A Qunari embassy

Today you are receiving a visit from a Qunari embassy. Your alliance with them fumbled after you convinced your companion, the Iron Bull, to save the Chargers and allow the Venatori to destroy their dreadnaught. However, they seem interested in restablishing contacts with a request, and it does help they sent a beautiful agent named Rasaan, her figure more slender than her male counterpart.

"We are looking for a fugitive. Her name is Isabela and she has stolen and hidden our sacred text, the book of Koslun." she says "She was saw in Ferelden, and if you bring her to us we will consider offering you a new agreement... with some other interesting offer." The last part is said in a sultry tone, inviting you to imagine all the filty things you can do with her body.

She smirks, and you let her sit on your lap. "Are you interested, Inquisitor?" She asks, caressing your chest. "Indeed." you answer. Her hands fall on your hardening cock.

You grin, your thick fingers already fumbling with the buckles of her leathers as she grinds against your lap. Rasaan's breath hitches when your palm cups her breast through the fabric, her golden eyes narrowing with a mix of calculation and genuine hunger. "The Qun does not usually indulge in such... distractions," she murmurs, though the way her hips roll tells a different story. You don't need magic thrones when her hands are tearing at your trousers, her teeth nipping at your earlobe as she whispers promises of what the Qunari can offer a man who understands mutual benefit.

Your other hand slips beneath her waistband, finding her already wet as she arches into your touch. "But first," you growl against her throat, the throne's magic humming beneath you, "let's discuss terms." Rasaan's confident smirk falters when her knees hit the stone floor without her consent, the throne's ancient enchantments overriding her will as surely as you split rifts. She curses in Qunlat, but her mouth opens obediently when you fist her horns and pull her forward. The taste of power here is sweeter than any lyrium—her choked moans vibrating against your cock as you dictate exactly how the Qunari will repay your... generosity.

You use her horns like reins, forcing her to take you deeper as the throne's magic pulses with each thrust of her head. Rasaan's fingers claw at your thighs, her muffled protests turning to gagging sounds that only spur you on. When you finally release down her throat, she collapses coughing, Qunari pride dripping from her chin. "Tell your Arishok," you pant, zipping up with one hand still tangled in her hair, "I'll find his precious pirate... after you personally deliver those 'interesting offers' we discussed."

Rasaan's golden eyes burn with fury even as her body obeys, knees scraping stone as she crawls forward to clean your cock with her tongue like a trained mabari. You laugh, snapping your fingers to summon Lady Montilyet from the shadows where she'd been **** to watch—her Orlesian silks damp with sweat from the throne's compulsion. "Take notes, Josephine," you grunt, shoving the Qunari's head back down as she gags. "The Ben-Hassrath want their book? They'll provide troops... and a personal harem of those horned bitches." The ambassador's quill scratches frantically against parchment, tears streaking her makeup as the throne's magic forces her hand to record every depraved demand.

The throne's magic thrums through the stone floor as you dismiss Rasaan with a slap to her still-dripping ass, watching the once-proud agent shuffle backward on all fours until her horns clack against the chamber doors. Josephine's choked sob draws your attention—her perfect Orlesian coiffure now ruined by the sweat plastering strands to her forehead as the enchanted quill forces her to transcribe your demand for "twenty Qunari breeding stock, ages eighteen to twenty-five, to be delivered before the next moon."