Bonus: How to Romance a Succubus I

In the ruins of a barn on the edge of the Goblin Woods, a man wearing his finest waistcoat carved a circle of runes by moonlight. Each line was meticulously placed, his hands precise after years of careful research and months of practice. He surveyed the circle, face grim, and found it without fault. He checked thrice more, for should his ritual be flawed his life would be forfeit.

Kavros Darkstorm brushed his long, unkempt black hair from his eyes, and looked at the full moon. His preparations could take no more time in any event. He would need to wait another full month if he hesitated now.

He drew a needle from his belt, sharpened as best he could, and used it to prick his thumb. A bead of blood formed, which he pressed into the first rune, and the second, but it did not flow quite quickly enough for his needs. He ended up pricking his other thumb as well and alternating.

That was enough to get through all 16 runes of calling and binding before the moon left its zenith, if only just. They began to glow with a hellish red light, which the barn’s ramshackle walls would hopefully conceal from any prying eyes.

He backed away from the circle, and used his blood as a conduit to call beyond. This was the first step; the way for him to invoke a being from a space beyond mortal ken. Once he had bound the entity, he would be able to wreak vengeance upon Montford and his kind. No shadow would hide them, no walls protect them. Not when he’d mastered the powers of the underworld.

He maintained focus on the binding as the darkness of the night swirled around him, focusing on a point in the center of his runic wards. The demon he’d called forth coalesced from pooled shadows, crowned with two sparks of pale blue light. She took on a lithe, shapely form created to inflame sin and desire. Her wings manifested last, black and stretching out behind her like grasping hands.

He stared at the succubus, vigilant for any tricks from the notoriously devious species of demon, and continued his spell. Her shape resolved and solidified, gaining color and texture. Her curves were encased in a dress made of leather stained black as pitch. Her skin was white as milk, shining in the light of the moon. Her hair, an ebon waterfall, tumbled down her back and shoulders.

Her face was the last to settle, painted with makeup that drank in the sparse light. She smirked at him, icy blue eyes blazing with malicious glee.

“So, a man seeks to subdue me?” She said, her voice a deep contralto, “My, my. You’ll make an excellent slave.”

Her words startled Kavros, who had been slightly distracted by the view.

“Tis you who shall be the slave, spawn of darkness!” Kavros declared, forgetting much of his prepared speech, “You shall declare to me your name!”

He grabbed hold of the invisible tether connecting them, and pitted his will against the succubus. As he did, he drew upon all of the energy he’d stored into his tools and runes over the last few weeks.

She fell to her knees, bosom heaving as she struggled against bonds of invisible force.

“Xorovamathandris!” She gasped, breathing raggedly.

Kavros panicked. He hadn’t caught her full name. Zorova something. He improvised.

“Again I command!” He thundered, riding the high of his first victory through his uncertainty. “You shall declare to me your name!”

“Xorovamathandris!” She moaned, falling to her hands and knees.

Zorova math andras. Kavros thought he had it, but he needed to be certain. If he mispronounced it even slightly, he would be defenseless against her. It would be a tremendous stroke of fortune if he were the only victim of such a blunder. He had enough energy stored, if only just, to confirm a final time.

“Thrice I say and done!” He said, “You shall declare to me your name!”

“Xorovamathandris.” She said, slower this time, each syllable leaving her perfect lips as if it had been ripped free.

He still heard well enough to be glad he’d gone through the threefold command. Andras instead of Andris would have been just wrong enough to let her slip loose.

“Xorovamathandris, succubus, mockery of love!” He declared, weaving together all of his remaining power. “I declare you to be my familiar! Enter into my service, demon, and lend me your strength even as I lend you mine! Let our souls intermingle until death rends us asunder!”

He pitted his will against her one more time to collar her. She met his eyes, her whole body spasming as a line of darkness slowly encircled her throat. She smiled, and struck back, rejecting the spell with easily twice the force he’d seen up to this point.

His eyes widened, realizing abruptly that she’d let him wear himself out before striking with her full strength. The circle of shadows grew wispy and indistinct, and Kavros felt a thin, cold pressure against his own neck. He clutched his pendant, a blessed symbol of Valor, and roared his defiance, throwing every ounce of strength in his body into the fight.

The binding solidified, taking form as a black ribbon supporting a single onyx gemstone. For all its dread purpose, it would not have looked entirely out of place upon a refined young lady. The demoness stepped back, her back stiffening as she cried out.

Valor’s blessing passed as quickly as it had begun, and took its toll. There was simply no more strength within him, all consumed in a single incandescent flash. As the darkness closed in upon the edges of his vision, he saw Xorovamathandris writhe within the binding circle. A circle, he saw, which had been as depleted by the final clash as Kavros himself.

He collapsed, a half formed prayer to Valor and any other god willing to hear it upon his lips, and knew no more.

••••••••••

Xorova felt the call before she was properly awake. It had been a long time since she’d last been summoned, so she’d been in a dormant state for a terribly long time. Her essence quivered with excitement as the tether hooked into her and drew her towards the natural world.

As far as she knew she didn’t have a grimoire in circulation, not like some of her friends. She wasn’t uniquely powerful or notorious, so most likely she’d been called by someone shouting into the void. That made it all so exciting; it could be anyone!

As the tether reeled her in, she studied what she could of her summoner’s mind. She needed to know what they wanted, what they desired. If… he, and it did appear to be a he, was going through all the effort to bind her then she had best make a body crafted to appeal to him. That’s the least she could do.

High contrast, eh? She could do that. Pale with dark hair, horns, and wings. She couldn’t really do anything about her eyes, so she’d just need to darken the skin around her eyes so she’d look like she was wearing kohl. That looked good, and would pair well with black lips. She wasn’t sure if he liked more generous curves than average or if culture had drifted again. It hardly mattered. Aesthetics were irrelevant to her, so long as they captivated him.

She admired the binding while she shaped her body from the ambient darkness. She needed to focus. She couldn’t look too eager or he’d think she wasn’t taking this seriously. While she finished her last finishing touches and manifested, she went through dozens of possible first words. The line she settled on was a nice classic. Something to really set the tone.

“So, a man seeks to subdue me?” She said, unable to stop herself from smiling, “My, my. You’ll make an excellent slave.”

Hopefully she managed to sound dangerous. She was out of practice in many ways. She looked at her summoner with curiosity. He was an absurdly tall but rather thin man. Messy black hair and some kind of tunic that didn’t quite fit him properly. His will, however, was far more impressive than his frame.

“Tis you who shall be the slave, spawn of darkness!” He declared, playing his role with gusto, “You shall declare to me your name!”

His power focused upon her, the runes blazing with stored energy. He’d worked so hard on this! It was so flattering, she worked extra hard to resist him. She met his eyes and held fast against him for as long as she could, but he really had accumulated enough energy to subdue her. It was so hot.

Her fresh body shuddered with pleasure when he overpowered her completely; it was still new and very sensitive. Waves of pleasure brought her to her knees, and her name came out garbled.

She was so embarrassed when he asked her to repeat herself. She hadn't even caught her breath yet, and she wasn’t any clearer the second time. Hopefully he’d think it was proper defiance. She was extra careful to enunciate the third time he demanded her name. She really wanted to see where he was going with this whole binding thing.

She managed to gather herself enough to properly resist him for the full binding. She didn’t want him to think she was desperate, after all. It seemed like he was going to let her win for a moment, but then he did something with a talisman around his neck and reversed the clash. The symbol of her subjugation wrapped itself snugly around her neck, pulling a moan from her lips.

Everyone knew human warlocks were the best masters. A lot of them could maintain their character through anything, never once even hinting that they wanted to be enslaved. That was ridiculous, of course, that’s all anyone ever really wanted, but they could maintain the illusion so very well.

She looked down at her new master with a smile. She needed to compose herself so she could play her part when he woke up. He’d been so romantic about their first meeting, binding her forever to his will. He deserved a companion who would do the same if given the chance.

••••••••••

Kavros awoke with cold stone pressed against his bare skin. His flesh prickled with goosebumps, and there was something shoved in his mouth. He didn’t miss a beat, immediately moving to pull the gag out. Unfortunately, his hands seemed to be tied to his feet in some kind of elaborate knot. Using his best coat, he imagined, unless he had been stripped of it by nothing but blind providence.

He tried to roll over; and suddenly a boot was pressed against his jaw. It was polished black, with a slightly inclined heel that dug into his chin.

“Finally awake, mortal?” Xorovamathandris purred, “Oh what fun.”

The ropes might have done in a lesser mage than Kavros Darkstorm, but he was no trifling hedgemage! Self taught, perhaps, but mighty. He focused his attention upon the collar he knew to be wrapped around the succubus’s neck. He was in no position to speak the command words or make the hand signs to trigger the control mechanisms, but he had drilled himself on the proper forms a thousand times before calling forth a demon.

He pictured himself activating the least of his tools, drawing upon the residual energy stored within the runes of summoning. As he did, the collar constricted around her neck and blared his command directly into her mind.

“You shall untie and ungag me.”

This spell, embedded into the greater binding that had summoned Xorovamathandris, was more about communicating his will and inflicting pain than actual compulsion. Even so, he doubted that the succubus would be eager to have her windpipe crushed by an ever-tightening ribbon.

The demoness staggered and fell to her knees, her nails biting deep into stone, but cut him loose after only a few moments of struggle. Her claws were short, black, and at a glance could be mistaken for a noble lady’s lacquered nails, but they had cut through his robes even more easily than they had bitten into stone.

Of course, this left Kavros wearing nothing but a loincloth, as his one good coat lay strewn about his lair. He felt his cheeks turn red in spite of himself as the collared beast he had summoned leered at him. He quickly commanded her to check outside the barn and return in ten minutes so he could dress in his only other outfit: a threadbare set of clothes he mostly wore for labor. At least his beaten shoes were still intact for now.

Kavros had no illusions about his ability to bewitch a creature of darkness with his face alone. His studies had prepared him for this tactic, the first of many he suspected the demon would employ against him. Succubi always pretended to be smitten with their summoners, but it was a ruse. A strategy they used to get in close enough for their eventual betrayal. They lied as easily as they breathed, as befit a demon born to inflame lust in the hearts of men.

Perhaps the only mixed blessing was that they truly desired to own their captors. Most species of demon would have killed him or at least fled after being handed such an opportunity.

A succubus? Without fail, they would remain nearby to taunt him, eventually moving on to torture. Only when the summoner’s will was broken entirely would the demoness grant him the peace of death.

All the worse because he had to rely upon her for now. His tome of lore, snatched from his father’s bookshelf where it was kept as a curiosity, was comprehensive but focused upon the cataloguing and binding of demons. Tonight’s brush with disaster was the only proof he needed that an army of the damned was beyond his means, even once he amassed the resources needed to call upon a powerful demonic servant without the aid of the full moon.

He went into his sack and pulled out the last of his food. His stomach roared, and he needed to center himself before his next confrontation. The cheese was speckled with mold in any event; it was for the best that he eat it now, after scraping the offending bits off. His thumbs ached where he’d pricked them, so he sacrificed a few precious drops of wine to clean them.

He didn’t have any magic to aid his pricked fingers or the shallow cut upon his chin from her boot, and doubted Xorovamathandris would either. Succubi were frequently mages, but they tended towards dark magic, such as illusions, curses, restraints, and enchantments. Nothing so practical as healing. Or clothing repair.