Chapter Text
All he could hope for was that they were cool to play with. He hadn’t had a stable ttrpg group since well before the Accord fell and had been feeling the desire to return to it in these months of being within the Compact. John had had no luck in finding a group for the specific version of the game he loved most, an ancient Terran game called 3.5.
John was what he might consider the average dude, but he supposed most men probably thought like that. He had done nothing with his 28 years of life and didn’t seem to know now. It was a relatively cold day so his usual wear of a hoodie and jeans were appropriate. He had the hood pulled up to conceal his mop of shaggy brown hair.
He was well on his way to meet with the potential DM he’d found on the overnet. John was concerned that the DM was an Affini and the group was 3 florets. The desire to play his favorite system overruled his fear that it’d be boring. He could always spice it up he imagined.
He was approaching the DM’s house and his nerves were rising. John had had interactions with Affini before, everyone had. He’d met with a therapist and a vet and even some just passing by on the streets stopped to talk with him. He turned the bend and saw the DM’s hab before him, with who he assumed was the DM in front of the door waiting. They locked eyes.
“Ah, John?” the voice of the Affini was a little rougher than most he knew. The Affini was tall, maybe 3 meters standing but it lowered itself as he approached so its head was his eye level. It wasn’t made of the typical brown bark John associated with trees, instead it was a white with black striping randomly placed. He saw the Affini smile.
“I see you are looking at my birch appearance, not the typical Affini look, I know, but we must all have our oddities. I am Betula Papyrifera, 10th bloom, he/him. Of course you may always refer to me as master.” John felt the blood in his veins run cold before the Affini caught his expression. Betula stood up with his hands out innocently. “No, not like that! Dungeon master! My apologies, I don’t often have independent sophonts in my games.”
“Oh, yeah,” John said quickly, trying to sort himself out mentally. “It's a pleasure Betula. I know you asked me to come a little early today for the session, I had a character in mind already.” The Affini turned and ushered him in. The only prominent feature that stood out to John was the table on which he could see figures and maps already drawn.
“Whoa, have you done this for a long time?”
“Yes, you don't get to 10 blooms twiddling your vines after all.” John chalked it up to Affini humor and gave a quick laugh.
“Yeah, y'all sure do seem to be like elves in that regard.” John was near the table now but before he could attempt to hoist himself up he saw Betula’s vines reach but stop a few inches away.
“Once again John I must apologize. Would you like assistance with the chair?” He nodded meekly and was raised up and placed in a chair next to where Betula would be, he had a strangely ornate dungeon screen hiding his work. The Affini took his spot at the head of the table.
“Tell me about your character please, John. I'm very excited to have a new player with us.” John pretended to study his character sheets and books he'd brought.
“Have you played with the, uh, others before?” Betula nodded.
“They are the florets of some of my good friends. It's nice to socialize, don't you agree?” John nodded and vaguely felt like he was making a mistake. Betula's smile dimmed. “You appear nervous, are you ok?” John felt like he couldn't speak, but he had to muscle through.
“Yeah, uhm, I'll be fine. I've never been to an Affini's house or really played with florets before.” Betula nodded along with every word.
“That is a fair concern that I know many sophonts share. I can assure that no boundaries will be crossed. We are here to play.” His words calmed John's nerves enough for him to refocus on his character.
“Ok, well, my character is, uhm, a human cleric who worships nature. I was considering a druid but I don't like how they play.”
“And what is his name?” John paused.
“Her name is Gwendolyn Ara-more, uhm, she's new to being a cleric, low level as we are, and, uhm I think it fits with your campaign narrative.” Betula stood silently for an imperceptible moment.
“My apologies, Gwendolyn sounds lovely. Should I know anything else about her?” John shook his head but tried to refine his vision.
“She’s kind of average height, I suppose, with long silver hair...” John felt a little lost in the details remembering her. He always used the same character design but luckily this group wouldn’t know that. Betula thankfully let John speak freely about his character.
“One thing you should know, as I feel our other players begin to arrive, is that we place an emphasis on being in character during the session.” John shifted in his seat and busied his hands with his papers and dice. “Is this problematic for you?” John heard the hab door sliding open, Betula hadn’t even greeted them but they strode in, 3 rather cute girls. Betula dropped the subject and turned to the new guests.
“Greetings heroes, I can see you’re all well-stocked for this adventure,” Betula was clearly gleeful at getting into character, his appearance becoming more natural if that was even possible. “Please, join dear Gwen at the tavern table so that we may discuss the nature of this quest.” John felt his heart skip a beat at the casual mention of Gwen. Betula had said it with the ease of calling someone their name. All the DMs and players he’d met before had scoffed at a dude playing a girl character. Betula’s vines reached out to the approaching girls and lifted them to their seats before returning to his spot at the head once more.
John took a quick glance around him at the other players. These were not the florets he knew or was aware of. They didn’t have glassy or dull eyes and they all seemed like people still. He tried to dash the last thought before it came to bear but it hung in his mind.
“I’m sure my associates would love to introduce themselves to you, Gwendolyn.” Betula passed his gaze to the other players.
“Krusher! The orc barbarian!” This was the floret to his left, a rather mousey woman. “If it needs to get crushed I’ll krush it.”
“Bangle the Wizened,” the floret across from him, “I’m a masterful wizard because I’ve spent many years locked in the ancient towers of knowledge and wish to see the world.”
“Rat head!” The last one exclaimed and Betula put a vine to his chin and coughed. “I mean, uh, Dorothy Snow. Elf rogue who loves to steal.” She smiled and added, “from enemies of course.” John nodded after each, wondering what their names were in actuality but he figured he’d learn eventually. The four others turned to him and he felt a nervous panic rising.
His mouth owned and closed a few times uselessly as he failed to speak.
“A fellow secret haver!” exclaimed the rogue Dorothy.
“S-sorry,” John said and scratched the back of his head, “I’ve never really...” he remembered Betula’s words again. “I’ve never really worked with a party before, social habits aren’t like riding a... horse.” The florets nodded along and then Betula spoke.
“Very good,” he said excitedly, “then it’s time for me to explain why you’re here.”
The plot was more complex than John anticipated an Affini would make. While there were elements that John expected of systemic oppression being bad it didn’t appear to be the focus. Instead they were going to help some rebels overthrow a small corrupt government. It was all very intriguing to him. Betula threw in another twist when servants of that government came crashing through the Inn door and the players rolled for initiative.
It went well for the first fight, John thought. The florets had much more vivid imaginations than John would expect given their status. Krusher knocked two of their heads together and threw them through separate windows. Bangle lit one on fire and then half of the bar too. Dorothy simply seemed to enjoy stabbing bad guys which John was fine with. He hadn’t made Gwen a combat focused character and preferred the support role.
By the end of the first session John felt more at ease with the other players and could catch himself relaxing rather than tensing up. The other players left first but John straggled as he organized his books and dice. He caught a glance at Betula who was returning to the table.
“How did you like the session, Gwendolyn?” John froze and tried to restart his brain. It would have been all too easy to stay in character longer, now that- No, he thought, that’s what RPGs are for.
“It was, uhm, really good Betula. You tell a good story.” John could tell Betula was beaming as his eyes glowed a radiant gold.
“I am so glad you think so, Gwen.” John fidgeted again and Betula offered a vine. “M’lady?” He could tell his face was burning hot and he looked away while still grabbing to let the vine carry him to the floor.
“The session is over, Betula,” John said with a half smile and Betula laughed.
“Oh it’s always time for RP when you’re around my table, little one.” Betula started to guide him towards the door. “It has been a very pleasant evening, I trust you will be a returning member of the team?” John paused for a moment at the hab door before it opened.
“Yeah, I think so,” he said.
“Most excellent, then we shall expect you next week, same time, same place.” John didn’t turn around as he departed the hab. He didn’t see the Affini’s growing smile either.
John’s week passed without much of an affair. Most of the time he’d spent in the Compact passed without much excitement at all. The boring nature of the passage of time didn’t make him sad at all, instead he viewed it as a way to see happier moments as a contrast. As such he was excited to play another session of roleplay. It was the day before the session and John received a message on his tablet. It was from Betula.
The message was to him and three others, John assumed it was all the players. Betula was reminding everyone to come dressed up for the session. John froze and read the message again. It had already gotten three reactions from the others confirming their approval of it. He quickly opened a private chat with Beluta.
LongJohnSilver: “Hey, Betula, excited for tomorrow but I’m curious about the dressing up part. I don’t remember that being covered?” He anxiously awaited a reply, and Betula seemed to type for a few moments.
PlungeonMaster: “John! I thought I had covered it when we discussed player expectations to be in character. My apologies if that wasn’t clear! Does this mean you’re withdrawing from the campaign?”
John paused for a moment and considered. He really didn't want to stop playing the game. It was fun wasn't it? He sent a reply.
LongJohnSilver: “No no! I just don't know what my character would wear. I never really gave it much thought in the actual world, lol.” He hoped the ‘lol’ would hide how nervous he felt.
PlungeonMaster: “lol indeed! Well I have been doing this a long time so if you want assistance just come by my Hab an hour early tomorrow, ok?” John sent an affirmative yes and put the tablet down.
What did a beautiful elf cleric wear? He wanted to do some thinking before tomorrow and he took to his bed to think. He pictured Gwendolyn in his mind and started to dress her. He skipped over the undergarments and felt his face blush, and Gwen in his mind did too. He imagined a silvery chain mail shirt covered in a bark colored cloak. Something mildly androgynous would work.
At first John thought she might wear a skirt, but that was too feminine, which he retracted and thought it was too vulnerable and changed his idea to some armored leggings. The outfit seemed fitting in his head and he decided that was what he'd tell Betula.
John arrived an hour early as requested and didn’t even have to knock. On his last step to the hab the door opened and he saw Betula beaming at him. John figured he’d get a hug or a pet but Betula did neither and beckoned him in instead. Instead of taking him near the kitchen compiler, John was led to another deeper room which held a large bed, some windows and what appeared to be a closet. On the bed were some clothes of varying colors. John went closer to look but noticed Betula had stopped at the door, he turned to face the Affini.
“Are you alright?” John asked. Betula nodded.
“Of course! I’m sure Gwen wouldn’t want to be witnessed changing by someone relatively new” John blushed and looked away.
“Uhm... sure, heh.” John turned to the bed and approached again. What he had thought were several options turned out to be varying components that turned into one singular garment. It looked well made. A few of the pieces he picked up and examined, the soft fabric tingling his fingers. He looked back at Betula.
“Did you make all this?” Betula nodded with a confident smile and gave a little bow.
“I imagine the sizing is accurate, I’ve made clothes for many adventurers over the years, but this one I took extra care for you.” Betula entered the room and approached John. He was starting to feel smaller and smaller as the tree approached. John tried to ignore him and looked at the clothes more, there were quite a few buckles and laces that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, and even a chainmail shirt. John felt himself staring at the clothes and feeling like it was a bad idea altogether. He heard Betula’s words right behind him.
“Do you require aid, Gwendolyn?” John swallowed a lump in his throat but played it off like a laugh.
“Me? Nah, uhm, also we aren’t around the table, I thought we’d only...” John’s fingers started to fidget on the fabric. Maybe it would be best if he left. He backed up a step but bumped into Betula’s legs. John quickly twisted his head up to see the smiling Affini had a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
“My desire to help you grows by the second, petal.” John noticed he hadn’t used that term for him before. “I can see your pain quite clearly, I have seen it many times in my blooms” John could see Betula’s vines vibrating behind him, a sense of dread washed over him and he tried to look away to the door. His eyes briefly met the Affini’s and then he couldn’t look away.
Betula’s normally oceanic eyes were glowing lights of gold that spread far beyond the lenses. There was a magnetic pull on his mind that silenced the world around him. The lights of the room grew dimmer as he stared into Betula.
“Gwendolyn,” The words sunk to the bottom of John’s mind. The name had felt wrong but he knew the words were meant for him. “You worship nature don’t you? Aren’t you a cleric of Betula after all?” The question was rhetorical, of course he was! John nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the radiance. “Are you my cleric, Gwendolyn?” She nodded and stared at the god above.
She knew at some internal level that this was fake but... No... Her god wouldn't lie to her, her faith was resolute. She could never let Betula down. She stared up at the Affini god with a determined face.
“Good disciple, now shall we don your garb?” Gwen nodded, or was it John that nodded, it was hard to keep the world straight in her mind. Vines encroached on her and started to disrobe her. Her hoodie and shirt, her jeans and boxers were quickly removed and placed to the side.
She was blushing but Betula didn't seem to mind. His vines reached around and spread to grab all the garments behind her. Gwen's breath was ragged, no one had ever dressed her before.
The first article was panties that slid up her legs slowly but hugged close to her body, her erect excitement barely contained in the thin fabric. Betula put a bra on her with two inserts to give the appearance of her chest. Gwen's fingers anxiously tapped at her thigh as she stood there. More and more layers were added. A short pleated skirt with a floral design barely went halfway down her thighs and was followed by a light chain covering for protections against blades.
She wore a tunic, then a chain mail shirt, and then a bodice which hugged her hips and displayed her cleavage. He gave her a hat which seemed to glow with his holy energy, a very nice circlet with emeralds throughout.
“Lastly, a symbol of your faith...,” he slid something around her neck which tightened with a solid click. Gwen knew it was a vine collar, something only the most prominent of His clerics wore. She blushed with the honor.
“M-my lord, I don't deserve,” she started to speak but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, the other tilting her chin to stare into his eyes.
“You deserve it all,” Betula spoke, but his eyes were losing their radiance. The room was coming back from a distance he hadn't seen before. John's body felt heavy and weak and he looked around.
“What happened?” He looked down, he was beautiful, but he frowned and his mind raced. Thoughts and pains went through him like lightning. “No, this is wrong.” Betula quieted him with a vine against his lips.
“Why do you fight your heart?” Betula's question was hardly an easy one. John fidgeted and took a step back but found himself falling into sitting on the bed. He felt no obligation for the truth to Betula but found he couldn't bring himself to lie.
“I'm scared people will judge me,” the words felt hollow in his mouth and he looked away.
“Have you seen any sophont judge another in the Compact?”
“No,” John admitted, “but... I judge myself... And I judge others. When I saw the floret players I was shocked to see how... how normal they looked.” The words felt cold in his blood. There was an imperceptible shimmer in the Affini's eyes.
“Do florets scare you?” John shook his head.
“C-complicated, I guess.” John had tried to avoid most of these questions since arriving but was struggling now. He tried to focus on the feelings around him. He wanted to hide.
“Maybe you could try and that would ease your fears?” John looked back at Betula who was smiling and then Betula moved to sit next to him on the bed. John felt his heart beating rapidly.
“I... I don't know how to...”
“It can be a roleplay, no stakes at all, okay? It won't be you doing anything you don't want to. It'll be Gwen in the duties of her deity?” John nodded along. The idea of being Gwen thrilled him and lifted his heart, but he was nervous.
“And I can stop whenever?” Betula nodded and John quivered. He looked down at his beautiful armor and he blushed. “What do I have to do?” Betula put his arm around the small Terran and John felt his warmth immediately.
“I'll have the girls come early and they can do your makeup if you'd like, but you don't have to do anything. I propose a modest amount of xenodrugs to really sell the roleplay, does that sound okay?” John nodded and tried to keep his fidgeting hands motionless in his lap. John heard the ding of a message to the group chat and then the weight of Betula pushed him over. The Affini towered over him and John could do nothing but stare.
Betula's face was peering down at him, the hab's light forming a halo around his head. John looked down to see a crimson bulb emerge from his chest and trail down via vine till the petals were pressed against his bare thigh. John was getting nervous again and he looked to see Betula's face covered with a wide smile, needle teeth on display.
“This was a mistake,” he said quickly but the words died between them as Betula injected John's thigh. He felt the cool chill spread through his body and then the warmth of recognition of the effect.
She felt good, she felt powerful and in awe at the same time. She marveled at Betula and his stoic gorgeous appearance. She tried to get up but her limbs felt weak and she flopped back down on the bed with her arms sprawled. Betula moved to her side but did not lose his devious smile.
“Do you want to get up, Gwen?” It was a simple question from Betula and she nodded. “You have to say it, silly cleric.” Gwen blushed and tried again.
“Please, my lord,” she froze after addressing him. She hadn't intended to call him that. She looked at the Affini, studied him. It was Betula, she could recognize that.
“My lord?” Again the words slipped out of her mouth without thought. She clasped her mouth shut with her hands as Betula cradled her in his arms.
“Just a little bit of fun, don't you agree Gwen?” She wanted to admit she was scared but she couldn't get the words out.
“As you see fit, your grace.”