Maybe, but his daughter definitely is.

AN: I lied, I'll put the first 5 up initially. Because this is where I started enjoying writing it more.

Mark arrived at the Mayoral manor after a short walk from the guild hall, both buildings being located on the hillside that passed for the noble’s district.

Samuel walked to the door and knocked announcing Mark to the house staff as though he were a visiting dignitary. For a small town a Magister of any import fits that bill accordingly. The maid who answered was likely one of the daughters of a middle ranking family. She was short not more than five foot, with short cropped black hair dropping to the top of her shoulders. She was wearing a modest dress that went to her ankles and a bodice that left her shoulders bare and her modest bust on display.

Mark let slip just a hair of the demon’s lustfilled aura through and watched the girl.

“Eep!” The girl’s thighs clapped closed and she dropped into deep curtsey, even as a bright blush raced up her cheeks. There was no way she missed the smile creeping across the magister’s face. "Welcome sir! Please come in, take a seat in the foyer. The mayor will be with you in just a moment.” She scurried off quickly, almost running away from Markash. Mark lowered himself into the seat as Samuel glanced at Markash, the unspoken question on his lips. The magister was clearly not giving the information freely and the guard righted himself.

“Um. I’ll be on my way sir.”Samuel awkwardly turned to leave.

“Hold on.” The young man paused, turning back. “Is this what you wanted?” The magister stared at him until it became deeply unsettling. Markash looked over the young man. He was fit and healthy, broad shouldered and tall. Imposing. Fine for a town guard but people could look fit and trim but be as simple as a stick. Markash studied the man before him, reaching out with a wisp of mentalist mana and brushed it across the young man’s mind.

The guard’s mental blocks held for half-second. That they tried at all to hold back another mind was impressive for someone untrained in mental combat. The boy’s memories were open to Mark now. He was born and raised in the Small Town, child of a wheat farmer across the river. One of three boys, the middle. He had two sisters as well. His mother had passed from the pox some years back. He’d had dreams of becoming an imperial knight. Memories of watching the imperial cohorts as they passed through. Trying, pleading with his father to apply for a squire’s position when the junior knights came through, but always denied.

The memories fluttered through their minds. The boy was honest and upright, would make a fine member of the town, but those weren’t what Mark was looking to find… There is was, the darker secrets, thoughts that the young man would forever deny, but here there were no secrets. Mark could see the way he lusted for his sister Renee, how he thought about following her into the woods as she went to forage, the times he’d watched her masturbate while touching himself. Thoughts about Chelsea came to the young man too. How he’s wanted her, but she denied him, her position left her in the same circles as the mayor and other powerful families of the town. Out of reach. He imagined taking her from behind in the confessional, on the alter, in her father’s office, a way to rub it in their stuck up faces.

These were the dark secrets that Mark stoked in the young man’s mind.

“Lord? I am unsure what you’re asking.” A deep pressure weighed on Samuel’s mind. His knees tried to buckle as though he were carrying an unbearable weight. Still he stayed straight until a smile, different than the one he gave the maid, more wry and unsettling, crept across the magister’s visage. The thoughts that popped into his mind as he spoke to the magister were not for others, yet there was understanding in Markash’s face.

“I think you do. We should talk more. I have plans and will need assistance.” Samuel startled - a magister offering him a position. Even if it was as a simple assistant, these were the offers that opened the door to an actual apprenticeship. There was something unnatural about the man, no doubt, but while a town guard position was important in Merrit’s Bend - it was nothing compared to what a position with one of the Peerage could bring. He pushed the hesitation aside and bowed.

“I… Of course Magister, I’ll leave you to your business.” The guard bowed before leaving. Mark watched him through the window as he left with his spear across his shoulders.

The maid brought tea as Mark waited. The lobby was fine enough. A minor palatial manor, the room was adorned in furniture from the local wood that was one of Merrit’s Bend’s exports, the rugs, and textiles adorning the furniture clearly imported, same as the porcelain of the tea set. The Mayor was trying to show his wealth without overtly flaunting it. On the far wall was a bookshelf, filled about halfway with various common works; some fiction but mostly histories of the noble families, and of the empire itself. There were histories and some fictions about the firstcome spread throughout as well, enough to show an interest. The study of the creatures that inhabited the lands before the empire was something of a touchy subject across the empire, their ruins were notoriously dangerous.

As far as imperial law went, they were to be left undisturbed; off limits to everyone except by special disposition. In the core lands of the Empire this was heavily enforced. On the fringes, like the western highlands and to the far coast, not so much. Mark was not left waiting for the mayor too long. His studies of the texts on the firstborn was interrupted by a deep voice from the doorway behind him.

“They are fascinating, I must admit. We barely know the first thing about them, and all that revealed was that we are so hopelessly behind them in our understanding of our world.” The mayor walked into the room taking a seat at one of the two high-back chairs near the bookshelves, offering the other to Markash. His daughter hovers near the door, entering but remaining silent and offset from their discussion. “Their study is one of the reasons I agreed to travel out west in the first place. - That and there isn’t much room for the third son in a dukedom back east. Please come sit.” Mark inclined his head respectfully and sat. Mayor Castellanos continued “I’m sure you’re busy so I’ll get to the point. You are here for something. My price is simple…”

“The Sanders magister.” Mark interrupts. A moment of surprise passes across the older man’s face before it was quickly brought back to the polite disinterest that was the mark of a lifelong noble. “It’s good to finally meet you mayor Castellanos. The Sanders Magister. He’s a distant cousin of the main branch of the family. Sadly I am not unfamiliar with the turbulence that comes with one of the Peerage getting involved in local politics.”

“Quite, but not him alone. Their house in the town is run by the brother of their family head in Mosspoint. They came to power over there because they run the docks and were responsible for most of the city expansion.

The town’s income comes from taxing the lumber mills we run as well as the ferries from Ebonglen. I know they’ve been making moves to get me out of the way so the taxes fall into their hands.”

“And with a magister on their side.”

“Not only that, the ferries from the mill have been getting hit east of town. First it was goblins, but they were chased away by poachers and bandits.”

“The bandits are working with the Sanders?” The mayor paused cautious of his next words.

“It makes sense doesn’t it? Undermine my authority, distract the town guards with chasing shadows in the woods.” The mayor lifted his cup to drink, thoughtfully quiet.

“I see. - I came seeking permission to work with the southern firstcome ruins.” Mark pauses for a pregnant moment. Getting involved in local politics wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities, but where there was risk, there was opportunity. “At the base of the southern mountain there’s an old abandoned imperial outpost. My request is twofold. I want full unrestricted access to the ruins; and I want the outpost.” The mayor studys Mark's face with an intensity Mark didn’t know the old man had in him. A flicker, perhaps, of the man he was in younger days. A magi seeking to make their home in his town could be quite the boon. Enchantments, potions, alchemy unlike the poor excuse for elixers that would normally grace a small town... It would be invaluable both to the town and to the Castellanos family.

“The outpost overlooks this hill, and the manors atop it.” He pours you a cup of tea from the elaborate set before you. "Your proposal for an outpost is intriguing, and it’s clealy not in use. If you wish to claim the outpost, I will need your assurance that you will use its proximity to keep an eye on the Sander’s family’s activities and report any... irregularities to me." The room seems to brighten slightly as hope and opportunity intertwine with the scent of the steaming tea.

"Then once again we find ourselves in agreement." Mark's gaze turns towards the young woman and she shrinks away as though making her self smaller. "She has a trace of magical talent. I don't doubt Bartholomew Sander has seen it too." The mayor's face darkens. "That is part of what I bring to the table for the outpost and permission to explore the ruins. "I can, and will train her. Opening her magical gateway and helping her navigate this path."

The Mayor's eyes widen at your proposal to train his daughter in the arcane arts. He shares a tense glance with her, and she nods slightly, her fear of the unknown tempered by curiosity and the desire to protect her family. He takes a deep breath, setting his cup down with a slight clink. "Very well, Magister Roanan. I agree to your terms. You may have the outpost and the privilege to study the Firstcome ruins under the condition that you train and protect my daughter, Isabella. I trust that your intentions are true and that you will not lead her astray." He extends his hand, offering a formal agreement. The room itself seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the tension eases.

Mark stands preparing to leave. "It's been a pleasure Mayor Castellanos. I'll be taking one of the city guard into my service. I know him only as Samuel but the Priest's daughter Chelsea has spoken to me, vouching for his quality. You'll see the changes at the outpost quickly, and as we agreed. I will handle the Sanders." Mark paused before adding almost though it were an afterthought. "If the Sanders are employing the bandits east of town, there will be **** you understand."

As Markash prepares to take his leave, Mayor Castellanos nods in understanding and agrees to the terms. He calls for one of his attendants to draw up the necessary papers. "Samuel is a capable guard," he says with a knowing smile. "And I am certain he will serve you well." The Mayor's daughter, Isabella, however, remains silent and brooding. She is lovely despite the cold detachment in her gaze, her emerald eyes and mahogany and gold hair falling about her shoulders in waves.

Once the formalities are concluded, she waits until the room has cleared and the Mayor is distracted before she approaches Markash with a furrowed brow and a hint of defiance in her stance. "Why do you wish to train me, Magister Roanan? I’ll not be some pet like that harlot Chelsea"

"You have no idea what lies under the first-come ruins. The outpost itself is simply a suitable place to make a home while researching the ruins. As for you? I expect you are a very expensive bargaining chip. Your father wants to protect you. You have the spark of magic. I can see it in your core. The magic within you **** to flare into a full gateway to the astral." Mark looked the girl over. "If I just let Bartholomew take you for "training" you're end up a useless housewife somewhere in a Mosspoint manor, out of the way and unable to save your father or this roadside inn you call a town."

Isabella's eyes narrow at your blunt assessment, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "So, you wish to train me to be a weapon for my father's ambitions?" she asks, her voice laced with a mix of anger and fear. Her posture stiffens, and she takes a step back from you, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her shoulders. The room seems to grow quieter, and even the crackling of the fireplace seems to hush as you stand there, the truth of his intentions laid bare.

Mark offers Isabella a gentle smile. "My dear, it would not be difficult to use you as a pawn without you ever being the wiser." With a tug of mentalist magic Mark freezes her muscles, the reaches out tapping her on the forehead. The demon of lust that hide's in Markash's soul reaches out, inflaming the lust with Isabelle and spiking her arousal. "I can do so much more for you than that."

Mark's hand touches Isabella's forehead, and she feels a sudden, intense warmth spread through her mind and body, causing her to gasp. Her eyes glaze over momentarily and her knees quake as a small orgasm courses through her, the rush of sensations and desires she's never felt before shaking her core. Her breath quickens, and her heart races as the demon of lust within Markash influence her. She becomes acutely aware of her own physical form and the power it holds, feeling an uncontrollable attraction to the Magi. Her body stiffens, frozen in place, as she tries to process the sudden change within her.

Isabella recovers thinking her body's betrayal hidden. Mark releases the spell, his point made. "You will be at the outpost by dawn. Bring only what you need. Until we can get proper accommodations built, you're find it a little rougher than you're used to." Mark turns from her walking into the distance towards his new home.

Isabella finds herself standing in the atrium, her body released from the magical grip, feeling a mix of confusion and arousal. Her cheeks burn with a blush she cannot control, and she tries to compose herself, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair. The Mayor, still engrossed in the papers, seems oblivious to the exchange that just occurred between his daughter and Markash. She glances over at the bookshelf, the dusty tomes of ancient knowledge seemingly watching her with an eerie knowing. The air in the room feels charged with an unspoken tension, and the shadows seem to dance in a way that wasn't there before.