And finding new allies.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, the quaint trading town of Merrit's Bend stirred to life. The cobblestone streets, still damp from the night's dew, reflected the soft glow of the rising sun. The chirp of birds and the distant murmur of the waking populace filled the air, a soothing melody that seemed to dance with the whispers of the ever-present breeze. Among the townsfolk, a man named Markash Roanan was known not just for his sharp intellect and piercing blue eyes, but for the mysteries that shrouded his past. A Magi of repute, he had arrived in town months prior, bringing with him tales of faraway lands and arcane secrets. His arrival had been met with curiosity and a dash of suspicion, but the town's mayor, **** to bolster his own power, saw in Markash the potential to tip the scales in his favor.

The mayor, a portly man with a greedy glint in his eye, had approached Markash with an intriguing offer. He sought a magical tutor for his daughter, Isabella, a young woman whose curiosity about the arcane was as boundless as the mayor's ambition. Markash, recognizing the opportunity to further his own agenda, agreed with a knowing smile. The demon Aesraram, the embodiment of lust, resided within his soul, and the promise of influencing the mayor's bloodline was too tempting to resist. A deal was struck, sealing a pact that would irrevocably alter the lives of all involved.

The following morning, Isabella, her fiery red hair tied back in a tight braid, and Samuel, a stoic town guard now sworn to Markash's service, made their way up the winding path leading to the forested hilltop where the former military outpost stood. The journey was steep and the air grew cooler as the tower loomed closer. Despite the dilapidation of the surrounding structures, the central tower looked almost inviting, a beacon of potential power amidst the decay.

As they approached the tower, Isabella couldn't help but cast a critical eye over the crumbling stones and overgrown foliage. "Father couldn't have picked a more neglected place for my tutelage," she grumbled, her voice carrying a mix of annoyance and excitement.

Markash turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Your father offered what he could, and I accepted it. You should be grateful for the opportunity to learn the arcane arts, regardless of the setting."

Isabella rolled her eyes, but she knew better than to argue. Her father had been clear about the urgency of this arrangement. "Fine," she said, pushing aside a vine that had claimed part of the path. "But I expect to be taught properly, not just left to rot in this overgrown ruin."

Samuel, ever the loyal servant, stepped forward. "You'll find no rot here, Lady Isabella. Only the potential for greatness." His voice was firm, his gaze steady. He had seen enough of the world to know that true power didn't always reside in gleaming palaces. Sometimes, it grew in the shadows of forgotten places.

"Your quarters are in the tower," Markash said, gesturing to the looming structure. "I've had them prepared for what comfort we have managed, though I expect your days will be filled with more study than leisure." Samuel nodded and took Isabella's case, his eyes flicking to Markash for any other instructions. Taking his master's silence as assent Samuel left with the young woman's affects.

Inside, the training room was sparse but clean. The stone walls were bare, the only decoration being a series of ancient tapestries depicting scenes of battles and rituals. A large wooden table, scarred with years of use, dominated the center of the room. On it sat an array of arcane tomes and scrolls, the scent of aged parchment and ink hanging heavy in the air. Two chairs, one slightly larger and more ornate than the other, had been arranged at opposite ends, suggesting a place of authority for Markash and a place of study for his pupil.

Before they could sit, however, Markash gestured to an intricate runic circle etched into the floor. "This," he said with a hint of awe, "is where we shall begin." The circle was a complex web of interlocking symbols, glowing faintly with a soft blue light. "It will help us understand the essence of your magic, Isabella."

Isabella's eyes widened with curiosity as she stepped into the circle, the cold stone beneath her sending a shiver up her spine. The glow grew stronger, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She sat down cross-legged, her dress pooling around her as the runes began to pulse more rapidly. Markash's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he began the incantation, his words weaving an invisible net around them.

The air grew colder as the runes flared, and Isabella felt a strange sensation, as if something within her was being drawn out. Her breath turned to mist before her, and she realized she could see it—not just the condensation of breath, but the very essence of her magic, coalescing into a swirling mass of frosty air. The runes grew brighter, and she felt a second presence within the circle, something other than the ice she had expected. Yet it refused to come to the surface. Markash watched with increasing intensity. "Relax," he murmured.

"I'm trying." Isabella replied, though the tension in her body making it clear she was failing.

"Ice affinity is a cross between Entropic magic and Elementalism. A powerful duality." Markash spoke in a hushed tone, his eyes never leaving the swirling mist of Isabella's magic. He waved his hand unleashing a pulse of his aura.

Isabella startled, collapsing momentarily as the circle's power washed away. She looked up at Markash with new eyes feeling his Aura wash through the room. She saw the duality in him in that moment too. His aura was a mix of the warm, vibrant color of life and the cold, unyielding black of the abyss. It was like he was a living embodiment of the very forces he spoke of. The room grew tense as the air thickened with the potent mix of anticipation and fear.

"Good. Fine potential, clear enough affinities, I can work with this." He gestured to the simpler of the chairs "Sit, we have a little more to discuss." Markash gathered up a number of books and set them before the young woman, by the time he sat in the more ornate of the chairs Isabella could barely look past them to see her new master.

"Define magic, girl." Though she was insulted by her tone she knew better than to push back. This was her chance to prove herself. She took a deep breath,

"Magic is the manipulation of the world's underlying forces by tapping into one's own inner energy, guiding it through the use of ritual, incantation, or willpower alone." Markash did not seem impressed.

"A book definition, but good enough for now." Markash leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing through Isabella like a sharpened dagger. “Magic is taking those underlying forces, and using your soul as the forge to change them, imposing your will on the world at large. Magic can and will take you as far as you can **** it.” He sighed. "Close your eyes. Feel the energy in your body. Where does it want to pool?"

Isabelle did as she was told, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She focused inwardly, feeling the strange tingle that had first appeared when the runes had flared. It was as if there were a coil of energy waiting to be unwound, nestled deep in the pit of her stomach. She concentrated on it, willing it to come forth.

Markash smiled. While the girl was not yet able to use her gateway she understood the concept. "The first step on your road is opening your gateway. You can feel where it is, you can pull for the astral, but right now your soul is not strong enough to open the way." He tapped the stack of books in front of her. "These are your gateway tomes, filled with exercises that will help you build the strength needed." He paused "Magic is not just a mental exercise. Physical discipline will be important too. Samuel will train with you and my other projects in the mornings."

With that, he stood, leaving Isabella to her studies. He strode out of the tower into the crisp morning air, the scent of the surrounding forest a welcome reprieve from the stale confines of his study. He found Samuel in the old barracks, his broad shoulders and strong arms moving methodically as he cleared away the cobwebs and dust that had gathered over the years. The young guard's dedication was clear in his eyes, a trait that Markash found both useful and admirable.

"Samuel," he called out, his voice echoing in the vast space. The guard snapped to attention, his eyes meeting Markash's with unwavering loyalty. "You have done well in bringing Lady Isabella here," Markash said, his eyes lingering on the man's powerful build. “I have been impressed with you. Come here.” Samuel blinked, unsure of where this conversation was heading.

Markash stepped closer, his aura swirling around them like a serpent seeking its prey. "I have seen the way you look at the women of the town," he murmured, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The hunger in your gaze, the desires that burn within you." Samuel's cheeks flushed, and he averted his gaze, embarrassed by the truth of the Magi's words. "Do not be ashamed," Markash continued, placing a comforting hand on Samuel's shoulder. "Lust is a natural part of the human condition, and it is a **** that can be harnessed."

Samuel, raised on the rigid teachings of the church, found his thoughts in conflict. He had been taught that lust was a sin, a corrupting influence that could lead to one's downfall. Yet, here was a man, a powerful Magi, speaking of it as if it were a mere tool. "But the clerics say-" he began, only to be cut off by Markash's laugh.

"Don't preach to me of the Clerics. I have seen the way you watch the sisters as they go about their day." A wisp of mind magic flows through the air bringing sinful daydreams to mind of Samuel taking one of the nuns, her habit thrown aside in passion. Samuel's face grows redder still, his body betraying his thoughts even as he tries to resist. Markash smiles knowingly.

"What are you?" Samuel managed to ask, his voice a hoarse whisper, the images in his mind making it difficult to focus on anything else.

"You came out here because I promised you those visions could be true. Now it is time for you to prove my faith in you is well placed."

——————-

Samuel resolved himself, trying to push aside the images that still danced in his mind. He had been a town guard for years, and while he had faced his fair share of drunken brawlers and petty thieves, he had never encountered true danger. Now, with the weight of Markash's expectations upon him, he felt a knot of fear in his stomach. He knew what he was being sent to do—to seek out something, though he was given nothing other than a name. Bagra Cinn, leader of the goblin clan that dwelt in the caves west of the outpost.

The journey to the cave was a silent one, his boots crunching through the underbrush and dead leaves of the forest floor. The trees loomed over him like ancient sentinels, whispering secrets to the wind that carried them away. As he approached the cave's mouth, the sun was a mere sliver in the sky, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering fireflies. There was no sign of life, no sentries to be seen, no indication that he was about to walk into the den of creatures that were said to be the bane of mankind.

Samuel's hand hovered over the pommel of his sword, his grip tightening as he stepped into the dark embrace of the cave. The air was cold and damp, the scent of earth and decaying vegetation a stark contrast to the crispness of the forest outside. The walls were slick with condensation, and the echo of his footsteps grew louder as he ventured deeper. The cave was a natural labyrinth, twisting and turning without end, the darkness seeming to thicken the further he went. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum announcing his presence to any who might be listening.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of scurrying feet and guttural snarls. Samuel's instincts took over, and he drew his sword, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. They came from all sides, four goblins leaping from the darkness, their eyes glinting with malicious intent. They were smaller than humans, but their speed and ferocity more than made up for their lack of size. Samuel braced himself, his muscles coiled like a spring as he prepared for the onslaught.

But just as the creatures were about to pounce, they skidded to a halt, their eyes wide with surprise and something else—fear. They recognized the mark of Markash on Samuel, a symbol of power that had demanded their submission. The largest of the four, its green skin marred with scars and its teeth filed to points, stepped forward cautiously. It spoke in a harsh, grating tongue that seemed to scrape against the very walls of the cavern. Samuel understood enough to know they were questioning his presence.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "I seek Bagra Cinn," he said firmly, speaking in the common tongue. "I come on the orders of Markash Roanan." The goblins exchanged quick, hissed whispers before the leader snarled something unintelligible. Samuel felt a twinge of relief. It seemed that his new master's name carried weight, even among these creatures of the underdark.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows, the light glinting off her green skin. She was taller than the other goblins, with a lithe grace that belied her brutish kin. Her eyes, a piercing shade of emerald, bore into him, and he felt a strange pull, an allure that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. Bagra Cinn was not what he had expected. Her movements were fluid, and the way she held herself suggested a cunning mind hidden behind that seductive exterior.

Her lips curled into a predatory smile as she stepped closer. "Welcome to my domain, human," she purred, her voice a mix of sandpaper and honey. "You wish to speak with me?"

"My master bade me come here. The Magister Markash Roanan." Samuel's voice echoed through the damp cavern, a mix of bravado and trepidation.

"Our master. And his patron." Bagra's smile grew wider, revealing a set of sharp, gleaming teeth. "Ah you are the bait then?" Her question was more statement than inquiry, and Samuel felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He nodded, unsure of what she meant by "patron" but understanding well enough that he was here on Markash's orders.

"Good," she said, her eyes still locked on him. "You shall be well-rewarded for your service."

With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to the goblins that had accompanied her. They retreated into the shadows, their footsteps fading as they disappeared into the darkness of the cave. "Follow me," she ordered, turning and gliding deeper into the labyrinth. Samuel had **** but to follow, his thoughts racing. What could Markash possibly want with a band of human bandits?

The path leading deeper into the caves gave way to a large chamber that was surprisingly well appointed. The goblin designs were primitive, but there was a pattern to how the camp was laid out. Samuel followed Bagra Cinn, the sound of his boots echoing through the cavernous space. They arrived at a large, makeshift throne carved from a massive stalagmite, surrounded by flickering torches. The goblin leader sat down.

"You're here to serve our master, yes?" Her eyes glinted with amusement. "He has a task for us. There is a caravan that passes by the west road from Mosspoint. It carries supplies and trade goods for your precious town." Her smile grew more predatory as she continued. "In three days' time, it will be ripe for the taking. A band of human bandits lies in wait for it, not knowing that their greed will be their downfall."

Samuel felt a sinking feeling in his gut. "What does Markash want with this caravan?"

"He has an accord with the chief of your town." She shrugged, clearly uncaring about the human politics. “His will is what grants this tribe the power we need to survive. So, as the master has our submission. We do as we are bid."

Samuel nodded, understanding the dynamics at play. He was a mere pawn in Markash's grand scheme, a tool to be used and discarded. Yet, the promise of power was intoxicating. "What must I do?"

Bagra Cinn leaned back, her eyes gleaming with a hint of something that could have been amusement or hunger." My sister Virrit leads my scouts, You will travel with my them," she said, her voice still a purr. "We will set up camp on an overlook above the road from Mosspoint. She knows the details of the plan, and will let you know your part.”

With a wave of her hand she called forth a young goblin female, who was slightly smaller than the other goblins, with a surprising delicacy to her features and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Virrit, take the human to the camp, show him the ropes, and prepare him for tomorrow." Samuel couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as he followed the spritely creature out of the chamber. Her movements were almost graceful, and she walked with a confidence that seemed out of place among her brutish kin.

———————

They took the long way around the town. The goblin's cave was in the southern hills, and the path to the western valley was rough and unforgiving. Samuel followed Virrit closely, her movements swift and sure-footed despite the treacherous terrain. The scouting party she led was small, only eight of them, but they moved with the silence of shadows, each one a master of stealth.

As nightfall descended, they made camp in a small clearing, surrounded by tall, ancient trees that whispered secrets to the stars. The goblins set to work without a word, their movements efficient and precise. They built a small fire, the flames dancing in the darkness, and prepared a simple meal of roasted meats and foraged roots. The smell of the cooking food made Samuel's stomach growl, and he realized he hadn't eaten since leaving Merrit's Bend.

Virrit watched him from across the fire, her eyes never leaving his for long. Her movements were more sensual than necessary, and the way she licked her lips as she tended to the food did not escape Samuel's notice. The warmth of the fire and the gentle crackle of the burning wood created an atmosphere that was both comforting and charged with tension. Samuel couldn't help but think back to Markash's claims about lust and passion. He'd never even heard of goblins acting in such a way but there was no denying the effect Virrit was begging to have on him.

As the night grew darker, the air grew heavier with the promise of something unspoken. Virrit's gaze grew more insistent, her gestures more deliberate. She moved closer, her hand brushing against his leg as she handed him a plate of food. Samuel felt his heart race. He had heard stories of goblin trickery, but her touch was gentle, her eyes filled with a hunger that seemed genuine. He took a bite of the food, his senses heightened by the situation. It was surprisingly good, the flavors rich and savory. She handed him a cup filled with a mulled drink that smelled of berries. "I.." The goblin paused as her nerves got the better of her. "Bagra said I should just take what I wanted, but I heard humans have rules about this."

Samuel took a deep breath, his hand tightening around the cup. He knew he should resist, that this was likely part of some twisted game, but he couldn't ignore the heat that spread through him. "We do, but this was a great start." He set the cup aside, his eyes never leaving hers. “So tell me what you want.”

Virrit's smile grew bolder, and she leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her breath was warm against his skin as she whispered, "Good. Because I want this." Her hand found its way to the tie of his shirt, loosening it with a deftness that belied her rough exterior. Samuel's pulse quickened, and before he knew it, he was kissing her, their lips meeting in a fiery embrace that seemed to ignite the air around them.

When she climbed atop him Samuel fell back into the furs of their tent. His only experience with women was the clumsy touch of town girls in their early years, but the scout’s was something else. Her touch was tender yet firm, guiding his hands to the laces of her leather corset. The fabric parted easily, revealing a body that was a contradiction of soft curves and taut muscles.

She kissed down his chest before moving to open his trousers. Samuel's breath hitched in his throat as her nimble fingers worked the fastenings. Despite his inexperience, the sensations overwhelming him were unmistakable—his body responding in ways he'd only dreamt of in furtive glances and stolen moments. Virrit's eyes gleamed in the firelight, and she giggled as she revealed his arousal.

Without hesitation, she took him into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. Samuel gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt—wet, warm, and all-consuming. He felt her power, the raw energy pulsing through her, and he knew he was experiencing something beyond the ordinary. Her eyes never left his as she pleasured him, a silent challenge that he couldn't refuse.

The world outside the tent faded away, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the sound of their ragged breathing. Samuel's hands found their way to her hair, gripping the soft strands as she worked her magic on him. His body tensed, the coil of energy in his stomach tightening until he thought he might shatter.

When he could take it no more, Virrit pulled away, leaving him panting. "Not yet." she taunted him, straddling him, her naked body a vision of power and beauty that made his heart race even faster. With a single, fluid motion, she lowered herself onto him, her warmth enveloping him in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. Samuel felt the barrier between them shatter as they became one, the union of their bodies a conduit for the magic that swirled around them.

Her movements grew more urgent, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the beat of his heart. Samuel's eyes rolled back as he felt himself getting lost in the sensations she elicited, his body a plaything for her desires. Too quickly he flung his head back, releasing a guttural cry as he flooded her with his release. Virrit's eyes flashed with victory, and she leaned down to kiss him, her breath hot against his neck. "Good," she murmured, her voice a mix of satisfaction and hunger. "Now you are mine."

As the intensity of their union subsided, they lay tangled together, their breathing gradually returning to normal. Virrit curled up against him, her body fitting into the curve of his like a puzzle piece. Samuel felt the weight of her against him, the stickiness of their melded forms, and the gentle throb of his spent arousal. Despite the exhaustion that pulled at his limbs, he couldn't shake the feeling of something unresolved, a question that hovered at the edge of his consciousness.