No scheme ever goes as planned.

"Trimon." The assassin states, making known his purpose to the guard who is distracted by his attire. "I am here to service the master." The words are bitter to him, but he must play the role.

"No doubt you are wench, no doubt you are!" He chuckles, clearly amused by the thought of the raven haired wench performing the skills the Al Areth whores are famed for.

With a slap on his ass the guard directs the assassin through a courtyard and a doorway. Gathered throughout Trimon's stronghold are his men, more bandits and brigands than soldiers. Their lustful gaze and lewd comments brings a chill to the Akkadian's spine as he realizes that if he weren't Trimon's whore he would no doubt be violently gang ****. "This way girl." The guard points to another door.

Passing through the door into a dark stairwell the assassin and the guard begin to head up a circular flight of stairs. Judging by the quality and thickness of the stonework the Akkadian guesses they have entered the inner part of the keep and must be close to Trimon's chamber.

"Wait." A voice beckons from behind. Both men turn startled by the sound as the guard draws his sword.

The assassin's experienced mind races as he realizes something is wrong. No one was following them and his escort closed the door behind him. The guard is also displeased and growls. "Show yourself and be quick about it!"

Through the shadows of the stairwell a woman's figure appears; first her face and then the rest of her body comes into the torch light as she walks towards the guard. Her startling light crystal blue eyes, full lips and short well cut dark auburn hair announce her great beauty, which is only matched by the curves below her face. Clad in a skimpy brassiere dyed dark blue with gold trim that highlights her ample cleavage and a matching high cut loin cloth that accentuates the curves of her toned hips and legs, her features are even more striking than that of the sorceress?s. Her only other attire are strange red strings wrapped around her forearms and jewelry and slippers similar to the assassin's.

Though not unaffected by her appearance the Akkadian's trained eye causes him concerned. She is dressed as a high priced whore, though there are things askew; no body paint of dark henna, she is not topless, her loincloth is not of gossamer and thus her outer cunt lips cannot be seen, and though her figure is curvy, it is also toned with muscle more fitting of an athlete from the games, than a whore who spends her time on her back.

Keeping his sword out the guard is not as perceptive, however, as he grins at the sight of another attractive woman. "What do you want whore?" He asks in an amused and unwatchful tone.

Smiling with a shy expression that doesn't match the steely cold stare of her blue eyes she answers in a submissive voice. "Lord Trimon feels quite energetic tonight and has ordered that his entertainment be doubled. However, he is quite busy at the moment and has commanded us to wait until we are summoned."

"I don't know about this." The guard ponders. "We should go back to the captain and see what he has to say."

"Or . . .?" The auburn haired beauty counters in a deep and seductive voice as she draws near to the guard and drags her finger slowly down his chest. "You could take us to the bottom of the stairwell and watch as the other whore and myself perform for you the show Lord Trimon has commanded and then, perhaps, you could inspect us yourself."

"Umm." The guard stutters clearly not use to the attention of a beautiful woman.

"Please." She moans. "I need the practice; you wouldn't want Lord Trimon to be disappointed with his nightly entertainment would you?"

With a loss for words the oaf stands dumb struck. "Come, let me show you." The temptress takes him gently by the hand and leads him down the stairs. He follows like a sheep, putting his sword back in its sheath. Looking back at the Akkadian she orders with a commanding voice, her eyes glaring with intent. "Come sister, let us practice our craft."

The assassin knows she is not what she seems, but what are his options? Call out for help? Summon the guards? He has little choice but to obey and see what game she is playing.

At the bottom of the stairs the woman sits the guard down on the steps and lights the torch that had conveniently gone out. She waves for the Akkadian as the guard watches his mouth open gaping wide. Taking the assassin into her embrace in direct sight of the guard, she passionately kisses him as her tongue explores his inner mouth. Though he tries to remain focused, ready for any threat, there is no denying the pleasure of being made love to by such a woman. Aggressively her hands run up and down his breasts as she moans loudly for the guard's enjoyment. When she arches her back and begins to rub her breasts against the assassin's tits, the Akkadian experiences an intense arousal he has rarely known. Their large mounds rhythmically push together and then flop free as their nipples drag across each other in a pleasure no man has ever known before. Looking over at the guard who has begun to rub himself through his pants the unknown whore runs her figures through the assassin's hair and grabs it firm. With a wicked smile she then head butts him with a swift and violent strike.

As the Akkadian falls to ground dazed by the strike, out of the corner of his eye he sees the auburn haired beauty pounce like a panther at the shocked guard. Her foot smashes against his forehead as she lands a perfectly placed crescent kick. On the floor the assassin shakes his head trying to regain his senses. His new body is not used to such combat and is taking longer to recover than he would like. Finally clearing his head he hears the faint gurgling of a man being choked to ****. The pretend whore has the guard on the ground, and on his side, as she chokes him from behind. The hold she uses is taught by the Zingarian war masters; her feet hooked into his inner thighs as she strangles him with one of the red cords that was wrapped around her forearms. With one swift and violent yank she ends his life.

Standing up she draws the dead man's sword and heads towards the Akkadian with intent. "By the goddess Nebethet remain still whore!" She hisses in a threating voice.

By reflex the assassin takes a martial stance which causes the auburn haired warrior to pause. With a smirk she almost laughs. "So the whore has some training." The Akkadian realizes that though his mind is well versed in numerous combative arts, his new body doesn't have that muscle memory needed to properly fight, let allow take a stance that would threaten a well-trained combatant.

"Your courage has spared your life little whore, so let me speak." The warrior explains, pointing her sword at the assassin. "I am Naerwyn Samteth of Tortage. I am here to steal a priceless treasure from that famed warlord Trimon. You can aid me and I will pay you handsomely for it, or I will tie and gag you and put you in a closet."

"Time is fleeting whore, so choose quickly; less I slit your throat."