A "Date" with the Forgemaster

You'd be a fool to decline such an offer. Even without the tome and its power on the line, this is a once-in-a-lifetime situation - Or would be for any other. Tagaera is a pragmatic woman; Very much the "Married to her work"-type, more than dwarves usually are anyway. To have her attention like this is a rare treasure. From what you've heard, one that is squandered by those that receive this rare honor. You do not intend to be such a fool. With your mind split between adoration for her strong yet feminine form and the ambitions you pursue, you let her take the lead for the time being. Once her iron is settled with a few final hammerstrokes, she leads you away from the dust and soot of the forge, and toward a series of gates and corridors.

It's more of a dungeon than a homely quarter for a mage of her caliber. She has taken considerable defensive measures all around, a lot of them archaic and material in nature, but no doubt effective against any would be thieves or assassins. Another thing you will have to keep in mind. The academy keeps you safe as long as you're not on anyone's map so to speak, but once you start extending your reach, you will have to contend with threats greater than envious students and failed scholars.
She leads you deep into the bowels of the academy's foundry, straight to her sanctum. The place is simple in the best of ways, carrying a cozy atmosphere. With its old linen banners of selfmade cloth and red color, the hearth and the fur rugs lining the floor it's more in line with old dwarven fortresses than what you'd usually expect of a mage. "A touch of home." She says, almost a bit shy about it, "My people didn't appreciate me. That doesn't keep me from appreciating all they've given me."

"That's a sentiment I can relate to." You say, thinking back to all the things your own kind frustrate you with, yet without them you wouldn't be the man you are today. Neither your wit, your strength or your arcane prowess would flow in your nerves and veins without centuries of dark elven craft and culture shaping you into the aspiring conqueror of tomorrow that you have become. "It's not the same." You admit, "Your life wasn't a choice, mine was. I chose to come here, to leave the isolation of our pride and the sin of our prejudice. You..."
She finishes the sentence for you: "...made the mistake of standing out."
Her smile is dry and pained, yet there is a hope in there, a hope both pure yet cruel, that all that suffering will pay off in the end. You are that spark of better days for her - At any cost.
"From birth, be it the tiniest beardling or the bulkiest forgelass we are told that dwarves are defined by their actions, by what we create - An extension of ourselves. It's all about expression, freedom and discovery, until you step on the wrong toes. Magic's an elven thing they say, magic's a forbidden thing with no place in the old holds."

"I was wondering about that." You say, cocking your head to one side as she leads you to a diminutive table of wood and steal, lined in gold, offering you a chair and some very expensive wine, "I get the general fear of mages. That's nothing new, but I never understood where it comes from."

Your curiosity lights a fire of enthusiasm in her belly. Filling you both a cup of her finest drink, she takes her seat on the opposite side of the table, closing her strong fingers on the beverage. "Never thought someone like you would have an educational gap like that. Then again, I guess not all history is taught the same everywhere. I hardly know anything about you onyx-skinned sons of bitches beyond the odd tale and legend for example....Anyway: Sorcerer Kings. You know the type. The old wars; Magic that ripped the earth to bits and cracked the sky into a veritable hellscape. The dwarven holds got hid hard during those days from what I've heard. Most of those ancient fortresses you hear about where dark overlords hoard wealth and forbidden knowledge? Yeah, those used to be strongholds and cities of my people. And my people are the only ones stupid enough to remember that, so intently in fact that most forms of magic are straight-up outlawed."

She shakes her head again as she downs her second cup of wine, tinting her soft cheeks a rosy shade of red. "All I wanted to do was to mend relationships. Help my kind find their way in this new world, this new empire. When they found out I was in correspondence with the academy I had to pack my bags - Exile was a kindness, a backhanded mercy."

You're about to say something when she shushes you and refills your cup. "Whatever you're gonna say, save it. Don't need pity, don't need advice, don't need insults either. Just...thank you for listening to me ramble when we've both got far far more important things to be on our mind." She says, gentle planting her soft round face in her surprisingly delicate hands. She is the very idol of a fertility goddess of the old depictions. Round and plump, the softness of her curves carried by her immense strength. You've seen minocows with smaller breasts. She's got a body many would kill for and the woman knows it. The bronze shimmer of her hair is no longer held back by any protective restraints to keep the fire at bay, billowing about her features in waves of metal tint.

"My eyes are up here, elf-boy." She says, playfully, the **** getting to both of you over time. "It's so rare to just...get to talk. You always have to backstab and avoid someone trying to return the favour. The moment I left my people behind I was nothing more than a tool for the empire. Useful, but not really wanted or desired. People lined up to put a baby in me, don't get me wrong - They still do. But it's all about getting my traits, my strength, my heritage. Never me, my looks or any of the sort. It's just - Tagaera the blacksmith. The tool. I left the holds to be more than that and in the end it is all I will ever be."

"It was." You say, no hesitation in your words, "You've got the way out right in front of you."

"Pray tell, mighty....Shit, introductions, huh?"

You both laugh at how you've rushed into things. You go through the whole cordial song and dance of introducing yourselves properly. She by her born name of family and bloodline and you under the same procedure. "Varian." She says, repeating after you, letting the name roll off her tongue with a fire that is already bordering on lust. What is in that wine?

"Now, where was I? Pray tell, mighty Varian. Are you talking about the book or yourself when you promise me salvation?" She gives you a wink and you can't help but smile a bit sheepishly at that. The drink is definitely getting to both of you now. She's eyeing you with a certain hunger that you cannot deny even if you wanted to.
Living up to her reputation, she inches her chair closer to yours, eagerly rubbing over your forearm.
"I don't wanna keep up appearances. We both know I'm gonna say yes, because saying no just means I get no piece of the pie. So how about you give this neglected forgemaiden something truly special...? I've never gotten close to one of your kind before, you know."

She's blunt, even for a dwarf, but in a way you appreciate it. She cuts right to the chase, not letting decorum and restraint get in the way of what she wants: You. And she says as much: "Before you get any funny poetic ideas or all that nonsense. I want to hear if the stories about you dark elves are true. I'm offering you something nobody else here gets - I don't care how stupid this is. Pin me down and fuck me absolutely senseless. Show me you got strength where it matters and where everyone else just disappoints me. Outlast me and you got your deal."