A lonely paladin freshly exiled from the Church of Helm in Cormyr finds himself wandering into Baldur’s Gate looking for work, a purpose, maybe a new church… anything he can get, really. A spy and daughter of nobleman Chirion Jabrhee is just looking for some casual fun to blow off some steam. Maybe she’ll find it in the form of said lonely paladin who totally won’t get hung up on her. Cast: Boletus Edulis @Steffi 🍄 [Tavs:Mushroom Mob] Anareya Jabrhee @Clara - Tav: Mim / Anareya TW’s- familial abuse (y’all know Ana’s deal), military/war PTSD (y’all know Bo’s deal), and a somewhat toxic start to their relationship. But the goal is to learn to love and all that sappy stuff along the way. Enjoy!

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Clara - Tav: Mim / Anareya

claraoswaldttv

Steffi 🍄 [Tavs:Mushroom Mob]

.mushrooming

SoulFearer (Tav: Irory & Co)

soulfearer

Ell (Tav: Rosie and Co.)

polarized2023

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Clara - Tav: Mim / Anareya

claraoswaldttv

Steffi 🍄 [Tavs:Mushroom Mob]

.mushrooming

SoulFearer (Tav: Irory & Co)

soulfearer

Ell (Tav: Rosie and Co.)

polarized2023

Close

Days of travel have brought him here so far from home: Baldur’s Gate. His days used to be full of routine, of order, of purpose. But now? Well, at least he has his faith. Ever-present. Always watching. Never feeling. Just like Helm, these are the things Boletus strives to be. ”There is no room for a Hells-touched demon here. You have tainted our walls with your stench long enough. Cordelia and Lawrence were fools for ever taking you in, and they paid for it with their lives. Your cursed presence will no longer ruin us. Leave now, and do not look back.” ”Helm guide you, Boletus.” He dedicated his entire life to protect Cormyr, the Forest Kingdom. He bled for a country that only ever called him a monster, abandoning him as soon as it could. It doesn’t matter to him. Being called a devil or a demon never bothered him. Words cannot pierce the divine armor around his heart. This is because Helm does not care that he is a tiefling. His faith will never leave him, and his prayers will never go unheard. A god is easier to trust than a human. His dedication is what fueled him to walk on tired feet, to don armor on tired muscles, to wield heavy weaponry in tired hands. He heard that the Gate is full of opportunity, so here he is. Surely, there is someone somewhere that has use of a spurned man such as himself.

The city is ever restless. There are always new people to meet, new masks to adopt, new people to pretend to be. The Lower City is her playground, when she isn't being sent here for *assignments*. However many she does, they're never good enough, never clean enough. Always he finds some stain, something she missed, something she failed to do. Always just shy of being useful. At least with strangers she gets to be free of that. No expectations, no history, no strings. She can be whoever she wants, some innocent sweet girl who carries no burdens, no scars, no controlling father. It's what Anareya wishes she could be, a simple woman, with a simple life, free to have fun when she wants. The fact that she would have to work for money isn't something she's thought about. Any thoughts that simple girls with simple lives have their own worries are dismissed. It's only a flight of fancy anyway. She'll never really have that. He will long outlive her, and she'll probably outlive her usefulness long before she actually reaches old age, and who knows what will happen then. No, she'll take her fun while she can have it. She knows she can't have more anyway. She's learned her lesson from what happened to Gauwyn.

The tavern he has ended up in for the night is loud, crowded, and frankly, incredibly uncomfortable to be in. He has always hated small, people-filled spaces, his mind always fixating on how quickly everyone would perish from a simple structural collapse, or perhaps a wizard’s spell gone wrong. His gaze bounces between all the exits, his brain picks out individuals that would need rescuing or that would be best left to die. Maybe if he could drink his mead down, he could stop worrying. That would be nice. He is already feeling naked and vulnerable without his armor on, the full suit neatly stored away in his rented room along with his sword and shield. All he has to defend himself is the small amount of magic granted to him by his god and his lineage. And, well… he’s a pretty buff man. Large muscles bulge against his plain and thin long sleeved shirt. So he could probably toss a rowdy drunk or 10 around if he had to. Just relax. You need to relax, because as soon as daylight hits, you need to head to the Upper City and find that Helmite shrine. Boletus doesn’t know that not just anyone can enter that part of the Gate. So he finally drinks down the mead, the sweet liquid making him wince slightly. He soon feels just the slightest of buzzes, alcohol being something that does not grace his lips very often. He orders another, and prays it frees him from his own mind.

Anareya is leaning on the bar, mead in hand. She's definitely had better, but it's much preferable over other drinks they have here. She tried to flirt with the bartender, but they don't seem interested. Their loss really, the bar is busy, and there are plenty of people around to take her mind off of her life. She straightens her corset and checks a hidden seam in her skirt, feeling comforted by the small, thin metal blade there. She looks harmless, a perfectly average lower city woman, if a very beautiful one. But there is very little harmless about her. That pocket is one of many. On her person are at least 4 different options for dealing with someone, from the blade, to poisons, to paralytics. The tools of her trade are always on her person. She turns to scan the rest of the room, looking for someone new to entertain her, to keep her busy. She'll have to go home eventually, so many years of wishing to get away, she still goes back every time. The movement catches her eye, as a Tiefling at the end of the bar orders another drink. He's tall, good-looking, and looks incredibly uncomfortable. He's obviously stuck in his head about something, the way he's glancing around the place. Perhaps he'd enjoy the distraction. She runs her hand through her long red curls and makes her way over to his side of the bar. What name to pick this time? Emily, Elise, Marah? Maybe he won't even ask. "Hi, is this free?" Her face is full of innocence. Just a kind woman, asking if she can sit next to someone in a crowded bar.

The nervous swishing of his tail stops at the sound of a voice. Looking at her, the only thing going through his mind is that she would be someone that needs rescuing were something to happen. But nothing is going to happen. That will not stop his mind from staying in a place where danger lurks behind every corner. Danger does not often to come him in the shape of a beautiful woman. “Oh? Um, sure. Go ahead, miss.” He sips at more mead. It’s starting to taste marginally better. He would prefer a top-shelf whiskey, but he’s not exactly swimming in money.

She smiles kindly as she sits down. "Thank you." His voice is nice, she likes a good voice. She takes a sip of her own mead, trying to gauge him further. Tieflings and their tails, they can tell you a lot about them, but she'd need to know their style of tail first. "Are you new here? I don't think I've seen you around before." She doesn't come here often, but it's a safe bet to eat least get someone talking, usually at least.

Predictably, his tail swings back and forth apprehensively at the question. Why does she care? Oh. He glances at her ears. Half elf. They never treated him much better than the humans of Cormyr. Calling him a devil, calling him cursed, but still wanting to experience a body so different than their own. “I am,” he finally answers. He could never be rude, no matter how sour his mood might be. Alcohol is helping anyways. “I have traveled here all the way from Cormyr. To the east. I assume you must be local, then. That’s good. It’s quite literally my first day here. Cormyr is a big place, but not this big…” It’s a little overwhelming to him.

"Wow, Cormyr, that's.. Really far away right?" She knows exactly where Cormyr is. Her extensive training involved geography, but a simple Lower City woman? At most she'd have heard of the place. "I am a local, Baldur's Gate born and bread. How are you liking the city? I get the feeling this" She at the rest of the crowded bar. "isn't really your thing?" She continues to smile kindly. He seems apprehensive, best not flirt until he relaxes a bit, or gets drunk enough he doesn't care about whatever is bothering him. Anareya doesn't care that he's a Tiefling, he would hardly be the first Tiefling she's slept with. He's handsome, and fit, he looks like he could throw her, easily, and that's enticing. She just wants to have fun, and if toying with someone for an evening is all she gets, she'll still have a great time.

“It is quite far from here,” he confirms. “It’s close to the Dalelands. Sembia.” There’s a sour taste in his mouth when he mentions Sembia, along with a single angry flick of his tail. He washes that taste down with a large swallow of mead. I’m horrible company. Why is she bothering? He sighs a bit into his drink. Perhaps he should play along, make a new friend. Wouldn’t that be nice? “You’re not wrong,” he admits. “I’m not the best with crowds. But I’m renting a room upstairs, and I wasn’t really sure what else to do or where to go. The city is nice, it’s just quite large and I don’t even know where to begin as far as exploration.” I have all the time in the world to explore, at least. “As a local, you might have some good recommendations. I like food… and I like nature.” What an exciting man he is.

Sembia, best not ask about that. But the information is still filed away, you never know what could come in handy. "That's okay," she says in response to not being good with crowds. "We can pretend it's just the two of us, if you want. I prefer smaller groups too, but the drinks are better here." She happily goes over a number of smaller restaurants in the area, some cheap, some more expensive, she won't assume what his budget is. "Most of the inns and taverns sell food to, like this place. As for nature, the city is pretty packed. There are some small green corners, but mostly it's Bloomridge Park. At least for the Lower City. There are more parks in the Upper City." She mentions it casually, perhaps, if he's interested, she could pretend to have access, if he has a distain for rich people, well, so could she.

Just the two of us? Why? The remainder of his second mug is down, and he wonders if ordering another would be worth it. It might be to kill the paranoia. It would be nice to enjoy a civilized conversation without worrying what the catch is. Because surely there must be one. Be polite. You could use a friend. He files away all the places this mystery woman mentions to him in his near photographic memory. At least he won’t be bored while here’s here. “I’m sorry, Miss…? What was your name? And would you like another drink?”

There is the name. "Marah, you can call me Marah." There's barely a pause before she answers, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Sorry, how rude of me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I'd love another drink." She drinks down the last bit of her mead, keeping her eyes on his face. "I hope you don't mind me keeping you company. I was really hoping to hang out with someone who isn't a creep, and you don't seem like a creep." Her tone is lighthearted and genuine. He does seem like a good guy. People usually jump to flirting with her once she shows them a little attention. A quick smile, a flash of her green eyes, that's usually all it takes. She's met plenty of creeps though, the main reason why she carries at least one dose of paralytic on her person when she goes out.

“Miss Marah, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiles weakly. It’s genuine, but he’s just so tired. Not in a physical way, and not in a way where he could fall asleep sitting up. It’s just his mind that’s tired. It’s the type of exhaustion that cuts deep into your soul. Despite that, he takes her hand and gives her a decently firm handshake. Most things about him are just a bit larger than normal, his hands included. His tail, too. Long and thick, it sways leisurely behind him, the tufted tip brushing itself against the wooden floor. “My name is Boletus. It’s an admittedly strange name, so Bo is fine. Most people call me that, anyways.” He stifles a laugh at Marah’s admission, a hand covering his mouth. “I would like to think I’m not a creep, but you’re likely a better judge of that than I would be. You probably see a lot of people come and go.” He hails the bartender, who signals to him that he will be right over in just a few moments. Now, Miss Marah, what would you like? Another mead? Or something else?”

She returns the firm handshake. Whatever personality she adopts, she refuses to give a weak handshake unless absolutely integral to the role. "Boletus, I like it. But I'll call you Bo, if it's what you prefer." She deeply dislikes her real name being shortened, a cutting reminder of the only person who ever was familiar enough to call her Ana. He laughs, even if it is only a stifled one. That's at least something she's accomplished. "I've met my fair share, yes." She looks in his eyes intently, leaning just a little closer to gauge his reaction as she pretends to determine whether he's a creep. "Hmm, definite not a creep vibes." She leans back. "Mead is fine, I wouldn't want to put you out with something like whiskey."

Even if she’s just saying that about his name, it’s a harmless compliment that makes his orange freckled cheeks blush ever so slightly. And when she leans in closer to him, that blush only deepens. Close human contact has been few and far between for him. He likes to think that he is above a base need like intimacy. But he can never be like the god he admires so much. He is so painfully mortal. And he has eyes. Boletus’s attractions have always leaned a bit closer to men, but a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman. Shining eyes that cut through the dim lighting of the tavern dare stare into his shamefully demonic ones. Beautiful women always have a way of making him a bit nervous. “O-oh. I’m glad I, uh. Glad I passed?” he stammers. “I, uh…” Before he can make more of a fool of himself, the bartender approach’s them, and Boletus quickly puts that mask of stoicism back on. He wonders if Marah can read his mind, because whiskey is what he’s truly been craving. The mead isn’t cutting it. While he likes to keep his coin purse shut tight, well… now he has a woman to impress. Maybe he can splurge. Just for tonight. “Two whiskeys. Neat for me, on the rocks for her.” It’s a simple assumption made on looks alone. A pretty, delicate-appearing woman like her would surely want the bitter alcohol cut with the ice, right? As for Boletus, he prefers his drinks warm anyways. Hot-blooded tiefling and all. He does not like his drinks watered down by ice that he tends to melt instantly anyways. Drinks in hand, he holds his up expectantly. “Cheers.”

There it is, the fluster. Anareya knows she's beautiful, it's something she isn't afraid to use to her advantage, but she will never get tired of seeing people get all flustered when she flirts with them. And really, this was barely an effort. She enjoys the view of the view of his darker orange cheeks, seeing him put his mask back on. She takes the glass and clinks it softly against his as she looks into his eyes. "Cheers. To passing the test." She takes a small sip, feeling the liquor burn pleasantly on it's way down. She leans a elbow on the bar, circling the bottom of her glass on the bar. "So, dare I ask what brought you all the way out here?"

After a long sip, he lets out an even longer sigh. Tension leaves his body through the air he breathes out. It’s an immense relief that shows all over his face through the relaxation of his brow-bone and jaw. His tail wiggles a bit erratically behind him, sometimes fast and sometimes slow. Boletus has no reason to lie. He doesn’t think he could, anyways. His tipsy is slowly on its way to becoming drunk. And he talks so, so much when he’s drunk. “I heard there was a large Helmite church here,” he answers, speech ever so slightly slurred. “I used… I used to be a knight. A Purple Dragon. But I was told to leave, and told to leave the Cormyrian Helmite church as well. But I don’t… I was raised in the church for my entire life. I didn’t know what else to do.” I thought maybe they would be more open minded here about letting a demon like me join. They must be, right? There is a part of him that is mortified that he is telling a stranger this. But her eyes… she looks like she cares. Or is that just his own wishful thinking? “So here I am. I’m simply looking for work and a place to worship my god.”

A religious man, just her luck. It's nice to know he's enjoying the drink and relaxing a bit. If only her actual targets were as easy to get to talk. "Wow, that must have been hard, getting told to leave the place you've called home for so long." Not that she would know. She'd love nothing more than to be sent away from home, anything to get away from her father's influence. But it's what one is supposed to say right? She gives him an empathetic look and places a hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin radiates through his thin shirt. "It's okay if you'd rather not talk about it."

"It was immensely difficult," he answers, bitterness he would have normally tried to hide now dripping in every word. "My entire life, dedicated to the Crown. And for what...?" Gods, stop talking. You can't use being drunk as an excuse to bog down some poor woman with your sob story. "I'm sorry," he sighs, his gaze focusing at that small, delicate hand on his arm, and then up to eyes that make him want to tell her more. "People come to places like this to relax and have fun, don't they? That's what I need to be doing, not reminiscing on the unfortunate series of circumstances that have led me here. I don't want to bring your mood down. You're... too, too pretty for me to do that to." Suddenly, he gets a whiff of freshly made fried fish being served to a couple sitting a few seats away from him. His tail immediately starts to wag in interest, a rather gloomy countenance replaced by pure happiness. Maybe his mouth is watering just a bit.

"No apologies necessary, especially after a compliment like that. I think we're in need of some food. Everything feels better on a full stomach." Whatever it is that she smells, it seems to have improved his mood conciderably. It won't be as good as the food that's served at her father's house, but it'll be honest fare. She gestures towards the bartender and orders two portions of the food he just served, nodding when he says it'll take a bit to prepare. Throughout the order, she's kept her hand on his arm, and when she turns back her eyes sparkle like his compliment is the best she's heard. "We can still relax, have fun. I don't mind being a distraction for you." She's using him as a distraction anyway, so it only seems fair.

As his head swims in a pleasant haze, the word “distraction” is a welcome one. There’s no need to fret if all she is, is a distraction. Men like him do not have the luxury of having meaningful relationships. A “distraction” is the best he will ever get. His tails swishes happily as he speaks. “Haha, you read my mind, you mind reader, you,” he smiles, expression appropriately dopey. “I was getting really hungry. Thank you for ordering food.” That hand is still on his arm. Even that small amount of contact makes warmth bloom in his chest. What a lovely distraction indeed…

She smiles and bites her lip. "You caught me, your mind is an open book to me." She wiggles the fingers of her free hand, and gives his arm a small squeeze. He's even better looking when he smiles, and his arm is nice and firm under her hand. She just needs to be careful he's not too drunk. "I actually don't know what I ordered, I figured if other people ordered it, it must be good." She chuckles a little. She feels someone behind her bump against her a little. An opportunity, perhaps. Pretending to be more tipsy than she is, she loses her balance, falling against his arm. "Oof, sorry.." She leans against him maybe a second longer looking up at him, before she sits back on her stool.

“I mean, I could go for *anything*, right now,” he replies happily. “Seriously. So I don’t care what co-“ All of a sudden, Marah collapses into his arms. Wait, what? “Oh, careful miss,” he cautions. “Are you…” Time seems to stop just for a moment. And then, just like that, it starts again. The people in the background start moving when they were once still. The music played by a singular bard across the room can be heard where it had only been silent the moment she fell into his arms. She felt so, so soft. Suddenly, a large man quite literally drops two plates of fish and chips in front of the two, grunting a quick “enjoy” before scuttling away. Cue that excited tail wagging. It’s reminiscent of a happy little dog seeing its owner come home from work. “Fish and chips?!” he exclaims joyously. “Oh, it’s been so long since I had something like this! Oh, Helm bless you, Miss Marah. I hope you’re not paying for this, right? Because I *insist*. I can totally cover this!” For someone who looks rather uptight and reserved… he eats like any other soldier might. Like he’s never eaten a day before in his life.

"I'm okay." She assures him with a small smile."I guess I forgot there were other people here besides you." She looks a little bashful, perhaps even a little shy. Every look is precise, calculated, practised. Endless hours spent before a mirror, trying to memorise each muscle involved with each and every look, until she was able to fake them to perfection. Sure, her father didn't intend her to use this on anyone other than targets he provides, but it's second nature by now. That brief moment of being in his arms had felt nice, he's strong and it's not just his arm that's warm, his whole body seems to radiate heat, and her thoughts about how hot he might get are interrupted by the food being dropped off. He eats like he's ravenous, and Anareya can't help but laugh. "You already paid for drinks, I really don't mind." She won't fight him too hard, but it's not like she doesn't have the money. She eats her own food with a healthy appetite, though nowhere near the speed as he shovels food into his mouth.

His tail lifts a bit higher at the comment, wagging slower but not at all in a way that seems like he's unhappy. "I forgot there were other people here besides you." The blush seems stuck to his face, but he's tipsy and lost in the drunk munchies, the salty fried fish making his entire face light up. He almost looks like a little kid. ... well, as "little kid" as a 6'2", 230 lbs. muscled-up tiefling can look. "No, no," he protests, voice muffled by the food he's still chewing while he speaks. "I insist on paying. I couldn't let such lovely lady pay for my food. You're already paying me with your company! I fair trade, I say. Don't you think?"

Anareya nods resigning to let him pay, averting her eyes briefly before looking up through her lashes. Gods she loves seeing her words, her actions affect people. That blush, the happy wagging of his tail, it's addicting. "Alright then, how very gentlemanly of you. I will assure you though, you don't have to pay me for my company." There is no heat in the words, Anareya has paid for sex, she does not judge people who get paid for sex. She feels it unlikely that he thinks she is a prostitute. But as a woman, in a bar, coming onto someone strongly, she's learned it's best to be clear.

“Huh?” He gives Marah a confused look. “Oh,” he replies, once his sluggish brain picks up on what she’s insinuating. “I didn’t think you were a prostitute, Miss. I’ve been propositioned before, and it usually happens much quicker than this.” He giggle-snorts a bit while his mouth is stuffed with chips. “What if I were gay? Impotent? You would have been wasting your time if it took you this long to bring that up.” Bo, in his tipsy/drunken state, seems pleased with himself, tail swishing back and forth with amusement. “I just don’t like a lady paying for my food. Wasn’t how I was raised. No, no. Boletus, stand up straight. Boletus, tuck your tail in so people don’t trip on it. Boletus, don’t scowl, you need to pay attention to your face. Boletus, don’t let a pretty lady pay for your food…” He starts to laugh quietly to himself again.

CW: implied abuse: ||*"Straighter, I don't want to see a wobble on that book when you walk." The crack of a whip "Useless. Try again and don't think I'm healing any of those cuts because you're incompetent."*|| Boletus' words hit a little too close for comfort, making her father's voice echo through her head. Her face doesn't change, her short exhale turned quickly into a soft laugh. "If you were gay, I'd still have spent a lovely time with a lovely man. If you were impotent, we could certainly still have fun. Besides, not all company needs to be sex, but I like that that is where your mind goes." She adds teasingly. She takes a single chip, and bites it in half, knowing it pulls focus to her full red lips. "Either way, I like to make sure someone is actually nice. People are not always as they seem, after all." Marah, the simple Lower City woman, needs to be careful. Anareya is fully capable of defending herself. For her, toying with someone like this is half the fun. To find their interest and mold herself to it, to know she can have what she wants from them.

“W-wait! That’s not where my mind what going!” he stutters out with a blush. “You were the one that made the insinuation…” His tail flails around out of embarrassment, erratic and likely very silly-looking. “But I am neither gay nor impotent. Um… not that it matters…” What did she mean by “we could certainly still have fun…?” And me? A lovely man? The answer to saying embarrassing things is clearly to stuff his face full of food. Duh.

Hells, he's adorable when he's flustered, from the blush on his cheeks, to the twitch in his tail. It effectively banishes the lingering echo from her mind. This feels good. Her lips curl into a practised crooked smile as she places her hand back on his arm. "Boletus, I'm only teasing. Your mind is free to go wherever it likes. I promise." She gives his arm a firm squeeze on those last words.

She keeps touching his arm. Over and over. Driving him mad from a simple touch. He is only mortal, and deprived of something most mortals crave. It’s not sex, but most people aren’t looking for someone to simply hold them. They always want more. “Ah… well. I’m do try to be a gentleman,” he counters. “I promise my mind does not typically stray… that way? Not that you aren’t gorgeous and that I wouldn’t, r-really! It’s just… um, never mind.” He eats the last bite of his meal, and now he has nothing left to hide behind. “You… I assume you’re free for the evening, right?” he says after a small hiccup. “I’m horrible company, but it would be nice if you… stayed? We could… take a walk! I know it’s late, but I could grab my sword. I’m good in a fight. Or we could go back to my room? Wait wait, that certainly implies something I’m not trying to imply. Um… just strike that last suggestion from the record…” He rambles in circles for a bit. It’s what he does when he starts to panic.

The rush that runs through her as he stumbles to get a sentence out is incredible. She's been a lot more aggressive and gotten less of a reaction. It's tempting to push further, but she doesn't want him to crumble, not yet anyway, not here. Plus, he might run if she pushes to hard, and then the game would end. "I am free for the evening, and you've been nothing but a gentleman and great company. We could go for a walk, if that makes you feel more comfortable. I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe with a gentleman knight like yourself." He doesn't seem like the type to shove into an alley, but maybe she can still talk her way into his room later. "Relax, Boletus. I would really like to stay." Not that she could stay the night. She might be allowed this small freedom, but she'll need to report home eventually.

He laughs a bit weakly at that. I am a knight no longer. “A walk would be nice… I think I drank a bit much. Need to sober hic sober up a bit…” But who cares if he’s wasted? His parents are not here to scold him. Sellian is not here to congratulate him for finally loosening up enough to talk to a girl. The church isn’t here to whip him for making a fool of himself. A woman like Marah dare to grace him with her presence, however. Light that deigns to shine where it ought to not. Time to straighten up and fly right. He leaves some money on the counter to cover their bill, standing up from his seat with a slight wobble. “Wait here, Miss Marah… I’ll… I’ll grab my sword.” It’s not long till he’s back, with said sword on his hip. He was too drunk to attempt to put his armor on. It would have been a hassle, either way. With a slight bow, his tail swishing slowly back and forth at an uneven rhythm, he holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

Anareya waits patiently, eating some of the last chips on her plate before the bartender picks up the plates. He gives her a curious look, at her chosen company. He's seen her here before, and she usually doesn't go for walks with the people she meets. They usually aren't that patient. She tells him she'll be fine, and he wanders off. Sure, Boletus is strong enough to overpower her, if he's able to get a hold of her. And if she's honest, having a big, strong man like Boletus on his knees for her is part of what's enticing about him. "Wow, you really are a gentleman." She laughs like someone who is unfamiliar with being treated like a noble lady. She places her hand in his larger one and steps off of her stool. "Lead the way, my knight."

His face is serious, just for a moment. “Please do not call me that, Miss. I am no longer a knight. I am just… me.” Delusions are nice and all, but dishonor does not allow him to enjoy certain ones. He can pretend to be anything else but the title he was stripped of. Soon enough, his brain remembers that there’s the lovely buzz of alcohol and the company of a beautiful woman to enjoy. Outside of the bar, the night sky is filled with stars. Despite the later hour, there are still plenty of people about. Despite the drink, Bo was incredibly tense the entire time he was inside. It would have been worse without the alcohol, really. The fresh air just makes him smile, and his tail swings slowly behind him in response. “These streets have a certain charm to them,” he mentions offhandedly. “This what you call the Lower City, yes? Then there must be… let me guess… a Higher City?” His knowledge of Cormyr, its history, and Faerunian gods is vast… but he is otherwise ignorant about a lot of things outside of those topics.

Hmm, no longer a knight. If there's a story there, she's probably never going to find out. She won't take the time necessary to get close to him so he'll trust her with it. That's decidedly closer that she can afford to get to someone else. She just nods to his request and lets him lead her outside. Giving him the time to collect his thoughts of whatever is haunting him. She casually laces her arm through his, supposedly to keep her steady, or be warmed by his proximity because he is incredibly warm. But honestly, it's because she hopes he'll get a little less nervous from her touch, create a sliding scale to more touching. "Upper City." She corrects him gently. "Baldur's Gate is roughly divided in 3 parts. The Upper City, where all the rich people live." Like she isn't one of them. "And they have a bunch of fancy temples there. Then there's the Lower City, where we are now. And finally the Outer City, which is everything outside of the city walls."

“Ah! Upper city. Yes, that makes sense. Forgive my ignorance.” His tail sways leisurely back and forth, lifted high off of the ground. “The Helmite shrine I’m looking for is actually located there, now that you mention it. I planned going up there during the daylight hours to see if I could join their ranks somehow,” he muses. Again, he is unaware that entrance to the Upper City is limited to certain people. He fishes out an amulet from underneath a shirt: it’s a simple piece of metal jewelry, the pendant displaying a gauntlet with an eye carved into the middle of it. It’s the symbol of Helm, meant to illustrate his role as The Great Guard. He didn’t mean much of anything by taking it out. It’s simply just him reminding himself of his faith. Boletus is happy to have their arms linked. He hopes people would see them together and assume they were any old normal couple. “So, you grew up around here? It’s a nice little part of town. Where I grew up in Suzail was a bit nicer, but…” While the Gate is primarily populated by humans, there is still a much more diverse population here than compared to Cormyr. There was not a single other tiefling in all of Suzail, save for the prostitutes and slaves hidden away from the public eye. “Well, let’s just say it’s nice to not be stared at for once!”

Anareya chuckles softly at the apology. She'd never hold it against someone that they don't know the names to the different areas of Baldur's Gate. Marah definitely wouldn't, concidering how far he's come. Since he knows about the temple he so adoringly calls a shrine, and where it's located, she assumes he knows you need an access token or letter of reference to get in. Who would visit the temple of their God without coming prepared? That's how that works, right? "I grew up in the Gate, yes. I know it doesn't look very glamourous, but I love all the little hidden corners, small alleyways that lead to hidden gems." The roofs are easy to travers too, but that's not something Marah would know. "The Gate doesn't really judge, everyone's welcome here." Including people like her father, who is lauded among many houses. For all it's tolerance, it's very welcoming to intolerant people.

“I like that,” he replies softly. “I like things that look ordinary or unimpressive at first glance, but hide something wonderful underneath.” Something about the warm night air, the twinkling lights, the greenery as they approach a nearby park, just puts the still slightly-tipsy paladin in a weirdly romantic mood, the kind that just makes him wax poetic when he might normally try… not to do that. Soon enough, they’re in that aforementioned park. Giant bushes of hydrangeas, roses, and dahlias are in full bloom. A strong floral scent fills the air. “Perhaps Helm has guided me to this place, this place that welcomes even those touched by the Hells,” he reveres, awe in his eyes as he looks around the city. “I knew he would not abandon me.” There arms are still linked together. This is all it seems to take: someone nice, pretty, and willing to listen. “And perhaps he led me to you, a lovely lady to accompany this lovely evening. I’m not sure whether you or these flowers are more beautiful,” he muses while his free hand caresses one of the roses. He so badly wants to pluck it from the bush. But it is not his to take. It is only there to admire.

It takes all of her 20 years of training, hours of learning to control her emotions, to not roll her eyes at his reverence to Helm. The necklace she could have ignored, but this? Helm didn't do shit, Boletus decide to come here himself, The Gate is not the only place like this where everyone seems to be welcome. He certainly didn't lead him to her. She chose Boletus, no God has ever interfered in her life, they wouldn't start now. "You're too kind. You're going to make me blush if you're thinking you're God brought us together." She gives his arm a little squeeze before leaning down to smell the rose he's holding. Her lips a similar shade of red as the rose. Involving his God is tricky, it certainly suggests something more involved than she's looking for. But she knows better than to share her particular thoughts about Gods, most people wouldn't agree and feel offended. Of course, most people didn't have her lived experience. "I love this garden. Hardly anyone ever comes here, or even knows it's here." She picks an deep orange hydrangea, brings it to her nose to smell, before tucking it gently behind Bloetus's ear. She has no issue taking what she wants. "It's lovely." She's gotten closer now, her eyes drifting to his lips before looking back into his. "I'm glad I got to show you."

To him, he owes his whole existence to his god. He did not have to grow up on the streets like so many of his kind did. He got an education, he got training, he was given purpose. Without him, he would just be a cursed being left to rot under the weight of his own horns. So to him, company in his time of need? Surely, that must be because of his god, too. A loyal follower whose faith never faltered, even against the horrors of war, death, and abandonment- rewarded with beauty, however fleeting it might be. He blinks a few times as Marah does exactly what he had contemplated doing, but was too afraid to do. “Thank you very much for showing me,” he says, voice so soft it’s only a whisper. Because why waste your time? Marah had no problem taking that flower. Perhaps he should take a page out of her book. So he leans forward to kiss her, the heat of his fiendish blood concentrated in his lips more so than most areas of his body. His tail sways slowly, low to the ground.

There he is. That shy blushing man, finally catching on. Sometimes it pays to be patient. Anareya isn't always willing to put in the time. Sometimes she just wants the simple easy thing. Sometimes she's even unwilling to chase or be chased. Then she just goes to a brothel to get what she wants. But sometimes, she likes a challenge, to know she's capable of bringing someone out of their shell, to know she's capable of bringing them to take what they want, when every sense of their propriety would keep them from acting on their desires. Those are the most satisfactory. So this? The shy, bumbling, blushing man, leaning down to claim a kiss? That's exactly what she wanted. She rises to her toes to meet his lips with hers. The warmth of his lips surprises her, in the best way. She's been aware of his heightened body temperature, but his lips are somehow even warmer. It feels amazing and she can't help but wonder how those lips will feel tracing over the rest of her body. The hand she had on his shoulder after tucking a flower behind his ear slide around his neck, tangling loosely in his hair.

Opportunities for intimacy have been far and few between for a man like him, inherently shy, repressed, and uncomfortable with how different his body was from his peers. Orange skin, black sclera, horns, tail, ridges all over his body… After 30 years of living in this body, he has made some amount of progress. He has learned that people like a novelty. People like size and strength. He can give those things to people, and in return, he gets to touch another, to indulge in a fantasy of something he does not think he can ever truly have. His tail swings just a little bit faster as he leans into the kiss, hands in his hair making him hum happily from the slight tingle in his scalp. But then, his eyes shoot open. They’re outside in public, and as it was mentioned earlier… He’s shy.

The surge of satisfaction she feels when he relaxes slightly and leans into the kiss should probably worry her, if she lets herself think about it. Because it's power, pure and simple. She's known for a long time how beautiful she is, and she's used it to her advantage plenty of times. This though? Seducing someone and having them lose their composure because of *her*? This is how she feels any sense of control in her life. The rest is all in the hands of her father. She hasn't let herself think about the similarity in enjoying power. She fights too hard to not be like him, to hate him. She's not able to face that he's driving her to be like him. Instead she focuses on the kiss, on him, letting herself go just a little bit to enjoy it. Until he suddenly tenses. She pulls back immediately. The game is not fun if they're not both into it. The hand in his hair moves to cup his jaw, her eyes looking over his face with concern, though her concern is mostly for being able to continue their game than how he's actually doing. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"O-oh, nothing," he replies quickly, surveying his surroundings with a slight sense of panic. There are only a handful of people around, and they're all very far away from the "couple". He just always feels eyes on him, even when there are none. "I just... um. That was a lovely kiss, and I would like more of that... just..." He looks into Marah's eyes, large and sparkling in the moonlight, and begins to calm down. This is the time to be a man, isn't it? Men are not timid, weak, and shy little things. They are not delicate flowers to be treated with care. Oh, no. Men are strong, confident, and reliable. They take what they want, because the world was built for them. "Boletus, stand up straight. Look me in the eye. No stuttering... There you go, much better. You will join our ranks in no time if you keep this up." "I'm a bit of an old-fashioned person," he says, no longer tripping over his own words. "I like privacy. I would hate to accidentally give someone a show, you know?" He places a hand under Marah's chin and leans in close to her slightly-pointed ear. "Do you have a place where we could indulge in each other in private? I could also offer my room." His words are also a performance, thought he does not see them this way. A performance implies that he is acting. Acting implies that he is pretending to be something he is not. This is simply the Boletus that he wants to be, but this façade of confidence is one that will not last long.

If only she had learned to blush on command. That bodily reflex was one she never learned to command. Instead she smiles like her cheeks are burning when he says he wants to continue kissing. Then something seems to shift. He's no longer the bumbling shy man. He's not lying, Anareya's fairly sure on that, but she of all people can recognise a mask slipping into place, can see when someone is pretending to be someone they're not. Even though she shivers at his voice in her ear, his hot breath brushing over the shell of her ear, so sensitive they might as well be full elf ears, she pulls back a bit. "Your room is definitely closer." Not to mention there's absolutely no way she can take him to her father's home. "Whatever you want Boletus, I promise I'm very interested." Yes she's hoping they will do more than just kissing, hoping that she can get him to really let go. But if this mask slips, and he's no longer interested, well the game is only fun if they're both enjoying it

There’s nothing clearer than words spoken aloud, though “whatever you want” is admittedly a vague phrase. If Bo could truly having “whatever he wants,” he would take his time. Court her. Bring flowers. Declare his affections and intentions atop a balcony overlooking some romantic scenery. Sex would be something that came along afterwards. But he isn’t that stupid. Marah’s gazes, touches, and words have only illustrated to him that she is, at most, interested in his body. That sort of attention is preferable to eyes that stare at him like a curse in the shape of a man. “Then, allow me to escort you back to my room,” he says with a slight bow. “I would be honored to show a beauty like you a good time.” His hand rests on the small of her back as they walk. He, once again, leans down close to her ear when they’re back in front of the tavern. “I paid a little extra to have a privacy ward installed.” Maybe if I do well enough, she’ll want to see me again.

She smiles and steps back enough from him to turn to back to the inn. Her hips sway as she walks back, the warmth of his hand seeping through her corset and undershirt. She has no doubt he'll show her a good time. The one good thing she's learned about paladins is their dedication to doing a good job. She might detest their dedication to gods, but this, she can appreciate. Her eyes roll shut when he whispers in her ear again as she breathes out a shuddering breath. A privacy ward? She's obviously not going to object, but it's a surprising choice for someone so shy. He doesn't seem the type to have someone in his bed every night, why would he need a privacy ward? Shit, why does he have to be interesting? She was just going to have fun. How is she supposed to resist a mystery like this? Hopefully by having mind blowing sex that'll help clear her head of anything else. "Really? Lucky me. Or lucky other guests, I suppose.I do love a forward thinking man, so well prepared." Her husky voice lowers while she's teasing him, bumping her shoulder into his side. When they get to the Inn, she catches a glance from the bartender she was flirting with before she moved her attention to Boletus. She gives him a look while Boletus is looking away that makes it clear that this is his loss, before leaning into Boletus, letting him guide her to his room.

There is no grand mystery to Boletus. He is just a mortal man who has been affected by the horrors of war like any other soldier. Sometimes, he wakes up screaming because he thinks he’s still in Suzail ||watching his only friends burn alive, unrecognizable bodies mixing with the piles of Netherese soldiers slain by his own hand.|| The privacy ward is more for the other patrons. He hates to cause a scene. But he’s glad it can have another unintended use. They can’t hear the outside, and the outside can’t hear them. His rented room is fairly modest. In it is a bed is large enough for two. There is a fresh flower arrangement on the table near a small door that leads to the balcony. His heavy armor is displayed on a foldable stand. There’s a small couch by a tiny fireplace that seems to be fueled by magic. Overall, not a bad little place to forget about the world. He goes to put away his weaponry before taking Marah’s hand in his. With his other hand, he tilts her chin up once again to kiss her. It’s as gentle as can be and rather chaste considering what the both of them are expecting to happen. His tail swings nervously back and forth in short arcs.

The room is small and simply furnished, especially compared to the mansion Anareya lives in. When compared to her own personal room though? It's suprisingly similar. The guestrooms are all much more lavish than hers, another way in her father shows how little he cares for her. He spends vast amounts of money on rooms that get used a couple of times a day, while her room would be undecorated if she hadn't learned how to paint. His room is definitely more comfortable than the cupboards or pantries she otherwise ends up in. There's a bed big enough for two, even if she has no intention of staying the night. It means they get to lie down, instead of being pinned against some shelves. She leans into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Despite the warmth radiating from his lips, the kiss is not as heated as she'd expect. He's surprisingly gently, where she's used to a certain hunger that people let loose the moment they're in private. She presses her body against his, every move calculated to show him she wants this, him, as her fingers tangle in his hair. He seemed to like that. "You can touch me, Boletus. I promise I won't break."

Of course she won't break, because Boletus would not dare let himself do that. His strength is held back by a leash made out of titanium. He lets out a satisfied hum at those slim fingers wind around in his hair, loose and overgrown from the years of neglect. They only encourage him to do more. Because doesn't this feel nice? Doesn't is feel nice to kiss someone and hold them? To know that you do not invoke fear or disgust, but attraction and arousal? His kiss becomes deeper, but he's clearly inexperienced. Others did not care to waste time with this aspect, the foreplay of it all. Despite that, he isn't one to give up. If his kiss is unpracticed, then maybe his hands tracing the curves of Marah's waist can serve as a distraction, claws playing with the laces of her corset. They're quite sharp and could easily snap the little string apart. But tearing off a lady's clothes is very rude, very beastly behavior, he thinks.

It's adorable how his kisses are slightly awkward, she really did manage to pick one this time. She kisses him slowly, hoping to make him gain some confidence while his hands trace the curve of her narrow waist. She can feel his fingers catch on the laces of her corset. While the idea of having him rip them open is tempting, there's a risk of tearing a hidden pocket, and she'll have to repair it or risk having to answer for it. Not to mention walking back into the upper city half dressed. So she untangles on of her hands to reach behind her and pull the on string that loosens the tension. The corset isn't exactly tight, just hugging her shape rather than confining it. She still needs to be able to move, climb, and sneak. She doesn't stop kissing him humming as his hands keep wandering over her sides. The warmth coming off of him is incredible, to feel it seep slowly through her clothes. And she wants to know what it's like to feel it skin to skin, does it get hotter when he's lost in pleasure? She doesn't bring her hand back to his neck, but places it oh his chest, deft fingers teasing at the buttons of his shirt.

Confidence goes a long way, as does a little guidance. Bo simply follows her lead while fingers tucked underneath her loosened top. The feeling of bare skin on his hands already is making his heart race. How on Toril is he supposed to survive this? If he were to think like a soldier, he’d want to be on the offensive. To attack a weak point. So his lips kiss her cheek, and then he brushes away her long red hair to reveal that adorable slightly-pointed ear. He takes the very tip of in into his mouth, using his lips to protect the sensitive area from razor sharp teeth. “Very, very cute…” he mumbles absentmindedly, tail wrapping around the woman’s calves in approval. He makes no effort to stop her hands from fiddling with his shirt. His skin feels quite hot anyways.

There he is, he just needed a little help. For a moment there Anareya thought she was going to have to do all the work, not that she hasn't had to in the past, but she prefers if there's more of a balance. When he doesn't protest, she unbuttons the rest of his shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders while her hands get a feel for his big, muscular frame. Everything about him seems big, from his height, to the with of his shoulders, to his hands. It makes her feel small, light, like he could snap her in two, and it's that like of image that makes this all the more arousing. Because she can tell that he wouldn't. From his shy inexperienced kisses, to his gentle touch, to the blush from kissing in public. Boletus is a kind gentle man, which means she'll be in control here. For as long as this lasts, she has a say over what happens to her. Her breath stutters when his lips settle over the tip of her ear, her hands freeze in their exploration, tightening on his arms causing her nails to dig into the muscle. "Someone's been paying attention." Her normal husky voice is breathy as she whispers in his ear.