Time to put that Barter skill to use

"I'm sorry you all had to see that, but it was necessary. These so-called 'Heroes' have run amok in this land for far too long," you say to the crowd.

As you speak, you can feel your Diplomacy skill kicking in. You've never addressed more than one or two people at a time in your shop and so have little idea how to actually deliver a speech. Despite this, you see many of the NPC townsfolk nodding their heads in agreement with your words.

"One killed me just the other day, for a few measly XP," someone mumbled.

"Are there any more heroes hiding in town?" you ask.

"N- no sir, mister Vader," the mayor says.

"Lord Vader!" one of your men loudly and proudly corrects.

"Lord Vader, what do you want of us?" the mayor asks.

"To start with, my men need provisions, and better armor and weapons," you say.

In short order the mayor introduces you to the town's merchants and then hurriedly disappears. With such good Barter and Diplomacy skills, you're able to strike a more than favorable deal for enough studded leather armor to equip all your brigands. It's fairly basic gear but a far sight better than the almost laughable 'worn leather armor' they started with.

Weapons it seems will have to wait though, as nothing the merchants have is significantly better than the short swords and bows your men already carry. It's disappointing but not unexpected in such a low level village.

Next you head over to the blacksmith. You find the burly but pleasant looking woman at her anvil, steadily hammering away at a glowing piece of iron. Her brunette hair is tied back in a tight ponytail. With each swing of the hammer, her breasts shift back and forth beneath her leather apron.

"What can I do for ya, hero?" she asks without looking up.

"I'm no hero," you say flatly.

"Eh?" she says, a little surprised and actually glances up at you. "Who are ye, then?"

"I am Lord Vader. And I've need of your skills. You can upgrade weapons, correct?" you say.

"Ey, I can. What ye needin' upgraded?" she asks.

You hold out your scepter and tap it on the ground in front of you.

"It's just a +1 Necromancer's Staff. Hardly worth the trouble," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"This one's special," you say.

"Okay. It's your money. I can upgrade it to a +3 Necromancer's Staff. Anything beyond that'll require crafting components," she says, dunking the glowing iron into a pale of oil.

"And if I return with crafting components, what can you do?" you ask.

"I 'spose if ye brought back some necromantic iron I could upgrade it to a +5, with a fifty percent chance of addin' a socket. But ennething beyond that's jus' daft," she says.

"Let's pretend I am daft," you say.

"'Kay, fine! If ye can find a hero I've got a quest to bring back an ingot of corrupted soul steel. I'm 'sposed ta give ye a shield an' a boat load a gold for it, but if ya don't mind passin' that up I'll use it to turn your stick thar inta a Necrolord's Staff of Darkness with a 100% chance of addin' a socket," she says, exasperated.

"Deal. Give me the quest," you say.

"I canne do that! You're not a hero," she says.

You scowl. Yet another injustice of this world built for heroes.

"Very well. I'll return shortly," you say and leave to fetch Abby.

You could have Dominated her, but you doubt it would make much difference. It's almost certainly a game mechanic. Only heroes can receive quests.

You arrive at the makeshift prison, a two bedroom cottage, near the outskirts of town. Part of some other quest, it actually remains permanently abandoned. Most of the brigands can be seen lounging about outside, playing cards, shooting dice, or just plain sleeping. Essentially what you expect from such troops.

Inside, two stand guard in the main room with the one-handed palidin. He sits nude, with his arms and legs tightly bound together in front of him and a rag fastened into his mouth. All in all, he looks incredibly uncomfortable. He looks up at you with hatred in his eyes but can do little else.

Presently, you become aware of two distinct voices, both begging their captors for mercy, coming from opposite ends of the cottage.

"Abby?" you ask.

"Lord Vader," they both say and indicate the door to your right.

"Please, no more... I can't take it... I'll- I'll do anything! Just let me- Ahhh!" you hear as you push the door open.

Inside, Abby has the fighter tied down to a bed in spread-eagle fashion. Her pants lay in a heep on the floor and she sits straddling him, with her perfectly formed asscheeks mere inches from his pained face. His cock twitches, leaking precum all over itself.

"Quit your whining or I'll have to slap you in the balls again. You've got another fifty edgings to go before I stop. Oh Corruptus, no wonder Master loves doing this to me so much!" Abby says and starts slowly stroking the man's swollen cock.

He closes his eyes and begins to moan in time with her strokes. Her hand work quickly picks up in speed until his whole body begins to suddenly tense up. She gives it one more half-stroke and then stops. The man cries out and thrusts his hips into the air again and again.

"No!!! Just let me cum...," he moans.

"Fifty-one!" she declares before noticing you. "Master!"

She hops up off the trembling, sobbing man and runs over to embrace you.

"Oh Master, I've been having so much fun," she says, looking up at you.

"I see. And what information have you gathered from him?" you ask.

"Oh yeah... I sort of forgot about that part," she says, innocently holding a finger to her chin.

"No matter. We must go attend to a more pressing matter. You may start over when we return," you say, leading her out of the room.

Pants in hand, she follows you out.

"No! Please, just let me...," you hear as you pull the door shut behind you.