Blair Garten has finished up her prayers to her goddess Xasandra, the deity of fertility. Now, the farmer priestess finds herself carting a few large pumpkins to market, where a cacophony of people clamor about, buying and selling in such numbers she had never seen before.
Just as she makes her way to the furthest stalls, a shout rings out from the crowd. “Blair, Blair!”
The farmer turns her head, only to gasp when a throng of people crowd around her, each of them holding out books and pens right up to her, engulfing the woman in a mass of excited bodies, pressing implements up against her face.
“S-settle down, y’all!” She shouts. “There’s ah, room enough here, for… for everyone! T… tell me what’s going on, ah hey!”
Her last shout is accompanied by a burst of holy magic that sends people tumbling back and knocking into carts and stalls and generally making a mess, including knocking one of her pumpkins onto the ground. “Which one of you pinched mah ass!?”
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” The speaker is the fully-covered Judicator of Justiciar, which makes her the town’s police force.”
“Ah, mah stars, you’re Judith Wainwright, ain’t ya?”
The figure adjusts her collar and coughs into her mask. “N… now, let’s not go into specifics here. I’m just another servant of law and order. Can’t have any disturbance caused by the Champions.”
“Ah, but yer a champion too, ain’t ya? Why ain’t no one else disturbing ya?”
“I think the quiet of the crowd may have proven your question premature.”
The crowd watches with gleaming eyes and snickering faces all around the two women, leering and jeering towards the two combatants. A chant rises up from one of them, slowly picking up in intensity as others join in on the chorus. “Sex fight, sex fight, sex fight!”
Blair wraps her arms around her chest, and Captain Wainwright pulls her whistle from her pocket, standing back-to-back as they’re surrounded by the ravenous crowd. The Judicator licks her lips, prepared to blow the whistle when Blair’s voice roars through the group with the might of a dragon.
The front few rows of people topple back, and Blair places a boot on top of one of her pumpkins, leaning in towards the crowd. “Now, y’all listen up, and better listen good: Ah may be a Champion in the Tournament of Pleasure, but Ah’m still my own woman, ya hear? We ain’t just eye candy fer the likes of you to wet yer willies to. Y’all are acting like a bunch of horny teens who can’t get a good dickin’ or a piece of ass. Y’all need Xasandra if’n you can’t help but think with yer junk.”
“Excuse me,” Wainright says, placing a gloved hand upon Blair’s shoulder. “But, I think you mean that they need the orderly structure that Justiciar can provide. It is through his rules that we do not devolve into beasts.”
Blair spins around, narrowing her eyes. “Whatcha talkin’ about? Havin’ a healthy libido is perfectly natural, and as a piece of nature, it is part of Xasandra’s control to help satiate such desires.”
“Such desires are disorderly and an affront to civilization,” says Wainwright, stepping closer, puffing out her chest.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, civilization ain’t nothin’ without nature to help support it.” She taps her pumpkin with her boot and puffs her own chest, too, pressing up against the enforcer.
“Civilization thrives to spite nature and by taming its wild and unpredictable nature!” Wainwright leans in. Her masked face is right in front of Blair’s, her breath hot against the farm gal.
“And Civilization can’t live without people makin’ more people, now can it?” Blair says, a smirk upon her lips.
“Your resolve is commendable,” the enforcer says, pulling away from Blair and adjusting her coat. “I look forward to the battle of resolve we may have later on in the tournament.”
With a hand on her hip, Blair smirks and says, “Oh, you mean after you’ve had a nice fuck with a couple other people before you come to fuck me?”
Wainwright shakes her head at that. “I didn’t need to resort to engaging in lewd acts such as making a grown man drink from my tits.”
“Nah, you just fingered a gal stuck through a wall.”
Wainwright coughs. “That’s neither here nor there. If we do not face each other, surely the one who makes it further in the tournament shall prove the other wrong.”
“Nah.”
“Excuse me?”
Blair picks up her pumpkin, plopping it back on her cart. “I ain’t interested in anythin’ like that. All I want is to prove to mah goddess that she is still remembered and ta find mahself a husband to fill me full a babies.”
A voice shouts in the audience. “I can do that.”
“In yer dreams!” she calls back.
“Your certainly an odd lady,” Wainwright says, her hands behind her back. “But your goddess is as good as dead—lost to time as we left our primordial upbringing and found law and order. Xasandra is nothing more than a bully who wants to see uncontrolled growth to the detriment of the harmed individuals in the middle of her fornication sprees. Your simple picture of her as a farmer’s matron is a delusion of your dogma.”
Blair pulls a strap over her pumpkin, securing it. Patting her hand upon the gourd, she sighs and looks over her shoulder. “Look… I ain’t makin’ fun of yer god or nothin. Let me preach what ah preach in peace.”
“As long as your words aren’t causing a disturbance, you’re allowed to preach… with the proper clearance. Now… everyone, move along. Nothing to see here. Let this woman do her business and be on your way.”
Blair picks up her cart, pulls it along, looks up towards the sky, and gives a quick prayer of forgiveness to her goddess.