Marcon Stormwind, Warlock

You are Marcon Stormwind, and you are a blacksmith in the city of Neverwinter. To any onlooker, that would be all they would notice. An unremarkable blacksmith in a city of thousands, destined for little more than decades of hammering against anvils. There was no shame in that. It would have been a good life, but unfortunately, fate had other plans for you. Fate came not from Lady Fortuna, as it normally did, but from a source that came from much, much lower down.

A few months ago, after returning from the pub in a drunken haze, you were knocked out by a stinging blow to the back of your head, and fell to the ground. A sickening crack foretold your ****. Perhaps that, too, would have been the end of your life, until she intervened.

"Hush now," came the voice in your head, at once alluring and intimidating. Like a tiger in the forest or the flicker of a bonfire, you wanted to listen but not to step too close. "I have other plans for you."

You walked home that night with a splitting headache, a mysterious sigil branded into your wrist, and the knowledge that your life had taken a turn for the interesting.

The last customer leaving your shop snaps you out of that little reverie.

"Marcon!" she waves, cheerily. "Thanks again for the dagger!"

"No problem," you call out to Elaine. The girl was one of your most frequent shoppers, and always buying daggers in the exact same style. How she was going through that many each week, you didn't know. Better not to ask. You close up shop, locking everything away safely and hanging up your heavy leather apron. You take off the gloves, rubbing the sigil seared into your flesh. As you head upstairs to your little bedroom, that headache starts up again, like it tends to. A throbbing around the area where your scar still lingers. You ignore it, and get ready for bed. You lay down to rest, relaxing your tired muscles for a long day at work.

As soon as you fall asleep, your eyes snap open again. Someone is in your room, but your body refuses to move. You're kept in place, breathing hard, trying desperately to look around from your prone position.

"Oh, don't be like that. I thought you'd be excited to hear from me," she chuckles. That same voice rings out softly across your room, at once easing your mind and putting you more on edge. You listen, for you are given no other choice.

"As I recall, you owe me, Mr. Stormwind," the presence moves closer, to the side of your bed. As you try to get a look, a soft, clawed hand lays itself on the side of your head and turns it away."And I have come to collect."

"I need a few things accomplished. Simple tasks, really, but I won't bore you with that just yet. I want you to gather up a party. Some people that can help me achieve my goals. Once you've done that, we can talk again." Her other hand grabs your pants, pulling the waistband up far enough to sneak her hand inside and grasp your soft penis. The touch is heaven to you. "You will find your party members easily."

"Don't worry. Do what I ask, and you will be well-rewarded," she purrs into your ear, giving you a few quick strokes as you harden.

"And if you don't..." her claws tense around you, sharp points digging into your member. "Things will get unpleasant."

And then, you jolt awake, sweaty and panting, knowing only that it would be in your best interest to do as this woman says.