Menacing Methods

The Sanctum’s door groaned shut behind us, sealing in the rot and stench. The instant we stepped back into open air, my lungs nearly sang with relief.

Warm sunlight spilled through the canopy in broken shafts. The breeze carried the scent of grass, damp earth, and lingering scent of flowers in bloom. After the cloying, heavy cloud below, the simple smell of the Grove felt like a minor miracle. For the first time since we’d descended, I let my shoulders loosen.

Karlach flung her head back, dragging in a lungful of air with theatrical gusto. “Oh, Hells, that’s good,” she groaned. “Thought my nose was gonna fall off and I’d end up looking like Withers.”

Kagha, still nursing the end of her first-ever hangover, exhaled carefully. “The breath of the Grove has never felt sweeter.”

Lae’zel rolled her shoulders, unimpressed, but the look on her face was clearly grateful to be free of the foul miasma underneath.

Lazy music drifted toward us from the stone circle—pipes and gentle drums, voices humming in half-forgotten melodies. The chaos of last night had mellowed into something slower and more indulgent—a lingering afterglow of a festival that had simply decided not to stop. Near the idol, a female druid knelt beside a reclining tiefling man, slowly sucking him in between casual breaks of conversation as if discussing the weather. Neither looked the slightest bit embarrassed. No one around them even spared a second glance.

Karlach blinked, huffed a laugh, and nudged me with her elbow. “Well… this place sure changed overnight.”

Kagha gave a small, dreamy smile “Ahhhh, they are discovering their true nature.” She lifted her chin and gave me a proud, yet somehow devious look.

As we took in the Grove’s new energy, the young male druid from before spotted us and immediately hurried over, breathless.

“You’re back!” he said, relief bright in his face. “Did you find the others? And did you find the source of that dreadful stench?”

“Yep,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “The hag’s taken up residence beneath the Grove.”

He went completely still.

“The… hag?” he whispered. “The same one who betrayed us? The one who eats babies?”

“Ah—no,” I said, raising a hand. “Kids maybe, but she doesn’t actually eat babies. I saw it. She does this thing where she snaps her fingers and her stomach grows, the baby is somehow transferred and—”

Kagha nodded eagerly, eyes bright. “It’s quite fascinating, really. Seemingly painless as well—”

I realized I was veering into a tangent—gruesome, unnecessary, and absolutely not helping my case.

“..Point is,” I cut in quickly, “she’s not literally devouring infants. And she’s staying down there to protect the Grove while we’re not here.”

He stared at me as though I’d sprouted tentacles.

“Protect.” he echoed slowly. “You mean the hag. The hag who opened the door to the enemy and welcomed them inside. That hag?”

“The very same,” I said.

“And you expect us to trust her?”

I shrugged. “Third time's the charm.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“…She's done it twice?” he asked reluctantly.

I nodded with a smile, letting my Charisma speak for me.

He paused, “I suppose we have **** but to trust you, Liberator.”

“Seems like it,” I said. “You’re still alive. That has to count for something.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Right. Yes. Of course. You… you know what you’re doing.” The way he said it suggested he very much hoped it to be true.

“Enough about the hag,” I said, brushing the air with a hand. “She’s not going to hurt you—Hells, she might even join you for a drink and a dance if the mood strikes her.” I didn’t wait for him to process that. “Anyway, I want to speak with the drow.”

He glanced toward the edge of the circle. “You.. want to speak with the drow?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It's time to check on our guest.”

He gave a quick nod and guided us the short distance to where she had been placed, still bound and gagged, her limbs pinned by the precise knotwork of Shadowheart’s cruel elegance. Teela lounged across Minthara’s stomach like a smug necklace, entirely unbothered by our approach. The drow’s eyes snapped to us the moment we came into view—cold, calculating and full of rage. The druid kept himself at a distance, and once I confirmed we needed nothing further from him, he sprinted off as fast as his dignity would allow him.

I stepped in to close the distance, only a few feet remaining between us now.

Teela turned, fixed her unblinking gaze on me… and then launched.

“GAH—!” I shouted, stumbling sideways on reflex.

She tunneled past my legs like a bolt of living rope and vanished up Kagha’s pant leg, the fabric giving the faintest ripple.

Karlach let out a strangled snort and smacked a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

Kagha didn’t move a muscle. Teela emerged from her collar a heartbeat later, curling around her throat like a living piece of jewelry, tongue tasting the air. Kagha lifted a hand and calmly stroked the snake’s head.

“Teela missed you as well,” she said sweetly.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

I turned to face Minthara, her eyes were gleaming. Even gagged, I could tell she now felt in charge.

I knelt down beside her and reached for the gag.

“Let’s try again,” I said, pulling it free.

Her lips curled the instant she could move them.

“Brave of you,” she rasped, voice low and hoarse from disuse, “to stand so close to me when you flee from a tiny snake like a frightened child.”

Lae’zel bristled. “Watch your tongue, Shka'keth, or I will remove it.”

Kagha’s hand tightened around Teela, eyes flashing with something possessive.

Minthara chuckled, utterly unbothered. “Oh, please. Your threats are as flimsy as your imagination. You will get nothing from me. No screams. No begging. Release me now, and perhaps I won’t invent new punishments for you once I am free again.”

Karlach stepped forward, cracking her neck. “Want me to give her a hug, soldier? I can make it nice and toasty.” Molten heat shimmered faintly off her skin.

“Not yet,” I said.

Minthara snorted. “Burning? How quaint. Do you also poke people with sharp sticks?” She looked up at me with pure disdain. “You have nothing I fear, little warlock.”

I could feel her contempt deep in my bones. In another life, my intimidation check had just failed. But here—here I had other tools.

“Oh yeah?” I said quietly.

She met my gaze without flinching. “Go on, then. Try.”

I reached out and rested my palm tenderly against her abdomen.

Minthara jerked at the contact. “Do not touch—”

I pushed my will into her skin, and spoke the words.

Curse of Sensitive Skin.

Nothing happened.

“Huh?”

I frowned and tried again.

Curse of Sensitive Skin.

Still nothing. No pink shimmer. No flaring sigil.

I exhaled on my fingers and rubbed them against eachother, making sure of direct skin contact, and tried a third time.

Curse of Sensitive Skin.

...nothing.

Minthara’s lips parted in delighted disbelief. Then she burst into open, ringing laughter.

“Is… is that supposed—” she choked between laughs. “Oh, this is precious! The great master pervert, pawing at me like a nervous boy behind a barn, and nothing happens. Is that truly the best you can muster, manling?”

Embarrassment crawled up my neck. Before I could respond—

SLAP!

Kagha’s hand cracked across Minthara’s face with a sharp, echoing sound that rolled across the circle like thunder, her 16 strength in full action.

“You do NOT speak to him like that,” Kagha hissed, cold-blooded **** painted across her face.

Minthara went still, shock flickering behind her eyes. Karlach’s jaw dropped. Lae’zel’s lips quirked in, what I could only guess to be, admiration.

Kagha held that lethal stare for one more heartbeat, then turned back to me as if nothing had happened, her usual serene smile snapping back into place.

“You were about to cast a curse, my heart?” she asked sweetly.

“…Yeah,” I said slowly.

Fine. If one curse didn’t work, I had another.

I reached out again, as if twisting an invisible key to Minthara’s skin—this time invoking Forbidden Release.

This time the magic answered immediately.

A mark formed on her lower abdomen, lines etching themselves in faint, glowing strokes—a familiar heart-shaped mark with a black lock sigil, pulsing once and then settling under her skin.

“That's better,” I cooed lightly. “A nice, quiet little life of zero climaxes.”

“You think this will break me?” she said, voice slightly more shrill than before. “You think I will tumble into my own desires like some simpering wretch? Pathetic. You have no idea what I can endure. I will not beg for touch. I will not beg for release. You will grow bored long before I yield.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe not. Either way, you’ll have time to reflect.”

I glanced at Kagha and Lae’zel. “Strip her.”

They hesitated for only a second. Then Lae’zel moved first, all brisk efficiency, fingers already working at the clasps and bindings of Minthara’s armor. Somehow they managed to get it off without disturbing her bindings. Kagha caught the armor before it hit the ground and tucked it neatly into her pack for safekeeping, steadying Minthara by the shoulders so the drow couldn’t twist away or shield herself.

Left in nothing but her underclothes, Minthara’s furious composure finally cracked—her jaw tightening, her glare burning hotter as the humiliation settled in. The punishment was no longer abstract or distant; it was public, undeniable.

Lae’zel **** the gag back between her teeth, silencing whatever venom Minthara might have hurled next, while Kagha held her head steady.

Karlach scratched the back of her neck and shuffled closer to me. “Hey, uh… it’s okay, soldier. Really. Magic fizzles, curse misfires—happens to everyone sometimes..”

“Karlach,” I said. “I swear to every god listening—”

“—Okay, okay! ..struck a nerve much?”

She raised both hands in surrender, grinning.

I ignored her and waved the young druid over. He approached cautiously, eyes flicking between Minthara and me.

“Yes, Liberator?”

I pointed at Minthara. “Her. Keep her just by the idol at all times. I want her bound, awake, and watching.”

He swallowed “Right. Yes. Of course.”

“No one lays a hand on her without my word. But make sure she witnesses everything that happens in this circle.”

His grin sharpened. “Of course. I'll make sure of it”

“And,” I finished with glee, “give her the firewine special; in everything she eats and drinks.”

His brows lifted. A slow grin crept across his face. “…Oh. I understand completely.”

I turned back to Minthara, meeting her eyes over the gag. Fury still lived there—but now, layered beneath it, was something else. A sliver of uncertainty. Resentment at losing control. Humiliation of being a public ornament, left out to dry, or in her case, left out to soak under the hungry eyes of perverted cultists.

Kagha tugged lightly at my vest, her voice dropping into a low, earnest whisper. “My dear… are you certain about this punishment?”

I blinked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“As a drow, she is most likely resistant to poisons,” Kagha said matter‑of‑factly. “You should make sure they up the dose.”

For a moment, I simply stared at her—surprised, impressed, and mildly alarmed. My diligent little disciple, already adding her trademark ruthlessness to my schemes.

“…You’re right,” I admitted.

I turned to the druid. “Triple the dose.”

He straightened, eyes radiant with perverted purpose. “With Pleasure.”

I turned to Minthara again and let a slow, wicked smile curl at the edge of my mouth. “See you in a week,” I murmured, my tone light but edged with a velvet menace. “..or maybe longer if I decide. Anyway, enjoy the show—front‑row seats and all.”

We left the circle behind—a bound Minthara surrounded by pleasure-drunk druids and tieflings, the idol looming overhead sending pulses of corruption out into the land. Somewhere beneath our feet, Ethel was already settling in her new nest of trickery and trinkets.

There were still loose ends to tie—Dammon first, then the tieflings who meant to leave—before we passed through the broken gate and toward whatever brand of chaos waited ahead.

I'm really starting to love this Kagha.