A new perspective

Virrit, her emerald eyes flashing with irritation, stormed into the bustling Inn, where the town's guards often gathered to unwind. Samuel, his broad back to her, was seated at a table with one of the other guards, laughing heartily as they slapped cards onto the wooden surface. The sound of their merriment was a stark contrast to the tension that had thickened the air earlier that day.

"Samuel!" she barked, her voice cutting through the din like a whip.

"Oh shit. Someone's in trouble." The other player at the table snickered as Samuel turned to face Virrit. Her fists were clenched, and her teeth bared in a snarl that was more feral than any beast of the forest.

"I'm a dog to you!?" Virrit's eyes blazed with fury as she stomped over to Samuel, her hands balled into fists at her sides. The other guards at the table fell silent, watching the unfolding scene with a mix of amusement and unease.

Samuel looked up from his cards, his smile fading as he took in her expression. "Virrit, please," he began, his voice low and soothing. "It was just a metaphor. A way to placate the inquisitors."

Her eyes narrowed, the fury not abating. "We are not animals to be used and discarded!"

A guard with the goblin girl in his lap looked up, his grin fading as he took in Virrit's expression. The girl in his lap, a young member of the Cinn clan named Sasha, squirmed uncomfortably, sensing the tension. Samuel stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Virrit, please, let's talk outside."

"Fine." Virrit spat the word, her jaw clenched tight. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the inn, her anger a palpable **** that seemed to stir the very air. Samuel followed her, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards.

The chase was swift, the air outside crisp and cool as twilight descended upon Merrit's Bend. The cobblestone streets soon gave way to a dirt path that wound through the outskirts of the town and up into the forested hills. Samuel's longer legs ate up the distance between them, his breaths coming in quick, even bursts.

"Virrit, love, stop." Samuel's voice was gentle, yet urgent as he caught up to her, his hand reaching out to her elbow. She jerked away from his touch, her eyes blazing with a fiery intensity that matched her auburn hair. "The inquisitors. They're like the humans you expected when we met."

Virrit whirled on him, her chest heaving with anger. "Still not right! You can't just let them talk to us like we're...like we're not people!"

"And we're working on it. The master has the inquisitor in the tower now." Samuel's voice was low, he moved to take her into an embrace. "We're playing their game for now, but it won't be forever. We're laying the groundwork for something more. Something better."

Virrit's eyes searched Samuel's, looking for the truth in his words. "You better. We're not beasts." She finally allowed him to pull her into a firm embrace, her muscular body stiff at first before slowly relaxing into his arms.

"I know, love," Samuel murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her neck. "You're more than that to me." His words were a gentle balm to her bruised pride, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest, the anger receding like a storm's edge. She grabbed onto his tunic and pulled him down so she could kiss him.

The kiss was fiery, a passionate declaration of loyalty and love that had grown between them over the weeks. Virrit's hand slipped down to his sword, her fingertips tracing the hilt before sliding up his muscular chest. Samuel's arms tightened around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground as the kiss deepened.

"You know... The night is young, and you did tell me I owed you strong babies..." Samuel's voice was a rumble, his hands roaming over her body with a possessive hunger that matched the intensity of their kiss.

Virrit's eyes sparked with a mischievous fire. "Then I guess it's time to collect, human." She pushed him back against a tree, and he slid down to sit against the trunk with her body pressing against his, leaving no doubt as to what she meant. Samuel's laugh was a low rumble as he claimed her lips once more, his hands untying the laces of her leather armor.

The forest around them grew hushed, the whispers of the leaves the only sound as they tore at each other's clothes. Virrit's strong, nimble fingers made quick work of Samuel's belt, and she straddled him, her thighs gripping his waist as she guided him into her. He groaned into her mouth, his hands digging into her hips as she began to rock against him.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm as ancient as the trees surrounding them, the earthy scent of the forest floor mingling with their sweat and desire. Virrit's breasts bounced with each thrust, her teeth grazing Samuel's neck as she rode him with a ferocity that spoke of the passion that had been building between them since the day they met.

"More," she gasped, her voice a raw whisper that seemed to echo through the trees. Samuel's grip tightened on her hips, his own breaths coming in harsh pants as he pushed himself deeper inside her. "Harder."

"Virrit," Samuel groaned, his eyes rolling back as she took control, her movements growing more erratic with each passing moment. "I can't hold on much longer."

Her only response was a guttural growl as she leaned in, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his neck. Samuel's body jerked at the sudden pain, the sensation sending a bolt of pleasure through him. He could feel her tightening around him, her muscles clenching as she reached her peak.

With a final, **** thrust, Samuel gave in to his own climax, a roar tearing from his chest that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. Virrit threw her head back, her hair a fiery halo around her flushed face as she let out a scream that was as much a battle cry as it was a moan of ecstasy.

Their bodies remained locked together, trembling with the aftershocks of their shared passion. Slowly, Virrit slid off Samuel, her legs unsteady, the evidence of their union glistening in the moonlight. She licked her lips, her eyes still smoldering with desire, and turned to look at him. "I will have your strong babies," she murmured, her hands resting on her stomach.

Samuel chuckled, his breath still ragged from their intense union. He leaned back against the tree, his legs sprawled out before him. "Whenever you're ready, love," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction.

They made their way back to the town. Samuel’s job was still to entertain the inquisitor’s retinue while the man himself was being hosted by Magister Markash.

———————

In the quiet of his chambers, Castor's mind was a shattered landscape of splintered thoughts and shattered beliefs. As the fog of the demonic manipulation began to lift, he felt the shards of his identity slowly realign, reconstructing into an entirely new form. The warmth of the mother's embrace was replaced with niggling doubt. He could no longer be the unwavering inquisitor, but instead a man with a hidden heart, one that had always harbored doubt about the Church, but buried those deep when he took on the role of inquisitor. Now they resurfaced, no longer able to be denied.

When Castor awoke, the sun was rising, casting a warm orange glow through the window. He looked around, his eyes focusing on the unfamiliar surroundings. Markash was asleep at the desk in the room, but began to stir as he heard Castor wake. The magister's eyes opened slowly, watching the inquisitor with a hint of anticipation.

Castor sat up, his head pounding. He felt...different. The world had shifted in some fundamental way, like a puzzle piece snapping into place that had been jammed for too long. His thoughts were clearer than they had ever been, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He looked over at Markash, who was watching him with a knowing smile.

"You're awake," Markash said, his voice a blend of amusement and satisfaction. "How do you feel?"

Castor rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the lingering fog. "I... I feel like I've been asleep for a lifetime," he replied, his voice hoarse. The room looked the same, yet everything felt different. The walls of his mind had shifted, and he was no longer the man he had been just a day ago.

"Yes, the Church of the Purifying Flame blinds their inquisitors, they only need you for the hunt and blind devotion." Castor looked at Markash with a mix of confusion and anger, the words echoing through his mind.

His hand went to the side of his head, the ache still present from the battle of wills. "What...what have you done to me?"

"Nothing really, I removed some mental blocks the inquisitorial indoctrination put in place," Markash responded, his tone calm and measured. "Your mind was a prison of dogma and fear. You should make your own judgements." Markash turned to face the bed. "The town trusts us, the people hold the faith. You came here looking for corruption that simply doesn't exist."

Castor felt a surge of anger, but it was quickly doused by the cold realization that Markash might be right. His hand clenched the bed sheets tightly. "But the Church... the holy texts..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to piece together the new reality that was unfolding before him.

"Peace, I am not telling you that all of the church's teachings are false; but the priesthood want inquisitors only to have the fear keep the people in line." Castor felt a weight lift from his chest, his thoughts racing with the possibilities that lay before him. "They are the problem, not the faith."

"But why tell me this? Why not just leave me to my fate?"

"Soon I will be leaving for Mosspoint. The Bishop of the city is the one who sent you to us." Markash leaned back in his chair, watching Castor's reaction. "They suspect something is amiss here. It's in our interest that you return to them with a clean report."

Castor's thoughts swirled like a storm, the implications of Markash's words sinking in. The priesthood had sent him to a place where true corruption didn't exist, expecting him to find something they could use to keep their power. He felt a deep sense of betrayal, his hand unconsciously moving to the holy symbol that hung around his neck. It felt heavier than ever before.

"You will be our escort to Mosspoint." Markash's voice was a calm current in the tumult of Castor's thoughts. "I will accompany you to the Bishop where you will report that the town, under our leadership, remains loyal to the Church." Markash paused; "However, Edgar Sanders was found in collusion with a demon of greed that had possessed his nephew Bartholomew Sanders, and whom we defeated prior to your arrival."

Lining this up with the fact that according to Natalie, the family had **** her into that marriage, gave Natalie all she needed to press the family. "You will recommend an inquisitorial inquest of the Sanders house in Mosspoint." Markash instructed Castor as they sat in the dimly lit chamber, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. " I will ensure you are selected to lead the inquest. Find evidence of heresy and corruption, but not enough to bring the hammer of the Church down on them."

"Why so lenient?" Castor's voice was thick with confusion. "Why not just expose them?"

"We want the name, and resources, untouched. Enough damage that Natalie can seize control, but not so much that she is left only with ruins." Markash's voice was like a serpent coiling around Castor's thoughts, guiding him to a conclusion that made a twisted kind of sense. "You will be our shield, Castor. You will show the Church that we are not the enemy, that we are the saviors of Merrit's Bend. The Sanders family is the true corruption, and we are merely purging the town of their taint."

Castor nodded, the plan unfolding in his mind like a scroll being unfurled. "I will find enough to cast doubt on their piety, but not enough to warrant an excommunication or execution." His hand tightened around the holy symbol, feeling the cold metal bite into his palm. "The Church will be satisfied with their downfall, and we will remain untouched."

"Exactly. Come, I think the servants should have breakfast ready for us.”

Castor nodded, rising from the bed and following Markash out of the chamber and down the winding stairs. The goblin handmaiden, Chara, was indeed waiting for them in the kitchen, her voluminous chest almost spilling out of the low-cut blouse she wore. Her skirt was so short it barely covered the tops of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. Castor couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the swell of her breasts as she bustled around the kitchen, setting plates of steaming food on the table.

"Good morning, my lord," she purred, her pointed ears twitching with excitement as she bent over to place a plate in front of Castor. The inquisitor felt a flush rise to his cheeks and cleared his throat, averting his eyes from her scandalous attire. He was a man of the Church, and yet here he was, surrounded by the very creatures that were often vilified in the sermons he had given.

Markash noticed his gaze, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Chara, you're always eager to serve, aren't you?" The goblin giggled, her tail swishing as she straightened up. She shot Castor a wink, and he felt his heart race, his eyes drawn back to the generous expanse of her chest.

"Your dedication is commendable, but let's not forget our manners," Markash said mildly. "Castor, this is Chara, one of my more... devoted servants. She's quite the character." Castor nodded, trying to keep his gaze above her neckline. "Thank you, Chara," he managed to croak out. Without the indoctrination of the church is body responded like any healthy male.

Chara giggled again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned over the table, giving Castor an ample view of her cleavage. "Is there anything else you need, my lord?" she asked, her voice a silky purr. Castor felt his cheeks burn as he cleared his throat. "N-no, thank you. The food is... very generous."

With a knowing smile, Markash took his seat, seemingly oblivious to the tension that had just been thickened by the goblin's words. Castor, however, couldn't ignore the way Chara's eyes had lingered on him, her pupils dilated and filled with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on the plate of eggs and bacon before him.

As they ate, Chara hovered nearby, refilling their goblets with sweet wine and ensuring their plates remained full. Castor found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation with Markash, his eyes straying to the goblin's skirt. It was clear she had chosen her outfit with the intention of distracting him.

With a sly smile, Chara bent down to retrieve a fallen fork. Castor felt his breath catch as her skirt rode up, exposing her bare crotch. She had shaved herself clean, leaving nothing to the imagination. His eyes widened and his cock stirred in his breeches as she glanced up at him, her eyes filled with a playful challenge.

Under the guise of a dropped napkin, Chara slithered under the table, her tail flicking with excitement. Castor's heart raced as he felt her warm breath against his thigh. He glanced at Markash, who merely smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. The magister took a sip of his wine, and went back to his breakfast. Castor's eyes widened in shock as Chara's small, nimble hand reached up and began to unbuckle his breeches. He couldn't believe what was happening, but the heat pooling in his loins was undeniable.

Her mouth was hot and wet as it engulfed him, her tongue flicking and dancing around the tip of his cock. Castor's grip on the table tightened, his knuckles white as he groaned deeply. Markash continued to talk, ignoring the depraved act happening right beside him.

Chara's eyes never left Castor's, her gaze filled with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She took him in deeper, her cheeks hollowing out as she worked her mouth over him. Castor felt his climax build, his hips bucking involuntarily. He was so close.

With a final, **** groan, Castor's eyes rolled back in his head as he climaxed. The warmth of his seed filled Chara's mouth, and she swallowed it eagerly, her eyes never leaving his. She licked her lips, savoring the taste as she sat back on her haunches, watching him with a smug smile.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you." Markash chuckled as Chara retreated back to her duties.

Castor took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I... I'm sorry, Magister. I was distracted." He reached for his wine, hoping it would calm his nerves. The taste was bitter in his mouth.

"Distracted. I imagine so. You've been blind the last few years, now you can see." Markash said with a knowing smile. Castor felt a strange mix of embarrassment and arousal as he watched Chara, the goblin maid, resume her duties around the kitchen. She had served him breakfast in more ways than one, and the memory of her warm, wet mouth on him was seared into his mind.

"They are good allies, and have voracious appetites. Chara is indispensable, some of her sisters will be joining us on the trip back to Mosspoint."

"Will they?" Castor cursed the excitement in his voice. Markash claimed there were no demons involved, but what other explanation made sense. At this point Castor wasn't sure he could bring himself to care. The Church had lied to him for over a decade of his service. Merrit's Bend was doing better than ever, and everyone agreed the Magister and his cohort were to thank.

Results matter, dogma doesn't. Castor decided internally as he watched Chara's hips sway while she worked. The goblin's actions had left him bewildered but also questioning his own beliefs. The Church had been his guide, but it was Markash's that had brought him to this moment.

AN: The picture I used for the story is based on little Chara's scene above (Made in my hosted SD instance)