Without a hitch

It's not hard to figure out what direction the human is coming from and head towards it, but there's enough distance between you and him for second thoughts to assert themselves.

What just happened to you? Why are you just dumbly accepting it? How can you be so eager to just hop on a human's pole like this? You need to turn back and demand that someone _fix_ you damnation!

But your new urges subtly undercut you self-beratement. '_Oh, what does it matter how you turned out if it felt so good? After all, you're still as strong as before, so there's no reason to be alarmed. You're still a warrior, still a dominant, still able to take what you want from weaker beings, what does it matter how you wants have transformed?_'

Before you can continue this back and forth against yourself, you run around a boulder and suddenly find yourself face to face with your query.

He's human alright. Dressed in light leather armor and with two short swords at his belt. A smooth, fair face marked with a scar across the bridge of his nose, honey-colored hair, and clear, steely-grey eyes, he's every inch a young and vigorous warrior.

You freeze with conflicting instincts as he reels back. Before you can even blink, he has both blades leveled at you.

"What manner of bedevilry is this?"

Oh who talks like that?

"Hello little man," you rumble out, attempting to reclaim your composure. "You seem to be a little far from home, and help. So why don't you put those steak knives away and let me take you in without making a mess?"

The young fighter scowls defiantly. "I'll not be so easily intimidated she-brute! I may be divorced from my comrades-at-arms, but I have fought and charged my way through enough threats on my own to be sure of my chances! Plagueis will fall this day, and all his fell beasts that try to stand in my way!"

Ah, so he came as part of a group? It's been a while since a mercenary band strong enough to penetrate this deep came along. Inspecting him more throughly, you see the gashes all over his gear, and catch the subtle trembling of his arms and legs. For all his bravado, the boy is approaching his limits.

Such a shame, you would have loved to met him in battle fresh. A fever-pitch engagement: Passion in the dueling-ring, blood-pounding and furious, resulting in one or the other finally made to admit submission, and transforming into passion on a mat-

No! Not like that... okay maybe-Stop!

You don't want to admit your attraction to this fiery potential opponent, but you'll readily acknowledge your desire for a true sporting fight. Maybe give him a chance to catch his second wind? Who knows, if treated with dignity, he might switch allegiance. It's a long shot, but it'd be nice to have him at your side; a quisling to track down his party and hear what the outside world is planning next, a sparring partner and fellow guard, maybe he'd even be amenable to taking you to his bed and-

Well, please let us focus on that other stuff first.