back of her neck.

Leslie rubbed at the spot, stealing a glance at Isira who winked in return. Maybe it was divine matchmaking, maybe there was something she was supposed to learn. Leslie wandered towards the table trying not to get jostled by the dancers. "That's got to be the most civil version of 'why don't you sit on my lap and we talk about the first thing that comes up' I've ever heard."

He chuckled, "Could do that, too." Without a thought he kicked the chair out beside her, "but I leave that to the kids. Getchya somethin' to drink?"

"Uh, sure. I'll have what you're having."

"Water it is!"

Leslie waited for him to return with a pitcher and tankard, her gaze wandering to watch the dancers. Someone in a nearby table shifted their hand displaying a set of cards and collected the pot that filled the middle. She wrung her hands warily. It was just harmless betting between friends, that was all.

There was no need to worry, she promised herself.

When the older man returned he poured her a drink, it took some effort for her to take it and her smile felt empty. His face wore the miles of the road like broken clay, potted with years under the sun and a weight under it all that made him seem older than he should have been. Yet, through all of it he had a strength about him, as if defying the world and his age was a challenge rather than a death sentence.

"So," Leslie ventured. "This is probably where I pretend I'm either more interesting than I am or mysterious or something."

"Y'could." The man shrugged, took a drink. "Aint like I haven't seen it before. . ."

"Right." She looked to the table as if it'd provide some kind of answer as to what she was supposed to do next. He graciously let her stew in her awkwardness. "So--"

"So."

"Yeah. Not very good at this social thing," Leslie tried another smile. "So if you've got something in mind. . ."

"Not really," he sipped his water. "Y'just looked miserable. Everyone around ya smilin and you doing a good job o' fakin it, but y'know what they say about misery, right?"

"It loves company?"

"Psh, nah. Misery's a cold bitch who wouldn't know a good time if it slapped her in the face, but she can't stand it, absolutely cannot stand it when," he leaned in for effect, "the thing that's slappin her in the face is the one that's miserable."

Leslie fingered the side of her mug absently. As she traced the grain of the table a thought struck her. "So what happens if I slap Her?" she flicked her head towards Isira just to see if the goddess was paying attention. Surrounded by so many dancers She didn't seem to be.

The man cracked a smile. "Ah, lover's spat?" He said it with a calm that suggested he was familiar with such relationships.

"No! No, no, gods no. . . .she's not like that-- well maybe. But not with me, I don't think? No, think-- I don't know."

"Well when you put it like that."

Leslie waved it off. "I'm just. . . .confused. I mean, there's knowing things and then there's knowing things."

"Like what?" The man slid his tankard aside and clasped his hands, she could sense him looking at her and it took Leslie a moment to realize she wasn't actually looking at him. It was a habit from when she was blind, a way of acknowledging someone without having to 'look' at them. She turned her gaze up.

Where did she even begin? "Where I come from the stories of the gods being uh. . . .not so friendly to mortals are pretty common. But let's say I had my mind changed, then let's say I was shown first hand that maybe I was wrong."

"With you so far."

"I don't mean that I was dipping into pasture pies plucking multicolored mushrooms, but actually saw reasons why I was wrong."

"Uh huh? Not seeing a problem here, grow'n up isn't a bad thing. Y'gonna get older every day anyway, why not get a bit wiser, too?"

Leslie dampened her lips. "So what if I wasn't wrong-- what if the gods are assholes and I'm gonna be used?"

The man let our a hoarse chuckle, "You sound like one those plainswalkers. Tribal lot, but good folks. Somethin' happened that left their home a smokin mess, the skies are all purple except when it storms, then you get lightning that breaks rocks and wild creatures that eat magic--" He patted the table a couple times. "Ever hear the saying 'the world churns in Mawik' lass? Not a lie by any stretch.

"The people say the plains were the battlefield of the gods for a time, lotta promises were made on all sides but the people got left out in the end. They say only an idiot trusts the gods at their word."

"That's great, just what I want to hear--"

"Want and need aren't always the same thing," He shot back. "I met this Mawik girl in Sorash, pretty little thing. Really big-- uh"

"Hair."

"Hair, yeah." He said with a smile. "Said she was lookin for a friend of hers, now I think there was more to that friendship than she was letting on, but m'point is: this friend of hers was a cleric, elf blooded one at that. If a plainswalker can open herself to a servant of the gods, then maybe there's hope for you, too."

Leslie must have been staring because the man gave her a subtle quirk of his brow. She muttered an apology, stealing a glance at Isira. "Maybe I should write a book or something. 'Lo, and she saw with new eyes that it was true; she was indeed an idiot.'"

"A very lovely idiot."

"I guess, if cows are your thing." Leslie took a deep pull of her water.

As she did the man fished a small box from his vest pocket and set it down. "Suppose it'd be rude if I made a joke about eating beef, but I'm a betting man, so mind if I shoot in the dark?"

"Uh. . . .sure." Leslie glanced at the box,curious.

"Well now, I wager you don't get out much. But you're not shy, either. You've got a mouth and you use it well, so if I were t'say that you probably set a lotta hearts pounding, not just mine, you'd reply with. . ."

"With. . ."

"Something?"

"Yeah, probably. Hang on, my brain got caught buying a caravan ticket trying to smuggle that silver tongue it just stole from your mouth. It's gonna be a while before it can reply."

"Real shame, that. My name's Toir, by the way." He smiled faintly as he opened the box. Inside was a stack of playing cards. Leslie's heart sank. Her shoulders tensed. It'd been going so well, too.

"Uh--" Leslie leaned back warily. "What've you got in mind?"

"Mm? Everything all right?" Toir plucked his cards from the box, shuffling through them at lightning speed. It was the familiarity and speed that her husband had shown; he'd called it the Soldier's Shuffle, when getting caught on duty by officer or enemy wasn't an option. "See, thing is, my legs aint too useful for dancin-- though, my knees work just fine if that's yer pleasure instead." He spared her a wink.

"Uh- Toir, I. . . .I don't think this is a good idea--"

"Nonsense!" Isira appeared behind her and before she could even begin to be startled the goddess had Her arm wrapped around Leslie's collar bone and Her chin on the seamstress's head so She could watch.

Leslie reeled, digging her heel into the floorboard in surprise-- as if she could get away. Isira held her firmly leaving her no where to go, waiting until she stopped squirming before finally easing off. Leslie looked up without moving her head, frowning.

Isira knew She didn't need to apologize and She took full advantage of it. "Hello there, Toir." She purred as She pressed her warmth to Leslie's back. "I see you've met my good friend."

He smiled politely, seeming to ignore her for the moment. "So whatchya say? There's always room for beauty at a table, but bein' cute only gets ya so far. How about a couple hands? Of cards, I mean."

Leslie shook her head and started to decline-- Isira draped Her arms forward, dangerously close over Her servant's cleavage. Even as She pulled the heavy mantle back the goddess gave the man a smug grin.

"She'd love to!"

"N--" was as far as Leslie got before Isira's presence held her tongue firmly to the roof of her mouth. As smoothly as if it was she herself speaking, Leslie could feel her tongue working in new ways, twisting over her voice and carrying an inflection that wasn't her own; Isira spoke through her like a puppet. "Deal me a hand, we'll see where it goes."

When she was 'released' Leslie shielded her mouth and eyed the bronze skinned goddess who's smile hadn't faded in the least. They watched one another for a moment before Isira lofted a brow, daring her to correct her new patron and 'friend'. Shakily, the lowly mortal turned back to the cards. "O- Okay, deal me in, I guess."

"You don't need to make it sound like I'm tryin to get under your skirt."

"Ironically," Leslie glanced up briefly. "I think that'd probably be easier." Isira flashed a playful smile in reply.

"Well if that's your thing." He gave her a good natured smirk. "Wanna invite someone else?"

"I've always been more of a voyeur," Isira pressed her jaw to Leslie's temple. Her voice resonated through and through. "I do love a good show. . ."

A command by any other name couldn't have been as clear. Leslie furrowed her brow tightly as she looked to the goddess. She was serious! How could She not have known-- why would She--

Wait.

This was the lesson, wasn't it? She was meant to be learning from this.

Son of a bitch.

Leslie dampened her lips. "N- Nah. Let's just go you and I. . ."

Toir regarded her, "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine as a cat tumbling down a hill in a barrel. Uh-- what's the game?"

"How about Scuttle?"

"Scuttle?" Isira tilted her head. "A bad omen if there ever was; you scuttle ships, not cards."

Leslie fidgeted.

"It's not that bad and it's pretty quick-- whatchya say, lass?"

Leslie looked to Isira once more with a pleading expression. The goddess merely smile and traced Her finger across Leslie's collarbone, reclaiming Her spot against Her mortal's head. "F- fine. Yeah."

"Y'know how to play?"

"Yeah, I remember. . ."

As Toir shuffled the cards Leslie dug her fingers into her palms taking several steadying breaths against the butterflies slamming against the walls of her stomach. The first cards began to fall.

He dealt himself six cards, her five and set the deck down to the side. Her hand trembled as she reached for her cards. Isira laid Her hand over Leslie's, watching her out of the corner of Her impossibly deep eye. The lowly mortal gave a nod and scooped up her cards.

She could do this. She was meant to learn something here.

Scuttle was a fairly simple combat game that treated cards like soldiers or, as her husband had described, like resources. You could spend resources to remove other players' resources and if you got to twenty one, you won. Simple in theory.

Easy enough to count.

Leslie drew a breath along with her first card. She could do this. Yes. Isira believed in her, she could damn well do it. The older seamstress fingered through her cards shuffling them one way and the other.

What was the point value for an ace? One-- positive one, wasn't it? No- No, that wasn't right. Face cards removed one from a count or did they? A four, a six--

Leslie tensed. "Toir?"

"Yeah?"

"Ever wanted t- to see what it looks like when a deity smites someone?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, you might not have a choice." Leslie fidgeted and played a four. "Playing this for effect." He'd need to discard two cards from his hand.

"And here I thought we were gettin' friendly like." He plucked two cards from his hand-- a nine and a king. A king?! Why the hell would he discard a king?!

It had to have been a bluff-- having a king on the field meant reducing the number of points he needed to win, giving it up was literally throwing away a huge advantage.

But it was just the point advantage he was giving away. Her husband's training clicked in at a glacial pace-- face cards lowered the count by a point. So that meant. . .

Gods above. Leslie wiped her face. This was stupid.

Toir drew a card and played a nine. "But I guess if we're goin' to be honest with one another." He dropped the nine by the scrap pile and plucked out his king, sliding it on to his side of the table. "I might not be so friendly myself." He gave her a cheeky grin.

It didn't take long before Isira grew bored with the banter, She lazily traced her finger down Leslie's neck following a contour only She knew about down between her breasts. Toir pretended he didn't notice but Leslie could see his gaze wander occasionally.

Not content to simply scare the hell out of her, it seemed Isira had other plans. Leslie swallowed, played another four. "For points."

They went back and forth for a few turns, each passing exchange resulting in more cards piling up on the table with Toir's points swelling as Leslie's own diminished with equal rapidity. Every card she was forced to discard clouded her thoughts, made her question herself more and, more than that, made her keenly aware of Isira's wandering fingers.

Those fingers could have been capable of incredible feats of magic or sensuality, but pressed against her chest they felt like a dagger tip. Leslie's gaze swept the cards laid out between them and her own hand. Fives-- fives added to the count. Yes, two through six added to it, eights and nines weren't worth anything. Face cards and aces removed from it.

So that left her with a count of. . . .plus ten? That couldn't be right. High counts meant being conservative, didn't it? Y- yes. That made sense. She straighted up and played an ace worth one point.

Toir looked at her oddly even as he played a second king, bringing down the number of points he needed to win to ten-- when he had twelve on the table. "They say age goes before beauty, guess I got that going for me."

Leslie tensed sharply under her goddess's firm grip. She'd lost, she'd lost, she'd lost. Shit, shit, shit.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Y- Yeah, just fine." Leslie glanced at Isira. Her hand had stopped wandering. "Just fine?"

"Just fine," the voluptuous goddess winked. Somehow it wasn't reassuring.

"I- I- I think I need to go-- yeah, uh. Wifey things t- to do. yes. Thanks for the game!" Before the poor man could stop her Leslie was already to the door. Outside in another instant. Panting in gulps of evening air she clutched her sides and paced. She'd been an idiot to agree to serve Isira. She'd been an idiot to think she could be what She wanted.

She was a loser, a seamstress, she wasn't a sword wielding paladin--

Isira was beside her with her mantle. "Come now, that could've gone so much worse!"

"I fucked up!" Someone walking out of the inn glanced at her, then it became apparent no one could see who she was talking to. Isira was doing the invisible thing again. "Great."

"Think of it as an opportunity to improve." Isira flicked Her hand out sending the mantle into some hitherto unknown dimension. At Leslie's frown She grinned. "You tried. That's all I want from you."

"S- So you're not mad?"

"If I was, do you think I'd show it?"

"I kind of expected it," Leslie swallowed. "So what now?"

"We're going to go shopping! Sort of." She smiled at Leslie's confusion but when Her new paladin didn't immediately come to Her call, Isira pouted teasingly. "This village is pleasant, but I have much more interesting plans for you, starting with finding you some suitable attire. I can't have one of my own chosen running around without some degree of protection. No, we're going to get you some armor."

Leslie frowned. She knew better than to say what she was about to, but it wasn't like the goddess couldn't read her damn mind anyway. "I'm going to disappoint you all the more, I'm about as skilled in combat as a one legged toddler trying to run upstairs."

Isira actually paused a second before she spoke. "You enjoy shock value, don't you?" She smirked. "You've been my champion for an evening now and the only thing you've told me is about what you can't do, have I bet on a lame horse?" Her brow lofted in playful challenge.

It was anything but playful to Leslie. "Ah--" Shit. Was she about to lose everything she'd been given? "W- Well, I'm good at other things? If you wanted needlework--"

"I am quite familiar with little pricks, young lady. No, I need a champion. A thoroughbred. If I've bet on a lame horse--"

"You're going to take me out back and put me down?"

Isira cocked her hip out. "Come now. . . .my paladin."

Leslie whimpered. "I'm not a soldier--"

"I'm not asking you to be one."

"I don't know how to fight."

"You can learn."

"I'm not--" Leslie's voice died when she felt Isira's presence swell through her.

"Skills can be learned. Character? Not so much." She closed the distance with a feline stride, taking Leslie's shoulders. "This body can be anything you want it to be, but your soul can only be what it was meant to."

Leslie whimpered.

"I want you for your spirit, I believe in you."

"But--"

"This might surprise you," Isira swept Leslie's hair behind her ear and folded Her arms under Her breasts. "Keiter and I have a rather unusual relationship, but I've learned over the years that he has a good eye for people. So when he begs me to hear you out, I'm fairly certain I know what I'm in for." She flashed a wry smile. "But, if you're not interested. . ."

"N- No, wait! I'm sorry, I just. . ."

"If you fail, it won't be intentional." Isira said with finality.

At least that much was true. Leslie drew in a shaky breath, quivering. She had made her pact with the goddess, she couldn't disobey, could she?

The goddess looped an arm around Leslie's shoulders and urged her along the outer ring of the village towards the farm-land path that would lead to the main roads. There was a cloth merchant out that way, fairly close to the village. Maybe Isira had planned to have Leslie make something for Her. Maybe it wasn't just about what she'd been told. They walked in silence, but Leslie could feel the warmth of the goddess eroding her fears and doubts. They were equals in Her eyes, friends and partners in crime.

"Crime's a strong word. . . .think of it as an adventure." Isira glanced at her with a smile. "It was taken from me first, you see, and the individual who has it treats the armor as a mere bauble. It's very distressing!"

"Are you always going to do that? The reading my mind thing--"

She didn't even bat an eye. "I could make it a two way street if you like."

Leslie looked to Isira uneasily. It might have been the fact that she'd isolated herself, that she'd lived a life cooped up her in tiny little house that made it so easy to connect with someone like Isira, but maybe she was just grateful for any kind of contact. She licked her lips. "I get the feeling--"

"You'd be overcome by passion and desire? Maybe you'd want to sleep with everyone who crossed your path?" Isira raised a finger. "Or, maybe you're afraid you'd get jealous."

"Uh-- No. I was going to say I'd probably burst into flames or something. If my thoughts were run through you and then me. Before I know it I'm on fire, soaking wet and not sure which is the more immediate concern."

Isira laughed merrily at that and gave her a squeeze. "We could indulge them if you wanted, we have time--"

"No, no!" Leslie coughed. "I like walking upright and I'm sore enough as it is."

"Spoiled sport." Isira pouted playfully.

Leslie relaxed more as they walked. "Just, promise me something?"

"Hm?"

"N- No more gambling?"

Isira spared her a glance. As they neared the edge of the farm road that would lead them out of town, Isira gripped Leslie a little harder, more firm and reassuring. "This is going to be the start of something beautiful, I think."

Leslie eyed the goddess, knowing what she wanted to say was anything but appropriate. Instead, she opted for another tact: "Like putting a gold's worth of silk on a boar sow, right?"

"Clearly you've never had bacon."

"There's a pleasant mental image-- the pig dies."

"I like to think of it as commitment."

Leslie went quiet at that, not entirely sure what to think. When she didn't respond Isira lifted her chin. They stopped walking and the goddess held her like that for a breathless moment. In Her deep brown eyes Leslie felt eternity-- warmth, love, compassion--. . . .anger. Fear. Hopelessness and loss. She saw the goddess's tears welling up. They threatened to spill, but She wouldn't let them go. Knowing that they were there, that they were real, was enough to shake Leslie to the core.

Everything Leslie knew about her patron-- her savior-- painted Her as a flighty thing that had the best of intentions at heart but never really paid much attention to the long term. She protected the free choice of people to choose their lovers, advocated for the hungry to be fed and the lonely to be coddled-- but She, like many of Isira's followers, never stopped to consider the price for Her compassion. Leslie hadn't either until she saw that pain. . .

Just knowing it existed broke something inside. Isira spoke in a tiny whisper. "You may die before I do, no matter how much I wish I could take your place, but you will never be alone again." A tiny smile lit her face, broken and hallowed.

"I know," Leslie lied. "But I'm not a fighter, I--"

"Shh." The eastern looking woman cupped Her paladin's cheeks. "You've given me something I haven't had in a long time, you can't fail me now."

"D- Don't bet on it."

"Is it wrong for me to want the best for the person I chose to represent me? You didn't think I chose you just for your good looks and fashionable dress sense, do you?" Isira turned and lead them further down the road. "No, I have some plans for you and given enough time, you're going to love them."

As they plodded along the path Leslie felt her vision blur slightly at the fringes. It edged quickly towards painful, like her equilibrium had been shifted out from under her and she was starting to fall. She tried to reach out but Isira held her with remarkable strength, forcing her to stay upright while her vision swam around her. "Y- ugh--"

"It'll be over soon." The goddess whispered.

"What's--"

"I think of it as a mutual exchange for your benefit." Isira purred. "One of my brightest friends made that armor and spent the majority of his life trying to convince me I needed to consecrate it, I'll not have it sitting rotting in some treasure trove unappreciated when it could be used to keep you safe. Like I said, shopping!"

"Wh- shopping--?" What the hell kind of shopping was this?

The blurring faded slightly and Leslie's sense of movement shifted to a heady rush-- she soon found her feet under her even though she didn't feel as though she'd ever stopped walking forward. Isira held her close as if any moment might rip them apart and they'd be lost to one another.

In the mere moments that seemed to pass, Leslie felt herself growing hungry and cold-- warm and cold yet again. However she soon found out why: they stopped and nothing about the road they had been walking down was the same. They stood in the middle of an empty road at the foot of a small crag sloped towards the moon. The two looked around their new surroundings.

Leslie was struck by a sudden urge to relieve herself, hunger and thirst gnawed at her and she was wearing her mantle once more as protection against the chill evening. She realized these things all at once and blurted the first thing on her mind. "What the hell was that?"

"This--" Isira guided Leslie down the road where it snaked around the mountain. They came to find an inn built into the rock face with a wooden facade, arching windows and wide double doors held up by a broad wood deck.

The place tingled with magic. It bristled Leslie's new sense and set her on edge almost immediately. It was a sensation like hot and cold pokers being waved over her flesh waiting to strike, daring her to look away. "Uh. . ."

Parked along the front of the building were a group of covered wagons loaded with goods that were completely undefended. They all bore the same company logo marking them as part of a caravan; they were logos she'd never seen before. "Hold on-- where are we?"

"Well--"

A pair of men erupted from the entrance and tumbled into a heap followed by a burly man in a double breasted suit. He calmly tidied his white gloves. "If you find you can pay your debt, you're welcome to return but your foreman will be informed." Upon seeing the two women he straightened his posture. "Ah, hello. Welcome to the Casino Eso. Please, do come in."

"Gladly!" Isira smiled.

Casino?

Leslie knew she should have been grateful, she should have submitted to Isira's will as she expected every divine agent did, but deep down she knew where this was heading. She hadn't been given her eyesight out of some sense of charity, the goddess of pleasure had done so because She wanted something in return. She wanted a specific skill that Leslie possessed. . .

She wanted the thing that had killed Leslie's husband and she wanted her to know it, too. Leslie's heart fell into her stomach and for the first time since meeting any of the goddess's followers, she actually wanted to curse herself in Her name.

# Chapter 2: The Casino on the Ass End of Nowhere

" _You should never begrudge someone for their choice of professions, not because others will look at you as somehow magnanimous for not looking down at the less fortunate, but there may come a time when your words come back to bite you in the ass._

Everyone at some point in their lives needs their shoes polished."

-Neta

Urban Philosophy from the Free States of Estan

Leslie huddled her mantle close and clutched the sack of coin Isira had brought with them like a talisman. It was a gift Keiter had left for her when he and his elven friend moved on. More gold than she'd seen in her entire life. Not just gold, _magical_ gold. She'd been able to feel the subtle tingle of power before Isira had given her the extra senses she now possessed.

Even in the depths of poverty, Lelsie never attached much meaning to coin outside of the necessities it would purchase. She'd never been tempted into greed or stupid enough to put it between her and good conversation or a friendly smile. Standing outside the casino, however, she suddenly felt the need to become covetous and dubious of anything around her.

Isira was standing on the stairs leading to the door, smiling at Her stupid little convert like it would get her to move any faster. Hesitantly Leslie edged forward and opened her mouth, wondering just how far she could get with questioning her patron deity. She decided for a carefully neutral tone. "I don't mean to sound stuck up, but I have no business here. . ."

"You certainly do," the goddess placed Her hands on Her generous hips and smirked. "You didn't spend two days traveling the countryside to walk away now, did you?"

"H-"

"You're going to be _fine_."

Leslie started to object, she started to speak David's name. She had no business here. But before those words could even form in her throat Isira was in front of her from one place to the next with no time in between. She took Leslie's shoulders gently and held her gaze.

There was a subtle understanding in those bottomless eyes, a kind of acknowledgment that made sense and more than that, a rush of sound and spirit that stirred her battered soul to open itself to the possibilities before her. She was being asked, _asked_ by an omniscient power to help and offered a purpose that she'd never had.

Leslie turned her gaze away and fought the tears that came. "I'm not who you need--"

"No, you're right about that. . . .all things equal, I could probably find some soulless team of expert thieves who'd take what I'm offering them as a challenge." Isira brought Leslie's chin up with a finger. "But I want a paladin, Leslie. I get what I want one way or the other."

"Before I was blinded I had a good business, people looked to me for clothing because I was good at what I did, I mean really good. I could have clothed nobility, but that's all I know how to do. When it comes down to it I'm the human equivalent of a participation award. Then you come along saying you want me to be a paladin? A _paladin_? I mean, are you high?!"

A dangerous flicker crossed the goddess's eyes and for just a split second Leslie could see the clouds of a roiling storm touch Her features only to fall away in the next moment. "Don't ask questions you fear answers too, my friend." She winked. In the next moment She was on the steps of the casino again, She opened the door for Leslie and stepped aside, holding open in offering.

Leslie clutched her mantle tighter and looked around.

As far as choices went, it was probably up there with punching a cheese grater or frolicking through a field of daises. She wasn't quite sure which was which just yet, but if she'd been brought out here, there had to be some good reason, right? She crossed the threshold into an antechamber where the guard was standing in a neatly pressed, albeit very strange three piece suit, in a style and cut Leslie had never seen before. He offered to take her mantle delicately but it was clear his muscular frame could easily have broken her in two.

He looked to Isira and gave her perhaps the strangest smile Leslie had ever seen on another person and that was when she noticed the tingle of magic about his person. It was the same kind of magic Isira held, but it was different; colder. A sharp tang like pickle juice tinted his 'aura'. Leslie watched the two for a moment, until Isira gave him a flat expression.

"Now, what are we doing. . ." Isira strolled towards the looming double doors as if the place belonged to Her, She reached for the handle and spared a look at Leslie. A little smile graced Her features. "We're going to get that armor back, you're going to become a legend and I'll show you just how egalitarian I can be."

"B--" Her voice died when Isira threw open the doors on a bustling lobby; card games, dice, multi-colored wheels-- all of it flanked a massive central carpet depicting a cat's paw. A stage ringed the entire length of the pit with twirling women showing off more skin than most whores did in a day of working. The air was choked with the smells of lust and alcohol, and cheap beef. It set Leslie's mouth watering. Hunger pangs wiped away her concern and for just a moment she considered approaching the bar.

Isira sauntered in at a lead, ignoring the man's pointed look her way. She lead them to the bar, past the caravan crew. A couple made attempts to cop a feel and some part of Leslie actually derived some sort of thrill from the contact. Even the thought that attention was being paid to her was a new and vaguely unfamiliar feeling.

It was still creepy, but it was more attention that she'd received in years. She glanced back. Sure enough, she was getting eyed. Maybe even a cougar could be considered attractive in a place like this. "Heh."

"What can I do for you, miss?" The bartender cut off her musings. Leslie looked to see his attention was focused on her rather than Isira who'd parked Herself on a stool a few feet away. "We have--"

"Food. Do you have any food?" Leslie fished in her purse for the gold. "I could eat a rabbit, lucky foot and all."

"Rabbit, then? Think we can do that--"

"Just- whatever you've got ready to go." She slapped down one of the coins. "Some water too, please."

The bartender's brows furrowed as he examined her coin, then glanced at her. A sudden uneasiness came over him but he gave her a polite smile. "Steak and water for the grey eyed beauty. As you wish, ma'am." With that, he went into the back room and a younger girl took his place, no older than twelve with a bow tied in her hair. She smiled up at Leslie, holding up both hands with her dress sliding down her forearms.

Leslie arched a brow.

The girl turned her hands one way and the other to show them empty, then she made a quick motion with her left, her right. She spread her hands and laid them on the bar, sliding them together and gently raising them to reveal three stacks of wooden red chips-- about sixty in all. She must have assumed the gold was meant for the tables and her meal. Leslie grinned and tipped the girl a few from the stack.

Even if she didn't get her gold back, it was worth it just to see her smile. Leslie had plenty to spare and Isira seemed to think this was the right course of action. . . Even if She had already started assuming Leslie would just follow Her blindly. As she saddled a stool next to Isira she turned over one of the chips, frowning.

Isira laid her hand on Leslie's shoulder, "You're putting too much thought into this."

"That's not helping," she glanced at the goddess. "You--" How much could she really afford to say? Would she upset the one being capable of taking her eyesight away again? Hell, was she even in the right to question powers greater than herself? She was, dammit. "I can't thank you enough for—"

"I wouldn't."

"Huh?"

Isira nodded to the bartender who was returning from the back room with her food and drink. Leslie took them with a smile and immediately started tearing into the steak, downing it with hearty swigs of water; liquid perfection by any other name couldn't have been as sweet. To her surprise, Isira waited for her to sate her weak little needs. She even offered a polite smile at Leslie's dubious look.

"So you probably have some questions." The ravishing beauty leaned towards Her paladin, Her hand sliding down the mortal's back, cupping her hip in a way that suggested questions weren't the only thing on Her mind.

Leslie lowered her voice so as not to sound insane in case no one else could see the goddess. "Yeah. Questions. . . . Why're we here?"

"I told you. To get your armor."

"But-- why would it be here? This place is buzzing with magic, isn't it?" She frowned a bit, noticing for the first time that her perception had dulled slightly, her mind felt vaguely muddled and thinking was a little harder than it should have been. "I can feel it. Something's not right here."

"Mmhm."

"So are you going to tell me about it or do I have to guess?"

Isira raised a brow at her, scooted nearer and pressed Her body close. "Think of this place like a vault, not something I'm particularly fond of, but I suppose We all have our eccentricities."

"We?"

"Hm? I suppose you'd call them immortals, but it seems a far cry from what We actually are." Isira flashed a catty grin. "Time has a way of distancing you from the every day mundanities of life and even sometimes from life itself. You start looking for something to occupy your interest. . ." Isira's gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary and she gave Leslie a quick squeeze. "Don't be offended, dear. I'd never hurt you."

Leslie cradled her mug, suddenly aware of just how insignificant she really was. She'd been given the miracle of sight again only to serve Isira's ends, it hadn't been an act of mercy or some fleeting divine grace, it was a calculated decision; she was a tool. She glanced at the goddess.

Isira was smiling a little.

"So you get what you want either way."

"I tend to," She said without any modesty. "But what I want tends to be the well being of others. Like you. You may find it hard to believe, but I loved watching you cry in my arms-- it made me feel alive again."

"I don't like being used--"

"I've been nothing but upfront with you, young lady. Don't get self-righteous on me, everything you do is for a good purpose and I'll have no harm come to you if it's within my power to prevent it. We're partners in an endeavor that will spread freedom to millions of lives-- the world will never be the same because you came this way, and I. . . .will be a footnote to your magnanimous glory."

Leslie went quiet, staring openly at her goddess, wondering how much she could actually believe. It occurred to her she really didn't care-- even being here like this beat the hell out of sitting in her house staring into the darkness. And yet. . . something felt _wrong_ about this entire situation.

Not for the first time, Isira laid her hand on the older woman's shoulder and, with a soft smile, whispered. "I want you to see and do what I cannot. . . .I _need_ you. We _all_ need you."

"W- Why? I'm no one special."

"You are to me or I wouldn't have come to you." Those bright eyes swirled, teasing, inviting. Timeless. Dangerous. "Now let's make this a time to remember."

"What happens if--" Isira stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"Failure happens, don't be afraid of it. But right now, in this moment, I need my paladin."

Leslie blinked. "I-- W- What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to play a game of cards." She said simply.

"Oh, is that all?" Leslie turned her gaze away feeling like she was going to throw up.

#

Leslie walked a circuit around the lobby to see what games were being played before she chose a Blackjack table with an older man behind the cards and a couple caravan workers parked on its stools. It was messy with smatterings of chips and cards splayed widely, several mugs punctuated the scarred wood deck and no one seemed terribly sober.

It was probably the best she had any right to hope for given the situation.

When she took a seat the dealer gave her a polite smile. Not the wolf smile she'd expect from someone tasked with emptying peoples' pockets, but rather a polite one. She returned the smile, stealing a glance at the rule sheet tacked up beside him. Not knowing what else she could do to stall and sensing Isira's gaze upon her, Leslie slid the two chip 'buy in' in front of her spot and waited for him to finish the current hand.

As if from nowhere-- and it really was from the ether, Leslie surmised-- Isira loped from the corner of her vision and invited Herself to sit at the last stool. "May I take this seat? I promised my friend I'd be there for moral support. It's her first time playing with such high stakes." She smiled to the older man. Every eye in the house suddenly turned to Her and Leslie was sure not all of them were kind-- Isira outclassed any of the prostitutes working here and She wore even less than they did but She wore it infinitely better than they could've hoped to.

To his credit, the dealer didn't even break stride as he finished out the current hand by rote and gave the ravishing goddess the same polite smile he'd given Leslie. "Make yourself at home, the buy in is two chips."

The men on her right none too subtly ogled Her and then, to Leslie's surprise, actually started to murmur about what they would like to do to her. Leslie drew in a breath, closed her eyes and let it out in a long sigh. A brief flicker of indignation sparked deep inside but she let it go. She was here for a higher purpose, after all--

And it wasn't the first time she'd heard that kind of talk.

Being blind had taught her a lot about being invisible, when it was appropriate and when it was best to hide among groups. This was the former. Head down, watch the deck and pray. As if by reflex Isira slid an arm around her shoulder as the dealer drew cards for all of them.

Counting cards was like starting a knitting project in the middle of the garment, as it had been explained to her by her husband. He'd tried to make the connection so they'd have some kind of common ground to start from; she'd gone along with it to keep the peace, but when his card had been drawn and hers along with it, she'd found herself bitter and angry at the very idea of gambling. . .

Now? How could she have said no to her goddess? The very being who'd given her sight again, asked only that she try and had accepted, hell, embraced her failings? Leslie dampened her lips as her first card was laid out-- a seven of hearts. The men at the table received a two of clubs, six of diamonds, two of diamonds and a three of hearts.

Leslie racked her brain for what she could remember of David's lessons. Sevens, eights and nines had no value in a count, two through six added to it, face cards removed from the count and so did aces, so the starting tally was four. Without knowing how many decks were in play, she could only guess what the actual count was, but even guessing there were two decks, that still left her with a positive two count. . .

When the second card came, Leslie frowned. Another two of diamonds.

Definitely two decks, then. At least. She glanced at Isira out of the corner of her vision to see the goddess looking at the cards with mild disinterest, but something in Her demeanor had shifted-- surely She'd seen people do this a million times before, but something in Her gaze held curiosity and maybe-- just maybe-- amusement.

Once the other cards were dealt out, Leslie drew a shaky breath and tapped her cards. "Hit, please." The count was reasonably high as it was, which meant she'd probably get a middling card anyway.

"Another for the lady." The dealer smoothly laid another card face down beside hers. Two of the others hit as well. She checked her cards; a six. A total of fifteen. Not quite twenty one, but it was close enough.

"Bust. Fuck." One of the men said. "Oh, sorry, don't mean to be rude like." He gave Isira a halfhearted smile. "It's been a long ride."

"I'm sure it has! Think nothing of it," the goddess smiled warmly. "I suspect any ride worth taking is going to be a hard one, but anything is made more bearable when shared with friends, isn't it?"

The man eyed her a moment and chuckled. "Guess so." Some of the other men laughed with him. "So how about you, then? Enjoy a hard ride?" As an afterthought he added, "with friends?"

Leslie stopped paying attention to the banter, even though she could tell Isira's replies were more sultry than they had any right to be. The dealer meanwhile flipped his cards to reveal a strong eighteen and collected everyone's chips. Leslie ran the math quickly from what she could see of everyone's cards and came out with a new count of five across two decks. So five, divided by two and rounded down. Two. So the deck was hot. . .

This could be good. She stepped up her betting gradually across several more hands until it started sinking again. It wasn't quite second nature, but Leslie managed to hold her own through the hands and get her mental footing for how things were meant to go. It turned out that her husband's teachings hadn't been that far off. When the count was high, bet higher, when it's low be conservative. Simple concept, simple to execute. . . .and it was proving surprisingly successful. Not perfect, but she had managed to keep from losing too much money.

All the while Isira kept flirting back and forth with the men, always skirting the edge of outright obscene, She commanded their attention and their adoration through most of another six rounds. However by the time Leslie finally managed to get her pace, the goddess threw the entire table for a loop when she produced a ring and set it on the table in front of the dealer.

"I'd like to speak to someone about this. . ." She smiled.

The dealer kept going with his cards, not even sparing her a glance. "I'm sorry, miss, chips only at this table."

"Take a closer look."

He didn't. He finished out the hand and only when everything was settled out did he pick it up. His brow arched slightly and he eyed Leslie. "Are you sure?"

Leslie, mildly confused, stared for a moment. "Uh, yes? Yes, I am."

"I see." There was something in his inflection that made 'see' almost float from his lips.

"Do you?"

The older man turned the ring over a few times, contemplating. He then raised his free hand and set the ring back down between them. Leslie felt the tingle of magic spark from the surface of the polished gold as if someone had turned on a light. For some reason it made her uneasy, it was unnatural. . . .empty somehow. Unquestionably powerful but devoid of anything she'd call a 'soul' like she'd encountered with everyone else who seemed magically active. Even her gold had something going for it, but this was like a hole in reality.

A few seconds later a young woman with a tray of nuts and a skirt too short to be modest strolled over. "Something wrong, Mac?"

"Not at all, this young lady--"

"And my friend." Isira interjected.

"Of course, my apologies. Reserve a seat at Table Ten."

The young woman beamed. "Sure! Right this way."

Leslie glanced at Isira quizzically, but the goddess was already following the girl. Leslie glanced back at the table to see the men watching the two of them-- parts of them, anyway. They followed the servant into the back of the pit, through a velvet curtain and down winding stone stairs that bored right into the heavy rock. It was immediately cooler but by the time they hit the bottom step the air was positively alive with the warmth and taste of summer rain.

It was magically induced, but it dulled her senses and relaxed her mind somewhat. It was intoxicating, smooth and heady like incense that for the soul. In the middle of the rectangular room was a table with three extraordinarily wealthy looking men sat at it. Two less wealthy, but still privileged men sat at the other side leaving one stool in the middle. By their boots and trousers, they had the look of the caravan guards-- probably its owners. Isira prodded Leslie forward, ignoring her sour look.

The young dealer gave her an inviting smile, offering a place at the table for next game. A dozen small trinkets lay in the betting pools on the table, all of them had their own distinct magical sense about them, but none of them stood out like Isira's ring.

The only other item of any note was a strange piece of onyx sitting beside the dealer and silently radiating its own smokey magical signature that seemed to be ignored by everyone but the dealer who seemed to have an intrinsic understanding of what the items were and doled out appropriate value for each of them.

"Nice to see a new face," the oldest man at the table offered. "May I offer you two a drink?"

"I'd not want to impose." Isira smiled.

"It's no trouble, please, allow me the honor of serving such beauty."

"What he means is put on your best leather boots," One of the other men offered with a wry smile.

"Hmph."

Isira chuckled, sliding her hands over Leslie's shoulders and massaging them lightly. Leslie took several deep breaths, trying to refocus her mind against the strange magical haze in the room.

"Are you quite all right?"

"Fine, fine. . . I think I may have had too much to drink upstairs," Leslie lied.

"Oh, heavens! You poor thing, how could you drink that swill?"

Isira cut in with a gentle laugh, resting her chin on Leslie's skull. "Sometimes we do strange things for the sake of our own amusement, but what a lovely sight it can make!"

A gaggle of polite chuckles and good natured ribbing followed, but Leslie barely heard it as she was dealt her hand. It occurred to her she hadn't placed her bet and so she set a stack of chips out.

Silence filled the room.

Leslie noticed that everyone had some kind of bauble on display-- most of them golden trinkets. With a swift apology she produced one of the coins Keiter had given her and set it down. The silence turned into a soft gasp--

There was no way she could smooth it over, so she didn't even try: "So I suppose this is what it feels like to be the cobbler's apprentice who doesn't know how to nail a shoe and winds up driving it into the wearer's heel. . ."

"You play a dangerous game, miss." The Drinker said softly. "Playing with Nightshade usually doesn't end well for anyone involved."

Leslie frowned. "I'm out of things to play, then, and the game hasn't even started."

"It's okay," the dealer smiled politely. He had the same hazy far away expression of the man upstairs, even though he was maybe half the age. "Dragon's gold or not, it's welcome here all the same."

"I'm not taking that with me if I win!" One of the men to her left said. "It brings nothing but trouble!"

"Then focus on losing," the Drinker said with a laugh. "We've a game to play."

It took Leslie a lot to focus herself enough to play the first hand but after six more she actually wound up with more than she lost and eventually pushed the two caravan goers out of the running. The dealer called a short break after they left to replenish his cards and clean the table-- a process which involved actual cleaning that swept away the lingering trace of magical energies from the winnings.

During the break Leslie and Isira were commiserating in a corner over a glass of cherry flavored water. Leslie massaged her temples waiting for her turn with the glass. The bartender was polite enough to give them space at least. "What's with this place?"

Isira downed the rest of her whiskey and poured herself another. "Hm?"

"My head is swimming. . ."

"Oh, that." She pouted her lips. "I imagine that's your sensitivity to magic growing."

"I never used to be--"

"Or you didn't think you were because you'd never encountered any."

"Okay, sure, but what's the deal with it? Can we make it stop? I've drunk myself blind and felt less clouded. . ."

Isira arched a brow at her, "You drank yourself blind?"

"Yeah, it was five year habit." She tried for a smile that felt more like a grimace.

"That's horrible." The goddess scoffed even as she offered a light hearted smile. "Maybe you should try a drink or two, then. Barkeep! Whiskey for my friend if you please?" When the bartender set the drink on the bar, Isira slid it over to with a grin. "Go on."

"So no black humor?" Leslie frowned. "I was kidding, I really don't drink."

"That's a shame," Isira plucked the glass and downed the drink. She didn't even flinch. "I enjoy a good licker."

The two women stared at one another, Leslie pondered the meaning of her patron's words but rather than dwell on them, she looked for something to sate her curiosity. "Can I ask you something?"

"Else, you mean?"

"Else, yeah. . . .can I ask what was up with the door man? Did you know him or something?"

"You noticed that," She said mater-of-fact. "Suffice it to say Elisandra and I never saw eye to eye, Her followers are well aware of that fact." Isira downed another drink.

"Elisandra? Isn't-- She's the uh. . . .the Guide? I heard someone mention Her in passing forever ago."

"Close enough." Isira pounded another down as if it was water. "She had very specific opinions about Her own role when it came to things. Her cherubs are even worse."

Leslie could hear the faint undertone of loss in the goddess's voice, as though she was memorializing a friend She no longer looked up to but resented. She was just about to comment on it the dealer called her over to continue the game. Regretfully, Leslie wandered back.

Six more hands passed with the dealer taking a heavy loss, Leslie's confidence surged as she finally patterned out how the deck was going to feed cards-- not so easy considering there were five decks in play by her estimation.

She bet high, she gave the appearance she was playing recklessly and pretended to be affected by the alcohol she hadn't touched. It wasn't just being able to see, it wasn't the winning or the draw of magic any more; she had a goddess hanging off her shoulder, urging her on with every card they laid down. She had this entire thing wrapped tight around her finger.

The dealer reshuffled the deck, twice, but Leslie was already sitting beside most of the betting pool and the competition was dropping quickly. The Drinker was the next to bow out when he had no more heart to lose his baubles. He was a gracious loser, though, offering everyone at the table a round of drinks once the game was concluded.

Isira leaned close and placed Her chin on her minion's shoulder. Leslie could still feel the tug of Her interest and desire, warmed by alcohol, pulling at her soul. Almost as if Isira was hoping she'd lose. But that wasn't right, was it? Surely She didn't drag Leslie out here for the sake of a joke. . .

But then, what _was_ she supposed to be learning from this?

"And dealer folds. . . The lady wins again."

"Mrrrrr." Isira purred, looking up at the dealer. "First to bet, first to bed, hm?"

"Or," a voice rumbled from the darkest part of the room; a deep baritone that sounded faintly gravely and a little groggy. "Mayhap the lady enjoys a cheat, daring against hope it's my odds she'll beat."

Isira tensed slightly. Leslie felt a flare of a new magical presence enter her periphery-- a sharp, hot tang that warmed her senses like a pepper and felt every bit as powerful as the goddess beside her. Unlike Isira's sultry invitation, though, this new presence was exotic and potentially dangerous.

"Ah, but that would be rather boring _and_ rude!" Isira said cheerfully. "Were she willing to cheat, it woudln't reflect very kindly with her otherwise pure attitude."

A rumbling chuckle resonated within the room. "The table is closed-- the woman may stay. You" the voice seemed to be addressing the man at the table as well as the staff, "may go."

Only the gambler seemed interested in protesting: "Now see here, that necklace belong to my grandmother-- I would win it back--"

"You would do no such thing. You've not won a hand all night, I've tolerated your presence because it amused me but the night is over and it's time you left."

"But--"

"Be so kind as to excuse yourself, young man. It's not polite to overstay your welcome." Isira said coolly. She flashed a smile at his glare. Instead of leaving, though he grabbed the entire deck of cards, he swept them into a bundle and started to shuffle them. "What _are_ you doing?"

The man grabbed the stool next to Leslie, his steely eyes boring into her. "Give me the chance to win it back, then I'll go and you will never hear from me again--"

"No." The rumbling voice said firmly from the embrace of shadow. "Unless you wish to tempt my ire, I suggest you take this opportunity to _leave_."

"But, my--" was as far as he got. He looked to the sound of the voice and his eyes widened. Leslie didn't have a chance to see what'd cause his reaction before she was trying to catch him from falling off his stool. He slipped from her hands and bolted for the stairs leaving her confused.

"Bye, have a great time!" Isira said lazily, turning to the shadow. "So then there were two."

"Two by three, if you were to challenge me, will we add the cards and divide the suits, and see that your luck isn't blind at its roots?" The rumbling voice eased closer to the veil of shadow, echoing in Leslie's chest. "But do you think you've it in you, mortal? I am not so easily deceived by your reckless betting and your false drunken chortle."

Leslie squinted against the gloom, trying add a face to the millions of visages her mind was conjuring up for the person in the shade. They were shorter than the average human male, maybe up to her chest, but that kind of resonating voice sounded as if it belonged to someone much more powerful than it had any right to be. She licked her lips, stole a quick glance at Isira and then said the first thing that came to mind. "The poet calls, raises, folds and bluffs, but. . . uh. . . Stuff?"

Silence.

"Great job, brain." Leslie pinched the bridge of her nose. "So, I'm not a poet. I don't pretend to be, but I came here looking for-" she felt Isira's presence press on her like a bookcase falling down. In seconds she couldn't speak, so powerful was the goddess's influence over her own mind. From some distant part of her own subconscious, she heard her own voice say: Looking for a good game! Seems I found it, even if my wordplay by comparison can be quite tame." Isira capped the display of power off with a glance and eased back until Leslie was herself again.

She barely had time to feel out her own senses once more-- the process felt like extremities gaining their feeling after being numb-- before the inky darkness slid back to reveal the speaker and, the seamstress guessed, the casino's host.

" _Oh. Shit. . ."_

# Chapter 3: Things Unexpected

" _There are three lessons I would wish the world to start learning before asking anything of those who answered the siren's call of a deity, and in my delusional, naive mind those would be taught from an early age; humility, respect and pity._

Clerics must die to even have the opportunity to become servants of their god-- which is why so many temples have what even an army would consider an insane rate of attrition-- yet, usually by direction of their god or the senior clergy, they give themselves to the world to spread their patron's message. Unfortunately this unending life of servitude is not predicated in the same way one learns a trade. There are no training periods, there is no retirement and most clerics die unacknowledged and forgotten long after their friends and family have already passed away.

Paladins have it marginally better. Marginally."

_Etesa Blain, Paladin of the Dreamer,_ Alaecon

Letters from the Gods Volume 2

The creature that stepped out of the shadow was indeed up to Leslie's chest level; he had a powerful chest with vaguely humanoid facial features and a feline body protected by folded feathery wings the color of ivory. His deep brown fur and sun kissed human skin only added to his air of otherworldly exoticism. Compounding this creature, this sphinx's visage were the lines of his face that made him seem more human than he should have.

A sphinx. A real sphinx! Leslie's heart clench as she stared at the creature. Then she saw the sphinx's paws-- his dagger-like claws flexed out as he padded into the room lazily and swiftly retracted before he took his rightful place at the dealer's stool. With surprising dexterity he piled up the cards into a deck and started to work them over masterfully. "You play a dangerous game, girl. Fortunately for you I am not inhumane, but at my table we do not bet with gold and pearl, lives are won and lost at the fall of the cards-- do you still wish to remain?"

The proud feline creature gave her a smug grin as he cut the deck several times, never taking his eyes off her. Isira's presence pressed on her a little but it was reassuring more than imposing. Leslie had the backing of a goddess. One that believed in her. With a slight uneasiness, she picked up a piece of draconic gold and slid it forward. "What do you say to a friendly warm up, first?"

He scoffed, offended. "You bring Nightshade to my velvet and have the nerve to ask me for leniency? I am no mere mortal, girl, do not be so foolish to think I'd take it even on the remotest chance I lost." He set the deck between them and held it down with a massive paw. "Gaze, mortal and know that mine will be the face that seals your fate. Smiling as I take from you what I wish. . ." He let up on it.

"Okay, first all--" Leslie reached for the deck. "T-- That's incredibly, incredibly, creepy." She shuffled the cards anew, not doing anything to hide her concern. Whether it was true or not, she still played what she hoped would be her first wildcard. "Don't think I didn't see you stacking the high cards on top-- you're going to call me a cheat with an act like that?"

"How dare--" He started. Leslie just happened to be that much quicker, though, she slung three cards from the deck, face up to the table. Of course she'd slipped them from various places in the deck, but if he couldn't tell, she sure wasn't about to. A lifetime of sewing had made her hands agile, but fear of being devoured and gods given confidence made her brave enough to try it. The cards came up as the ace of hearts, three of clubs and king of spades.

Isira giggled and clapped a couple times. "Now, that's very untoward!"

The exotic sphinx narrowed his eyes at Leslie and for a moment she saw not just the flicker of ageless power in those feline irises, but the subtle kind of amusement that novelty brought. Despite possibly being centuries old his human upper body could have passed for someone in his thirties-- the strong jaw and well cut muscles certainly helped that illusion. Then there was his laugh.

It was sharp and kind of higher pitched, but friendly and lingering, almost infectious. He laughed from a place of real amusement and it made him seem somehow more human. "Very well! Two hands for gold neither of us will spend-- by which game to be I leave to you as a courtesy."

"Now hold on--" Leslie glanced at Isira, wondering how much she could push without the goddess trying to take her over again. She chose caution over trying to be fancy. "What kind of stakes are we actually talking about here?"

The proud creature let his gaze linger on the little mortal, smug satisfaction crossing his tanned features. "We will play to your strengths, naturally! I'm nothing if not magnanimous, you need not bet anything you're not prepared to give up. . ."

Leslie frowned as she rolled the piece of magic onyx around in her palm. Some part of her could feel the wispy smoke like nature of whatever magic the stone contained. It molded around her fingers this way and that as if looking for release by her touch and when Leslie acknowledged it she could feel it push that much more to be free of the stone. Unfortunately no answers were forthcoming.

A glance to Isira for some sort of guidance was met with a placid, glazed smile. The brilliant eyes that looked back at her were amused at their own private joke, likely at Leslie's expense. No, she was on her own with this. "So," she ventured. "do you mean to have me in a maid outfit and cat ears cleaning your casino? It seems to me like you have enough whor-- uh-- employees to keep things clean." She set the deck between them. "Let's play blackjack."

He swept up the cards with a flourish of his clawed hand. "It seems to me like we have our first offer, then! Dispensing with the 'warm up' and straight to the game, I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid of a little shame. . ." He flicked a card to her deftly, holding her gaze the entire time, daring her challenge. With surprising grace he turned over another card for her-- the king of spades.

Leslie looked at her cards. A six of clubs and the king, the sphinx had a nine sitting face up giving her a running count of zero-- Not terrible, not something she couldn't work around. "Hit, please."

"Are you so sure? That seems like a dangerous bet given what you think you know, isn't it?" He smiled playfully, crossing one paw over the other. He spared Isira a glance, drawing in a long slow pull of the air as if savoring the moment. Or maybe it was just Leslie's uneasiness. "I won't hold it against you if you want to retract that-- the first one's on the house."

His gambit worked. Leslie second guessed herself, she checked her cards and mulled it over for a second. "Y- Yes. Hit me."

Their host chuckled playfully and flicked her another card; a six of hearts.

"Mrrrr, I did try to warn you!" He chuckled.

Leslie frowned.

She didn't know it at that moment, but she'd just set the tone for what was to be the rest of the evening. They played another dozen hands in which the sphinx steadily accumulated more of her winnings-- he took great pains, and no small amount of amusement in watching her squirm when he'd arbitrarily shuffle the deck midway through. It made maintaining a count virtually impossible.

He'd found her trick and easily turned it against her, all in the name of fairness. At least in theory.

Fuck fairness. Leslie wanted to cheat, to win and get this armor so Isira could have something to be proud of-- she owed the goddess that if nothing else. If she could get it without getting killed, so much the better. Isira had to have heard her thoughts, right? Surely a goddess could do something to skew the odds in their favor. . .

But Isira didn't. She didn't lift a finger unless it was attached to the hand She used to raise Her tumbler of whiskey to Her lips. Was She insane? Did She care that little about Her new 'paladin'? Or was She expecting some last second miracle would spare them both from whatever the sphinx would do to them given the chance?

Maybe. . . Just maybe She wanted to see what he'd do to them.

Isira chuckled, downing another drink. Her glass clunked down in time for Leslie to go bust on another hand. "Shit." She reluctantly slid the onyx across the table.

"Now where is the sport in this?" The sphinx chided lightly. "Faced with challenge and you fold, but you've still not left my table! I wonder if it is the sign of someone who has unerring confidence--" he poked the air with a card. "Or some one who has a problem."

That stung. Leslie glanced away, uttering the same thing she'd heard her husband say time and again. "I can quit when I want to. . ." Of course that was a complete lie. She was going to die at this table. Metaphorically if not literally. "Another hand--"

"With what stakes! I've taken most of your baubles, you offer nothing I could not have from a million different--"

"Then we'll play for my affections." Isira proclaimed boldly. "I will offer myself as the wager."

There was a pregnant pause as the gamblers looked at one another. Neither seemed sure what to make of the offer. Surprise flickered over the sharp feline and human features of the sphinx. A low rumbling purr reverberated in his throat while he drank in Her visage. For a moment, Leslie thought she could imagine all the different things he was imagining for Her. He tapped his claw against the table forming a little crater in the soft wood. "For how long?"

The goddess didn't bat an eye. "Until we get bored." Coming from Her, that was probably something akin to an eternity. Leslie's heart clenched tight in her chest as the goddess looked to her, expectant.

"U- Uh. . ."

"Mrrrr, and what if I don't content myself with one of you--"

"I should be insulted! Do you know who I am?"

His gaze turned on Leslie. "I suppose. . . Mrrrm. Yes, this will do."

"Ah, mortality. The most pitiable state, really though, she is quite something to behold in her natural glory," Isira offered as she tied on another drink.

Torn between the sudden pressure and the leering attention of the sphinx, Leslie shrunk into herself a little, her confidence already crumbling under the weight of real demand. "Yeah, hi. Still here. Didn't become a piece of furniture."

"Hmph. So go on then, _paladin_ , let's see if you can beat me. . ."

"N- Now hold on! You want--" she looked to Isira helplessly "W- Why?!"

The goddess smiled and dotted Leslie's nose with a finger. She reeked of alcohol and the confidence it brought with it. "I think that's her accepting!"

"N- No, no, wait a second. What's your counter bet? I mean, a goddess is a pretty hard thing to top--"

The sphinx looked at her strangely indeed. After a moment a smile twisted his features into something distinctly human and Leslie almost forgot about the rest of him. "I'll offer you the secrets to magic and how it works. Everything you ever wanted to know about the real function and even where it came from." He gave Isira a pointed look. "Something even the gods have forgotten."

The goddess gave a passive smile and swirled her whiskey. "What a shame that must be."

Leslie's heart slammed into her throat-- stuck between the two immortals, she had almost no chance of actually winning, but she couldn't just walk away from the table either. Gods how had this gone so wrong so quickly? She rubbed her knuckles together, frowning and wondering just what would come from her mouth when she opened it.

It felt as if someone was pushing Leslie's voice from her throat while from the other end an invisible cord pulled the words out one syllable at a time. She imagined it like someone flossing her insides with chain. "All right, I'll take that bet."

The sphinx crossed his paws, looking at her smugly with the deck of cards looming between them like an obelisk. His exotic eastern features were comfortably neutral but his eyes held nothing but amusement. "Are you so sure, little mortal?" He rumbled. "Would you be so quick to place this bet over mere scraps of paper?"

"Ngh--"

"She has and she'll do so again," Isira swirled her drink, smiling all the while. "Now, play the hand! The peanut gallery is restless."

Leslie stared at her patron in horror. She imagined Her flawlessly beauty set upon by the massive creature and her stomach clenched involuntarily. It wasn't just the fact that Isira was a goddess, but that She'd been so willing to offer Herself up as the sacrifice over a hand of cards?! Was She utterly mad?! The armor wasn't worth it, was it? A bauble, a piece of equipment that surely could've been made again or purchased!

But for her part in it, Isira didn't offer apology or even seem concerned, She watched Leslie with unwavering confidence, apparently expecting that she knew what she was doing. As the sphinx dealt the cards, Leslie held her breath.

A ten of clubs; negative one.

A five of hearts for the sphinx; positive one.

A running deck count of zero.

He dealt the other cards face down, all the while watching the mortal with a smug grin. Leslie's hand trembled as she moved to check her card. A four of hearts-- another positive meant a low running count, but four cards out of fifty two didn't give her a good sample or even a reasonable enough guess as to where the deck was.

"No blackjack. What a pity." The sphinx said lightly as he dealt himself a card. A two of spades. It pushed the deck count up to plus two. Not quite high, but enough to take a chance. Leslie tapped the table twice.

"Hit, please."

A two of diamonds. She had a deck count of plus three and sixteen in her hand. . .

The two players looked at one another, the sphinx's expression was impenetrable and Leslie was positive she could feel her forehead beading with sweat. The feline creature casually slid another card from the deck to his hand and smiled as he turned it over to reveal a four of spades. That left eleven on the table, and-- Leslie was sure-- a low card sitting face down, since he hadn't busted.

Another hit was dangerous, with a deck count that high it was likely the face cards would be coming up soon-- given her small sample size, anyway. Or an ace. But sixteen. . . Sixteen wasn't going to win her anything. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her fingers to tap the table for her card.

Isira stopped her.

The goddess's hand was cool and gentle, like a spring breeze. The whisper that crossed her lips was anything but; She touched Her pouted lips to Lesslie's throat. "Let this go." She purred in a sub-vocal tone that reverberated through Leslie's very being. "You've lost."

"W- What?" Leslie said aloud. "No--"

"Problem?"

"Ho-- No. No problem." The older woman checked her cards again, casting a glance at Isira out of the corner of her eye. She had to have seen what Leslie had, there was no way She couldn't have. With the card count running as it was, asking for another card was a calculated risk, sure, but it was a manageable. She wasn't just going to throw in the towel like that, was She?

Isira's gaze betrayed nothing as she smoothly withdrew Her hand. Her command was clear. Throw the hand.

This had to have been a test of some kind. Leslie was being tested, yes. There was no other conceivable reason why she'd be ordered to lay down her one chance at keeping them both from becoming slaves and play things.

Unless She wanted to be one. . .

" _Fuck that."_ Leslie tapped the table.

The sphinx flipped the card over and flicked it her way.

Even before it landed Leslie felt her body cry out involuntarily. "No!"

The bold face of the queen of spades stared back at her from its paper backing, the dull eyes boring into her accusatory and unblinking. The sphinx didn't hesitate to slide his card out and flip it over-- salt in the wound; he had a four of diamonds for a total of fifteen. She'd won! She'd won and-- "Oh gods."

"Well, that's rather unfortunate. . ." The sphinx cant his head just slightly, eyes watching Leslie with amusement and a faint trace of pity. "Don't concern yourself too deeply; many have come to me only to leave empty handed! Be thankful your short, antiquated life is yet yours to live-- by my magnanimity you can spend your days. . . .farming or whatever it is you silly people do these days." He shooed her on. "Go on, before I change my mind."

"B- B-" Leslie took her head in her hands, grey eyes staring at the table. Gods was this how her husband had felt when he knew he'd lost. She looked to Isira, trying to stammer out something, anything that would stop the events she knew were to come. "B-"

Isira smiled warmly, "You've no plans to act untoward, I trust?"

"Naturally! I am no baser monster! I play for sport and enjoyment, and collecting!" he stopped himself when the goddess shot him a look. "Now, now, don't give me that look. The last paladin to cross my path came in here sword drawn, shouting about striking me down. It was scaring my patrons! A fine young man, but he made a poor choice." He swept his gaze to Leslie with a new appreciation, smiling a little catty grin. "I like you, though. You've a way about you."

"She does!" Isira downed the rest of her drink, smiling. "Maybe it's a new perspective, new eyes you might say." The goddess slid the glass towards Her soon to be captor calmly, with a bright smile She sprung from her stool and leaned over looking the sphinx in the eye, smiling as if nothing in the world could possibly upset Her. She traced a finger from his ear, following his his proud jaw to his chin and chuckled when he leaned in ever so slightly. "Mmm, but maybe she needn't see what-- or who's-- to come."

He blinked away the spell Her presence had on him and cast a glance at Leslie. "You may leave whenever you so chose so long as it is within the next few beats of my heart--"

"N- Hold on! What about another hand? Double or nothing?" The older woman belted out her plea without thinking, she edged towards the table peripherally aware of the tug of the onyx's magic and it's place in the mess of trinkets. A plan was already forming. "W- Please, I'll offer myself in Her place. I can clean and sew, I--"

"Mrrrrrr." The sphinx's gaze roamed Leslie unabashedly. He didn't break away from Isira's touch but he fixed her with a firm look from the edge of his vision, smug to the last. "I would enjoy nothing more, but I am not greedy. Nor should you be! Few stand in my presence, drink my alcohol and test my patience quite as you have and see my illustrious smile without a claw between us. . . Now leave."

Leslie inched her way up to the table and swallowed. "F- Fine, but can I at least hug her once more?"

He gave her another strange look. "Ever trying, these mortals." The massive creature hopped down from his stool with a soft thud. With his attention temporarily divided, Leslie played her last card; she grabbed up the gem and focused her will into releasing whatever was inside. She smashed it on the stone flooring. It exploded with a tremendous roar spraying thick grey clouds in every direction, choking the air with billowing clouds of gas.

Leslie grabbed Isira's arm, turned. There were twenty steps and they'd be free. She oriented herself towards the door and surged forward towards their freedom-- only to be yanked back and thrown off her feet, slamming into the ground hard enough to rip the air from her lungs. "Unf!" She wheezed in the pit of soot and smoke. Eyes watering with pain and disorientation she painfully rolled over on to all fours only to find the sphinx melding from the smoke so they were nose to nose.

They stared at one another.

His eyes went from their normally round and human appearance to thin slits devoid of any warmth or compassion they might've held. He exhaled a chuff of a breath letting loose a string of acrid smelling smoke that had collected in his nose. A soft growl rumbled in his throat but when he spoke, his voice was terrifyingly clear. "We'll make a place for you, then."

# Chapter 4: Faults and Failures

" _There's are tricks that keep the world in balance, I think. In the same way one would run a good household by managing the finances, the cleanliness and safety, I imagine that the gods have a similar division of labor. Nowhere is this more evident than what they have chosen to represent themselves: Dreams, Creativity and invention, Birth and Death and the Pleasures both simple and complex._

Taken individually or missing any key component, I imagine life would be incredibly boring and we would suffer as a result. There are still wars, people still die of disease and some even take their own lives, but I suspect this has as much to do with our own shortcomings from what we've not yet learned as the world itself.

A family can make a home and still be unable to make their children behave, their children need to grow into adulthood and maturity over time. This process only comes with a lot of trial and error, but with a little guidance there are no limits on what can be accomplished.

It's my hope that by the end of this book you too will understand the difference between servile and service.

Jameson Lytel

Foreword to "A Practical Guide to Gods and Goddesses"

The sphinx plodded ahead of Isira and Leslie down a wide arch of a stair case that had formed as they walked through the shadow behind the dealer's table. It was a massive arch over what felt like a bottomless pit punched deep into rough hewn stone-- the platform the stairs melded into was wide enough to encompass a small village. Haloing the odd platform were hundreds of billboards hanging from chains anchored into the rock above. The billboards, each as wide as a house yet as thin as a few planks of wood, dangled proudly in the muted light depicting strange runes Leslie had never seen and people that looked slightly off to her. The features of the exceptionally painted models were slightly askew, with eye folds and impossibly white smiles that made them look exotic and vaguely inhuman to Leslie. The visage was made all the more unsettling by the age of the billboard's lettering and art: each one was faded a little but positively glowed with magic that felt like chalk and salt, preservation magic of some sort, maybe?

She scampered behind Isira casting uneasy glances around the massive room and occasionally to the goddess Herself as She followed behind at Her own pace. Gods what a dumb choice she'd made following Isira. For her vision, she'd lose her freedom? Was it really worth it? Another brief glance from the goddess reminded her that her thoughts were an open book to her patron. The goddess smiled a glassy reassuring grin.

Leslie was anything but reassured.

They padded across the platform into an only slightly narrower cave braced by what appeared to be tubular steel trusses that formed rows of supports leading through the rock itself. Unlike the landing platform, the 'hallway,' such as it was, joined the rock walls at the base but remained no less open; impossibly so, considering the size of the mountain Leslie had seen.

Putting aside the paradoxical nature of her surroundings, the haze of magic became thicker and thicker the further they walked, it was almost suffocating by the time they entered another chamber with a sharply angular roof and pillars punctuating it every few dozen feet. The pointed part of the ceiling was braced by more of the trusses and a stair case ended a corner of the room only to disappear into solid rock a few steps down.

The room was choked with all manner of magical items categorized and hung from the ceiling like display pieces in some anally retentive spider's web. Weapons dangled next to pouches and crystals, beside and behind them were rows of backpacks and more than a few brooms that were trying to sweep the floor just out of reach. The centerpiece of this bizarre soup of magical energy was an odder sight still.

In the middle of the room sat a low slung rectangular metal structure vaguely akin to a carriage with wheels made of metal and some kind of black leathery material. Its strangely curved windows were inserted so carefully into the frame they were nearly indistinguishable from the frame if not for the glow of purple light from the crystal that had lanced the vehicle's roof and buried itself in the riding compartment. The crystal was as long and thick as Leslie's entire body, radiating an incredibly powerful hum that tickled every sense she had and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

The sphinx plodded by casually without comment but Isira glanced at it and a brief flicker of recognition swept her features-- whether because of the strange vehicle or the crystal, Leslie couldn't tell.

The sphinx turned slightly, ruffling his wings loose before he motioned to an offshoot of the chamber. Isira prowled beside him with her hand occasionally brushing through his mane. As they approached the smaller chamber Leslie's heart sank a little. A slat cut into the rock left an opening for a waist high bar and gave her a glimpse at a fully stocked kitchen made of some kind of polished metal. Jars of varying sizes filled the shelves marked in a language Leslie had never seen before, oddly the same one on the billboards and even the side of the vehicle.

Isira leaned forward on the counter, peeking in. It wasn't just the sphinx's gaze drawn to Her perfectly curved butt, especially not when Her slip dress slid aside daring to reveal more of Her leg. Another inch and it would have left little to the imagination. . . The sphinx looked back at Leslie with a smug, knowing grin.

"I trust you can cook?" He said to Isira without regarding Her directly.

"Well, I suppose I could. . . .asking so politely how could I say no?"

The sphinx flashed a wicked grin and plodded off towards a door at the end of the hallway where a door opened up for him before he got near it. Seconds later she could hear some pleased humming coming from the open doorway. Leslie didn't think about it-- she ran for her goddess and grabbed Her arm.

"We need to go!"

"Why would I want to do that?" She plucked a green bottle from behind the counter and, seemingly from nothing, drew up a shot glass. She pulled the stopper on the bottle and poured herself a drink. "We've had to work quite hard to get here and," She cast a glance at the door he'd disappeared into, "I did mention we were here for a purpose, did I not?"

"Y- Wait." It clicked. "Wait, this was part of the plan?!" A smug grin was the goddess's retort. Leslie felt like she was going to throw up. "When were you going to tell _me_?! I thought I was-- okay, but-- but I thought we were supposed to be partners in this--"

Isira booped her on the nose, downed a drink and smiled.

"You're drunk. . . .you're _seriously_ drunk?"

"If only I was drunk _enough._ " The buxom woman tossed back another. "I had thought he'd display it proudly, the sniveling little tart." She reached for the bottle again.

Leslie grabbed her hand, "Hey, yeah. Uh. I don't want to crash your party but I don't have eternity to--"

Isira's eyes flashed a suddenly dangerous visage. Leslie drew back but it was far too late. Her patron's voice was like silver and steel. "This has little to do with _you_. We'll find the armor, you'll get the armor and be a big hero. . . .but right now I want to relax."

"F- Forgive me, uh. . . Sorry."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." She finished her drink, slid the bottle to the side and eased Herself into Leslie's personal space. " _Impress me._ "

"I--"

The sphinx emerged from his chamber triumphantly, "Found it!" He had an apron slung across his back with some kind of embroidery on it. As he got closer it became more evident; a pair of lips pouted out, some more of that strange writing and something that looked like a meat puck with grill marks on it. "For the lady of the house!" He announced proudly.

Isira plucked it from his back gently and held it up, then looked at him with a brow arched. "Kiss the meat? Aren't you a little old for puerile humor?"

He gave her a smug grin.

"Apparently little's changed since the last paladin crossed your path.."

"Only my fondness for them," the sphinx gave her a vague catty smile before he turned his attention on Leslie. "Now, come along!"

Leslie shared a look with her patron and, getting a dry smile in return, she followed behind her captor uneasily. That was, right up to the point where they came to another small treasure room. Her curiosity quickly turned to awe as she gazed upon lavish outfits made of silk, cotton and a hundred other fabrics she could only guess at. They gleamed with gold trim and lace filling the room with an amber glow, each outfit could have been worth a king's ransom on its own. . .

Then she saw the musical instruments. Hundreds of them strewn about the room haphazardly in every state of disrepair imaginable. Many of them were the kind of thing Leslie had never seen before but some of them she recognized, a flute-- though the silver accents on it seemed out of place and strange-- and a thing that she'd read about in an old adventurer's log. It was beautifully ornate and absolutely massive, meant to be worn around a person's body with a huge horn opening that sat near the musician's shoulder, a 'toobah' it'd been called in the books. Most of them were probably wind instruments from the mouthpieces that littered the ground around them. "Wow--"

He lead her in deeper, smiling all the while. "Try to contain your excitement!" The powerful sphinx strolled around her, deliberately brushing her side with his silky furred body. "Enjoy the hospitality until I decide what is to become of you--"

Leslie startled out of her fugue, "N- Hold on!" But it was too late, the door closed behind him and latched shut. She braced her hands on the door, shouting a curse that went ignored. She turned and slumped against the door, clutching her head in her hands. Gods could things have gone any more wrong?

Some paladin. Some fucking champion of faith. David had been right, she was never going to amount to anything, she couldn't handle life without him as it was, and now. . . And now a deity had dumped Her faith in her and she couldn't even do that right. One simple thing! Get the armor and get out!

Leslie let out a long sigh and hugged her legs to her chest, looking at the room over her knees. She should have been grateful she could see this sight, but all she wanted to know was how fast she could get away from it. She sighed.

Fat lot of good she was doing feeling sorry for herself, though. Leslie hauled herself up with the familiar aches of her body, casting a wary glance about. Strangely, the haze on her mind had lifted considerably. She actually felt _human_ again. Maybe it was metal door or some kind of warding or something.

Leslie glanced at the door and smoothed out her dress before she started rifling through the clothes looking for a hidden exit, hoping against hope something was concealed behind them, once between the fabrics she noticed a faint pull of magic.

She carefully fished for the source amongst the clothing, getting several scratches from heavy ornaments along the way. When she finally managed to pinpoint the source of the tingle she frowned. Tossed amongst the lavish displays of wealth sat a bundle of tawny velvet as plush as any cloud could have hoped to be, the dozen yards or so worth of magic fabric showed signs of neglect and had a very faint must to it, but the magic was undeniable.

It was a heavy feeling against her new senses that alluded to what the magic might have been-- where as the onyx had been wispy and airy, this was thick, heavy and inviting. Even holding it made Leslie vaguely tired but she fingered the cloth for a few moments as she looked at the rest of the clothing.

Everything in the room was specifically human oriented with long dresses trimmed with exotic riches and tunics designed to project an air of authority and power. . . .nobility oriented, in fact. Barring the occasional loin cloth trying to pass as dancer's attire. Leslie turned the velvet over in her hands. Given everything she knew of the sphinx, he was an arrogant one and yet none of this was for him. Why didn't he have something in here if it was just a closet?

She trailed her finger through the plush, focusing her attention on the sensation it produced until she was sure it wasn't just a fluke. When she pushed on it, the magic responded like leavened dough, parting and reforming anew and forming silky strands in her mind like the haze from the rest of the building. It was something she was quickly coming to associate with magical energy, a power that had a tangible effect and could be manipulated. . .

Manipulated.

Like she had been.

The seamstress eyed the bolt of fabric with new appreciation as an idea started to form.

#

"Hey!" Leslie slammed on the door some hours later. "Hey, someone!"

"That's not the magic word!" Isira said lightly. She sounded close. Leslie frowned. "Oh, come now. Sullenness does not suit you!"

"Can I come out now? You know, if I promise to behave?"

There was some soft murmuring before the sphinx's voice rumbled, "You forgot the magic word."

Isira giggled.

"Please? Maybe?" Leslie glanced at her project, dampened her lips and waited. "May I please come out? I'm not going to run. . ."

"Now why don't I believe you?"

"Well, let me ask you this: are you cold down here? Because I'm freezing and I know I'd prefer to be warm and stylish as opposed to one or the other." She waited a beat to let it sink in and draw his interest. "I found some fabric in here, enough that I can make you something fitting your. . . .exceptional physique."

Silence.

"I get bored easily!" she lied, "It was better to do something with my time than--" She cut herself off when the door unlatched and started to open. Isira was leaning against the sphinx with her arm around his shoulders in the way Leslie had seen hookers dangle off prospective clients. In her other hand was a wine glass full to the brim with red wine. Her eyes were warm and inviting, even now. . . It wasn't hard to see how he'd been so taken with Her.

The haze from the building's magic rushed over her in the next instant, muddling her thoughts in an instant and making it hard to focus. Leslie willed the fog away but it clung to her tightly, still she held to the wall and motioned back. "Uh, come in?"

"Go on, then. . ." The sphinx ruffled his feathers lazily, giving Leslie a faint smile. "Impress me, artist, for time slows little while the pedals of once vibrant youth grey and wilt during our processes."

"That's rather pretentious." Isira chided lightly as Leslie lead them in to the mock up she had made of the sphinx's body. Draped over it was a loose swath of velvet with pattern markings depicting where his wings would fit-- ornamentation she'd stolen from some gowns gave the chest area its own golden aegis, while a strip down the back accented the wing holes. All of it was held together by an easy to remove sash from a wine colored military uniform.

The two immortals looked at the rough 'sketch' of an outfit and then shared a look. When the sphinx's gaze turned to her, Leslie tensed. His proud, eternally youthful features contorted slightly before he spoke in a soft voice she wouldn't have expected. "Can we do something about the 'belt'?"

"Ah, sure. There are other clothes I can take things from. . ."

"Silver would suit me better," he tapped a claw on the aegis. "And contrast better."

"It would." She agreed. "But I didn't have any here. . ."

The feline creature gazed at her a moment and, seeming having made up his mind he brushed past her, leaving the door open as he disappeared into a side room. The two women waited for a moment in silence before Isira gave her a warm smile.

Leslie frowned. "You can leave at any time, can't you?"

"And miss this? Good conversation is increasingly hard to find, as are good drinks." She smiled as She took a pull from her wine glass. "Would you like some?"

"No, but if it's not too much to ask, maybe wiggle your nose and we appear outside? Is that too much to ask for?"

"Noooo, I don't think so." The pleasure goddess purred, eying the outfit thoughtfully. She stole another sip and went about moving some of the decorations around. "He'll like this, I think! You have a great eye for shapes--"

"Don't you mean you do? I mean, these are yours after all, right?" She motioned to her eyes.

Isira looked at her. "Don't. You would look beautiful with your lips like that in any other situation, but you're terrible at pouting! You take it entirely too seriously! Relax!" She threw an arm around Leslie's shoulder, leaning against her. "How long will it take to finish?"

"Relax?! Gods, I-- I mean." She sighed. How did one argue with a god? Their patron deity, especially. Leslie wiped her face, cupping her mouth and eying the outfit. "Maybe a few days? Not like I can do much else around here. . ."

"Perfect."

Just as she was about to ask what Isira meant, the sphinx strode in with a leather bundle tucked against his wing. Leslie took it and unfurled it. "Holy shit--" she gawked at the contents. "You could buy a country with all this silver. . ."

"All this conjunction over metals! It gets so tedious, but who am I to change the minds of mortals, woe! Woe be unto higher minds constrained by such basic motivators." He gave Leslie a cheeky smirk. "Will that do?"

"Uh-- Uh, yes?" She licked her lips. "I mean, of course, I'll get started at once-- but I'll need a needle and some thread--"

"I'll get it for you, worry not, my precious dove." He nudged her with his wing. "Would you like some food, too?"

"I-- Yes?"

"Good. What's the magic word?" He waggled his brow at her.

Isira groaned theatrically. "Come now, really?"

"I-- I don't know?"

"You'd better find out, then!" He started to turn, brushing against her thigh with his tail. "Its been around for eternity and is ever with queens, but doesn't stick around for kings. You can find it with the joker, but not the knight and no matter which land you conquer, it will never be found in a fight!"

Isira watched him go, shaking Her head with a faint smile. When She turned her head Leslie was staring at her. The goddess casually erased the distance between them and cupped her chin. "No one can make you what you were not meant to be, stop doubting yourself. . ." In Her eyes was a world of warmth and passion just waiting to be explored, daring the paladin-- the 40 something no one wanted anything to do with-- to turn away. Of course she wouldn't.

They'd come too far now to get what She was after. This was a test, _this_ was the lesson and the training all rolled into one. But what did her goddess have planned for her? She was too tired for tact or politeness, so she blurted out the first question that popped into her head. "You're killing me here. . . .what's with you two?"

Isira gave her a wry little smile. " _We_ created the sphinxes, you don't think they were born capricious and mysterious, do you? Rather a reflection of my own proclivities, I suppose." A tinge of sadness touched Her eyes but just as quickly it vanished. "They're more amiable than Cherubs, quite by design might I add."

"Sounds like a good friend to have if not for the whole kidnapping thing. . ."

"Therein lies the rub I'm afraid. At least for you. Inquisitive and vague can be a double edged sword. But I'm sure you'll figure something out, all you need is faith."

Leslie barked a rueful laugh. "You know, I was a disbeliever before I met your cleric, right?"

# Chapter 5: The Finer Points

" _The End of the World is thought of as the practical border between land and the domain of the divine, but to hear a sphinx speak of it, you'd be forgiven for doubting the common wisdom. Not because a sphinx-- itself a divinely inspired being-- is to be believed wholly, but because of the accounts of sailors who happened to wash up on the craggy and unforgiving shores opposite our 'End of the World'._

Few make it back, fewer still have stories to tell. But these are respected men of Estan's military and scrupulous, upstanding merchants who managed to independently verify each other's stories. Listening to the wonder and fear in their voice, it's no wonder this place is thought of as a place for the divine; surely no sane mortal would long survive the place they describe.

The most consistent features of these stories are the skies; not unlike the skies that roll over the Forgotten Lands to the south. These skies are tinged with purple crystalline flakes that swirl around lightning which will erase entire swaths of land in the blink of an eye, winds howl with an eerie groan and peace is absent from all but the deepest caves.

Many of the sphinx you will encounter are happy to tell you about their birth place, some even claim to know how it came to be that way but prying those secrets from their sharpened claws is an act of divinity itself. . .

None the less, we must ask and we must explore, for it is in our nature to do so."

Taey Hobart

Research Notes on the Nature of Divinity

True to his word, the sphinx brought her a pouch containing a bunch of sewing supplies of exotic and indiscernible nature. She'd never seen metal needles or thread as fine, but when it came to it they functioned as well as the bone needles she was used to and the thread was a joy to work with.

The door to her 'cell' was left wide open from that point forward and over the next few hours a steady stream of steamy high tempo music filtered in as she worked. It sounded exotic, a feast for the ears and the only thing that managed to drown out the haze ever tightening around Leslie's mind.

The two immortals would occasionally dance into view as she worked her needle and grab her attention thoroughly. The way Isira moved was unlike anything she'd ever seen before-- her voluptuous form flowed from one pose to the other; her hips would sway as her back arched and she reached for the ceiling, her body moving like a sidewinder across sultry desert sands.

A snake had a bite, too, though and it was clear the sphinx knew it. When Her mood would turn and She retook the lead, he had no choice but to back down. Her heel clacked loudly against the tile and her long leg brushed dangerously against the sphinx's jaw. He looked up to his mistress, his goddess. And he crouched down in submission.

Leslie's mouth hung open as she watched.

They stayed like that for a long moment as if either one would break whatever invisible spell they'd weaved if they dared move a muscle. The moment seemed to stretch on forever until the sphinx stood once more and boldly reached for the goddess's hand, taking it and kissing the back.

She didn't realize it at the time, but this mating dance became a recurring thing over the next day or so that followed. Leslie worked tirelessly to finish the outfit she'd started, all the while sliding ever deeper into the foggy high the magic was giving off. She'd never been much of a drug user, but the perpetual buzz made it incredibly hard to think. When she'd focus on the magic in her garment, however, she could find more intricacies in the way things connected, with every new cut and connection she made, the nature of it changed slightly.

It was no wonder everyone lusted after magic, life was positively dull without the kiss of its power. It was so easy to see why the sphinx hoarded these treasures, it made life worth living-- well, maybe not worth living but it certainly made things more interesting! Her pains had faded somewhat and if not for the rumbling in her stomach, Leslie was sure she'd have never known she was hungry. . . What other mysteries must it hold?

Leslie flexed her hands and inspected her work. The lines were crisp and tight with wonderfully lavish flourishes wherever seams intersected and openings were made, even before she applied the accents, this was unquestionably some of her best work. She smiled as she leaned back. How had she accomplished so much in so little time, though? Was it her eyesight making things easier?

"Come to think of it," Leslie mused. "How long have we been here?"

"A few days!" Isira appeared beside her with a plate and glass of wine.

Leslie startled. "Shit! Uh-- sorry."

Isira chuckled. "Here, I didn't make this so you could ignore me again-- eat something, you're beginning to worry me!" It was at that time Leslie noticed the goddess was wearing a saffron dress that clung to her like a second skin-- with a high collar and luxurious feather stitching motif it painted a striking contrast to her golden brown skin and made her hair all the more vibrant.

"Uh--" Leslie blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You've been ignoring us for days! You've not slept at all and I've barely heard a peep from you," Isira grinned as she wrapped an arm around Her paladin's shoulder and laid Her chin there, looking down. She sniffed. "Well, I suppose the bright side is that we don't need to see to a bath for you."

Days? No, it was minutes. Surely she was being messed with. "What- what happened?"

"You entered a trance. I've seen it happen a few times, but almost never for that long! You continue to make me wonder, perhaps you're more magically sensitive than I first thought." Isira prodded her with the plate. "But for now, I want you to eat something."

Leslie scarfed down her dinner but when it was all said and done, Isira's attention slid to the outfit. "My my, that has quite the interesting feel to it, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I. . . I don't know how to-- well, I think I do? But it's so hard to think! It's like I'm. . . .lost or something."

"Mmm. That happens sometimes--" she glanced back to check if anyone was listening. "It's the crystal, you see." Isira smiled. "Don't give me that look, it's been around longer than most of us were. You're probably a little dizzy, yes?"

"I-- Yeah."

"I figured. Don't worry, you're not going insane. It's a side effect of direct exposure-- you'll get over it in time. . ."

"Is- is that what was taken from you?"

A flash of irritation washed over Isira but she smiled at Leslie all the same, "Nope! It's been a terribly long time since I've even seen a crystal this close to the surface. I'm not terribly thrilled, but this is Elisandra's sphinx and, regretably, I can't change this place or I'd have moved it somewhere safer."

"Safer. . ." Leslie tensed. "Why do I get a sinking feeling about this?"

Isira chuckled. "It's safe enough. Elisandra taught Her little pet how to handle them safely, but there _was_ a time. Those crystals took from the world its only hope of a peaceful future. But that's before your time and largely irrelevant by now, isn't it?" She smiled playfully, resettling Herself around Her paladin in a manner that was as protective as it was enticing.

Without a thought Isira rested her chin on the mortal's shoulder, holding her close. "I miss those days sometimes, but we can't go back. . . .I tried once. Just to see if it could be done--"

"Should I be hearing this?"

"Would you rather I didn't?" She shot back. "If I can't confide in my own paladin, who can I talk to?"

Leslie glanced back, interlacing her fingers with Isira's as the goddess watched her. She betrayed nothing of the thoughts roiling behind Her eyes, but there was a vague sense of sadness about Her. Just as quickly as Leslie recognized it, though, Isira smiled warmly and kissed Leslie's neck. The seamstress scoffed. "You bring me into this mess and try to get me to forget about it with a couple kisses and some words?"

"Mrrrrrm," the goddess purred in her ear. "I'm still here too, now aren't I? It's not all about you." She poked Leslie playfully. "So tell me, what is this little garment you're working on and why are you being so brazen about it?"

"Huh? Brazen? But I was--"

"Just sewing it together? Please, dear, I know you've been manipulating its essence. You're quite lucky I managed to distract him from feeling it too! Though I doubt he could sense it considering how polluted this place is. But that piques my curiosity. . ." With those words Isira nuzzled against Leslie's neck, playfully toying with her stomach the entire time. "I'm not the only one being naughty here, am I?"

The closeness was an unfamiliar friend but Isira made it feel right and in no time at all Leslie slid back into the clutches of her patron, letting out the longest sigh she had in a very long time. Just being near someone lifted her spirits. Leslie laid her head on the goddess's shoulder and murmured, "I figured that the enchantment-- is it an enchantment?-- was designed to make someone sleep and you can feel it on the outside of the fabric. . . So I sewed it inside out and pleated it with some silk from a wine dress."

"Mmmmm." Lips grazed Leslie's throat. "But what will you do with it then?" She didn't sound surprised. "Have him put us to sleep? Surely not."

"What? No, that'd be kind of dumb-- mmm. . ." Leslie trailed off as the goddess sucked at her neck lightly, her hands followed closely behind, easing up her ribcage, holding her sides-- supporting her. Maybe even teasing her with something she could have. . . But did she dare? "What're you doing?"

"Whatever I please," Isira cooed and kissed her jaw. "You've been working hard, I think you deserve a reward."

Leslie pushed against her. "How about a drink and a good nap."

"That can be arranged."

"It'd be nice."

Isira wrapped her arms around Leslie and hugged her. "Get some rest, then. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"What are you going to do, though? He-- he hasn't hurt you, has he?"

She scoffed. "You're so cute when you worry about me-- if anything it should be the other way around! No, you may rest soundly that nothing transpires without my invitation." She kissed Leslie's ear again. "Though. . ."

Leslie looked to Her with a growing dread.

She grinned a catty little smile. "Maybe you'd like to host a fashion show."

It wasn't a question.

#

Leslie was more careful with her sewing the next time she woke up. She deliberately kept her distance from feeling the 'essence' of the garment even though it prickled her senses like a brier patch the entire time. The work was slower, but it gave her time mull over the riddle.

She'd even written it down and kept referring to it when her mind would inevitably start to wander. Meals came at random times and Isira stopped in to check on her to make sure she was still responsive, it was touching and irritating at the same time-- often just when she felt she was making some progress on the riddle her thoughts would be interrupted.

With her latest snack perched on her knee she read her note over again: "It has been around for eternity and is ever with queens, doesn't stick around for kings. You can find it with the joker, but not the knight and no matter which land you conquer, it will never be found in a fight."

Leslie munched her shortbread and stretched out, pacing the room a few times. Briefly she considered going to the main chamber, but the last time she'd tried that the headache had nearly brought her to tears. Fortunately the 'power high' of the magical energy permeating the place was fading more with every hour she spent in it. Unfortunately it also meant she could feel the tug of the magic trinkets influencing her behavior. Even her project was making her a little drowsy the longer she stayed around it.

The crystal was an all together different beast. It magnified the powers of the objects closest to it and in turn fed off their energies making for a mind boggling flood of sensations and influences. The chambers walls helped break up the magic somewhat, but it was a constant 'hum' against her subconscious that-- Leslie was sure-- was slowly driving her insane.

After a few minutes of pacing and some stretching, Leslie turned to pick up her garment to resume working on it. The sphinx was sitting at the edge of the doorway looking right at her with a smug grin plastered across his features. His eyes were alight with mischief and anticipation, a youthful excitement made him seem all the more human in that moment.

"Uh, hello."

"Have you figured it out yet?!" His wings ruffled. "It's been several days and you're still moping about, don't tell me you've given up already?"

Leslie opened her mouth, stopped. No, it wasn't wrong to be a smart ass. But it was a bad idea to be a dumb ass. "Maybe it has something to do with being taken against my will," she smiled lightly, trying to force herself to sound relaxed.

"Don't be so drab! Come on, let's hear the magic word. . . I bet you know it and you don't know you know it, for someone like you that seems almost too good a fit." He prowled forward a little, stopping several feet away as if she might hit him. "Or maybe I could teach you instead. . ."

"Teach me. . .?"

His tanned features scrunched in amusement and he stepped closer, this time his gaze roamed her and he breathed in deeply. When he spoke his voice was a luxurious, throaty purr. "Mortality is no barrier to perfection, paladin. . . .in some its a gift." He met and held her gaze. The primal power he held was as alien as it was consuming, daring her to look away. He seemed to think he could compel her to anything, but he didn't even make the attempt as he eased into her space, closer and closer.

Leslie could have shooed him away, she could have pushed him or asked him to stop, but was she willing to risk the only chance they might've had to escape by rebuffing him? She swallowed, eying the timeless creature. His features were most distinctly human but for the slight flatness to his nose and the ears poking through his hair. . . But he was certainly handsome and exotic-- was she insane?

Her hand trembled as she raised it. She was. She had to be.

Or, she was Isira's paladin. . . .the truly liberated; the curious. The older woman cupped his cheek-- hot to the touch-- a thrill ran through her as she took in the rest of his visage, standing for the first time since meeting him in awe of his power rather than in fear of it. He was strong, well built and broad shouldered with a wonderfully defined humanoid chest that would've put a soldier to shame. That chest flowed smoothly into his chocolate colored fur. If not for the tell tale paws-- massive enough to easily crush her skull if he chose.

He caught her gaze and nuzzled into her hand a little, inviting more contact, almost asking for it. Leslie ran her fingers through his mane carving gentle furrows with every inch she dared explore. Her heart slammed against her chest with the newness of the experience but something in his demeanor set her at ease; this powerful creature, this immortal, wasn't so far removed from humanity that he couldn't relate. . .

He was different from Isira in that sense, actually.

As she stroked his hair he watched her with a growing smirk, turning into her attentions, easing in closer and closer until he was only an inch away. The older woman dampened her lips, looking at her captor, wondering what she should do next.

The sphinx brushed against her stomach, murmuring in his usual rumbling voice: "How is my attire coming along, hm?"

"Uhm--" She swallowed. "Good, good. I'm almost finished, I just need to-- I need to get it finished."

"Let's have a look it, then."

Leslie stiffened. If he couldn't feel the magic at this distance, she'd be an idiot to let him any closer, but what could she do to dissuade him? Where was Isira when She was needed the most? Thinking fast, she cupped the sphinx's cheeks. "W- What, am I boring you already?"

He chuckled lightly. "You've been speaking to Her, haven't you? Ah, but she is a feisty minx, spurring the souls of many to passion. . . .but you seem different. Fresher. . ." He turned his head to kiss her wrist. "Maybe why She speaks so highly of you."

"I- I'm nothing special."

"I know. She knows. You know. But none of us believe it. . ." Without waiting for a reply the powerful creature leaned in and kissed her chest right between her breasts. He met her gaze firmly-- gentle but insistent. "So maybe you need to stop spreading lies."

Leslie swallowed, caught off guard by his approach. "O- Okay." She was even more caught off guard by the part of her that told her to kiss him. Over his shoulder she saw Isira creeping towards the room that she'd come to associate with being off limits to both of them. The two women locked eyes and the goddess made a ''keep going' gesture.

" _Oh, you're kidding me, right?"_

He was still watching her-- he started to turn-- Leslie did it. She kissed him hard and deep with all the power she could muster. When the sphinx's reaction turned from surprise to acceptance, she relinquished her control of the situation without letting go-- he seemed to prefer his women in charge of things, but how far could she push this?

As if answering her question he turned his head slightly and leaned into the kiss, taking her gently and lingering his warm mouth to hers-- there was no passion so much as there was a gentle kind of invitation, a familiar longing. Lonely and empty. Forsaken. Reaching out for hope and comfort. Leslie knew it all too well. . .

She leaned into the kiss to savor whatever moment they could share, not just for Isira's sake but her own and even his. No one deserved to be alone. But, as with so many things in her life, all too quickly it was over. He pulled back with a chuff. "Well now, that. . ."

"Was unexpected." Leslie licked her lips, glancing away. Shame lit her features a cherry red.

The sphinx nudged her. "Was pleasant. I have some tables to check, but let me know if you need anything. . ." He turned away, leaving Leslie standing breathlessly in the hall.

Then she remembered Isira. "Oh! Hey! What should I tell Isira if She asks about you?" Leslie kept her voice high enough so it would travel, hoping her goddess would hear it as a warning.

"She knows where I am, I have no doubt!" He said as he plodded out towards the main entry. It wasn't until he was out of sight that Isira poked her head out from an alcove in the back of the room, grinning ear to ear.

"Figure it out yet?" The goddess prompted.

"What, the riddle? No."

"Phooie. You're going to kick yourself when you realize what it is."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm"

"So uh, can I ask what you're doing?" Leslie licked her lips to clear-- or maybe sample the sphinx's taste.

"I was looking for a way into his chambers, unfortunately he's rather. . . .insistent with his word patterning." She scoffed lightly. "Not sure where he learned the craft, but I suppose I should expect no less."

"How so?"

"He was made by Elisandra, one of Her earlier endeavors! Rather a shining example of his kind, really. . ." She glanced at the door behind her. "Quite effective at his craft, too! I should be proud--"

"So you can't open the door? _You_?"

"Pitiable, I know." Isira whirled about, sliding up behind Leslie. She draped Her arms around the mortal's waist. "Unfortunately someone had the bright idea that we shouldn't be able to interfere with one another's projects. Something about some missing mortals, several leagues worth of farm land and a galleon's worth of spirits?" She pouted theatrically. "A very sad tale, looking back."

"I-- okay. I should probably get to work."

"All right-- By the way?"

"Yeah?"

"That riddle. . ."

"Uh huh?"

"The magic word-- it's something he's fond of saying." A wry smile crossed Her lips. "Aee."

"Aee?"

"E. As in the letter, but his specific enunciation is Aee. It's his name."

Leslie furrowed her brow. "The magic word is his name? Okay, so why's that important?"

Isira chuckled, "Come now, my _paladin_ , use your gifts! You're a creative girl, I'm sure you--"

"Wait!" Leslie blinked. "Are you saying he cries out his own name when he-- uh-- finishes?" She blushed. Was She serious?

A wry smile graced her goddess's features.

At first Leslie felt a wave of revulsion, but after a moment something more interesting struck her-- she could meld the fabric's essence to accept an activation word if she was careful. She'd almost inadvertently done so several times when her mind wandered too far--

Leslie's smile mirrored Isira's as the final part of the plan clicked into place.

# Chapter 6: The Truth and Lie

" _I sometimes wonder what would happen if the gods were in perfect agreement on everything. Their servants openly speak of their (usually friendly) disagreements on matters of faith, governance and vision for the future with refreshing candor. I suspect a great deal of what would transpire would be good for the whole if not for the individual. At such a macroscopic level, the ability for humanoids to even comprehend nuance more or less dissolves._

Yet somehow the gods manage.

Usually."

-Anonymous

Letters From the Gods Volume 224

The meal Leslie had come to associate with dinner didn't materialize that evening coaxing her out of her little shelter to see if something had happened. Isira was at the bar across the way with one of the sphinx's bottles of alcohol and a half empty glass beside Her clenched hand. When she made her way nearer she caught snippets of a breathy and strange language that carried a distinct bite of angry discourse being traded back and forth.

Isira wore a long blue and gold trimmed garment that had the upper cut of a military uniform and the double breasted buttons to match, flowing into a sheer skirt that touched the ground. It was a strange contrast, but one that she imagined matched the sphinx's proclivities. If the way he looked at _her_ was any indication, he liked legs and Isira's dress certainly accented Hers.

Which was kind of a silly concept given she was a goddess and could-- quite literally _should_ have been beyond any concept either of them could have pondered.

Knowing better than to get involved, Leslie turned away.

"Don't." Isira switched back to a language Her minion could understand. "You're hungry."

"I can uh, I can wait."

"Time," Isira said vacantly. Leslie could see the glaze in Her eyes even from a distance, but she wasn't prepared for the undertone of anger. From everything she'd heard of Isira, such a thing was impossible. But then she'd seen first hand how She kept everyone at a distance. "Time, yes. . ."

"I uh, I'm sorry." Leslie gave a sheepish smile. "I'll come back later."

"No." Aee padded out from around the bar. "Make something to eat, I'll not have my _guest_ going hungry."

Isira shot him a dirty look.

Leslie frowned. It was like watching someone's parents fight on a much stranger level. She was a goddess for crying out loud, who was he to--

"What if," Isira cut her off with a dismissive tone. "Humor me; what if the idols you've created and indeed that created you, were not worth your respect." The question was quite clearly directed at Leslie. "What then, hm?" Her eyes flashed with a darkness Leslie had never seen before. The subtle shift in her goddess's posture spoke volumes, about anger and defeat, and a long buried hopelessness daring to break still waters. "What if. . ."

"What if?"

"Would you even want to know? Could you stand it?" Her sultry lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. "What if we destroyed the planet, hm? What then?"

Aee clucked his tongue with a derisive snort. "The Holy Elisandra talked about those times; there was nothing that could have done."

"I. . ." Leslie trailed off into silence when it was clear she had nothing to contribute.

"Yes, yes, the gods! So magnificent. . . And the mortals sit there worshiping. Praising. Telling one another stories about how the _concepts_ their idols represent are better than one another." She slammed Her glass down. It shattered and instantly reformed around Her hand like a block of ice. She drew Her hand out as if the glass was made of water and She of solid matter. "Why are they worth dying for, hm?" A brief glance at Aee. "Show me one instance where an idea has been worth dying for. Where being maimed, _blinded_ has been worth it. We _made_ you to be better than that. So mortals wouldn't repeat the mistakes their idols made." To Leslie She said, "And you failed us!"

Leslie shrunk away and even the sphinx bristled a little in what had to have been fear. Isira's aura of power shrunk into itself like a tide receding from broken shores, but for all Her righteous anger Her voice stayed smooth. Like black ice.

Isira swiped her face and clutched her drink glass tightly for a moment. "I watched entire continents dissolve under burning clouds. Civilizations, entire _cultures_ gone in an instant." The glass bowed inward around Her fingers. "Continents slid into boiling seas and the air--" Isira's gaze fell to Leslie. "We _destroyed the world_."

"Y- you. . ." No. She didn't want to know- but the pull, the curiosity. What secrets was she not supposed to hear? She saw pain in Isira's face as plain as she'd seen on the road from the village, it wasn't just the curiosity eating at her. This goddess, this woman was hurting-- and as strange and idiotic a concept as it was, Leslie wanted to help Her. Tentatively she edged around the bar and wrapped her arms around the ancient power.

Isira drank in Leslie's scent and even, she imagined, some of her essence. Her whisper was so quiet it could have broken a thousand nights. "Maybe I shouldn't have survived. But here I am."

"Hey," Leslie whispered in return. "Relax. Relax, it's okay. . ." She swallowed and for the briefest moment wondered if she'd stepped over some line. "Want to talk about it?"

Isira gave her a strange look.

"That's what friends are for, right?"

The goddess looked at her a moment longer. She went to take a drink but Leslie grabbed Her hand. She looked equally surprised and vaguely upset at that reaction but at Leslie's calm smile She set the glass down and, in a surprisingly timid whisper said, "We didn't know. . ."

"It's okay. It's okay. . ." Leslie wrapped her arms around Isira, not knowing what else to do to reassure Her. For the moment the little mortal held a goddess close, she completely forgot her place and lost herself in what it meant to be a friend, to be part of something larger than herself; not being alone. A gift they could both share.

Isira nuzzled against her ear in a distinctly human gesture, bringing Her own arms around Leslie a moment later. They stood like that for several minutes before Leslie, sensing something in the area had changed, opened her eyes to find Aee gone. She quietly relayed this to her goddess who was less than impressed.

"You okay?" Leslie whispered.

"Naturally!" In an instant She was all smiles again even though the haze of alcohol still clung to Her eyes. For a moment it looked like She was about to say something more but She slid away from Leslie's grasp and appeared beside the door to Aee's private chamber with a set of slim pink lockpicks. Without thought She slid them into middle of the door as if it were made of nothing and started to work them this way and that.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Leslie dampened her lips. "Uh, I don't think--"

A sharp electric _crack_ popped from within the door and Isira pouted as the picks were spit out across the floor in a shower of sparkling energy. Abruptly She shifted beside Leslie and, with a rather sour expression planted Her elbow on Leslie's shoulder and head on Her own hand as if lounging. "I was never a fan of Elisandra, and this is why. You couldn't have gotten a needle up Her ass with a sledge hammer."

Leslie balked. "Really? I mean-- Really?"

"True!"

"You talk like She's dead. Isn't he one of Her creations?"

"Mmm," Isira booped her nose. "Observant." But rather than expand on it, She strolled back to the door with Leslie in tow. "What do you make of this, then?"

"It's metallic. . . .it has its own kind of haze, like your magic does. But it's kind of different, like someone molded it."

"Good, what else?"

Leslie scooted up to the door opening her extra senses to feel the aura of magic the door exuded, without touching it she could feel the ebb and flow of something incredibly ancient behind the power. In her mind she imagined it as a series of impossibly dense interlocking threads that didn't bend when she felt Isira push against them, instead they only tightened their weave. "It doesn't give up anything. . ."

"Mmhm?"

"It's reacting? When you touch it there's a tension in everything, like it's hardening against you."

"You can feel that, can you?" She grinned.

"Feel what?" Aee said from behind them. Leslie startled and wheeled in place-- Isira grabbed her hand as if She was spinning the mortal and walked her into the steps of a dance neither had rehearsed. It couldn't have been more suspicious if they'd been going at the door with a chisel, but Leslie still went with the dance as best she could.

They turned in place to face the sphinx. He wasn't smiling. His ears were flat and his tail clapped the ground lightly in irritation. Leslie threw her hand out in a 'tada' motion.

He wasn't smiling.

"We were practicing," Leslie spat out. "For the fashion show--"

Isira tutted. "That was supposed to be a surprise!"

"Oh crap, that's right. Sorry."

Aee perked up slightly. "You mean it's done? You're done?!"

"Uh, close!"

"Show me." Before anyone had a chance to react he was on all fours strolling towards the cell. Leslie jogged behind to keep up with Isira following behind. Panic flit through her tired mind as it became apparent there'd be no time for Isira to disguise the signature magic in the fabric.

They crossed into the room and Leslie dove for the garment while Aee was still looking around. She grabbed it up into a ball and reached into the tangle of magic her mind conjured to represent its essence, with her entire being she pulled at the threads of the material's magic until it was spread so thin she could've rode a carriage through it. The tang of its particular 'flavor' faded considerably leaving only a husk in its wake.

Isira actually lofted a brow at her in curious challenge even as Leslie made shooing motions. "It's not done, I can't show you!"

Aee sniffed and ruffled his wings a bit. "Hardly sporting--"

"And neither is ruining a surprise, now shoo!"

He sniffed again with his gaze lingering on the bundle and ears forward, attentive and curious. He padded one step left and right, drew in a deep breath and huffed it out. "Hmph! Were you not so cute I would think you wishing to be evicted and Her forced to finish my suit!"

Leslie forced herself to smile. "How is anyone supposed to make you look more magnificent than you already are by spoiling how it's going to look before it's ready? You want good work, sometimes you have to be patient enough to wait for it!"

"Mrrrrrr. . ." Aee bristled playfully as he prowled closer, he brushed her thigh with the length of his body and swatted her with his tail when he slid past her before he turned back to the door. "Fine, fine, but I hope to see something fairly soon!"

"That's pretty obvious," Leslie quipped without thinking. "Any closer and you'd be seeing a lot more than you want to!" She immediately realized her own stupidity and winced when he looked at her, curling himself around Isira's legs as he did so.

"Mrrr. It's dangerous to speak for me," he wandered past Isira flicking her leg. "I might be interested in a lot more than you think!"

Leslie relaxed when he was out of the room and reached into the ties of the fabric once more trying to pull everything back together, all the while Isira watched with a growing smile. By the time Leslie had the essence of the fabric back as it should be she felt the goddess's attention upon her more intent than before, pressing into her and reaching around in her mind for who knew what.

"You're a rare treat." Isira said patiently. "I've not met someone who could do that in a century or more." A bright smile crossed Her lips and She bounded over to Leslie, fingering the cloth with a private little smile. "Yes. Excellent work."

"So I suppose that's all it takes to earn a pat on the head?"

"Is that all you want? Well, by all means!" Isira started to pat her head. "Good job!"

"You're horrible. . ."

"I like to think of myself as capricious."

"Well, okay. . ." Leslie dampened her lips. She lowered her voice. "Is it wrong for me to wonder if we're doing the right thing? He doesn't seem like a bad person-- uh, thing."

"Person is fine."

"So why don't we just ask?"

"And spoil my fun? I think not! Think of this as a game, with no definitive winner and stakes beyond your comprehension. Don't give me that look, you're doing exceptionally well--"

"Isira." Leslie hugged the clothing to her chest. "Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose so."

"Why are we really doing this? You could have the armor if you wanted-- I'm starting to think you knew what you were getting with me when you gave me these powers. So what's the real prize here?"

Isira's full lips split into a grin and then a broad smile. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah. . ."

"So can I." She winked.

"That's not fair--"

"No. It isn't. It's not meant to be, it probably never will be, but it's _right_." She rolled her eyes at Leslie's sour look. "Fine." Without warning She boped Leslie on the nose.

"Ow!"

Aee was appeared at the door in an instant with his claws biting into the floor, ears perked forward and eyes attentive, scanning for danger. He looked to the two women. "Is everything all right?"

"Quite so!" Isira grinned. "Good to know your senses haven't dulled!"

A subtle hint, maybe? Leslie quickly unraveled the magic in her garment, earning herself a touch of Isira's grace across her mind.

"You should be more careful, then!" He turned away to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't dancing with or trying to seduce Isira. Leslie rebound the magic in the fabric as the goddess started explaining the situation once more.

"How many divine agents do you know, hm?"

"Uh-- I've heard of the sphinx? Sphinxes? Sphinxi? From some of the caravan goers. They always say they're female, though."

"They can be either or at their own desire, funnily enough. Aee and I have a particular history trying to figure out which is more appropriate for him, for example! But, neither here nor there-- there are also Cherubs. You might think of them as executors of our estate, hm?"

"O. . .kay?"

"We started with dragons, but that didn't work out very favorably, did it?"

Leslie gaped. "Y- You _made_ them?"

"We did. Lamentable, I know, but no use crying over spilled milk--"

"Hey, wait! You're not going to brush--"

"I can and will. Listen to what I tell you, not what I'm saying: I can't coerce Elisandra's minions to act, I can influence them, but not directly. It's part of our rather antiquated concept of propriety, you see! It's quite difficult to go to each of them and attempt to convince them to act."

"So. . ." Leslie drew it out, not seeing the connection.

Isira dotted her forehead playfully. "So we're going to shake things up a little! Won't it be exciting?!"

Leslie puzzled it out for a moment. "Wait--. . . .wait, the armor doesn't belong to you?"

"Of course it does! Or it will if we find it, hm?"

She was going to make Leslie into a martyr. Was that it? "S--"

Isira thrust Her hand out in offering. "Don't be obscene! I'd never throw away someone's life. Think of it as inviting them to action. They'll see what I've seen and--"

"What about Elisandra Herself?"

A faint sadness crossed Isira's features only to be replaced by a smug grin. "If you'd rather heft Her banner, I won't be offended."

Leslie dampened her lips and pondered over the circumstances that'd brought her to that crossroads. She was a nobody destined to die alone and unremembered anyway, but Isira had taken special interest-- even if She was blatantly using her to achieve Her own ends, something in the idea of having a purpose, in standing for something. . .

_Being_ someone.

Leslie the Seamstress Paladin.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the mere idea, but along with it came a quiet penance; she had suffered for a long time, angry at the world and fed up with what it had done to her. What David had done to her with his addiction.

She had a chance to be something more. To play a part in a goddess's scheme and maybe-- just maybe-- see something interesting before she died. What could be more fulfilling than that? She took Isira's hand gently. "Just do me a favor?"

"Hm?"

"If we're going to do something stupid like, I dunno, tip off a holy war, can I have a four leaf clover?"

Isira balked. "Luck is a comfort you won't need. Not when you have skill."

"And you, obviously."

"Naturally!"

# Chapter 7: Fashion and Farces

" _When I first met Her, She said to me something I will always hear when I close my eyes: 'There will come a tomorrow that no one remembers, greeted by people that didn't know you yesterday. That day will be today. This will be the day you changed their lives. I hope you're ready for it.' It is hard to imagine someone would think so highly of a kobold that they would speak of such._

I hold no grudges for your turning my application down, but She has shown me miracles are possible. The rest of the world will take a little longer to convince, but we're working on it."

-Keiter, Cleric of Isira

Letter to High Priest Colin Marshal at the Temple of Isira, City of Starscale (now known as 'The Hole')

There was no fanfare, no parades or even a 'huzzah' from some onlooker, but the moment she finished her final stitch, Leslie felt a wave of relief wash over her. All they had to do was get it wrapped around Aee and then. . . .well then Isira would take him aside and do whatever they did and then they could have free reign of the cave while he slept.

At least in theory.

Leslie had worked well into exhaustion to make sure the stitching met her satisfaction, and when she was too tired to continue on, she started tinkering around with the magic pushing things one way and the other. She found she could ingrain all manner of triggers into the fabric as easily as if she'd sewn it in with thread and needle-- which is to say it took a hell of a lot of time and work. But it seemed to work. She felt the flair of magic activating when she tightened the threading around her keyword and spoke it.

Of course she wasn't wearing it, that'd be stupid, but she could feel it spark to life. That was enough to assure her it would work when it came time.

Leslie bundled up her project and packed it to the side, stepping out in the main chamber. The immortals were sitting in front of the dining area talking quietly. "Hey, uhm. . ." They both looked to her. "Isira? Were we going to do that. . . .thing?"

"Sure!" She bounded over and threw Her arms around Leslie's shoulders. Her smile was infectious. "All set, then?"

"Y- Yeah, it's finished."

"All segmented, I trust?" She whispered.

"I know what I'm doing!" Leslie retorted.

"What's this?" Aee prowled over to them but Isira quickly shooed him away. "Hmph!"

"A surprise isn't a surprise until its shared willingly, young man!" Isira took Leslie back to her chamber, grabbing up several dresses. She thrust a pair at Leslie with a wry grin. "We'll do two each, I'll drape a piece over him and then you can tie it off. . . .be personable, be engaged and make sure he knows he's the only creature worthy of attention, hm?"

Leslie parted out the garment as quickly as she could, showing Isira the button and tab eyelets she'd set up to make getting it on easy. Isira took the biggest piece for Herself and picked up one of the fancier dresses. In a flourish She duplicated its look down to the body hugging silk and jeweled accents.

"Cheater," Leslie muttered as she grabbed a dress of her own and slipped it on over her clothing.

"I cheat quite often, you'll find." The goddess stated matter-of-factly. "It's easier when no one can hold you accountable."

"Whats that saying about absolute power corrupting absolutely?"

"And what comes of the people who follow those corrupt individuals? Hm? Glass houses, dear. Now, then! Put on a smile and-- no, a real smile, come now you can do better. That's a good girl!"

The two women stepped into the main chamber with exuberant smiles belying their hidden purpose, Leslie followed Isira's lead as was her place, and they carved lazy serpentine patterns through the distance to their host, closer and closer-- his keenly intelligent eyes tracked them both with curiosity and no small measure of excitement at the impending gift he was to receive.

Or maybe it wasn't the gift at all-- Isira had chosen dresses that flattered their figures while accenting their best features. Even Leslie felt unreasonably confident in her dress and it was reflected in her surefooted movements as she sauntered closer to her quarry.

Isira brought Her arms around the Sphinx, nuzzling against his throat as She brought the mantle over his back. Leslie was close behind, she hooked his silver aegis across his chest into the mantle and ran her hands over his muscled torso-- she drew in a pull of his natural musk and exhaled against his ear in a hot purr that made him shiver slightly. Isira wasn't far behind with Her own ministrations, trailing Her hand down his back to the base of his tail.

Aee let out a low sigh that rumbled in his throat like a groan. The two women chuckled in unison. Without waiting for prompting, Isira touched Her head to his neck, planting a kiss against his deeply tanned flesh and murmuring a coo.

Leslie started to rise, "I'll get the other pieces--"

"Don't forget to change."

"Huh?"

"I left something for you. . . .make sure you wear it, hm?"

Aee glanced up at the lowly mortal, flashing a quizzical look. Leslie scampered off when they weren't paying attention only to run head long into what had to have been the most sheer dress she'd ever seen.

#

Getting it on wasn't so hard-- it fit a little snug in some places, but overall it stretched well-- but it was so short. How could anyone have considered this party wear for respectable company? Its misty grey fabric was dense in the parts where it needed to be, but left everything else on display and the matching sandals did nothing to help-- Leslie pulled at the fabric warily as she pushed up to the door.

She was a paladin. She was Isira's paladin at that. She could do this, if not for her, for her patron. A goddess. She served a goddess now, could she really say no? Hesitantly she stepped into the chamber.

The two immortals looked to her and Aee's mouth opened in mild surprise-- Isira kissed the side of his head, smiling with what was visible of her mouth. Their gaze was warm and appreciative, but every part of her screamed about how damn short the dress was. She could feel confident in anything that went past the knee, that wasn't a crime! Oh, but it wasn't for her benefit, was it?

It dawned on Leslie as she handed Isira the side panel; this dress wasn't for her benefit at all. She looked to her goddess uncertainly.

A sly little smile was the only response she got.

She did cheat often it seemed. Apparently that meant cheating on Her own followers too. But it had the intended effect; Aee couldn't look away. With every move she made, the sphinx watched her, transfixed-- the immortal sphinx brought to heel by a simple seamstress? No, surely not.

And yet. . .

The way he lowered his ears and tightened his shoulders, he was carefully submitting himself to the two women, inviting them almost. It was an invitation Isira didn't even think twice bout as she ran Her fingers through his mane and nuzzled him close, spurring him to greater interest in the pair.

A longing for contact could make anyone more open to things they'd not consider otherwise. Hell, it was the reason she was where she was right now. She'd spent the night with complete strangers-- very strange strangers, in truth-- and even become faithful of the goddess she now served. All of it from the need for contact. What must he have done to find the same comfort?

Leslie smiled sadly, and crouched down. When she went to slide her side panel under his wing he stretched it upward and for the first time she could see that something had stabbed him and left a vicious trench of scar tissue in its wake. The chocolate colored fur had refused to grow back around it but even with it, he still looked every bit as majestic as the legends had said his kind was. Leslie explored it with her finger, earning a sigh from the creature.

"I didn't think immortals could be hurt. . ." Leslie ventured.

Isira gave her a rueful look but it was the sphinx who responded. "With the right tools anything can be done. A building made, a mountain moved, a god killed, even."

"Is that what happened to Elisandra?"

He scoffed. "She told you that, did She? Maybe you shouldn't believe everything you're told, hm?"

Isira went quiet at that. Once they had the side panels on the two women stepped back from their 'captor' and shared a quick glance. Isira needed only to take him to bed now or do. . . .whatever it was they did to complete their plan.

Still, Leslie couldn't help but appreciate the work she'd been able to produce. Pride swelled in her chest as she gazed upon the sphinx in all his splendor-- the tawny velvet and thick red strips that filled out the back reminded her of a tiger while the embroidery and silver accents highlighted his more human attributes, making them stand out boldly against his own body. Sphinx or not, there was something about his appearance that drew her in. It wasn't just the clothing, but the look he gave her and the curiosity in his eyes.

"Well? How does it look?" He turned around on the spot but his gaze never left hers.

Isira smiled warmly. "I don't think you've ever looked better, and that's saying quite a bit!"

"Or lying through your teeth-- Leslie-- your real thoughts?"

She was momentarily stunned at the use of her name but she hid it well enough, forcing a smile. "I think it looks good on you. A bit. . . .bright, maybe, but it suits your personality."

He chuckled. "Yes! Of course it does, but for the eye of a good seamstress and the array of colors by mortal hands, balance is restored! May it reign in perpetuity!" He laughed and sprung to his feet, brushing against Leslie's bare thigh as he passed. "This calls for celebration! Drinks for everyone!"

"Finally, something we can agree on!" Isira strode off towards the kitchen. "And a free question for the girl!"

"Naturally! But drinks first!"

Leslie opened her mouth to object, not even sure what she'd say. They hadn't gone over how exactly they'd get him to say his own name, but that small oversight was easily remedied if they were careful. Maybe she'd ask for a hint to the riddle. Yes! That was it! "But there's still the riddle you threw at me! I can't celebrate until I know its answer!"

"A riddle? Of all the silly questions in the world you would ask me-- the mysteries of the sun and starts, the meaning of life? You'd ask me to help you with that?"

With false confidence the older woman sauntered up to the bar while Aee was busy filling glasses for all of them. His gaze didn't once leave her but he wasn't possessive. Obsessive, maybe, but not commanding. His gaze met hers and they smiled politely. "Well you didn't say I could ask anything I wanted, what if I wanted to ask about something you didn't know the answer to? Would I get another chance?"

"If you really want that to be your question, I suppose I'll have to answer it."

"No, no, hold on!" She looked to Isira, "I feel like the fifth wheel on a three wheel cart here, what'm I missing?"

Isira downed Her drink before answering. "It's common, if you please a sphinx enough to make them want to celebrate you're rewarded in a very special way! Usually it takes the form of an answer to a question-- yes, anything. The answer will always be truthful, even if you don't like it." She smiled wryly. "Many try their entire lives to earn such an honor, you've done it in one week!"

Leslie found herself ringing the mouth of her glass with her finger, looking at the bar with a small frown. "No pressure or anything."

"None at all!" Aee supplied. "But make it interesting, it's hard to find good conversation!"

"Gods--" Leslie downed her shot-- the alcohol burned all the way down. She choked and sputtered, eyes watering. "Good gods!"

"Let's not go that far. Now, there's one other minor stipulation." Isira glanced at the sphinx. "The only questions you can't ask are about yourself-- so no asking who your parents were, how you'll die or anything like that."

"Well what kind of fun is that? I wouldn't mind knowing if I'm going to drown in a vat of wine bobbing for apples, because according to the whole hedonism thing, 'why not' can be used to justify just about anything."

"It's unsettling how quick mortals jump to questions of their own mortality rather than enjoying what they have. . ." Aee said with a serious glance. "But lusting after elixirs, accolades and monuments that will render them immortal is something they do quite well."

"Doesn't seem like anyone's made that work so far." Leslie said.

"Nope!" Isira chirped.

"Don't be so sure." The sphinx cast a sidelong glance at her and sipped his drink. He continued to regard Leslie, adding: "But even if you could wear the skin of immortality, do you really think anyone would recognize what you began as?"

At a glance Isira gave Her paladin a smile.

She could ask any question her mind could conjure up, hold the keys to the universe and the secrets of her own new found faith-- even the origins of her own goddess, and yet the sickening truth of it was that anything she learned was only going to fuck up the beauty she'd come to see in Isira. . . Knowing made cynics of believers and she wasn't going to be any different.

Leslie considered it for a second, "You know what I always wanted to know? I wanted to know the trick to a good pot pie. I make them and the crust is always too thick, the ingredients don't cook right."

The two immortals looked at her oddly for nearly a full beat before Isira picked up a crystal decanter and refilled their drinks, downing Hers without a moment's hesitation or grace. Without waiting for Aee to divulge his secrets, the goddess stepped around the bar and took Her paladin's hand, leading her out into the middle of the chamber as music started to fill the air. In no time at all Isira had Her fingers intertwined with Leslie's; chest to chest and eye, She lead them through the steps of a slow but intricate dance.

Isira's 'breath' was gentle across Her paladin's ear, a sultry purr that dared anyone to ignore it. "If I had it in me, I would give you the stars and a sky of your own to hold them, but they would be a pale imitation of your spirit."

"I'm not drunk enough for that kind of talk, you know? I--"

"Am here because of what I've already given you."

Leslie looked away, vaguely ashamed. "Maybe not just because of that. . . Keiter can be kind of persuasive."

"Mmmmrrrrrrrrrr." Isira sighed against her ear. "You've no idea how right you are-- you both remind me of people I've not seen for quite some time. But I suppose diamonds shine brightest in the night."

Knowing better than to step on whatever good will she'd built up, Leslie hesitantly drew back, "They only shine if they have something to reflect off of. You know, I'm here for the long haul, I don't need to know everything, but if this is going to be a give and take relationship, I wouldn't mind a little giving."

That seemed to catch the goddess a little by surprise. Her attention lingered on Leslie before She smiled gently. "Do you really want to know what I have in mind, then?"

"I'm scared to ask."

Isira nipped her ear, "Join us."

"J- Join you?"

"Mmmmmmhmmm."

"Y- You mean--"

"I do."

Leslie started to look to the sphinx but she was stopped by a deep, sensual kiss that prickled every fiber of her being-- an explosion of electric passion rippled through her and before she knew what was happening she felt arms pulling her up, keeping her from falling, as her body trembled. She was so overcome she couldn't even lift her hands to hug the woman. Never in her life had she felt something so tender and powerful at once, Isira's fingers trailed her paladin's spine making it bristle with new energies no human was meant to experience. She could have turned Leslie into anything in that moment and she'd have begged for more, but with every touch Isira only brought relief to her aches and pains and a powerful newness to her being. As if to accent Her total control, she reached down and cupped Leslie's ass, pulling her into the kiss that seemed to go on for eternity.

Leslie worked up the strength to breathe, to brace her hands against her goddess's chest, taking her rightfully submissive role to heart for the first time in decades. She was accepted, she was cared for. . . She was loved.

When the kiss broke, Leslie whimpered.

The goddess didn't bat an eye, She didn't wait for a reply, She didn't even give Her mortal a chance to object. She turned to Aee and threw her arms wide. "Come now! What good is a celebration without some dancing?!"

Sure, Leslie didn't know how to dance and she more often than not wound up stepping on Isira's toes-- usually because she was entranced by Her movements, but even with that being the case she found time to relax, time to laugh and somehow she found herself wondering why she'd ever doubted that this had been the course her life was meant to take. From bitter, angry failure to smiling, laughing failure.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. . .

In their loneliness they had all found something the other possessed-- Isira's warmth and quick laughs fed into Aee's capricious games where he would tease one or both of them with some weird riddle or anecdote which then kicked off Leslie to make poorly timed and usually vulgar jokes about the answers. They were the strangest of friends, but there was no question that that was exactly what they were. Their dancing lasted for hours until Leslie couldn't keep up any more and had to sit down.

Aee plodded over to her lazily and nudged her with his wing. "Don't give up so easily, She'll run you into the ground before you know it."

"I get the feeling She does that to a lot of people."

"And they smile all the way to the grave," he said lightly. "But She almost never allows one to speak for Her. You're the fifth I've met, She must think quite highly of you."

Leslie balked, "Five?! I thought the gods _wanted_ minions." When the sphinx looked at her she smiled. "I think we all know that this relationship is one of convenience-- not that there's anything wrong with it, I mean I'm out of the house, right?"

The sphinx's dark eyes lingered on her for a moment before a small grin split his lips. "Housewife turned--"

"No, no not exactly. It's a long story. . ."

"We have time."

The two of them stewed in the silence for several more moments before she mustered her voice. "That's my way of saying I don't want to talk about it. Besides, can't you read minds or something?"

"If I could do you think I'd tell you? People's sovereignty is their own unless they willingly give it away."

Leslie eyed the creature, pursed her lips and leaned towards him so she could whisper. "You said you've met five like me before? What were they like?"

"Snobs. I had to hold some of them because they were hassling my guests! Calling me a monster and thinking themselves beyond reproach!"

"So is that why you're keeping _me_ here?"

"Who said I was?" They looked to one another. "I wanted to show you something--"

"And have my company."

"That has been a very pleasant benefit, yes!" His gaze turned back to Isira. "You're free to leave whenever you wish."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course." He glanced at her sidelong. "The gods deal in souls, the Cherubs in pacts and I? I deal in magic. . . .you belong with your goddess, not here."

Leslie looked at Isira who seemed too entranced in Her dancing to notice the glare. She quickly caught herself and hid her expression but the irritation lingered in the back of her mind. "All this for a--" Isira's presence crushed her voice in her throat-- they shared a brief glance when the goddess rolled Her body, turning away. In the next instant she could speak again. "--pot pie recipe." Leslie finished.

"Here I thought you were just being obsequious, you really want a good recipe? "

Leslie sighed and draped her arm around Aee's shoulders, leaning against him as they watched Isira dance. "Sometimes the simple things in life are the most enjoyable, it's like asking a blind woman if she'd like to see the sun for what it is instead of just feeling it. . ."

He drew in a long breath. "You can admit your fear, there's nothing wrong with it."

She chuckled ruefully. "You know, in all this mess I haven't even had time to be afraid--" Leslie's voice died when he looked at her. His features were narrowly focused but intent, eying her as if she were an oddity rather than the other way around. His ageless wisdom hid no secrets as to what was really on his mind at that moment; she still tried to play the part of clueless mortal until he leaned in to kiss her.

In all her life she never thought she'd be heading into such a strange place, but his exotic, primal musk was intoxicating. His broad tongue swept over her lips with a subtle bumpy texture that wasn't quite rough as it was tactile. Curious, Leslie leaned into it, sampling the strange flavor of the immortal as her confidence grew. With each new touch they explored one another, he curious and surprisingly timid and Leslie a bit more curious and nowhere near as shy about seeing where things could go.

It had been loneliness that isolated her from the world and it'd been Isira-- indirectly-- that brought her back into it. Why _shouldn't_ she explore? Leslie cupped the sphinx's cheeks and savored the rush of shame that warmed her; one by one her reservations fell away and she gradually eased herself into the lead. Their mouths were hot and humid, tongues teasing one another and their shared breath growing hotter with every passing second.

This was insane. It was stupid. But _gods_ was it exciting. Leslie surged forward and stole the sphinx's breath, assaulting his mouth with her tongue as her passion welled inside, spurred on by the creature's gentle nature and the lurid thoughts that spiraled through her mind. What could they do? What would they find acceptable? Isira was supposed to ensure he said 'the magic word,' but. . .

Couldn't _she_?

Leslie broke the kiss, panting and staring at the sphinx with glazed eyes. Could she really do that? Her gaze flit over his sharp eastern features; wrapped in skin of dark almond with a handsome, proud expression and a chest she could easily have imagined licking peppermint oil from? Even his lion-like body was proud and strong-- everything she wasn't. But in his eyes was a rare kind of certainty, he was someone who had nothing to hide from the world and wore his power as a trophy rather than a hammer.

Aee turned his head down slightly and looked at her through his bangs. A subtle smile played across his lips and he inhaled her scent deeply, purring all the while. "That was not the reaction I expected."

"Y-" she huffed. "Yeah?"

"You're blushing."

"Well, maybe you bring it out in me."

Isira sauntered over lazily and crouched down beside him, nuzzling into his mane. "And here I thought it was just me." She cooed across his ear. The response was a content sigh from the creature as his eyes closed-- Isira meanwhile edged close enough to make eye contact with Leslie and smiled. In a soft purr, She added: "Maybe there's room for this to work. . ."

Aee paused to consider for a moment. "Maybe."

"Mmmmhm." She said unapologetically. "But never you-- never what She stood for. I've come to appreciate the finer points of what She does, and even if I'm proven right in the end, I don't want to be." She sighed and hugged him close, drawing him to Her chest. "But how frequently do the things we want come to be, hm?"

# Chapter 8: Raiment of Change

" _What will be your legacy? Will it be sung by bards in courts throughout the land, or will it be reviled as a curse by surly commoners who've no concept of who you were?_

Maybe it will not be spoken of at all. Maybe you will be the subtle influence, felt and not known. That is a decision you must make. But whatever you decide, you need only look back to find me there. Smiling and waving; Like the rest of the world, wondering where you will go next."

-Isira

Letters From the Gods Volume 1

Leslie's heart slammed against her ribs as she was lead by the hand through the doors into the sphinx's chambers. A wash of yellow and white light swept over her from a sky light that punctuated the cave's roof, a lattice of stone and glass gave way to the naked sky. The yellow tinted glass made the room seem warm compared to the rest of the cave, but it was the wood paneled walls and carpeting that made the place feel lived in; _human_.

The entire dwelling was sloped like a dome with the skylight carved in such a way that no shadows could find purchase. The room was furnished sparsely; a case built into the wall displayed a dizzying array of steel trinkets, a shelf with some books and a pile of ribbons at its crown, and, much to Leslie's chagrin, a square display case with a suit of armor in the center of the room. Behind it was a large circular bed right under the shaft of sunlight.

Suspended by wire, the armor looked as airy and mysterious as the goddess Herself; it was cut from leather and accented with silk and muslin that dared observers to find where materials began and ended or how it was even meant to be worn. Flowing sheer white fabric melded smoothly into a sky blue bodice patterned with waves that-- if Leslie strained to look-- hid where it was designed to flex and bend. All this decor and regalia only to flair out uproariously at the waist in a twisting melody of sheer fabric Leslie had never seen before and couldn't quite understand.

Aee caught her staring and flashed her a bright smile, erasing the distance between them with a chuff of a laugh. He brushed against her leg and took his place between the two women-- a quick glance at his guest showed off a particularly smug grin. "I've never seen such a piece before or since, you can't even feel the magic tied to it!"

"N- There's magic in it?" Leslie asked dubiously as she mentally reached out for the fabric. Her mind pieced it together in a three dimensional pattern of airy clouds bound around one another like fingers interlacing into an endless cascade of tumbling sky. One could get lost in its pattern and never truly find where to begin or end. . .

Aee was looking at her oddly.

"Sorry, uh, it's pretty."

"A pale imitation of your beauty, to any with eyes to see."

Leslie glanced at Isira who rolled Her eyes with a cheesy smile. She sauntered over to the bed and turned, holding her hand out for Leslie to join Her. They watched one another for several seconds with Aee's gaze lingering on her halfway between lust and awe. Leslie opened and closed her hands taking a deep breath as a sensual tune began to fill the room with a coy mix of inviting melody and sultry undercurrent that made every part of the older seamstress prickle with uncertainty.

She carefully edged towards the bed, not entirely sure what she was going to do when she got there. Isira made the choice easy; She sprang from the bed and twirled Leslie into another round of dancing as the music swelled. It was insane how smoothly Isira's voluptuous curves could move; from one step to the next She lead so gracefully that even Aee's movements seemed mechanical by comparison. For her part in it, Leslie tried her best to keep up and anticipate what would be expected of her, but every other step Isira made a new demand, invited her to a new move or lead her through a series that eased her closer to the bed without her being aware of it.

But there was a moment where Leslie regained her senses, stopping mid stride with her foot stretched forward-- before her Aee was lowered with his body lowered and face downcast, eyes up turned in the same display of submission he had used with Isira. Leslie eyed the timeless creature, momentarily lost in where she was, the power she found herself holding over something-- someone-- as old as the gods themselves. . .

Was this what it meant to be thought of as a goddess? Was this what Isira saw when people submitted themselves to her? It wasn't just those eyes watching her, though, it was the thought that someone-- anyone-- cared about her. Maybe it was the fact that these divine creatures, these _immortals_ took interest in her that kept her off balance, but for some reason that didn't bother her any more. Isira was warm and kind, she'd made it clear that there wasn't going to be anything they wouldn't do together-- She'd never put Her follower down, She'd never get angry with her. She'd never ignore her for 'just one more' throw of the dice or another drink. . .

Leslie leaned forward daring to touch Aee's head with her trembling hand and felt his warmth. Yes, this was what it was to be truly _alive_. Her body didn't ache, she didn't have anything to worry about and-- and there was nothing but the three of them and life. She wasn't aimless any more, she wasn't meaningless any more. She _deserved_ to be happy.

Isira touched her back gently. Power flowed through every movement the goddess made; forgotten secrets opened themselves under Her fingertips when She trailed them across Leslie's pallor skin. The sacred writ was a language known to none but Leslie's body, it knew the language well and responded in the only way it knew how; she drew in a deep breath and knelt down in front of the sphinx. She had all the permission she needed to act as she saw fit. . .

She was in charge. Even in Isira's eyes, she was perpetual-- she could choose to be anything she wanted. Leslie smiled at the thought, guiding her finger down Aee's sharp features, trailing a line down to his chin where she held his attention for a moment. "You know. . . If things were a little different, I'd. . . .I don't know. I could enjoy it here."

"Mrrr?"

Leslie dampened her lips. "You know, I don't know why She chose me but I think I know what it is we were meant to do. . ."

"This isn't like you," He said softly. "Something wrong?"

"Not necessarily." Leslie sat down in front of him and invited him to rest his chin in her lap. When he did he turned his head up to look at her. His eyes were warm and inviting, calm and familiar. They shared that second with an infinite number of possibilities laid before them and the limitless potential that could have made them lovers, enemies, allies or leaders of some global reform.

All of this flashed through Leslie's mind in an instant and she clutched him tightly as Isira laid Her hands down across her shoulders. She had choices, she had power. She wasn't just a paladin, she was a human being, a thinking mind and an open heart. . . She laughed as the tears welled up in her eyes. "I always thought it'd be a blinding flash of light or something. You know?"

"Hm?"

"Nothing-- I. . ." Leslie sighed. "I've never been happier, and that scares the hell out of me."

"Why?" The two immortals asked at once.

"I'm scared someone's going to take it away from me again. . . Or I'm going to take it from someone else."

Isira nuzzled against her cheek, kissed her ear. "Never. Not intentionally, you won't."

"But-- but." She looked to Aee. "But why do we need the gods to make us happy, huh? _Do_ we? I mean, if Elisandra came to you right now, would you be any happier than you are now?"

"Sometimes," he said simply. "The wrapping isn't what makes the gift." Slowly he turned his head to nuzzle into her thigh, watching her out of the corner of his vision. "Maybe you're asking yourself the wrong questions, maybe you need another perspective."

"But that's boring!" Isira chuckled playfully. "Sometimes the gift is looking you right in the face, sometimes it doesn't even have a face." She planted Her lips to Leslie's throat once more causing the older woman to sigh out.

Maybe She was right.

Yes, that sounded right. The gift she'd been given was still being built, it came moment by moment with every choice she made and while she didn't know what final form it would take, she was starting to see how things were shaping up. . .

She smiled to herself, brushing Aee's hair back with her nails. The future was bright with Isira beside her, but it was blinding when she was in control of it. "Is that offer still available?"

"Mrrr? Which one?" Aee sat up a little, curious and attentive.

"You promised to answer any question I had--"

He groaned. "The recipe? Of all things, you would ask me for--"

"No. No, I thought it over. I know what I want now. . ." There was no hesitation in her voice this time. No doubt or fear. This was right. "Ready? Okay, I want you to tell me what the answer to that riddle is. The one you asked me."

"Well, if you insist. The answer is E." He said in a flippant tone as he sat fully upright.

When nothing immediately happened Leslie tried to keep herself calm. Could she have screwed up somehow? Was the magic in it maligned? Had she somehow failed to make it work? "E? As in the letter?"

"Yes! Think of it: it was around for eternity, it's always in queen, never in kings and spelling joker, you'll get it there too!"

"E."

"E!"

Leslie tensed, but then she remembered what Isira had said earlier. "So your name is E?"

"Close!"

Isira giggled in her ear, uproariously tittering at Her paladin's failure. Of course She knew there were other ways of getting the word from his lips, but the idea. . . .Leslie blushed and glanced away. It wasn't exactly unappealing, but something about it seemed vulgar-- the idea of a mortal and a divine creature. . .

"Wait, so. . ." She leaned in so they were almost nose to nose. His eyes never left hers even as she shamelessly drank in his visage. She used her best sultry purr, reaching for his chin. "What voice should I be moaning in your ear, hm?"

He shivered. "Tempting vixen though you are, your words will only take you so far--"

Leslie kissed him. Deeply and without reservation. He drew back and she pushed forward, further and further. He started to arch back to keep from falling flat and still she pushed until she was practically crawling over him. His massive paw touched her shoulder to halt her but there was no stopping a determined paladin; Leslie knew what was expected of her and she reveled in it.

She broke the kiss panting humid air into his sensitive ears. "Tell me. . . Tell me what name I want falling from my lips." As an after thought, she murmured. "Please?"

Aee chuffed a hot breath of his own drunken with the lust building inside and slurred by the forbidden fruit offered to him. He nuzzled against her cheek. "My name-- my name is Aee."

"Aee." Leslie cooed.

"Aee--. . ." She felt the magic swell around. Within. The bright, fluffy mire of dizzying power soaked into the clothing Aee wore pulled his consciousness in, slowly and deliberately pulling his mind in to its hazy folds as sleep gradually begin to overtake the immortal sphinx. He looked at her.

And he smiled. A wry, knowing grin. "Clever girl. . ."

Leslie wrapped her arms around him to brace his landing while the sleep finally dragged him into unconsciousness. He lay still except for his breathing, which was slow and rhythmic. For a moment she didn't think to get up, but stayed at his side for a few moments, running her hand through his hair and enjoying the closeness of his warm fur.

This poor creature had been there forever, possibly before that, and the first person to enter his life-- however unwillingly-- had tricked him. Leslie stroked his face. "We're not so different, huh?" She said to Isira. "I mean, I loved David but I loved him for what I thought he was and not what he actually was."

When Isira didn't reply she continued. "Maybe in another world, another time, we could've been something more. But that's past tense, huh? That's done. . ."

Leslie stood up, already swearing she'd leave the sleeping creature a note or something. When she turned to where Isira had been, expecting to see her patron smiling, she only saw emptiness. Confused, she looked around to find herself alone save for Aee.

She must have been waiting outside or in the casino itself. Odd, so close to the prize She'd just disappear, but maybe Leslie had taken enough of Her time as it was. Leslie stripped the bed of its comforter and laid it across Aee's sleeping form, tucking it in with a soft smile. "Sleep well. . ."

The magic wouldn't last forever if she'd understood it's nature correctly, she could already feel it unraveling and it wouldn't be long before Aee would awake groggy and hopefully not vengeful. The last thing she needed was an immortal out to kill her.

As she approached the display case she opened her and extra senses at the same time, as easily as if she'd reached out to touch it, she could feel the weak but compact nature of the glass's internal structure standing unperturbed by her presence. It was the tight weave of good silk combined with the nature of glass itself but for its practical value it was completely mundane. "If you're still with me, I hope the warranty you took out on my body covers fingers, too." Leslie wiggled her fingers and touched the case.

Nothing happened.

She reached out with both hands and briefly considered pushing it over. Instead she slipped into her new senses and felt around the 'weave' of the material's weak points. She found a tiny dent in the thinnest part of the case where the nature of glass's weave was loose enough she could wiggle a finger into between the strands and, with some work, unravel a couple strands and unbind them-- the rest of it came unraveled even easier. When she was done she had a space big enough that she could have crawled in.

The armor's distinct sense was divine. Unquestionably powerful, but off somehow. It didn't _feel_ like anything Isira would have made, it had no trace of Her power. It felt cool, compassionate and ready for a fight. Beyond the physical protection it offered the magic itself was bound to protect and attack. This was armor built for war.

By a different god.

Leslie blinked. Isira had lied to her. . .

She'd come too far to turn back, she'd already committed herself, she couldn't just let it go-- No. It was too late to question herself. She reached for the armor and was promptly blown off her feet to crash spectacularly into the bookcase near the door, splashing into the abyss of unconsciousness.

#

Leslie awoke some time later amongst a bunch of books and splintered wood with a crushing headache biting into the back of her skull. Reaching for what was surely going to be one hell of a knot she noticed she was clad in a new dress with a considerable amount of frill and lace. All practical but extravigantly beautiful with its quasi-leather bodice and lacey chest and modest knee length skirt. The high heel boots only capped off the strange mix of fashion. The armor in the case was gone.

Surely she wasn't wearing it.

But the feeling was there. Everything about her person said Elisandra's touch was pressed to her skin as surely as Isira's was to her soul. Painfully she rose and nearly faceplanted when she tried to take a step on the heels. She flailed on her way down to her knees but when she slammed into the stone she barely felt it. The cloth under her knees had taken the impact; as strong as steel, as smooth as silk.

Leslie got to her feet once more and stumbled, half tripped and nearly went end over end as she made her way into the main chamber. The thought of lower heels morphed the boot around the bottom of her foot to accommodate her 'request' allowing her an easier step.

Hesitantly she made her way past the dangling magic objects, past the odd vehicle and the archaic, indecipherable billboards and up the arching steps to the casino's high stakes area. She poked her head through the veil of darkness to find it empty. Instant relief swept through her-- she snatched a drink of cherry water from the bar and crept up the spiral stairs to the main pit.

She stood strong and proud, the way she imagined a paladin should as she crossed the gambling floor. Her visage drew a great deal of attention from men and women alike but no one tried to stop her. No one had known what she'd done. No one tried to stop her; they stood in awe of her presence.

It was heady. It was insane. And it took everything she had not to burst into a run. She prowled towards the door. It opened for her and the doorman stepped aside to allow her entry. He already had her mantle slung over his arm. "Madam," he said cordially.

Leslie swallowed. If there was any chance she'd be stopped, this was going to be it. She stepped into the chamber and the man stepped behind her, affixing her mantle over her shoulders and tying its ribbon neatly at her throat. The front door then opened on a bright afternoon full of hope and singing birds.

She allowed herself to smile. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said softly. "Enjoy your day, and congratulations on your winnings."

Leslie peeked outside, there was no one around. "Ah, have you seen my friend?"

"Your friend?"

"Yes, uh. . . .tall brunette woman? Incredibly beautiful, very curvy? She didn't seem particularly thrilled with you?"

The man looked at her oddly. "I'm afraid not. You came alone, miss."

"No I didn't. I came with Isir--. . . .with a friend. She was with me when I came in here. Remember? You two had some kind of friction."

"I'm terribly sorry, but I would have remembered _two_ exceptional beauties."

"But-- but you're a cherub! She told me!"

His polite smile turned faintly cold and he clasped his hands behind his back. "You should probably take your winnings and leave, miss. . ."

"But--"

"The Holy Elisandra does not take well to thieves." He said simply. "I may not be able to do anything to you, but there will be those who can."

Leslie stared at him already feeling the blood drain from her face. "She was never here?"

"No."

"I'm alone."

"I wouldn't say that, you have Her touch about you." He nodded to the necklace she was wearing. The bronze lotus was in full bloom, shining brightly in the muted light of the room. "If you say your goddess sent you here, I'm sure The Holy Elisandra and your goddess can decide what will become of you."

Leslie took a deep breath, dampened her lips, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity she smiled. "Guess I should get my ass in gear, then."

"That would probably be wise, yes."

"Would you do me a favor? Let Aee know I--. . . .I really like him and I hope he's not upset."

"I will." The Cherub turned away. "Pleasant travels, miss Leslie."

"You too--" she said to the closing door. She was alone? When had Isira left her? What about the music, or the dancing? The jokes?! Leslie stared at the door searching for clues she was missing-- somewhere she had to have gotten away from Isira, somewhere she'd been politely nudged to do things on her own. . .

But--

But, no. The more she thought about it, the more she realized no one had actually commented on the things Isira said, they'd not acknowledged the things She had done. The singing, the dancing? The room full of people praising Isira's name?

That couldn't have been her, could it?

Leslie looked to the sky warily. "What'd you do to me?"

Maybe that wasn't it, though. Maybe it wasn't about what had been done 'to' her but rather what _she_ herself had chosen to do. Leslie had free choice. She had always had free choice. Maybe in her heart of hearts she had been expressing it the only way she knew how. Deities were known to take mortal forms, but never for _one_ person.

Isira had given her the gift of sight again, She had bestowed powers upon her and then set Her new paladin off to sink or swim. In the process teaching her everything she needed to know about how to handle herself.

She had done in an evening what Leslie hadn't been able to do in five years of living in darkness. Isira had given her back her spirit and her life and while she would never be able to go back to a simple life-- especially not now that she was probably going to kick off some kind of holy conflict with her theft of the armor-- but she felt proud. She laughed all the way down the steps into the great unknown.

It was a good time to be alive.

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