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To Make A Paladin Feel Better

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Aribeth felt terrible, in fact, if it was possible, she felt worse than terrible, and feeling worse then terrible doesn’t put one in the best mood, so throughout the day she stormed around lashing out at any insolent fools that dared to invade her glorious aura. Servants cowered as she passed by them, mercenary’s leapt out of her path, even the amorous Aarin Gend stayed a bit farther away from her; of course he couldn’t get to far away from her as it was his job to keep an eye on the paladin…a task he was beginning to loath in the extreme due to her constant mood swings.

And so Aribeth continued to storm about, and when finally bored of lashing out at those around her or beating the stuffing out of any practice dummy unfortunate enough to stumble across her path, she proclaimed that she was returning to her room. A silent sigh of relief was breathed from the currant occupants of the room.

“What are we going to do!?” Aarin nearly pleaded with the closest person to him, namely Sharwyn, whom was hereby after this event deemed highly untrustworthy to confide in when it comes to dealing with moody elven paladins. The bard looked up from fiddling with her nails to smirk wickedly at the spy master.

“Oh that’s easy, love! Just get her some flowers, every girl loves flowers!”

“Flowers…”he pondered this, perhaps it could work. He’d heard of ladies being fond of these “flowers” of which the bard spoke, and it was a rumor that elves were even more fond of them then the rest! Anything was better than staying here and waiting for the paladin to burst out of her room in some new fit of angst. He stroked his chin, “Yes I shall try these flowers…” and grabbing his cloak he headed towards the door and the nearest florist.

“Oh and Aarin, could you be a dear and pick me some up too!”

Grumbling, the spymaster nodded dutifully; he already had one moody elf, all he needed was a moody human bard to join up with her! He blanched at the thought.

Ten minutes later he returned triumphant with two lovely bouquets in hand, one of crimson roses for Sharwyn and another of white ones for Aribeth. Seeing how Sharwyn cooed in delight when he presented her the costly gift, he began to feel a slight shimmer of hope growing within him as he marched towards Aribeth’s chambers…

When he emerged from the room four minutes later that very same shred of hope had been crushed, smothered, obliterated and otherwise dragged through the dirt. He glared at Sharwyn and if looks could kill, then the bard would have died instantly.

She smiled sheepishly, “She didn’t like them?”

He chucked the remaining stems at her, there were only around three of the original twenty there as the paladin had used the other seventeen to beat him with. Scowling, he began plucking the numerous petals from his hair, “that my dear, would be an understatement.”

It was at that moment that our hero chose to burst in through the door, gasping for breath (though it is commonly known that vampiric elven hybrids hardly need air), seeming to fight off some invisible foe. The halfling at his heels was doing very much the same and when the door had been securing shut, fastened, and bolted the two managed to gasp out, “bees.”

Aarin knew he must have looked fit to explode; here he was, dealing with an emotionally scarred elf, and these two were complaining about bees!?

Ven spoke up finally after having rearranged his armor, and straightening to his full height of 6’8 he uttered, “So where’s my favorite little perky elf?”

“Linu? Oh, she had to make a stop by the tavern, don’t worry though, she’ll be back soon.” Everyone chose this moment to stare at Sharwyn as if she’d lost her mind.

“I meant Ari,” he clarified giving his platinum hair an arrogant flip as all weapon masters are wont to do at least once in their lives.

“HOW DARE YOU CALL HER PERKY, YOU FIEND!” Aarin leveled a shakily accusing finger at Ven, his eyes twitching slightly. “Oh you think you know her, but you don’t! YOU DON’T! Sure she might look perky but I’ll eat some of Sharwyn’s cooking..”


“Don’t try and fight the truth Sharwyn, last time you cooked we had to postpone the hunt for the cult for a few weeks due to food poisoning,” Ven stared at the ground sadly at the recollection of the memory; it had not been a good couple of weeks. The bard nodded forlornly, there really was no point in denying it.

“If she can be called perky,” the spymaster finished.

“VEN!” Came a near giddy cry from the direction of the paladins chambers. And mush to Aarin’s shock, and later chagrin, the lovely elf flew past him, launching herself into the weapons master‘s arms with a melodic laugh of absolute delight, a smile nearly reaching from pointed ear to pointed ear. “Oh, you came back!” She giggled clinging to him tightly as though she was the most carefree maid in the world and not one of the most powerful figures in the realms.

“Yup, I came back, my perky little elven princess,” Ven chuckled, he was, however, hardly focused on the elf within his arms; no he was focusing far to much energy into being smug and smirking evilly with a look that perfectly stated “I told you so, dunce, all she needed was for her favorite vamp to come home”, to pay to much attention his most beloved. Aarin just continued to stare, mouth agape, at the sight of the previously furious woman being so ridiculously jubilant.

A nudge in his ribs brought him back to reality, “So would you like your food poisoning now or later?”

The End

To Make A Paladin Feel Better © Skykissedwindknight

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