#pepper writes

Qifrey really takes his time tonight, flicking the bubbles out of the syringe of his weekly dose. Gloved hands tear open a swab and Olruggio can smell the alcohol on it before he feels the cold circle of it on his thigh. His jaw tenses, eyes squeeze shut and fists tighten. He hates this fucking part. The alcohol is always too cold and the smell makes him think of white coats and blinding overhead lights. Olruggio takes a deep breath through his nose when Qifrey's nitrile gloved hand grabs the portion of his thigh. He squeezes the fatty skin, the alcohol has dried fully and the contents of the syringe wait to be injected.

"There's no need to stress, Olly. You do this every week."

He winces. "Because it hurts every damn time…"

Qifrey's hand squeezes around his thigh again. "That's because you tense up like this every time, my star." The pet name is almost enough for Olruggio to feel his fingers unclasp from their vice grip. His adam's apple bobs in his throat, he wipes at his sweaty goatee and turns slowly to see Qifrey crouched next to him.

Eyes immediately trace the syringe, the thick liquid inside and then the pointed needle. He shudders and has to turn away again.

"Just…just do it." He puffs up his chest, grits his teeth in anticipation and curls his lips together into a tight line. "I'm ready."

Qifrey makes a sound of confirmation, grabs that portion of his thigh and sticks the needle in immediately. Olruggio jolts, the pain is bruising and a sharp pinch that pulses in the immediate area. Before he can even dwell on it, he lets his muscles tense and brings a hand to bite his finger. Qifrey's speaking all cheery beside him.

"And done! Good job, Olly, as always." He slides the gloves off after tossing the needle and syringe into the sharps container. He rips open a bandaid, presses the cotton ball to Olruggio's thigh and guides his hand to press down on it. Qifrey rises to his full height and puts away the rest of the supplies and Olruggio stares at him as he does so.

He'll usually give me a little kiss after… He thinks to himself, his heart weighing heavy in his chest all of a sudden. Qifrey and Olruggio have a habit of having the same routine every week on their shot days.

Qifrey does his own shot himself, then he'll prep Olruggio's. When that's over, he swipes Olruggio's bangs to the side and gives him a firm kiss to the forehead, then a cheek, and finally his mouth. Qifrey knows he's supposed to do this, it's routine. It's part of the schedule. If Olruggio had to write down a step-by-step plan, he'd include those three kisses as separate bullet points. The final one being the most important one. Surely, Qifrey wouldn't neglect it.

Olruggio bandaids his wound, tosses the bloodied cotton ball into the trash and soothes his palm over the bandage. He looks to Qifrey expectantly, like a dog waiting for its meal when the clock strikes dinner time. Those big blue eyes stare into Qifrey's profile. He almost asks, lets his mouth open to form the words but Qifrey speaks first.

"I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to head to bed." He shuts the drawer that holds their boxes of medication and turns to look at Olly. There's a glint in his eye. Something mischievous plays across his face and Olruggio can see that sick amusement.

Oh, Qifrey definitely knows he's neglected those last three steps.

"Care to join me?" He asks oh, so innocently.

Stunned, heart broken, and half way being to straight up angry, looks at Qifrey with a cocked head. "You're forgetting something and you know it."

Qifrey, warm smiles and confused brow, tilts his head. "Hm? We did your shot, didn't we? Now it's time for bed." He's playing into it a bit much, he knows this. Teasing Olruggio was just too easy and much too fun for his own good. Even if a little part of his heart broke as he looks at Olruggio's poor, confused look, he knows the end result to such neglect.

He saunters his way out of the bathroom, Olruggio follows closely behind after he practically catapults himself off the toilet.

"Oi, you're giving me that cheesy smile that I know is hiding something! You're being cruel…this is cruel and unusual punishment , Qifrey!"

"Over a shot, Olly, really?" He looks over his shoulder, that sparkle in his eye never leaving. He's enjoying this…he's giddy over it. Olruggio knows exactly what Qifrey's wanting and god dammit, of course he's gonna give it to him!

"You know damn well it's not over a shot. You forgot—no— you skipped three important steps."

It's laughable, just how upset he is, but the passion in his voice breaks Qifrey a little. If he didn't know when to pull back, knowing he was crossing a boundary, he'd probably cave. But he knows his Olruggio can handle a little more defiance.

"I truly have no semblance of an idea as to what you're getting so upset over. You're acting like I've done some heinous act to you!"

"You've neglected me. I'd say that's a heinous act to me!" He cries, entering their bedroom and sitting next to Qifrey when he sets himself down on his side of the bed. "Why are you acting like this?"

Qifrey takes his spectacles off, sets them down on his bedside table and looks to Olruggio. "Really, Olly. I'm acting no such way. Now, come—" He swings his hand toward Olly, about to gesture to his partners side of the bed. His wrist is instantly grappled, the grip on it firm and clammy.

Looking up, Qifrey's met with a sight; Olruggio's large, ocean waves irises tremble and they look dewy. But there's something darker in the stare, just behind that pleading sadness. There's a twist of dark desire, the hunger in it making Qifrey's mouth water as he realizes he's close to his goal.

"You forgot to kiss me," He finally reveals. "You were supposed to kiss me and…you know what we do every week." The grip on Qifrey's softens just barely, but that flicker of anger ignites in Olruggio's eyes. "You're going to follow every step. Like always."

Qifrey tries to resist the urge to bite his lip to hide his satisfying grin. Good. I love when he gets like this. He ultimately fails, noticing the way Olruggio's eyes flicker down to his lips.

"You'll have to show me such steps. I can't recall them." He brings his face close to Olruggio's. The intent written across him. The grapple on his wrist falls and is instead replaced to his neck. Qifrey's hands find Olruggio's wrist and forearm of the hand that squeezes around his pale neck. Qifrey feels bliss bloom and flood into his brain, turning it to mush.

"You'll learn your lesson first. Then, we'll go back and discuss the steps." He stands, making his way between his lovers thighs.

In his tight briefs, Qifrey feels his enlarged clit pulse with a dull desire. It makes him soaked, oozing out of his hole and seeping into a dark spot on the fabric.

With his other hand, Olruggio slides down his boxers. They crumple at his mid thighs, his hair creating a path up to the larger patch of dark hair. His large clit sticks out, pink and trembling with a red hot craving for stimulation. Qifrey's throat closes slightly when Olruggio squeezes just enough to make him choke out a gasp.

His head falls forward, nose diving into the coarse hair that frames his sex. He breathes in deeply, that musk of smoke and heady salt filling his senses. His favorite place to be is here, mouthing hair and fat skin. Tongue dipping from between his lips to venture across his pubic area.

"Olly," He mouths against his skin. "Let me…please…" He opens his mouth. Qifrey turns his face and the tip of his tongue barely grazes his lovers dick before he's getting tugged backward by the hair. The warm palm around his throat holds him firmly in place, the other weaving Qifrey's hair into his fingers and pulling it taught.

"You do as I say, love." His hand in his hair uncurls slowly, sliding his fingers down the side of his face. His calloused fingertips graze Qifrey's lips, invading his mouth with two fingers. "Open more."

Qifrey's jaw slacks, Olruggio pinches his tongue with a thumb and forefinger. He pulls the muscle past the threshold of Qifrey's bottom lip and pats it twice. "Keep like that for me."

Qifrey huffs, frustrated and not at all what he was wanting tonight to be. He's supposed to make Olruggio let him worship him. Let him wrap his lips around his dick and take him so well into his soft and pliant mouth.

Now, Olruggio releases Qifrey's neck, much to hid dismay. He rests his hand over his mound, angling his aching and swollen clit to the flat of Qifrey's tongue. It sits hot and sticky on his trembling tongue. Olruggio slides his hips as he slowly grinds against the softness of Qifrey's mouth. There's a whimper, something pathetic and needy that shrills from the depths of his chest.

"Stay like that, Qifrey. Just like that." Olruggio lets his eyes flutter shut when his clit slides against Qifrey's tongue with such a force that he touches teeth. It has him hissing a breath through his gritted teeth and lets a groan spill from his mouth.

"Awh—ee," Qifrey's pleading voice vibrates against the underside of his dick when his tongue curls just slightly form the 'L' of his name. Olruggio slams his dick into Qifrey's mouth. There's a muffled 'eek!' And his nose gives into soft, warm skin. His pubic hair tickles his nostrils and he struggles to breathe.

Olruggio's clit slides deep into Qifrey's mouth, his tongue struggles to find a comfortable purchase. His partners incessant push and pull from his face has him struggling to gain his bearings. To ground himself, Qifrey lays his hands across the thick hairy thighs before him.

He struggles to slip his lips around the thick and fat shaft of his clit. Qifrey's mind melts, making his eyes rolls back when Olruggio thrusts so deeply into him that Qifrey's nose smacks hard into his pelvis. The dull pain only thinly masks the pleasure he feels between his soaked legs and he squeezes them as a result. His eye becomes blurry with tears when the desperation crawls beneath his skin. His nails dig into Olruggio's thighs, gripping hot skin and dark hair.

"Fuck, my love," He sighs. He drags us cock from Qifrey's mouth, the fading of angry red has grown in hue when his partner's eye focuses on it. Its mouthwatering; Qifrey so wishes he could just lean in and take him back into his mouth. His eye turns big and round when it flinches, jerking just slightly when Olruggio breathes deeply.

A rough, thick hand cups the length of himself in his fingers. His thumb pulls back on his foreskin, pulling to reveal his angry clit. Olruggio jacks himself off like this, Qifrey's open mouth hovering below where he knows he'd get a taste of that delicious desire. It pools out of Olruggio, his fingers traveling down to gather it on his finger pads before Qifrey can even attempt to have a lick.

"Mean…" He chastises, pouting when Olruggio cracks an eye open to give him a sadistic smirk.

"Get back here and I'll let you have a taste." He grabs a fistful of Qifrey's hair and smothers his face with his slick. It's warm and smells so strongly of that sweet musk he loves. His mouth parts, letting the cock ease into his warm mouth once more.

He wraps his lips around, hugs his tongue against the girth of his clit and sucks. He suckles hard, tongue flicking and sliding side to side. He bobs his head, Qifrey's bliss increasing, all thoughts escaping from the corners of his mind. Olruggio. Olruggio. Olruggio. He chants his name in his head with each thrust, each slurp around his lips, each smack into his front teeth.

Olruggio does not need penetrative sex for him to feel his approaching orgasm. Having Qifrey's mouth around him is enough for his hips to stutter. When he feels his foreskin catch just barely between two of his teeth, he lets out a shaky breath, a gasp. His whole face and chest reddens, hips smacking, coating his skin with spit and his own arousal. Strings of it connect to Qifrey and split every time he pulls back just to force his way back inside.

Qifrey feels Olruggio hit the back of his tongue, just grazing his uvula. The softness of it has the man gripping hair on either side of Qifrey's head and fucking his face nice and hard.

"Open wide for me, sweet thing. Just like that," Olruggio croons, the softness of his voice a stark contrast to his tugging and slamming hips.

Qifrey only whines, his body trembling with such desire. He wonders if he could come like this; Untouched and empty with a cock deep in his mouth. He swallows around Olruggio, feeling him pulse in rhythm with his heart beat. His tongue curls and drool slips down his chin and between his perky breasts. He squirms where he sits, hands still gripping meaty skin.

"Gonna use this mouth till I come," Olruggio promises through gritted teeth. "You're gonna let me use this pretty mouth to get off, right?" Qifrey attempts to nod but can't when his lover has such a grip on his hair. It's okay, he can see the pleading in his lovers one eye.

His head rolls back then, grip loosening when his slick drips down between his thighs. It pools in his thick pubic hair and he's sliding it across his shaft when he pulls out a little. He slips a finger into Qifrey's needy lips, increasing the girth he mouths around. The sensation brings along that crashing wave of Olruggio's orgasm. It approaches fast, it's destination just a mere feet away.

"Qifrey…Fuck, you fucking—minx, you!" He slams his dick, rutting into the nimble man's smushed face with all his might when that wave crashes into the mountainside with such a force.

Olruggio's hair clings to his forehead when his hips spasm and he feels the pulsating of his cock as his orgasm travels across him. His muscles tense, holding Qifrey in place as the aftershocks of his orgasm begin to fade. His clit twitches every few seconds, jerking forward like it's spitting ropes into his Qifrey's throat. The mental image alone has him regretting using a strap for only a moment. This was for Olruggio and only for him.

He lets Qifrey go with one final breath. Qifrey's body buckles into its self when his hands fall from Olruggio's thighs. He catches his breath, his face damp and red where rough hair rubbed him raw. Spit pools in his mouth, it's agape and drooling a thin line of spit into his lap. He takes heavy breaths, chest and shoulders heaving, the ache between his thighs never ceasing. Oh, how he'd wish Olruggio would pin him down and stuff him full of his girthy clit.

He knows that option is out of reach when Olruggio silently walks out of the room.

He's left like that. Used and crumpled on the bed. His jaw aching, chin caked with crackling slick and saliva. He wipes at his face, tasting that hint of Olruggio's cum. He slowly lays down, curling into the blankets.

The very man who just fucked his face, comes back a few moments after with a damp rag and glass of water. He sits beside Qifrey. Silently reaching over to wipe gently at his mouth.

"That was really mean. I just wanted my kisses," He says in a low, almost disappointed tone.

Qifrey finds the strength to peer up at him, a goofy, satisfied smile on his face. "Worth it, I'd say," He proudly states. His mind is still muddled, his needy cock and hole left neglected was the one downside to his choices tonight.

"Yeah, well, next time you do that," He pokes at Qifrey's ticklish side, making him draw into himself and yell. "You're getting a good beating."

His ears perk, limbs suddenly having the strength to lift himself from the bed. Post non-orgasm stupor evaporating as quickly as it came.

"You mean it?" His eye glistens with excitement and Olruggio remembers the freak of a partner he has. Qifrey gently lays his head back down.

"You're unbelievable…" He pets Qifrey's hair, pushing it aside to inspect the scarred tissue of his hidden eye. His lovers smiles warmly, reddened cheeks the color of his crimson pillow under his head.

He's tired, unbelievably so and his calming clit still pulses in his underwear when he slides under the covers next to his partner. He scoots close, slotting his body against Qifrey's and presses their foreheads together. He stares deeply into Qifrey's icy blue eye.

"You really won't give me those kisses?"

Qifrey giggles, light and airy. He cups Olruggio's soft cheeks, uses the tip of his nose to brush back his bangs. He plants a chaste kiss to his forehead, his mouth slides along his temple down to his cheek bone. Another kiss. Then he presses his lips firmly into Olruggio's. Their lips slot together, bristles of hair tickle his raw skin. It burns just a little but it's satisfying all the same. He could get himself drunk on just the taste of Olruggio alone. He moans into the kiss, whining when Olruggio pulls away.

"Don't skip a step again and you'll get what you want."

It's strange how he can twist something meant as worship for him into something he can use to torture Qifrey.

Qifrey feels a sick twist of desire at the notion of doing it again. A terrible plan forms itself into his mind. One where he's manhandled to the bed, forced face down and God knows, put in how many positions as a result of his wickedness.

Guy wakes up to the melodic sounds of vomiting coming from the bathroom. He scrubs a hand over his face, yawning as he sits up to check the time. The glowing neon numbers of his alarm clock declare it's 6:37 in the AM, and Guy rolls out of bed to go check on his partner.

"Hal?" Guy calls softly, knocking on the bathroom door. "Y'alright?"

The only answer he gets is a pitiful groan from the other side of the door. Guy frowns, pushing the door open and taking in the scene before him.

Hal is slumped in front of the toilet, head hanging half in the bowl. The acrid smell of vomit hangs in the air like a haze, and what Guy can see of his lover's face is pallid, his soft brown hair damp with sweat.

Guy sighs, crossing the space to sit on the edge of the tub beside Hal. He presses the back of his hand to Hal's forehead, but the tell-tale heat of fever isn't present. Hal offers him a wan smile.

"Just nauseous, babe. Don't worry 'bout it."

"It's been three days, moron," Guy scolds, though his hand is gentle when he runs it through Hal's hair. "You really should get checked out."

Hal huffs, eyes sliding shut with the motion of Guy's hand. "Startin' to sound like Bar," Hal tries to joke, though he's cut off by another bout of wretching.

"Hardy har," Guy deadpans, rubbing Hal's back as he empties his stomach again. "I'm serious, Hal."

Hal spits into the toilet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighs.

"I'll call later," he says, and Guy takes that for the concession that it is. He stands, offering Hal a hand up.

"M'kay. I'm going to make breakfast, think you'll be able to keep anything down?"

"Suppose I should try," Hal mutters, pulling himself up and reaching for his toothbrush. Guy hums noncommittally as he slides past Hal, dropping a kiss on the shorter man's cheek as he heads for the kitchen.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried. In all the years he's known Hal, Guy has only seen the other man genuinely sick once or twice. It was disconcerting to see Hal Jordan, who regularly took on intergalactic threats, down for the count with a stomach bug of all things.

Guy steps into their kitchen and opens a cupboard, grabbing a pot. Oatmeal would make a good breakfast for both of them, with the bonus of not making Hal feel like he was eating 'sick food'.

Guy is slicing bananas for their oatmeal when his ring chimes with an incoming message from Salaak.

*Lantern Gardner, please report to Oa at your earliest convenience.*

Guy frowns. "What the hell for? I just got back to Earth."

*I am not at liberty to discuss it further. You are expected within three Earth cycles.*

The channel closes before Guy can protest further. Fucker. Knowing the little blue bastards, it probably wasn't even that serious and they just didn't want to get their wrinkly little hands dirty.

"Whoa, what'd that banana ever do to you?"

Guy looks up to see Hal leaning in the kitchen doorway, hair damp and skin glistening from the shower. He looks unfairly pretty in the golden morning light, and far better than twenty minutes ago, with the color returned to his cheeks. Guy looks down and sighs at the sight of a thoroughly mashed banana.

"Nothing, sweetcheeks, just got a call from Oa. Gotta head out ASAP," he tells Hal, scraping the banana remains into his bowl while his partner rummages through the cupboard.

"You just got back though," Hal pauses in his hunt to turn his pouty face on Guy.

"You're telling me," Guy snorts, dishing up the oatmeal as Hal finally retrieves his desired topping - chocolate chips. "Didn't you just get done ralphing? Put those back."

Hal sticks his tongue out at the larger man, successfully dropping a handful into his bowl before Guy confiscates the bag. Guy shakes his head.

"Whatever. I'm not cleaning up after ya, though," he gripes, hip checking Hal on his way to the table. Hal rolls his eyes.

"You love me," the pilot sing-songs, grabbing some spoons and following his partner out of the kitchen.

"God knows why," Guy huffs and rolls his eyes, though he still leans in for a kiss when Hal grins and bats his eyelashes at him.

Note: This was tossed together as a sort of ‘character moment and background’ thing… Feel free to make any commentary, but please do it in the light that a) I haven’t really tackled Paladins until very recently in any tangible way and b) this is more or less a rough draft take on a scene that popped in my head.

Note the second: One of these days I -will- make a straight forward paladin, but I’m still in that beginning ‘break all the things/see where things stretch to phase of character creation ^_^;;; (I do have a whole story that plays with the idea of gods, paladins, right and wrong, good and evil, and all that where the heroes do end as more or less proper pallys, but the start isn’t what it seems… at the moment that idea is on the back burner though)

The Gods are fallible.

This statement was the backbone of her faith.

Elizabeth Camilla Makeda had come to distrust any priest that would proclaim the perfection of any single god. Not in that she hated them or thought they were leading people wrong. It was more that they had blinded themselves to the bigger picture.

In a world where there were multiple gods, each with their own domains and focus, she could not believe that any single god could understand enough of the universe on their own to be anything but a flawed, incomplete creation. For many, this revelation would bring a deep distrust in the gods if they believed in them or even a complete rejection of any value in religion if they didn’t. But for her?

It brought her a sense of relief.

If the gods were fallible, then it just meant that the problems of the world, how sometimes monsters could win, how children could die from plagues, or how people could fall to their own vices made more sense.

Some gods would show a streak of hubris just as man does. Other times, it was pettiness. Some gods tried so hard but their domain was limited in scope, and thus was their ability to change things.

If she viewed the gods much as she viewed her fellow man, it made a lot more sense.

It was these thoughts she took into the academy of her city of Mithvalor. Paladins were a traditional position in her home, a place of many faiths, working together to make a stronger world. Her home, a hub city of trade and community, had once housed a council of seven paladin kings known in legend as ‘The Faith’. It had been many generations since The Faith was broken, but the grand tradition of this land to be a bridge between countries as well as the material and the ethereal worlds made being a Paladin both a privilege and an honor.

While she had a leg up thanks to her mother being a Paladin of the God of Courage, it didn’t mean she had a free ride either. Her family had always been about hard work and helping others. Her father had helped her train her body by working the fields of their farm on the outskirts of the city. She was put to work during festivals to help bring food around to those that needed and deliver parcels of ingredients to cooks preparing the big feasts.

Her father was big on the God of the Harvest and while her parents where in a bit of a bet of who she would chose, they knew she would make the right decision for her and continue the proud traditions of both the city and her family.

And so it was that her training began. And trouble soon showed it’s head. When it came to lessons on the gods, she would ask strange questions. Not improper ones, only ones that kept everyone guessing with which god would she finally plague her oath to, let alone what that oath would even look like. Many thought she might side with either the God of Knowledge given her persistent questions, the God of Wisdom due to how they were worded and thought out, or even the God of Mischief given how vexing some of the questions could be.

It would be the day she found her weapon that would reveal all…

---

“Come on, Elly. I know you have been paying attention to your lessons.” Sir Dulgear sighed.

Elly was once more on her butt. Her sword and shield to either side of her, the result of being so astoundingly disarmed. Again.

“It… It’s just doesn’t feel right, Sir.” She growled.

Dulgear knew that growl well. It was not directed at him in the least. It was directed inward. Her mother, the Lady Gallamir Pearl Makeda was one of the absolute best with a sword and shield. Having actually been her training partner when they were in Elly’s position, he could confirm it without any doubt. And he could see some of the parent’s talent in the child. Hell, she was worse with a warhammer or even a mace. They had tried many other combinations and while she wasn’t bad with any, she was never that great either.

And the forces she might have to face needed to be met with greatness in all aspects.

This girl had something in her, he knew it. It’s why he kept as an instructor. His best was in seeing through the rough bits to the shining gems that were waiting to be revealed. Still, he was getting worried. While she excelled in all other areas, she needed to be able to protect those around her as well as herself. And right now, she was barely above a regular great of soldier.

“Come on Elly. I know you can do this. Remember…”

Elly stood, picking up her arms and took her stance. “Think around the problem, then push through” she repeated. It was Sir Dulgear’s way of saying ‘stop and think’. She rather liked it, and it had fit her own way of thinking very well.

And thinking was what she was doing. Dulgear stood ready. She was to make the first move, so she had time, not forever, but some. She, too, stood. It was a perfect stance, the forms where never an issue. She could swing any weapon as is with just as much aptitude as any other recruit. Of course, those were also practice weapons designed to do little damage and be primarily for training and nothing else.

In her hand was a live sword. A dull blade, sure, and her trainer had protections all over him. But it was still a live blade.

A blade can cut with ease, sometimes too easily. She had seen even veteran guards accidently do too much damage to someone they were trying to subdue during a tavern fight. A mace can disfigure or even cause permanent brain damage with a strike to the head. A warhammer can crush unenchanted platemail with ease.

Deadly. All her options were decided to kill as their primary function, with little thought to what other potential these things might have.

Of course, staves, saps, and other blunt weapons didn’t quite feel right to her either, but they rarely served as good weapons for a Paladin. Those you would more often see in the hands of a monk or a cleric. Not that she didn’t try them. Still, a stave felt too ‘reed’y to her and even a sap felt like it would be better just to…

She had an epiphany.

Dulgear saw Elly square her shoulders and then charge him. He could already see the sword strike a mile way. Infact, there was even less finesse then before. Could Elly be getting tired? Or maybe she was about to try something? He smiled and brought up his shield rather than dodge. This lesson was about getting used to live weapons and focusing the potential of using a Paladin’s most universal and signature attack: Smite.

Sure, the magic the trainee’s were bless with only simulated the power, as they had yet to take their oaths, but the mook smite could be used against anything with a nice pop of pressure to give positive feedback for a success.

The sword hit the shield as was intended by both parties. Dulgear flicked his gaze to the shield being raised. For a split second, he wondered if she was going to try to bash him with it. She was always a touch more defensive minded then many of the other recruits, and while exceedingly rare, it was not unheard of for a paladin to make their weapon of choice some modified take on a shield.

However, he discarded that notion as soon as it came to mind. With how quick her bulky frame was, he would have been already feeling it. Clearly she was assuming he would strike back, and he did so not wanting to disappoint.

His sword came down and she moved the shield to properly block him. The clang didn’t have time to fully echo when he noticed something felt off about the block. She twisted and pulled to her right. That didn’t make any sense. That was her sword hand, and you don’t get another chance to strike if your opponent has locked swords with you.

The moment Elly felt her trainer’s sword make contact, she flicked both shield and sword down to her right, letting them go. Her foot work shifted, sliding her right foot back and around her left, before left followed along. She turned her entire body around, a clockwise spin, bringing her out of danger of counter attack as her shield was still between her and Dulgear’s sword.

The first weapons she learned would always be her most trusted. She had to use them against thieves in dark alleys when they tried to catch her unawares when on errands for her mother. She had employed them against drunks that would get a bit to roudy when she visited her uncle’s tavern. And she made plenty of use of them in play with her elder brother.

Spinning her body completely around was a showboat move, but it was the easiest way to allign her attack and make sure it connected. With concentration, she pushed the energies down her arm. Her right fist clenched within the gauntlet.

Dulgear had a split second to see Elly had already fully turned herself around, and her fists up near her face. His eyes widened in complete surprise.

Elly’s feet finished their turn and she planted the ball of her left foot to the ground, twisting her hip, continuing the force of her spin, drawing power from the earth, through her leg, the alignment of her hips, her upper body leaning into the motion and finally the strike.

The last thing Dulgear saw was the golden energy collecting at the knuckles of her gauntlet as Elly’s left fist fired out. The strike  connected right against the side of Dulgear’s helmet right at his cheek. And then a burst of light blinded him as he felt his entire body followed with the arc of his head being thrown back. He flew through the air and landing square on his back several feet from where he once stood.

Pieces of her gauntlet floating in the air as her fist made it’s follow through, the armor not built to handle power flowing through it in such a fashion. The glove under was smoldering from the radiant fire that exploded from impact.

Many of the other students that had been watching, as well as a few of the teachers, were rooted to the spot in shock. They had never seen something like that from a paladin before. All of them stared save her mother, who had subbed in that day for a friend. Her smile was incandescent.

Elly didn’t mean to knock him back that hard. She ran over quickly, checking her instructor for injury. While the side of his helm was dented a bit, the magic protecting him was still intact. Fortunately for him, the wards on his armor were ‘one size fits all’ in that they didn’t just keep it to the power level that should have come through the pseudo-smite effect, but from a full attack. Of course, the enchantment was also one shot, so the helmet needed to be repaired and re-enchanted before the next time it’s used. But that was just working as intended.

What was less expected was being thrown that hardback by a punch from a girl a spare few years from full adulthood. Even one as strongly and stoutly built as Elly.

Dulgear was surprised, “That… wasn’t the test spell. You… used the power ‘Smite’. The actual ability…” It wasn’t unheard of for those that had already taken an oath to seek formal training here. Hell, he was one of those sort. When he had sworn to his god, the divine being specifically led him here for training. But no one was aware that Elly had taken any oath. In fact, by all accounts, no god seemed fit for her in any direct manner, at least if her many questions during lectures and her interesting debates with some of the scholars was any indication. “When did you take the Oath? And with whom?”

As Dulgear took her hand, Elly smiled warmly, “I took no single god. The gods are fallible. I do not deny their greatness, but nor will I ignore that if all the stories are true, they are no less weak to lying, cheating, avarice, or any other vice known to mortals. I could not swear any more devotion to a god then I would to any man.”

Once her trainer is standing again, she holds his hand in both of hers, turning his hand palm up, “Faith in a friend is a powerful thing. I have that faith in many gods. But I can not worship them. I do not worship anything. For many, worship is liberating. For me, it’s stifling.”

She looked back into his eyes, “Sir Dulgear, I swore my oath on the roof of my home, laying and staring at the stars. I had thought to myself, ‘The gods are fallible’ and I was not afraid. I was happy. A god is like a king, a force for good or ill, a seat of wisdom and a source of authority and hope. But a king can fall.”

Dulgear wanted to say something, but he remained quiet. This wasn’t just one of her debates with a scholar, she was speaking her oath. “If an Angel can fall, a Devil can transcend. A god can make a mistake just as a mortal can. And we work together, we strive for better. So to do the gods together. I seek no one master, but I vow my word to the very heart of what a Paladin is: the hand of the gods in the world of man. A hand to help, a hand to defend, and when needed a hand to bring low the true monsters of the world.”

She looked back at her sword, “Blades kill too easy. But my fists are my hands. A sword must be sheathed to be seen as peaceful. I need only open my hand and offer it to do the same.”

Having spoken it out loud for the first time in years, Elly was able to start to form a more codified version. Stepping back, she held her hand out, palm down, “The gods are fallible as are men. My oath is to the very concept of Honesty, Compassion, Honor, and Duty. That I might serve the needs of all gods, all men, all that have good will and the need of help.”

She turns her hand palm up, “The Angel can fall, and the Devil can transcend. I will give quarter to any that ask save a true monster. A true monster is that which has actively rejected all light from their heart. Such beings, whether in heaven or hell, deserve my full wrath.” She punctuates her statement by clenching her fist and punching it into her left palm.

She spread her arms wide, hands open again, “I pledge to help any that I can. To do the least harm I am able. To strike down the true monsters. To lead the fallen and the lost to the light, and I look to all the gods and all my friends to help me stay in that same light.

“My oath is to the Hallowed Hope that springs eternal in every heart”

Sir Dulgear smiled, “Unorthodox, and while I don’t fully agree, I can’t see any personal fault with your view point. Such an oath would normally be a tenous thing. Swearing to the very nature of things. So nebulous. But… you don’t look at it that way. Your faith is in a deeper ideal.” He offers his hand, “I hope you find strength in your oath always and that the gods find favor in your devotion, even if it’s not directly to them.”