Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Cathartic (Patreon)

They hovered over Plotville, suspended somewhere between Heaven and a sunbeam. His wings folded back into their usable-once-per-day armor slots. Her clothing dissolved into iotas and waves. They did not fall, but hung like stars in the morning sky.

“This is very public,” she said.

“I don’t care.”

“Neither do I. It’s just nostalgic.”

He smiled then, and she felt as though she’d been bathed in half a dozen different auras at once (Aura of Belabored Anticipation and Aura of Concupiscence among them). There were still plumes of smoke far below. The vampires of Aqua Vitae had done their damage. But there were shouts of victory too. The darkness had been driven away, and the townsfolk would rebuild. At long last, all was right with Handbook-World.

“Oh, Paladin,” she said.

“Herald,” he corrected her gently.

“Harold? I thought we didn’t have proper names in this setting? Then I want to be named Epitaph. No wait, Paula Bearer! No! Call me Sarcophany!”

He explained then. About the trials and the ascension. About getting to know one another properly. About not beating the ‘Harold’ joke to death like it was a very evil horse.

“And what ever shall become of your noble steed?” said Necromancer. “Surely she will need a new master?”

“Fear not, my love. I have a suspicion that a new Paladin will rise to take my place.”

It was strange, she reflected, how much he now knew. It was almost as if the man she loved had been given special campaign notes by the Goddess herself. “I think,” she said, “That there may be a new Paladin already. And never fear. He knows all about riding.”

Herald frowned then. “What is that supposed to mean? Where does that last hyperlink go?”

“Ummm… Take me now!” she cried. “I cannot bear to wait any longer!”

And he did not bother to make his Insight check.