Charm their pants off.

Arms raised, you scan the six bandits before pinpointing their leader. Only one of them is wearing a hat, and the man clearly put effort into making it stylish; it even has a feather in it. You discreetly weave your fingers and murmur dark words beneath your breath. Success. A blank expression washes across his face, and he lowers his saber.

"Oi! Lower yer weapons, lads. Don't you know who this feller is?" he shouts, his words slurring slightly. The two women beside him remain wary, but shoot their captain confused glances. He stomps his foot and clears his throat. At last his subordinates comply, and they sheathe their blades. Even you're impressed, though you know you have the grimoire to thank. The man in the cap approaches you and claps a leathery palm to your robed shoulder, greeting you like an old friend.

"Tell your women they're coming with me," you say, and the feathered bandit offers you a complicit nod. Before he can turn to relay your orders, you tug on his sleeve, "and tell them we're founding a new base of operations."

"Rosaria, Helen, and Beatrice! You three are goin' with my friend here," he barks at them, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder in your direction, "He's a brilliant bloke, and he needs yer help foundin' a new camp, savvy?" The three women all share an equally confused expression, but they shrug and pound a fist over their heart in salute.

Rosaria has thick, black hair, smooth mocha skin, thick thighs and a prodigious ass. You bite your lip at the thought of her subservient to the Grevakhnu's will. Those wide hips will spawn many a minion for your future conquest.

Helen is a pale, ginger rogue with a slim frame. She has almost no bust whatsoever, and you almost mistook her silhouette for a skinny, young man, but you imagine some eldritch grooming will make a proper breeding vessel of her yet.

Beatrice is easily the tallest of the three, a true Amazonian fighter. You have no doubt that her strong limbs make hefting that greataxe of hers no trouble at all. But your eyes linger elsewhere. She has the largest bust of the three, easily filling an E-cup. If you can learn the Lactavari enchantment, you could certainly transform Beatrice into your first milkmaid.

"You may call me Mendax," you lie, but offering your real name would be foolish at such an early stage of your clandestine campaign, "and together, we shall found a mighty ****. Glory and riches await, ladies, if you would seize this fortunate opportunity."

Their unease slightly subsides, and you can see as the greed fills their eyes. Bandits are so easy. You exchange farewells with the feathered bandit captain and his two remaining men before instructing the women to march ahead. Once out of sight, you snap your fingers. A violet light floods the captain's eyes. In a silent act of betrayal, he slashes his saber across one throat before burying the blade in the other's back. He looks to you, smiles, and slits his own throat. The purple energy leaves his vacant eyes and he falls dead at your feet.

With no witnesses remaining, you hum an Abyssal chant and march up the path to join your first, unwitting concubines.