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Whispered Deceit

0 Points
War, Port City, Sorceress, Inn, Deception in the style of Monet
1

Inside the bustling port city of Melurensa, a war was raging; not with weapons, but in the mind of a young woman - Emerald. Renowned among certain circles for her remarkable beauty, Emerald had been graced with shimmering auburn hair, azure eyes and a bewitching silhouette. However, tonight, none were privy to her true identity: a sorceress in hiding.

To keep her secret safe, she mingled among the fray of call girls and intoxicated soldiers at the Red Rose, an inn notorious for its liberal laws and unruly patrons. The air carried the robust scent of ale and sweat, mingling with the softer notes of cheap perfume and flickering candle wax. Starr, the grizzled innkeeper with a heart as big as his paunch, turned a blind eye to her deception, as he did with anyone who was generous with coin.

Emerald wore a figure-hugging dress of crimson, fringed with black lace. Her luminous hair flowed freely over her shoulders, a beautiful yet cheap pendent centered at her bosom. The ditzy smile she had practiced in the mirror was plastered on, as she swayed with feigned intoxication.

Engaging a group of soldiers in mindless banter, she exaggerated her giggle and tossed her hair with a level of reckless abandon only a 'woman of the night' could get away with. She clung onto their bawdy stories, laughed at their crude jokes, feeding their pleasure and egos alike.

In the grand room, the group settled into overstuffed chairs surrounded by warm, flickering light from a large stone fireplace. Among its features was a sprawling oak table that bore the brunt of countless ale-spilt stories, matched by the heavy timber beams overhead. The crackling fire threw long, dancing shadows across worn stone walls, revealing drapes that kept out winter's biting chill.

The soldiers were rowdy and expansive, lost in their cups and the charm of their seductive companion. They boasted of their victories and exploits, their proud smiles revealing missing teeth and chipped egos. Their uniforms were a mess of dark leather and riveted metal, weapons carelessly strewn about and helmets forgotten in distant corners. They reveled in the night’s diversion, oblivious to the cunning mind hidden beneath Emerald's enchanting guise.

As the night deepened, Emerald’s act took on a certain intimacy, derived less from any underlying desire than the art of her craft – the subtle brush of fingers, sideway glances, and soft-spoken words dripping with sweet naiveté. It didn’t hurt that she had slipped a mild sedative into their last round of ale.

One by one, the brutes fell prey to the concoction, their mighty heads coming to rest on the sturdy oak table. As the last soldier's snores filled the room, Emerald let her facade slip away, replaced by a look of determined focus. She kissed her fingers, brushed them over the slumbering men, whispering an incantation that twisted the room into a localized whirlwind of magical energy.

As the first light of dawn began to bloom over the horizon, Emerald emerged from the Red Rose cloaked in a guise of respectability once more, leaving behind a cluster of snoring soldiers and the whispers of her ephemeral deceit hanging in the hallowed halls of the Red Rose.

This story was generated by user Testen with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a little scene where a sexy girl pretend be a whore around a group of soldiers to not be discovered. Giving a lot of details of the night of she with the soldiers inside a hotel room.

Response: Inside the bustling port city of Melurensa, a war was raging; not with weapons, but in the mind of a young woman - Emerald. Renowned among certain circles for her remarkable beauty, Emerald had been graced with shimmering auburn hair, azure eyes and a bewitching silhouette. However, tonight, none were privy to her true identity: a sorceress in hiding. To keep her secret safe, she mingled among the fray of call girls and intoxicated soldiers at the Red Rose, an inn notorious for its liberal laws and unruly patrons. The air carried the robust scent of ale and sweat, mingling with the softer notes of cheap perfume and flickering candle wax. Starr, the grizzled innkeeper with a heart as big as his paunch, turned a blind eye to her deception, as he did with anyone who was generous with coin. Emerald wore a figure-hugging dress of crimson, fringed with black lace. Her luminous hair flowed freely over her shoulders, a beautiful yet cheap pendent centered at her bosom. The ditzy smile she had practiced in the mirror was plastered on, as she swayed with feigned intoxication. Engaging a group of soldiers in mindless banter, she exaggerated her giggle and tossed her hair with a level of reckless abandon only a 'woman of the night' could get away with. She clung onto their bawdy stories, laughed at their crude jokes, feeding their pleasure and egos alike. In the grand room, the group settled into overstuffed chairs surrounded by warm, flickering light from a large stone fireplace. Among its features was a sprawling oak table that bore the brunt of countless ale-spilt stories, matched by the heavy timber beams overhead. The crackling fire threw long, dancing shadows across worn stone walls, revealing drapes that kept out winter's biting chill. The soldiers were rowdy and expansive, lost in their cups and the charm of their seductive companion. They boasted of their victories and exploits, their proud smiles revealing missing teeth and chipped egos. Their uniforms were a mess of dark leather and riveted metal, weapons carelessly strewn about and helmets forgotten in distant corners. They reveled in the night’s diversion, oblivious to the cunning mind hidden beneath Emerald's enchanting guise. As the night deepened, Emerald’s act took on a certain intimacy, derived less from any underlying desire than the art of her craft – the subtle brush of fingers, sideway glances, and soft-spoken words dripping with sweet naiveté. It didn’t hurt that she had slipped a mild sedative into their last round of ale. One by one, the brutes fell prey to the concoction, their mighty heads coming to rest on the sturdy oak table. As the last soldier's snores filled the room, Emerald let her facade slip away, replaced by a look of determined focus. She kissed her fingers, brushed them over the slumbering men, whispering an incantation that twisted the room into a localized whirlwind of magical energy. As the first light of dawn began to bloom over the horizon, Emerald emerged from the Red Rose cloaked in a guise of respectability once more, leaving behind a cluster of snoring soldiers and the whispers of her ephemeral deceit hanging in the hallowed halls of the Red Rose.

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