The Next Morning...

You stand in front of the mirror next to Lilith and Shaga, admiring your reflection. For the first time in a while, you're out of your armor, freshly bathed. Your hair is freshly combed, the dead bugs, dirt and bodily fluids that have usually settled there are all gone. You wear a set of long, purple, velvet robes with polished leather boots and a golden, emerald-studded necklace.

"You look soft. Weak. I wouldn't want your seed if you were the last man on Earth," Shaga says.

"Watch your tongue, Shaga. Remember which one of us is in charge."

"That's better, but you're still dressed like a ponce," she says.

"You look fine, Abaddon," Lilith says. "The Necromancer got a look at you yesterday as the fearsome night. Now she gets to fall in love with your quiet side, so you can secure her as an ally."

"She's a miserable cur who should be **** into submission. She doesn't deserve to be your wife."

"Afraid of little competition? You have been putting on a little weight."

"It's muscle mass. I've been doing it to make myself more attractive to you!" Shaga complains.

"Oh. Thanks, then, I suppose," you say. "Let's go."

The three of you head through the hallways, until eventually you react the banquet hall. On one side, the chairs are empty except for Morrigan. On the other sits Taylor, with a rotten figure standing on either of side. You sit across from her, flashing her a grin. She blushes in response, looking down at the ground.

"A lovely day for negotiations, isn't it?" you smile.

It seems to you there are a few ways you can do this. You could use some of that bartering charm Ober taught you to simply propose a marriage of alliance, using pure business tact to remind her what a good idea it would be. Alternatively, you could try to get her alone, flirting around until you can actually get with her.