The end of the day is approaching... The inn's inhabitants are preparing to rest...

Sarg devoted the rest of the day to quietly and subtly eroding the innkeeper's mental defenses.

Outwardly, this appeared as casual phrases, "small talk," chatter about the weather and market prices.

However, a systematic, corrupting influence was being exerted on Liam's mind through the psionic abilities of the cunning orc shaman.

Old memories, one after another, "surfaced" from the depths of the "White Rooster" innkeeper's memory: visual images of him sucking the dicks of some of his acquaintances... secret, depraved visits to someone in town, hidden from his wife... a mixture of shame and pleasure...

The influence of psionic magic made these visual images more vivid and more tempting than they ever were in reality. Liam's perverse desires were amplified by hidden psionic influence...

As a result, by the end of the day, Liam, unsure of what exactly was happening, walked around with a flush of embarrassment on his face and, due to his clumsiness, nearly dropped the tray of stew his wife had been painstakingly preparing for the inn's visitors.

The orc grinned as he noted the consequences of his secret influence: Liam's woolen pants clearly had a bulge in the groin area...

A fact proving that this pervert Liam wasn't at all disgusted by what he was currently imagining...

That night, Liam tried to use this excess sexual arousal in bed with his wife.

Neriah was pleasantly surprised by his activity: after a couple of weeks of "break," her husband finally desired her pussy again and fucked her quite vigorously. Neriah's slender legs were raised while a hard, medium-sized cock pounded her wet, tender pussy...

She barely forced herself to restrain her moans of pleasure, so as not to disturb the inn guests' sleep...

Alas, if she had known what thoughts were wandering through her husband's head during these moments of sexual intimacy, she would have been extremely... extremely disappointed and outraged...

While fucking his wife, Liam imagined a series of secret male sexual partners, whom he met in the nearby town without his wife's knowledge, disguising these visits as the need to purchase supplies for the inn.

What was happening in the other rooms of the inn that night?

In a small room on the second floor, Nigel lay in his bed, face buried in the pillow, sobbing inconsolably.

The pain in his wound gradually became less severe, and the flesh was healing due to the effect of the ointment. However, the pain in his soul only grew worse...

Pitiful, castrated sissy-slut...

A pathetic, weak bitch, devoid of testicles and possessing only a flaccid, laughably tiny appendage between her legs...

The words of the cruel orc shaman pulsed incessantly in Nigel's broken brain.

"Go find your brother and tell him to teach you how to be a good castrated sissy-cunt..." - those were the orc's words.

Today, with an incredible effort of will, Nigel refrained from going to Remy. But it seemed that tomorrow the poor castrated sissy wouldn't be able to find the strength to resist this mental command...

Remy, however, wasn't in his room at all at that moment...

He was so engrossed in his new "responsibilities" that he began to offer his services to the inn's guests with great... ahem... "enthusiasm".

So, he spent that night in the room of one of the inn's guests: one of the inn's regulars, Lucky Barry, had won a lot of coins gambling that day and invited his friends over for some fun.

Lucky Barry was a slightly hunched, gray-haired drunkard of about 45 years old, with a wrinkled face, foul breath, and a nasty manner of speech, replete with foul language.

However, his nickname was not without reason – this bastard was often lucky at gambling. For example, today, thanks to luck in a card game, he won about 70 silver coins.

However, as always, Barry quickly spent his winnings on various frivolous entertainments with his drinking buddies.

Tonight, that one of such entertainment was a depraved sissy-whore named Remy, who only by some misunderstanding had previously claimed the status of "man".

Lying on sheets damp with sweat and cum, Remy wanted to squeal like a pathetic fucking bitch from an intense anal orgasm.

However, his mouth was occupied by Barry's dick...

And Barry's two friends took turns fucking Remy's wet, gaping anal hole.

Remy's sphincter made lewd, slurping sounds as one or another of the unfamiliar males pounded his stretched sissy-cunt.

"Fuck... You dirty whore, Remy! SHIT!!! I used to think you were a son of a bitch, but it turns out you're a fucking bitch! Ha Ha! Ha! I'm about to cum and make you swallow every drop, slut!" - Lucky Barry clearly showed no restraint as he fucked the inn owner's son's mouth and throat.

Well...

Now it's clear what the two brothers did that night...

And what was the sister doing?

Imelda... was furiously masturbating, lying completely naked in bed.

Her graceful, slender body convulsed with orgasm, her sweet titties swaying as her slender fingers caressed her tender, wet cunt deeper and deeper.

Conflicting thoughts and remorse plagued the young cutie's mind: "This big orcish dick... So hot... I used to do something naughty with some of the inn's patrons... And now this vile orc... I cheated on my boyfriend... Am I really a dirty, lewd slut?!"

However, moral anguish did not prevent Imelda from continuing her masturbation and subsequent shameful orgasm, during which the visual image of a fleshy, greenish, sinewy, large orcish cock that had recently stretched her tender pussy dominated Imelda's mind.

So, that night, in a place called the "White Rooster Inn and Tavern," many of its inhabitants clearly had plenty to do...

By the way, how did the orc shaman Sarg, who was forced into exile and fled his tribe's mountain settlement, spend that night?

On the one hand, during the initial period of his sleep, the cruel orc enjoyed thoughts and memories of how he gradually corrupted and subjugated one by one the family members of the inn's owner. Progress on this path is clear and significant...

In a week, perhaps even more of the orc's perverted desires will come true, and these pathetic humans will become completely submissive puppets.

On the other hand, later in his nighttime sleep, Sarg's consciousness began to be visited by vague visions of his distant past.

A high-altitude orc settlement, located deep in the Grayhead Mountains...

The harsh life of an orcish tribe...

The strict restrictions of tribal traditions...

Sarg's large family included many brothers and sisters...

His father was a warrior and died during a campaign into a dangerous system of underground caves: the underground mines are rich in valuable minerals and ores, but the creatures that inhabit them can often be deadly...

His mother struggled to support and raise her many children and, due to exhaustion and frequent hunger, barely survived Sarg's adulthood.

Some of the brothers became wandering mercenaries...

Some died hunting...

Some remained in the tribe and became ordinary warriors...

Many of the sisters (those lucky enough to survive) married and had children...

Sarg was ambitious and selfish from childhood – so he never formed genuine friendships with any of his relatives.

His ambitions were well-founded: from childhood, he demonstrated intelligence and a talent for magic. So the tribe's old shaman took him on as his apprentice.

The prospects seemed promising...

However, as the years passed, Sarg began to realize that the old shaman viewed him more as a servant than a worthy successor.

The old shaman strictly limited Sarg's magical explorations, guided by the dogmas of tribal tradition.

But the ambitious young Sarg passionately craved more and more...

So, one night, Sarg broke one of the important tribal taboos: he began meditating in a forbidden place on the top of a remote mountain, considered a "cursed place" by his orcish tribe. Memories of the long climb up this mountain, even now, many years later, make the orc shudder with the vile sensation of the cold wind on his skin...

By frequently meditating on this mountain peak, among the menhirs composed of some dark purple stone, Sarg learned to strengthen his magical abilities and unlocked his potential more fully than the old shaman had allowed him.

This place... was clearly some kind of center of hidden magical power...

Soon, Sarg was able to not only strengthen his old magical skills but also acquire new ones...

Sarg gained the ability to develop psionic influence...

First, he practiced on animals...

That year, many mountain goats, for some reason, decided to fight each other with unusual ferocity, and then, for some reason, began jumping from great heights straight into the abyss. Then Sarg began secretly using his psionic powers on certain members of the tribe...

The old shaman once almost managed to expose Sarg...

However, one of the tribe's warriors somehow sneaked into the shaman's hut at night and strangled him in his sleep...

Then the killer hanged himself...

There was no evidence to prove that the young shaman's apprentice, Sarg, was in any way connected to these unfortunate events.

Very convenient...

Thus, Sarg became the tribe's shaman...

Alas, it's clear that psionics, while extremely effective, are no guarantee of success: Sarg had almost completely subjugated the tribe, but the chieftain's last son was able to unite the sober-minded and enlist the support of neighboring tribes to defeat the shaman's puppets in a bloody battle and force Sarg himself to flee.

Of course, before his forced flight, Sarg stole as much useful material as possible: coins, precious stones, and other items...

But still, the incident was a blow to Sarg's egotistical personality (after all, he craved power, not exile).

There's another nuance to the situation: as he used and developed his psionic skills, Sarg began to have vague, brief dreams at night about the very circle of menhirs in the center of which he regularly meditated. In these vague visions, the night sky above the high, "cursed" mountain somehow changed beyond recognition - it took on an unnatural hue, the stars shifted from their usual positions.

That night, in the deepest part of his sleep, such visions returned again...

The sleeping Sarg tossed and turned restlessly on his bed and finally threw the blanket onto the floor.

However, now the visions became more... vivid.

A thick fog began to emanate from the circle of menhirs...

In his dream, Sarg sees his own image - a younger version of himself.

The young orc meditates, sitting on a hard rock with his eyes closed.

He doesn't notice that amid the thick fog, the stones of the menhirs gradually begin to pulsate with unnatural, dark purple sparks. And then...

Then, through this thick fog, something moves... disgusting and alien to this world...

A visual image of a huge, multi-eyed creature, an amorphous mass of writhing, slimy tentacles...

It's simply terrifying...

Sarg tries to scream, to somehow warn his younger self of the danger, who continues to calmly meditate in her sleep while this... multi-eyed "creature" crawls inexorably and slowly toward her.

Sarg wakes up early in the morning in his bed...

The blanket is lying on the floor...

His body is covered in cold sweat...

The orc exile's mind is gripped by fear...

It seems the way he developed his magical psionic abilities had some "side effects"...