Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Martial/Caster Addendum (Patreon)

Eyes narrowed.

One hand strayed towards the hilt of a weapon.

A pink cloud of cotton candy dissolved into the depths of a cocktail glass.

“I didn’t order this,” said Femme Fighter. “And what the hell is it anyway? Some kind of potion of diabetes?”

Barmaid shrugged. She flicked her eyes towards the far end of the bar. There, perched upon a booster seat, Femme Fighter saw a being composed of equal parts neckbeard, halfling, and fez.

“Rosé Cosmopolitan,” said the pipsqueak.

Femme Fighter blinked. “What?” she said.  And this was a mistake, because the little smarm elemental hopped down from his stool, tottered over, and began the laborious process of climbing aboard the barstool beside Femme Fighter.

“Most females of my acquaintance prefer this version,” said Summoner. “I am told that the addition of chilled sparkling rosé elevates the common cosmo. Its effervescence — Actually can I get some boosties please?”

Fighter glared. The rosé cosmopolitan bubbled.

“No? Well that’s OK. It’s not every day I meet a beautiful woman who can keep her hands off of me. But like I was saying, the effervescence tickless the tongue and lifts the spirits.”

“Then why the hell don’t you drink it?”

“Naturally, a paragon of masculine virility such as myself prefers a dry manhattan. Maybe a glass of aged amberfire, neat or over ice. The gentleman’s magazines assure me such delectable libations paint me as the dominant alpha-caster I so clearly am.”

Femme Fighter snorted. “The words ‘alpha’ and ‘caster’ do not belong in the same sentence,” she said.

And that is where the argument started. In some other continuity, they might have rolled initiative then and there. Had Summoner failed his Climb check, reaching out a steadying hand to grasp at any convenient handhold, a goosed Femme Fighter would certainly have brought Mr. Stabby to bear. Or if there’d been sex on the beach jokes instead of the cosmo. Or if Summoner had gone for the direction approach. But fortunately for Rouge the eidolon, things did not go that way.

                                                                                         *****

In the timeless void they floated. With neither name nor form they drifted together. None of them breathed, but they all listened with baited breath. The shaped one had come with opportunity.

“I’m here to recruit for a planar binding,” said Rouge. “I need two unforged outsiders willing to—”

“I will be bound!” said every last one of them. “Please, you must pick me!” The cacophony was immense. The non-shapes swirled, great shoals of eagerness and excitement straining to occupy the same place at the same time: the space closest to Rouge.

“This will be a simple job,” said the eidolon. “My master knows that we are formed without opinion or preconception. Therefore, I need two who are willing to sit in judgment between corporeal forms.”

“Such fun!” they cried.

“I’m sure it will be,” said Rouge. And knowing as she did the preconditions of the bet — that only impartial entities could serve; that she herself would be one of them; and that this was an opportunity to hear the words, “I order you to do as you will,” from her “beloved” Master — she was sure that ‘fun’ was an understatement.