Spoiler: Content Warning This is a heavily erotic fantasy/comedy roleplay and will depict a variety of sexual situations and kinks. Individual scenes may contain fringe sexual interests. Read at your own discretion. Salaria Brightflame reclined on a throne of iron and gold. Long, pale fingers heavy with sparkling jewels stroked the edges of the extravagant chair as the queen awaited the elf's arrival. Limp and graying blonde curls fell in tired waves in front of her shoulders, hiding a bosom made robust only by the too-tight cinching of her bodice. She sighed heavily; the most infuriating task of a queen was waiting, and she felt as if she had been waiting all morning. Did no one other than her understand the gravity of the situation? Did no one other than Salaria Brightflame comprehend that too much waiting would lead them all down a path of eternal darkness and eventual decimation? Oh, the pains of being queen. She sighed again. A young lad dressed in rich wool that had been dyed a most unpleasant shade of brown entered the throneroom. A squire, perhaps. She couldn't remember all of them anymore, but he certainly looked the part. The queen's guards stood at the foot of her elevated throne, encased in shiny armor, hands on the pommels of their swords. Queen Salaria beckoned her guest forward with a simple wave of her hand. The boy, who could not have seen more than thirteen summers, approached the throne and bowed deeply. "Your Grace, your knights approach with the summoned elf, Luth... Litha... Lutheran... " "Very well," the queen snapped. "We are well aware of whom we have summoned. Off with you." The squire's cheeks bloomed bright pink. "Thank you, Your Grace." He bowed once more, though this bow looked to be more of an involuntary jerk than an intentional sign of respect. Shuffling backwards, the boy almost tripped over his own feet before righting himself. After the squire disappeared beyond the unnecessarily tall and ornately carved throneroom doors, a small quartet of armored knights filled the emptiness. Each knight was tall, broad, standing straight as an arrow as they all came to a halt in an orderly line in front of their beloved queen. In front of the knightly line stood an elf, two thirds the height of any of his escort, dressed in a collection of flowy, draping, transparent blue silks. "Your Grace--" the knight to the elf's immediate right began, but he was hushed when the queen held up an impatient hand. "You... you are Lutheyrien Mooneyes?" she asked incredulously, thin lips turned down in what might have been a frown. The queen's faint blonde eyebrows furrowed together, weaving heavy lines into the powdered skin of her forehead. It wasn't the most flattering of looks. The elf stared up at her, eyes a pale, icy blue. He shrugged a shoulder languidly, not seeming to notice as a bit of loose silk fell to reveal skin the color of bronze. "So I've been told," he answered, thick eyelashes fluttering. "Though sometimes even I must wonder." "Hm." The queen pursed her lips, shifting on her puffed velvet cushions. "It took our men many days to find you, Lutheyrien." "I try not to make a habit of being easily discovered," he quipped. "Not unless someone is very interested in finding me. I can gather by the pomp you were quite interested." "Yes, We were." The queen lifted herself from her throne, descending a few steps down toward the elf. She stared for a long while before speaking again, her eyes roaming across Lutheyrien's painted visage. The spattering of brown spots across the elf's nose and cheeks reminded her of the night sky. His lips, stained a dark red, reminded her of blood. On his wrists and ankles he worn a collection of dented gold bangles. And the draping silks, like something out of a whorehouse... Him? Really? But even she could not question the wisdom of the Oracle. "We have summoned you here to impart upon you a task of utmost urgency," she began, her voice growing somber. Lutheyrien's pointed ears twitched in interest, noting the change in the queen's tone. What was initially sharp became soft and dour. "It has come to our knowledge that a great evil has made its presence known. A dark warlock of unknowable power has begun amassing a following in the Cimmerwood." "Makes sense," the elf replied quietly, nodding in response. "If I were going to begin a campaign of evil, I would most certainly start in Cimmerwood. All dark and gloomy, those ones. It's like, lighten up a little, right?" "Uh... certainly," she said. "As We were saying, this warlock proves a great threat to the kingdom. It has been revealed to us that a hero has been chosen to free us from this warlock's shadow." "Well, that's a relief!" Lutheyrien exclaimed, tossing up a hand. His bangles jingled in response. "Your Grace, forgive me for my candor, but you should summon that hero as soon as possible. Waiting until the last minute is highly ill advised. You know, warlocks and all. Never know what spells they have up their sleeves. And they have unnecessarily large sleeves." "Ah... We think you misunderstand, Lutheyrien," she countered, frown lines deepening. "The reason We have summoned you is because our Oracle has declared you the savior of our kingdom." A thick silence congested the air between them. Lutheyrien blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. His painted lips opened, then closed, then opened once again. "Is your Oracle particularly fond of milk of the poppy?" he asked. "Ah... not that We are aware of, no. Though We do not see how it would be relevant even if he was." "Your Grace... you don't see? Really?" "The Oracle has never been wrong," she replied firmly. "If he says you are the hero, then you must be. Despite your... lacking qualities." "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a handful of those." "We do not intend to send you off with empty hands," the queen pressed on. "We will send you with food, weapons, maps, and a companion." "Companion? Like a dog? A big dog?" Lutheyrien hoped desperately it was a big dog. "What? No," the queen snapped. "A knight. He will assist you on your journey to defeat the warlock. Ser Laramer, retrieve Ser Tancred," she commanded. One of the bulky knights who had accompanied Lutheyrien to the castle stomped off in response. Ser Tancred? Well. Maybe he'll be cute. Like a dog.