No

Too bad. We're meeting them.

In this boarding house, somewhere, lay five disparate clan members. The most rag-tag group imaginable: An Amazon warrior, a Centaur bard, a Cyclops rogue, a dwarf nun, and an Orc ****. You'll get to that one.

The Amazon, Princess Phoebe, thinks she runs the clan. She's as fiery as her red hair, and is quite possibly Argonia's greatest non-magic archer. Raised from birth by an Amazon clan that was recently conquered and enslaved by the Man Kingdom of Argos near the Western Sea, she escaped her fate and is one of the Amazon diaspora that lives on the Southern frontier away from the organized kingdoms of Men but dangerously close to the growing Orcish lands. Like all Amazons, she is completely topless, wearing only a ceremonial loin cloth and trusty sandles. She also claims to have never been with a man, a claim you know from personal experience is wrong, but she doesn't know that. Yet. She does enjoy the company of women.

The Centaur, Trotsky, eschews the nature of his people in the Midlands, and does not actually engage in animalistically **** all men and women who attempt to cross his territory. Perhaps because he was discovered by a small mining community of dwarves as a foal, and raised by them to be their protector. Unfortunately, Trotsky abhors ****, and left to pursue an interest in music entertainment. Due to your unseen influence, Phoebe's former stallion had disappeared (you sold it to the nearest slaughterhouse) and Trotsky was now acting as her horse. Something unheard of for centaurs in general. As a bard, Trotsky is familiar with the magical arts, and has been looking at you with suspicion of late.

The Cyclops rogue claims not to have a name. You tend to call him Clopsy, which he does not like. But his imposing 7' figure and unnatural pheromones (or as he calls it, "charisma") has made Clopsy an easy addition to your clan, when you ran across him last week flirting with two young heiresses in Snake Harbor. A little bit of persuasion placed him in your group, but he was very aloof and uncomfortable not being able to do his patented long seduction. The fact that all three women in your clan have been declared off-limits to Clopsy has made him regret joining, but he has no problem picking women up wherever he goes.

When you picked up Clopsy, you also picked up Sister Angeline, a daughter of dwarves who was given as an offering to the One True God, the Skywheel, and King Argon. She was raised amongst the Sisters of Mercy to administer prayers for the victims of war, famine, and pestilence. These Sisters, when outside, remained perpetually coverd in a black cloth from head to toe. Even their hands and shoes were surrounded by the covering. When inside a secure building, Sister Angeline was comfortable enough to remove her headdress, gloves, and shoes. When sleeping, per King Argon's Tome, they were completely nude, in case of sudden ****, as no possession was allowed in the afterlife. This was also why the Sisters of Mercy ritualistically stripped all corpses of their clothing and possessions following battles. That and it was their primary method of income.

The final member of your clan was an Orc. The youngest daughter of a deposed chieftain, she was "gifted" to you last year after you used your powers of persuasion in a very risky move to escape from the then-besieged Kingdom of Rivervale after you had knocked up the King's favorite teenage mistress. Living amongst the Orcs was painful. The smell was awful, crime rampant, and danger always in the air. Your power may have worked on the chieftain and his harem of beauties from across the Southwest, but it waned as the weeks went on. On your first night as a pseudo-captive/guest of honor, you were **** to couple with Gruulda Tight-Ass for the amusement of the chief and his court, and unbeknownst to you, take her as your wife, concubine, and/or **** (the Orc language tended to merge those three together). As a human, you couldn't impregnate her, nor would you want to, and you didn't find her tusks particularly attractive. Although she does have a tight ass. She was the most outspoken of your group, and your open hostility towards her people and occassional schemes to **** Orcs doesn't grant you anything but hate in her eyes. But she is enslaved to you by Orc law, and you find it very appealing to fuck someone without expending any magic.

But enough of that. You just spent twenty minutes thinking of where your clanmates would be. Trotsky is in the stable. No centaurs allowed inside, of course. You find him plucking his lute as he looks at you suspiciously. "We're leaving in one and a quarter hour. We have urgent business at the ruins of Rivervale."

"Did the Princess say we leave?" he stopped plucking and looked up at you from his rested position amongst the hay.

"Princess ain't here, princess!" you giggle as you leave the stable. Nailed it.

The Princess is enjoying some orgasmic fun, you think, as you approach her closed room near the lobby. You could feel the sexual energy coming out of the room and hear two distinct moans from two distinct women. Expending a fair amount of mana, you peer past the wooden barrier and witness your red-haired leader, her legs wrapped amongst those of the dark-skinned chambermaid, whose clothing lay haphazardly across the room. Their pussied are rubbing against each other, as you reach in your trousers and grasp your own sexual organ. A couple pumps and then *Knock, Knock*

You turn to see Clopsy who winks at you, or just blinks, and then walks away while whistling. You break your peer as you see Princess Phoebe arise out of bed and rush to the door, dagger in hand.

She slams the door open and raises the dagger defensively. "Oh. You." she lowers the dagger. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Am I interrupting?" you smile from ear-to-ear as you look towards the dark girl who is attempting to cover up with her hands. "Please, sir. She is making me do things that are unnatural for women!" She pleads as the view of her naked body is blocked by the view of Phoebe's naked body. She stands with her arms akimbo. "You got to fuck your wench, so I get to fuck mine."

You place your hands in your pockets, in a failed attempt to hide your erect cock, before being prompted once more to announce your reasoning. "Yes, well," you say, slipping into the room to the annoyance of the Amazon. "Trolls have taken over the ruins of Rivervale, according to my lady of the night, and they are in possession of Evening Shade, the legendary sword of King Nogra V. It can only be viewed at dusk by a mage with the proper vision, such as myself.

"If we leave promptly, we can arrive, kill some trolls, and retrieve the sword. And a substantial award from any of the Argonite Kingdoms. Hello, my dear," you say as you turn your attention to the frightened chambermaid.

"Bullshit." Uh-oh. She recognized your obvious lie or realized that Evening Shade was a myth. "We sell the sword to the Elves, who can actually use its magic to destroy the Man Kingdoms and all who follow King Argon." You feel like you used up all your mana to stop from rolling your eyes as you give the chambermaid a friendly pat on her exposed ass and leave the room.

You didn't really use up your mana, thank OTG, and you enter the second floor where Sister Angeline is offering up her prayers to the rising Skywheel. You stand outside her door and mystically peer in, as you spy her in prayer position reciting the ancient tongue. She is, of course, still nude, ritualistically shaven of all hair as you leer from her soft head to her plump rump, her tight pussy, her sweet feet, her... "Jesus, man," says Clopsy over your left shoulder, referencing some rando Cyclops god, "do you just use your magic to perv on all the chicks here?"

"You would if you could," you laugh to your nameless colleague. "I assume you overheard my spiel to the Princess."

"Yeah, I don't know man. Rivervale ain't no paradise anymore, and there aren't any women there. Outside of the trolls. I don't think I can fuck a troll. You probably could, but not me."

"It's no fun," you say shivering from that one experience you had in college. "We can take a woman with us. Good to have some in an emergency to offer to the trolls as food offerings."

Clopsy nodded in apparent agreement. "You're one sick fuck." And with that, he vanished. Or maybe he just walked away, as you were too busy peering in on Angeline, who was now ritualistically rubbing one out to King Argon. Lovely religion, you thought. Too bad you couldn't join her. Not with her knowledge.

She was almost there, calling out King Argon's name in Ancient as she lay atop the bed in full view of the Skywheel, the supposed home of the long-dead King, now lighting the room and giving the best view for his assumed enjoyment. She was moaning, groaning, and... you knocked three times. "I'm coming!" she shouted instinctively, even though she no longer was. She found her black habit and slipped it on, before pulling the stool next to the door and opening it.

You closed your eyes quickly, as you had forgotten to snap out of the peer, and this caused an instant headache. She mistook your pain for chivalry. "Relax your eyes, wise mage. I have clothed myself. My morning ritual is complete, and you are free to enter my bedchamber."

You opened your eyes and bowed to the petite, bald, dwarf wearing a full (for her size) black covering. Her feet stuck out, her hands were ungloved. She was comfortable showing some skin to you, the mage she considered a friend. "We are heading out soon to Rivervale," you say, "on another quest. You are free to join us, of course. Or remain here to minister to the good folks of wherever the fuck we are."

She giggled in an odd tone indicative of her dwarven heritage. "Rivervale is in the land of the Orcs. Will there be ****, disease, suffering?"

"Of course. But I think the Orcs cycled out. Trolls are there now."

"Then I'm in. I'm a Sister of Mercy. I go where I'm needed. Plus, where you go, **** follows." She giggled again, and you laughed with her. Not sure why.

You finally reached your room across the hall. You were dreading this, but you needed your pack. And... your ****.

"About fucking time, Master," said Gruulda Tight-Ass as she stared you down. "Did you like fucking another barmaid with your magics?" she said, her hands on her hips as she stood with her feet shoulder-length apart. Her pussy opened up slightly, and you could see the hood inside, even under the tuft of coarse black pussy hair that felt like a scouring pad when not properly wet. That's why you preferred fucking her ass.

"I told you, Gru, I need to sire a new race of mages. That's the whole point of this. You're a fun fuck, but you're not getting pregnant anytime soon."

She exasperated with a guttural sound only capable by an Orcish woman. "At least when I was in the Chief's harem, he had me fucked by somebody every night. If you don't want to fuck me, use your magic to send some broomboy up here or something. Or maybe that handsome Cyclops."

You tensed. "No, you belong to me. No fucking anyone but me. Not Clopsy, not Trostsky, not Phoebe, not even a fucking Broomboy. You want to get off, get yourself off." Orcish women were notoriously horny, in more ways than one.

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that a command?" she pursed her lips... as best an Orc could. "No. I'm sorry," you say quickly. Orc women don't like to masturbate. You're not sure why. It might be a religious thing or just physically hurts. But on your first solo night with Gruulda, you ordered her to masturbate for your pleasure. She did not want to, and almost broke down in agony attempting to persuade you against it. You **** her to stop after a couple of minutes of an attempt, and promised never to order it again.

"I will give you one promise. You can fuck me tomorrow night at Rivervale. Or fuck the troll that kills me and takes you as property."

"Deal," she said, a little too enthusiastically. You weren't sure which possibility she would enjoy more. She then put on her rags as you gathered your gear.