Awaiting Further Instruction - AdorableBanite (2024)

Chapter 1: CHAPTER ONE

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The morning bustle at Mistress Contella’s Workhouse and Apartments consisted of a dozen young ladies rushing to and fro, preparing for their morning assignments. Lilla sat next to the woodstove in the kitchen, enjoying the morning edition of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, sipping her tea.

As usual, she was up and ready earlier than the other girls, giving her ample time to brush up on the stories of the day. This wasn’t exclusively a leisurely ritual, as keeping tabs on the ins-and-outs of Baldur’s Gate was part of the ongoing assignment Mistress had charged Lilla with.

While in the forefront, Lilla was cast as a wine tender at soirees and parties; her task was to be quiet, look sweet, and keep every goblet topped up. However in secret, Lilla was trusted to take notes on any substantial gossip picked up during her hours filling goblets.

She had a peculiar talent to do so without being found out; in which she would place a notebook under a bush outside the room, next to a quill and ink pot, and cast Mage Hand. The magical hand would then take notes as she saw fit, without alerting any of the guests to the scheme.

Once the night was done, and Lilla returned to the workhouse, she would hand in the notes to Mistress, who would then sell the useful bits to the Baldur’s Mouth. Lilla often received a small bonus to her bi-tenday stipend, upon Mistress being paid by the Mouth for the submission.

Lilla scanned through the morning Gazette, searching for any ongoing gossip amongst the higher classes of Baldur’s Gate, but found it the usual dribble and tedium that was of no interest to her personally. She did however notice a small story toward the bottom of the sheet, accompanied by a portrait of a dark haired man with a cunning grin.

The article identified the man as Enver Gortash, a newly appointed lord, who was expected to make waves across Baldur’s Gate brightest after exhibiting his prowess as an inventor and tactical advisor. The very night before she had heard some of the guests gossiping about him while she tended wine at another manor: that he rose to his fortune by unscrupulous means, including illegal weapons trading, and potentially even connections with the infamous Zhentarim. She couldn’t help but notice the guests did not speak of Gortash with displeasure; if anything they sounded excited as if it were a trendy, taboo subject only they dared whisper about.

“He’s your assignment tonight, that Lord Gortash,” Mistress said from behind Lilla, snapping her out of her memory from the night previous.

“Lord Gortash?” Lilla asked, turning in her chair to peer back at Mistress.

“Aye, his butler hired us to tend wine for a private party at his manor. You’re up, and bring your notebook. I expect he has very interesting friends.”

Lilla turned back into her chair, looking down at the portrait of the new lordling who smirked back up at her. “I expect he does, Mistress.”

After being briefed on the details of Lord Gortash’s private party, Lilla waited for the room to clear completely before snatching a pair of kitchen shears, and carefully cut out the image and article before discarding the rest of the broadsheet into the fire. She wasn’t entirely sure what compelled her, but something about his image was intriguing, and she justified the act to herself that it would somehow contribute to her task for the night.

Now that the Workhouse was empty, Lilla rushed to the upper level of the Apartment wing of Mistress’s establishment, and into a storage closet containing stacks of broken wooden chairs and dusty crates. Prying a panel from the baseboard, she pulled out a beaten up old tin; the size and shape of a book.

Pulling the lid off, she peered at the meagre contents: A tarnished locket with a silver chain, and a small painted portrait of a handsome young tiefling man. She stared down at him sadly for a moment before folding up Gortash’s article, and placing it in the tin with the rest of her keepsakes before returning the lid, and shoving it back behind the baseboard.

She found herself a little perplexed why she even went through the trouble of hiding the cutting, but whisked the thought away before she continued on with her preparations. Lilla was to report early for orientation at Lord Gortash’s Manor before the party started.

Chapter 2: CHAPTER TWO

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Lord Gortash’s manor perhaps wasn’t the most extravagant residence in the city, but Lilla quite appreciated his eclectic taste. His halls were adorned with unique weaponry and armour, as well as showcases of odd contraptions, and peculiar mechanisms Lilla couldn’t even fathom a guess as to what they may be.

She had only waited in the main hall a few moments before a lanky, ancient drow seemingly teleported behind her to usher her to the parlour for orientation. She secretly hoped she would have more time to linger in the hall to browse the displays, but thankfully the parlour offered the same, if not more spectacle than the previous room.

The walls were chock full with beautiful paintings of controversial subjects, such as half naked bodies woven together in bliss, or lavishly adorned merchant kings and pirates, glittering defiantly against all things socially acceptable. Peppered between the paintings and portraits were mounted heads of beasts most rare - many of which Lilla didn’t even recognize.

“I am Therette,” the gaunt old drow drawled, interrupting Lilla’s gawking, forcing her to snap to attention. “The wine and spirits are here,” he informed her, opening a wealthy oak cabinet full to the brim with gleaming bottles of expensive liquor. “Glasses are here, and carafes and towels are below,” he opened the bottom cupboard to reveal anything she needed to do her task.

“Yes saer,” she nodded dutifully, patting her blonde hair carefully, assuring the tight crown braid that wrapped itself around her head was well in place.

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Evening darkness fell quickly. Lilla elegantly wove herself to and fro between Lord Gortash’s guests, topping up goblet after goblet held in outstretched hands as they mingled intently with one another.

Lord Gortash himself stood next to the crackling hearth, dressed quite casually for his own occasion, but the cut and quality of the fabric sang his wealth tastefully. What wasn’t subtle, however, was the golden claw adorning his right hand. It was a beautiful and intricate set of jewellery, glittering in the hearth ight as he leaned lazily on the mantle, holding a goblet.

After a few goblets of wine, the guests’ lips began to loosen, and productive discussions soon bled into not-so-petty gossip. A gaggle of guests had surrounded Gortash, all attempting to impress him with rumours regarding some influential socialites and politicians of Baldur’s Gate. All the while, Lilla’s notebook outside the window grew fatter with juicy tidbits for Mistress, as the Mage Hand scribbled away dutifully.

The warm firelight danced lazily amongst the gradually intoxicated guests as they mingled with one another. Lord Gortash kept his spot next to the mantle almost all night, letting guests approach him, which they seemed keen to do.

He spoke to an awkward looking nobleman who appeared painfully enthusiastic about the attention Gortash was awarding him. Lilla observed that these guests saw him as in-vogue, and salivated over being seen in friendly conversation with the popular lord.

Making her way over to the hearth, she offered the nobleman a top-up, who accepted by holding out the cup without breaking eye contact with Gortash. He clumsily babbled on about trades and dealings he hoped his host would find appealing. Lord Gortash provided him a patronising grin, and as Lilla offered to top up his goblet as well, she caught him outright insulting the enthusiastic nobleman to his face. It was subtle, but undeniable.

“Wisdom is always at your heels, my dear Honorbough,” Gortash drawled, smiling, “Yet you consistently prove to be the fastest man in the room!”

Lilla froze unintentionally, waiting for the nobleman to react poorly. On the contrary however, he appeared to be flustered with flattery. She stifled a smirk at the covert slight by Lord Gortash, until she realised she had drawn his attention. He said nothing, allowing the nobleman to continue prattling on with renewed confidence, but Gortash fixated his dark eyes on Lilla; a glint of amusem*nt flickering within them. A hot flash of embarrassment ran through Lilla’s gut at the prospect of being caught eavesdropping, but all she could do was turn red, and pretend she heard nothing while blending back in as an invisible servant.

To her discomfort, Lord Gortash’s gaze traced her as she continued to roam the room, pouring wine diligently. Lilla felt her ears heat up, wishing she could retreat to the cool night air in the garden, if only for a moment.

She however managed to compose herself quickly, and continued on with her task. She snuck a quick glance at Gortash, who to her relief was back to focusing on his guests.

---

As the night went on, the guests became louder and more rowdy. Laughter and banter had now replaced business speak and pleasantries, however before it became too boisterous, Lord Gortash gathered everyone for a toast.

“My wonderful friends,” Gortash’s voice easily drowned out the lively chatter in an instant; the parlour turned to see him holding up his goblet. “Alas, the night is late, and I must bid you very fine ladies and gentlemen the sweetest of dreams.” The group chuckled, holding up their goblets, encouraging him to continue.

“A toast!” he continued, “To good friendship, prosperous partnerships; and all without the hangover in the morning!” The audience laughed ironically, as they surely would be victims of over drinking come morning…save Lord Gortash, who only drank perhaps half a goblet to keep up appearances.

The guests tipped the remaining wine in their goblets down their throats, and immediately began loudly and clumsily arranging a visit to another manor a few blocks away to continue the party.

Therette and Gortash escorted the gaggle of guests to the hall with dignified patience, leaving Lilla to tidy the room in peace. The muffled clamour of the guests dissolved into the far end of the mansion towards the main entrance, until the only remaining sounds were the gentle crackle of hearth and soft clink of glass as she reordered the parlour.

“Successful night, I’d say!” Gortash’s jovial voice from behind Lilla startled her so badly, she spun around, nearly knocking over the glasses she had just arranged. They clattered and jangled precariously, but she acted quickly to stabilise them.

“My dear, I am ever so sorry,” Gortash stated, striding over to see if she needed help, or perhaps simply to assure the glassware wasn’t damaged.

“I’m sorry, saer!” I think they’re all intact…” Lilla squeaked, assessing the crystal to rule out chips or cracks.

Gortash frowned, “Please don’t look so glum,” then chuckled, “If there is some way I can make the next time more accommodating, please, you need only ask.”

Lilla froze for the second time that night, she realised she must have looked a right fool. “You’re…keeping me on?” she blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow, “Was that not apparent? You’ve done a marvellous job tonight! My guests were singing my praises, and all thanks to you ensuring they always had a drink in hand. As I said, successful.” He beamed down at her.

Lilla let out a quick sigh of relief, “Thank you saer! It is an honour, and I’ll be very happy to continue serving.”

“Very good then!” Gortash gave a curt clap, his golden gauntlet shimmering in the candlelight. “Before I establish your hours, tell me,” he leaned against a large opulent sofa, “what other services do you provide?”

Against her will, Lilla let out a hiss of sharp laughter. Gods why was she so on edge? She forced herself to relax, lest she continue looking daft.

Gortash gave an amused chuckle in response, “I assure you, I didn’t intend for the question to be insulting…though I suppose I couldn’t blame you for such an assumption.” He was teasing her. He knew Lilla was privy to his little insult towards the nobleman.

Lilla giggled, “Yes saer, I can read and write.”

“Excellent,” he grinned; something that appeared to come very easily to him. “Forgive me for potentially overstepping my bounds, and at the risk of taking up more of your time…would you indulge me in a quick example before you leave for the night?” he gestured to a nearby shelf holding knick knacks and clockwork devices. A quill sat patiently next to an inkpot awaiting her demonstration.

“Of course saer!” she chimed, unable to hold back a smile, rushing to retrieve them. She however was unable to spot any parchment around, and certainly didn't want to reveal the existing notebook in the garden. Thinking quickly, she dipped the quill in the ink, and scrawled some letters onto the soft white underflesh of her arm, eager to show off her skill. Lilla held out her arm for him to see the words more clearly: ‘ Lord Gortash.’

The easy grin on his lips faded, replaced by a peculiar expression she couldn't quite place. Was he displeased?

Holding her arm out awkwardly, Lilla interrupted the strange silence. “Does it not please you, saer?” She asked, hoping it wasn’t too crude of an example for his liking.

The question seemed to snap Gortash out of some sort of trance, his gaze shifting from his name scrawled on her skin to her anticipating eyes. He gave an amused scoff, and scratched his cheek lightly with a sharp golden fingertip. “Yes, miss Lilla, it pleases me. Thank you for that…efficient…demonstration. And with such lovely handwriting, no less!”

Lilla beamed proudly and gave him a small curtsy, “Thank you, saer.”

Gortash ran a hand through his tousled raven hair, inhaling sharply. “I do hope to see you here tomorrow morning, bright and early, yes?”

“Of course saer, thank you for this opportunity!”

As she passed him while crossing the parlour to the exit, he spoke softly, “Lilla…one more thing.” She looked up at his dark, calculating eyes. “Going forward, you will address me as “My Lord.”

There was no playful grin following his command, only a stoic, patient blink…and what she could discern was some type of anticipation behind his eyes.

“Yes…of course, My Lord…” she wasn’t sure why, but it came out as a whisper. Regardless, it brought the slightest twitch to the corner of Lord Gortash’s mouth.

“Good,” he said gently, scanning her face once more before standing up straight and making his way to an unfinished bottle of wine, pouring himself a goblet. “Bright and early!” he repeated, taking a sip, his eyes following her as she did her best to contain a big dumb grin while exiting the manor.

Chapter 3: CHAPTER THREE

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Lilla woke extra early in anticipation for her new position at Lord Gortash’s manor. The usual morning bustle orbited around Mistress and Lilla as they sat at the uneven kitchen table, summarising the notes Lilla took the night before. So pleased was MIstress, she awarded Lilla a tip of two extra gold on top of her five coin stipend, as well as a spoonful of sugared berries for her porridge.

Lilla felt pride in her accomplishment, but a pang of guilt scratched at her stomach, bittering the sweetness of her breakfast. She had never felt much remorse for spying on the upper classes for Mistress, but something about last night’s undercover assignment sat unevenly in her gut. Why? It was no different than any other job she’s done before. He’s no different than any other lordling… She forced the disturbance from her mind and tried to savour the last spoonful of porridge.

Mistress closed the notebook while a confident smirk spread across her wrinkled face. “This is very, very good, Lilla. What an opportunity you have set before us…”

Lilla swelled with appreciation, “Thank you, Mistress! I think I’ll quite enjoy it there. He will be paying me triple of what you are able to with the stipend, so we won’t need to resort to selling tips to the Baldur’s Mouth going forward!”

A shadow of aggravation swept subtly across Mistress’s face. “Indeed…I’m sure you two will get along just fine. In fact, it would benefit us greatly if you became fast friends…”

Mistress raised a hand to shush her, “My child, have I myself not been generous since you first arrived here? Have I not housed, fed and clothed you when none other would take you?”

Lowering her gaze to the floor, Lilla’s guilt congealed a knot in her stomach, “Of course Mistress, you have always been there for me…I meant no disrespect or ingratitude…I only wish to contribute however I can!”

“Then it’s settled,” Mistress stood up from the table and put the kettle on the stove, “You’re a capable girl, you can do both a fine job at serving Lord Gortash as his secretary… and if any interesting exchanges happen in his presence, it would greatly benefit all of us here at the Workhouse.”

Attempting to clear her throat of dry unease, Lilla nodded obediently, “Of course, Mistress.”

“Excellent, you’ve always been such a boon to this establishment! I expect bright things in your future,” she said, occupying herself with teacups and saucers a little too roughly. “And as you’ve clearly enchanted Lord Gortash so efficiently yesterday, I wouldn’t argue if you wish to carry your friendship outside of your general duties. I anticipate he will be a powerful man to have as an ally.” This was less of a suggestion, and closer to an order.

Lilla stayed quiet, not arguing, yet not conceding either. There was an unspoken agreement in the workhouse with some of the girls, where Mistress would award extra gold for volunteering themselves as escorts for nobles on occasion. Lilla suspected it brought in a lot more coin than the temporary cleaning and serving jobs the other girls were tasked with.

Mistress however had never asked Lilla to join them, until now. Of course she would never outright say it, but the implication was very clear, and Mistress offered no room for Lilla to question her as she busied herself preparing tea.

Lilla left quietly with no other comment, fetched a fresh notebook, and stuffed it into her satchel before heading to Gortash’s Manor.

Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR

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Lord Gortash’s butler Therette met Lilla at the front entrance with a dismissive grunt, and ushered her inside.

“Er, where should I meet Lord Gortash?” She asked, taking in the eccentric decor of the manor now that it was bathed in morning sunlight.

“Study. Upstairs,” the old drow pointed to the staircase with a spindly finger, then shuffled away to some other room, leaving her to find her way.

Lilla fought the urge to stop and look at every object and art piece on display, cautiously navigating her way through the upstairs hall. Once she arrived at the end, she poked her head into the only opened door, knocking softly.

Lord Gortash was bent over some sort of clockwork contraption, which was propped up on his writing desk; scrolls and diagrams strewn about. A large, beautiful painting of nude women sitting at the base of a mighty throne, grovelling at the boots of a commanding, bearded figure hung imposingly above the hearth. Gortash’s long black coat was draped over the back of his writing chair, and the sleeves to his shirt were folded up to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms smeared with black oil. He hadn’t noticed Lilla yet, intently focused on gingerly twisting some ratchet-like tool within the mechanism, only inches away from his nose.

“L…Lord Gortash?” Lilla called, hoping she wasn’t interrupting something important. Gortash looked up, his hair a mess of black tufts. A grin spread across his lips when he saw her.

“Ah, yes! Miss Lilla!” he stood up, stretching out his back, “We arranged to meet this morning, didn’t we?” He picked up a towel and wiped his hands of the dark grease. “Apologies for the appearance,” he chuckled at the look on her face, “Hardly befitting a lord, I know. But old habits do die hard.”

Lilla did her best not to stare at his forearms. They looked strong, like a labourer rather than a lord. “You’re fine!” she blurted out, “That is, I’m fine. It’s… fine…” Gods great start, Lilla , “Er, what do you need of me today, my Lord?” heat pooled in her face as she attempted to compose herself...

“Excellent question!” he chimed, “I’d like you to sit in some meetings with me today and take notes. Transcribe to be more precise.”

She nodded, “Yes, My Lord.”

“Perfect,” he grinned, “and later tonight we shall attend a party.”

Lilla offered a nervous titter, “Yes of course…but-”

“-I’m tasking you with documenting everything that is worth noting tonight. Who is there? What conversations between influential people are useful to know?” Mischief glinted in his dark eyes, “Who goes home with whom.” He discarded his chipper tone and replaced it with a gentle but authoritative drawl, “It shouldn’t be anything outside of the ordinary for you.”

Lilla was baffled, trying to think quickly. Is he saying he knows about the notes? She could only play dumb. “My Lord…I don’t-”

“Let us just cut right through all the pretend, shall we?” Gortash waved a clawed hand impatiently, “As cute as you may be, you clearly aren’t stupid.”

Lilla’s throat tightened as her fear was realised. He knows.

“Yes, of course,” he said, as if reading her mind. “The notes, the Mage Hand, the Mouth.” he lingered on the last word as if it tasted better than the rest. He casually leaned against the writing table, assessing Lilla with a smirk. Was he enjoying her discomfort?

“My Lord, I…” she expected him to interrupt her again, but he allowed her to continue. She recognized she had to choose her next words very carefully. “Of course, My Lord. I would be happy to.”

“THAT is music to my ears,” Gortash chimed, switching instantaneously from his dark gaze to his cheerful, peppy self… or maybe the former was his true self , Lilla thought.

Gortash pushed himself upright and sauntered over to her. He was at least a foot taller than her; the top of her head was just barely parallel with his shoulder. While he didn’t stand too close for comfort, she was still forced to look up at him.

“The tasks I need from you today,” he started, gentle but concise, “Are tidy this study,” he waved to the papers strewn about the room, then held out a pouch bulging with coin, “Then I want you to take this and purchase a new dress for the party tonight. Emerald.” Dropping it into her hand, the purse jangled pleasantly. “Use what you need to look appropriate. Pamper yourself. Then return here no later than seven.”

Shaking the fog out of her brain, Lilla obeyed. “Tidy study, purchase dress. Emerald. Look nice. Return before seven…”

Gortash’s smile broadened at her obedience. “Good girl,” he murmured softly.

Lilla’s body bloomed with goose bumps. She shuddered; her nipples tightened at his words. Good girl…

“See you tonight then,” Gortash began to make for the hall, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked towards the door, “I need a bath.”

“Yes…my lord, thank you!” she called after him as he disappeared out of the room. She bit her lip to stifle her heavy breaths.

Chapter 5: CHAPTER FIVE

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Despite Gortash’s study seemingly in chaos, it didn’t take long for Lilla to organise it into order. Most of the mess was parchment; notes and diagrams depicting blueprints to various mechanisms Lilla couldn’t recognize.

She structured the paper in stacks divided by various categories, often lingering on some of the drawings. They must have been done by Gortash himself; some scribbled in ink with a quill, others sketched with charcoal. A couple diagrams were crumpled and tossed into the rubbish bin next to his desk, and something took over her when she spied them.

Lilla pulled a discarded sketch out of the bin, and laid it out flat on Gortash’s writing desk, smoothing out the wrinkles with her hand. The image was that of some sort of barrel-chested armour, but the waist was too small to fit that of a human…in fact at further glance it perhaps wasn’t armor after all, but some prototype for a clockwork statue. Lines were drawn to various parts of the metal man’s body, pointing to quickly-scribbled comments about each piece of anatomy.

Lilla couldn’t entirely make out every note, but she traced a finger along the lines of the drawing, admiring its intricate design and beautiful detail. The same force that compelled her to cut out the Baldur’s Mouth article took over, and she looked around to ensure the coast was clear before folding up a few of the discarded drawings and stashing them in her satchel. They were discarded as trash... surely Gortash wouldn’t miss them.

Before Lilla was able to say anything else, Lord Gortash appeared behind the man, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder. It was clear Gortash had just finished bathing and had not had the chance to get fully dressed: he donned a dark red brocade housecoat, his hair was damp and messier than usual, and he radiated a clean, lavish scent.

“Ah, Deacon, come in, come in,” he said with a smile, clasping the man on the shoulder with a golden claw, and leading him into the now-tidy study. “A glass of wine or whiskey to ease those perpetually wound-up nerves of yours?”

Lilla instinctually started towards the small table of spirits in the corner, but Gortash cut her off and made his way to pour himself and the tense man a whiskey.

“We ‘ave business, Gortash,” the man growled, taking the whiskey and downing it in one gulp. Gortash leaned on the arm of the sofa, gesturing Deacon to sit.

“Indeed? As far as I understand it, my side of the deal has been settled,” Gortash drawled, handing Deacon another glass, and flitting his gaze to Lilla for a split moment.

“Settled my arse, Gortash. You promised twice what you gave me, and you still ‘avent paid up… What is she doin’ ‘ere?” he nodded towards Lilla, who’s brown eyes were wide with uncertainty.

Gortash smiled politely, “She’s my secretary. Would you like our meeting on the record? She’s quite skilled.”

The man scoffed spitefully, “You always were a good laugh, Gortash.” His snicker subsided as he looked Lilla up and down, tongue darting quickly across his whisky wet lips, “You sellin’? Throw her into the deal, and I’ll call it even.”

Lilla went cold. What?

Gortash smirked. The question clearly didn’t rattle him; at least he didn’t show any discomfort at the concept. “My dear Deacon, I believe it is you who have always outpaced me when it comes to comedy.” Lilla recognized his subtle backhanded insult, similar to that Gortash dolled to the eager nobleman the night before. “I promised you half prior,” he continued, “and the other half once you were able to get the shipment to the Port of Chult. You haven’t done that, so naturally the second instalment will be suspended, until you complete the export in full, of course.”

“f*ck that!” Deacon jolted up, throwing the whiskey glass, nearly hitting Lilla. It shattered into pieces in the corner of the room, “The Fists at Chult ‘ave clamped down, and you knew that!”

“Indeed,” Lord Gortash answered with a patronising calmness, “which is why I paid you triple than usual for your services. What were those services again? Oh, yes… smuggling . Now do your job, and be creative. Complete the shipment, or I will find the next jester biting at your ankles to take your place.” His tone was final, stoic. Lilla caught her chest flutter at his commanding presence.

“Or,” Deacon sauntered to Gortash, who was at least six inches taller than him, “The Knights of the Shield could receive an anonymous tip ‘bout a shipment of infernal weapons on their way to Chult. I’m sure they’d pay ‘andsomely for the information.”

Gortash sipped his whiskey with unnatural stillness, sighing in disappointment. “I had really preferred a cordial understanding, dear Deacon,” he frowned. Lilla saw he was truly saddened by his colleague’s threat, “But I do not take kindly to extortion. Were it not for our polite arrangement, lovely little Belia would still be in intensive care, no?”

Deacon said nothing, stupefied by what seemed to be the mention of his kin.

An air of satisfaction wafted across Gortash’s face, “Beautiful, radiant girl, I must say. Were it not for a hefty, anonymous donation to the personal alchemist in your employ, your daughter would not be alive and breathing today, would she not?”

“YOU BASTARD!” Deacon lost all composure and lunged for Gortash, who held out his gauntleted hand, palm facing the oncoming attacker as if to gesture him to stop.

Deacon did stop; mid-dive, as if some invisible force-field prevented him from moving forward. Gortash then bent his hand at the wrist, pointing to the ground, immediately followed by Deacon dropping to his knees with a pained grunt. It was then Lilla realised the gauntlet Lord Gortash wore was not simply for show.

Taking a few steps closer to loom over the grovelling man, he held his golden claw in a fist above Deacon. “Now,” Gortash said calmly, "If you wouldn’t mind leaving my secretary and I to our duties, It would be to the benefit of us all if you went along with yours. Without complaint. Let this be your final and only warning.”

Gortash relaxed his fist and dropped his hand to his side, which appeared to release Deacon from the invisible control. Deacon lurched to his feet, flinging his flop of greasy hair behind his head. It was apparent he wanted to confront Gortash further, but refrained from doing so; unwilling to face the consequences recently laid before him. He spun around and stormed out, leaving Gortash and Lilla alone in silence.

“Well,” Gortash turned to her nonchalantly, taking another sip of whiskey, “I hope that doesn’t put too much of a damper on our evening.” He gave her a quick wink, “I’ll leave you to the rest of your tasks, my apologies for keeping you.” With that he started for the door, before turning back to Lilla, “Please don’t worry about cleaning up the glass, I want you to have a head start on looking pretty.”

Lilla nodded, shuffling away quickly to avoid Gortash from catching her blush.

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The day went quickly, giving Lilla just enough time to have her dress made, and herself scrubbed and preened adequately. She even had time to stop by Mistress’s Apartments and store the sketches she took from Gortash’s study in her keepsake box.

The seamstress and the hairdresser were overjoyed when she referenced Lord Gortash’s name; they offered her discounts, and asked her to carry on the word of their good service and loyalty to the lordling.

Arriving at the manor exactly on time, she knocked at the door, which opened almost immediately to reveal Therette’s heavy lidded eyes leering back at her. He snatched a coat and hat from the closet next to the entrance, and stepped out onto the stoop with her.

Lilla looked around, confused. “Will Lord Gortash be joining us?” she asked the old drow, who frowned wearily.

“He will arrive later, business first,” he grumbled, gesturing her to start down the walkway to the street. Lilla did as she was slated, leaving Therette in tow who was about to lock the door behind them, when the long shadow of a horned devil loomed over the doorway. Lilla and Therette both looked behind them, squinting to focus on the backlit figure against the gold and crimson sunset. A beautiful, slender tiefling woman with elegant, regal horns and the most peculiar pale lavender skin stared at them with stunning amber eyes.

Therette said nothing, but opened the door and bowed deeply as the tiefling strolled towards them. She stopped for a moment to examine Lilla, who’s neck hair stood on end.

“Your scent is divine…” the woman purred, leaning in for a closer whiff.

“Er…Thank you, my Lady,” Lilla bowed her head nervously, taking the cue from Therette. “It’s lilac and amber spice…”

The woman chuckled coldly, gently lifting Lilla’s chin with a slender finger, “You are a sweet one for adorning me with such pleasantries, but I assure you, I am no lady.”

Lilla returned a nervous giggle, unsure how to proceed, looking to Therette.

“Isn’t that right, old man?” the woman teased the drow butler, “Therette here knows how unladylike I tend to be.” Therette said nothing,and only maintained his bow and looked to the ground.

The woman rolled her eyes at Lilla, smirking, “He’s really not much fun, is he?” giving her a wink and a smirk, flashing a row of sharp white fangs. “I meant your blood, by the way,” the woman whispered to Lilla, “Mostly a high elf and human mix…but…” She leaned in close, causing Lilla to hold her breath, “There notes of something sensual…something naughty.”

The woman’s gaze lingered on Lilla’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes; Is she flirting with me? Lilla thought, She definitely is peculiar.

“What is your name, child?” the tiefling asked gently, moving her hand from Lilla’s chin to tuck a stray blonde hair behind her ear.

“Lilla…” she answered with an unexpected whisper, “Lillabelle, that is.”

“ Lillabelle ,” the woman breathed with an approving smile, but an eerie fixation twinkled in her eye as she co*cked her head curiously. There was something otherworldly about the woman; unsettling and mysterious, but also beautiful beyond explanation. Lilla thought she reminded her of a displacer beast she once saw at a circus as a young girl.

“I see why he chose you,” the woman purred, her intense amber eyes boring into Lilla’s. “Were I to find you first…well…I’d promote you to something more than an assistant. You’d be a divine trophy, blossoming for all to see. The entire city would speak of you for decades.” The tiefling’s expression was simply gentle, if not kind...but the way her words rolled hungrily from her lips, Lilla could swear she spoke of her like some grand feast.

“Thank you, My Lady?” It wasn’t meant to come out as a question, but the situation was far from simple to handle for Lilla.

The woman chuckled warmly, “You are a true darling…fine. You , and you only may address me as ‘My Lady. It makes me feel cheeky... I must say I’ve very much enjoyed our little chat, but duty calls.” She continued into Gortash’s manor without another word, leaving Lilla enthralled on the stoop.

Therette closed the door behind them and locked it, pointing towards the street, “Can’t be late,” he grumbled.

Lilla did as she was directed. “Who was that?” she asked the drow as they walked up the lane. He did not answer. “When will Lord Goratsh be arriving? Is that woman coming with him?” No answer.

Chapter 6: CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Text

Once Therette successfully escorted Lilla to the extravagant mansion, he took her to a secluded area of the garden, away from prying eyes. There he produced a book from his coat pocket, and sat on a cold granite bench under a wealthy willow tree.

Testing the hand quickly, she willed it to grip the quill, dipped it into the ink, and scribbled the date and location at the top of the fresh parchment. Therette lit his pipe, and took a long, satisfying pull on it, letting swirling tendrils of smoke out of his nostrils to mingle with the drooping willow fronds above. He shooed her away with a flick of his pipe. “Go, work.”

----

The mansion was much larger and more opulent than Lilla had ever set foot in. She felt a roiling sense of anxiety as she walked into the marble ballroom.

Four massive crystal chandeliers illuminated the area with dim, golden light. Little beads of rainbow light oscillated leisurely along the walls and vaulted ceiling, giving the room a magical ambience.

The guests were immaculately dressed; every dress and costume more lavish than the last. She realised they were all wearing some variation of green; which explained why Lord Gortash required her to choose an emerald dress.

Lilla felt severely underdressed in comparison to the other guests, but she knew she wasn’t there to stand out anyway. The thought of attempting to upstage such wealth was laughable to her, not to mention unprofessional. The seamstress who made her evening gown understood her assignment, and apparently had some inside knowledge about Lord Gortash’s taste in clothing.

The deep green silk of Lilla’s slip clung to her delicate silhouette, and the neckline sat high on her collarbone, portraying modesty, but accentuating her form to tease the imagination. It was simple and classy; Lilla was quite pleased with the end result, and patted her sun-kissed blonde hair to assure it was still in place. She couldn’t bring herself to stray from her usual braid, wrapped immaculately around her head like a crown; though for the special occasion, she allowed some stray tendrils to artfully frame her face.

Certain Lord Gortash would have wanted her to begin mingling immediately for best results, Lilla looked around to see if she could catch someone approachable for an easy start. The expansive room was furnished to accommodate a rotation of mingling guests; depending on how one wishes to approach the night.

The dance floor expectantly took up centre stage, orbited by vast marble columns; the spaces around them peppered with sofas and tables for those who wished to stay close to the music. The perimeter of the room invited those who wished to have more private conversations away from the lively band. Heavy drapery in rich green acted as dividers in many areas, giving ample room for intimate conversation;(and undoubtedly more) once the wine began to flow freely.

Lilla took quick note of the guests she recognized; some she had worked for while tending wine in the past, and already had some prior knowledge about their extracurricular activities. The enthusiastic nobleman who had attended Gortash’s party the night before recognized her from across the room, and clumsily strolled over to her.

“Ah!” Honourbough called out while striding over and giving her hand a polite kiss, “Lily, was it? Does this mean Lord Gortash has blessed us with his company?” He craned his neck, scanning the luxurious ballroom eagerly. When no trace of Gortash was detected, he began to pout pathetically, “You two did not arrive together?” he whined.

“Lord Gortash has been tied up with some last-minute business, but he has been looking forward to this night dearly,” she said, feigning confidence. The nobleman perked up at this, so Lilla continued. “He was saying how eager he was to discuss…controversial subjects…” she teased, simply leaving the suggestion open to interpretation.

She could at least start getting some juicy information where possible while she waited. “Lord Honourbough, was it?” Lilla asked politely, recalling their first introduction at Gortash’s manor, “Lord Gortash mentioned you were particularly open-minded regarding a broad spectrum of topics… and is looking forward to your input!”

The nobleman’s eyes lit up, “Please, call me Elim, and yes, yes!” his smile dripping with desperation, “I’ve been meaning to ask him about the-” his eyes shifted around the room, lowering his voice, “infernal mechanisms. What an exhilarating concept!” Lilla listened to the noble recite his knowledge on the subject, beginning to understand a bit more about the diagrams she found earlier in Gortash’s study while tidying.

After some time, an excited clamour resonated among the guests. Both Lilla and Lord Honourbough looked towards the commotion, and saw Lord Gortash making his way through the crowd, greeting anyone that approached him. He wore basic black shirt and trousers, but the tailored, velvety party coat he donned occasionally reflected deep emerald green depending on what angle it caught the light.

“There’s the man!” Elim chimed, leaving Lilla and rushing to Gortash, who met him with a handsome smile.

“I’ll come speak with you shortly,” Gortash said to Honourbough, clapping him on the shoulder, “Let me get a drink for my date.” He strode over to Lilla, shamelessly letting his eyes drift down her body and back up to her eyes with a grin. “I see you’ve followed my instruction to the letter,” Gortash said, beaming down at her, taking her in.

Lilla could feel his warm breath on her bare shoulder, and the soft brush of his hair against her cheek. She inhaled him in, feeling drunk for a moment, despite not having imbibed yet. She couldn’t place his scent; it must have been a myriad of things, like soap and perfume, mixed with fresh firewood, tobacco, and whiskey; the one from earlier in the day, with the mermaid on the bottle.

Gortash took an un-imposing sniff next to her hair. “So you did,” he grinned, standing up straight and grabbing two goblets of wine from a passing tray with lightning quick reflexes.

He handed one to her, but Lilla hesitated. “My lord, are you sure? I’m currently under your employ-”

Gortash gave a chuckle, “Consider it one of the benefits of the job, hmm?” he waggled the goblet before her, urging her to take it. “You need not drink it,” he assured her, “but having it in your hand will signal to others you are more approachable, you see”

Lilla had never considered that before…it was excellent advice. “Thank you…”

“Come,” Gortash said before winking and taking a sip of wine, “let me introduce you to some of the local wildlife.”

Lilla allowed herself a small, nervous sip of wine before following him into the fray. Thankfully, her job was incredibly easy thanks to Gortash. She simply had to stand next to him quietly, while every socialite, lordling and politician vied for his attention.

They almost immediately began spilling their most confidential gossip in transaction for his approval. Lilla felt herself relax next to him, savouring the brush of his deep green party coat against her shoulder as he spoke animatedly to his audiences. She even felt a cheeky jolt of vainglory as Gortash paraded her around the room, showing her off to the curious onlookers as she stood next to him: patient, loyal… obedient...

As the night became late, the band treated the room to more sensual, sluggish waltzes to encourage dancers to slow down. Lilla felt she must have filled the entire notebook for Therette, and wondered if he carried more than one.

Guest after guest had some savvy secret they were desperate to reveal to Gortash. He would feed their egos, laugh at their jokes, and set them up for success in every conversation. He made every person he talked to feel like the star of the show; which in turn resulted in him truly being centre stage.

---

Soon, the guests had become louder, lewder, and more loose-lipped. Lilla studied who was leaning into whom, whispering seductively, or sneaking off with one another. She had to focus hard to take it all down as quickly as guests' judgments began to wane, occupying darker corners of the room, even migrating to the offset rooms for privacy.

Lilla urged the Mage Hand to write so fast, she thought the quill may catch fire right next to poor Therette in the garden. A glow of perspiration developed on her forehead as she documented every hint of debauchery and infidelity she could catch; becoming even more flushed after seeing some of the shameless displays of passion. Some guests appeared to enjoy being seen through the gaps in the curtain, feigning embarrassment upon being caught.

Once satisfied with her coverage, Lilla squinted through the smoky, dimly lit room. Lord Gortash, who took his usual place next to the hearth, was surrounded by a gaggle of giggling ladies. They signalled to him outwardly at every opportunity: twirling locks between fingers, giggling incessantly and biting their lips, hanging on to his every word as he spoke to them.

He gestured to Lilla to approach, “Ladies, this is my secretary, Miss Lilla. she has been ever so helpful in managing me while I stumble through my business endeavours.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Lilla curtsied, ignoring the fact she was regarded by the ladies with obvious un-enthusiasm. “You can go, Lilla,” Lord Gortash said, to her dismay. “There’s nothing I’m going to tell these lovely ladies you haven’t heard a hundred times tonight. I must not force you to endure this torment any longer.” Some of the ladies tittered, and they gave Lilla small polite curtsies to wish her farewell.

A pang of embarrassment throbbed at the base of her spine; she somehow half-expected Lord Gortash would leave with her, but it subsided quickly when she reminded herself that would be ridiculous. What did she expect? An intimate walk home? She scoffed at her petty fantasy while making her way to the entrance hall; now darkened significantly since the party started. Some guests had tucked themselves away together in shadowy nooks around the hall, not-so-privately exploring each other.

“Lily…” someone softly slurred her 'name' from the darkness behind her. Lord Elim Honourbough sauntered out of the shadows, using the wall to prevent him from stumbling drunkenly, though playing it off as an attempt to be seductive. “You look sssho very nish tonight…Lily…” he flashed his tongue disturbingly as the two “L’s” met in his mouth.

Doing her very best not to wince in disgust at his obvious advance, Lilla gave a polite, but curt smile, “I was just heading home, Lord Honorbough.”

“Sho…sho very ehrly?” he blinked slowly and unevenly, shuffling close enough for her to smell the sickly sweet brandy seeping from his pores. She took a step back, bumping into a candelabra, but the overdrunk lord closed the gap and reached out to stabilise it…before leaning in attempt to kiss her.

Lilla sidled away from his advance smoothly, but found herself cornered next to some heavy velvet drapes. She quickly brushed away a fantasy of intentionally knocking over the candelabra into the emerald drapery, starting a fire to distract Honourbough so she could escape.

“Come now…” Elim frowned at her attempt to evade him, stumbling closer still, “Lord Gortash won’t mind…” he lunged again, his wet lips just missing her face, nearly burrowing into her neck.

Panic started bubbling in Lilla’s stomach, and she began to feel nauseous. “I really should leave,” Lilla announced more sternly, causing Elim to pull his signature pout; sickening her even further. Once he realised she was not going to give in, the pout twisted into a sneer, as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her towards him.

“There you are!” Lord Gortash’s voice echoed through the dark hall. Both Lilla and Lord Honourbough looked his way; it was unclear whom he was addressing until he gave Elim a friendly pat on the back. “You disappeared!” Gortash said, “I thought you had some business ideas for me.” He steered Honorbough away from Lilla, his arm resting firmly on the drunken noble's shoulder.

“Thank you, Lilla, you are dismissed,” he called flippantly over his shoulder while walking away with the nobleman. Lilla wondered if Lord Gortash was even aware what was about to transpire before he interrupted Lord Honourbough. Did he intentionally save her? Did he think she had instigated the situation? Her stomach turned to ice. Gods I hope not. She slinked away to the garden to meet Therette, who was patiently puffing away on his pipe; her Mage Hand floated idly above the notebook.

“Was it a success?” she asked rhetorically, snatching up the notebook and thumbing through the pages. It was a bit dark to read it well, but her elven ancestry gave her a small boon to seeing in shadow.

She could tell it was chock full of gossip waiting to be sorted, filtered and organised into tidy dossiers. Therette emptied his ashes into the flower bed behind him before storing his pipe in his jacket pocket. Lilla could almost hear his bones creak as he pushed himself onto his feet.

He began walking towards the gate, and Lilla took a quick last glance at the mansion before hurrying to catch up with him.

Chapter 7: CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Text

As the pair marched the dark streets towards the lower residential layer of the Upper City, Therette stopped in his tracks and his ears pricked up. Lilla baited her breath as they looked up the dark street behind them, straining to hear what the drow had picked up.

“Uh…” she drawled stupidly; she wasn’t sure if she should thank him for saving her from the grabby Honorbough, or if he even had any awareness about the situation with Elim at all. His mannerisms implied the latter, so she settled on keeping her answer work-related. “

Yes, My Lord, I believe tonight’s dealings have borne much fruit.” She pulled the notebook from under her cloak, and handed it to Gortash, who received it with his golden claw.

He was stifling a grin at her abject professionalism. “I see,” he said, thumbing through the pages under the streetlamp. The fluttering moths above caused shadows to dance across his face as he assessed Lilla’s work. “Fruitful indeed,” he smiled before looking to her, snapping the book shut. “Thank you, Therette, I shall escort Lilla home. Why don’t you enjoy a couple drinks at the Mermaid on my tab?”

Therette bowed at the suggestion, somewhat more deeply than usual. “My Lord,” he muttered before veering off toward the Lower City.

Lord Gortash gestured politely for Lilla to continue ahead of him, and she obliged, leading the way towards his manor. She could feel his dark eyes on her as they walked; or perhaps it was only her wishes manifesting as a tingle at the back of her neck.

Lilla was used to the occasional employer gawking at her, and had learned many ways of dealing with unwanted advances over the years, but none until now had her outright wishing he would make some move towards her. She fully understood Gortash's appeal; he was the type of person everyone wanted to be around; wanted a piece of. They all craved his approval, if not himself entirely. Lilla had taught herself how to blend in and become unnoticed; it was the best way to be successful at her work, as well as stay out of trouble. However she annoyingly found herself yearning for Lord Gortash’s gaze, just like everyone else…

Perhaps it was simply the demand in which his attentions were a commodity that made Gortash attractive to her... She decided to swat away any further thoughts on the matter, as it was wholly absurd to think he would consider her over the plethora of beautiful, wealthy, and influential women who were no doubt throwing themselves at him…

That being said…Lord Gortash seemed to have every one of those prospects lining up and bleating for his company tonight at the mansion…yet there he was.

“You look quite beautiful tonight, Miss Lilla,” he said from behind; his voice closer than she anticipated, causing a wave of goosebumps to prickle across her skin.

“Thank you, My Lord…” she gulped, completely set on not making a fool of herself, “It was all on your coin…OH!” she stopped in her tracks immediately, causing Gortash to nearly topple into her.

“What is it?” he asked, confused.

Lilla spun around to face him, “I forgot!” she cried, her face flush. She pulled out the purse he had given her earlier, a fair bit lighter after her afternoon preparing for the party. She held the coin bag out for him.

Gortash’s perplexed expression melted into a warm smile, “Please,” he held up his hand to stop her, “keep the rest.” He leaned in, causing Lilla to hold her breath, “In case I’d like to suggest a new ensemble for another occasion, hmm?” His keen, obsidian eyes glinted in the lamplight.

Lilla spun back around, heat creeping across her neck, “Of course, thank you, My Lord.” She was inches away from running down to the Lower City to drown herself in the Chionthar.

Unfortunately, the water instead came to her; in the form of steady raindrops following a rumble of primal thunder overhead. The rain picked up quickly, and so did Lilla and Gortash’s pace towards his manor.

“Wait!” he called over the thrumming of rain around them, “This will take us there much quicker, if you don’t mind the muck.” He gave her a concerned glance, and waved towards a dark alleyway branching off the lamplit road.

Lilla looked down the nearly pitch black way; the adjacent street was perhaps a two minute traversal through the cluttered, and now soggy alleyway. It would cut down their travel time by at least five minutes.

She swallowed, nodding, “I don’t mind!” In truth she was so desperate to get out of the rain and loosen her dress that she was happy to sacrifice her new shoes to the horrors of the muddy lane.

Gortash sidled by her to take the lead down the dark side street, placing his green party coat around her gallantly as he passed. Lilla clutched it around her, burrowing her face into the lining, unable to resist smelling the soft, rich fabric. It hinted at all the scents she detected on him earlier, but being so close to the coat, she was able to pick up a distinct hint of his personal musk. It wasn’t overbearing, nor unpleasant, but masculine and admittedly quite intoxicating.

Lilla shuffled clumsily behind Lord Gortash, who somehow navigated various obstacles through the alley with confidence, as if he took this way often and knew every obstruction by heart. Distracted by his jacket, Lilla stumbled over a loose plank, her foot ripping it free from the mud and causing it to clatter loudly against some nearby crates. She lurched forwards, grabbing onto the back of Gortash’s shirt for support.

He spun around to assist her, but was suddenly overtaken by a shadowy figure, forcing him backwards into the stone wall. Lilla fell backwards onto a soaking wet crate.

“Lord Gortash!?” she called out over the raging storm; thunder rumbling above, building up to a crescendo. A snap of lightning illuminated the wrestling silhouettes of Gortash and the attacker, but magical darkness enveloped them, making even Lilla’s darkvision unable to penetrate the shadows sufficiently.

She heard strained grunts between the men, each struggling for an upper hand; but the distinct sound of a blade slashing against flesh rang out in the silence between the waves of rolling thunder. Lilla’s adrenaline surged, her pupils widened, allowing her to take in as much light as possible; she had to think fast.

While she had no lantern, she knew a small handful of beginner spells, though rarely ever used besides Mage Hand. Holding her hand to the sky, she felt a swirl of Weave gently caress her arm, and she willed a meagre blue flame to spark to life in her palm. She had to use it quickly; unsure how long it would last in the rain. Lilla held it out like a torch, stepping closer to the tussle in hopes to see enough to differentiate between the two men.

“Lord Gortash!” she called out, shocked to see him pushed up against a stack of barrels by a hooded man. A dagger glinted in the dim blue light of Lilla’s conjured flame. It was obvious the man meant to land a killing blow on Lord Gortash. Without much more thought, she hurled the flame at the attacker, catching him in the hem of his hood, and singing his eyebrow.

It wasn’t a powerful hit by any means, and damage was minimal due to the rainfall, but it was just enough to distract the hooded man so Gortash could get an advantage. He grabbed the man’s wrist with his golden gauntlet. His grip must have been immensely tight, for a pained yowl echoed across the secluded alley. The attacker dropped the dagger with a clatter as Gortash twisted his wrist in an unnatural angle with an insidious crunch.

Lilla looked on in silent horror as Gortash then headbutt the attacker violently, who staggered backward into the adjacent stone wall. She thought this would be the perfect time for them to run to the main street for help, but Gortash only stood up slowly, panting rhythmically in the rain. He calmly ran a hand through his sopping hair, pushing it back out of his face, and looked down at his whimpering attacker. Bending down, he deliberately grabbed the hooded man by the neck, pulling him up from the ground with impeccable ease. The man must have weighed nothing, or Lord Gortash was drastically stronger than he looked.

The assailant grasped at his throat where the gilded claw gripped; the sharp, golden fingertips digging into his flesh. Gortash hoisted the man up from the ground, leaving his feet dangling helplessly. For a moment he just held him up, allowing the attacker to plead through futile gasps and gurgles. The man’s yelp was then cut short as his skull was dashed violently against the stone wall. Thunk. Crunch. Squelch. Again and again, until the hooded silhouette was limp and lifeless. Gortash discarded the corpse unceremoniously to the side, which crumpled into a pile between some rotten barrels. The magical darkness dissipated, signaling the attacker was no more.

Lilla looked down at the man's body, his head lolled back so she could see his bloodied face clearly with another crack of lightning. She recognized him: Deacon, the man who threatened Lord Gortash earlier that morning. It was clear Deacon had expected a quick and easy revenge, but his brain matter scattered across the stone mortar painted an alternate fate.

Gortash said nothing for some time; steadying his breaths methodically. Lilla couldn’t clearly see his face, and in truth, she was afraid to speak. He had shown such animalistic strength and extreme ruthlessness, she didn’t know if he was the same charming man she spoke with moments before.

“Come,” he ordered, gesturing to her to follow, but he stumbled after a few steps, grunting in pain.

“My Lord, you are bleeding!” Lilla cried in horror at his bloody hand clutching a stab wound in his abdomen. “I’ll go find help!” she assured him, but was stopped by the firm grip of his claw around her wrist.

“No…” Gortash said weakly, “...Just help me get home…” He pointed down the last stretch of the alley; Lilla could see the ivy draped walls of his manor garden, just across the way. She obeyed, pulling Gortash’s arm over her to prop him up. He accommodated her attempt to help him, but to her surprise, he did most of the work despite his condition.

They managed to limp to the entrance of his manor without attracting onlookers; thanks to the sudden coastal storm, the Upper City residents were holed up in their manors and mansions by crackling hearths.

Lilla helped Gortash stumble through the front entrance into the dimly lit hallway, before using her foot to shut the large oak door behind them.

“My study,” Gortash croaked. Lilla Guided him up the stairs and down the hall as requested. Once inside, he dragged himself towards a beautifully upholstered armchair by the fire, and painfully dropped himself into the cushions, drenching them with rainwater and blood.

He again brushed a shock of damp hair from his forehead, finally managing to take stock of his injury. The hearth was crackling cheerfully; the flamelight highlighting just how much blood Gortash lost to his already soaked clothing… which appeared too much to warrant him even being conscious. He pulled up his shirt to assess the wound, revealing his blood-soaked abdomen, matted with short dark wisps of hair trailing down past his navel and into his trousers.

Gortash pointed with a bloody hand to the fireplace mantle. “Box…” he whispered; his face was unsettlingly pale…

Lilla obeyed and quickly brought the polished wooden box to Gortash, kneeling next to his armchair and awaiting any additional help he may need from her.

“My Lord,” she whispered, watching him open the box, and pull out a small knife, handing it to her without a word. She took it tentatively, but continued with her plea, “Lord Gortash…” She repeated, “Please, I can go get help for you. You won’t be in trouble - I was there. You acted in self defence-”

Gortash’s eyes glittered in the firelight as his pained grimace washed away to reveal menace. He lurched forward and grabbed her firmly by the neck with the selfsame claw he had murdered a man only moments previous. Lilla gasped at the sudden shock of his grip. He didn’t squeeze hard - he didn’t need to - the grasp was so like iron, as if his fingers were unyielding stone. She looked up at him in confusion, and perhaps delirious from adrenalin, but swore his face softened slightly at her terrified expression.

Nonetheless, he pulled her to him so she could feel his uneven breaths on her face as he strained to inhale. Lilla realised he could easily snap her neck in two with minimal effort.

“You will tell no one of this, is that understood?” Gortash articulated slowly between pained breaths. He was aware she held the blade he gave her seconds ago, and that she could use it on him at any moment.

However, not only did she not use it, Lilla did something that stunned both herself, and Gortash. Her body relaxed, the fear in her expression dissipated. She leaned into his grip, volunteering herself to him. She had no idea why she did this, but it somehow felt like the right thing to do. She was proven correctly when Gortash loosened his grip slightly in response, eyeing her curiously.

“My Lord,” She whispered, using the opportunity to speak, “I swear on my soul, I won’t tell anyone. I promise you my word. I only want to serve you. Just tell me what you wish of me.” She held the knife out for him, inviting him to take it.

Gortash regarded her with such a peculiar stare, it was impossible to read in the flickering firelight. His gaze dropped to her lips and lingered there for a moment, then quickly and sheepishly released his clutch on her delicate throat, blinking at her and sitting back.

For a few minutes, the hearth offered the only ambience in the room as silence passed between them. Gortash gave a bitter chuckle, regarding her behind an unreadable look.

“Some clear alcohol, Miss Lilla. Please,” he said after clearing his throat. Considering the amount of blood he appeared to lose, he sounded as if his strength was already returning. She wondered which god he worshipped, and if that god regards him so dearly for protecting him so.

Lilla fetched a bottle of distilled spirits from the table next to Gortash’s writing desk, and placed it on the side table next to his armchair, then dropped herself back onto the rug before the fire, watching him intently, anxiously.

Unbuckling the gilded gauntlet from around his right hand, then removing the accommodating rings from his left, Gortash placed them on the table next to him. He gingerly removed his soiled shirt, using it in futility to mop up the blood from his broad chest before tossing it into the fire, causing it to hiss and crackle angrily.

He uncorked the bottle of spirits with his teeth, spitting the stopper to the side, and taking a generous swig, wincing at the sting meeting his throat. He then tipped the crystal clear liquid onto his abdomen over the knife wound. His muscles contracted as his body went rigid, clenching his teeth. Lilla watched on, silently.

Once the pain subsided, Gortash pulled a needle and spool of catgut from the box, threading them with a surprisingly steady hand. Gortash focused intently on sewing the wound closed, breathing methodically; the mix of blood and water reflecting glints of firelight as his chest rose and fell. He finished the stitch with an expert flourish to tie the catgut, and held out a length taught from his body.

“Cut here,” he nodded to Lilla, who had been anticipating his next instruction. She did as she was told, and carefully sliced the twine. Focusing on her task, she was unaware Gortash’s obsidian eyes were on her.

Once done, Lilla sat back on her heels, looking up at him as he returned the knife and other contents to the box before slouching back into his chair with an exhausted sigh.

Gortash rubbed the sweat from his face and peered down at Lilla, who had a peculiar smirk across her face. “What is that for?” he asked, his grin matching hers.

“You’ve done that before,” she said.

Gortash took another swig from the bottle, “What,” he asked, stifling a grimace as he swallowed the abrasive liquid, “Sewing myself up? Or murdering a man?”

The comment took Lilla off guard, which was clearly Gortash’s intention. He relished Lilla’s awkward silence with a wry smirk, then continued; “Well you’d be right on both accounts.”

Gortash stared down at her from his blood-stained armchair, as if calculating what to do next. “You did well tonight, Miss Lilla,” he said quietly, realising he enjoyed the way her big brown eyes lit up at his compliments.

“Is it true - what you said earlier?” he asked softly, “About only wishing to serve me.”

When it was clear Lilla was too flustered to answer the question, he held out his hand, gesturing for her to come closer. She shuffled across the soft plush rug towards him, now sitting at his feet.

He gently rested a hand on her head, causing her to instinctually lean into it, closing her eyes. His hand moved down the side of her face, his fingers tracing down her jaw, causing Lilla’s breath to hitch from the sensation. He then gripped her chin, tilting it up to him. “I want you to belong to me,” he whispered.

“Did that woman who runs your establishment order you to seduce me?” he asked, expecting Lilla to balk with flustered excuses… but she made no such commotion.

She simply opened her eyes and looked at him directly, “Yes, My Lord,” she answered dutifully.

“Well it’s working,” Gortash grinned, though a hint of bitterness lingered on his tongue. “But you no longer belong to her, do you?” He began tracing her lips with his thumb, becoming aroused when she closed her eyes and parted her mouth for him. He wanted to push past her plump lips and feel the hot moisture of her mouth, but steeled himself.

All things savoured over time are sweeter , he reminded himself; though it was becoming more difficult by the minute to resist fantasising about all the ways he could take her, knowing she would thank him eagerly for it. He wondered if perhaps she was a gift from his Lord; something beautiful and obedient, to remind him how his hard work was paying off. She was certainly too good to be true… he forced himself to practise scepticism until he had tested her loyalty fully.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked stoically, “I do expect you to answer when I ask a question.” His words were authoritative, but he could see the girl was drunk with arousal, and she obviously had been deprived of proper reward for her obedience up until now. A forgivable flaw he could work into her with time.

“Yes, My Lord,” Lilla murmured, opening her eyes again and looking up at him. She looked like perfection at his feet, staring up at him.

“Mistress no longer directs me…only you. All I want…is whatever you want.”

Gortash fought the intense desire to reward her perfect response with his hardened co*ck, and gave her a simple “Good girl…” making Lilla’s body blossom with goosebumps.

She writhed happily in his grip. “Thank you…” she whispered blissfully.

Grinning darkly, Gortash let her go, sobering Lilla up somewhat. “Now go get clean, and get some sleep. The guest room down the hall is made up for you. Come find me in the morning…for brunch,” he grinned, “let’s sleep in- we deserve it, hm?”

“Yes My Lord!” Lilla chimed, doing as he said, and tiptoeing to the door, “Lord Gortash?”

“Hmm?” he regarded her wearily, but warmly.

“What colour would you like me to wear tomorrow?” she asked timidly, causing Gortash to shift uncomfortably as his co*ck twitched at her petty request for his command.

“I’m sure crimson seems fitting, don’t you think?” he answered cooly, barely able to mask his pleasure.

“Of course, My Lord,” Lilla curtseyed and gave him one more adorable grin before disappearing into the hall, leaving Gortash in silence, save the crackling of the hearth.

He adjusted himself to accommodate his erection, which was pushing relentlessly against the fabric of his trousers. Gods he wanted to play with her…If she was truly a gift from his lord, her reaction to finding out he worshipped Bane will be the final test. Will she be so accepting? He wondered. He lingered uneasily on the prospect of having to give her to the Banite initiates in sacrificial mass if she failed. It would be a mercy compared to throwing her into the pleasure pit.

Frowning at the thought, he primed himself for potential disappointment. But for now…he will enjoy her attempts to serve him, until she finally realises what that truly means. Until then, he will enjoy himself. He will enjoy her.

Chapter 8: CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter Text

That night Gortash prayed to the altar of his Dark Lord Bane for hours, muttering softly to the obsidian fist, deep into the late hours.

He didn’t sleep at all, pacing his study, contemplating the future. His Lord had big plans, and entrusted him to execute them without flaw. Their plans were going quite well so far, but there was much room for improvement, and would benefit from the right alliances.

Gortash thought of the mysterious tiefling woman, who had approached him at a soiree a couple months back. He was fairly sure she wasn’t invited, yet she saunted among the guests as if she belonged nonetheless. She had a knack for blending in when she wanted, and standing out when it pleased her.

She approached him at the social under the dimness of the later party, revealing with a sultry whisper in his ear that one of his employees by the surname of Stradler had been betraying his trust. The woman had much more sensitive information about Gortash’s business dealings than should have been possible… This was what truly captured his attention.

“And what do you expect in exchange for this information, now that you’ve given it to me freely?” he asked wryly, steadying his gaze as he looked into her primal, amber eyes. He remembered her sly smile, revealing a set of razor sharp fangs. He always admired the way tieflings looked; a visible edge that intimidated both rich and poor alike.

“Your ear,” the woman answered seductively, “And his blood.” She nodded towards the man she spoke of, who had also attended the party. There was little in the way of interpretation needed; Gortash knew she was telling the truth, but wished to follow up on the facts before condemning the man to this strange woman’s fantasy.

It wasn’t particularly out of character for the higher society of Baldur’s Gate to pursue one perversion or another; though it was usually something painfully mundane, such as orgies, or self humiliation rituals. The tiefling woman however, clearly was not of higher stock, but seemed to be suspended in some category all on her own, shrouded in pure mystery.

“Very well,” Gortash nodded, “But I am entitled to a few days to be sure what you say is true.”

The woman tilted her head back in delight; her curved horns gave her an exotic and devilish silhouette against the dimly lit room. “Don’t be too long…” she purred, “My thirst is stronger than my control at times…”

---

A few days went by, and Gortash was able to confirm his employee was indeed selling secrets and undercutting him - brazenly so. He silently scolded himself for letting something so obvious get so far, and vowed to tighten up the procedures that revolved around his endeavours; legitimate or otherwise.

There had been no word from the strange tiefling woman, and with no way of contacting her directly, Gortash set out to dispose of the traitor himself, as an act of self-penance for allowing the man to take such advantage of him.

He invited Stradler to the Blushing Mermaid, got him thoroughly drunk, and escorted him to the docks to drown him in the Chionthar.

Gortash dispassionately followed the drunken Stradler, who stumbled through the darkened streets of the Lower City, unable to decide on which shanty he wished to slur first.

As they walked, Gortash thought he saw a pair of amber eyes glinting from the pitch blackness above, but dismissed them as some wharf cat. That is, until he saw the same eyes a few minutes later… his drunk companion unaware, happily humming away.

Gortash stopped for a moment, noting the dead silence of the street, save the soft lapping of waves from the dark waters below.

From the silence, the woman’s voice carried like a soft breeze to his ear, making it impossible to tell which direction it came from.

“You are a man of your word, Enver Gortash, no?” her sultry voice encircled the two men.

“Hear, hear!” Stradler cheered in response to the disembodied voice, “To Gortash! Forever generous!” he bellowed, snorting with laughter.

It took Gortash great willpower not to smash him into the cobble and stomp his skull right then and there, but he stayed his hand; intrigued by the woman’s presence.

“As promised,” he spoke to the shadows, unsure where to direct his voice, “I wasn’t sure where to find you…” he stopped abruptly as a tail snaked up his leg, and a slender, clawed hand caressed his shoulder. He defeated the urge to spin around, startled.

“No need,” the tiefling woman purred, stepping out from behind him; a playful statement she could have taken him down in a heartbeat, and he would have never seen her coming. She circled him like a stalking jungle cat, her orange eyes fixated on him, lifting her tail to brush cheekily under his chin. “I’ll always find you when I need you,” she grinned, blinking lazily.

“I’m starting to see that,” he answered, masking his intrigue, and the tinge of fear that squirmed in his belly. If she wanted him dead, it seemed she could have had her wish many times over by now, he assured himself.

Gortash’s soon-to-be ex-employee had occupied himself by shamelessly pissing on a nearby building, unaware of the conversation Gortash was having with the tiefling woman. However once he became aware of the company, he rushed to tuck his shirt in and tied up his trousers.

“Of all the gods that give knob…” Stradler slurred, gawking at the beautiful new attendee. Gortash’s eye twitched minutely at the uncouthness of the comment, but decided to leave the situation for the tiefling, who stepped over to the drunkard. He was enamoured with her immediately, swaying on the spot, unable to speak.

She stalked around him, as she had done with Gortash moments ago, looking him up and down hungrily. Gortash was keen enough to see what Stradler could not; her hunger was not that of lust, but of something more primal; more deadly. Her tail brushed across the front of Stradler’s trousers, causing him to shudder.

“Gortash…” he hiccuped, “Your generosh*ty knowsh no boundshhhhh, uhg!” his eyes rolled back as the woman ran her hands across his chest, leaning in to sniff his neck.

“Yessss,” she dropped her head back, savouring his scent, “Isn’t he? I think we will be fast friends…” Stradler nodded in intoxicated confusion. “Since he is my friend,” she whispered closely into his ear, “Perhaps you can confess your sins to him…as he is a man of faith, is he not?”

Her orange eyes flicked towards Gortash, who refused to show any reaction. She knew about his Bane worship, was that what she was trying to say? Who in the hells was she?

“M…my sinsh?” Stradler stuttered, attempting to brush off his sudden anxiety with a laugh.

‘Yessss!” the woman purred in his ear, “He knows about the little games you play when he’s not looking, selling all his hard -earned secretsss…” She was nuzzling into his neck from behind, her lips grazing his sweat-soaked skin.

Stradler went sickly pale, sobering up instantly; his fear completely overriding any arousal the woman may have instilled in him. He looked back at Gortash, who regarded him with a stony stare through obsidian eyes.

“Gortash…L-Lord,” Stradler stuttered, but couldn’t find the words to follow. Perhaps he thought there was still some way to convince Gortash it was a misunderstanding; or perhaps he simply knew there was nothing he could say, so he refrained.

“Tell him why…” the tiefling woman hissed softly in his ear, biting her lip with a single fang.

Stradler shuddered again, blinking his eyes profusely, as if it would help him wake up from his nightmare. “It was for my family!” he pleaded, hoping for some glimmer of remorse or mercy from Gortash’s stony expression, “I wanted to get them out of the city, to start a better life…”

The tiefling woman inhaled deeply, as if she was preparing for a climax, “Yess, that’s it!” she cried sensually. She produced a dagger in each hand, spinning them expertly before plunging them behind Stradler’s shoulder blades: one, then two. He arched his back, gasping in shock. She hoisted the daggers upward, forcing him to walk on the tips of his toes.

“His family, you see My Lord?” she sang with ecstasy, pulling the man two and fro, as if locked in an animated waltz with a large puppet. Gortash surmised the daggers had punctured Stradler’s lungs, and he was holding his last breath before releasing himself to an excruciating and fatal exhale.

The woman pulled out the daggers with a flourish, and Stradler instinctually began staggering towards a nearby alleyway in fear. She followed him slowly, playfully as he fell into crates, and bounced off barrels. Unable to speak, he reached towards Gortash for help, but was not even met with a merciful glance.

“Judith Stradler, wife. Forty. Seven,” the woman sang, stabbing Stradler in the chest with each word, avoiding the softest parts that would permit him to die quickly. “Abigail Stradler, daughter. Twelve.” Schtick. Shtick. Schtick went her dagger. They were barely visible now, as he crawled weakly through the muck away from her; her devils tail twitching like a cat playing with a mouse. “Mathias Stradler, son. Six?...”

Gortash could no longer make out the pair anymore, nor hear them. He waited for some moments, wondering if the tiefling would reemerge from the alley to address him, but he was left alone with the soft night breeze and the lapping waves.

He had seen many unnatural things throughout his life, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t taken off guard by the events of the night. The woman was indeed an intriguing wild card, and he wondered if she was going to be a boon or a burden for him in days to come. Gortash did what he always had done when exposed to some extreme element of trauma; he took a deep sigh to appreciate the gift of air in his lungs, then carried on into the night.

“I really need to get myself a secretary,” he mused to himself, as he began to make his way back to his manor. He half expected to see the tiefling again; popping up to show off her prowess and relationship with shadow. However she would not approach him again, until after he hired Lilla as his secretary.

Chapter 9: CHAPTER NINE

Chapter Text

Despite the excitement and exhaustion from the night prior, Lilla managed to sneak out of the manor early morning, and made her way to the Wide. She was determined to accommodate Lord Gortash’s request for a crimson dress before seeing him later, in hopes to prove her capability…though in truth mostly to impress him.

She coerced the seamstress to open early by means of a hefty down payment for the next four dresses, including a generous tip. She implied Lord Gortash would be very pleased with the dressmaker’s dedication, which seemed to pique her interest more than the coin itself.

Within an hour, they had fitted Lilla with a severely tight, professional dress: full length, long sleeves, and an ultra high, buttoned up lace neckline that hugged her throat and brushed her jaw if she slouched even minutely. The waist cinched tightly around her slender midsection, before the rich fabric fell elegantly off her hips. While conservative, it highlighted her feminine form delightfully. Most importantly, the soft fabric was a rich, deep crimson brocade; as regal as the blood Lord Gortash spilled the night before.

The seamstress gifted her a beautiful leather book bag to replace the shabby pack Lilla had carried since she left the orphanage.

“Please be sure to pass on your experience to Lord Gortash!” the seamstress chimed as Lilla gave her a gracious nod, stepping out into the bustling street.

With another two hours to spare, Lilla wandered to the Lower City to peruse the storefronts. She enjoyed the Upper City, but the docks were more familiar to her. What she wasn’t familiar with, however, was the turning of heads and stares as she walked by…Perhaps the quality and cut of her dress was a little overly opulent for the Lower City.

Perplexed by the sudden increase in attention, she dodged into a nearby shop to find reprieve from onlookers. She began to peruse out of politeness, but soon found herself enthralled by the various displays of alchemical and magical trinkets, books and ingredients. Lilla managed to narrow down her purchases to three beginner's guide books on magic and alchemy, as well as some basic ritual trappings to get her started.

Her memory brought her to the night before; if she knew more than a measly flame conjuration spell, perhaps she would have been able to prevent Lord Gortash from being stabbed outright.

As if the shopkeep was reading her mind, the young dwarven woman whispered, “Did you hear about the body found by the docks in the fishin’ district last night!?” she donned a look of delight rather than concern. “Yeah!” She continued, unperturbed by Lilla’s wide-eyed gawk, “they say it’s a robbery gone wrong, but apparently the robber didn’t take anything…”

Lilla exhaled in relief, unaware she was holding her breath at all. Therette must have moved Deacon's body from the upper residential area to avoid intrigue of the Flaming Fist. If there were any hint Lord Gortash was involved in the murder, the dwarf would have surely mentioned it first and foremost.

“Th-that’s terrible!” Lilla finally spoke, “Perhaps we need more protection on our streets…”

“Hear, hear,” agreed the dwarf flippantly, the distinct twinkle of a saleswoman shimmered in her eyes. “Say, if it’s protection you're looking for, you may want to check out these charms! We have a diverse collection of prayer trinkets; compact for your travelling needs! Keep one on your purse while walking the streets at night…we even carry the naughty ones!” she gave an overly charismatic wink.

Lilla regarded the shopkeep with a glib smile before glancing down at the box of assorted charms. There appeared to be nothing of magical value, and clearly were for merchandising reasons only. Lilla had never followed a god; Mistress always said they demanded too much time and attention.

She gently fingered each charm with consideration, admiring the properties and aesthetics of each, despite not being educated enough to know what most represented.

The orphanage she grew up in was by proxy supported by Ilmater, the god of suffering. Despite him being front and centre in the teachings of the nurses who ran the institute, Lilla never found herself able to gravitate towards the Broken God. She had nothing against him, but something about the doctrine seemed weak…pathetic.

She picked up one of his charms; two hands bound together at the wrist with crimson rope. Something inside her stirred as she lingered on the trinket…it brought on not thoughts of pointless sacrifice…but a fantasy of her own hands being bound in red rope. Lord Gortash smirking down at her as he tied her wrists together…

“Aye! Ilmater! Good choice, that,” the shopkeep trilled excitedly, pulling Lilla out of her imagination. The dwarven girl held out her hand to take the charm from Lilla, adding it to her purchases, “It’ll match your dress!” she added, please with her sale, and convincing tongue.

“Thank you!” Lilla called back as she left the store, hooking the charm onto her new book bag, admiring it one more time before setting out to the street.

Feeling flush, Lilla flattened her blonde braid with a palm, assuring it was still as usual, wrapped neatly around the crown of her head.

She quickly got used to the Lower City folk gawking at her as she walked, even enjoying it somewhat. She eventually came across a small cobbler’s shop, barely noticing it even existed as she walked by. It was run by a pleasant older couple who greeted her as if she were the first customer they had seen in months. She purchased some knee high leather boots in black, which greatly complimented her buttoned-up ensemble, though they drastically overcharged her. Lilla considered hinting her alignment with Lord Gortash, which seemed to get her good results with other shopkeeps, but thought it best not to expend his name all at once, lest she overuse his hospitality.

On the bright side, the boots were extremely well made, and delightfully comfortable. She felt as if a lifetime of weight had vanished; the urge to run back to the manor rather than use a waystone was tempting, however she rather not risk being late for brunch, and a sweaty mess to match.

---

Therette opened the front door before Lilla was even able to knock. “Master awaits,” he murmured, unimpressed as always.

“Thank you, Therette,” she curtseyed politely as she whisked by, unwilling to keep Gortash waiting any longer.

He was lounging in the breakfast nook, reading through what looked like a stack of every publication that existed in Baldur’s Gate. he fluttered the paper open as Lilla entered the room, knocking comically quiet.

“Oh!” she jolted forward, accepting his invitation to sit. Gortash pushed the chair in with minimal effort, as if she were light as air. “Thank you, My Lord…are you feeling well?”

Ignoring the question, Gortash started towards his seat, but stopped when he noticed the new leather book bag hanging from Lilla’s chair.

“What’s this?” he bent down, resting a hand on her armrest, the other gripped the newly purchased charm.

Lilla looked down to her bag, “A charm of Ilmater,” she replied; trying not to blush at his proximity.

“And you worship Ilmater then?” he asked, not with curiosity, but devoid of expression; as if he were wary of something.

“Well…no…” Lilla admitted, feeling sheepish. She thought it must have seemed foolish to carry a charm for a god she did not follow. “I suppose I simply liked the charm itself…” her pointed ears went red, hoping he did not ask further why the trinket appealed to her, because she wasn’t sure she would be able to give him an answer.

“I see,” Gortash murmured, looking as if he were lost in thought. He pushed himself upright and returned to his side of the table.

“Is there a god you do worship?” he asked while pulling his chair in, his tone cordial again, as if they met like this every day. He gestured politely for her to begin eating.

“I’m afraid not, My Lord,” Lilla answered, pushing a berry to her lips, regarding Gortash nervously. She popped it into her mouth, savouring the sweet and tart juices. It ignited her hunger, making her realise she hadn’t eaten since her sugared porridge at the Workhouse.

I see no issue with that,” Lord Gortash assured her, picking up an orange and digging into its skin with the strong thumb of a man who works with his hands.

“The gods ask much of us,” he peeled the fruit methodically, tearing the skin away gently, then leaving the peel in an ornamental coil on the saucer in front of him before reaching over the table and placing the peeled orange in front of Lilla. “At least the ones of worth do,” he gave her a sly wink as he pulled a mug of black coffee to his lips, watching her as he sipped.

Lilla gave him a sweet smile, taking the orange graciously, pulling a section from its body and biting into it, enjoying the fragrant deliciousness. “What about you, my Lord? Do you worship a god?”

Gortash took another sip from his coffee, leaning back in his chair comfortably, ignoring her question. “There are some matters I’d like to discuss with you this morning, if you don’t mind.” His irises were intensely dark, but thanks to the warm morning sunlight, she could see flecks of deep green glinting in his stare.

“Of course, My Lord. Anything.”

“While you were in town, Therette took the initiative to bring your things from the Workhouse and brought them here; they are now in the guest room you slept in last night. That will be your room going forward,” he studied her carefully, “That is assuming what you promised last night still stands.”

Lilla’s stomach fluttered. She felt like she was in some strange dream…some twisted fairy tale. “Of course I do, My Lord…I am…ever so grateful for your hospitality. I want…what I said…I want what you want…”

This made Gortash give an earnest grin, almost boyish and playful. “That is…I’m very pleased to hear it.”

Lilla swallowed nervously, realising at some point she had to retrieve her keepsake box from the Workhouse without alerting Mistress, who would undoubtedly be infuriated at the loss of Lilla’s employment.

“I am so very grateful, My Lord,” she started, struggling to find the correct words, “however, may I have permission to visit the Workhouse once more? I have…some things I need to gather that may not have been obvious-”

“Such as this?” Gortash interrupted with dangerous calm, producing her battered tin keepsake box, and placing it on the table. Lilla went cold, her mouth instantly dry.

“That’s my…How did you…”

“Therette is simply very thorough, not unlike you,” he answered, without need for clarification. “I understand it is private, but he is a highly suspicious man, which in his defence, is primarily why he is in my employ.”

Lilla was frozen, unable to reply.

Gortash paid the silence no mind; in fact he seemed to enjoy the alarmed quiet as her wide eyes locked onto him, waiting for him to react to the contents. He stood up from his chair, and placed the tin on the edge of the breakfast table between them.

“If you would be so kind,” he said quietly, dangerously; gesturing to her to sit up and step over to him. Lilla obeyed, trembling, mind racing. She had no idea how she would explain the contents, so she simply didn’t, letting Gortash lead the uncomfortable conversation. “Bend over the table,” he said calmly, “elbows on either side of this box. Palms down.”

Lilla looked up at him, wrought with confusion, wondering if it were some type of jest. His expression confirmed he was in fact serious.

“You would do well not to have me ask twice,” he warned her firmly. She tentatively leaned over, and did as she was ordered. Elbows framing the box, palms flat down.

“Good,” he muttered. Such a small word that gave Lilla a sliver of comfort.

“Now,” he said, leaning down slightly, so he could talk quietly next to her, “Therette is convinced you’re some sort of spy…which you and I both know is true - I hired you for such services.” He gingerly lifted the lid of the tin. “The question is,” his tone was still calm and deliberate, “Where do your allegiances lie?”

Gortash gently pulled the locket from the box, and laid it out on the surface of the table. Then he picked up the portrait of the young tiefling man. “These are clearly private keepsakes, and are of little matter to me,” he placed the portrait next to the locket. “However,” he said with some intrigue, plucked and unfolded the Baldur’s Mouth article from the tin, laying it flat on the table top. “Some of these other items pique my curiosity, as you can imagine.”

Lilla was quivering, unsure how to respond, but knew she couldn’t be silent forever. She was desperately afraid he had the wrong idea. “My Lord…” her voice a shaky whisper, “I simply enjoyed the article, I swear.”

“Enough to store with your closest keepsakes, I see!” he quipped, leaning down further so she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, “Consider me flattered,” he teased. Lilla’s body tingled with a mixture of fear and arousal.

“Now this…” Gortash pulled out another fold of paper, and pushed the box out of the way to make room before unfolding the parchment and placing it directly under Lilla, between her hands. She went cold as ice as she stared down at it; the illustrated schematic she had rescued from the waste paper bin in Gortash’s study.

“Th..that…” I’m so sorry, My Lord! I shouldn’t have taken that. I liked it…the drawing. I don’t know what it is…I just…you drew it, and I like to look at it!” Tears began to well in her eyes as she lost her composure. She felt so sheepish, but nothing compared to the fear of being terminated by Lord Gortash in disgrace.

“You know,” he leaned in so close she could feel his breath caress her hair, “I think I actually believe you,” he whispered. “In fact, I’ll even let you keep them.” He shot back upright, manoeuvring himself behind her, “but as you have elected to stay with me, regardless of the very clear signs against your good judgement, I cannot let this petty thievery go unpunished.”

Lilla looked behind her at Gortash, noticing a glint of something behind his eye. He was…happy? He began to slowly hike up Lilla’s dress. She inhaled sharply. Exhilaration mixed with confusion washed over her. What is happening?

“Do you recall what you told me last night?” he asked, revealing her undergarments and naked legs, gently scraping clawed fingers up her thigh, making Lilla moan. “Go on,” he encouraged her to answer.

“That…I belong to you?”

SLAP.

To her shock, Gortash had slapped her ass so hard, she lurched forward, causing the breakfast dishes to rattle vigorously. Lilla gasped as shock rippled through her body; the spot where his hand landed seared her skin. A remarkable sensation.

“Again,” he commanded, allowing Lilla a moment to process before she obeyed.

“I belong to you..” Another slap, over the same spot as before. Lilla groaned, tears welling once again in her eyes. Why won’t she leave? Run away? She wasn’t sure she could admit it out loud…she loved this.

“Again,” Gortash ordered.

“I belong to you!” SLAP. The other side of her ass received the sharp snap of his palm, stinging deliciously.

“I belong to you!” she cried, not even waiting for another order. SLAP. SLAP. “Hng!” Lilla shuddered at the heat her skin was beginning to give off.

“My Lord, I belong to you, I belong to you, please! UGH!” Slap. Slap. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP SLAP SLAP.

Gortash’s strikes became more erratic as she repeated her charge and she could hear him breathing heavy but steady as he assaulted her ass cheeks and thighs with unhinged passion, until he finally grabbed her from under the neck and lifted her so her back was against him.

They panted in unison. Lilla lay her head onto Gortash’s chest, leaning into him for support, as her legs were jelly. He held her up with a gilded claw around the throat, while his other hand made its way to the hot moisture pooled between her legs, gingerly nudging the thin wet fabric with a finger. Lilla groaned, gasping gently.

“Now what kind of woman are you, Miss Lilla? That a punishment like that would render you so soaking wet?”

“Whatever you need me to be, My Lord,” Lilla whispered, blissfully exhausted.

This made Gortash laugh, “That is an excellent answer, pet,” he muttered in her ear, kissing her neck, “Your transgression against me has been forgiven... Now tell me… why did this make you wet?”

Lilla groaned as he stroked her with feather light touches, she didn’t even realise she was pushing her hips into him, grinding until she felt the distinct hardness of his erection. “Please don’t make me say, My Lord…”

Gortash chuckled again, gripping her throat tighter to him, and circling his index finger around her entrance, “Oh that’s right,” he whispered smugly, “You’re a good girl…I almost forgot, given the way you so shamelessly enjoyed being spanked.”

He lay another kiss on her neck, causing Lilla to shudder. His hand hooked around her smallclothes and pulled them down, causing Lilla to gasp as his bare fingers met her c*nt, gingerly sliding across her slickness. Gortash smirked into her neck, dipping his fingers around her folds, gathering her moisture from the source, then bringing them up to her lips.

“Go on,” he encouraged her, “Taste yourself.” He pushed his slick fingers into her mouth, letting out a satisfied moan as he felt her lips close around his middle and index fingers. She eagerly sucked, using her velvet tongue to explore the shape of his digits, and the taste of her wetness. Gortash pressed himself against her more firmly, delighted to feel her arch her back into him, pushing herself further against his erection.

“You feel that?” he whispered, circling his fingers over her wet tongue while she moaned an eager confirmation. Lilla writhed against his bulge, her mind a buttery mess of desire.

“Now,” he removed his fingers from her mouth, and pulled up her smallclothes before letting down her skirts, “we really have a lot of work to catch up on.”

He pulled away from Lilla, leaving her flushed and heaving. The coldness of the room quickly enveloped her as Gortash moved away, his body heat dissipating from around her.

“Yes…My Lord..” she whispered in a daze.

“You’ve done well today, Lilla,” he said while picking up his coffee and finishing it, “Once you’re done eating, schedule my appointments for the week, then I need you to run some errands for me,” He waved to a parchment on the table consisting of a long list of tasks while adjusting his shirt.

Lilla’s composure came seeping back as she sobered up; “As you wish, My Lord…”

As Gortasn began towards the exit, he stopped. “Oh, and Lilla,” he said with enigmatic playfulness, “you are forbidden from touching or pleasuring yourself in any way until I say otherwise.”

With that, he left her to her breakfast, which stayed untouched for some time while Lilla repeated the past moments in her mind. She squeezed her slick thighs together in hopes to relieve the sensation Gortash had left her with; the searing welts on her rump and thighs were nothing compared to the rather maddening ache that left her wet and throbbing.

Chapter 10: CHAPTER TEN

Chapter Text

The next tenday consisted of very little work for Lilla, as she completed Lord Gortash’s assignments within the first two days.

Unsure if he intended for her errands to be so easily executed, she approached him in his study one morning to ask if he would like to give her more to do. She otherwise wouldn’t have interrupted him in this manner, except he had not arrived for breakfast since that eventful brunch; much too long ago now for Lilla’s liking.

When she cautiously entered the study, Lilla saw Gortash pacing in front of the ornate fireplace, speaking animatedly. Stepping further into the room, she noticed a tiefling woman stretched out on the deep emerald sofa, tail twitching lazily like a house cat. She recognized the woman as the very same whom she met while leaving the manor, longer than a tenday ago. Both Gortash and the tiefling looked up at Lilla as she approached them timidly.

“My Lady?” she blurted out towards the woman, forgetting for a moment why she even came to the study.

The tiefling woman perked up at Lilla’s address. She was wearing some exotic looking light leather armour, which tightly hugged her form, thanks to various belts and straps.

“Ah, my dear!” the woman chirped enthusiastically, “how lovely it is to see your sweet face again.”

A glint of displeasure flickered in Gortash’s expression, though his voice revealed only friendly intrigue, “You two have met?”

“Yes, My Lord!” Lilla answered, “Here at the manor, the day of Lord Honourbough’s soiree.”

Gortash gave the tiefling lady a queer look, clearly unimpressed, “You never mentioned you two had spoken.”

The tiefling woman’s laugh was songlike and playful, “My dear lordling, must I report every conversation I have directly to you?”

“At least those you have with my staff, yes,” Gortash said with finality before turning to Lilla. “Is there a reason you are here, Lilla?”

His coldness made her throat dry, but she cleared it and answered dutifully, “Yes, My Lord, I’ve completed your list of errands…I was wondering if you required more of me, as at the moment I’m idle…”

A subtle softness overtook Gortash’s dark gaze, quickly washed away to make way for his signature, unreadable expression. “Very good, Lilla, as always. I have no more tasks for you until further notice. Why not pursue some alchemy with the gear I lent you?”

The thought inspired Lilla; her face must have lit up, because Gortash failed to hide the whisper of a grin at her enthusiasm. Short-lived, however, he turned away from her flippantly. “You’re dismissed until I call on you again, Lilla, thank you,”

Unable to mask her sudden disappointment, Lilla nonetheless nodded respectfully and made her way to the door.

“Aren’t you going to at least introduce us, Enver?” the tiefling woman murmured playfully, stopping Lilla in her tracks. She spun around, embarrassed that she hadn’t introduced herself to the woman already.

Gortash shot the tiefling a stern look, which seemed to please her further. “It would be ever so rude not to, lordling ,” she noted, twitching her tail mischievously.

The muscles in his jaw tightened, “Very well,” Gortash begrudgingly capitulated, “Lilla, this is a colleague of mine, Destri.”

“ Lady, Destri,” the tiefling corrected him with a smirk.

“You are no Lady, and you know this,” Gortash snapped back at her.

“But Lilla here calls me Lady; it’s such an endearing pet name, don’t you think?” Destri gave Lilla a wry wink.

Blushing, Lilla gave a small curtsy, “A pleasure to formally meet you, My Lady.”

Gortash pushed his dark mess of his hair back with an exasperated hand, while Destri, clapped in excitement, “You see, My Lord ? Nothing wrong with some pomp and circ*mstance now and again. Even for nasty ol’ me .”

He ignored her, “Thank you again, Lilla, that will be all.”

She found his desperation to dismiss her slightly hurtful, but nodded politely and left the room as directed.

---

Lilla did her best in the coming days to steel her resolve against the roiling urge to touch herself as she replayed the memory of Lord Gortash’s fateful morning with her. The way he handled her, punished her, touched her…her abstinence was maddening.

She maintained consistent moisture between her legs day and night, and bath time was especially difficult, as the act of cleaning herself had to be executed with full diligence.

Her perpetual wetness secreted the ambrosial scent of pure desire and fertility, which was intoxicating even to her. She had stopped being self-conscious about it after the first few days, wondering if Lord Gortash was able to sense it, and hoping it was as tortuous to him as it was to her.

In an attempt to distract herself, Lilla retreated to her room to immerse herself in her new alchemy guide. The welcome diversion proved sufficient, and Lilla was happy to learn she picked it up quickly.

She easily concocted basic healing potions and even a weak Barkskin elixir. Gortash had provided her a robust inventory of ingredients; spanning from cheap and easy-to-acquire salts and solutions, to some more exotic and obviously very expensive suspensions, vitriol and sublimates.

Eventually Lilla’s loins began to heat up again, and she struggled to focus on the current brew bubbling away in front of her. She wiggled in her seat, feeling the familiar sensation of wetness between her thighs as they glided together. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep her attention on the cauldron, but in a twist of hilarious irony, had not noticed she threw in a pinch of sublimate from Tongue of Madness, rather than Belladonna to her attempt at an elixir of Peerless Focus.

She had hoped the Focus elixir would help her concentrate on her tasks, evading the sensations from her aching sex and so in her desperation, elected to tip a ladle full of the brew down her throat.

Despite it not being the golden yellow colour the elixir was supposed to be, Lilla presumed the concoction was simply not yet cool enough to take on its sunny characteristic; but the effect should be just the same. The elixir was a ripe berry red, and the taste could have easily been mistaken for hot mulled wine, or warm honeyed mead.

Lilla felt a peculiar sensation after only a few moments, but it wasn’t at all what she expected. It began with a warmth budding between her legs; and while at first she assumed it was just an ongoing effect of her seemingly perpetual abstinence, another swell of pleasure pulsed from her sex.

Straightening up and moaning slightly, she looked around in confusion, rapidly retracing the steps of the intended recipe, then cross-referencing it with the ingredients sitting on the lab table in front of her.

Panic struck Lilla as she picked up the vial of shimmering pink sublimate…Tongue of Madness. “Gods…” she whispered, “What have I done?”

She shot up to her feet, nearly running into the hall to find Therette for help…but calmed herself. There was nothing intrinsically dangerous about this mystery potion; and there was not nearly enough Tongue of Madness to cause any lasting damage to her mind... If anything, the sensation was pleasant, and she knew she simply would need to power through the effects with rest and relaxation. There was no way she intended on embarrassing herself this badly in front of Lord Gortash…

Lilla moved to her bed, sitting down and awaiting the further effects of the elixir, which came all too quickly. The ache of desire welled within her, and before long it was taking all her willpower to prevent her hands from travelling to her swollen, dripping entrance.

Lord Gortash had specifically ordered her to abstain…though it may have just been the most difficult thing she had ever done. Her body writhed, and Lilla clutched the bedsheets; it felt as if the only cure to alleviate the lurching ache was to be f*cked relentlessly. Clenching her thighs together in hopes the friction would mitigate her maddening desire for co*ck, she realised there would be no reprieve until the effects wore off …it could be hours , she feared.

It was pure, agonizing torture, not being f*cked. Lilla’s mind raced, teasing her with memories:

Lord Gortash clenching his fist around Deacon’s neck, dashing him to the wall.

His hand around her neck, his obsidian eyes menacing. Gods.

Gortash sitting in front of the hearth, torso bloodied, glistening in the flamelight as his body tightened from the pain of suturing himself.

Bending Lilla over the breakfast table as he slapped her ass and thighs relentlessly…

“ GODS !” she shrieked into a pillow as another lurch of intense desire bubbled up from deep within her womb, blossoming at the edges of her soaked entrance.

“Sweet gods of all things merciful,” she pleaded to them all, wriggling on her back, “I’ve never asked for much…but please f*ck me!” A spiteful scoff burst from her; she was so sex-maddened, she was indiscriminately begging the literal gods themselves to f*ck her.

She realised she would do anything - to anyone, as long as it brought her an end to the agony. Her c*nt throbbed. Her nipples screamed for the mercy of someone’s lips, tongue, teeth. Lilla could have easily sold her soul in an instant if a devil appeared before her to offer respite. He could snap his fingers and the torment would end…but then again he could just f*ck her…

She failed to stifle a lustful groan, hoping someone was listening to her; it made no matter whether it were from outside the door, the heavens or the hells.

She imagined Lord Gortash listening outside her room, waiting to burst in to claim her. Hells, even Therette would do, he must have a dusty old co*ck that needs a wet hole…Gods. Heavens. Hells…she would even f*ck him. Anyone. Please, help!

The intensity of the madness elixir built to a crescendo much like an org*sm, though the lack of such release only left Lilla slumped in a shivering, disappointed lump on her bed; a mixture of sweat and lustful moisture soaked through to the mattress.

“Hells..” she whispered, exhausted, panting, and glistening with sweat. It was over. Though the dull ache of desire continued throbbed lazily between her legs as it had for the last tenday.

Chapter 11: CHAPTER ELEVEN

Chapter Text

The next few days may have been more torture to Lilla than contending with the effects of the botched elixir.

Gortash seemed wholly too busy or uninterested to speak with her, and expected her to piddle around the manor, entertaining herself. Perhaps to the usual employee, being paid to wander listlessly and manage their own time would be akin to a dream job, but to Lilla, all she craved was her Lord’s instruction.

After what felt like an eternity, one beautiful spring morning Lord Gortash summoned her to breakfast. As excited as she was, Lilla refused to reward his neglect with her coyness. She had been so stir crazy and devoid of attention, that a cheeky little game of flippant pettiness would suit her frustrations well.

Lilla arrived at the breakfast nook bright and early looking put together, prim and proper with naught a hair out of place.

“You summoned me, My Lord?” she asked pertly, sitting down and picking up a plump strawberry, putting it to her lips.

“Indeed,” Gortash replied, not looking up from the morning Gazette, “I’d like you to join me for a meeting this afternoon with Lady Vammas; a member of a prominent merchant family.”

“I’m aware of Lady Vammas, My Lord, what do you wish of me?”

To Lilla’s satisfaction, a flicker of subtle annoyance manifested as a vertical line between Gortash’s eyebrows. Her demeanour was professional, polite as always…but that cute timidness he so very relished was replaced with a nonchalant confidence.

He had greatly enjoyed watching her wandering around the manor looking pretty, silently and furtively begging for his attention. Perhaps it was only fair she attempted to play her own game before he unravelled her again.

“The usual,” Gortash replied, taking a sip of black coffee, “do your homework, read up on her dossier, then meet us in my study at one thirty.”

“As you say, My Lord,” Lilla said before resting her lips around the strawberry and taking a bite. As she chewed politely, she pretended not to notice Gortash was now looking at her with those eyes of polished black stone.

“Lilla,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, licking the berry juice off her lips, “Wear that red dress,” he said before fluttering the broadsheet, returning to his reading.

“Yes, My Lord,” she responded dutifully before standing and leaving the room so he couldn’t see her smirk.

---

Lilla studied the dossier with expert focus. It had been so long since Gortash had given her a task; even simple reading felt like paying homage to him. She intended on executing anything he asked of her with full dedication, as a priestess would for her god.

As she read through the profile, Lilla recalled Gortash had previously expressed his ongoing frustrations with Lady Vammas. He complained they had discussed a preliminary agreement revolving around his enterprise having full and free access through the Port of Chult, but found every meeting since to be a significant waste of time.

Apparently she would use his company to drink his wine and flirt shamelessly only to lead him ever on with the prospect Chult dangling above his head.

He alluded to wishing there were some way to coerce her into signing a contract, as her word clearly meant nothing. Whenever Gortash would attempt to push the subject of their business agreement, Vammas would parody being offended; accusing him of never wanting to spend time with her outside of business-speak.

It was common knowledge that Lady Vammas conducted most of the family business while Lord Vammas provided old money and influence from a safe distance. All the while he would travel the coasts, indulging his vices; which often included other women.

This fact may have explained Lady Vammas’ penchant for leading Gortash on, as he was one of the Gate’s highest eligible bachelors, but her unwillingness to provide him any wins on the business front proved endlessly frustrating for him.

Regardless, he kept at it, despite his deep distaste for the woman.

---

As requested, Lilla arrived at Gortash’s study wearing her prim crimson dress; tiny abalone shell buttons lining all the way from her slim waist to high on her neck.

Gortash was already sitting at his wealthy oak desk, thumbing through a folder which Lilla presumed had the Chult contracts awaiting to be signed on the chance Lady Vammas actually followed through on her word this time.

A chair for Lilla was set at the side of the desk, while the one clearly awaiting Vammas’s attendance was across from him. Gortash looked up from the folder to Lilla, and gestured to her seat before returning to his documents. She followed his silent instruction, and sat, pulling the notebook which had been awaiting her closer, and preparing her quill by letting it rest in the ink pot.

“Lady Vammas,” Gortash feigned delight, “Please, come in. As usual, I have prepared your favourite wine, if you’d care to have a glass with me.”

She released an overly loud titter, “Oh my sweet Gortash, you know me so well. Pour up then, let us catch up!” She regarded Lilla with a polite nod, who returned it before they all sat down at the desk.

“Always so formal,” Lady Vammas teased Gortash about the setting, who uncorked the clearly expensive wine, pouring two goblets and handing one to Vammas.

“Since when did enjoying a bottle or two of vintage in the early afternoon become formal?” Gortash quipped back. Lilla almost forgot his penchant for subtly insulting his guests. Vammas always drank more than one of his bottles before dinner, so she pursed her lips to avoid smirking at Gortash’s slight.

“Oh you,” Vammas winked behind a rather deep drink from the goblet, “Yes, this is the right stuff. Have you ever considered sending a crate over to Chult as an act of goodwill?”

Lilla could almost feel the exasperation prickle in the air around Gortash, though he only chuckled at Lady Vamma’s request. “You know, I have sincerely been considering it,” Gortash said, “But goodwill is so often best paired with a successful business agreement, don’t you think?”

“Oh pish,” Lady Vammas swatted his comment away, “Why is it you only ever want to see me to talk business? Why don’t I come back for dinner tonight? We can continue talking then. All this formality doesn’t wet my appetite for business…besides…I’m starting to think you only want to use me for my port?”

Lilla accidentally shot upright and stopped scribbling; taken aback by Vammas’ comment.

Gortash hid his annoyance by giving his stubbled jaw a scratch with his golden claw. “My dear Lady Vammas,” he smiled, struggling to keep his tone from souring “your beautiful port is what you are best known for!”

Lilla held her breath as a heavy silence fell in the room. She looked from Gortash to Vammas, who had a stunned look in her eyes while her goblet was lifted to her mouth. A moment later, Lady Vammas had begun laughing shrilly, immediately easing the tension. Gortash couldn’t hide his triumphant smirk.

“Gorty, you are so spicy !” Lady Vammas purred, “Very well, tell me a bit more about what you’re looking for when it comes to my port .”

The next hour consisted of Gortash clarifying his wishes in regards to Chult, and offered many benefits to Lady Vammas’s mercantile endeavours as well. The deal he proposed was incredibly generous, and Lilla could see no reason why Lady Vammas would continue to postpone her official agreement…though she did admit there was some intrigue in playing with fire, so to speak.

Gortash was a very specific man, with specific tastes. As generous as he was, he preferred to have control in every situation; even if everyone else didn’t even know it.

An idea overcame Lilla so mischievous she bit back a giggle as Gortash and Vammas were engaged in discussion. She took a quick moment to silently summon her Mage Hand under the table; controlling it was as easy as breathing to her. As she continued to transcribe the conversation between the other two members, she willed the hand to brush past Lord Gortash’s knee ever so gently.

He was intently engaged in listening to Lady Vammas, and didn’t react enough for her liking, so Lilla had the hand float dangerously close to his thigh, lowering it until it just touched the fabric of his trousers.

Gortash definitely noticed this time, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but said nothing, and kept his chin resting between his gilded thumb and forefinger in order to avoid attention. He looked to Lady Vammas to see if she was the source of the caress, but when he realised it wasn’t, he flicked his eyes to Lilla.

She was staring at him with her dark brown eyes, and gave a sultry grin before squeezing the hand more firmly, letting it trail higher up Gortash’s thigh. He inhaled at the touch, clearly unsure how to proceed without alerting Lady Vammas, who was still prattling away, oblivious to Gortash’s clear discomfort.

Lilla urged the hand up higher still, until she could sense his half-erect co*ck pushing against his trousers. She bit her bottom lip, stroking the Mage Hand up…then down…

Gorash sat up straight, reached under the table covertly, and crushed the magical hand with his gauntlet. The wispy particles of magic returned to their rightful place in the Weave, and Lilla gave a dissatisfied sigh as she continued to take notes diligently, ignoring Gortash’s severe glare.

“Is everything all right, Gorty?” Lady Vammas asked, finally taking note of her host's unease.

Regaining his composure, Gortash granted her a friendly smile, “You know what, you are right. Why don’t you come back for dinner tonight? All this business speak is so dry, so let us remedy that, hm?”

Both Lilla and Lady Vammas gawked stupidly at Gortash.

“What a marvellous idea!” Vammas replied with a clap, “You finally see the light.”

“Indeed,” Gortash said, adjusting in his chair.

An idea overtook Lady Vammas as if a bibberbang went off in her skull “Oh Hells! Why don’t I take your little assistant shopping with me?”

“I’m his secretary,” Lilla corrected her flatly.

Vammas laughed, “What do you say, Miss Lilla? My treat? Let’s wear something tonight that will knock those ridiculous boots right off our Lord Gortash!”

Gortash scratched his neck in pure agitation, silently begging his Lord to relieve him of this torment.

“Actually, that is a fantastic idea, My Lady,” Gortash drawled, sitting back in his chair, regarding Lilla’s wide-eyed expression with self-contentment. “Poor Lilla here has been holed up in this manor for over a tenday now with only myself and old Therette for company. She could use some time outdoors with some real company!”

“But My Lord,” Lilla protested, “I have a lot of work to catch up on…”

Gortash scoffed, “Nonesense, Lilla, you were just begging me the other day for more assignments. Go on, do not insult Lady Vammas and her gracious invitation. I will see you two tonight for dinner!”

Vammas squealed with delight, “It’s settled then! Come, Lilla, I can’t wait to see what looks best on you…”

Lilla’s ears seared red hot, her jaw clenched.

Lord Gortash chuckled. “Neither can I,” he teased, smirking. “Therette will collect your things downstairs, My Lady,” Gortash told Vammas, “I just need a few words with my secretary before I send her with you.”

“Of course!” Lady Vammas chirped, smiling back at them before leaving to the hall and heading downstairs.

Gortash waited until he was sure she could hear Lady Vammas’s muffled voice grating at Therette at the far end of the manor, downstairs. He then stood up, and lunged at Lilla, hoisting her up out of her seat by the neck, and pushing her back against the desk.

“Did you enjoy that little prank?” he spat, an inch away from her face.

Lilla was already nearly in bliss. His claw clutched her throat; his rage emanated into her.

“What made you think that was a good idea, hmm?” Gortash asked through a clenched jaw, “You knew I’ve been working towards this deal for nearly a year,” he jostled her roughly as he said the last word.

“My Lord…” Lilla gasped, straining to breathe, “Perhaps…you could punish me…”

Gortash’s outrage was betrayed by a subtle excitement. “Is this what that was about?” he hissed, “You’d jeopardise my deal to play your little game with me?”

With his free hand, he roughly hiked up her skirts and lifted her ass onto his desk, kicking her legs apart, then cupped her mound with his hand. He exhaled eagerly once he felt her wetness through her smallclothes.

“Gods, you seemed so proper and innocent at first. I would have never in all the Hell's guessed you were such a shameless slu*t. ” Gortash took her lips roughly with his own, one hand circling her soaked underwear, while the other gripped her throat.

“Have you been touching yourself?” he whispered, moving his lips to her neck, sucking the skin softly; the roughness of his stubble caused her to gasp.

“Nnnng,” Lilla groaned, “No, My Lord! You ordered me not to…”

“Good girl …” He whispered into her ear, enjoying watching her unravel completely. “Now,” he murmured, letting go of her neck and stepping back to take her in. “Now go on with that wretched woman. See you at dinner,” he stopped and pointed a clawed finger at her, “And you better not cost me that deal.”

He left the room, leaving Lilla to pick the pieces of herself up off the desk before she joined Lady Vammas downstairs.

Chapter 12: CHAPTER TWELVE

Chapter Text

Lilla endured several hours of Lady Vammas’s incessant chatter and petty gossip as they perused the shops of the Upper City. If the gossip was anything of note, Lilla could perhaps have used it in a dossier; but all Vammas seemed concerned with was fashion, ballroom themes, and bachelors.

On several occasions, Vammas attempted to fish for information about Lord Gortash from Lilla: what he liked to do for fun, where he enjoyed vacationing, what he liked in a woman…

Unwilling (and unable) to answer any personal questions about Lord Gortash, Lilla only began guessing when Vammas stopped taking “I don’t know,” for an answer.

The pair returned to Gortash’s manor with an absurd amount of new ensembles - none of which Lilla had any intention of wearing… That is until Lady Vammas called out to her on her way to the guest powder room; “Lilla, wear that cute dress with the plunging neckline! Tonight we glitter like emeralds!”

Vammas clearly took to heart Lilla's flippant guess at Gortash's favourite colour.

Lilla sighed, hauling the massive bags of clothing up the stairs to her bedroom. I had an emerald dress once, she thought, but it was ruined with Lord Gortash’s blood. She enjoyed repeating the memory as she made her way to her bedroom to get ready for dinner.

The dress Lady Vammas had picked out for Lilla was impossibly tight, and highlighted her cleavage unlike anything she had ever worn. Her usual modest cut was now replaced with something voluptuous, sexy, and completely out of character.

Lilla suspected Lady Vammas intentionally picked out something uncouth for her, but it could just have easily been her tacky taste in fashion. Nevertheless, Lilla had to admit she looked quite striking in it...It was certainly much more revealing than she was comfortable with, but perhaps it would be worth it just to see if Lord Gortash took notice.

To accommodate her sensual evening attire, Lilla for once released her long, bust-length hair down from her usual crown braid. Her blonde tresses had a sultry waviness to them after being folded up in a plait for so long. “I think this will actually do…” she whispered, spinning around in front of the full length mirror, admiring her form.

As she made for the door to meet Gortash and Lady Vammas in the parlour for dinner, she stopped in front of her makeshift alchemy station. The remainder of her botched “focus” elixir swirled expectantly from a crystal vial on the desk. Biting her lip mischievously, she snatched up the tiny vial, and shuffled her way downstairs.

Lady Vammas was chatting loudly to Gortash about viridian silkworms from Neverwinter. Gortash feigned interest until Lilla walked into the room. He fixated on her, and her revealing dress. This will do indeed… she thought, regarding Goratsh’s disarmed expression.

“Oh, Gorty, look, look here,” Lady Vammas pulled Lilla over by the arm, presenting her to Lord Gortash, “Isn’t this dear? What do you think?”

His stare surveyed Lilla’s body, taking in her curves, lingering on her breasts… “You have indeed put those Neverwinter silkworms to good use.”

Lady Vammas laughed shrilly in response. and Lilla wondered if it irked Vammas that Lord Gortash struggled to keep his eyes off her.

“Shall I pour us some wine before we sup?” Gortash asked, heading towards the spirits cabinet, stopping when Lilla stepped to it first.

“Allow me, My Lady, My Lord…”

She prepared three goblets with Vammas’s favourite wine… and with a slight of hand, tipped the remainder of the elixir into one of them before handing it to Lady Vammas. Another went to Gortash, who deliberately grazed her wrist with a gilded finger as she retreated, giving her goosebumps.

“This is so much more inviting, isn’t it?” Lady Vammas said, drinking deeply. “Another glass, and my quill hand will be twitching .”

“Why stop just there?” Lilla muttered, evading Gortash’s heated glare.

“I’m happy to hear it!” Gortash said, clearing his throat gesturing for the two women to sit for their meal. The spread was no feast by any regard, but with such little notice, Therette managed to conjure up some beautiful roast beast, which paired nicely with the wine.

“Tell me, My Lord,” Lady Vammas began, cutting into her roast politely, “what is it you do for fun around here? There must be something exciting in all of Baldur’s Gate that you fancy.”

Gortash took a sip of wine, then sat back in his chair with his gilded hand resting patiently on the table, “I suppose I enjoy making things of use.”

Lady Vammas rolled her eyes as she took another drink, “That’s it then?” she licked her lips, “You make things? That sounds like work, not fun!” An odd bubbling rose in her stomach, and she adjusted in her seat as a strange, warm sensation pooled between her legs.

“It’s the closest to fun I allow myself to have,” Gortash replied, contemplating a way to divert the discussion back to business.

“I created a hand-held cannon that can shoot nets... They’d be particularly effective against the deadly beasts infesting the jungles of Chult. I’ve created some other devices that may also be of use there, if you’d like to initiate an export deal with me…”

“Oh tut tut,” Lady Vammas pouted at him, “Here we go again, straight to business with you, we haven’t even started eat-” another wave of desire washed over her, thanks to the dollop of elixir Lilla put into her wine. She touched her chest politely, as if it would somehow help stifle the sensations bubbling up from her core.

“What can I say,” Gortash replied, eyeing Vammas curiously, “talking business at dinner gets me in a generous mood…My Lady, are you quite alright?” Gortash asked Lady Vammas, who was clearly not even paying attention to his words...She was preoccupied with gently caressing her chest, gazing at him drunkenly.

“Why don’t we ever…f*ck?” Lady Vammas asked him dreamily. She had begun to breathe heavily, biting her lip.

Gortash was very clearly caught off guard. He leaned in to take a better look at her, “My Lady…how many drinks have you had today?” he asked, slightly bemused.

“How many do you want me to have?” she muttered, emitting a snort of laughter. “But really…I- I think I need you to f*ck me…” She said it factually, as if she had a small cut, and needed a bandage.

She lurched upward, arching her back in her seat as another wave of maddening desire worked its way into her bloodstream. “Oh Gods!” Lady Vammas groaned, “I need you to f*ck me, Gortash…it’s…” her voice trailed off as she began to caress her nipples over the fabric of her silken dress.

Gortash pulled his gaze from Lady Vammas to Lilla, who was wide-eyed, overcome with mischievous glee… She had done something … He resisted giving into his rage, and elected to see if he could capitalise on whatever Lilla had done to poor Vammas.

He tried not to think of the punishment he would have to enact on Lilla if she truly had sabotaged his deal; he was sure neither of them would enjoy it.

“Is that so, My Lady?” And why do you say that?” Gortash stood up, moving over to stand over Vammas. Her head lolled back seductively as she looked up at him, breasts heaving against her jewelled corset.

“I just…I just need it, please…”

Before Gortash could respond, Lilla interjected. “Perhaps Lord Gortash would feel much more generous if you were to sign his contract!” She plucked the parchment from underneath her chair, then slid it across the table in front of Lady Vammas, who was shamelessly nuzzling into Gortash’s thigh.

Gortash stared at her with mixed emotion… what a villainous little prankster she is …

“Indeed,” he said, placing a clawed hand on Lady Vammas’s head, “If you sign right now, we’ll forego dinner, and I’ll f*ck you right here and now on the spot.”

This was what Lilla was waiting for; her plan to help Lord Gortash seal his deal was going swimmingly, and he knew she was the one who instigated it. Once he gets her signature, he can send Vammas away, he’ll have to reward -or punish me…

“Anything!” Lady Vammas sobbed, “I’ll sign right now, then please….please give me your co*ck or I’ll… I’ll just die !” Lilla felt a sliver of remorse for the lady; she knew how maddening the elixir was, and didn’t envy her agony.

Gortash placed the fingertips of his free hand on the contract and slid it even closer to Lady Vammas, and held out a prepared quill for her. Vammas took it with shameless desperation, and signed her name with a few hurried swirls before pushing the parchment away.

Lilla collected it with a prideful smirk, and braced herself excitedly for Gortash to dismiss Lady Vammas. Then he would storm over to her with searing passion. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Vammas’s hair, pulling her head back.

“Yes! Please…please!” Lady Vammas pleaded, awaiting her reward.

“Lilla,” Gortash said coolly without looking away from Vammas, “elbows on the table. Palms down.” Lilla inhaled with anticipation, following his instruction obediently. She had won!

Instead of guiding Lady Vammas out of the room as expected, Gortash pushed a thumb into her gaping mouth, in which she immediately closed her lips around him and moaned graciously.

“You’re such a good girl for signing that contract…” Gortash murmured. He reached down and pulled the neckline of her dress down, causing two large breasts to unceremoniously spill out. He held her head back further, pushing her face into his crotch, “See how hard you made me?”

“My Lord…” Lilla squeaked, “I-”

“Hold your tongue, Lilla,” Gortash hissed, “I’ll not hear another word from you tonight. Eat your dinner, or watch; I care not which.”

Lilla straightened up in her chair and looked on, mortified.

Gortash pulled his thumb from Lady Vammas’ sucking mouth and yanked her out of her seat, bending her over the table.

“Yes!” she sobbed, “Yes please! Your co*ck!” She was writhing, hips already bucking.

“Hells, you’re such an unfathomable slu*t, Vammas,” Gortash said, pushing her head flat to the table as she ground her ass against his erection.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go…He is punishing me. He had won…

Lilla dared not to protest further; she could only look on while Gortash pulled his hard co*ck from his trousers, lifted Vammas’ skirts, and tore open her panties with his golden claw. Lilla gasped in agonising envy as Gortash plunged his co*ck into Lady Vammas’s c*nt, forcing her to howl in pain and pleasure.

“I am a slu*t!” Lady Vammas cried, her voice hitching every time he thrust into her violently, “Thank you, thank you!”

With a handful of her hair, he lifted her head from the table and tilted it to face Lilla in the seat across from them.

“It seems Lilla here had played a little prank on us this evening. Why don’t you tell her what she’s missing out on?” Gortash ordered Vammas while his dark eyes were fixated on Lilla’s as he rutted.

“Lilla!” Lady Vammas wailed, “Gods, dear Lilla, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt! Lilla…his co*ck is everything .”

Lilla groaned in frustration, her hands instinctively gravitated towards the wetness between her legs.

“Don’t you dare move your hands from the table,” warned Gortash; droplets of sweat forming on his neck and the wedge of his exposed chest. She snapped her hands back into place, holding back a disgruntled sob.

“Lady Vammas,” Gortash breathed, increasing the pace of his thrusts; their bodies slapped together while Vammas made grotesque, guttural groans with each push. “Tell Lilla here, she’s been naughty, and unlike you, unfortunately does not deserve my co*ck.”

Lady Vammas moaned loudly, unable and unwilling to control her ecstasy, “Oh Lilla, I’m sorry! You must have f*cked up so badly!”

Gortash laughed, “You paraphrased, but I think she grasps the point, thank you.”

He began slamming into her violently to accommodate her building org*sm, indicated by ugly sobs of euphoria. Lady Vammas mewled, then cried out loudly as Gortash’s thrusts brought her to a complete, and deeply unsettling org*sm. The moment it was clear she was finished, Gortash pulled her from the table, and dropped her to her knees, where he shoved his co*ck into her mouth. She took it eagerly, moaning in agreement at the new change.

Keeping his eyes on Lilla, Gortash pumped in and out of Lady Vammas’ mouth roughly, causing her to gag jarringly as he f*cked her throat. As he fixated on Lilla’s moist, parted lips, he climaxed with a short grunt, and unloaded his seed into lady Vammas’ mouth, forcing her to swallow quickly, lest she suffocate on the hot fluid gushing down her throat. He then pulled his co*ck from her lips and let go of her head in annoyance.

“You’re dismissed, Lilla, thank you.” he panted, taking a few steps back while tucking himself back into his trousers.

Lilla was so mortified, said nothing while standing up slowly, trudging to the door in shock.

“Oh, and Lilla,” Gortash called, tucking his shirt in, “you continue to be forbidden from touching yourself."

She scurried back to her room, shut the door, leaning against it; panting and clammy with desire.

Perhaps she should have cried, but she didn’t feel sadness…or even betrayal. Gortash simply outplayed her bratty little game, and she was eft with nothing but a cold bed, while her soaking c*nt ached for him.

He had won.

Chapter 13: CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Chapter Text

The events of the night played out in Lilla’s mind over and over again as she toiled over her alchemy table in futile hope to distract herself.

The way Lord Gortash roughly handled Lady Vammas was overwhelming to her; envy roiled in her gut like the boiling cauldron before her…though she knew very well she brought this upon herself.

Many emotions crossed her as she brewed a basic batch of healing potions. Concern about Gortash’s looming fury…to the way his gaze was fixated directly on her as he used Lady Vammas’s body…If Lilla didn’t know better, it almost appeared Lord Gortash was enjoying her prank. Only time will tell... for now all she could do was try to be as productive as possible.

The last deep golden rays of sunlight poured into Lilla’s chambers when she heard a knock at the door. Gortash pushed it open before she could get up, and he walked over to her at the alchemy table with hands clasped behind his back.

“What was it you gave Lady Vammas?” he asked, scanning the diverse collection of elixirs and potions Lilla had accumulated since beginning alchemy.

There was no displeasure in his voice; only dry curiosity. Lilla supposed that was a positive, seeing as he could just have easily terminated her employment on a whim if the mood took him.

“It was…I’m not sure, My Lord. I attempted to make an elixir of Focus to…well curb my distractions…” Lilla was unwilling to risk any further games with Gortash, and decided it was best to answer him straight.

“I accidentally switched an ingredient… it was a stupid mistake.”

She was sure Gortash stifled a chuckle, “And did you make note of this botched potion, or is the recipe forever lost to us?”

Lilla’s confusion deepend, though it was becoming quickly overpowered by intrigue, “I certainly took note of it, My Lord. Keeping track of mistakes is an essential part of alchemy…”

Gortash nodded thoughtfully, “Good. How long will it take you to make a full batch?”

Bewildered, Lilla took quick stock of her inventory and noted she indeed had enough sublimate to make at least one more batch. “Perhaps just under an hour, My Lord…”

“Good,” Gortash smiled, “I want you to brew a fresh batch of this mystery elixir, as well as another with this; it should only take a few minutes to brew.”

He pulled a small glass jar full of flakey green-blue herb. Tiny flecks shimmered within the powdery contents as Lilla took it from him; A small label scrawled in writing on the jar read “Klauthgrass,” as well as instructions for a simple potion. She wasn’t familiar with the ingredient, but was not in any position to question Goratsh’s instruction.

“Bring both potions up to my chambers the moment they are complete,” he ordered, then turned to leave.

“Yes, My Lord, right away…” Lilla watched Gortash disappear, then looked back to regard her work station, giving a dutiful sigh before dumping the current half-complete potion into the nearby washing station. Her curiosity burned as she spent the next forty-or-so minutes brewing away.

Once complete, Lilla filtered each potion into flasks and plugged them with cork stoppers. She made her way to the third and final floor of the manor before giving the ornate double-doors a gentle knock.

“Enter,” she heard Lord Gortash’s muffled call from within.

She stepped into a symmetrical, tower-like room with looming plate-glass windows that allowed its occupant to view a panorama of the city below. It was the first time she had been in Lord Goratsh’s personal chambers, and a spark of excitement ignited within her.

Gortash had clearly recently bathed, adorned in his dark crimson house coat and smelling pleasantly like soap. He was standing at the southern window, watching the last glow of sunset illuminate the Chionthar below.

“I brought you the potions, as you ordered, My Lord,” Lilla reported in a cautious whisper.

“Very good,” Gortash said, keeping his gaze to the window, “you can place them on my desk for now.”

She did as she was told, then awaited his next order. When he said nothing further, Lilla cleared her throat timidly, “Will that be all, My Lord?”

Gortash finally turned to her, looking her over; he had forgotten she was wearing the tight dress Lady Vammas had bought her.

“Take that off,” he ordered bluntly.

Blood rushed to Lilla’s face; her cheeks and ears burned red, “My Lord?” she asked, unsure how else to respond.

“Oh please spare me the innocent act, it’s far too late to play coy,” he drawled, stepping towards her. “Now take that off, or I will do it for you.”

Though the prospect of Lord Gortash tearing off her dress was indeed a tempting notion, Lilla dared not risk disobeying him any further. She pulled down one shoulder of the taut emerald gown, then the other; peeling it off until the entire garment finally drifted to the floor, elegantly.

“My Lord,” Lilla shivered, crossing her arms across her chest in an attempt to maintain some sliver of decency, “I want to apologise for the trouble I have caused you…”

Gortash smirked and sauntered over to her, gripping her jaw with his bare hand, “Again, Lilla, a little too late, don’t you think?” he leaned in close, looking at her lips as he spoke, “I’m not fond of being at a disadvantage, you see.”

With one hand he unclasped her bustier, causing her to catch it from falling and revealing her naked chest. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow expectantly. Lilla obeyed his silent order, and let the garment drop to the floor.

There was something glinting behind his dark stare... Lilla’s abject obedience paired with her enterprising willfulness was… enjoyable to him. This was his fun, and he looked as if it was the first time he had truly had fun in a long time.

“Is that better, My Lord?” she asked softly, leaning into his grip around her chin, inviting him in.

He let a moment pass to admire her compliance before tipping her head up and lowering his lips to hers. Lilla inhaled sharply in surprise, then melted into him. She let out a soft moan as he slipped his tongue into her mouth and pushed into her harder before pulling away to stare down at her.

She must have had the stupidest grin on her face, for Gortash let out an amused chuckle. “For now,” he answered in a murmur; circling her while taking in her form. Once he was behind her, he nuzzled into her neck, scratching her soft skin with his stubble. She moaned happily as he lay kisses down the curve towards her shoulder.

Gortash placed his hands on Lilla’s hips, dragging them up to trace her hourglass shape before he cupped her pert breasts. She sighed blissfully, savouring the touch she so dearly ached for since their first meeting, and gave a small squeak when he pinched each nipple between his fingers.

His hands were slightly calloused and rugged from working with them, but he had clearly attempted to manicure them as well in order to fit better with higher society…or perhaps to save Lilla’s smooth skin from the abrasiveness. Regardless, she enjoyed the element of roughness as it caused her body to bloom with goosebumps.

“I have something for you,” he whispered, massaging her breasts more firmly. He left her for a moment in the cold, stepping away to retrieve something. When he returned he whispered in her ear an order; “Hold out your hands. Close your eyes.”

Lilla obeyed immediately, grinning profusely. She felt Gortash push her wrists together, then wove some soft, silken rope around and about them, binding them together.

“You may open,” he said softly.

When she opened her eyes, Lilla saw her wrists bound together with a beautiful red cord; Gortash had also attached her small pewter Illmater charm to the bindings.

“My Lord…this is…” Lilla couldn’t find words decent enough to portray her elation.

Gortash grinned back at her, “It’s not all fun and games tonight, I’m afraid,” he said, pulling her by her bindings towards his bed, “You deliberately undermined me at dinner today, and as a man of law and order, justice must always prevail.”

He reached up to the top beam of his four post bed, and pulled down a braided leather rope with a hook on the end.

A thrilling panic fluttered in Lilla’s chest as Gortash attached her bindings to the hook, then pulled on some other rope near the bedpost, hoisting her arms above her head.

“A curious contraption, is it not?” Gortash said, noticing Lilla had looked upward inquisitively towards the various hooks, ropes and pulleys secured to the top of the study four post.

“I designed this prototype long ago to assist those less mobile in entering and exiting their beds… It never really caught on, as anyone wealthy enough to install it rather have their servants do the work for them. But I’ve been meaning to find some other use for it…”

He spun her around so she was facing the bed, then stepped away for a moment. When he returned she felt a caress of soft leather brush her buttocks, before; SNAP. The searing sting of a leather strap across Lilla’s ass forced her to cry out.

“Was that too hard?” Gortash asked wryly, “Earlier today you were begging me for punishment, so I thought I’d give you a teaser.”

When Lilla said nothing, he kissed her neck, “You’re not taking it back now, are you? How about this; you tell me ‘My Lord, I do not want your punishment,’ and I will untie you now and send you on your way. An overly generous offer, don’t you think?” he waited patiently with his lips resting on her shoulder.

“My Lord…” Lilla started, considering the best words to portray her wishes, “I will forever welcome your touch… Punishment or no.”

Gortash sighed, wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. Her words were always so perfect, but he needed to know they were genuine.

“What music to my ears,” he said, stepping away from her again to pick up one of the elixirs Lilla had left on his desk, “the sweetest songs always have truth behind them, so I implore you to sing for me…”

Unstopping the Klauthgrass potion, Gortash came up behind Lilla and put the small vial to her lips expectantly. Instead of forcing her to take the liquid into her mouth, he waited for her to take it willingly, which she did without hesitation.

“You’re such a good girl, Lilla, aren’t you?” he whispered as she took the entire contents of the vial in one swallow, “Even when you’re being naughty…”

He again began kneading her breasts, awarding her some stimulation for her obedience. The way she so easily melted into his touch was heavenly.

“What does this potion do, My Lord?” Lilla asked breathlessly as Gortash rolled her nipples around between his fingers in short pulses, pulling gently on occasion to heighten the sensation.

“It grants me your truth…I have some questions, and we can get the business portion of our night over with once I am satisfied with your answers.”

“Of course…” Lilla's breath hitched with the increased pressure around her nipples, “I will always answer you truthfully.”

Gortash grinned and kissed the back of her neck, taking in her scent…subtle lilac and warm amber spice… He had half expected her to be offended by his use of the truth serum, but she only waited patiently for his questions.

He stepped away, admiring her stretched out body, almost suspended by her wrists.

“Enough time for the serum has passed for it to take effect. We shall begin light... Please note that when I strike you, it is because you are overdue for punishment, not because you’ve answered truthfully. Endure your punishment, answer my questions, and you will be rewarded justly.”

“Yes, My Lord!” Lilla chirped excitedly.

“Good. Now. Why did you elect to spike Lady Vammas’s wine with that elixir at dinner?”

SNAP. The leather met the flesh of Lilla’s behind sharply. She stifled a groan of pain, leaning into the sting. She deserved this for undermining her lord.

“You had spoken before about wanting some way to have Lady Vammas sign your contract…I had hoped my potion would make it easier.”

SNAP SNAP. Left. Right. Across each ass cheek.

Lilla moaned, hanging her head back and letting her long blonde hair dangle down to her bottom. Gortash gingerly gathered it up into a golden rope and placed it over her shoulder to prevent it from impeding his access to her backside.

“You hoped?” he asked with intrigue, gently tracing a finger along the red strips left on Lilla’s flesh, “Quite the risk, considering what I’d be forced to do to you if you hindered my deal.” SNAP.

“My Lord…I would never intentionally obstruct your success…I only wish to aid you…”

Gortash’s hand was cool against the hot welts on her bottom, soothing the sting. “Given the current circ*mstance, I believe you,” he said nonchalantly, “It would be remiss of me not to inform you; I do not accept failure, and I do not suffer sabotage - however unintentional it may be.”

He stepped in closer to Lilla, so she could feel the stubble of his jaw in her neck, and his lips tracing up to her ear. “If you caused me to lose that deal, I would be forced to throw you from the balcony. Do you understand?” his hot breath caressed her neck as he whispered, his voice stern. He was serious.

“Yes…My Lord I understand. I fully understand. I will never undermine you again. I promise I only wanted to help-” SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. Left cheek, right cheek, left thigh, right thigh.

Lilla would have screamed in agony if a fifth hit landed, but the reprieve of Gortash’s cool hand caressing the lashes immediately brought a layer of reassuring bliss to the torture.

“We shall see,” Gortash replied, moving his hand down towards her sex. She was unbelievably wet, and tilted her ass up slightly to invite him to explore further. At this, he felt his erection harden in seconds.

“Such a peculiar way to react to a punishment, pet,” Gortash chuckled in amusem*nt.

Lilla gave a soft moan as his fingers gently stroked her entrance, gathering her up her moisture. He wanted to taste her himself finally; it was torture for him not taking her all these weeks, but his will was much more stalwart than hers.

However when he touched his fingers to his tongue, her inviting scent and heavenly taste sent him reeling. He fought himself against pulling his co*ck out and taking her right then and there, her hands tied helplessly above her head. They would both enjoy it, he knew, but he still had questions, and business always came first.

“Now that the easy question is over,” Gortash said after clearing his throat, composing himself, “please indulge me in a more earnest topic.”

“More earnest than throwing me from the balcony?” Lilla quipped. SNAP. Her snort of laughter was cut short by the sting of Gortash’s leather strap, but a smile lingered on both their faces.

“I will ask the questions,” Gortash said, half-hoping she’d jest again just so he can shut her up with another whip to the rump.

“You’ve said before you belong to me…do you truly mean this?” There was a hitch of anticipation in Gortash’s voice, which he hid quite well, but Lilla could detect the faintest sliver of uncertainty. She felt thankful for the truth potion; there would be no doubt in his mind once he received her answer.

Her words came cascading out of her like a sinner confessing to their transgressions.

“My Lord, I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you…I wanted to belong to you the moment we met. You make me feel safe…I know that’s wrong, and doesn’t make sense, but I can’t help it. Maybe I’m hysterical, or need to be committed, and I wouldn’t even blame you if you sent me away…But all I want is to serve you. When I look at you, I see more than a man…I see something divine. I want to bask in your divinity every moment of every day. To aid you however I can in whatever endeavour you pursue; no matter the cost. I am yours to use as you see fit. Yours to wield…yours to touch.”

Bliss washed over Lilla as she was finally able to say what was in her heart all this time. A hot tear trickled down her cheek as if she had felt the joyous embrace of a satisfied deity. It must have sounded insane. Perhaps she was crazy…but he knew now, and there was no reason to doubt her.

There was a deafening pause following her confession; Gortash hadn’t responded in word, nor touch.

“My Lord?” Lilla whispered, a concern bubbled deep in her stomach. She knew well there was a high chance her passionate admission wouldn’t have been taken well, but she needed to say it.

Attempting to steel herself for rejection, she cleared her throat. “My Lord?” she repeated, softer this time, “I hope I haven’t offend-”

Lilla was interrupted by Gortash’s arms wrapping around her. She felt the warmth of his broad chest and breath as he embraced her firmly. He said nothing, but nuzzled into the back of her neck, lingering silently. She leaned into his touch as her anxiety was immediately replaced with pure and simple happiness.

Gortash reached up and unclasped Lilla’s wrists from the hook, and spun her around to look into her eyes.

His expression was soft; softer than Lilla had ever seen it. The candlelight in the dim chamber wavered and bounced in the reflection of his obsidian eyes, and for the first time, he let her see past the darkness of his gaze. Within was a sorrow and vulnerability Lilla knew was vastly more precious than all the treasure in Faerȗn. She had to protect it.

She returned Gortash’s stare with a warm smile; not one of amusem*nt, but the soft, comforting type. She lifted her wrists, and without hesitation Gortash unravelled the red cord that bound her, letting it drop to the ground.

Guiding her backwards, onto the bed, Gortash refused to break Lilla’s gaze, as if she would somehow disappear if he looked away. He pulled the tie to his bathrobe, letting it inch off him as they crawled towards the head of the bed. Once Gortash was on top of her, his hand gently reached for the smooth skin of her jaw. Lilla looked down between his naked legs, biting her lip.

“My Lord, you must have taken the other potion!” she joked, smiling coyly, with the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

Gortash emitted a quick exhale of amusem*nt in response, then leaned down to meet her mouth with his. He kissed her gently, but hungrily.

“You don’t have any more questions for me?” she asked when he finally pulled away from her.

“I did…but it matters not, now.” he replied, kissing her again, taking his time with the feel of her body beneath him.

He grazed his fingers along the curves of her form, past her ribs, down to her belly, and between her legs. He ran his fingers around her folds before tracing the pad of his index finger to her cl*t. He began to circle lightly, easily using her moisture as lubricant.

Lilla tensed up, writhing as Gortash stimulated her gingerly. “You must be so tender, to have been denied for this long. Am I right?” Gortash asked, applying more pressure to her cl*t, drinking in her body with his eyes as she moaned.

“Yes…My Lord…thank you…” Sometimes she felt silly repeating the same thing to Gortash when words eluded her, and worried he would get tired of hearing it, but in truth he never did, and suspected he never would. It was the perfect song she orchestrated just for him.

Continuing the gentle circling of his fingers on Lilla’s cl*t, Gortash couldn't help but smile when she pushed her hips forward, grinding into his hand. He indulged her silent request for a moment before pulling away, causing her to mewl softly in dismay.

This made him emit a charmed grin, enjoying her absolute enthrallment of his touch. As a general rule, Enver attempted to abstain from sex where possible; especially meaningful interactions. They often caused more of a headache and distraction than they were worth. He certainly played the ladies as if he were within their reach, but leading them on generally yielded the most efficient results when it came to gaining influence.

Even with casual encounters, women would immediately expect him to cut down on his work in exchange for his attentions. Having his time wasted was one of Gortash’s most severe annoyances. If it suited him or his business to maintain a relationship at arms length, he had no qualms, but intimate relationships always turned into chores; and not productive ones.

Lilla however, did not feel like a chore. She consistently proved to Gortash her interests were in fact his interests, and while she wasn’t immune to the games of women, she learned quickly how to not cross him. She was a treat for him, and he felt confident enough in Lilla’s loyalty to him that indulging in her body was appropriate. Welcome. Very welcome.

Gortash craved seeing Lilla’s body bound and stretched out again, so he reached up towards the crevasse between mattress and headboard, and pulled out a leather strap that was secured to the sturdy base of the four post bed. The strap itself was another portion of the long-forgotten contraption he had fashioned in the past, which he silently thanked himself for not discarding the thing.

Pulling Lilla’s wrists above her head, he tied her hands together before grabbing a fistfull of her hair, pulling her head back, and digging his face into her neck. Gortash’s lips trailed down her chest, his stubble brushing her smooth, pale skin. His mouth found her nipple, and he began to suck gently; then harder as she arched her back. He began lightly pinching and twisting one with his free hand, until Lilla was grinding and writhing on the bed.

Gortash indulged her nipples for a few moments longer before gripping her thighs, and pushing them open. Lilla gasped at the sudden elevation of vulnerability, and felt blissfully paralyzed; needing to do nothing but let her lord enjoy her body.

Letting go of her hair, he trailed kisses the way down her torso, towards her inner thigh until Gortash’s mouth became only inches away from her mound; she could feel his hot breath highlighting his closeness to it. She shuddered tremendously, begging him to do whatever it was he planned to do, and quickly. “Please…” she sobbed gently.

“Please what, pet?” Gortash whispered from below, tasting her sweet slickness that had slathered around her inner thighs. His mouth moved so close to her entrance, Lilla began to tremble in lustful frustration. Gyrating her pelvis slowly, she began to unravel from anticipation.

She simply answered with another delicious moan. She couldn't hold it in any longer; she didn’t care if she sounded as grotesque and desperate as Lady Vammas did earlier that night. She was losing her sanity in much the same way.

“Please…My Lord…Lord Gortash.” she couldn't see his face from where she lay, but he smirked and gave her inner thigh a firm bite causing her to cry out.

She was unravelling so perfectly; her faculties dissolving with every caress; in that moment, she truly was his.

“Please, your mouth…Please I don’t know how to say it!”

Gortash gave a chuckle at her sweet attempt to beg. It was true music to his ears, and he knew what she needed, even if she didn’t yet understand how to ask. He decided he would forgive her for forgetting herself and making a demand of him; he would teach her in time how to ask properly.

The teasing had finally come to an end. Gortash lowered his warm tongue to Lilla’s sex and began working it; circling, flitting, gently sucking. She had gone stark quiet for a few moments; so taken by his touch she was suspended in silent madness…until the slick lashes from Gortash’s tongue began to overtake her trance. The pleasure began to shine through; slowly at first, but rising quickly as he worked.

The only things that mattered to Lilla in that moment were Lord Gortash and his tongue between them, sending electric layers of building pleasure through he most vulnerable area.

Each wave was sweeter than the last, and Lilla began grinding to the rhythm of his mouth, inviting him to increase friction. He pushed his mouth and chin further between her legs; his scratchy chin delightfully abrasive her folds and inner thighs. He pushed down each bent leg harder against the bed, challenging Lilla to grind deeper into his mouth. She obliged as she rocked against him; her pleasure close to peaking ...and she began moaning wildly.

Without further hesitation, Gortash plunged two fingers into her entrance. Lilla’s slickness helped ease them in effortlessly, but it was his rough, calloused fingers that really elevated the sensation.

The pleasure was almost unbearable, but Gortash didn’t stop licking and sucking her cl*t methodically as he began pumping his rugged fingers in and out of her soaked c*nt. He hooked his fingers upward slightly, adding pressure to a spot Lilla was almost ashamed of admitting to herself she didn’t know she had. Of course her lord would be the one to teach her of such delights.

As Lilla’s body began to go rigid, Gortash pushed further, flitting his tongue and pumping his fingers in harmony until Lilla’s climax rolled into him; wave after wave, moan after moan. He didn’t stop until he knew she had ridden the entire earth-shattering org*sm to its wits end…and then some more - even when she began to twitch from overstimulation, giggling weakly.

Gortash’s intention that night was to leave Lilla as-is; basking in the afterglow of her climax. He would send her on her way and perhaps see how the next week played out, but he didn’t expect her to beg for more, and how she did it took him completely off guard…

“Master…please…your co*ck,” Lilla began writing slightly at the thought, “I’ll beg for it, please. I beg you master! Tell me how you want me to ask…”

Gortash froze for a moment, attempting to keep his composure, “What did you call me?” he whispered, enthralled.

“Master…” Lilla moaned, “that’s what you are to me.”

Cursing under his breath, Gortash climbed up to the head of the bed to meet her gaze.

He was supposed to embody order and control, but at that moment he was neither. He pushed his knees into her thighs, forcing them higher. He growled in frustration at his own loss of control, but all he could think about was burying his co*ck deep into her, and to have her call him master again.

“Tell me again,” he commanded her breathlessly.

Lilla licked her lips and gave a sweet smile, “You’re my master…”

Gortash couldn’t handle himself any further; he plunged his impossibly hard co*ck deep into her in one thrust; all the way to the hilt. He ignored her cry of shock as his member cleaved through the swollen walls of Lilla’s entrance; pushing, stretching, full.

Despite the pain he caused deep in her core, Lilla bucked her hips upward for him, and he responded by lifting her ass off the bedsheets and thrusting again and again while she endured his length.

He was unleashed, animalistic; f*cking and f*cking with shameless disregard for Lilla’s pain tolerance.

The only solace he had from the potential damage he had wrought on her body were when Lilla’s pained cries turned to sensual moans of pleasure as he body adjusted to him. Her breasts bounced youthfully as Gortash rammed into her, while she occasionally whispered “master” as if it were the only word she knew anymore.

The more she said it, the faster and harder Gortash thrusted into her; the violent thud of their bodies echoing throughout the bed chamber.

“Master please, I love you…I know you can’t or won’t say it back, but I don’t care, you don’t have to…” her voice was deliciously desperate. Gortash tried to stop himself, but her words brought him to the edge of oblivion.

He emitted an unwilling groan as his body tensed immensely and gave in explosively; his seed and soul pouring deep into her.

“f*ck…ffff*ck…” Gortash moaned, crumpling forward into Lilla’s balmy neck. He stayed like that for a few moments, panting softly while gathering the pieces of his mind.

When he lifted his head to meet her gaze, Lilla was glowing in the light of her victory. He leaned in to kiss her gently, revelling in her afterglow, then reached up and yanked the strap that bound her hands with one pull, releasing her from her bindings.

Lilla rubbed her now-free wrists, then reached down to Gortash’s grinning face, running a hand through his tousled black hair.

She had won.

Chapter 14: CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chapter Text

Gortash lay awake as Lilla slept peacefully next to him, snuggled into his side. Her soft, serene breaths comforted him as his restless thoughts gnawed at the back of his mind.

His Steel Watch was incomplete. The prototype insofar had awarded him the title of Lord, but the automatons lacked their most important component. While they lumbered around and acted in accordance with their orders; they were still no more than glorified zombies. Each Watcher required a full-time Banite necromancer to animate a zombie inside the chassis; but to mass produce them in such a way would be unsustainable.

Though impossibly ambitious, the course was clear: he and Destri would steal into the eighth layer of Hell to take the Crown of Karsus for their own. His plans would then be much easier going forward.

Lilla stirred next to him, unaware of the harrowing trials Gortash had to make throughout his life to get him where he was at that moment.

He wondered...should she learn the lengths at which he had gone to pursue his ambitions, would she still look up at him with that naive, doe-eyed expression he so cherished? She represented something he was never able to have, and he wondered often if she was a gift from Lord Bane himself... perhaps in return for reestablishing underground worship in Baldur’s Gate.

Either way, he acknowledged that he indeed deserved her, and he planned on keeping her; if it was his lord’s will.

Looking down at Lilla, he gently pushed a tendril of golden hair from her face. He hoped Destri was right about her; that she was stronger than she looked, or at least her will overshadowed her softness and naivety when it truly mattered.

In fact the Bhaalspawn sometimes seemed a little overly-obsessed with Lilla at times. When they held private meetings, if Destri hadn’t fed her murderous urge beforehand, the mention of Lilla brought a dark glaze to her amber eyes… something Gortash was beginning to recognize as dangerous.

---

Destri had visited Gortash the very same night he first met Lilla; it was the first time he saw the Bhaalspawn since she took Stradler into the shadows down at the Lower City docks.

Gortash was sitting at his candle lit desk in his bedchamber, studying dossier after dossier, writing letter after letter, signing petition after petition. It was dry work, but he found it relaxing in its own right; especially since every little flick of the quill gave him the potential to tip the scales in his favour throughout the city in days to come.

The night was dark, hazy and humid. He hadn’t noticed Destri standing in the shadows on his balcony until a small break in the overcast allowed some moonlight to pour through, highlighting her naked form. It was unclear how long she had been standing there, watching him.

Gortash looked up from his paperwork, startled. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked, masking his anxiety at the murderess’ sudden and unexpected appearance.

“I need to sleep,” she murmured, stepping into his room. Although stark naked, she was splattered with blood. Some poor soul had just been torn to shreds by her hand, according to the look of her. Though Gortash admitted there was something alluring about the contrast of the deep crimson against her lavender skin.

“You don’t have your own place?” he asked, with as much intrigue as he was disturbed.

“Nowhere that will give me peace tonight,” she replied wearily, stepping over to his bed, leaving bloody footprints, and sitting on it before he could object. She rolled onto the sheets, smearing blood across the linens without a care.

“Right…” Gortash muttered, “And I suppose you came slinking in here a bloody mess assuming I’d just allow it?”

“Here I am, aren’t I?” She said lazily, closing her eyes, “You’re allowing it, aren’t you?

Aggravation roiled within Gortash’s chest; he disliked this casual act of encroachment against his authority, and within his own home no less…but what annoyed him more was the fact his fascination overpowered his disdain.

“I suppose so,” he said, sitting back down, his gaze grazing the tiefling woman’s naked form sprawled across his bed. “Do you want a drink?”

“No…” she muttered, “Just sleep…”

He didn’t even know her name. She slept soundly for two hours, making him look a fool as he sat at his desk working.

He felt there was nothing else he could do. The way she carried herself, just invited herself into his life…he couldn’t bring himself to throw her out…besides, she was simply too interesting. As a consolation she had at least proved her usefulness with her prowess.

He decided to give her a chance and see what she was all about; perhaps his patience would pay off. If not, his course would be simple.

---

When Destri woke, Gortash had a tub of hot water waiting for her.

“Bathe,” he ordered, not looking up from his desk.

She did as he said, and rolled off his bed, stepping over to the steaming copper tub. It smelled good, like him. The blood on her body had dried and congealed to an ugly rust anyway. Destri lowered herself into the tub, the heat comforting and inviting. She moaned softly as the hot, fragrant water enveloped her.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” Gortash asked, peering at her from his paperwork, “It’s clear you already know who I am.”

“I’m nobody, really. But Destri, I suppose. Easy to remember, aye?” She lifted a slender leg out of the water and scrubbed it with a sudsy sponge.

For some reason this made Gortash chuckle, “Okay, Miss Destri. Why are you here?”

“My Father told me to. He said you're clever, and would understand.”

The implication solidified immediately for Gortash. The murder. The blood. Her father. Bhaal... Had their lords ordained this? Curiosity surged through him.

“And? Did your father say ‘steal into the bedroom of Lord Gortash and take a nap?'”

This time Destri laughed; surprisingly flowery and feminine for an assassin, thirsty for blood. She was beautiful, he decided. Terrifying, but exhilarating.

“I know where it is,” she said, sitting back and soaking leisurely, “the Crown of Karsus.”

Gortash paused, waiting for the punchline. “Preposterous. You’re insane,” he scoffed.

“Well insane, aye,” Destri quipped, making them both chuckle. Their chemistry was undeniable.

“Well then? Where is it?” he asked.

“Cania. I want you to come with me.”

“The House of Wonders…of course,” Gortash replied thoughtfully, “How do you even plan to get in? Besides…I don’t have any reason to trust you,” he said bluntly, unwilling to reveal his excitement at the newly uncovered prospect.

Destri sighed. “Then upon my corrupted flesh and within my tainted veins, I vow to bring no harm to you. My Father as witness.” She shifted sensually, resting each arm on the rim of the tub, blinking at him patiently.

Gortash felt something stir in the air around them, as if the oxygen was removed from the room for a split second and replaced with a compound only he and Destri could breath. It was a true oath, meant sincerely...despite her flippancy.

It came to her so easily; there and then, granting her trust to him without compromise. He quite liked that. A lot.

“You truly mean to execute such a feat, and with me?” Gortash sat upright, peering at Destri with pure intrigue. It was no time to mask his emotions; this was too important.

“Who else? An alliance between the two of us will only bolster support for my Father, and your lord Bane. Let us please them... prove ourselves to them. Let us carve Faerun in their likeness.”

It was pure music to Gortash’s ears. He of course planned to approach such a strategy with caution, despite the Bhaalist’s sworn oath... he would be a fool to turn his back to her. But the potential they had in forging an alliance was undeniable.

“Then let us toast to a grand partnership; to a new era, envisioned by our lords,” Gortash said, standing up and walking to his spirits cabinet. He poured two clean whiskeys and passed one down to Destri, who took it gingerly with long, slender fingers.

“Aye,” she muttered, “together we will gain our lord’s favour, and make their dark and bloody wishes manifest.”

They clinked their glasses together and drank the amber liquid in tandem. Destri pushed herself up from the copper tub, clean and smelling of the herbs and perfumes Gortash had selected.

“Keep in touch,” she called behind her as she strolled to the balcony, disappearing into the night.

Excitement bristled through Gortash’s spine. He had much work to do. And he needed to burn his sheets.

Chapter 15: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lilla awoke the next morning alone in Gortash’s bed, with warm rays of golden sunlight welcoming her naked form.

Despite him being absent, she was grateful to confirm the night before was in fact not just a sweet fantasy of hers. She rolled out of bed to check herself in a standing mirror off to the side, before braving the hallways.

Her long, honey hair was dishevelled, and reminders of her master’s lovemaking branded her wrists, neck, buttocks and thighs. She regarded them with pride, turning around before the mirror to admire his work. Revering such bruises and scrapes perhaps was uncouth…but she never felt more beautiful than she did with Gortash’s markings on her.

Looking for something to cover herself with before creeping back to her own chambers, Lilla almost missed the silken robe draped across the end of the fourpost. She held it up against her form, appreciating the way the morning light bounced across the shimmering emerald fabric. Under the garment was a small, folded piece of parchment. Lilla picked it up, and opened it to Gortash’s precise scrawl:

Freshen up, meet me for breakfast, wear the robe, it’s yours, G.

Lilla chewed on her lip coyly; there was something she deeply enjoyed about Gortash providing her instructions, and she found she craved being ordered around by him as much as she craved his body. She washed her face and sponged down the remnants of Gortash’s seed between her thighs, as if carrying out his instructions were sacred. To Lilla, they were.

Popping a chalky tablet into her mouth and swishing it around with some water, the minty foam began to work its magic to eliminate the unsavoury taste of morning mouth. Lilla spat out the creamy, sudsy substance, leaving her teeth and tongue feeling clean, and her breath fresh.

The morning sunlight poured through the window as she assessed herself one more time in the mirror; once she was content enough with her appearance, she made her way downstairs.

---

When Lilla arrived at the sunny breakfast nook, Gortash was in his usual corner; a mug of black coffee in hand.

She noticed immediately he didn’t have his usual morning edition of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, but instead was gazing out the window into the sunlit garden, deep in thought. He looked up and regarded Lilla warmly upon seeing her enter the room. He too was wearing a comfortable bathrobe, all black brocade with intricate red embroideries.

“Good morning, Miss Lilla,” Gortash grinned, gesturing for her to enter the room.

“Good morning, Master,” Lilla blushed, back to her shy self again. She chewed her lip to hide a grin while making her way over to him.

Gortash was refreshed to see she hadn’t lost her timidness after their romp the last night. Confidence suited Lilla in certain circ*mstances, but he preferred her just the way she was now, and hoped she would never lose such an endearing demeanour.

“Slept well, I hope?” he asked, sitting up straight, leaving the clay mug on the table, and pulling her into him.

Though she was standing over him, Gortash maintained a dominant aura, reaching a hand into Lilla’s robe to feel the soft skin of her thigh. She was his after all, and he would touch her as he pleased, whenever he wished.

“Yes, Master, thank you. I really…I really enjoyed last night.” Goosebumps spread across her skin at his touch, his hand trailing up to grip the tender flesh of her ass.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, noticing her skin was still hot from the lashing she expertly took.

“Yes…but…I like it. I know that seems odd.”

“It’s not odd to me whatsoever. In fact, it pleases me that you enjoy it so,” Gortash smiled up at her with dark eyes, and reached into her robe with the other hand, pulling her closer still, clutching a bruised cheek in each hand.

Lilla felt heat rise from within and licked her lips, running her hands through his shock of jet black hair. She was already aroused by Gortash’s casual advances, and wondered how long he would make her wait this time to f*ck her again.

“We have much work to do today,” he mumbled into the delicate fabric of Lilla’s robe. He sounded almost weary, as if the prospect of getting back to business wasn’t particularly welcome. This was a first, as far as Lilla understood.

She held his head gently as he rested his cheek against her stomach, his eyes closed in a moment of respite. “What duties do you wish of me today? I will help in whatever way you require, ” she reassured him softly.

“If that’s the case,” Gortash said, leaning back to look up at her with a sly glimmer in his eye, “then remove your robe.”

Excitement surged through Lilla’s core, energising her. She enthusiastically did as she was ordered, pulling the cord to her robe, and causing the fabric to drop open to reveal her nakedness. The shimmering silk dropped to the floor around her feet. The look on her master’s face was intoxicating; one of pride, and deep arousal.

“Good girl,” he whispered with a smirk, “now I’d like you to fetch me the morning paper, if you would be so kind.”

Lilla hesitated, “From the hall?” she asked.

“Please,” Gortash replied curtly.

An easy task, nevertheless a welcome one. Lilla turned toward the door and took a single step before Gortash stopped her.

“Wait, pet, not like that.” Lilla turned back to him in confusion, intrigued by the mischievous smile on his face. “On your hands and knees, please,” Gortash ordered. His authoritative tone was undeniable. Despite his politeness, it wasn’t a request. It was an edict.

He was looking to reclaim some of the dominance he felt he lost to Lilla's honeyed words and heavenly flesh last night.

Lilla’s body surged with heat, and did as she was instructed; a special task just for her. She already felt the slickness of her sex as she knelt down. Placing her hands on the plush rug, she looked up at him, invigorated. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” Gortash confirmed, moving his hand to his crotch; the outline of his erection was visible through the rich black fabric of his bathrobe. Lilla couldn’t stop her tongue from wetting her lips once more. “Now go on, pet, I gave you a task.”

Stark naked, and immensely aroused, Lilla crawled on her hands and knees across the room to the exit. She felt Gortash’s gaze boring into her exposed form while she shuffled away. The stone floor was cold and uninviting once the rug ran out, but something about the rugged discomfort highlighted her sense of duty. Crossing the threshold, she turned the corner and crawled towards the hall desk where Therette often accumulated the post.

Once she arrived, however, she was surprised to see there were no letters or broadsheets to be seen. Just to be sure, she propped herself upright for a better look across the desk, but the surface was completely empty. Unfortunately for Lilla, she heard someone clear their throat behind her, causing her to freeze, and her body to go ice cold.

She spun around, scraping her knees in the process, and looked up. The ancient, lanky drow stood over her with his usual, unimpressed expression.

“Therette!” Her first instinct was to run to her chambers and never come out; perhaps throwing herself from the balcony would be a preferable end.... However her master had given her an order, so she composed herself, and swallowed her pride.

In fact once the initial shock of being caught humiliating herself for her master subsided, her arousal elevated to another level, and she had to clamp her legs shut in futility to prevent more moisture from leaking out onto her thighs.

“Is this what you were looking for?” he drawled incuriously, taking the folded broadsheet from under his arm, and holding it out for her with bony purple fingers.

“Yes, Therette, thank you,” Lilla attempted to maintain a tone indicative of a normal, everyday interaction with the butler.

The drow held out the newsletter further, and Lilla took it in her mouth before dropping back onto her hands. “‘Ank ‘ou ‘erette” she repeated the best she could with the paper between her teeth, then shuffled around and crawled back to the breakfast room.

Therette turned, uninterested in inquiring further, and left the strange girl and Lord Gortash to continue doing whatever it was they were doing.

Lilla made it back to the breakfast room, and the sight of her master grinning proudly at her made her forget any embarrassment. She realised at that moment she needn’t worry about her sense of self-worth as it had been cultivated throughout her life; it was in Gortash’s hands now, and his pride was her pride. It was a frightfully freeing experience -giving something that delicate to someone else- and as she felt her dignity melt away, she somehow felt more confident than she ever had. Gortash was changing her somehow; sculpting her into a divine visage of his own desire. It was an unbelievably intimate sensation.

Drool had pooled around Lilla’s mouth and onto the paper as she finally arrived at Gortash’s feet. She hoped he wasn’t displeased with any damage she had done to it, but she suspected the integrity of the parchment wasn’t particularly the focus of the exercise.

“ Very , very good girl,” Gortash said, taking the soggy paper from her mouth, causing strings of saliva to trail behind it. He left it on the table, and reached for the fruit platter. Taking a plump, red raspberry, he held it out in his palm for her. “Go on, a treat for your excellent work.”

Lilla emitted a soft moan at the compliment…at the entire circ*mstance as a whole. Whatever this was, it was heaven. She smiled at him sweetly, and took the berry from his palm with her mouth. The aromatic juices that burst forth tasted as if they were touched by divinity; created just for her as a reward. She savoured the delightful treat as best she could until the fruit finally melted on her tongue, and she swallowed graciously.

“What do you say?” Gortash asked her with a tone reminiscent of the Sisters of Ilmater from her childhood.

“Thank you, Master!” Lilla replied sheepishly at forgetting her manners.

“Did you enjoy that task?” he asked gently, tilting her chin up to better allow the sunlight to illuminate her soft features.

“Oh yes,” she answered, licking the remnants of the berry from her lips, “...May I have another?

“Another task?” he asked, shifting to accommodate his stiff, aching co*ck.

In truth he could barely believe his luck. This young woman consistently proved perfection, and she had no idea how important her submission was to him. She represented true, unbridled obedience as if every order he issued were a sacrament worthy of worship. She was a sign of many things; that his path forward carrying Bane’s edict was the correct one, but even more personal to him; that perhaps even he deserved love. It was a queer, twisted love, but love nonetheless. Gortash wasn’t accustomed to the concept, and he only ever expected it to come from fear he instilled in others through the rigid hierarchy ordained by his lord. Never had he expected someone to miraculously enter his life and show him such unconditional affection…

Gortash caressed Lilla’s messy hair with one hand, while pulling the cord of his black bathrobe with the other. The heavy fabric fell open to reveal his broad, hairy chest, and a meaty erection resting expectantly on his thigh. “Another task, then,” he said with a dark grin, relishing the dazzle in Lilla’s eye as she beheld his nudity.

“Oh yes , Master! Please…”

His co*ck twitched at her enthusiasm, and he gripped it with a strong hand, holding it upright for her. “Go on then, pet. I’m eager to feel your sweet mouth around me before we start the day.”

Lilla shuffled closer into him while on her knees, and straightened up to rest a hand on each naked thigh. She hadn’t had much experience with this type of thing in the past: a handful of sweet, yet awkward encounters with her tiefling lover many years ago…and of course Lady Vammas’s performance the evening prior. Both renditions were vastly contrasted to one another, so Lilla elected to start with the former, though would gladly accept the rough, sloppy approach if her master willed it.

Looking up at Goratsh, Lilla was pleased to see him grinning patiently down at her, stroking himself slowly in anticipation. When she lowered her gaze to the co*ck tightly gripped in his hand, she began to salivate like a common animal. There was nothing more she wanted in the world at that moment than to please her master fully.

Lilla disregarded any hesitation she had concerning her impending performance, and lowered her mouth to the tip of Gortash’s co*ck, letting her velvety, wet tongue sweep across the head. He emitted a low growl of approval, and adjusted himself to sit back comfortably. He took one of her hands and guided it to the base of his erection, where she gripped obediently, leaving both of his hands free to courteously push strands of golden hair from her face.

A hunger took over Lilla. Eager to draw out more noises of pleasure from her master, she took him in her mouth as far as she could, and received her reward. Gortash dropped his head back at the sudden, overwhelming sensation of her mouth enveloping him, and cursed under his breath. “Lilla…” he moaned, pleasantly taken aback at her enterprising approach. She mirrored his moan in return, causing pleasant vibrations from her throat to add to the feeling. Gortash placed his hands on her head to gently guide her up and down, but she needed no supervision; it was as if her instinct was tailored just for his pleasure.

Gortash’s senses began to blur as Lilla worked his co*ck with her warm, wet mouth; his breathing became ragged, and perspiration built up on his forehead and neck while he struggled to keep himself together. She pumped methodically, rhythmically until he was close to peaking, then she would slow down and take him in all the way, letting the head of his co*ck hit the back of her throat before beginning the cycle again. Just before the edging became too unbearable, Lilla picked up pace, signalling it was time for her master to climax. Gortash couldn’t hold back his groans; the pleasure was maddening and the vision of his beautiful pet with her plump, pink, moistened lips around his shaft while her large brown eyes gazed up at him was too much. His release was loud, shameless and unfathomably satisfying for them both.

Gripping Lilla’s head and pulling her lips down to the root of his co*ck, he held her in place as he gushed hot seed into her mouth, grunting louder still as her throat tightened while she moaned in delight. She obediently swallowed all of his spend, and kept him in her mouth while his erection subsided, until all that was left was his exhausted, satisfied member.

Gortash’s head rested on the back of his chair, and he tilted his chin into his chest so he could look down at Lilla while his body recovered from the ordeal. She gazed up at him, grinning expectantly.

“What do you say, Master?” Lilla asked playfully.

This made Gortash emit a burst of charming laughter. “Thank you, Miss Lilla,” he chuckled, smiling down at her. He plucked another raspberry from the fruit platter and held it out for her, which she took with her mouth, graciously.

---

Gortash decided to take Lilla with him down to the docks to visit the Steel Watch Foundry. He had some preparations to do, and in truth he wanted to show Lilla how a Watcher was powered, if only to test how she reacted.

The large, industrial warehouse was currently abandoned, save stacks of crates and pallets full of equipment and materials waiting idly for an eventual full-scale automated production. Bodies of half-constructed Watchers were strewn about the warehouse, waiting for further assembly. For the time being, the Foundry only produced a small subset of parts that were going to be used at a future date for mass-production.

The surge of impatience Gortash felt at the slow-roll of his project was quickly swept away due to Lilla’s excitement at the wonder of the Foundry. She ran throughout the building, eager to look at everything; she had never seen such intricate marvels. Hot steam billowed upward to the ventilated ceiling, and mechanical clunk of machines echoed throughout the foundry as the casting moulds and presses worked away diligently to provide the foundations of a Steel Watch army.

“This is truly amazing!” Lilla called back to Gortash as she watched the pistons of the presses thunking away systematically.

Gortash grinned at her cheerful disposition as he pulled at the laces of his shirt before removing it entirely. “I’m glad you appreciate it,” he said, making his way over to his private workbench. “Come, let me show you something.”

Lilla trotted over to him, keen to learn more. She watched him coyly as he pulled up a stool for her to sit, and walked over to a nearby crate, prying the lid off before pulling a pair of industrial oven gloves from the wall and putting them on before reaching for the contents inside. He took out a large, heavy metal box; his muscles flexed at the sheer weight of it, and placed it onto the bench with a thud.

Tipping the lid of the metal crate open, eerie red light bled forth, illuminating Gortash’s face and bare chest as the content was revealed: an infernal machine, compact - about the size of a human heart, and brimming with infinite power.

Lilla audibly gasped at the marvel; it was simultaneously beautiful and sinister. She could feel the heat pulsating from the machine from where she sat, thinking it must have been at least a little painful for Gortash who was in such close proximity to it.

“This is what makes a Steel Watcher tick,” he said, studying Lilla’s enthralled expression as she studied the mechanical wonder. “I have a hundred of these, and I plan to make an army.”

Lilla’s gaze tore away from the infernal engine, and snapped towards Gortash, “An army, Master?”

Gortash continued cautiously, “That’s right, I have big plans for Baldur’s Gate, and safety is the first stepping stone.”

“That’s what you tell your investors,” Lilla replied, taking Gortash off guard with her keen observation, and brazen honesty “what are they really for?” Sometimes he forgot how sharp she could be; it was easy to overlook her wiles when she was so sweet and soft. A swell of pride bloomed within his chest. If Lilla were anyone else, perhaps he would have punished them for insubordination, but he felt she had earned her right to the truth…he brought her here just for that reason, after all.

Gortash closed the box, and hauled it back into its crate and discarded the gloves before turning back to Lilla. He stood over her, his stare boring into her eyes. She will have the truth , he decided, and her response will dictate how our arrangement unfolds. He did not relish the potential negative outcome the truth would elicit going forward, but if Lilla could not handle the reality of the Watch, she certainly would not appreciate his place in reestablishing the cult of Bane within Baldur’s Gate these last few years.

He stepped closer to her, his proximity a thinly veiled intimidation tactic; he would give Lilla the information she seeks, but he would not suffer to let her forget her place. “As I have said, I have big plans for this city…and I believe it is in my right to rule it .”

Silent for some time, Lilla studied Gortash’s expression, considering whether it was a jest or not. The ticking and thumping of machinery was the only sound for some time while Gortash allowed her time to process the new revelation.

The infernal weapons dealings, the murder, the blackmail…that was all one thing. But for Gortash to have ambitions to usurp authority over Baldur’s Gate entirely…if anyone could do it, it was certainly him.

Lilla was forced to come to terms with a darkness within herself she had been afraid to confront until now: that she cared not for anything but Gortash’s will, and his impression of her. She was no thrall, and was under no domination spell; it was her own will to support him unconditionally, regardless of the moral implications. She had no god to guide her conscience…the only worship she followed was at the feet of her chosen master.

Finally, Lilla focused on Gortash, who was staring at her intently, waiting for her response. She gave him the smallest of smirks, and reached up to caress his stubbled jaw. “Master…” She searched for the right words, hoping whatever she was about to say did her devotion justice. “I could care less how…I just want you to have everything .”

It’s all she needed to say. Gortash exhaled in relief as if he were holding his breath. He lowered his forehead onto hers and closed his eyes, giving a comforted chuckle. When he backed away to look at her, he was overwhelmed with appreciation.

“You can tell me everything… anything ,” she reassured him, “I will always be at your side, if it is your will.”

It was his will. “Come with me,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her deeper into the foundry. “You’ve seen how the Steel Watchers are powered. Now you will see how they are directed.”

---

The basem*nt floor of the Foundry was dark and mostly unused, until further notice. Gortash led Lilla through the long, industrial corridor where a sour smell began to emanate thicker and more unpleasant as they approached a steel bulwark door.

“What is that?” Lilla asked, wincing in the darkness.

“I need you to keep your composure when I show you what is in the room, can you do that?” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently.

“...I think so…” Lilla replied, covering her face and nose with her free hand.

“Nothing in here can hurt you, just remember that.”

“Master, what-” Lilla was interrupted by the overpowering stink of rotting flesh as Gortash pulled open the steel door with a resounding screech of unlubricated hinges.

The room was full to the brim with horror: bins of hacked up body parts lined the walls, and corpses of men were strapped to steel slabs with various mechanical contraptions replacing their limbs and in some cases entire torsos.

The only thing preventing Lilla from screaming was Gortash’s firm grip on her hand…and the intriguing way some of the grim experiments were intricately and expertly constructed. She pieced together the reason for such an unholy merging of metal and flesh; these corpses were designed to fit inside a Steel Watch chassis…

“They’re…zombies?” Lilla whispered, her gaze darting from each ghastly sight to another. “This explains how they are automated…by necromancy.”

The pride Gortash felt in that moment was insurmountable; he looked down at Lilla, who was regarding the horrifying sights before her with intense interest. There was no doubt in his mind now…she was truly his.

“Are you not terrified? Such a gruesome sight would no doubt scare many into screaming and running away…”

Lilla looked up at him with wonder, “Master…of course this is… horrific …were I a better woman, I would indeed run away. But I see the genius of this combination of metal and necromancy. Magic and science…it’s truly…brilliant.”

Emotion welled within Gortash’s heart, and he scratched his stubbled jaw to avoid showing it. ‘Come,” he said, pulling her from the godsforsaken room and closing the heavy door.

--

They arrived back at Gortash’s workbench, appreciating the improved quality of air; as hot and humid as it was, it was still drastically fresher than the basem*nt room.

Gortash wasted no time, and threw the shirt he discarded earlier onto the bench, then turned to Lilla, pulling her close and tearing off her clothes. She was wearing a simple white blouse top and an overly worn blue skirt; the same clothing she had had for years used for laborious assignments, like cleaning and yard work.

Once she was stark naked and flush from his deliberate advance, Gortash lifted her up onto his workbench, his shirt acting as a barrier between her bottom and the oil-stained surface of the table. Lilla said nothing, simply letting her master do as he pleased; wholly happy with being subservient to his touch.

He kissed her deeply, firmly holding her jaw in both hands before pushing her slightly so she was leaning back, her arms propping her up behind her. Gortash impatiently untied his trousers, finally letting his erection spring forth eagerly. Lilla gasped delightfully when he grabbed her thighs and pushed them up, leaving her in a most vulnerable, gaping position.

He should have been getting to work tuning some of the Watcher parts, but nothing was more important than claiming his prize; work could wait a few moments longer. Gortash drank in her visage: eyes on him, legs open, c*nt swollen and moist in anticipation of his co*ck.

With no more time to waste, he plunged himself into Lilla roughly, enjoying her sweet groans of approval. He pushed her thighs even higher, so her knees were almost parallel with her shoulders, nearly folding her in half. The hot, billowing air of the foundry had them both sweating profusely now, and the metrical sound of the pistons in the distance accommodated the rhythmic thudding of their bodies in unison.

“Do you see me now?” Gortash breathed raggedly, basking in the image of his co*ck pumping in and out of Lilla’s entrance as she mewled deliciously, “Do you see who I am?”

Lilla couldn’t answer; her body began to go rigid, the muscles that wrapped around his shaft contracted tightly; she was climbing to a peak already. In response Gortash leaned over her, putting his palms on the bench and folding Lilla’s body further, causing her to lean back to rest on her elbows.

“I”m…” was all she was able to mutter before the pumping of her master’s co*ck sped up, rubbing a spot inside her that was vulnerable due to her contortions. Intense waves of pleasure bloomed through her in succession, causing Lilla’s body to tremble involuntarily while she cried out into the hot warehouse air. Her unbridled moans tipped Gortash over the edge, and he climaxed with a harsh grunt, pushing in fully as he released his seed deep at the entrance of her cervix.

The pair lingered together, waiting for their senses to return. Gortash rested his sweat slicked forehead on Lilla’s as they panted in unison. “I do see you, Master,” Lilla finally answered between breaths. He kissed her softly before regarding her with a warm smile.

“Good,” he said, kissing her again, “now stop distracting me, I’m behind on my work.”

Chapter 16: CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chapter Text

While Gortash worked on tuning some complex contraption at his workbench, Lilla made herself a makeshift workstation with the stool and some large crates. She wasn’t about to fully take advantage of her master’s admiration by being idle; it wasn’t in her nature.

She had packed some notebooks, gossip sheets, and newspapers, and set off organising rumours and happenings into categories to be added to various dossiers at a later date. Thanks to Lilla, Gortash’s library of information on the influential names in Baldur’s Gate not only doubled, but she had an archival memory of their names, histories and vices.

Lilla had even expanded some of the categories in each dossier, adding a whole section just to highlight potential vulnerabilities for blackmail of patriars and various higher-ups. It was also her idea to eventually approach Ettvard Needle, the Editor-In-Chief of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, to arrange a working relationship between himself and Lord Gortash. She surmised Needle would easily be won over by simply flaunting his relationship with the celebrity lordling, so wining-and-dining would suffice in initiating such a friendship.

As the hours ticked by, Lilla finally had constructed a robust schedule for her master spanning the next two months, with accommodating suggestions and notes regarding each meeting; including the value such confluences would award Lord Gortash.

It must have been midnight when he finally pulled himself away from his workbench, his body slathered with sweat and smeared with grease. He stretched out his back, wiped the moisture from his forehead with an oily forearm, and made his way over to Lilla, who was packing up her satchel.

“I should have made you stay naked,” he said playfully, grabbing her from behind and pulling her in, smearing grease onto her dress.

“It can be remedied with a word,” she giggled.

Gortash was sure he would never get tired of her raw subservience to him; he was too self-absorbed and his ego wouldn’t let him. He liked it this way, which is why she was a perfect prize. He let go of Lilla and propped himself up on a crate, gazing at her while she packed up her notes; by the look of it she had gotten a lot of work done - something he didn’t even ask her to do, which was another blissful trait he appreciated in her.Taking Lilla off guard, Gortash pulled her to him, and hoisted her up onto the crate, forcing her to straddle him. She giggled sweetly, unperturbed by the additional soil the grease was causing to her garments.

“Go on,” he whispered, while he pushed her skirt up, smearing oil on her thighs in the process, “tell me about my upcoming week.”

Gortash stared at her while she blushed, trying to focus. It clearly was a difficult task as he was undoing the laces of his trousers already.

“Um,” she struggled to recall even the schedule for the next day, “Duke Dillard Portyr in the morning - hng!”

co*ck already hard and aching to enter her, Gortash had pulled her undergarments to the side, tearing the delicate fabric in the process. He gripped her ass and guided her onto him; she emitted a delightful moan as she sunk down to the root. Without failure, she was already soaked for him.

“And then?” he grunted, moving her ass up and down, controlling the pace and depth of their grind.

Soon though, she began controlling her own actions, shamelessly bucking against him, unable to focus on anything but his thick co*ck stretching her walls.

“What’s wrong?” Gortash teased, breathing heavily, “You’re telling me you can’t finish a small task I gave you?”

Lilla squirmed, struggling and failing to compose herself to list his schedule. It should have been easy, but she could only begin bouncing, riding him as her pleasure built. Gortash chuckled softly, and eventually he let go of her; leaning back, allowing Lilla to use him as she pleased. Once her pleasure clearly began to peak, he sat up and gripped her with his rugged hands again, guiding her to completion. Throwing her head back, she let out a guttural groan that made Gortash break out with a boyish grin.Lilla slumped forward onto his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck with ragged breaths. He held her into him for some time, and quelled his urge to finish inside her; deciding to leave it for another night, if only to practice his willpower.

She gave a weak chuckle, piquing Gortash’s curiosity.

“What is it?” he asked, holding the back of her head gently as she rest on his shoulder.

The act of Lilla sitting up straight caused her walls to contract around him, making Gortash bite his tongue.

“It’s just…I’ve been aching for you several weeks in a row…and now it seems we have sex non-stop.”

Gortash laughed, “Should we give it a break then? You’ve had enough?”

Lilla clamped around him further in response, “NO!” she cried, beginning to laugh at her own desperation; her walls tightening unbearably around him in the process. “Never…” she whispered, kissing him.

---

The next few days seemed to pass slowly for Lilla as Gortash forced himself to focus on work, feeling his attention on her had taken up enough of his time as of late.

By no means was he tired of her -on the contrary- it was impossible to get her out of his system, which was why he insisted on concentrating on abstinence until he proved to himself he had some modicum of control.

Thankfully Lilla understood this, as she was sufficiently content with the deep connection she and her master had created thus. She spent whatever extra time she had between managing Gortash’s schedule and correspondence with honing her alchemy skills.She even spent some time in Gortash’s private manor garden working on some magics, deciding it was high time to expand her arsenal beyond a Mage Hand and flimsy Conjure Flame (unfortunately for the old, gnarled tree that acted as her training dummy).

Therette surprised her by joining her in helping her practice, and they quickly realised destruction spells perhaps weren’t Lilla’s forte. They were, however, Therette’s specialty. The old drow’s penchant for lightning and flame was spectacular, and Lilla gawked on as he all but turned the gnarled training dummy to dust. They decided to test Lilla’s hand at Abjuration, which proved to be a much more approachable skill for her. Therette would launch a handful of crackling death towards what was left of the old stump, and Lilla focused on projecting a ward around it, attempting to negate the damage.

Of course the first several attempts were fruitless, forcing Therette to innovate a new training dummy with metals from some of Gortash’s abandoned constructs, and various burlap material. Once the dummy was of sufficient sturdiness, he had Lilla try her hand again.

After several more attempts, a sweaty Lilla groaned in frustration, blowing stray hairs from her face while frowning.

“Your spells are too strong, Therette! Can’t you go a bit easier to start?”

Therette gave her a short grunt of disapproval, “You think those eager for the master’s life will go easy? Again!” He began winding up a full-fledged fireball, refusing to go soft on her. “The dummy is Master Gortash. Now SAVE HIM .”

With a flourish, he hurled an inferno at the dummy without a second thought. His words echoed in Lilla’s mind. SAVE HIM . She relentlessly willed the weave to coalesce deep in her chest, at her heart’s centre…where she kept Gortash’s image. She envisioned him looking on as the fireball raged towards him; certain death.

At the last second, Lilla projected the ward outward from her centre with a force driven not by control or expertise, but of love; madness ... She won’t let anyone hurt him…

The weave solidified around the dummy in a thin, translucent shell, just as the fireball landed, causing flaming havoc in a wide perimeter around it.The explosion was incredible; sending chunks of scalding dirt and flaming shards of wood flying in all directions. Refusing to flinch, Lilla focused on her ward, though she was quite unsure if it survived the destruction. As the debris and smoke dissipated, Lilla and Therette looked on in surprise as the makeshift dummy was fully in-tact; not a scorch mark to be seen, while the charred landscape around it smouldered miserably.

Lilla looked on with a proud smirk.

“Good,” Therette said, giving her a curt pat on the back. “I’ll call on the gardener.”

---

The next morning, Lilla met Gortash for breakfast. He seemed content with the work he had caught up on, and allowed himself some time with his secretary before continuing on with the day.

“We are going to another party tonight, pet, at midnight,” he told her, sipping his usual black coffee.

“Shall I prepare the notebook and ink?” she asked after swallowing a spoonful of porridge.

“No,” He replied with the shadow of a grin; he appreciated she was always ready to serve. “In fact, your task will be solely to stay quiet, and look pretty.”

“I suppose a task is a task, Master,” she said earnestly.

“Indeed,” he winked, “this will be a peculiar costume party…a very, very private one. I’m unable to disclose the exact reason we will be attending just yet, but it would be remiss if I didn’t warn you ahead of time…this is a slave auction.”

Lilla regarded him with curiosity…and a little fear.

“Should I be worried, Master?”

This made Gortash laugh, to her relief. “Of course not, pet. Remember the advice I gave you all those weeks ago; about holding a goblet of wine at parties to appear more approachable, even if you do not plan on partaking?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Well you are for lack of a better term, the goblet. You will not be auctioned off, I promise you that. You are in fact, a prime distraction that I may require to be centre stage…do you think you can handle that?”

Lilla considered the notion thoughtfully for a moment, fully understanding this would be her task regardless whether she agreed or not, but Gortash gave her the courtesy of having an opinion, at least. She appreciated him for that.

“You’re telling me, Master, that you will be parading me around a slave auction, showing me off as a mere prize?” she feigned slight offence, eager to see her master squirm.

Gortash hesitated for a moment, unsure how to address her tone…after all the things she has seen, now she is squeamish? His brow furrowed slightly, and his stare burrowed into her, “Are you not just that? A prize?”

Lilla gave herself away with a smirk, “You are concerned about what I think, Master?”

Leaning back and resting his gilded hand on the table, he regarded her with a wry smile, “Perhaps you are becoming too bold. Maybe I will see how much you fetch on the market...”

Lilla froze, her guts went ice cold…That is until she noticed the twinkle in his eye…he was teasing her back.

“Well if you do sell me, be watchful about what you say at any future parties, if you see me tending wine…”

This made Gortash emit a charming laugh, “Indeed…”

---

Majority of that day was dedicated to Lilla’s pampering and preparing for the masquerade.

Gortash had covertly summoned a hairdresser and seamstress to the manor to manage her appearance according to his precise instruction. She relished being doted over in service to her master, and found the experience arousing…though at this point it wasn’t saying much, as anything Gortash seemed to do made her flush with exhilaration.

Once the servants were done and dismissed, Lilla finally went to the mirror to see how she was prepared. She let out a soft gasp at the provocative nature of the dress: a sheer, frosted fabric was wrapped around her naked form, while in contrast a harness of polished black leather adorned with tiny golden studs fit snugly around her midsection and chest, accentuating her slight waist, and framing her mostly-bare breasts.

Her nipples could be seen quite clearly under the exotic white fabric, which fit taut around her breasts thanks to the harness. The silken material hugged her hips, which were devoid of undergarments as well, and fell gracefully at her knees. The sandals provided were the same leather as the bodice, wrapping up her calves, gladiator-style.

The thought of Gortash parading her near-naked body around, while keeping her out of reach of anyone but himself had her already breathing ragged.

Lilla’s honey hair was piled elegantly at the top of her head in a bouquet of expert swirls, while tiny white flowers were woven in and out of it, adding an air of delicate innocence to balance the erotic dress and bodice. Tendrils of wavy golden hair framed her face and neck…she had to admit it was a wholly alluring visage.

It must have been shortly before midnight when she heard a knock at her door, and she turned to see Gortash enter…the image of him made her emit a soft gasp.

He was dressed all in black, which wasn’t unusual for him, but the opulent fabric and embroideries that accompanied his fit cut were a vision: His shirt was unlaced to tease a wedge of his broad, wispy-haired chest, which tucked into dark, tight black trousers.

Gortash’s shoes were expensive black leather, and painstakingly shined to a mirror finish. Thin, red laces criss-crossed across the top of each foot to match the laces that sat loosely on his shirt.

His party jacket was tight, accentuating his physique. Black embroideries swirled around the cut, adding some texture to the material; the intricate designs had the faintest shimmer of red thread woven in, giving a subtle, yet elegant edge to the rich fabric.

Cinched around his trim waist was a belt made from the same black, polished leather; adorned with a golden buckle. The buckle itself appeared to have been custom-made with the image of a hand; palm forward and fitted with obsidian that matched his eyes; flecks of green shimmered when catching the candlelight.

The gold in his entire ensemble matched the same warm tone as his golden gauntlet and rings, which tied the look together immaculately.

With his hair slicked back, save some wisps around his neck and ears, he looked resplendent… however nothing compared to the expression he made when he looked upon Lilla.

“You look perfect,” he said, unable to hold back a dark grin. It took some restraint not to take her there and then.

“The same with you, Master…you look like a king…”

Gortash burst into a modest chuckle, but she could tell he quite liked that.

“I have something for you, before we leave,” he said, stepping over to Lilla, a flat, black, polished box in hand.

He opened it to reveal a necklace…no, a choker. It was black suede leather with a small golden ring fixed at the front.

Lilla was speechless, which seemed to please Gortash regardless. He set the box down on a table and removed the collar, gesturing for her to approach and turn around so he could fit it on her.She watched in the mirror as he fixated the choker snugly around her neck, and then from his pocket retrieved a miniature version of the gold and obsidian hand, identical to the buckle on his belt. He fastened it to the ring at the front of her collar before stepping back and letting Lilla study herself in the mirror.

“Master…this is…thank you…”

Gortash smiled broadly, “This isn’t just for the party, I should admit... It’s more than that…”

Goosebumps spread across Lilla’s body…she understood what he meant; “It means I’m yours…that I belong to you.”

“That’s right,” he replied gently, stepping back towards her, placing his hands on her waist and kissing her shoulder. “Though, after tonight, you have to keep the charm hidden until I say otherwise.”

That, she didn’t understand, “Why, Master? I want everyone to know I’m yours…”

He gave her a prideful smirk in the mirror, “I appreciate that very much, but I can’t explain just yet. After tonight, you can wear the collar, but the charm must only be in private with me…and I suppose Therette, until further notice.”

Despite her confusion, she obeyed, “As you say, Master.”

“Good,” he said, kissing her neck, “now for the masks.”

He led Lilla downstairs to the main door, where their cloaks and masks awaited them. Picking up the white one, he fitted it gently to Lilla’s face, gingerly tying the white satin ribbon around her hair. She regarded herself in the mirror on the wall; the mask was in the likeness of a rabbit, or a mouse…or something in-between. The ears felt like real fur, and she struggled to prevent herself from reaching up and caressing them too much. Something about the style accentuated her big, brown eyes, and long, thick eyelashes.

Gortash then fitted his own mask; one much more diabolical looking than Lilla’s. It may have been a devil, or some mysterious red, horned entity. The brow was furrowed in regal anger, and the cheekbones sat high above long, red fangs that framed the sides of his mouth.Lilla bit her lip at the sinister effect the mask gave Gortash, causing her to feel heat well between her thighs…

He swished a white cloak around her, clasping it tightly to assure her body wasn't visible underneath, before wrapping himself with a black one. He then picked up his cane in his gilded hand, before opening the door, ushering Lilla onto the stoop.

---

When they arrived at the Upper City palace, by the sound of dark waltz music inside, it was clear the party had already started. Gortash stopped Lilla before they entered the grand entrance, and pulled something glittery from the pocket of his party jacket.

It was a long, thin golden chain; glimmering in the full moonlight. He fastened it to Lilla’s collar, just behind the obsidian charm. She parted her lips, sighing softly at the implication.

“Master…you are too good…”

Gortash gave the dainty chain a slight tug, “Quiet, pet. Not another word for the rest of the night.”

Lilla bit her tongue in obedience, and instead focused on the sliding of her thighs as her master pulled her by the lead into the looming palace.The house was massive, dark and mysterious. Servants adorned with grey masks in the image of wolves, bats and rats welcomed them at the foyer, asking graciously to present their invitation.

Gortash held out a rolled scroll of red parchment, which a servant took politely, pulled open and scrutinised closely. Lilla was sure she saw the painted image of the same black hand that Gortash and Lilla donned on their ensembles.

“ Obedience Above All ,” the wolf-masked servant woman read aloud, “Welcome, Lord Gortash, to the Crimson Epoch Gala. The auction starts at one o'clock. Until then, please enjoy the pleasures Lord Szarr has courteously set out for his guests.”

Gortash gave a curt nod, and yanked the golden chain, indicating for Lilla to mirror him. She curtsied submissively, already basking in the pleasure of being paraded around and subjugated by him in public. She caught a glimpse of Gortash’s approving smirk under his mask as he turned to lead her into the ballroom.

The grand party room was adorned with beautiful mahogany panelling, and golden trim to accentuate the wealthy crimson wallpaper. It had an eerie, mystical air about the place; even the chandeliers emitted a light that didn’t feel entirely natural.The costumed guests were already mingling and waltzing unabashedly to the haunting music. Lilla gasped when she looked to the ceiling, and saw real, live bats fluttering to and fro around the rafters.

It was apparent which guests were masters, and which were slaves: as the slaves donned white costumes, just as Lilla had, and the masters wore black or crimson. Many slaves stood at attention, awaiting their masters to complete their waltz; or at the backs of their masters while they mingled, staring at the floor patiently.

Gortash plucked two flutes of bubbly white wine from a bat-masked servant’s platter, and handed one to Lilla.

“Drink,” he ordered, giving no other reason beyond his request for her obedience, which served Lilla just fine.

She sipped the delectable liquid, which immediately made her feel pleasantly fuzzy, reminding her she had not eaten anything since breakfast. Oh well, she thought, taking another drink while enjoying the experience.Lilla stood next to Gortash who, like clockwork, had guests already lining up to speak with him, which he clearly welcomed. Instinct took over, and she elected to try and keep track of who was saying what in regards to rumour and gossip, but she found it impossible to track much, thanks to the obscurity of the costumes.

“My what a delicious pet you have!” a beautiful, sharp woman in deep red lipstick and a black hawk mask chimed, dragging her gaze hungrily down Lilla's body. Her slave, a beautiful, orange-skinned tiefling man stood behind her, wearing a dead expression under his white racoon mask.

“My thanks,” Gortash gave the compliment a gracious nod, “I have toiled endlessly on this one.”

“I can see that!” the Hawk agreed, “How much will she be starting at tonight? I may need to adjust my funds…”

Gortash cleared his throat, “I’m not selling tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve only come here to acquire.”

“Oh nonsense,” the Hawk waved impatiently, “everything here is for sale…or…oh, you poor thing!” The sharp woman exaggerated a pout, “You’ve become attached to this one, yes? I wouldn’t blame you. You must be careful, though; they know it when you like them, and they will take advantage of you, isn’t that right, Corrus?” She waved flippantly at the tiefling.

“Indeed, Mistress,” he drawled, void of emotion.

Gortash prickled with irritation at the woman’s words, especially her implication. Lilla thought quickly to help regain his dignity in front of the Hawk, by happily sacrificing her own. She looked down to her master’s shoes, and feigned seeing a spot on the pristine leather. Risking betraying Gortash’s orders, she spoke only once while dropping to her knees.

“Forgive me master, I see a smudge on your shoe!” She began using the sheer fabric of her hem to polish the shiny surface in small circles.

A swell of gratitude built up in Gortash’s chest as he silently thanked her for helping him recover from the rude woman. A swell in his trousers reminded him how arousing Lilla’s dedication was. He had to focus fiercely to prevent his co*ck from getting any harder.

He wanted to thank Lilla, but he knew capitalising on her performance was the only efficient way to counter the Hawk's accusation.

“Get up, girl, stop fussing,” he yanked the golden chain, encouraging Lilla to stand back up and clasp her hands together, before dropping her eyes obediently to the floor.

“I apologise, My Lady,” Gortash addressed the Hawk, “What was it we were talking about before my pet rudely interrupted us? Don’t worry, she will be aptly punished after the party. Maybe even before then…”

Both Lilla and the Hawk shot a look at Gortash - both for very different reasons.

“Well,” said the sharp woman with a smirk, “far be it from me to interrupt your duty as a master. Enjoy your night!” She waved a hand full of long, pointed red fingernails at her slave, “Come, Corrus. I’m peckish.”

Crotchety, more like, Lilla thought.

---

As Gortash led Lilla through the ballroom, they came upon the small orchestra who was headlining. When Lilla saw who was in front, straddling a grand cello, she gave a small gasp, and instinctively grabbed the hem of Gortash’s sleeve.

“Master!” she whispered, “It’s Lady Destri!”

“Silence!” Gortash hissed at her, mostly to keep up appearances, but a part of him truly meant to remind her of his order. The words of the Hawk resonated in his mind…though he felt a small pang of remorse shortly after snapping at Lilla, which in truth may have been worse for him…

Thankfully Lilla didn’t seem hurt, and appeared to acknowledge that she was pushing his boundaries after her enterprising attempt to ward off the hawkish slaver woman.

“Do not show any regard for her,” Gortash leaned in to whisper to Lilla, “no-one must know we are acquainted.”

Lilla had a thousand questions now, but nodded politely at her master as she silently watched the performance.

Destri was wearing a deep crimson dress with a neckline that plunged downward, stopping just before her navel. Her hips were visible all the way up to the bone where the dress slit open on either side. Her legs were spread wide open to accommodate the cello, with the middle flap of delicate red fabric falling down between her thighs and pooling in a soft puddle on the floor. The sharp ridges of her lavender chest and ribs, accommodated with the pointed edges of her hip bones, were an exotic sight; something rarely seen in upper class environments.

She donned the mask of a lifelike red skull; Lilla thought it looked so accurate, it could have easily been real. Teardrop rubies dangled elegantly from each pointed ear, and around her collar was a string of matching rubies, giving off an image of blood droplets (Author’s note: I know, original- but pretty, OK!?)

The end of the current song began to teeter off as the band members shuffled their chairs back, letting Destri continue on solo. Guests began to gather around as the deep, resonant sound of the rich strings built to a haunting, emotional crescendo. The final climax of the solo had the entire room in applause, before Destri stood up, and took a gracious bow.

As she stepped off the shallow platform, an opulently-dressed man took her place, eliciting an even more tremendous applause; masters and slaves alike. Lilla surmised it must have been Lord Cazador Szarr; the master of the palace, and host of the party. He wore the only golden mask, depicting a snarling dire-wolf.

“Masters and mistresses!” he announced, his voice boomed throughout the room; clearly amplified by magic, “Welcome, and thank you for gracing me with your delicious presence at this year’s annual Crimson Epoch Gala!”

The crowd cheered excitedly, pushing forward for a better look at the host, enveloping Gortash and Lilla, and filtering them to the back of the crowd. Lilla recognized that it was exactly the situation Gortash had hoped for.

“Come,” he whispered to her while the crowd was distracted, leading her away from the clamour, while Lord Szarr began announcing the first auction; the orange-skinned tiefling man with the white racoon mask.

An itch of discomfort welled at the pit of Lilla’s stomach, as she saw him await his fate without emotion. He clearly had been broken, or magically enthralled; perhaps by the Hawk woman…perhaps even before. She tried to convince herself perhaps his next master would treat him well…would love him…but she knew the unsavoury truth of it.

Gortash led her out of the ballroom, and down a darkened hallway; Cazador’s voice began to dissipate, despite the magical amplification. Hoping to avoid her master’s ire, Lilla said nothing, and asked no questions; only followed him obediently.Once they turned a corner, they were met with Lady Destri, who had been awaiting them patiently in some small parlour-style room.

“Hello, my sweet,” she addressed Lilla, who bit her tongue, curtsying politely.

Lady Destri looked from the golden chain, then at Gortash, rolling her amber eyes, “ Really ?”

He furrowed his brow at her under his mask, ignoring her criticism, “Do you have it?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Not yet,” she whispered, popping her head into the hallway to assure nobody was near, “I need your help, though,” she said after confirming the coast was clear.

Gortash gave an impatient sigh, “Very well. Lilla, stay here. Don’t talk to anyone .”

He hooked the end of the golden chain to a nearby candelabra and rushed off with Destri to an adjacent room, leaving Lilla alone in the dim parlour.

Passing the time, she occupied herself by caressing the soft, furry ears of her mask, as well as thumbing the charm on her collar, while observing the paintings and expensive ornaments within proximity of the candelabra.

To her surprise, she heard a flowery voice address her. “Well hello…” a young, high-elf man regarded her with a musical, intrigued tone. He wore a white, snub-nosed bat mask, which matched the ivory-white of his expertly tousled hair. His skin was so pale, it reflected what meagre light existed in the room, giving off an otherworldly glow. Under the mask, his piercing eyes of crimson regarded her lazily, shamelessly looking her up and down, taking in her provocative attire.

“Where is your master?” the White Bat purred with curiosity, stepping into the parlour.

Lilla shook her head, placing a finger on her lips, indicating she is unable to speak. This caused the White Bat to co*ck his head in fascination; a crooked smirk spreading across his lips, revealing a single white fang.

f*ck . Lilla thought. The bats, the midnight ball, the slaves…the fangs …This was not good for her…

“ Well ,” the White Bat grinned, “You’re an obedient little rabbit aren’t you? You don’t smell like a thrall…” he stepped even closer, gently plucking at the golden chain connecting Lilla to the candelabra. It was clear she could disconnect it herself…if she wished.

Her pulse quickened; if she called for her master, would she interrupt whatever task he and Lady Destri were carrying out? It’s possible they were just f*cking, but it didn’t seem like that was the plan... It sounded as if they were fetching something they weren’t supposed to…and Lilla refused to give them away. So she remained silent, giving the handsome vampire a curt nod.

“You know,” he whispered, “it’s not very smart for a master to leave a slave unattended back here, as you can imagine. It’s the one of the few nights out of the year we really get to let loose, you know what I mean?” He ran an expertly manicured hand over his white feathered hair, gazing at her hungrily. Lilla thought it was an odd thing to say, since he was also wearing a white mask…but he was also without a master, and didn’t act as broken as the rest...

“How about I escort you somewhere safer, little rabbit?” he continued with that crooked, unsettling smirk across his face, “Once the auction is over, there’s another, more delicious after - party to be had…”

As Lilla's breath hitched awkwardly, their 'conversation' was -thankfully for her- cut short.

“Were you waiting long, sweet one?” Destri’s voice rang out from behind them, making both Lilla and the White Bat turn to see her entering from another room, adjusting her dress. Destri’s gaze bored into the pale elf, raising an eyebrow, “Run now to your master, spawn ,” she said with a hint of spite, “this one isn’t yours.”

When Lilla looked back, the White Bat was gone.

Gortash emerged from the other room following Destri, looking slightly dishevelled. A pang of envy jolted through Lilla’s insides, causing her to swallow dryly. If they were f*cking, why wasn’t she permitted to at least watch?

He produced something from behind his back; an ancient tome, thick and dusty. It looked as if it had humanoid skin stretched across the cover…given the setting, Lilla realised it may have indeed been just that. Some relief overcame her as she surmised Gortash and Lady Destri were perhaps not having sex, but instead carrying out a small heist for this crusty tome. Though the concept of both wasn’t entirely a distasteful thought for Lilla's imagination...

Handing the book to Lady Destri to take, Gortash strode to Lilla, unhooking her from her anchor.

“You alright?” he whispered, noting she was shivering slightly, though the look of her pert nipples didn’t go unappreciated.

“Yes, Master, there was a vampire spawn…”

Gortash’s lips tightened, “I’m sorry…many guests here are monsters…I shouldn’t have left you on your own.”

Lilla was surprised at his apology; she didn’t even think one was warranted, but she smiled warmly at him, adjusting his uneven mask to signal her unnecessary forgiveness- if only to soften his guilt.

Lady Destri had already disappeared with the tome out a nearby window without another word, so Gortash led Lilla back to the ballroom where the auction was just closing to an end, and the orchestra had begun playing again, sans-cello. To Lilla’s surprise, Gortash held out his gilded claw for her to take, implying the next dance was theirs. She gawked at him in terror, portraying more fear than she had ever known, despite the horrors she had seen during her servitude under him.

Her mortified expression made him chuckle, and he grabbed her nonetheless, pulling her to the dance floor, where a gothic, brassy waltz began thrumming with decadent nonchalance. Lilla spun into her master’s arms, who twirled her back out again before pulling her into his chest; her golden chain and a delicate hand held in his gilded gauntlet.

He guided her around the floor with fluid ease; she only had to relax herself and give in to his control, which was ultimately her favourite thing to do. Behind his devil’s mask, his obsidian eyes sparkled with amusem*nt, and affection.

She swore she caught Gortash flicking his eyes to the Hawk as they whirled past, giving the woman a sly wink.

---

When Gortash and Lilla arrived back at his manor entrance, he wasted no more time; he tore off her cloak, and scooped her up in his arms, ignoring even removing their masks.

“I should have f*cked you at the palace in front of all of them,” he whispered hoarsely, wine and whiskey on his breath. She liked him a bit drunk, it was fun. “I’m going to play with you all night.”

He carried Lilla up the stairs while she had her legs wrapped around his waist, refusing to take his mouth off her skin. Lilla was already grinding against his hardened bulge as he brought her to the third floor. He kicked open the ornate door to his bedroom chambers before bringing her in and throwing her on the end of the four-post bed.

Striding to the side-table, he fetched the red, silk cord Lilla loved so dearly, and pulled her towards him by the feet; her body unceremoniously dragging the sheets with her as she giggled. He tied her hands together, then pulled her off the bed by the bindings, only to hook them above her head to the same strap she had been secured to many weeks ago.

“Do you want some punishment tonight?” he asked softly in her ear from behind, “Or should I just start taking you now?” He grazed her leg up to her buttocks with his golden claw. Despite being gentle, the sharpness of the gilded fingertips tore the sheer fabric, leaving a distinct pattern as if some wild animal had torn her dress. Three tiny welts followed afterward, leaving miniscule droplets of blood in its wake.

“An impossible choice, Master,” Lilla breathed, “You are the master, not I.”

At this he slapped her ass hard over the thin fabric, making her yelp delectably.“You’re right,” he replied, slurring slightly from intoxication, “wait here.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

SLAP.

Gortash strode from the room, leaving Lilla to simmer in anticipation. Her inner thighs were soaked, and her core thrummed with excitement. Fragrant, early-summer breeze wafted into the room from the open balcony, helping her cool down so she could sober up somewhat.

As Lilla stood with her body stretched out, wrists hoisted above her head; she thought she could make out two pinpricks of amber in the deep shadows of the balcony. She was right to assume, when Lady Destri stepped into the moonlight, still dressed in her sultry crimson dress; though her skull mask was long abandoned.

“My Lady!” Lilla faltered, her body heating up in embarrassment; undoing all the kind work the cool summer breeze had soothed on her skin.

Destri said nothing, but stepped unevenly into the room, as if she were intoxicated as well… eyes fixated on Lilla. There was something unsettling about her gaze, as if her amber irises were more intense than usual…as if something feral was behind them...

“I need you…” the tiefling woman whispered, almost impossible to hear.

“Master will be back soon…maybe he-” Lilla’s mouth went dry when Destri produced a lavish-looking dagger from behind her back. It resembled a devil’s forked, red tongue; split at the end for maximum shredding capacity.

“M…my Lady,” Lilla stuttered, desperately starting to wriggle at the bindings above her head.

Destri took her time stumbling forward, as if in slow motion. Lilla considered for a moment if she was struggling to stop herself from advancing, but wasn’t about to trust the woman's unnerving twitches and animalistic growling from deep within her diaphragm. Thinking fast, Lilla closed her eyes and cast Mage Hand, willing the hand to claw at her bindings. She had previously seen Gortash pull on the cord with one easy yank, allowing it to unravel easily to the floor…but she was unable to figure out the trick behind it.Once Destri was a bit too close for comfort, Lilla instead willed the Mage Hand over to the tiefling in a desperate attempt to halt her advances. Destri only lumbered forward, slashing the hand effortlessly out of existence without breaking her ravenous glare.

“Please, My Lady,” Lilla began to plead, heart racing, “I want you too…Maybe when Lord GortashreturnswecanbetogetherOHMYGODS!”

Lilla shrieked in terror as Destri’s entire body flexed, muscles taut just before pouncing; identical to a displacer beast Lilla was always reminded of when seeing the woman. The dagger was lightning quick, a red streak through the air towards her throat.

I’m sorry Master, was the last thing that went through her mind…before the blade stopped in mid-air, just before sinking deep into her neck. Lady Destri was frozen on the spot; much like Deacon had been all that time ago when he attempted to lunge at Lord Gortash in anger.

As if summoned by the gods, or hells…or whoever, Gortash was standing in the doorway behind Lilla; his golden gauntlet held up, palm forward. She could see him in the standing mirror off to the side of the bed, and exhaled with a snort of maddening laughter.

He said nothing, but raced over and pulled Lilla from the hook above her wrists, pushing her to the side to safety. He then bent down and tore the blade from Lady Destri’s hand before gripping her by the neck, hoisting her up to look her in the face.Her eyes were menacing, her body twitching with feral malice. Saliva pooled around her beautiful lips, and she snarled at Gortash like an untamed beast.

“What’s wrong with her, Master?” Lilla whimpered, trembling from fear.

Gortash ignored her, and threw Destri onto the bed, gesturing Lilla over. She obeyed, and he plucked at her crimson bindings, which fell to the floor with ease. Lilla gave an exasperated scoff.

“Give it to me,” Gortash ordered Lilla, gesturing to the cord. She picked it up quickly and placed it in his free hand, while the other was holding Destri firmly down on the mattress.

He expertly wrangled Destri’s wrists together behind her back in one seamless flourish, testing the integrity of the binding before standing up again to watch the woman writhe and squirm rabidly.

“You swore an oath,” he scolded her calmly, but it was uncertain whether Destri could even understand him.

However, a guttural voice emerged from deep within the woman’s core, as if every muscle in her torso was contracted, “Not…harm…you…she’s…game…”

“Unacceptable,” Gortash replied with practised calm, “She is mine, and therefore under the auspices of our agreement. You will have to be duly punished for breaking our terms, seeing as I can’t kill you outright…but I cannot again suffer your interference in my affairs…”

Lady Destri only growled and gnashed her teeth at him.

“Lilla,” Lord Gortash said, “have you created any sleeping potions with that laboratory of yours?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Fetch me one.”

Chapter 17: CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chapter Text

When Lilla woke, it was still dead night outside; she must have only slept for perhaps two hours or less.

She had fallen asleep on Gortash’s lap, curled up into his chest on an armchair facing the bed…where Lady Destri was suspended over the mattress thanks to the series of pulleys and ropes secured to the four post; her body bound in intricate knots with a long length of red cord.

The tiefling woman was fast asleep. Her limp head faced away from Lilla and Gortash towards the headboard; her long, deep violet braid cascaded onto the sheets in a coil as her body swayed gently in the early summer breeze. Her hands were tied securely behind her back, and her ankles and knees were bound snugly at her side against her torso. Even Destri’s tail was folded back and knotted in with the same cord that bound her wrists, just to be safe.

It was an erotic sight, as the long, elegant strip of crimson fabric falling between her gaping thighs only just covered the woman’s sex. Rubbing her tired eyes, Lilla looked up at Gortash, who had clearly been awake this entire time, dark eyes fixated on Destri like a stone sentry.

“Master…” Lilla whispered, reaching up to touch the stubble of his jaw. Gortash flicked his eyes to her for a moment to confirm he was regarding her, but quickly drew them back to Destri out of sheer obligation.

“Master, what happened with Lady Destri?” Lilla asked sleepily.

Gortash almost grinned; after the Bhaalspawn tried to kill Lilla, she still regarded the tiefling as “Lady.” She had such a penchant for forgiveness, even towards the darkest of souls - he would know. He squeezed her in close; that same forgiveness wasn’t something he planned on taking for granted…he may need that forgiveness for later.

Considering her words carefully, he decided to be blunt with the truth; another test to see how Lilla reacted. He had much more confidence in her after what she had endured thus.

“She’s a Bhaalspawn, pet. It’s in her nature, and I suspect the attack was outside of her control.”

At this Lilla pushed herself up from his chest in surprise, looking at the unconscious Bhaalist with awe.

“A Bhaalspawn…” she breathed thoughtfully. Her brows furrowed in concern, and plump, pink lips parted in awe.

Gortash patiently waited for her to process this, feeling her pulse increase as she considered the news. What she said next surprised even him.

“If Lady Destri wasn’t in control…then why are you waiting to punish her?”

This made Gortash chuckle, “She betrayed an oath she took with me,” he started, “though she was undoubtedly frenzied by her bloodlust, it could have been easily avoided. Therefore I place the blame on her for this trespass.”

Lilla rolled the new information around in her mind for a few moments, calculating which question out of hundreds to ask first.

“She made an oath not to harm me?” Lilla asked, while a slew of follow-up questions queued up in the back of her mind.

“Not…exactly,” Gortash admitted, gingerly scratching his jaw with a sharp, golden fingertip, “but she vowed never to harm me …and you are an offset of me. Regardless of the semantics of such an oath, she must be taught a lesson, lest she cross me again.”

Lilla almost stopped paying attention halfway through her master’s explanation; her pupils dilated…’ You are an offset of me…’

She forced herself to focus, compartmentalising his beautiful words for safekeeping at the back of her mind, before considering her next question.

“What are you planning to do?” Lilla asked, feeling a deep, dark hunger within her belly as she looked on at Destri folded up and bound seductively with the silk cord; the crimson of her dress and the rope contrasted remarkably with the shade of lavender skin.

Gortash let out a thoughtful sigh, “I suppose it depends on what she says once she wakes. I’m not above letting her speak her peace before she is sentenced.”

Lilla felt the slightest twitch in her master’s lap from underneath her, making her instinctually grind against him to coax him further. He stopped her though, placing a gilded hand on her thigh to steady her advances.

“Easy, pet…” he whispered through a smirk, “The Bhaalspawn indeed interrupted our night, but justice must come first. ‘ Obedience Above All …’”

Recognizing the phrase from earlier in the night when the servant read out Gortash’s invitation at the masquerade, Lilla wracked her brain to see if she could pinpoint where else she had heard it. When nothing came to mind, she considered asking Gortash about the phrase itself…but some deep instinct within her told her it wasn’t time. She then instead opted to ask about the events of the party, curious about the stolen book.

“Does the oath you took with Lady Destri have to do with that rotten book you took from the palace earlier?”

A trace of pride curled at the edge of Gortash’s lip; she had consistently impressed him with her skills of observation. “Indeed it does, pet,” he murmured, sliding his hand up her thigh, under the sheer fabric towards her behind. His gaze lingered on the tasteful way his golden gauntlet looked under the delicate material, cupping her ass. His co*ck twitched again, forcing himself to steel against the temptation to shred her dress to pieces and throw her on the bed under Destri…

Before Lilla could ask any more questions, the tiefling emitted a groggy groan, and began shifting sluggishly against her bindings. She slowly began to comprehend where she was, and the vulnerable position she had awoken in.

“The f*ck , Enver!?” she croaked as she realised she was completely bound. She struggled against the knots, causing her to sway in the air helplessly.

Gortash guided Lilla off his lap, and stood up from the armchair, stepping over to Destri with calculated calm.

“I should ask you the same thing, My Lady, ” he replied, mocking the un-earned pet name Lilla had kindly awarded her.

Destri was wriggling in frustration, gritting her teeth, but stopped immediately when the implication of what perhaps had conspired sunk in. “f*ck…f*ck,’ Destri groaned in panic, “The girl, is she okay? Did I-”

To her relief, she caught the reflection of Lilla in the mirror. She was sitting in the armchair directly behind Destri, legs gracefully tucked under her sideways as she sat… though she looked on with a mischievous glimmer in her eye, while chewing a fingertip in what appeared to be perverted anticipation.

“No harm has come to Lilla, no thanks to you,” Gortash drawled dispassionately, “we were forced to restrain you, seeing as you stalked in here with quite the appetite.”

“I…” Destri tried to find an excuse. She truly did not want harm to come to the girl, but in the excitement of the heist at the Szarr palace, she lost track of time. She had been so caught up in reconnaissance and preparation, a full tenday had passed since her last sacrifice…which was an abject sin against her Father. Her punishment was boiling blood, bubbling bile, and a beastly brain.

Shame and anger roiled within Destri’s gut; it wasn’t fair. She was always the most faithful to Bhaal. She understood him above all his subjects, but he did not suffer a single, unintentional mistake. Everything she did was for him, and still it wasn’t enough…she felt like she was going to vomit, thinking such vile thoughts against her Father. I’m sorry, she thought, I’m sorry, I’M SORRY.

“IT’S NOT MY FAULT,” she shrieked in exasperation; she wasn’t sure if she was directing it at Bhaal, or Gortash. Perhaps both…though she sensed her Father couldn’t even hear her under Gortash’s roof, as if it was a sanctuary away from home.

She recalled noticing the peculiar, quiet sensation when she first climbed onto his balcony to approach him in these same chambers the day he hired sweet, sweet Lilla.

The noise: buzzing, scraping, scratching, screeching…it silenced immediately when she stepped past the threshold onto Gortash’s gaudy, expensive rug. A small smirk made its way to her lips when she revisited the expression on his face toward her bloody footprints. She craned her vision to the right, towards the balcony; the rug still had the remnants of her crimson footprints, though someone had clearly attempted to scrub it clean in futility.

“Perhaps not,” Gortash replied to Destri’s outburst, picking up an item she couldn’t entirely see in the reflection of the mirror. Whatever it was, it caused Lilla to adjust in the armchair from excitement. “But sneaking into my chambers for a catnap is one thing…stalking through the shadows to destroy my prized possessions…” he tutted to show his disappointment, “Well that is a transgression against me, and our working relationship.”

A pang of aggravation pierced through Destri’s civility, “Oh please,” she spat, swaying from her suspensions, “She’s cute, but you can always get another secretary.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she knew she didn’t mean it; she knew it before she even opened her mouth… but she was infuriated at her circ*mstance, causing her to give into emotion. Too late now to recover.

She had once felt these chambers offered some solace, and hoped it could be a retreat for short reprieves from the perpetual fizz and sizzle of blood thrumming within her eardrums. However now she was restrained, constrained, contained- like the feral beast she was.

The silver lining was that the air was quiet here. It was only oxygen, mixed with the scent of Enver the Tyrant… instead of wisps upon whiffs of tantalising civilian pheromones, pleading and leading her to slice and smear.

It was why she was immediately compelled to sleep when she first visited this place. Her taut body nearly collapsed, and her vibrating skull calmed to a halt. Gortash let her sleep, although begrudgingly, which was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

The snap sound of leather tore Destri from the hidey-hole inside her mind, sobering her to the stark reality of the situation she was suspended in. Gortash held some sort of wooden handle that produced four strips of braided leather that dangled sinisterly at his side.

“It’s unfortunate you feel that way,” Gortash said with an ominous tone, “I really had hoped the three of us would get along.”

SNAPPP. The whip scored the powerful flesh of Destri’s thigh, causing her to throw her head back, and cry out in pain.

Lilla gasped in shock and awe at the searing welts left on the tiefling’s beautiful skin.

“Don’t worry,” Gortash assured Destri, his voice low and dangerous. SNAPPP. The braided leather strips echoed one another as they cracked across her other thigh. “I am nothing if not forgiving. I won’t take a body part tonight. I need you in-tact to carry out our plans,” SNAPPP . Destri’s flesh rippled with the brutal impact.

Lilla hadn’t realised how long she had been holding her breath; her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and arousal. Watching her master expertly, methodically regain his standing was exhilarating…divine, even.

She then realised something…the way he revered obedience…and the way he calculated all things with an imperial, concise measure. This was divinity to him. Everything Gortash did, he aimed to do as some holy sacrament…for something higher than even himself.

She had always brushed it off as a sense only she herself felt, but it was clear Gortash followed the same edict; religiously so. He had discovered the perfect harmony of pleasure, pain and order among all things. The fact that he included her in such a consecrated existence, and even venerated her for her piousness…she felt an overwhelming surge of spiritual bliss overtake her.

Head lolling back, Lilla felt hot tears stream down her cheeks as she gripped the armrests of the chair; a well of blessed heat coalesced between her thighs. Something compelled her to reach up and thumb the obsidian charm on her collar. She then took the delicate golden chain that still hung from her neck, and rubbed it between the forefinger and thumb on her other hand - not unlike the red-string rosaries the Ilmater clerics used as they prayed.

“Master…” she whispered softly, too quiet to be heard. She just wanted to utter his name while he unleashed divine justice onto the thighs and ass of the Bhaalspawn who crossed him.

Lilla managed to tear her gaze away from Gortash’s unrelenting lashes to the mirror at the left of the bed, her heart skipping a beat. In the reflection, Lady Destri’s face was no longer contorted in pain, but a serene expression of bliss graced her beautiful features while she lustfully anticipated each impact. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her bottom lip was seductively tucked under her brilliant white fangs; the luscious flesh almost impaled by sharp, pointed canines.

Lady Destri was being gifted with the same heavenly joy Lilla feels when she experiences her master’s divine purpose…

“Master!” Lilla squeaked, just loud enough to allow Gortash to decide whether or not to stop his work.

He turned to her, panting softly and wiping perspiration from his forehead with the cuff of his party jacket. His slicked hair was dishevelled now, giving him a somewhat fanatical silhouette.

Lilla slid off the armchair and tiptoed over to Gortash, offering a timid smile. She was silently asking to interfere, and he hesitated for a moment before replying with a subtle nod.

Reaching out, Lilla ran her hands along Lady Destri’s exposed flesh, feeling the ripples and criss-crossed welts with just a whisper of her delicate fingertips. Tiny pinpricks of blood smeared across the lavender skin in the wake of her caress. The Bhaalspawn trembled at the sudden change in sensation. Gortash clutched the whip at his side with a steel grip and stood by cautiously, assuring his lesson would not be derailed in any disrespectful manner.

Lilla crept a hand up towards the crease between Destri’s ass and her thigh, and then towards the immense heat between her legs. Both women emitted a breathy shudder in tandem as Lilla’s fingers found the slick moisture hidden under the crimson fabric.

“Look, Master,” Lilla said gently, pulling the red, silken material up, and throwing it over the other side of Destri’s tightly bound leg, “She aches for you…”

It was Gortash’s turn to give a strained exhale; a shock of desire shot through him before he was able to compose himself. His co*ck hardened in seconds.

“Th…that’s not…” Destri stammered, quickly realising the implication of what was about to happen.

Gortash unbuckled his waist belt, setting it aside on a table to avoid any mishaps with the precious symbol of his lord. He then pulled off his party jacket, making him aware how hot he had been while working on the Bhaalspawn’s punishment. He had been in a trance while carrying out the lashes, unaware of his surroundings, nor his temperature - until Lilla’s comment brought him back to reality.

The cool breeze that wafted in from the balcony invited him to remove his shirt as well, which stuck uncomfortably to his torso due to the sweat that had built up from the tight jacket. He peeled it off over his head, throwing it off to the side.

He reached out to touch Destri as Lilla had, gently and tenderly. Upon feeling Gortash’s hand, she gave a deep shudder; he could see her soaked entrance contract with want. Besides her head, tiefling hadn’t a whisper of hair on her body- including her sex. Her ridges and jagged angles were a delectable, exotic picture.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop here. Your punishment otherwise is complete.”

Silence lingered in the air as Lilla and Gortash awaited Destri’s answer. Once an overly generous amount of time passed, it was clear Destri wasn't going to answer…she couldn't.

She wanted nothing more than to be touched, taken, tumbled by Gortash’s warm, human hands. She wanted it since the first night she hunted him, lured by his ambrosial scent.

---

She stalked him for longer than was appropriate -over weeks without his knowing; staying her hand and risking her Father’s ire…but Enver was like the last confection in the jar; once he was eaten, he would be no more.

Because she delayed her kill, she began to admire him, and learned about how he operated. She had to sacrifice triple the offerings before every tenday just to avoid being overtaken with animalistic fervor…to avoid obliterating him…

The only appropriate end for him would have had to be a fine red mist; she wouldn't risk leaving even a morsel behind for anyone else to cherish.

She was afraid of him, because of this. If smart, a predator should fear its grandest prey. The funny thing was, though, he was so easy to sneak up on. She feared that as well, hoping no other bloodkin would catch his scent, and take him for their own.

Once she learned about his Bane worship, she understood that perhaps he was being protected by his lord…or at least that's what she told herself, in order to spare herself the shame of not killing him…

It was then Father came to her in her dream and ordered her to seek Gortash out; not as prey, but as an ally. She could barely control her excitement when their union was ordained. At that point she knew so much about him -more than he did himself in some cases- and decided to introduce herself by ousting the wretch who was stealing from him. She hoped to build a bit of trust, as a start.

She now had lost much of that trust, due to her own failure. She wanted to tell him she didn't deserve his touch; that it would be a reward that overshadowed her punishment for trying to break his pretty thing. But she couldn't… She craved it too dearly. She wanted, needed, that primal connection from touch and affection she had always been starved of, and fed gore instead.

Under his sanctuary, her silence spoke loudly for her.

---

“Very well,” Gortash said, his voice softer now.

He began caressing her skin; not just her thighs and buttocks, but her ankles, hips, tail… all the things he had been longing to touch out of curiosity and desire. His touch was cool; soothing the stinging brands he had laid to her bare flesh. Destri was quiet, afraid if she spoke or made a sound, he would stop.

Regardless, he did stop. Reaching up to the ropes crisscrossing the bannisters above the bed, he hoisted and pulled them in select places. Destri felt the suspension go slack for a moment, wondering if he was going to let her down into the mattress. However, with a quick tug on a cord, she began to pivot in place, until she was directly facing Gortash and Lilla.

Fair enough , she thought. They had no reason to trust her yet, and she yearned deeply to remedy that.

Gortash took some extra slack of red rope and wound it around each of Destri’s horns, then pulled gently to lift them back so she was unable to move her head in any other direction but forward. Despite the extra layer of restraint, Destri found it surprisingly comfortable, as her neck no longer had to strain to keep her head propped up. She relaxed into it, staring up at the tyrant with her piercing amber eyes.

He reached out to caress her jaw with his gilded hand, and brushed his clawed thumb across her lips.

“Renew your vow to me,” he ordered gently, regarding her with patient, obsidian eyes.

Destri recalled her first pact, and scrutinised the flaws within it. She had cited her Father as witness, not fully understanding he was unable to act as an arbiter under the silent sanctuary of Gortash’s domain. Perhaps if she knew that the first time, her vile bloodrage wouldn’t have overridden her promise tonight.

Her refreshed oath must come from within, rather than without.

“I, Destri, Blood of Bhaal, Daughter of Murder, give you my word. I will not harm you or yours from this day forward, lest my blood be spilt righteously at your feet…”

This clearly appeased Enver, especially as he felt the prickle of divine recognition fill the room around them. A test was in order.

“Lilla, come here please.”

Lilla did as she was ordered, and stepped forth, cautiously; “Yes, Master?”

Gortash’s throat went dry, but he brushed away his apprehension. It was high time he truly flexed his dominance.

“I want you to select a digit on one of those darling hands of yours…one you’d choose to part with if the circ*mstance called for it…”

Lilla’s heart began pounding… was he truly ordering her to sacrifice one of her own fingers? A moan of ecstasy slipped from her lips, where terror should have sufficed. The more she was pushed by Gortash, the more she learned intimately about her darker self. She should have recoiled at his request; or at least at her own shameless zeal.

“As you wish, Master,” she breathed, eager to show him her dedication. She had always wanted to learn the violin, so she elected the ring finger on her right hand, deciding if Lady Destri were to bite it off, the remaining fingers would allow her to hold a bow just fine.

Gortash clenched his fists, digging golden claws into his palms to prevent himself from reeling out of sheer euphoria. He watched with elation as Lilla held out her hand, while stepping closer to the Bhaalspawn. Reciting a silent prayer, he hoped the pact stood true, and Lilla’s beautiful hand would remain unharmed.

A queer sensation enveloped him; subtle, but undoubtedly present… like a shadowy efflorescence. Perhaps it was an indication Bane had blessed his act of unmitigated control over these subjects.

The tiefling had gone stark quiet, watching intently as Lilla approached. Her heart pounded, and she did her best to quell her fear. She worried her feral instincts would take over the moment a slender digit entered her mouth…

Destri gave a dreamy moan of gratitude; thankful not only for the delicious sensation, but that the fact her urge was not trying to claw its way out of her skull towards the young woman.

Lilla pulled her ring finger out of Destri’s mouth, and without hesitation, slipped her fore and middle fingers in, causing the woman to close her eyes and suck softly.

“She’s being nice, Master,” Lilla reported, looking up at him with an adorable smirk.

“Good girls,” Gortash murmured, taking Lilla’s arm and gently pulling it away from Destri.

He reached up once again to the ropes above, unravelling one from a hook, then steadily tugged it downward from the adjacent pulley. This caused the bindings surrounding Destri to roll her over so her stomach was facing the ceiling, and her throat was fully exposed to Gortash as he stared down at her. He then tied the rope securely on the same hook, leaving Destri’s front fully prone.

Reaching down with his clawed hand, he caressed her out-stretched neck, appreciating the shudder she emitted under his touch. He curled his fingers gingerly around her throat, resting a sharpened thumb over her aorta.

Gortash bent down close to Destri’s chin, “If I even feel an ounce of pressure from those teeth, your blood will paint this room, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes…” she replied, just hoping he would hurry the f*ck up.

“This has been a long time coming, I suppose,” he grinned, pulling at the laces of his trousers to allow his unbearably aching erection free. He was playing it as cool as possible, but in truth his elation was insurmountable. Holding his hardened co*ck with his free hand, he touched the tip to Destri’s lips.

She refused to allow any further delay; she opened her mouth wide, impatiently inviting him in. He obliged, and slid past her lips and precarious teeth to feel the head and top of his shaft meet her slippery tongue. Gortash exhaled; almost inebriated with pleasure. He pushed further in, until the entirety of his thick member was sunk deep into her throat; he could see exactly where his co*ck ended, thanks to the obscene way her throat swelled to accommodate his girth.

He pulled out about halfway to watch her throat cave back to normal before shoving himself in again, deciding throatf*cking was a pass-time he would be happy to accommodate on a consistent basis. Starting to pump slowly, Gortash decided to take a leap of faith, trusting Destri’s composure, and released her throat to reach both hands towards her breasts.

He pushed the delicate fabric unceremoniously from her chest, and grabbed handfuls of soft, violet flesh, massaging her tit* rougher than he should have.

Destri let out a gurgling moan that vibrated all the way down his shaft, to the base and throughout his tender testicl*s. He bucked harder, his own composure slipping.

Watching on in absolute wonder was Lilla, who was unconsciously massaging her own breasts over the sheer, frosted fabric of her dress. Gortash looked to her, grinning at her rampant arousal.

“Do you like it, pet?” he panted, f*cking the Bhaalspawns throat with smug impunity.

“Oh yes, Master…yes…” Lilla was almost beside herself; happy to be included.

Then Gortash instructed her to do something that caused her head to swim.

“Then why don’t you crawl on to the other side of the bed there, and take care of the ‘ Lady’ with your mouth?”

Eyes wide, Lilla did as he asked and walked over to the head of the bed, all of a sudden portraying an air of endearing nervousness. It was as if she was a fledgling actor about to go on stage for the first time. She balled and flexed her hands in anticipation, breathing in deep with her nose, and exhaling with her mouth. A dumb grin began to creep across her lips.

Lilla climbed up onto the massive, plush mattress to face Destri’s gaping, dripping sex. She looked to Gortash for encouragement, which he returned with a gentle nod and a warm smirk.

She lowered her lips to Lady Destri’s c*nt, unsure where to start first…so she elected to simply follow her instinct. It was the right call, as the tiefling woman immediately began mewling through her co*ck-engorged throat, grinding with what little control of her body she had against Lilla’s tongue. The twitches and wiggles Destri offered only acted to embolden Lilla further, and soon the tiefling was writhing with building ecstasy against her bindings.

Gortash took in the beautiful sight of Destri accepting his co*ck wantonly, while Lilla worked diligently at her task, flicking her tongue to and fro across the Bhaalspawn’s swollen cl*t. Soon Destri’s tightly bound body was swaying back and forth as Gortash pushed himself down her throat, quickly building to a peak.

Once Destri began emitting muffled whimpers from her saliva-drenched lips, he knew she was close as well. He pumped harder into her mouth, grasping and gripping at her breasts and tweaking her nipples roughly. His claw and matching rings left small scrapes across her skin, drawing minute droplets of blood- but this only proved to elevate Derstri’s excitement.

Her back arched in overwhelming rapture as the stimulation from her capturers brought her to a spasming climax, and beyond. Her sanity dropped for a moment into an abyss of creamy hysteria while the walls of her reality crumbled into madness.

She had been in this state before, but never in a pleasant way such as this. It had always only been due to a reprieve from the withdrawals of her butchery. In truth the release from the bloated discomfort of her urges was masked as ecstasy…a deceitful propaganda… but now she knew what true release was.

This had forever broken her, and she would have to live with the perpetual sin in her mind that she now knew more about intimacy than her Father ever intended.

Before she was able to reconstruct her sanity, Gortash pounded her throat violently before releasing a torrent of hot essense deep into her throat with spasming pulses. She eagerly accepted every drop he offered, falling in love with the unleashed grunts and moans he uttered as he came undone.

He left his softening co*ck in her sopping mouth while he rested his head back; panting raggedly. When he finally pulled out with a stumbling step back, his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

When he saw Destri twitching violently as Lilla was still working her tongue on the poor tiefling’s’ overstimulated cl*t, he gave a wry chuckle. Destri was convulsing helplessly, moaning and babbling incoherently.

“Lilla,” Gortash said with a grin, “that’s enough, pet.”

She backed off, licking her lips and unaware of the havoc she had been unleashing on the woman. “I think I got the hang of it, Master,” she said with a hint of pride.

---

Once Gortash had finally released Destri’s suspension, her body dropped onto the mattress with a few spirited bounces. He began releasing her body from her bindings, gingerly massaging the deep imprints in her flesh where the soft cord had dully cut into.

Destri stretched out her body on the bed like an oversized house cat, smug, happy, and practically purring. She crawled to the head of the bed next to Lilla, and kissed the young woman softly, taking her off guard.

“I knew I could smell that naughtiness in your blood,” she whispered, tasting herself on the half-elf’s lips.

Lilla smiled sweetly at Destri, then looked to her master.

Gortash was grinning ear-to-ear at the sight of the two beautiful women in his bed. He slowly stepped over to one side, and crawled in between them, gallantly assuring they both had enough covers before sinking back into the mountain of luxurious pillows. He could hear the cheerful song of the very first morning starling sing from the garden below.

Dawn was breaking, and he had time for about two hours of sleep before he went back to work.

Each woman snuggled into each of his arms, and while Lilla fell asleep almost immediately, the Bhaalspawn stared up at him with silent affection. He caressed her freckled shoulder while they regarded one another with a mutual respect and intimacy both knew neither of them would ever find elsewhere in the world.

For the next two hours, they were each other’s shelter, until they were tasked with dutifully returning to their respective realities.

Chapter 18: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chapter Text

The first pastel light of dawn broke over Baldur’s Gate when Gortash opened his eyes.

He had never really needed much sleep to recuperate, finding two hours were generally sufficient to regain his faculties. The sour truth behind it, was he was conditioned as a child to avoid sleeping longer than needed, lest he be punished severely by the wretched gnome gaoler Nubaldin for incompetence; or simply because he found the clockwork torture amusing.

Nevertheless, Gortash found short sleeps in intervals much more efficient than the normal eight-plus hour nights that was generally recommended by Faerȗn’s leading Yondallian clerics.

A now-full orchestra of songbirds was performing proudly in the newly-grown garden two stories below the balcony. The local wildlife was instantly drawn to the refreshed landscape since Therette had employed a city druid to repair the damage he and Lilla had done. This hadn’t bothered him; on the contrary, he again appreciated Lilla’s enterprising methods, and felt a hint of appreciation towards the ancient, curmudgeoned butler for aiding her in her pursuit.

Gortash was pleased to see both Lilla and Destri still snuggled comfortably in each of his arms, but when they both burst into soft giggles, he realised they had already been awake for some time before him. They had not noticed he had awoken yet, so he decided to listen to them chatter quietly before making himself known.

“Do you think he dreams of world domination?” Destri quipped, her voice so low and hushed, he could barely hear it over the trill music from the garden below.

“Of course,” Lilla replied in a whisper laced with laughter, “with a thousand wanton maidens at the foot of his throne.”

The two women burst into another set of hushed giggles together, making Gortash grin.

“A thousand seems a little excessive,” he interjected, causing the women to crane their necks up towards him in surprise, “I would make a poor ruler should I indulge in such exorbitant distractions. Besides, two wanton maidens are more than enough work…”

Lilla and Destri attempted and failed to contain playful snorts of laughter.

“I see you two have been having a productive conversation while I slept,” Gortash continued with measured humour, then was reminded of the heist the night before. “I suppose you’ll be taking the book to the diabolist for appraisal today?” he asked Destri, trailing a blunt fingertip up her elegantly curved horn; he had previously discarded his gauntlet and rings on the bedside table before closing his eyes to rest for the last couple hours.

The tiefling stretched her body out with feline grace, “Yes, ‘ Master’ ,” she teased the title, “I’ll bring it to Helsik for confirmation the moment she opens the doors for business.”

A tinge of arousal swelled between Gortash’s loins, “Be careful, Bhaalspawn,” he murmured with a wry smirk, “lest I become attached to you addressing me in such a way…”

Destri rolled her eyes and flung the blankets off her naked form before springing from the mattress with effortless dexterity. Her thighs and ass were a mangled landscape of scrapes and bruises, but Gortash thought she flaunted them beautifully.

“Are you selling that book from the masquerade?” Lilla asked with burning curiosity, watching as the tiefling searched around the bedchambers for her discarded dress.

“Not entirely,” Destri answered, reaching under the bed to find the soft silken garment in a pile next to the whip that enforced her punishment only hours ago. She eyed Gortash, unsure if she should reveal more about their plans to Lilla, and elected to let him derail the line of questioning, if he wished.

Gortash appreciated her respectful apprehension, but decided it prudent to finally disclose to Lilla their plans to infiltrate Mephistopheles’ vault.

“The tome will be sacrificed as a burnt offering, allowing us access to the House of Wonders.”

Brow furrowed in confusion, Lilla sat up, holding the sheets to her chest to cover her nudity. This was in stark contrast to Destri, who hadn’t yet put her dress on before starting to do some light stretches on the soiled rug near the balcony.

“The Gondian museum in the Upper City?” Lilla asked earnestly, “You can just pay five gold and they’ll let you in…” she informed them cautiously, sure she had gotten something wrong; “Three gold for younglings...”

Destri couldn’t help bursting into flowery laughter. The confusion wasn’t an oversight on Lilla’s part, but it was cute, nonetheless.

Even Gortash had a charming grin across his lips at Lilla’s naivety. “It is my fault for not clarifying, Lilla,” he assured her when he saw the look of abashment on the young woman’s face, “we speak of Mephestopheles’ vault, in the Eighth Layer of Hell.”

Lilla said nothing, but pivoted her gaze from Gortash, to Destri, then back again. She did this a couple more times until her bewilderment became endearingly funny.

Destri started giggling again at the half-elf’s expression, “We are not pranking you, my sweet,” she reassured Lilla, who was clearly considering that she must have been in the middle of a jest. The tiefling finally pulled the long, crimson dress over her head, and adjusted it to cover all the correct places.

“Destri and I have been planning another heist of sorts,” Gortash started, “to acquire the Crown of Karsus.”

Lilla chewed her lip, turning a stream of endless questions in her mind. What in the Hells is the Crown of Karsus?? Why do Master and Lady Destri want it? How do you even carry out a heist in the Hells? ... She finally landed on the most important question that came to her:

“Can I help?”

“NO!” said Gortash.

“Yes!” said Lady Destri, at the same time.

They glared at each other for a moment before Lilla interrupted the tension.

“Please, Master! I want to help! Whatever it is…I’ve been learning magics, alchemy…I’ll learn everything there is to know about the Eighth Layer of Hell. I’ll-”

“Absolutely not,” he interjected with his signature tone of finality, “it’s much too dangerous.” He ignored Destri’s eye-roll.

“I don’t see how research and brewing potions is danger-” Lilla pushed with determination.

Gortash’s dark look shut her up immediately, “It would be unwise to pressure the topic further, as I’ve already granted you my answer.”

Destri finally added her two copper, as dangerous as that was under the Tyrant’s roof. “Come now, Enver,” she insisted gently, “you need not put her in any danger, but she could help us with gathering some supplies, and you know very well some Frost Resistance potions wouldn’t go amiss…besides, what’s the point of even telling her about it then?”

Gortash’s jaw clenched; not because he disagreed with Destri, but because she was entirely correct. Not to mention, her soothing tone was completely working him over as easy as a slave caves to the cane.

Both Destri and Lilla were quiet in the wake of the Bhaalspawn’s rationalisation, unwilling to further draw the ire of Gortash’s aggravation.

“Very well,” Gortash’s final verdict invited a grin from Destri, and an endearing outburst of triumph from Lilla, “but you are still expected to carry out your usual duties.”

Lilla jolted up and straddled Gortash, her enthusiastic kiss pushing him deeper into the plush pillows, “Thank you, Master,” she whispered sensually when coming up for air, “I understand you are trusting me greatly with this task, and I will not disappoint you.”

Gortash’s hardened morning co*ck reacted immediately to the sensation of Lilla’s eternally slick c*nt as she straddled him. Lady Destri regarded the two with a foreign sense of comfort, but dropped her eyes to the rug with some remorse, as she knew the feeling would be fleeting the moment she crossed the threshold to the balcony.

Without another word, she steeled herself for the impending rush of murderous euphoria that embodied her soul while traversing the world outside, and left Lilla and Gortash to f*ck before they started their day.

As Destri stepped onto the balcony into the crisp morning air, she immediately questioned why she had been so apprehensive to slip back into her magnificent, resplendent shell. The power, the hunger, the confidence, the prowess…all gifts from her Father’s loving blood churning violently through her ventricles.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” she growled softly, shamefully, ravenously as she slinked back to her Father’s temple to dress appropriately, and retrieve the tome.

Perhaps he will punish her, perhaps she will slaughter an entire boatful of sailors as penance…

---

Lilla barely touched her porridge; she was quick-firing questions at Gortash non-stop over the breakfast table. Where did the Crown of Karsus come from? Why is it in the Hells now? What does it do? What will you do with it once you’ve acquired it?

With an exasperated sigh, Gortash decided to award Lilla a key to his private library to save him from further torment. The library usually stayed locked behind doors that were offset to his study, and Lilla was ecstatic to receive such a prize - even if she didn’t fully comprehend just how important the library truly was.

Completing her daily tasks with streamlined efficiency, Lilla eagerly darted upstairs to the library with the precious key in hand. Gortash had business at Wyrm’s Rock, and insisted he didn’t need her - which perhaps any other day would have hurt her slightly, but today she was anticipating absorbing as much history about the Crown, Cania, Mephistopheles, and anything in-between as she possibly could.

The wealthy ornate doors that separated Gortash’s cluttered study and the mysterious library loomed over her; a grand, baroque relief carved into the rich mahogany wood depicted a menacing-yet-heroic looking deity (not unlike the one in the painting that hung above the hearth). A landscape background of thousands of tiny subjects, were all vying for the entity’s affections. Some of the people closer to the entity stood strong and confident, while as her eye moved further to the background, the subjects became smaller, weaker; often kneeling or grovelling.

It was a remarkable piece of craftsmanship, and she wondered if it held any historic value, or if it were simply an edgy artistic conversation starter; something Gortash seemed to enjoy flaunting with many of his pieces.

The ornamental lock depicted a polished brass head of a horned devil; jutting its long, forked tongue out with obscene mockery. The keyhole sat directly inside the devil’s gaping mouth, so Lilla inserted the pockmarked iron key, and turned it with a satisfying clunk.

The doors creaked open to reveal the most beautiful room she had ever seen, despite all the opulence and extravagance she had experienced at much wealthier abodes. The library was a wide hexagonal shape, with the wood-panelled ceiling vaulted all the way up to the third floor roof. From the impeccably high ceiling hung a long string of amber crystal lamps that cascaded down to where the second floor ceiling would have been- if the vertical space had stopped there. Every inch of the mahogany walls were chock-full of nothing but books and scrolls, save one side of the hexagonal room, which accommodated a set of two-story plate-glass windows, framed with emerald velvet curtains that streamed down from the very top without stopping; finally pooling onto the polished wooden floor.

A thin wooden staircase spiraled up around the walls to the very tippy-top of the third floor to assure every book was reachable, regardless of how high it sat on its shelf.

The only furniture available was a circle of lavish cushions and large pillows in the centre, with the massive string-chandelier hanging overhead, and a hexagonal desk off to the side, that accommodated six, ornate wooden chairs. In the centre of the desk stacked layers of drawers and cubby-holes, stuffed with quills, parchment, stamps, envelopes, and fresh notebooks; anything required for studying and researching, really. A large, detailed globe of Toril patiently waited off to the side for someone to use it for reference.

For hours upon hours, Lilla scoured the robust Library for histories on the Hells, finding it difficult to tear her eyes away from story after bloody story on the Infernal Wars, and documentaries of the dastardly archdevils.

Of course she focused on Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth to begin; learning that he was the most powerful wizard in all the Hells, who hoarded impossibly valuable, and legendary artifacts in his personal museum. This brought her to the Crown of Karsus, which hadn’t been mentioned in any of the tomes about Mephisto, nor Cania, so it was clear the connection was lost to history, and only recently uncovered by Lord Gortash and Lady Destri.

Shifting her focus on the histories of Netheril, Lilla learned about Karsus’s Folly, and the Fall of the Floating City of Thultanthar. It became abundantly clear why her master desired the crown now that he knew its whereabouts, though it was also very obvious stealing into the frigid layer of Cania, and deep into the vault of an archdevil titled “The Merciless One” would be no easy feat. Then they would have to sneak back out, to boot.

If anyone could do it though , Lilla thought, it would be Lord Enver Gortash and the Daughter of Murder.

---

After a couple more hours of enthralling research, Therette had come to investigate as to why the doors to the library were ajar. When he saw Lilla sitting at the desk with her nose buried in a book, while piles of tomes, scrolls and parchments were strewn about her, he cleared his throat. Lilla looked up with red, glazed eyes, while her Mage Hand, which was scribbling menacingly as she studied, came to an abrupt stop.

“Does Master Gortash know you are in his private library?” Therette asked cautiously, his eyes darting to the book-filled wall behind her.

Lilla rubbed her eyes, as to better focus on the drow, “Yes, Therette,” she answered politely, “Master gave me his key.”

A peculiar shadow of concern swept across Therette’s face for a split moment, but he ultimately nodded and stepped over to her, “Master Gortash has sent a messenger with a request for you to carry out before the day is done,” he drawled, placing a sealed envelope on the desk next to her. Knowing his next comment was unnecessary, he still felt it was his job to add, “Be sure to return the room to exactly how it was when you arrived.”

Lilla nodded curtly, “Of course, thank you, Therette.” She watched him stride into the study, and out of sight before picking up the sealed envelope from Gortash, and reading the contents.The precise scrawl of Gortash’s handwriting listed some alchemical ingredients, including a book of recipes. Following the list, was a quickly scribbled note that read “The Velveteen Elixir - Horst - Wyrms Crossing. G.”

Lilla looked out the massive windows to the sky peeking behind the ancient oak by the side-entrance gate; she surmised she only had about three hours of daylight left, so she packed up the books, notes and scrolls as quick as possible -with help from her Mage hand- and assured the room was back in pristine order before rushing out to close the huge mahogany doors shut, and locking them tight.

---

It had been a very long time since Lilla visited Wyrm’s Crossing; perhaps the last time she actually stopped at the shops and kiosks, was to covertly pick up some painkillers for Mistress Contella. Before that, the nurses at the Lower City orphanage took her and the other orphan girls on frequent day-trips to visit the Open Hand Temple in Rivington.

There were many other churches of Ilmater scattered around Baldur’s Gate and the rural outer reaches of the city, but the nurses particularly liked Father Lorgan, who Lilla remembered as possibly the single most genuine and kind man she had ever met.He always seemed to look forward to the orphans visiting the Temple, and would spend all day teaching them how to read, write, cook and clean. He also taught Lilla how to cast Mage Hand, after identifying a possible hint of magic in her blood.

A shy grin crept across Lilla’s lips as she recalled the pathetic state her Mage Hand was in the first few times she summoned it: weak, limp fingers, and warbling in and out of existence. It only lasted for a couple minutes; in contrast to now; in which she estimated she could keep it active indefinitely, while concentrating on a great many other things.

The moment the waystone landed Lilla at Wyrms Crossing, next to the brothel, the familiar smells and sounds triggered a euphoric nostalgia within her. She wanted to linger, visit the kiosks, peruse the tailors…but she had little time before the shops closed for the day, and was tasked with acquiring the entire list of ingredients Gortash requested.

Lilla made her way up to the second floor above the Dancing Axe to the Velveteen Elixir. The small shop made up for its compact quarters with tasteful wood panelling, and accommodating colours. It reminded Lilla somewhat of Gortash’s study, in a more toned-down sense.

She approached the shopkeep, known as Horst, who regarded her with friendly aplomb. Framing his supercilious smile, were wiry silver whiskers sculpted into impressive muttonchops. He donned a stylish robe and hat; all topped off with a small monocle that sat daintily over his eye.

Matching his greeting with a polite smile, Lilla read aloud the items she needed, and Horst enthusiastically accommodated. He all but tap-danced from shelf to shelf, gathering the ingredients at her request, while forcing her to sniff each item individually before dropping it in a bag, insisting she comment on each one.

She found this process immensely irritating and inefficient, but quickly began humouring him after rejecting him the first time, causing him to spin a long, drawn out lecture about the importance of ‘ understanding the ingredients one uses in anticipation of their incorporation…’

Hiding her exasperation behind a forced smile, Lilla was finally released from the overbearing shopkeep, and beelined to the nearby waystone to return home. She glanced up at the towering Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, wondering if Lord Gortash was still attending meetings there.

Her question was answered, when she heard her master’s voice call to her from somewhere above.

“Lilla!”

She looked up and around, searching for Gortash, and finally spied him standing at the opposite side of the street, two stories up on a balcony.

“Mast- er, My Lord!?”

He waved her up, gesturing at her to go through Sharess’s Caress in order to traverse to his location.

She awkwardly navigated through the brothel, biting her bottom lip and trying not to stare, despite her urge to peek her head through some nearby curtains to inspect the sultry music playing from within. Lilla awarded herself a quick moment to pet a luxurious looking cat, who walked up to her lazily, and rubbed against her leg. “You beautiful thing,” she whispered as she scratched the cat’s chin. It responded in kind with a smug blink before it quickly tired of her, looking away indefinitely.

Up stairs, around corners, and across the walkway, Lilla finally found where her master was hailing from. He was waiting for her near a doorway, past some rooms at the far end of the catwalk; gesturing to her to follow before disappearing inside.Following obediently, Lilla made it to her destination. She read the plaque before entering; “The Devil’s Den.” Poignant, she thought.

As she stepped into the lavishly decorated room, she saw her master sitting on a sofa with an ankle resting on his adjacent knee; he was speaking with a handsome man, who was standing in the centre of the room, near an extravagant, trickling wash-basin.

The man regarded her with keen auburn eyes and a discreet grin. His features were sharp, and his posture was impeccable.

“Lilla,” Gortash smiled at her, holding his hand out to regard the lavish man, “this is my old friend, Raphael.”

Lilla smiled at Raphael, and curtsied politely, “A pleasure, saer.”

Raphael gave a chocolatey laugh at her politeness, clasping his hands in amusem*nt, “Aren’t you the ever cordial one?” he said with an arrogant smile, “I assure you, dear one, the pleasure is entirely mine…” he reached for her hand, which she offered, and he kissed it gallantly giving her a wink.

Heat crept up Lilla’s neck, matching the red string wrapped around the Ilmater charm that hung from her black, suede collar.

“Lilla, my dear,” Gortash started, “Raphael and I were just speaking about our little project,” it was his turn to give Lilla a wry wink, dripping with implication. “Why don’t you inform Raphael where we’re at on that,” he added, leaning back comfortably and staring at her hungrily.

“Um…” she started, glancing back and forth between the two men, who patiently awaited her to continue. Something felt off, and despite the fact that she trusted her master wholly, it didn’t seem right for her to begin touting the details of a highly clandestine heist in the middle of a brothel.

She decided to play it safe, in case she had misunderstood the request, and Gortash actually intended on her discussing something else entirely.

“Which project would that be, My Lord? You have so many going at once, it’s hard to keep up!”

Gortash hesitated for a moment, pursing his lips with a hint of agitation, “No need to be coy, my dear. Raphael here is a long-time friend…we can confide almost anything with him. Now go on…”

Lilla again felt a pang of unease creep up her spine, this wasn’t right.

“Oh!” she started, thinking fast, “You mean the garden? Therette and I were considering planting a willow…”

Both Gortash and Raphael laughed politely at her answer, but she was sure she saw a humourless twitch behind Raphael’s eye.

“It’s quite alright, Lilla,” Raphael said, “Young Enver here was just so eager to show off your legendary utility. We were just about to share a glass of wine…would you care to partake?”

He already had the goblets ready, and handed one to her before she could reject, then held one out for Gortash to take. Lilla put the goblet to her lips, but didn’t drink. She took a sniff, and immediately recognized a familiar scent…Klauthgrass. The back of her neck prickled as the hair stood up on end. She had to get out of this situation without alerting Raphael, and whoever was wearing her master’s face…

“To the Big One!” Lilla chimed, holding up her goblet for a toast.

“To the Big One!” Raphael and Gortash repeated in unison, before taking sips from their respective goblets.

Lilla pretended to drink, licking her lips and smiling at the phantom taste, pleasantly.

“I’d like to hear more about this 'Big One,' young Lilla,” Raphael purred, placing his goblet down and eying Gortash, before sauntering over to her. “How about you recite your understanding of what you know of it, and I will grant you my wisdom, which is what Enver here has elected me to do.”

“Alright,” Lilla feigned blinking lazily, “It’s really impressive…”

“Indeed?” Raphael smirked with curiosity, licking his lips.

“That’s right, I can’t wait to start it. It’s going to be massive!”

“Please, inform me. Indulge me.”

“Well, first we will clear out all the briars covering the west end of the yard, and then treat the soil appropriately. We can get the druid to help grow it quickly, and then put a stone bench under it, where we can plant lambs-ear and puss* willows…”

Both Raphael and Gortash’s expressions were frozen in pretend-smiles as she babbled on about the grand plans of a great willow tree destined for the yard.

“So, saer Raphael? Your wisdom would be greatly appreciated,” Lilla asked him sweetly, “Do you suppose we should go with corkscrew, or the weeping variety?”

Raphael turned on his heel to sweep up his goblet again with agitation, a sneer was piercing through the facade of his handsome, composed expression.

He waved an impatient hand, “Enver knows better, it’s his manor.”

Gortash looked up at Raphael from the sofa, as if thrown under the cart.

“W…willow. Weeping,” he replied, looking immensely disappointed.

Lilla nodded enthusiastically, “I was thinking the same thing!” She chirped, “I’ll let Therette know right away…thank you ever so kindly for the wine!”

She placed the goblet down on the closest surface and hurried out of the room, and towards the waystone without stopping or looking back.

Chapter 19: CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chapter Text

“What did you tell him, TELL ME!” Gortash shouted.

He had Lilla up against the wall of his study, his steel grip clamped around her throat as she grasped at his hand in futility. The tips of her toes were just brushing the rug, while her master’s strength held her up by her neck.

“Master, please!” Lilla pleaded with a strained breath, already becoming aroused against her will. “I promise you, I told him nothing! I could tell something was wrong, right away…”

“It was a mistake to tell you,” Gortash hissed through a clenched jaw.

It was the first time since Deacon’s murder that Lilla had seen Gortash so unhinged. Even when he had confronted her in the past like this, at least his agitation was laced with intrigue and arousal. But in that moment, he was fuming, furious; his obsidian eyes smouldering with anger.

“Please…don’t say that, Master. He tried to slip me Klauthgrass, I just pretended to drink it…”

Gortash said nothing, but regarded her with a stony expression, allowing her to continue.

“I made him think I was under its influence…” Lilla continued desperately, “I pretended the ‘big plan’ he asked about was a gardening project…”

Gortash’s impossibly firm grip loosened slightly, as he co*cked his head to the side with some curiosity, “And he believed you?”

“He was upset he didn’t get what he wanted, I could tell,” Lilla assured him, “He thought I drank the wine, and he didn’t like my answer, so he lost interest.”

Nodding thoughtfully at her answer, he seemed content with the interrogation, “Very well,” he muttered, feeling a tiny flicker of remorse for manhandling Lilla so harshly. She didn’t deserve that. Regardless, she was clearly flush with arousal, yet again. Unbelievable…

“Master…” Lilla blushed, moving her free hand to her breast and caressing it over her dark emerald blouse, “Please…”

“Are you serious?” Gortash scoffed, though her unrelenting attraction for him immediately made his co*ck twitch. Gortash shook his head with an exasperated smirk; the girl was ridiculous.

“When you do that to me, I can’t help it…” she whimpered, circling her nipple and bringing it to a tight bud under the satin. “You can do anything to me…” it was equal parts a statement, and an invite. He could do anything to her, and she would thank him for it…not excluding sacrificing a finger…

Gortash took her mouth with his, pushing her hard against the wall as she mewled with lustful appetite. She was still nearly suspended off the ground with his fist around her neck, as he hiked up her skirts to feel her warm slickness.

“You are ever so… punctual, pet,” Gortash teased, plucking the string of her undergarments with the sharp point of his clawed ring, severing the material. She must have been running out of the plethora of unnecessarily sexy undergarments Lady Vammas had bought her by now…

He pushed his two unadorned fingers inside her, making her throw her head back and moan at the beautiful stretching sensation. Pumping gradually faster and faster, Lilla melted into his grasp with strained groans of pleasure. He liked watching her face go a bit red with his tight grip around her windpipe.

Soon her eyes began rolling back due to lack of oxygen, and an excess of stimulation. Right before it looked as if it were too dangerous to continue on, he pulled his fingers out of her, and let go of her neck, denying her a fatal org*sm.

Lilla’s feet landed flat on the rug, and she took a gasping inhale, coughing and spluttering, “T-hank you… M…Master…” It was unclear whether she was thanking him altogether, or for stopping before she passed out, but he decided the answer was inconsequential.

He hoisted her up off the floor with strong arms, while she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He turned around and slammed her onto her back over his desk before ripping her blouse open with a golden claw.

“You would let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” he grunted as he shoved his co*ck deep into her entrance without concern for her pained outcry. Gortash knew it would be mere seconds before her ragged wimpers would melt into lewd moans of pleasure, anyway.

The contents on the desk rattled and jostled vigorously as he rutted into Lilla harshly, causing various items to topple over onto the surface and roll off the edge.

“Anything Master!” she cried, nearly climaxing already.

“You would do anything I asked,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.

“Anything!” she repeated, her hips tilting upward to take full advantage of his girth.

“Then come for me, pet,” Gortash whispered harshly over her while he grasped her neck again, and began squeezing. “Do it, before time runs out…”

He rutted harder and faster, at least giving her some advantage to beat the clock. He tore open her silk brassiere so he could watch her pert breasts bounce violently before reaching up with his spare hand and throttling her throat with both claws. The pointed fingertips had shallowly pierced the skin of her throat, drawing out small crimson droplets.

Body taut with quickly ramping pleasure, Lilla began to break out in spasms, as an immense org*sm overwhelmed her. She convulsed with ecstasy while the intense waves and layers of pleasure crashed into her over and over, for much longer and steadier than ever before.

When Gortash finally released her throat from his grip, but didn't stop ramming, another surprise bombardment of org*sms assaulted her, causing her c*nt to contract around his co*ck with gushing spurts of obscene liquid with every flex.

He let out a surprised chuckle at the uncouth image, thinking it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

Pulling out from Lilla, he tucked himself back into his trousers, for no reason other than to train his willpower; he felt the show Lilla gave him was satisfying enough.

She lay motionless on his desk with her legs unceremoniously dangling off the edge; eyes closed, chest rising and falling. The clear liquid that burst forth from her sex had pooled on the oak surface between her thighs, dribbling off the edge onto the rug.

“What do you say, Lilla?” Gortash reminded her.

“...”

“Hmm?”

“...Th…Thhh…”

He smirked and left the room for dinner, leaving her there to reconstruct her sanity on her own time.

----

Gortash was situated at the end of the dining table in the lord’s chair. His untouched plate was pushed to the side, and he rested an elbow on the table while gingerly holding a goblet of wine in his gilded claw. He was reading through a stack of newly compiled dossiers Lilla had very succinctly constructed for him.

When Lilla arrived at the dining room, she looked sleepy and dishevelled, trudging in with a wide grin on her face. She had changed into another dress of light, flowy chiffon in black. Gortash thought the simplicity of the dress paired with her post-climax glow was impeccably gorgeous.

“Good evening, Master,” she said before joining him at the place he made for her, to his left.

“Good evening, Lilla,” he grinned, filling the goblet before her with expensive wine. She took it weakly and drank deeply, closing her eyes with relief.

She had changed the charm on her little suede choker to the Black Hand, still unaware as to what it truly signified. The skin around her neck was bruised and scratched, with tiny puncture marks that mirrored his throttling grasp. Gortash regarded it with some remorse, despite the fact she seemed to flaunt it as a personal branding.

“I’d like to put some Balsam salve on that after dinner, if you don’t mind” he told her, eyeing her neck.

Lilla brought her fingers to her tender throat, “Only if you want, Master. I can’t help but admire it…like a helpful reminder…”

Gortash’s gaze softened at her words; how did he land such a perfect specimen? “Still,” he continued, “I can’t have you looking battered and bruised. It will attract…attention.”

Lilla knew he was right, but she couldn't help thinking that he should be able to do anything he wanted. He should be able to parade his pet around, and show off the markings she obtained during their sex-crazed romps. One day, when he rules all, he can do whatever he wants.

“As you wish, Master. It sounds quite nice, actually,” she gave him a sweet grin before taking another generous gulp of vintage.

In truth Gortash quite liked the idea of treating her bumps and bruises. He wasn’t able to allow himself intimacy like that with anyone else, really, so having someone to show some gentle affection to was considered a treat of sorts- as much as he did enjoy causing the injuries in the first place.

“Master…” Lilla started; questions from the day beginning to bubble to the surface.

Gortash sipped his wine and nodded, inviting her to continue.

“How do you know Raphael? Is he…was he really your friend? How did he know you were…” she looked around the room as if someone could possibly be waiting to eavesdrop, “Up to something…”

A long silence followed Lilla’s question as Gortash considered the best way to approach the subject… if he even cared to. His relationship with Raphael wasn’t generally something he enjoyed digging up, though if anyone would understand…he supposed it would be Lilla.

“He wasn’t my friend, pet, he was my master.”

Lilla gawked at Gortash stupidly, causing him to feel a foreign pang of insecurity, but he decided to continue, despite her speechlessness.

“At a young age, I was brought to the hells by Raphael to serve him…as you can imagine, it wasn’t entirely a pleasant experience.”

Blinking back a cascade of questions, Lilla baulked in confusion, “Raphael is from Hell ?” she squeaked, absolutely dumbfounded. Then an air of recognition crossed her expression, “...The Devil’s Den…”

“That’s right,” Gortash replied cautiously, “I served him for many years during my youth, until I finally escaped.”

“But how? Why ? Why were you there in the first place?”

A long time had passed since Gortash had been betrayed by his own parents, and he had since then come to terms with the fact in his own way…but rehashing the feeling still wasn’t an entirely pleasant sensation.

“My parents, they sold me,” he answered bluntly, “quite simply for coin.”

Lilla dropped her dinner roll, and her jaw followed, “ What? ” she was quite literally stunned. Of all the horrors she experienced under her servitude to Gortash, she was quite possibly shaken most by this revelation.

“ Why!? ” she asked, bewildered, eyes wide, “why would parents do that to a child they loved?”

She didn’t know her own parents, but she always thought if she did, they would have loved her, and would never have done something so wicked. She knew her master was no saint, but he was true to himself, and his allies. She wasn’t sure if Gortash was even capable of conventional love, but this new information allowed her to understand him better now. She knew the things he did were not morally justified by such trauma, but she had come to terms with the fact she didn’t care; she loved him so dearly, as if her blood and soul was somehow tied to him. She wasn’t even sure if she had a choice to reject him, even if she wanted to. Lilla knew that was most likely some sort of internal excuse, but she had no other explanation for her unconditional love for her master.

Gortash scratched his chin thoughtfully, “I spent many years in the hells contemplating the same question…I came to the conclusion that they didn’t love me to begin with, I suppose.”

“Master…” tears had welled in Lilla’s eyes, “I am…I am so sorry.”

The sweet girl’s comment took him completely off guard, and he acted quickly to compose his emotion. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Why?” he asked, swallowing in an attempt to soothe his dry throat, “You had no place in such torment.”

“I know that,” Lilla looked at him with utmost concern and… pity …he hated it. He felt perhaps he made a mistake bringing this up…

“But still,” she continued, “You were just a boy …There is no excuse for what your parents did. I didn’t even know my parents…but perhaps it is better off not knowing them at all, if that’s what parents can be like.”

Gortash nearly recoiled with a churning unease of nauseating emotions from deep within his gut; he was struggling to keep his cool at Lilla’s humble regard for his younger self. He managed to envelope the feelings with his steel will, before whisking them away…until Lilla stood up from her chair, and made a move to step over to him.

“Don’t…” he croaked abruptly, holding up a hand, “Just…finish your dinner.”

Lilla hesitated for a moment, but obeyed and sat back down. Her expression was complex, as if she were in trouble, but in truth her bones screamed to comfort him. Refraining from giving him what he deeply needed grated against her soul. Still, she didn’t complain, but just looked on at Gortash, as if waiting to see if he needed anything. Anything.

Taking a steady drink from his goblet, Gortash then cleared his throat. He felt a sense of responsibility to ease the girl’s discomfort.

“The way I see it,” he started, placing the goblet back down, “is that time with Raphael has made me the man I am today, for the better. Morality aside, I am strong. Ambitious. Capable . If it weren’t for my parents throwing me to the hells, I would not be where I am now. I would be some cobbler’s son, kneeling at the filthy feet of customers day in, and day out, never truly unlocking my potential…”

Something about that caught in Lilla’s memory like thread hitched on a hook. The Lower City cobblers…weeks ago she had purchased a set of boots from a couple there, and now that she thought of it, they did seem to have similar features that matched her master’s…

Lilla’s imagination slipped for a moment, fantasising about getting Lady Destri to kill the cobblers, as a present for Gortash. She knew she would never do such a thing without his consent, but the thought of scouring the foul wretches who had wronged her master brought a small smirk to her lips.

“I see my rationalisation has quite hit the right note,” Gortash said, curiously regarding Lilla’s complacent grin.

She snapped back to reality, picking up her dinner roll again, and dipped it in some balsamic vinegar. “Master…Back at the brothel…why did Raphael have a man there who was wearing your face?” she asked, biting into the soft bread.

Gortash spluttered into his goblet at the question.

“That…perhaps that could be a discussion for another day,” he replied curtly, running his golden claw through his stark, raven hair.

The look of perplexion on Lilla’s face was insurmountable. He knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until all her questions were asked. He decided to humour her, at least for now, trusting that she wouldn’t exactly know the ins-and-outs of how incubi functioned.

“That is Raphael’s pet Incubus. They can…shapeshift into other forms. It was a highly deceptive trick on Raphael’s part to use my visage in an attempt to draw information from you.”

Lilla stopped chewing and gawked at Gortash, before swallowing awkwardly. “An Incubus?” She repeated stupidly. Quickly and efficiently, she mentally filtered through the mountains of information regarding the hells she had absorbed during her studies.

“…don’t Incubi gain their glamours by… laying with their victim?”

Gortash swallowed dryly, rubbing his neck with a weary sigh. “Of course you knew about that…You’ve been researching endlessly since you set foot in that blasted library.”

Lilla said nothing, but waited timidly to see if Gortash would answer her question.

“Very well,” he gave another exasperated sigh, and leaned back into his seat, “Raphael thought it would be… amusing to grant me a night with his Incubus upon my turning to adulthood.”

“A birthday present !?” Lilla hissed, simultaneously appalled and intrigued. “Was it fun? I mean, you know, I’m sure anyone would consider what it’s like…Did you enjoy it?”

Gortah’s jaw clenched; he was done, “That’s the last question you will ask me on the subject of Incubi, Lilla.” His voice was dangerous, indicative she would indeed be wise to stop.

Lilla deflated a bit, shifting in her seat with the budding heat of arousal creeping up her neck. Her imagination swept her away for a split moment, granting her images of her sprawled out on the bed at the Devil’s Den, being ravaged by Raphael, Gortash and…Gortash. Maybe Lady Destri would be there too, who could have one of the Gortash’s, or both… while Raphael and Lilla took a bath. And that dashing White Bat spawn from the party…and Therette…NO, what? Get out of here, Therette :(

“Whatever it is you are thinking, Lilla, I want you to stop,” Gortash warned her, regarding the familiar glazed look of perversion on her face.

“Sorry, Master,” Lilla squeaked, taking a distracted nibble from her bread roll.

In truth, Gortash felt it somewhat freeing; disclosing his histories and torments to Lilla. She made it easy, and despite digging up the past was indeed a tumultuous sensation, the act of sharing his pain and embarrassment felt comforting, in a way.

Gortash didn’t expect the next question to come from her lips, which undoubtedly would bring on a slew of fresh questions.

“Is that where you got all the infernal metal and engines to power the Steel Watchers?”

Here it is, he thought, it was only a matter of time . It was time to tell her about Karlach. Why the hells not , he thought, we’ve gone this far together. There was no point tip-toeing backward with Lilla, now that she knew so much about him.

“The hells, yes,” he answered, “but the materials didn’t come from Raphael. They came from Avernus thanks to…a trade I had made.”

Lilla listened intently while Gortash, to her pleasant surprise, launched into a story about his younger self. She tried to envision what Gortash would look like as a younger man, but had to force herself to stop, lest she was whisked away with another fantasy…

“Long ago, not long after I escaped from the House of Hope, my ambitions began to invite many enemies. I elected to hire a bodyguard who regarded me in somewhat the same way you do…not in all regards, mind you, but she respected me greatly, and in truth, I respected her, for quite some time.”

Lilla listened quietly, curiously watching Gortash as he considered his words carefully.

“We became fast friends, and she took her job seriously. She saved my life many times over, which of course was what I paid her to, but she clearly took pride in her prowess as my protector, which I very much appreciated.

“She was strong . Even though she was quite young - much younger than you are now - she was strong. She was strong in body, but also strong in spirit, which in many ways I found endearing... but after some time, she felt comfortable enough to begin questioning my actions…”

At this, Lilla shifted; a glimmer of concern shone through her expression.

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Gortash said, attempting to recover the implication, “I question my own actions on a daily basis, and I allow those who I respect to provide me with their input…however Karlach had begun to… influence my path away from my ambitions, you could say - and for a time, I almost lost everything due to her hot-headed sense of morality.”

Gortash took another sip of wine, lost in the memory for a moment. The pride he felt with the great beast of a woman at his side, making his allies laugh with her jokes, and his enemies shriek like frightened children before the head of her greataxe clove them in two. In some ways, they were the best of times, and he felt a tinge of sorrow at the loss of his old friend. Until of course, the pride he had felt was overshadowed by her betrayal…at least that’s the only way he could interpret her continued interventions in his business practices.

“All the sweat and tears I had sacrificed -years upon years of work- I realised my great platonic love for Karlach -such as it was- began spiralling me into failure after failure. Our comradery was sacred, but our alignments were not…”

Lilla looked on solemnly, afraid of what she was about to hear; a question she was terrified to ask rested on the tip of her tongue: What does this have to do with a hellish trade?

A dead silence passed for a good while, as Gortash churned the memories over and over again, calculating the best way to breach the subject of trading Karlach to Zariel…He had been worshipping Bane since he escaped hell, so when the dark deity came to him during a midnight prayer to demanded Karlach be terminated, he could not betray his lord.

Gortash truly did not want to kill Karlach -his long-time friend- even if he knew she was disruptive to his work, and worship. Killing her outright seemed…a waste. That’s what he told Bane, anyway. His lord would never turn down an opportunity if the benefit overshadowed death itself. Gortash tantalised Bane with the concept of trading Karlach’s services to the Archdevil Zariel, in exchange for infernal materials to build him an unholy army. It was too tempting for the Dark Lord of Tyranny to turn down.

“Master…” Lilla’s voice was only a whisper, “What happened? With Karlach?” She knew the answer, but she needed her master to say it himself, in his own way. She prepared herself to rationalise the wicked act, to give her master another taste of unconditional forgiveness.

Recognizing there was no beating around the bush, Enver steeled his resolve in anticipation of his answer. He straightened his posture; reminding himself that he must be unapologetic for past decisions he had made for his lord…for himself.

“She was exchanged to the Archdevil Zariel for ten crates of infernal iron, and one-hundred infernal engines. The very ones you saw at the Foundry.” His eyes were locked onto Lilla, unwavering, calm. He would not show remorse, and in truth didn’t feel much anymore anyway, after all was said and done.

Gortash rushed up to help her, but Lilla recoiled from him. She was hyperventilating out of sheer panic.

“You sold her! You sold her… you loved her and sold her? Even after what your parents did…you sold her!? … Are you going to sell me ! ?” her panic elevated at the very words escaping her own lips.

“Lilla…”

“Are you going to sell me, Master? Are you going to give me away!? Do you love me? What if you don’t love me, and you sell me away!”

Lilla was inconsolable, her face streaming with tears. She had started stumbling backwards, away from Gortash as if he were a looming monster, about to pounce.

“Lilla, STOP,” he commanded, but she was hysterical; completely overwhelmed with fear.

“Please don’t sell me, Master! PLEASE DON’T! Please don’t sell me! All I want is to serve you. I don’t want to be sold, I’ll be good! I just want to be loved!”

Gortash strode to her and grasped her upper arm, “STOP,” he hissed, jostling her in hopes it broke her out of her hysteria. It wasn’t the right thing to do, he knew that, but he was entirely unequipped to deal with a broken toy such as this.

His own heart was pounding, and it took every ounce of willpower to push down the sickening truth; that in this moment Lilla reminded Gortash of himself, the day his parents sold him to Raphael…

I just want to be loved …

Anger began to rumble up into his chest when Lilla wouldn’t look him in the face, as if he were too terrifying to behold. If she were any other person, he would relish imposing such unbridled fear in another, but he wanted her to understand, to forgive the unforgivable.

“LOOK AT ME!” he yelled, grabbing her tear-streaked face with his claw, much harder than he intended.

She was heaving, panting, sobbing; her eyes wide with terror. Her faculties were as thin as thread, but something compelled her to look at him anyway, to obey his command. She struggled to keep eye contact with him, as if his stare was repelling Lilla’s like a reverse magnetic force.

He wanted to kiss her, so she would immediately forgive him, and melt into him like she always had. But he knew it wouldn’t work this time. It was high time she knew the full truth of things.

---

Gortash yanked Lilla by the arm out into the hall and up the stairs, towards his study. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and seemingly the only words she could utter were “Please don’t sell me…”

Pulling Lilla into the study, he brought her to the grand library doors and released her from his grip.

“Open it,” he ordered.

Whimpering, Lilla obeyed his instruction, pulling out the iron key, and unlocking the devil’s mouth. Gortash pushed the doors open, and pulled Lilla to the far end, near the globe.

Lilla had become a bit more quiet now, as her panic was soothed by pure curiosity. Gortash stood at the bookshelf; the only one that was locked away behind a polished brass gate. She had always assumed it contained books that were just too dangerous to open without supervision.

“Unlock it,” he commanded her. There was a lock on the gate, the very mirror image of the horned devil ornament on the main doors. She did as was ordered, and pulled open the gate for him, standing still and ever-so-quiet as she watched him reach up to pull a book from the shelf.

However, instead of slipping from its rightful place, the book tilted forward, stopping just before falling from the shelf, and emitted a faint ‘click.’ He did this with two other books, seemingly in random places, and Lilla noticed the spines had matching images on each; the black handprint.

Once all three books were tilted forward in unison, a block of faux-books slid away to reveal another devil’s keyhole; identical to the rest.

Gortash gestured for Lilla to use her key again, which she obeyed with a trembling hand.

Once the devil’s lock was satisfied with a loud ‘clunk,’ a cascade of clockwork clicks somewhere behind the wall began ticking away methodically. After a moment, the entire bookcase began sinking into the wall with the sound of smooth stone grinding on stone.

Once the bookshelf was completely depressed into the wall, it slid to the side, revealing a dark passageway; a stone staircase that spiralled downward to the first floor. Lilla had the distinct feeling the staircase didn’t stop there, though.

Gortash nudged Lilla forward, indicating to her to begin descending. She held her breath, and stepped into the darkness.

---

As they descended to the first floor, it was clear they were inside the walls, though it was entirely unclear as to where they were in the house…until a small beam of lamplight pierced through the wall, indicating an opening. She stopped abruptly to peer through the opening; she was looking down into the parlour. It was somewhat a blurry view, as a semi-sheer, gauze-like material covered the other side of the slit, but it would have been enough to watch and listen to whatever transpired in the room. By the height and angle the opening was facing from, she surmised they were standing behind the large portrait of the bejewelled pirate lord.

With a nudge from Gortash, she continued without saying much else until the spiral stone steps levelled out into a narrow walkway; they were clearly under the house now. The air was cold, but the chill wasn’t why Lilla broke out in goosebumps; something dark permeated the air around her, making her shiver even more.

At the end of the dim hallway was a black, velvet curtain; she could see the faintest shimmer of the material thanks to her half-elven vision.

“What’s behind there?” she asked Gortash, but he responded by gripping her arm again, and pulling her through the curtain.

Lilla flinched, as if preparing to be knocked to her feet by whatever was on the other side…but nothing of the sort happened. In fact the chamber they had just entered was if nothing quite underwhelming, given the circ*mstances.

It was a medium-sized stone room, completely devoid of anything but a stone-slab altar at the far end next to a large tapestry that clung to the wall over it. Candles were piled up in various clumps around the foot of the altar, but other than that, the room was somewhat underwhelming. Lilla was expecting more bodies, or chained, broken slaves…but this was clearly a basic prayer room. Why it was hidden so securely, was not entirely obvious.

“Master…I don’t understand…'' She looked back to Gortash, who’s obsidian eyes were glaring forward, fixated on the altar.

“You will,” he muttered, leading her to the stone slab.

As they approached the altar, Lilla’s eyes fixed to the large, obsidian stone fist that magically hovered ominously above a long, crimson cloth that covered the length of the slab; each end streaming down and pooling at the floor on either side of the altar. That was the extent of the tabernacle…but Lilla found something about that floating stone fist to be…compelling.

Then it hit her. All this time…the image of the black handprint she wore around her neck.... it was the Black Hand of Bane…

“You understand now, I see,” Gortash murmured, watching Lilla raise her hand to her neck to touch the charm fixed to her collar. He thought for a moment Lilla’s faculties had fully returned, but fear tumbled up to her throat once again, thanks to the new revelation.

“You are going to sell me, aren’t you? This is why you’re showing me this…Please…” she began sobbing again; fresh tears welling in her eyes, threatening to smear her makeup further.

Gortash had lost patience, and hoisted her by the arm up the step to the altar, and pushed her face down onto the red cloth, right at the base of the hovering obsidian fist.

“I’m not going to sell you, Lilla,” he hissed in her ear, “but if you don’t compose yourself soon, I may not have a choice.”

Lilla only cried silently into the thin, red fabric.

“You judge me now, but I spared Karlach,” he whispered harshly into her ear, “My lord wanted her executed, and I loved her too much to let that happen.”

He could tell Lilla was unresponsive, so he continued, “So I gave her a chance. Do you understand? I turned her death sentence into an opportunity for the both of us. I knew what the hells were like, and I know what she is experiencing, if she indeed still lives. I was the only one that fully understood the extent of her sacrifice. And still, yes, I traded her. It shouldn’t have even been legal, but Zariel didn’t care; she wanted Karlach’s fortitude, her fury…her spirit. Zariel knew how valuable Karlach was…just look at what her sacrifice yielded.”

Gortash was right next to Lilla’s cheek as he held her face against the slab, pouring his excuses and rationalisations into her ear.

“I told you the hells moulded me, forged me into the man I am today…it will mould Karlach too, if she is strong enough. And when she finds her way out, she will be magnificent…perhaps we could even renew our old friendship, if she is wise.”

Lilla was dead silent, only breathing quietly and listening intently.

“When I escaped the hells, my lord Bane was the ONLY one that showed me remorse. My own parents didn’t even show me the same compassion as a boy that the Lord of Hate showed me that day I clawed my way out of hell. It was his own brand of compassion, but it was still something ; the closest thing to love I had ever experienced. I owe my lord everything , and he provides me with what I need to survive, to succeed…to conquer.

“You see, Lilla…” his voice was softer now, as his lips touched her ear, “I won’t give you away…at least not if you continue to prove useful to me. Karlach’s fatal mistake was that she thought she could manipulate my standard of what it was to be great. My lord does not suffer such transgressions, and if it comes to it -and I truly hope it never does- that if Lord Bane demands your head, I promise you I will do my best to barter the same mercy to you, as I did with Karlach.”

Gortash pulled Lilla from the altar, and held her against him with his claw snugly around her jaw, so that she could look upon the tapestry on the wall. It was impressively woven, depicting the same imposing figure Gortash flaunted around the house in his art; Bane. His fiery green eyes seemed to be staring down at them menacingly, while the fluttering candlelight reflected in parts of the rich material that seemed to highlight places that gave the portrait an illusion of a third dimension…

It was an odd feeling for Lilla, now knowing the truth was directly in plain sight all this time. Her eyes were fixated on Bane’s image; she wasn’t even sure she could look away if she tried.

“So you see, pet,” Gortash whispered into her ear, then kissing her neck softly, “you serve more than just a mere man. You serve me, and I serve my lord. Do you understand now?”

Lilla was unable to resist melting into Gortash’s soft kisses at the back of her neck. Arousal blossomed between her legs, just like it always had when he gave her special attention. Whether her mind had compartmentalised the dark reality of her situation, or she truly accepted Gortash’s nature, it mattered not to her.

As Lilla stared at…no, into the portrait of Bane, the edges of her vision began to darken, and it felt as if her gaze was magnetically drawn to his smouldering green glare. The air in the chamber chilled her skin, and the flames among the candles flickered and slowly dissipated to the shadows that were coalescing around the altar where Gortash and Lilla stood.

When they stood in complete darkness, Lilla felt a resonance in the room, like a thick vibration that she could feel in her bones.

The dimmest pillar of light illuminated the floating obsidian fist before them. Lilla thought she saw it shudder in the deep shadows, and she was right. The fingers of the fist began to slowly open to reveal itself in the form of a sinister black gauntlet, fingers ominously opening like a strange, black blossom.

“Do you see that?” Gortash pressed his cheek to hers, “It’s time you met my lord.”

Chapter 20: CHAPTER TWENTY

Chapter Text

Lilla looked upon the obsidian gauntlet before her, its fingers blossomed outward, palm open with insidious anticipation.

Her face was held tightly with Gortash’s claw, as he breathed into her neck, assuring that her gaze didn’t waver from the altar.

“Behold,” he whispered into her ear with hushed excitement, “The Lord of the Black Hand greets us…”

The resonance in the room thrummed with malice; the very air crackled with shadowy energy, giving off a twisted sense of dread and magnificence. Gortash pushed Lilla to her knees before the altar, then followed directly behind her, almost straddling her body with his own as he wrapped his arms around her, and took her hands to place them together in unholy contrition. He held her in place as the shadows of the room swirled around them, as if watching them…judging them.

The deep whooshing sound that vibrated off the walls echoed deep within their skulls, louder and louder until Lilla instinctually tried to bring her hands to cover her ears, but Gortash held them firmly in place.

“It will be over shortly,” he whispered. Somehow she could easily hear him, despite the deafening tremors within her eardrums, “Open yourself to it.”

Lilla, perhaps out of fear, did as she was told, and instead of attempting to reject the menacing echo that threatened to crack her skull at the seams, she took an inhale, and let it in. Her bones felt like they were going to shatter in the presence of the great, dark god that Gortash had called forth…but as she leaned into it, letting Bane’s sinister aura shroud her, she began to feel…comforted.

“You see?” Gortash grinned into her cheek, “Offer yourself to him, and he will provide.”

Lilla saw. She felt it. The blissful thrumming of power that threatened to offer her a surge of empowering energy as easy as it offered death; the result only depending on how Bane regarded her.

His deep, eternal voice echoed throughout the darkness as if the chamber walls had disappeared entirely;

“As always, you prostrate yourself with due respect, boy.”

Gortash replied while holding Lilla in place on the floor with him, “My Lord, you bless me this night with your presence. I am ever humbled to kneel before you, and only you.”

“Indeed,” Bane’s regal voice had teleported behind them…Lilla realised the entity was circling them, regarding them closely as they folded their bodies before him. She couldn’t see him through the swirling darkness, but for a moment she thought she spied the silhouette of a massive man, perhaps eight feet tall, moving behind the veil of churning shadows.

“Your work in reinstating my dominance within Baldur’s Gate appears to have yielded much success, since we last conversed, boy. Day by day I can feel my power grow as your sect submits their offerings. It seems my faith in you has been duly placed…”

Lilla felt Gortash’s body tighten with excitement as he took Bane’s compliment, “My Lord, I am ever humbled by your commendation; I only wish to grow your power to usher in a glorious age of the Black Hand. It is my greatest endeavour. My greatest honour.”

“And the Bhaalspawn,” Bane added, still circling around them somewhere in the darkness, “your alliance with her has been blessed by both myself…and Bhaal.”

Gortash’s breath hitched, he straightened up at this information, “I am greatly pleased to hear it, My Lord. We have made plans together to release the Crown of Karsus from its vault in Cania. Our interests align in serving our lords…”

“The Murder Lord and I have a shared motivation in such an outcome, and have made our own pact to aid you and the Bhaalspawn in this righteous endeavour. But first…you have forgotten your manners, and rudely failed to introduce your guest. Is she a sacrifice?”

Lilla’s stomach churned with ice-cold terror. Gortash stood up and hoisted Lilla to her feet as well. She was trembling in fear and excitement at the pure display of unholy divinity before her.

“No, My Lord,” Gortash said, “she is my ward, Lillabelle, and she serves me at her own accord. She has served me well since our very first meeting, and I have reason to trust her intentions are solely aligned with mine, and therefore, your own. She comes as a supplicant, to beseech you for your blessing to serve as an initiate.”

The words Gortash had said about Lilla felt like warm honey that soothed her soul, despite the chilling shadows that spiralled around them in that moment, threatening to swallow them whole. To hear him acknowledge her servitude in such a way was…euphoric.

“Bring her forth, and allow me to judge her.”

Before Lilla could comprehend what was happening, Gortash pushed her forward, and bent her over the altar, so she was facing down towards the outstretched gauntlet.

“Offer yourself freely,” he ordered, “as you have done with me.”

As instructed, Lilla put her hands flat on the crimson cloth, and lowered her neck directly into the palm of the opened obsidian hand. The moment her skin touched the cold stone, the fingers began to close in around her neck. There was no going back now.

---

“My child…” Bane’s bassy voice rang out from the shadows, “Our meeting has long been ordained…Let me look upon you and appraise your progress.”

Gortash watched in silence, standing at attention with his hands clasped at his front. He thought it peculiar that Bane took an interest in Lilla already, and calling her ‘my child.’ It was a very good sign.

As Lilla looked ahead into the darkness, she saw his flaming green eyes piercing into her from behind the churning void storm. She was fixated on his gaze, or rather he held it for her, and she could feel his intent seeping into her. She didn’t fight it. Once he was deep within her mind, he flipped through her memories lazily, as if he were reading a broadsheet by the hearth. The oddest sensation permeated Lilla’s soul…the best way she could identify it, was a sorrowful, yet comforting sense of nostalgia.

“Mmm,” Bane continued pensively, as he explored Lilla’s past experiences, “your intended path was not followed, but your heart brought you to me, regardless.”

What in the hells does he mean? Gortash thought, his curiosity sparking to life within him, like an infernal engine. The questions he had were eclipsed by his concern at what Bane had said about Lilla- that her intended path was not followed…was he displeased?

Unfortunately, Gortash’s anxiety was affirmed by his lord’s verdict.

“I see her potential, boy” Bane said with finality in his tone, “but it has been squandered, and she is unfit to represent me. While she has fulfilled her intended purpose, her nature is too submissive to serve me as an initiate. It would be blasphemy. Though if you are attached to her, I will not ordain her execution, as a gift. She may serve well in the pleasure pits to warm my growing army of faithful.”

Lilla opened her mouth to scream out in horror, but her voice was caught in her throat by the stony fingers that curled tightly around her neck. The abject fear that gripped her soul yanked her thoroughly into an unconscious state; her body slumped over the altar.

Gortash’s mind had been racing fast, piecing together what little information he had gathered from Bane’s dubious comments about Lilla, and interjected for her. He knew he needed more information before he would be able to weave a concise recommendation, so he tread very, very carefully.

“My Lord, your wisdom knows no bounds, I am eternally grateful to you for carefully considering her… I have no place to question your verdict, but may I humbly suggest an alternative that may be of benefit to you?”

Bane hesitated, letting Gortash know it would be as easy as breathing to deny him. Finally though, he addressed the request.

“You may.”

“My Lord, if as you say the girl’s potential is squandered, is it not my responsibility to instil it in her? She has indeed been submissive, but at the behest of her own free will, and mine. This is what drew me to accept her into my employ to begin with, and since then she has consistently accepted your edict every step of her servitude. I saw this as benediction, rather than a blasphemy. Perhaps I can teach her- ”

Bane laughed at this, “You know nothing, boy. Her potential was lost long before her coming into your employ. She is submissive by nature at my behest, not her own. Her free will is inconsequential. She was not designed to conquer, as my faithful are expected to- initiating her in her state would be sacrilege. Now enough,” His voice boomed all around them with impatience, “Lay your counsel forth, or be done with it, then let us continue with the intended subject of our confluence. ”

Gortash’s head was reeling at Bane’s ambiguity and contradictions on the matter, and realised the next thing that came out of his mouth would seal Lilla’s fate. It would have to be a complete gamble, and he had to make it compelling. This wouldn’t be as easy as bargaining for Karlach, and even back then, he had much more time to consider the argument. For Lilla, he had mere seconds.

“Of course, My Lord. My apologies for delaying you. I offer a grand tournament, in your honour, My Lord,” Gortash eyed Lilla’s limp form before bowing deeply, “would it not be spectacular to include her in a battle royal with your faithful initiates, to see if such a trial indeed unlocks her potential? If she dies in battle, which is the most probable outcome, then her soul is returned to your realm to serve you outright. If she wins, well, it will be spoken of for years to come; ‘the weak girl who clawed back her lost potential, thanks to the magnificence of Bane’s edict.’”

It was a good pitch, considering the lack of information and time Enver had to work with. Now he had to wait with stoic anxiety while his lord considered the options….

---

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Bane’s voice finally thundered from behind the shadowy veil, “And the remaining souls who fall in this tournament will also serve me in the Black Bastion…”

Gortash held his breath, kneeling solemnly before his lord. This may be working…

“Very well,” Bane said, causing Gortash to release his breath in a silent exhale, “I expect the tournament to be resplendent. I want any and all that serve me -or wish to- to know the glory and power that is granted upon conquering in my name.”

“It will be done, My Lord,” Gortash confirmed, bowing his head even lower.

“I trust you to carry out such an event to its fullest extent, boy. Therein the tournament will also signify the passing of my judgement to you, Enver Gortash. I select you as my Chosen, to act as my Black Gauntlet. The grand event will empower me greatly, and invite more initiates to our ranks. And the power I grant you as my Chosen will aid you in your endeavours in claiming the Crown of Karsus.”

Gortash was stunned, this was…better than anything he could ever have dreamed. A lifetime of sacrifice, turmoil, torture and dedication had finally paid off. He knew he wasn’t as nearly close to his final goals yet, but…the pride and appreciation Bane had elected to award him with…it was almost too much to bear.

Chest tightening with emotion, Gortash prostrated himself to the floor, hands and forehead. “My Lord, you grant me the greatest honour I’ve ever dared to dream. To serve as your gauntlet…your avatar…I will pour every molecule of my existence into proving your wisdom is eternal.”

“Words are sweet, boy, but fail me, and the screams of your soul will ring throughout Banehold for such an eternity.”

“Of course, My Lord, such is your most unholy directive.”

Bane went silent for a moment or two before addressing Gortash with a final request.

“To show me due appreciation for granting you this privilege, I require another act of service before I depart.”

“Anything, My Lord. Name it, it is yours.”

“Grant me your vessel so I can sample the girl’s flesh.”

---

“Lilla..”

Lilla pried her eyes open only to see a blurred face in the near-perfect darkness. She was still held by the obsidian hand by the neck; her head co*cked to the side from passing out. As her eyes adjusted, she saw her master’s face, staring at her with a soft expression of concern.

“Lilla,” he repeated gently, “I need you to listen to me.”

She blinked groggily and readjusted her body with her hands back on the altar, and feet flat on the ground; “M-Master?”

“That’s right, Lilla,” Gortash whispered, “You’ve done so well today. I promise you, I’m not selling you…” he didn’t want to reveal the full truth to her yet, considering the state she was in.

“Thank you…Thank you, Master,” Lilla mumbled, relieved, but disoriented, “Is Lord Bane…”

The corner of Gortash’s mouth curled slightly at the formal way she addressed his lord, “He is here, yes. He has requested an offering of our bodies.”

Lilla swallowed uncomfortably as the stone gauntlet held her down, but for some reason fear did not overtake her this time; she felt devoid of it in that moment, and only nodded weakly, “Are we to sacrifice ourselves, Master? Will we be together afterward?”

Her words pierced Gortash’s heart like ice…she was perfect. So perfect. The way Bane spoke of her made her sound like she was constructed just for him…when this was over, he was going to find out everything about her.

“No, pet, we don’t die today. He wishes to grant you a boon, of sorts. I will give him my body to use, and then he will use yours.”

Lilla began breathing heavily again, not out of fear or panic, but lust. “He wants me? In the way you want me? He is a god…I…” her thighs began to clench with arousal, and her hands gripped the crimson altar cloth with anticipation.

Gortash was astonished. Bane was right…perhaps her will was pre-written to serve him…perhaps she was designed solely for pleasure…but why? Banites can attain pleasure at any point through forced subjugation…why would Bane put resources into blessing a vessel with his intent, only to discard her in the end? Gortash tried not to think of the fate that would soon befall Lilla, but he was relieved she was not sentenced to a lifetime in the pleasure pits, as Bane had initially ordered.

“That’s good, pet,” Gortash assured her, slipping a hand up her wispy black dress to encourage her to feel the pre-programmed euphoria that was destined for her, “whatever happens, it has been ordained by our Lord. He has been ever so generous.”

“I want it,” Lilla mewled, “With your body…”

Bane had run out of patience at Gortash’s extended preparation of the girl.

The swirling shadow storm around them began to rumble like thunder, thrumming and pounding like a colossal heartbeat, demanding his vessel.

Gortash stood up, and opened his arms, “Lord of Darkness, I fervently grant you my vessel, use me at your will…”

With that his body went rigid with electric shock, trembling and seizing in pain. He bit through the instinctual urge to reject the foreign entity, and opened himself to his lord, who stepped into his body as if he were merely a boot. Once Bane had fully settled into his flesh, bones and skin, Enver sat back, so to speak, and let the Lord of Tyranny do as he pleased.

---

The shadows in the chamber had dissipated; they resided inside Gortash now, churning and spiralling with dark divinity.

Lilla could only see the woven tapestry of Bane before her; his eyes were not as bright and animated as they were when she first looked upon him…

Then she felt a clawed hand caress her back, threatening to tear her dress. She shuddered, becoming highly aware that she was still held down by the magic stone fist, and the unseen avatar of Bane was standing somewhere behind her, using Gortash’s form.

“Master…” She whispered, out of habit.

“That’s right,” Gortash replied, but his voice had a flanged layer of another: Bane.

“L-Lord,” she didn’t know what to say to him, or how to regard him. If she should ask him questions, or think of flowery compliments one should offer a god… However he made it easy for her, by silencing her.

“No need to speak, pet,” Bane said, not unlike Gortash would usually say…but different. Alien. “I’m here to grant you my boon for your trials to come,” he said, trailing his claw up her back to her shoulder blades…taking his sweet time.

Lilla was unconscious while Bane and Gortash spoke of the tournament, so she was unaware of what ‘trials’ she was to expect. Instead of asking any questions, though, she stayed quiet, as he had bid her.

“It will be pleasurable for us both, I’m sure,” he promised, moving his hand from her shoulders to underneath, where her breasts hung freely under the soft fabric of her dress. Her nipples were already sensitive buds in anticipation of his touch. He liked that.

“See…your body sings for me, as is ordained. Do you enjoy pleasing your master?”

Lilla blushed at this. Despite her arousal, she always managed to come across as endearingly coy.

“Go on,” he urged her, “I asked you a question, so you must answer.”

“Yes…Lord Bane…I enjoy my master very much. I am lucky to be in the position I am.”

This made Bane laugh with Gortash’s voice, “The position you are in is before me, and therefore, yes, you are indeed lucky.”

He finally made his way to the front of the altar so Lilla could look upon him. She gasped at the sight before her.

Gortash’s body was contorted in ways she hadn’t expected. He was completely naked; muscles were swollen, strained, as if Gortash’s human vessel burst at the seams with Bane’s might. His skin was darker, marbled like obsidian, and his golden gauntlet did not shine in the now-returned candlelight any longer; it was the purest, blackest void. He was magnificent.

He bent down so she could see his eyes; purest, darkest green, flaming menacingly at the outer corners.

“I wish to ravage your body until you lie broken at my altar,” Bane whispered with Gortash’s dark grin. Lilla’s core flared with agony. She needed him. Now.

As if he read her mind, he stood up straight and gripped his engorged co*ck with a black claw. It took on the same effect as Gortash’s muscles did; larger, swollen, turgid. Lilla’s mouth began to water shamelessly. She opened it and stuck out her tongue so he could rest the tip of his co*ck on it.

“Your submissiveness is indeed intoxicating, the boy is correct in convincing me to spare you.”

Lilla wasn’t about to get into questions about her fate just now. She had more important things to focus on. Saliva began dripping from her tongue as she waited patiently for Bane to shove his co*ck down her throat.

“Very well, eagerling, enough talk it is.” The stone fist around Lilla’s neck loosened slightly, so as to make room for her jaw to open fully, and Bane gripped a handful of hair atop her head before slipping his co*ck into her mouth.

She accepted it, as eagerly as the gripping stone would allow her, causing Bane to release a low, resonant groan of approval. “Yes…perfect. Perfection.”

The slow part was over. There was no more room for pleasantries. Bane began to f*ck - ruthlessly so- his oversized co*ck slipped in and out of Lilla’s throat as he gripped her head now with both hands for stability. The depth he was able to delve into her should have been impossible, but his little experiment was designed just for such an occasion.

Lilla’s jaw was stretched as wide as it could go, while her tongue hung out of her mouth unceremoniously. She had to focus hard to assure her teeth did not graze his ramming co*ck, though he seemed not to mind either way. The head of his steel-hard erection crashed into the back of her throat, drawing out obscene noises and gagging reflexes. He relished the sound of it, as well as the vulgar build-up of stringy saliva that glazed her lips and dribbled down her chin. Her beautiful brown eyes were watering; further smearing the makeup from whatever tantrum she was having before Gortash brought her to his altar.

“Three…boons this night,” Bane strained to say as his pleasure ramped up thanks to Lilla’s slippery wet mouth, and the filthy sounds she made. “Be ready for the fir-…FIRST.”

His co*ck spasmed at the back of her throat as he rammed it in all the way to the root; Lilla’s nose buried in Gortash’s short, wispy bush. He held her there, with his pole completely stretching out her oesophagus while she held her breath, chugging torrents of his divine seed.”

As his hot essence coalesced in her stomach, Lilla began to moan with pleasure. There was so much of it. And it began to feel…warmer inside her, like it was activated somehow. Her mouth was still completely bursting to the brim with Bane’s co*ck as she began to wiggle in discomfort from holding her breath…but the energy she began to feel seep into her from that load…it made her feel…strong…

She began moaning again, sending vibrations from her diaphragm all the way down Bane’s shaft, and he returned her moan with a chuckle, “Ah, you are feeling the effects of the boon. I have more for you, still. Much more.”

As Lilla’s eyes began to roll back in her head from loss of oxygen, he finally pulled his still-hard co*ck out of Lilla’s mouth, bringing a cascade of stringy saliva along with it.

Bane directed Gortash’s body to round the altar, behind Lilla. He hiked up her dress to see her completely naked ass and wet entrance pulsing for more. He slapped her rump, and watched the supple flesh ripple from the impact.

“Humanoid flesh is so…pliable,” he murmured, before grabbing her by the hips, and crashing his unyielding co*ck through her sopping entrance. Lilla emitted a guttural groan as the near-unbearable stretch threatened to pull her apart. She had clumps of the altar cloth clutched in her fists, as if it would somehow soothe her excruciating ecstasy.

All the way in, as deep as possible. Bane had no time or patience for half-measures. Thrusting harshly, so that Lilla’s shoulders crashed into the stone fist that gripped her neck, he began assaulting her ass with searing slaps from his blackened palm.

“I can tell your master is enjoying this, girl. He’s in the back of my mind, watching, feeling…and he likes the experience,” he told her, slapping her ass over and over while he rut into her brutally. “I’d even say I sense a little pride…as he should.”

He then spat downard, onto her stretched-out slit, making sure to also cover her asshole. While he f*cked her aching c*nt, he began circling the glob of slick saliva around her virgin anus with a thumb.

Lilla shuddered deeply, building to a climax at the implication.

“Yes, girl, you know what comes next. Has your master f*cked this hole yet?” He slipped his thumb inside her tightened rectum. She clenched both holes around him in surprise, her voice ringing out with crude words.

Bane began to laugh, “No? What a humble and faithful follower Gortash is, to leave his hole for me to conquer first.” He removed his thumb, pulled off the sharp, jagged rings Gortash often wore and threw them aside…before pushing a fore and middle finger back in to breach her asshole, stretching and preparing her.

Lilla’s body went rigid, her knees almost buckling at the altar step. Thankfully Bane held her hips in place so she wasn’t able to lose control of her body again.

He pounded into her unrelentingly, “Come now, let me see that legendary climax Gortash keeps thinking of.” He began pumping his fingers in and out of her ass in rhythm with his co*ck within the walls of her c*nt, building her further into a lustful daze. She was cursing, swearing, thanking him…until her body shuddered and quivered at the dual sensation.

“There it is,” Bane said with a grin, “I grant you your second boon…Ahhggh!” He released deep inside her as she came around both his tremendous member, and pumping fingers in tandem. The sensation was so surprising; coming from both places…she wasn’t aware that was even possible. She was still drooling, though now from pure; unbridled sexual rapture.

Another copious load of seed gushed forth, coating Lilla’s walls and cervix. Almost immediately, she felt the flux of power penetrating her core. More strength. More power. She was still contracting around his co*ck when he pulled out; yet again hard as stone and eager for round three.

His fingers still penetrated Lilla’s asshole, turning around, pulling, stretching the sides to prime her for what was to come next.

She was already bucking, gyrating in anticipation, and her legs shook like jelly.

“So eager…” Bane muttered in awe, as if his godhood slipped for a split moment, and he was a mere mortal again, at the mercy of a soaked quim, begging for his touch.

The last and final boon came as an almost unbearable stretching in Lilla’s anus. She was humming long, low groans at the extreme sensation. It perhaps wasn’t fair that her first time like this was by a supernatural being, with super-human features, but she decided but the fact that it was her master’s form -however distorted- made her reel with excitement.

Lilla did her best to relax as Bane removed his fingers, and punctured her asshole with his enormous co*ck; slow at first, stopping just when she began writhing in discomfort, before sliding out slowly again. It was not lost on Lilla that he could completely ruin her body right now if he so chose, but he elected to go easy on her. The goal was pleasure with pain…not destruction. His first two blessings would have been in vain if he decided to give into his lust and ruin his little toy now.

As Lilla relaxed herself, Bane could sense her hole inviting him in further, and he obliged. Once it was clear she had finally adjusted to him, he began bucking leisurely, until the girl’s cries and pleas encouraged him to pick up pace. She was begging him to go faster, to bring on a forbidden climax she could almost taste. She thanked him over and over until she was sobbing at the profoundly org*smic stretch.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so receptive to this…” Bane muttered smugly, “But your supplications are so sweet, I can’t resist giving you what you ask…”

He lifted her hips so her legs dangled helplessly a foot off the floor, and crashed into her savagely, with righteous fury. Lilla began screaming as the org*sm gave her no notice, and burst forth throughout the nerve endings around her taut anus. Her legs flexed and locked up, with her toes pointing downward; her body seized in wicked debauchery.

“f*ck! f*ck! f*ck! Fuuuuuck! f*ck! Fffffffff….uuuuuuu….” Her body crumpled in his hands as the pleasure-peak pierced through Lilla like a heavenly spear. She dangled limply in his grasp while he came deep into her guts, filling her with his unholy essence. His climax was so forceful, torrents of his seed breached the seal where Lilla’s hole clamped tightly around his shaft, causing much of it to project back out in spurts.

The familiar oscillation of dark energy pulsated within Lilla as Bane’s blessing empowered her further. She moaned weakly as the Dark Lord pulled out of her, while the remainder of his seed dribbled onto her c*nt and down her thighs.

“Very good, girl,” Bane whispered to her, making her smile wearily, “Now sleep, and forget.”

The obsidian grip finally released her, causing her to slide off the altar, and onto the floor to pass out for the second time that night.

---

Gortash awoke naked on the cold, stone floor of his prayer chamber; every molecule of his body throbbed in pain.

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up, staggering while he finally managed to balance himself. Bane’s possession of his body perhaps did more damage to him than it did Lilla…LILLA.

Spinning around, he saw the girl’s unconscious body slumped at the foot of the altar. He stumbled over to her, turning her to inspect her face. To his relief, she looked as if she was sleeping peacefully; pleasantly, even.

“Resilient girl,” Gortash chuckled, scooping her up gingerly with his bruised arms to carry her upstairs. Every step was pain, every breath ached in his chest. If Bane had stayed much longer in Gortash’s body, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to stand.

He carried Lilla up the spiral staircase and into the library from the secret passage, where Therette had been waiting patiently for them.

“Is everything alright, My Lord?” Therette asked, his droopy eyes grazing the unconscious Lilla in Gortash’s battered arms, “We are fine, Therette…we just need some rest. Draw us a bath in my chambers, bring some healing potions, and salve….And Therette…”

The drow regarded his master with a nod, as Gortash continued, “Once done, I want you to find out everything there is to know about Lilla. Her past, her parentage…everything. If you need coin, use it; I care not the cost. If you need blackmail material, come to me, you will have it. Whatever motivations you require, I will provide them. I want every possible iota of her history on my study desk as soon as humanly possible…” He hesitated as he walked by Therette, “As uh…elvenly possible, that is.”

Therette nodded again, and strode up stairs with lanky legs ahead of them to prepare the copper bathing tub.

---

It wasn’t long until the hot, steaming waters were ready for Gortash. He had Lilla, who was sleeping soundly, on the bed; inspecting her. All in all, Bane hadn’t done too much damage to her; she had easily endured much worse by the hand of Gortash himself. A thin grin crossed his lips as he looked upon her…who are you? He wondered, a surge of impatience coiled in his chest as he knew it would be some time before he would know anything else beyond Bane’s ambiguous comments.

Insofar he gathered Lilla was already known to Bane before Gortash himself even met her, and that she perhaps was bred for some specific purpose. It may have simply been for pure, sexual subjugation, which was Lilla’s specialty. She seemed to find purpose and joy in prostrating herself for Gortash…but how is it she chanced to fall into his lap? Nothing about her indicated she herself had orchestrated such a meeting, as she was assigned by that wretched, worn-out hag at the workhouse. Gortash’s memory did flicker to that day he opened Lilla’s keepsake box…she had stored the image of him amongst her closest possessions before she had even met him…He shook his head in foggy frustration. All coincidence, he was connecting dots where they needn’t be connected.

The further he turned the new revelation in his mind, the more questions poked through…he would just have to be patient until Therette returned with more information…it could be weeks, though. He had to brush it aside for now; he had been appointed Bane’s Chosen, and had much work to think about. A bath would help soothe his aching body, and exhausted mind…Bane had stretched every atom of his mental, and physical existence. This made him chuckle quietly to himself, as he regarded Lilla’s peaceful, grin while she slept “Sorry, Lilla.”

Peeling Lilla’s dress off before hoisting her off the bed, Gortash carried her to the bath. Even with his damaged flesh and bones, she was easy to lift. While she was over his shoulder, he carefully stepped into the copper tub, testing the temperature. Perfect, as usual. Thanks, Therette.

He then pulled Lilla from his shoulder, and held her under her arms to lower her into the tub with him, until they were both sitting back comfortably in the pleasant, inviting waters. Her head was resting serenely on his chest, so he reached to the table next to the large, luxurious tub. It had the items Gortash requested, and more; potions, salves, elixirs, and the Baldur’s Mouth on top of stacks of dossiers. He chuckled in appreciation at this, but knew he didn’t even have the energy to read.

He plucked a robust vial of the more expensive healing potion, uncorked it, and dumped it directly into the bathwater before discarding the empty bottle onto the floor. He did this with two more potions before churning the waters around them with his hand to mix the solution. Once the waters sparkled with shimmering blue particles as he moved his hand through the water, he could immediately feel the soothing effects of the concoction working on his muscles.

Lilla gave a drowsy sigh at the restorative bath, making Gortash smile. He leaned down and kissed the top of her matted golden hair. Then reaching for a tin of salve, and twisted it open, he left the cover on the table before gouging the greasy substance with two fingers. He began to gingerly apply it to the bruises and scrapes he had left on Lilla’s neck from throttling her earlier in the day…a pleasant, less complicated memory.

The potent salve worked quickly. Gortash could see the discolouring on her skin fade within moments. When he was satisfied with Lilla’s recovery, he leaned his head back on the cushioned rest, and closed his eyes; falling asleep to the young woman’s soft, tranquil breathing.

Chapter 21: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Chapter Text

The deep night air was fresh and brisk, as Destri stalked her way silently through the Upper City streets…or rooftops, rather. She preferred to traverse the surface world barefoot upon the clay shingles, as it was the quietest, and cleanest way to travel. She liked being clean like a blank canvas before she became splattered with red. She just liked being clean in general, to be honest.

The scents and pheromones that wafted by as she sprung noiselessly from rooftop to rooftop beckoned her, enticed her, like fresh-baked pies on unsuspecting windowsills…the delectable red-berry insides just waiting to be torn open with her daggers, and hollowed out by the juicy handful.

She ignored all delicious distractions, and carried on north, towards the tyrant’s manor, as she had done dozens of times before; though only a select few had she made herself known to him.

Destri loved to watch him from within the shadows of the colossal oak tree near his third-floor balcony. That’s where he was most relaxed; in his tower where he could look down his nose at the city below, and nobody could reach him…except her, of course.

Today wasn’t for peeking, or spying. Today she was sent again by her Father, but this time as his Chosen. He had curdled her crimson dreams into a bloodless conversation about his grand alliance. He had decided to be cordial with his brothers -if one could even call them that- seeing as they always seemed to be adversarial towards one another. Destri understood though; her siblings could be adversarial against her too… it didn’t mean they didn’t love her…it just meant challenging her was in their nature. Just like scoring their flesh like a waffled ham was in her nature.

The tyrant, the tyrant. Handsome was he. All darkness and brooding and pomp and circum…pomp. His pomp wasn’t pomping when he was pumping her throat, though. He was sweaty and maddened, and looked at her with the same hunger she looks at her prey. A delicious memory she relished secretly in the place her Father couldn’t look; behind her heart and around the corner. He didn’t even know it existed. He just didn’t bother looking, because he didn’t expect her to hide things there, but that’s where the tyrant was.

The more she thought about him, the more she decided a fine, red mist wasn’t good enough for him. He needed to exist after she killed him, so that she could keep him. What can you do with a fine, red mist besides sprint through it like a child running through a Gondian sprinkler on a hot day? At least the sprinkler still sprinkled after the first go…

She expected his blood would look so good against her skin, as all blood does. She thinks her Father chose her just for her shade of lavender. A little violet tiefling cherub, born with little dreams of twisted gore, that turned into bigger dreams, and bigger gore, until she cracked and came out her Father’s daughter.

The best part about being a Bhaalspawn as a child is nobody expected anything from you, except laughs and giggles. She had all that still; a charming laugh, and a sinister giggle; both used at their respective times; she didn’t even have to think on the spot which one to use, or when - they just came to her, easy.

The tyrant made her laugh with flowers in her heart; the kind that is sharp on one side, and soft on the other. That type a gentleman gives to his lover when he wants to f*ck her. He pretends he doesn’t at first, but that’s what those flowers meant - she wasn’t stupid . She had that special laugh for Enver, tucked in that place behind her heart and around the corner, where Father can’t see.

Up the tree and stepping silently on the balcony, she lingered in the shadows, as she liked to do; watching him.

He sat facing away from her in the copper tub she had used that first day her Father sent her to him. She slept so good that day. Bathed so good. The irony of that day was so funny too, because she should have killed him weeks before that…but then Bhaal directed her to him as if it were ordained. She wondered if her Father stayed her hand just for the occasion… Bhaal was like that sometimes…but she was afraid to mention it to him, in case it was just a coincidence. If she had killed Enver then, what would she be doing now? Certainly not dancing in his mist, because it would be all gone and rusted by now. He should be preserved like a pretty, sharp flower in water for as long as possible.

She liked his eyes the most. Maybe when they went all grey and cloudy, she could replace them with jet marbles, or black diamonds. Actually she liked his skin most; always smeared and smelling of oil or grease, or wood or smoke, or whiskey or sweat, or ink and paper. Or leather. Or Lilla’s scent.

Actually she liked his lips most. They were always ready to curl into a smile, until they were not- in which case they were a snarl… but both were kissable, and biteable. Most of him was biteable. Actually all of him was biteable. How does one preserve such a chewable corpse?

She stepped past the threshold, onto the soiled rug, and felt that silence. Solitude. No more rushing, no more sizzling of blood inside her head. Sanctuary.

“First order of business as a Chosen,” she said, startling Enver awake and causing him to crane his head backward towards his intruder, “A bath and a nap?”

He turned back around and dropped his head onto the cushion, sighing in relief. “Could you at least send word beforehand, so I don’t have a heart-attack every time you visit?”

Destri laughed with Gortash’s flowers in her voice, and made her way over to him while he lifted himself and Lilla out of the now-lukewarm water.

“Hells.. what did he do to you ?” Destri asked as Gortash hoisted a sleeping Lilla up gently into his arms. Her Father told her Bane was visiting the tyrant tonight, but specifics weren’t mentioned.

“Ah…yes,” the tyrant said, looking down at his naked, battered body, “Bane had indeed pushed us both to our limits tonight. What doesn’t kill you, though-”

“-Makes you look like bulette sh*t.”

“You’re not wrong, actually.”

They shared a chuckle while Gortash gently placed Lilla on the bed and wrapped her with a blanket, before he put one of his brocade housecoats on. “I’m going to bring her to her own chambers, help yourself to a drink while you wait.”

He left the Bhaalspawn in his dim, candlelit chambers while he carried Lilla downstairs to her own bed. Destri wished she could have spent a little more time looking at the young woman’s soft and sweet face while she slept, but Father’s duty came first.

When Enver returned to his chambers, Destri was sprawled on his bed with a neat whiskey in hand, and gestured to the identical one she had poured him, waiting for him on the bedside table.

“You remembered,” Gortash smirked, limping his way over to her and taking the glass, drinking deeply.

Destri wanted to ask what happened with Bane, but she knew it was none of her business, and the tyrant would tell her as such. She instead went forward with official things.

“Father has elected me his Chosen, and the Dead Three want us to meet with Myrkul’s to discuss plans regarding the Crown.” She reported this with little enthusiasm, and an air of boredom.

“Thorm?” Gortash asked after taking a sip of whiskey as he stood over the tiefling, “Very well. I have some preparations to make…when do you expect to depart?”

“As soon as you are able.”

Gortash nodded thoughtfully, taking another sip with eyes closed. The liquor was smooth and rich, coating his sore throat and entrails as it moved through his body. Everything was inflamed, swollen and sore.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Gortash said, lifting his glass to her promotion, “to a grand alliance. To the Dead Three.”

Destri said nothing, but held out her glass for him to clink, before downing the rest in one go.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked, making Gortash scratch his jaw in discomfort.

“Can I trust you to keep your daggers to yourself?”

This made Destri laugh heartily, “I didn’t even bring them. Not that it matters, I can tear you open with my bare hands like tissue paper.”

Gortash swallowed, but kept a calm demeanour, “As truly impressive as that is, it doesn’t necessarily sell your case.”

Destri laughed again, making even Gortash chuckle in response, “I’ve already sworn a pact not to hurt you,” she reminded him, “You haven’t even sworn to me. Does that mean nothing?”

He furrowed his brow slightly at this, “I suppose I should remedy that. In the light of our new alliance.”

Destri shot up from the bed and put her empty glass on the side table, facing Gortash only a few inches from his nose. Her luminous amber irises almost challenging him, daring him, “I await your humble vow, Chosen of Bane.”

Gortash licked his lips in an attempt to hide a smile, and cleared his throat. Destri watched the way his neck moved when he did this, and wanted to put her tongue on the hollow between his collarbones.

“I, Enver Gortash, Chosen of the Lord of Tyranny, swear to you that I will do no harm to you. Let it be writ, by the Black Hand of Bane.”

The sullen spark of energy swirled in the air around them as his words manifested the pact between them. Destri had been looking at his lips while he enunciated the vow, lingering on the easy curl at the edges.

“Are you quite satisfied?” Gortash asked, breaking away from her gaze to pick up her empty glass and pour them another drink.

“I’ll be satisfied if I can sleep here.”

He clenched his jaw in annoyance at this, but eventually nodded anyway. “So be it, but we talk business only. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We are Chosen, and must act professionally.”

Destri laughed her flower laugh, “You think I’m going to try to f*ck you, Enver?”

He handed her a fresh whiskey before taking a sip of his own; watching her behind the glass with obsidian eyes, shimmering curiously. “I don’t wish to imply anything, except that discussing the Crown, and sleeping, will be all we will be doing tonight.”

“You remember, you’re the one who tied me up and f*cked me, right?” she smirked mirthfully, “not the other way around.”

Enver’s brow furrowed, and his dark eyes smouldered at this, “If I remember correctly, you were the one who stalked into my chambers and attempted to murder my secretary. I admit, perhaps you spending the night isn’t worth the trouble after all. We can reconvene in the morning.”

Destri’s grin faded to remorse, “No! No...I’m sorry…I just enjoy seeing you squirm a bit, is all. What joy is there in our dark existence if we can’t share in a jest, here or there?”

While Gortash looked at her with some scepticism, he eventually nodded begrudgingly, “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps if you’re really good, maybe I’ll let you try out the swing again.”

Destri’s heart skipped a beat at his playful banter. She knew he was joking…but sincerely hoped he was in some way serious…

“Deal,” she grinned, sipping at her whiskey and sitting back down on the bed, “which side do you prefer?”

“Always the right,” he answered with a dark, mischievous grin.

---

The night went by so very quickly.

Enver and Destri had papers and books strewn across the bed between them for hours, as they poured over the notes Lilla had made, regarding Cania and the Crown.

They had a million options to utilise Karsus’s legendary artefact once they retrieved it, but the biggest hurdle would be obtaining it from Mephistopholes’ vault before anything. Their fresh, unknown powers bestowed upon them as Chosen would no doubt assist them greatly, but it would be a fool’s errand to rely on divine assistance alone.

They had to approach the heist as if they had no help from their lords at all; with the expectation of being purely vulnerable mortals. Only when they create multiple backup plans that revolve around their limitations, can they consider moving forward with a modicum of confidence.

The two Chosen read through excerpts and documentations of failed attempts to penetrate the frigid archive under Mephistar by their predecessors, teasing and chuckling at each adventurer’s untimely demise.

When they finally fell asleep at first light, it was atop the covers, on a bed of scattered scrolls and notes.

---

Over the next few days, Enver kept a concerned eye on Lilla to assess any damage Bane’s revelation had done to their relationship, but it was clear she had no memory of the entire event -save a general knowledge that she had met the deity- and didn’t seem interested in prodding her master for more information…which was perhaps in its own, was equally as disturbing to Gortash, since it wasn’t at all consistent with her inquisitive nature.

When he cautiously brought up meeting Bane with Lilla over breakfast one morning, she knew the meeting took place, but seemed unperturbed by the loss of memory, and told Gortash she “knew that her body was used, but she was happy to help her master.”

It was the stark difference in Lilla’s demeanour that fateful night compared to her upbeat indifference of the situation now, that concerned Enver, but he surmised her aloofness was some result of Bane’s doing to prevent distractions in their ongoing plans.

Enver spent the next tenday tying loose ends before his visit to the Reithwin region to meet with Myrkul’s Chosen at Moonrise Towers. The entire land within its borders had been enshrouded in a deadly shadow curse for the last hundred years, so he kept in tight correspondence with General Thorm to arrange safe passage to the tower keep.

When Lilla sent out the letters, she asked Gortash if she would be joining him and Lady Destri to Moonrise, which forced him to swallow a dry lump in his throat in response.

“No, pet,” He hadn’t yet decided the best course of action to disclose her looming fate, so he kept things ambiguous and cordial; “I need you here to…manage things. Bhaal’s Chosen and I won’t be more than a tenday at most.”

“You mean Lady Destri, ” Lilla corrected him, irked at Gortash’s cold address of their tiefling companion.

Gortash didn’t answer her, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth at her delicate challenge towards him.

In truth, the discovery of Lilla’s nature, thanks to Bane, had put much strain on his perception of her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate her full dedication to him, nor her sweet reverence…it was perhaps because he had always thought she had accepted his whole being unconditionally with her own free will… Now that he knew her devotion was pre-programmed by Bane, something about the connection he felt had…shifted. It felt slightly off, now -at no blame to Lilla- but even he, Chosen of the God of Tyranny, hadn't the heart to disclose Lilla’s own nature to herself. As former slave and slaver, he knew the benefit of allowing one to believe in the illusion of choice. Of free will. He wasn’t entirely sure how Lilla would react to the news that she perhaps was pre-determined to accept Gortash, regardless of his nature.

In fact he found himself acting somewhat distant around Lilla, which thankfully she merely assumed he was just nose-deep in his newly appointed occupation; so she hadn’t yet commented on his reserved demeanour. She instead embraced her helpful nature, and dug her heels in to help him arrange the travel to Moonrise, as well as reschedule his appointments for the next month, to be safe.

She had commissioned the dressmaker, whom she had built a close working-relationship with, to clandestinely construct some frost-resistant cloaks, boots, and gloves; thanks to a generous tip for the seamstress’s ongoing discreteness. Lilla had also collected an absurd stack of spell scrolls to accommodate Lady Destri and Gortash for their trip to the frigid layer of hell. They were light, compact, and fairly easy to attain; and if they weren’t needed, they could at least act as an extra layer of warmth against the frozen Canian winds.

Making sure she did her due diligence, Lilla had gathered materials and supplies over an extended period of time, and from shops scattered all around Baldur’s Gate: from the Wide, all the way to the shops by the docks - all to assure the acquisition didn’t draw any unwanted attention. If any shopkeeps attempted to make polite conversation about the nature of the supplies, she would rotate stories about learning Misty Step to help with cleaning the gutters one day, or brewing a Frost Resist potion for an underground cold-storage the next. She and Gortash still were not sure how Raphael got wind of their impending project, so Lilla elected to take extra precautions in order to avoid further intrigue.

In many respects, the heist was shaping up to appear at least somewhat promising, and Lilla was beginning to exhaust her options when it came to preparation. That didn’t stop her from trying, of course, but as the heist date grew closer, she knew the hardest part would be set upon her master and Lady Destri to continue on.

---

When the day to leave for Moonrise drew close, Gortash had summoned a Banite to the house for a midnight meeting, and asked Lilla to join them.

He was a tall, dashing, blue-eyed man; perhaps around the same age as Gortash, or maybe older. It was hard to tell, due to his impeccable health.

“Lilla, I’d like to introduce to you an old colleague of mine, Rugan,” Gortash said as the man entered the parlour to meet them.

He was adorned in rugged leather armour that had clearly been repaired many times over. As he regarded Lilla, he bowed his head and smiled so handsomely, it met his eyes and wrinkled at the corners; suggesting a lifetime of good humour.

“A pleasure, Miss Lilla,” he said, making her blush with his refined grin.

Gortash cleared his throat, “Rugan here has worked with me since my younger days as a weapon’s trader, and…smuggler,” he gestured for both Rugan and Lilla to sit at the emerald velvet sofas, “He’s proven a very good ally to me all this time, which I have been very appreciative of.”

Lilla gave Rugan a shy, approving nod at her master’s commendation, and Rugan bowed his head deeply at Gortash’s words, “You are too kind, My Lord. May I say it is an honour and a privilege to be in the good book of Bane’s elected Chosen.”

This made Gortash smirk smugly at his well-deserved achievements, and even Lilla gave a cute little clap for him out of excitement.

“Thank you, Rugan, I look forward to our friendship blossoming even further into new heights, to usher in a new age under the Black Hand’s edict.”

“Obedience above all,” Rugan murmured dutifully, crossing a fist over the chest of his battered leather jerkin.

“Obedience above all,” Gortash repeated, sitting back into the sofa with a satisfied smile. “As you and I have discussed at some length already, Bhaal’s Chosen and I have planned a trip to Moonrise Towers in a few days, and my lovely secretary here will need some assistance with her pending task.”

Lilla looked to Gortash, who kept his eyes on Rugan… who was gazing at Lilla with a knowing grin.

“Of course, My Lord,” Rugan replied, looking quite satisfied, himself, “it will be done.”

Something about the connotation behind the men’s word’s made Lilla flit her gaze nervously back and forth between the two of them, perplexed.

“What task would you need of me, Master? More-” she looked at Rugan, unsure if he was privy to the heist, “More research?”

“Of sorts,” Gortash answered, clenching and stretching his fist as it rested on the back of the sofa, “I think you’ve finally hit the bottom of the barrel in regards to research, my pet, thanks to your impressive efficiency. In fact, I’m going to assign you a new, very important mission, that will undoubtedly be more difficult than anything else you have undertaken insofar…can I trust you with that?”

Lilla hesitated only momentarily, but nodded with an uncertain smile, “Of course, Master. You know I’d do anything you ask.”

“And I love to hear it,” Gortash smiled, nodding formally at her. She thought the solemn gesture was kind of odd, but perhaps as Chosen, there were some mannerism he must carry out to keep up appearances in front of other Banites.

“Rugan will fill you in on the details of the task, while Destri and I head for Moonrise on business. I expect you to be on your best behaviour, and to do everything, and anything Rugan tells you, is that clear?” Gortash stood up from the sofa and picked up his cane.

“I…yes, Master, but what will you need of me? When will I see you and Lady Destri again- When you return?”

He ignored her questions, and began walking to the parlour exit, “As I’ve stated, you will do as Rugan says, going forward. Was that not clear?”

“Come on, Princess,” Rugan said with a warm smile, “it’s time to go, now.”

Panic fluttered within Lilla’s stomach, and she spun around in her seat to see Gortash leave the room without another word.

“Master?” She shot up from the sofa, and started running after him “…MASTER? What is-MMMPHHFF!!”

Rugan had grabbed her from behind and held a cloth hard to her mouth and nose that smelled sharp, like medicine. “Shhh, Princess…”

Before she could attempt to fight back, darkness bled into the edges of her vision, and she passed out, cold.

---

The night was overcast and humid.

Gortash sat on the cushioned chaise lounge out on his balcony, whiskey in hand; his expression was stony and devoid of remorse. He looked down at the glittering Baldurian lights through the fluttering leaves of his grand oak tree. The only tiny giveaway of his anxiety was the tinkling sound of a clawed finger tapping the glass, causing the surface of the whiskey to ripple irritably.

He was hoping there was a chance the Bhaalspawn would hop out of the shadows onto the balcony to join him to help distract him from his own mind, even if it were just to tease him. A searing prickle of anxiety crept up his spine at the events that unfolded today. Lilla would undoubtedly see it as a betrayal; one he had promised her only the night before he wouldn’t carry out.

It was against his doctrine to coddle the young woman in preparation of her endeavour, despite how much he wanted to explain to her the nature of his decision; if not just to ease her mind.

He had promised Bane a grand tournament, and spared Lilla a fate worse than death, but he couldn’t help but wish there was a way to explain himself to her. He knew there very well wasn’t, until she won the tournament…

“Do not fail me,” Gortash warned Rugan as the Zhent tied up Lilla’s unconscious body to take her away under the darkness of night, “your own life hangs upon her success.”

Gortash only hoped the blessing Bane had bestowed upon Lilla through his own body would ultimately guide her to victory. Power wouldn’t be enough, though; she would require the will and motivation to win, and he wasn’t entirely confident she had that in the light of her master’s perceived betrayal.

“It makes no sense,” Gortash mumbled to himself with a slight slur, due to his overindulgence in whiskey. He tossed the mystery of Bane’s comments around Lilla’s nature, as well as his wish to dispose of her over and over until it bounced hollowly through a cycle of the same, repetitive questions.. He reminded himself there is little use in questioning a god’s will, as contrary and perplexing as it may be.

Therette still hadn’t returned with information on Lilla, and he fidgeted uncomfortably at the notion that it may not even arrive before he leaves for Moonrise. He hated not knowing.

Realising Destri wouldn’t be coming to his rescue, he forced himself to stop brooding and get back to work, as sleep wasn’t an option. He was to depart with the Bhaalspawn the next afternoon, and carry forth the Dead Three’s design.

---

“Where is that damned drow ?” Gortash grumbled as he held up the caravan, destined for Moonrise. He was hoping Therette had the good wisdom to bless him with a last-second report on Lilla’s history, but he hadn’t seen his butler since sending him off on his mission.

“We can’t wait forever, Enver,” Destri called from the carriage Gortash commissioned for their journey. It was luxurious and roomy, as he had made a personal pact to never again lower standards of comfort for himself whenever possible. He also had Destri’s comfort in mind as well, but felt it wasn’t prudent to give her the satisfaction of letting her know that.

The carriage was led and followed by a company of mixed Bhaalists and Banites for their travels to Reithwin region, as a precaution against the shadow curse. They had ample oil lanterns -and torches, if those failed. He had Banite clerics envelope the carriage to assure he and Destri were fully protected from whatever horrors awaited them in the land ravaged by Shar’s wrath.

Gortash sighed deeply; finally giving up on waiting for Therette. He signalled for the caravan to start forward, before hopping into the carriage with the Bhaalspawn. When he landed on the spacious cushion across from her, he was met with an unnerving, beady-eyed stare.

“What in the hells is that ?” he asked, pointing with a clawed finger that clutched his favourite cane. The carriage began swaying gently as it began moving forward.

Some creature: a gnome, or a goblin, or an imp -or some wretched combination of all three- smiled sourly at Gortash with a wide mouth full of sharp little teeth. Its features were pointed in every-which-way, including his nose, which was horned, like a hawk’s beak. It was only about the height of a halfling, judging by its thin little legs dangling from the seat as it sat politely next to Destri. It donned a worn, three-piece suit in black and red, and a very flamboyant rimmed flat-top hat that was adorned with a skeletal snake spiralled around its crown.

“Oh him? Sceleritas Fel, my butler,” answered Destri, flippantly waving at the vile creature, who bowed his head, and tipped his hat, wordlessly.

“Butler? That ? And since when?” Gortash baulked in distaste at the little fiend who grinned up at him, silently.

“Since I became Bhaal’s Chosen. Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d be able to see him; nobody else seems to.”

Gortash gripped the handle of his cane tightly in annoyance, “Well I can see him, unfortunately. Will he be accompanying us in the carriage the entire journey, then?”

Destri pursed her lips in a facetious smirk, “Would that be so terrible, tyrant? I bring my little minion, you bring yours…speaking of, where is Lilla?”

Gortash sat back uncomfortably, unprepared and unwilling to answer the question,”She’s staying behind. To handle things, while we are away.”

Sceleritas Fel raised his eyebrows in silent doubt, causing Gortash to furrow his in disgust and anger, “I really must protest that this… thing stay outside the carriage. I’ll not have his haughty little eyes fixated on me.”

“I don’t think he likes you much, Sceleritas,” Destri whispered to the fiendish butler, who pantomimed a frown and mock pout towards Gortash. She whispered something into the imp’s ear, and with a wink, he disappeared in a puff of smoke and fluttering fel magic.

“What sort of business is Lilla attending to, that is more important than this?” Destri asked Gortash, now that the creature was gone, “It’s not often you two are separated for long.”

“What does it matter?” Gortash replied briskly.

“Fine, I was just curious, there’s no need to get testy,” Destri said, waving away Gortash’s attitude with a slender, clawed hand, “I’d like to see her is all. She would certainly brighten up the room a bit in a land curse with shadow.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“It’s Banite business, I'm not able to discuss it,” Gortash said, feeling a bit sheepish towards his shortness.

“Alright,” Destri sighed with a smile, “shall we talk business then? That always gets you all hot and bothered.

Gortash nodded dutifully, glad to have evaded the conversation about Lilla, “With pleasure, we should be ready to meet with Helsik shortly after arriving back in Baldur's Gate…”

---

The journey to the Reithwin region took only a handful of days, thanks to the efficient cooperation between the Banites and Bhaalists.

Gortash had assured his tent was equipped with adequate comfort, while the Bhaalists awarded Destri a cot and a blanket; they weren’t usually the type to focus on one’s comfort…which actually explained why perhaps Destri liked sleeping at Gortash’s manor.

He was fairly confident she was going to ask to sleep in his tent as well, but she never approached him about it, and stuck to her own meagre quarters with the impish butler to keep her company.

Within the first couple days, the factions kept to their own sides, save Gortash and Destri, who were cordial with one another, but discussed nothing much else than business. However after the third night, the Banites and Bhaalists began intermingling with one another, building a rapport with drinking, gambling, and telling murderous tales around the campfire.

There was an incident during the fourth night, where a Bhaalist member seduced a Banite and took him away from the camp to a secluded area to kill him. She swore up and down to Destri and Gortash it was a mistake, and the hunger had taken her unawares. A solemn silence had blanketed the camp as the Bhaalist grovelled for forgiveness at the feet of the Chosen; that is until one of the Banites hollered “At least Burl died doing what he loved!” which caused both camps to burst out in laughter.

Of course the Bhaalist had to be put down regardless, to keep order, but at least some fun was had. The two factions were back to mingling around the bonfire the moment the ale began to flow again.

---

Once the caravan arrived at the border of the shadow-cursed lands, Destri and Gortash got out of the carriage to look upon their inhospitable destination.

“This place is so… sick ,” Destri muttered, quiet enough only for Gortash to hear. It would be unwise to show the cultists any apprehension.

Gortash thought it odd that the Bhaalspawn seemed perturbed now, when she seemed to breathe gore and dreamed of evisceration. He supposed it was because the cursed land was undying: lingering and languid. The destination of its forsaken residents was void of shadow and loss, thanks to Shar’s influence. Gortash had to admit that was perhaps a much more disturbing notion than outright slaughter.

They made a camp at the outer perimeter of the shadows, while they awaited their escort from Moonrise. They were a couple days early, so they expected to wait at least another night.

Even the bonfire was unable to warm the spirits of the caravan travellers. They huddled around it, clutching their ales and jumping at every crunch or crackle of leaf or twig that they heard in the shadows behind them.

Destri had finally finessed her way into Gortash’s luxurious tent. He had constructed some type of clockwork generator powered by a large crystal that acted as a heater and a source of energy for his compact, but entirely impractical chandelier.

She sat on his large, plush rollout while reading a book. It wasn’t notes, or research, or a dossier. It was some small, hardcover novel that she seemed unwilling to let Gortash get close to. He wasn’t entirely interested after the first attempt to peek at the title, anyway, as he was pacing back and forth with thoughts of tournaments, Crowns, and conquest.

“I do hope Thorm himself is more impressive than these odious shadow lands,” Gortash muttered.

Destri looked up from her novel; her deadly, topaz eyes following him as he circled the tent.

“He sits smack-dab in the middle of a curse… unable to even leave when he pleases. He seems more like a damsel-in-distress than a mighty general…and what of his allegiance in the first place, hmm? He turned to Shar because he was unhappy with Selûne, then he turned to Myrkul because he was unhappy with Shar. Now he hides away in his tower ruling over nothing. Next he’ll be begging Garl Glittergold when Myrkul realises the mistake he made.”

“Enver, you haven’t even met the man. Perhaps reserve some judgement before dinner, hmm?”

Gortash cracked his neck. He was in a foul mood, and realised he had to let go of his guilt regarding Lilla, lest it interfere with his business relations.

“I could really use a warm bath,” he mumbled, thumbing through a stack of notes and research he had already read a hundred times over.

Destri knew what that meant; she knew him well from watching him from the oak tree. He took baths particularly when he was frustrated, or his mind was tangled and he needed to tame the knots and matted thoughts. It’s like the water and steam softened his troubled mind, freeing it to do as it needed to solve a problem. Then sometimes he would jump out of the tub when an idea came to him, and he would begin work on a clockwork contraption; immediately smearing oil on his freshly-washed skin.

What Destri didn’t know, was that bathtime was the only time Gortash had during his days in the hells, where he was left alone. Ten minutes -maximum- but it was his only solace from the torment, humiliation, torture and cruelness that he endured until the next bath; a whole tenday later. If he was particularly naughty, it would be two tendays. After he escaped, he was always diligent about bathing, though it meant little when he was consistently elbow-deep in grease, or bloodied by some assassination attempt.

Before Gortash could continue on with his complaint, a clamour from outside the tent caused Destri and himself to investigate.

The camp members were all lined up at the border of the shadow-cursed lands, staring into the veil of darkness, when a shimmer of light began bouncing around in the distance, drawing closer. Then more lights; little pinpricks of alluring, ivory-white stars swayed back and forth, drawing ever closer under the gnarled, corrupted trees, while the shadows around them threatened to swallow them whole.

Once the lights were close enough, it was clear now they were in fact lanterns; dangling at the end of long sticks, held by…a small platoon of walking skeletons.

The Bhaalists and Banites muttered amongst one another as the skeletons marched towards them, and then stopped immediately within the perimeter of the shadow border. Destri and Gortash glanced at one another before approaching one skeletal warrior that appeared to be a bit larger, and more imposing than the others.

“Revered General Ketheric Thhhhhhorm sends his regards, and his asssssistance to the Chosen of Bane,” the skeleton bowed deeply to Gortash, causing its helmet to fall to ground at his feet with a hollow thud , “as well assss the Chosen of Bhaal,” he pivoted his body, still bent at the waist towards Destri, as if it served as a bow as well. She giggled in amusem*nt.

“We welcome General Thorm’s aid and guidance, and look forward to meeting with him, thank you,” she replied politely, smiling back, “We expect to pack up camp and depart for Moonrise come morning.”

“You will pack up now, tiefling minge-rat ,” the skeleton spat with a lipless grin.

“Excuse me?” Destri said, almost bursting out in laughter at the shock of the skeleton’s sudden and uncouth insult.

Gortash stepped forward, prickling with anger, “Whatever game this is will not be tolerated. You will apologise to Lady Destri now, or I will have my men grind your bones to dust before we take you back to your master and repurpose you as fertiliser.”

Destri flicked her eyes towards him, feeling a flare of affection balloon in her stomach. It may have been the travelling rations, but she was sure most of it was appreciation. Lady Destri. It was Lilla’s nickname for her, and Gortash had seemed so adverse to it -which is one of the reasons Destri liked it- But now he was using it as if he always had…

“He meansssss it not!” a different skeleton pleaded from behind the ranks.

“He knows not his mannersss!” another one hissed from behind him.

“Forgive him, his transgressionssss, My Lady!” a third somewhere else called from the shadows.

The odd thing was, every skeleton seemed to share the exact same voice, but there was no use in arguing with these undead thralls. Gortash was about to protest further, but Destri lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You are forgiven, for now, skeleton,” Destri assured it, “we will pack up now, and you will guide us safely through the shadows to Moonrise.”

“Sssssmart devil. Sssultry devil,” the skeletal warrior agreed, pretending it didn’t notice Gortash’s furious glower.

---

Once the caravan was packed up and ready to traverse the shadows, the skeletons found their places before and after the company, as well as in the places between, and next to the carriage- to allow for full coverage of the magic lamplight.

Altogether, they trudged through the muck as quiet as they could. Even with the magic light keeping the shadows at bay, the few hours it took to get to moonrise had everyone on the edge of their seat, or saddle. The tortured shades that wished only to extinguish their lives frolicked around the edges of the cart trail; behind gnarled foliage, and around ruined buildings.

Destri was looking out the window of the carriage, where a shade slowly and sluggishly followed her in the darkness beyond the lamplight, watching her with sorrow, and malice. She felt a warm hand place itself on her own, which was trembling as it rested on her knee. Gortash had meant to comfort her, which disturbed her even more for some reason. She gave him a quick smile, as to not break the civility, and to assure him she was fine, but slipped her hand from underneath his, and rested it in her lap. She then sat back, chewing her lip; unsure why she even bothered recoiling from him. It was unlike her to shy away from Gortash’s advances, especially since he usually played it so cool. She felt herself blushing, which was RIDICULOUS , and reached for her novel to tuck herself away in the corner to read, in hopes it helped distract her from the looming shadow curse around them…and Gortash’s stare.

---

Moonrise Towers was in all regards, majestic. Even if the lands around it had been ravaged by the curse for a hundred years, the monumental fortress, dedicated to Selûne stood strong, and proud. Despite being threatened by Shar’s wrathful shadows, the very bricks that the building were constructed from felt empowered with some ancient whisper of the Moonmaiden’s blessing, keeping the shades and wraiths at bay. Additionally, the magic moonlight lanterns were scattered around the path once the caravan inched closer to the tower, acting as an additional barrier of entry against the twisted curse.

Another aura permeated the air around the fortress as the carriage drew up to the front steps; death. Not the void-death of Shar’s curse, but a different death: putrid, sinister, solid . It was Myrkul’s blessing, if one that wasn’t already undead could call it that. It empowered the animated skeletons and ghouls around the courtyard as they all stood at attention while Destri and Gortash exited the carriage.

Down the steps towards them, came General Ketheric Thorm. He was an imposing elf, with a tired, sorrowful stare, and a solemn frown behind his beard. Gortash quite liked his armour, however, finding it at least brought out a little character in contrast to the General’s dreary, grey complexion.

“General Thorm,” Gortash addressed the Chosen of Myrkul, who held out an armoured hand for him to shake, “The Dead Three blesses our meeting, this night.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning, actually,” Thorm replied curtly, yet politely while shaking his hand, and offering his to Destri, as well.

Destri and Gortash looked up to the morning sky, seeing only pure night.

“Right then,” Gortash said cheerfully with a clap, “shall we get settled inside, and make our introductions?”

“This way,” Ketheric turned around and lumbered up the stairs towards the castle.

Destri had to bite her lip to prevent herself from smirking at Gortash’s glower. He hated it here, and so did she. But they’ll only make faces at one another when nobody else is looking.

---

Ketheric Thorm allowed the other Chosen and their company to get comfortably settled, with Destri and Gortash on the third floor, in dusty guest quarters, side-by-side; while their caravan company were assigned to the barracks downstairs.

The castle was almost entirely barren, save a few handfuls of undead servants, and some Myrkulite worshipers. This only furthered Gortash’s meagre impression of the General, but trusted Bane in his wisdom to know what allies were worth his time. While Gortash acquainted himself with the castle before dinner, he met a drow woman on the first floor, who attended a meagre, makeshift alchemy lab. When she saw him approach, she straightened up, and met him with a curious smile.

“Can I interest you in a pick-me-up?” she asked with a sultry voice, looking him up and down without shame.

“What exactly do you brew, here?” Gortash asked, looking over the contents of the alchemy lab. A lump formed in his throat at the memory of Lilla, for her enthusiasm and aptitude for brewing potions.

“A great many things,” the drow woman teased, “but I can make something very, very special for you, if you wish.”

“How so?” he asked flatly, unimpressed by her ambiguity.

“A blood potion, to be exact. You are Bane’s Chosen, are you not? I take a drop of someone’s blood, and brew them the most unique, and powerful potion they could ever dream of. It’s tailored just. For. Them,” She stepped a bit closer, so her eyes were tilted up at him, “and the benefits are permanent, of course.”

This did intrigue Gortash, though he had no time to dabble in the sanguine experiment, just yet.

“Perhaps after dinner,” he said, feigning aloofness, “remind me then, and I’ll see how I’m feeling.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” the drow woman purred, watching him walk away.

---

Supper was abysmal, though Gortash understood that undead don’t entirely put much importance in food. Still, though, it wouldn’t have gone amiss for Ketheric to put some effort into their divine discourse…

The dinner spread was entirely underwhelming, with mutton stew as the main course, and some sort of grey custard pudding for dessert, which only Destri seemed brave enough to try.

“Do you entertain company often, up here?” Gortash asked Ketheric, who sat stone-still at the end of the dinner table, his plate untouched. It was apparent he only set himself a place out of courtesy for his guests.

“Balthazar has been helping me arrange for those faithful to Myrkul to coalesce here at the castle, in light of our new alliance.” He turned his head towards the bloated necromancer, who sat smugly across from Gortash and Destri. They had already passed forced pleasantries during dinner, and both decided they had a deep, dark, personal distaste for the vile man.

“A divine privilege, General, as I’ve said so many times before,” Balthazar bowed his head primly, “I look forward to seeing what the Dead Three have in store for our glorious futures, all.”

“A big ssssurprise!?” a skeletal thrall standing at attention against the wall behind Balthazar hissed quietly.

“Much death and ssssmoke!” another one echoed.

“Such sssexy, sumptuous guestssss,” a third one whispered.

“That’s enough out of you all!” Balthazar turned in his chair to bark at the skeletons. They kept silent, staring blankly ahead at Destri and Gortash.

“My apologies,” the necromancer said, turning back to the table, “they are loyal, but their tongues are difficult to control, sometimes.”

It was clear the skeleton’s voice was sourced by Balthazar himself, but it wasn’t clear if his thralls were really speaking out of turn, or if he was just using it as an excuse to get away with flaunting his intrusive thoughts.

To prevent Gortash saying whatever it was he was about to say, Destri perked up with an intentionally lame jest to lighten the mood:

“It would indeed be difficult to control a tongue one does not have!”

To Gortash and Destri’s profound surprise, not only Balthazar burst out into laughter at this appalling excuse for a joke, but Ketheric also started to chuckle. Balthazar’s skeletons added in their own chorus of laughter to help the mood along. Gortash and Destri gawked at Ketheric, while he laughed, which was disturbing in its own right, and should have been illegal in some way.

An urge bubbled up into the depths of Destri’s gut now that she saw the warmth from Ketheric’s strained smile. She knew she couldn’t blame it all on the pudding. She wanted to slit his grin from ear to ear to help him along. He could continue on with his fatherly chuckle, while she sliced off his lips to show off his rancid teeth. A big, big, big smile, so he could be happy again. That’s all he wanted anyway, and she could help. If she carved him open from navel to neck like a turkey, would his blood not come out red? Would his entrails not be a healthy shade of gore? It wouldn’t…she knew, recoiling at the thought of his guts being nothing but a throbbing swarm of wet maggots, churning sluggishly around in the festering black bile within his forsaken chest cavity. It would be wrong. So wrong. He wouldn’t even die; he’d just watch her quietly while she sliced, and pulled at his entrails, looking for something alive (besides maggots and worms), and neither of them would be laughing.

“Destri, are you quite alright?” Gortash whispered to her, once he noticed the sickened look on her face.

“I-” the next words out of her mouth came instead as a torrent of chunky grey vomit, projecting out onto the table, splattering the sad display Ketheric had arranged for them.

Thorm, Balthazar and the skeletal choir stopped laughing.

Gortash stood up immediately, pulling Destri’s chair out, causing her head to loll with the abrupt movement.

“I’m so sorry, I…don’t feel well,” she stood to her feet, letting Gortash take her by the forearm to lead her upstairs.

“Let us reconvene tomorrow, gentlemen,” Gortash addressed the room as he guided Destri towards the exit, “thank you for your hospitality, and I look forward to our continued discussions.”

Ketheric and Balthazar watched in silence as the other two Chosen left, until one of the necromancer’s skeletal thralls hissed softly in the background;

“I told you that pudding was f*cking rancid, you sssstupid, putrid old goat.”

Ketheric ignored him, pushing himself up from the table and trudging off to another room for the night to wait for his guests to awaken again.

---

Destri was already feeling much better once she and Gortash had arrived at the third-floor guest rooms. At least for the time being.

“Are you alright?” Enver repeated, his official, business-oriented tone was now hushed, and laced with concern, “was it the food?”

“No…maybe…I just need to sleep, I think,” she wanted to sit to ease her jelly legs.

“Of course,” he replied, opening the door to her chambers, and leading her in. Her room was just as dusty and dreary as his was, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when they first arrived. He had set a handful of Faithful to tidy both of their chambers, at least to assure the spiders and silverfish didn’t feast on them during the night.

Gortash had even transferred some of his camp cushions and blankets to Destri’s room, so she didn’t have to use the crusty, dissolving quilt that had undoubtedly been strewn across the bed for a hundred forgotten years. Gods, he hated this place .

He unfolded the plush blankets he donated to Destri’s chambers across her bed, and fluffed some of the feather pillows he brought from his manor. She watched as the tyrant fussed over the room, making sure it was as liveable as it was possibly going to get. He was focused, single-minded in the act; she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt him. Something about his courteous act of service drew that nauseating bubbling up from her guts again…

He rushed to the double doors that led to the balcony, “Perhaps we could let in some air,” he pulled the doors open, in hopes a breeze would bless the room to add some fresher quality, but nothing changed. The supernatural stillness of the atmosphere hung languidly in the spaces between them.

“T-thank you, Enver,” she swallowed the urge down quickly before it started scratching at her imagination again, “you’ve done more than enough for me tonight. I’ll be right as rain in the morning, and we will get to real business.” She knew it’s what he wanted to hear, but he lingered, shifting awkwardly.

“I could stay for a while, if you-”

“I don’t want you to stay!” she snapped, feeling an immediate pang of remorse. However she needed him to leave. She had to focus on quelling the urge, and he wasn’t helping. Why it was screaming at her now, was unclear. She had offered an entire gambling den to Bhaal just before they left, so there is no reason for this sudden appetite to manifest. And shouldn’t Bhaal have protected the tyrant from her urges altogether, given their alliance? Destri supposed Bhaal left it up to her to curb her hunger as she saw fit, seeing as it was her responsibility to decide who gets slit, and who doesn’t. Maybe she was just too ravenous for him. She knew the pact would stay her hand, but it wouldn’t prevent her from getting sick all over him.

Gortash didn’t argue after she was sharp with him; nor did he say something snarky back to her. He just smoothed out his black and emerald jacket, and nodded.

“Right, I won’t keep you from your sleep. Goodnight, Lady-...Good night.”

He stepped out into the hall, and closed the door quietly behind him, before retiring to his own next-door chambers for the night.

Once he was gone, Destri let out a pained grunt, and fell to the floor to clutch her grinding guts. Guts. GUTS. I need him. I want him. I need him. To flay? To score his flesh over and over like a lanceboard? She hadn’t played in so long, but his broad, beautiful chest would make a perfect battleboard. Not a flat, useful one, but a fun, perfect one, you know? With grassy peaks and valleys the rooks could frolic over, and crimson rivers for the horsey knights to splash through. She’d suck the blood off of each piece before dipping them back into the pool above his sternum. The king and the queen will live in a rib-domed castle, near his heart; where it’s warm and wet -at least until it wasn’t anymore. She could push the pawns through his intestines and watch them come out the other side. The bishops could sit in his eyesockets, watching over the rest, like the pious tyrant likes to do. Would he still have that beautiful grin on his face while he watched her play with him? Maybe he could approve, and be impressed with the clever way she took him apart.

But that was where the pain came from, she realised. The urge wanted to pull him apart like a gingerbread man, but Destri…she wanted to give him the world if it meant seeing that dashing little tug at the edge of his mouth.

---

Gortash settled into his chambers by wrapping himself in his black brocade housecoat, and pulling an armchair onto the balcony to enjoy a neat whiskey. He insisted on making himself as comfortable as possible, to offset the wretched environment.

Perhaps he was a bit too persuasive with himself, as the view from the tower was actually quite beautiful, now that he was used to the swirling darkness and twisted, incandescent mists that wove in and out of the broken landscape. It had its own…well its own character, in its own right, he supposed.

The balcony wasn’t large, but it provided enough room for the armchair, and for his feet to rest on the railing. Next door was Destri’s balcony, but by happenstance a large, gnarled tangle of barky vines protruded from the wall between their platforms, acting as a natural divider. This allowed him to angle the chair towards Destri’s balcony without fear of seeming…imposing. Therefore he could look out onto the dark, shimmering waterscape below, as there was only a towering stone wall in the other direction.

His mind flitted to Destri next door, who had been not unkind to him, but…distant. He tried not to think too much into it, and recognized that he had not been entirely approachable either, due to his foul mood as of late; which most likely didn’t help. The result of taking his mind off Destri, however, brought it to Lilla, who was undoubtedly not enjoying herself.

She was in the care of Rugan, who was tasked to train her in a bootcamp, of sorts. He would be harsh with her; harsher than she possibly had ever experienced, and Gortash felt some relief it wasn’t himself that was tasked with her training, as it would take all his willpower not to go easy on her.

She needed this , he convinced himself, she won’t survive without it . He had such nagging doubts about her capability. Not in general, mind you, but against the faithful of Bane, who had volunteered themselves to fight, and potentially die for their lord’s divine glory…what chance did Lilla even have? Gortash hoped that the blessing Bane bestowed upon Lilla would suffice. As far as motivation, she doesn’t even know if she will see her master again, if that’s something she even concerns herself with at this point. It is highly possible she will hate him, even if she does survive, and conquer. The thought of his sweet little pet tearing through the ranks of rugged, veteran fighters tickled him, though, and he was happy to linger on that thought for a while, until he heard a knock at the door…

Expecting Destri, he managed to hold a stoic expression at the drow woman looking up expectantly at him.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, opening the door for her, gesturing her in, “whiskey?” he asked.

“Sure, actually,” the drow said, smiling sensually, “My name is Araj, by the way. Of the House Oblodra.” She actually somewhat reminded Gortash of Destri when she was on the prowl for prey. Though Destri didn’t seem to be acting it out, as much as the drow was. She just …was.

Oblodra. Gortash filtered through his history lightning quick: A disgraced house; meaning almost every member had been assassinated, and therefore any surviving relatives would be exiled from Menzoberranzan. He didn’t bother mentioning this though, as the event would undoubtedly be a sensitive subject for the drow.

He handed the elven woman a glass, and gestured to her to sit in the armchair on the balcony, but she elected to lean on the railing, letting him sit instead. He obliged, but haphazardly rest a foot up on the railing, before remembering he was wearing his housecoat, thus flashing Araj his naked upper thigh. Her gaze darted shamelessly to the split second of revealed flesh, before taking a drink of her whiskey, eying him with pretentious confidence.

“Apologies,” he said, attempting to mask his true embarrassment, “it’s been…a long few days. You said you deal in sanguine alchemy?” He was desperate to move on from the ordeal.

“That’s right,” she said, nudging a bit closer in his direction; the gnarled, engorged vines that jut out of the wall several feet behind her blurred her silhouette, but highlighted her crimson irises. It was clear she could see him much, much better than he could see her. “The Bhaalist has already traded her blood for a potion, next door. Would you care to dabble?”

As curious as he was, he had been prepared to reject the elf’s offer, until he heard Destri had agreed to it. He thought if there was anything to learn about such a potion, he could ask Destri to show hers to him, rather than giving the drow his own blood. She seemed a bit too enthusiastic about the notion, though it wasn’t particularly a foreign concept, given the women he seemed to acquaint himself with…

“Why not,” he said, “a permanent boon, you say. How so?”

The drow nearly writhed in arousal at Gortash’s agreement, “You won’t know until you try it,” she purred, sliding off the railing, and pulling a compact leather pack off her belt, “it’s different for everyone. But it is always… worth it .” She began rolling it out to reveal an assortment of instruments, designed for drawing blood.

He asked no more questions, and silently watched the woman take out a large syringe from the leather casing, then step over to him. She brushed his forearm with the tips of her fingers, “I’ll need access to your upper arm, if you please.”

The soft, black material would be too heavy to hold itself up on its own, so he pulled his arm from the sleeve, leaving half of his chest exposed, giving Araj full access to his arm. She grinned, biting her lip, and tied a pliable, rubbery tube around his bicep before kneeling down and feeling for a vein in his lower arm to penetrate.

Once she had successfully drawn his blood, and removed the rubber band, she massaged his arm where the tube had cinched tightly. This caused Gortash to emit an involuntary moan, thanks to the pressure she imposed on his still-sore muscles.

“Is that nice?” Araj asked, squeezing slightly harder, directly on the right spot. Enver closed his eyes, hitching his breath at the sore pleasure.

The woman gingerly packed up the now-full syringe for brewing later, but then returned to Gortash’s side, continuing the massage, “You know, Chosen of Bane,” she purred in his ear, “I don’t have to get back to work for another hour, or so…”

Enver’s co*ck twitched at the implication, and the soothing massage Araj was awarding him; moving from his bicep, up to his shoulder, and across his exposed pectoral. He dropped his head back at the sensation. He was so. Damned. Sore. And admittedly…quite lonely.

“Mmm…” was all he could say, as the drow pushed her hand around his body, dipping it suggestively under the fabric at the other side of his chest, and then even into the tightened rope around his waist.

Gortash had closed his eyes while enjoying the sensation, but when he felt her hands on his thighs, he opened them to see her kneeling between his legs. It was brazenly obvious he had a massive erection held down by the heavy brocade fabric on his right high. When he didn’t protest her silent suggestion, she pushed the material from his thighs, revealing his anticipating co*ck.

“Well well,” she smiled at his twitching member, “I have to say, this is an extra bonus for me.”

Gortash pulled the rope from his waist, allowing the housecoat to fall open further so she could have full access to whatever she wanted. She emitted a little gasp; one she knew he wanted to hear, and grazed his thighs with her impeccable manicured nails. He wondered how one got such work done in the middle of a cursed shadowland, but she pulled him out of his distracted thoughts the moment she wrapped that manicured hand around the base of his shaft.

“Enver Gortash, you are…” Araj dipped down and gently sucked on the head of his co*ck, circling her tongue around to pick up whatever juices had already been escaping him, “delectable…”

He stared down at her darkly, saying nothing, but waiting for her to begin pleasuring him. She laid the sexy act on a little thick, but there was something about that he liked. She wasn’t genuine, and he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her to be a play thing that didn’t draw out his emotions; only blood, and soon, -if she would just hurry up- his seed.

She began dragging her tongue up and down the side of Gortash’s co*ck, one hand squeezing his shaft, and the other massaging his thigh. Just when it seemed like she was about to take him whole, she started talking, teasing again.

“Bane’s Chosen…is this thick co*ck just for me tonight? It’s so regal, and imposing. Like you…” she grazed his testiles with her nails, making him shudder in his armchair. “Yess…I think it is, isn’t it? You are so hard…I can barely wait to feel you all the way in me…”

She got close to wrapping her lips around him again, until she pulled his member away from her mouth to speak again, “Tell me, Enver Gortash…what is it you truly look for in a woman?”

Gortash placed his gilded claw on the top of her head, and gave her a dark smirk, “Silence, mostly,” he replied, before closing his fist around her hair, and pulling her mouth down.

Araj made a muffled sound of surprise, and the dark blush of embarrassment that permeated her beautiful, deep violet skin made Gortash even harder.

“That’s much better,” he breathed, as Araj sucked him eagerly, now that she was fully committed, “I’m not much for poetry, I’m afraid.”

He let go of her hair and leaned back to relax, confident she wouldn’t return to chatter. As he watched the drow please him, his eyes were drawn to the whisper of a moment in the shadows of the gnarled, corrupted vines behind Araj. Perhaps if Destri was on her balcony, he would have to keep down any noise he made, but as he focused through the darkness surrounding the twisting, weaving root, he saw…a thigh. A leg expertly contoured with the curves of the vines. And barely visible if he didn’t focus. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a ridged hip bone protruding above the thigh, attached to the near-perfect camouflaged torso of a tiefling woman.

He looked for her eyes, but couldn’t pinpoint where they were until she opened them, revealing the intense irises of brilliant, murderous topaz.

Why you little…

Araj moaned at Gortash’s increased level of hardness as she sucked him, while he watched Destri begin to graze her own body with her hand, She was nestled comfortably into a well of the massive root system, only barely visible.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked Destri, who nodded silently while massaging her breasts.

“Mmmhmm,” Araj answered, still pumping her mouth sensually around him.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he ordered Destri. She obeyed, moving one of her hands up to her mouth to lick her fingers before sliding it down between her legs; her primal eyes fixated on Gortash.

Araj became excited, and began plucking at the ties of her trousers enthusiastically, while refusing to let go of Enver’s co*ck from between her lips. She began vigorously flicking her fingers across her cl*t as her moans became increasingly sporadic.

Destri’s body began to writhe slowly, driving Enver mad. He watched her pleasure herself in the shadows while she gazed at him, enjoying the show. Gortash himself started to writhe too, wanting nothing more to pull her from the shadows and f*ck her; the drow be damned.

Once his body started to become taught with ramping pleasure, Destri too began to flex at the sight and sensation, and Araj sped up her endeavour in a vivacious fashion. She began to moan around his co*ck as she made herself climax, becoming distracted with her own pleasure, forcing Gortash to grip her head again, and guide her mouth to help himself finish.

His gaze was stuck fast to Destri as she writhed silently in ecstasy; the image of her beautiful body and the sheer audacity of her little stunt pushed Enver over the edge. He groaned louder than he intended, spending himself into Araj’s moaning wet mouth until there was nothing left to spill.

Gortash fell back into the cushioned backrest, while Araj stood up and went to spit his spend over the side of the railing into the waters below; though with a slight of hand, she instead spat it into a crystal vial, before plugging it with a stopper and hiding it in her bodice. She was insanely curious about what wonderful tinctures the seed of a Chosen would produce.

“My thanks, Chosen of Bane,” she purred, tying her laces back up, “that was…quite magical.”

“My pleasure,” Gortash replied, perspiring and panting, not bothering to wrap the housecoat back around him yet. He was too warm.

Araj tipped the rest of her whiskey down her throat, and helped herself out. When Gortash looked back to the roots, Destri was gone. I love this place , he thought to himself.

Chapter 22: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Chapter Text

Mornings at Moonrise were no different than the evenings; dreary and dark - and instead of birds singing and civilians chattering, the only sounds disrupting the unnerving silence were the shrill shrieks of the damned from the shadows beyond the fortress walls.

Destri had already been awake and ready to start the talks with the other Chosen, as she added the final few twists to the end of her braid. Her hair was long, like her sisterkin Orin, but it was midnight-violet instead of noonday-yellow. When they were younger, they would play with each other’s hair, weaving ribbons and finger bones in like beads. She missed her sister, but knew it was better Orin didn’t see her and the tyrant together; she would pick up on the spark they had immediately, and Destri would not hear the end of it. As much as she loved her kin, if Orin ever found out she had feelings for Gortash, she would try to kill Destri; and she would be right to do so.

It was hard to be around Enver sometimes, because the urge to kill him equaled her urge to kiss him. It was pure blasphemy to even think, but even though she wasn’t in the sanctuary under his manor roof, she sensed Bhaal’s vision had trouble piercing Shar’s veil of shadow. While she wasn’t as comfortable as she would be in the tyrant’s chambers, her mind was at least free to think without drawing the wrath of her Father; just as long as the Bhaalists in her company accepted her as the Daughter of Murder, she had nothing to fear.

Except for getting sick, of course. The gut-sick and love-sick nausea always churned her entrails upside down and sideways, and her mind was a racing jumble of gore, then kisses, then shredded flesh, then caressing fingers. The repulsive oscillation of the two often blended together and made her want to vomit like a green sailor in his first storm. She couldn’t help feeling that satiating one sickness could perhaps douse the flames of the other; in which case she needed some relief, and soon.

Destri was fixated on the horizon of the black lake below, just as a sailor should when fighting sea-sickness. Then she thought she heard a faint whining, whimpering sound near her. She removed her elbows from the railing to look around, and realised the sound was coming from the hanging lantern on the edge of the balcony, keeping the shadows at bay. Getting closer to inspect the lantern, it was clear it was rather in fact a cage, enclosed around some hovering magical creature.

She put her nose up to the lantern like a curious cat, her pupils dilating with intrigue.

“Hello?” she whispered, wondering if whatever was inside the lantern could speak.

“Hello?” a tiny warbling voice came from within, “Hello?! Will you help me!?”

Destri co*cked her head with immediate interest “Are you trapped in there?” she asked, tapping the lantern, and causing it to sway slightly.

“P-please don’t do that!” The tiny voice pleaded, “It makes things awfully dangerous…”

As Destri’s eyes adjusted to the blinding magical light that pierced the darkness around her, she saw a tiny humanoid form gripping the bars of its cage.

“Are you a fairy?” Destri asked, stabilising the swinging lantern.

“I’m a pixie, you twat!” it barked shrilly, before sheepishly adding “Sorry! Sorry…Big Sorry. I’ve had to poop for so long! It makes one grumpy. Me. I’m the grumpy one.”

Destri giggled, “Sorry, of course, I understand. I can let you out, if you like!”

“Oh please please please! I’ve been here for so long, and I’m so tired. The floor is lava. Well the floor is magic-spikes-that-skewer-me-if-I-sleep!”

“That’s awful!” Destri said with a frown, “A cage is no place for a pixie.”

She reached up and unclasped the latch to open the little gate with the creak of the hinge. The pixie burst out with an explosion of shimmering dust, flying and buzzing in circles around Destri’s head.

“Oh thank you thank you thank you!” it cried, stopping just a foot from her nose to address its saviour, “I’ll repay you somehow, someday, someway!”

“You could help me now,” Destri said, giving it a sweet smile.

Before the pixie could respond or react, she snatched it out of the air with lightning quick reflexes, holding it firmly in her grip. She loved the crunchy feel of its delicate, twitching wings; broken between her fingers. And it's warm little body as it tried to wriggle free. It was wheezing, screaming and struggling so sweetly. She squeezed a bit harder, co*cking her head the other way, watching curiously as its little tiny brain raced to think of some way to escape.

“You should have just flown away to safety, little thing,” Destri said as she squeezed hard, gambling with herself which end its tiny little guts would burst from. To her pleasant surprise, it was from multiple places, and they sparkled something beautiful! She opened her palm, admiring the way the crushed body was contorted, and how its little tongue lolled out.

When she was done poking the limp, crumpled body with her thumb, she swallowed the urge to bite it in half to test the crunch-feel in her mouth, and instead tossed it over the side of the balcony. She watched the last little bit of pixie dust follow in its wake as it plummeted into the dark waters below.

Destri immediately felt better, knowing pixie blood was crimson red, just like hers. It could have been pink, or green, or purple, but it was red. She flicked her tongue across her finger to taste it; it was like ripe summer melon and peppermint.

It was as if all the tension and turmoil in her brain and gut and heart were finally released for the time being, and as if exactly on queue, she heard the sounds of the tyrant stomping around his chambers next door, ready to depart for the day.

---

When Enver exited his room, he planned on knocking on Destri’s door to ask her to join him in going downstairs; however she was already waiting for him in the hallway.

“Good morning,” she chimed with a broad grin.

“Good morning,” Enver replied, returning her smile, and happy she seemed so refreshed. He cleared his throat, thinking of the night before, “Did you have a good rest?”

“I had an even better morning,” she replied cryptically. He didn’t know what she meant, but he didn’t ask.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he answered cordially.

It was so fun watching him switch from the confident tyrant to the bumbling gentleman; she could happily watch him ping-pong all day and night like this.

“Let’s get some breakfast before we meet with Ketheric again, I’m starved,” she nudged him down the hall towards the stairs, and Enver obliged.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked with a smirk, “It didn’t particularly seem like the first round agreed with you last night.”

She grinned and nudged him again as they walked, “By the way, that nasty little drow took something from you that wasn’t hers,” she said as she followed him down the stairs. He stopped and spun around, looking perturbed.

“What do you mean?” he asked with an agitated hush, “What did she take?”

Destri grinned wider, “Something she thinks will help with her experiments. Maybe we can go visit her and pick up our super-special blood potions she sold us. You can find out then.”

Gortash spun back around, and stomped down the steps, forcing practice poise.

---

“Your potions are ready, you two,” Araj said, as Gortash and Destri entered the wing.

Gortash strode up to her with a stony expression. She gave him a seductive smirk, but faltered when she saw his jaw clench in response. He held out his hand expectantly. Clearly he was in no mood for pleasantries. Araj put two vials of crimson liquid in his palm; one labelled with ‘E.G.’ and the other ‘D.’

He pocketed them, and without another word, held out his hand again.

“I don’t understand…” Araj said, “Do you want some other-UUNNHG-” Gortash had pulled her up by the neck with his iron grip around her throat.

“Return what you took,” He commanded, dangerously calm.

“Wh-what are you-” Araj choked on her words, and her own trachea as Gortash squeezed harder. She didn’t need her voice to return whatever it was she stole.

The drow quickly reached into her bodice, at first making Gortash think she was going to pull a dagger, but she pulled out another vial, though the liquid wasn’t red.

His smouldering obsidian eyes bored into her with disgust, “I’ll say this only once,” he drawled, his voice measured but deadly, “The only reason I’m not snapping your spine and throwing you to my men to use until you die in agonising shame, is because I would like to keep my friendship with General Thorm. I don’t want to see your face again while I am here - do you understand ?” he shook her, making her nod weakly. “Good. You can run your experiments from some shadowy corner so I don’t have to look upon your disgraceful excuse for a drow again. And you'll keep your hands to yourself .”

Araj’s legs crumpled under her when Gortash let go; she coughed and spluttered, gasping for air.

The tyrant stepped over to her lab, and casually swept his hand across the surface, pushing vials and alembics and bottles off the edge, where they went crashing to the floor.

“NO!!” Araj tried to scream, but it came out only a hoarse whisper.

He picked up the box of assorted blood samples and marched to the exit with them, pushing by an unsuspecting ghoul. When the ghoul turned to see the tyrant throwing the samples over the edge into the water, it shrieked as well.

“You wastes them!! You spoils the blood-smell perfume!” it dropped to its knobby knees, with its grotesque claws reaching to the heavens with a dramatic cry, “Whyyyyyyyyyys???!”

It took every iota of Destris willpower not to burst at the seams with laughter.

Enver marched towards her, handing her the vial with her initial on it, “I hate this place,” he whispered as he passed.

That being said, she could see that little tug at the corner of his mouth as he whisked by. He was having a little fun, she thought.

---

It seemed Ketheric had learned from the night before, and put a bit more effort into the dinner spread for their official meeting of the Chosen.

It was in fact Gortash who had commissioned a handful of Banites to travel outside of the cursed land to hunt for food -with a Myrkulyte escort, of course- as the region shrouded by Shar’s shadow offered nothing but death and forsaken shades. He didn’t want to admit to anyone, but the act was entirely for Destri, as he’d rather see her flourish with meat in her belly, rather than watch her endure another sickening, wilted meal. It also acted as a great boon to morale amongst his men, which was a triumph on its own.

The bounty was a great success, and the Banites brought back a mighty boar, stuck and roasted to perfection with the help of the cleric’s magic. Gortash relished the way Destri hungrily eyed the roasted beast, feeling a flitter of warmth at being the cause of her happiness.

“It smells almost identical to roast dwarf,” she said under her breath, salivating. He assumed she was joking, but he didn’t bother asking her to clarify.

Once the Chosen, and Balthazar were seated at the long table once again, Gortash commenced with the business part of their visit.

“Lady and Gentlemen, may I say how truly pleased I am to see the budding of a grand, and prosperous new relationship-”

“-That'ssss not all that’s been budding ,” one of the skeletons hissed behind Balthazar, causing the rest to break out in chattering laughter.

Ketheric’s apathetic patience with the thralls finally seemed expended enough to intervene, “Balthazar, get those things out of here, they’re a distraction.”

The bloated necromancer’s smug grin dropped into an indignant snarl, but waved his hand sharply, before the skeletons marched out of the dining hall, single-file.

“As I was saying,” Gortash began again after clearing his throat, eyeing Balthazar cautiously, “As Bhaal’s Chosen and I have disclosed to you in correspondence, we have endeavoured to acquire the Crown of Karsus from the hells, and bring it back to Faerûn under the employ the Dead Three. This is why they have asked us to coalesce, and on behalf of them, initiate a grand alliance that will usher in a new dawn under the combined banners of our revered lords.”

“A noble gesture, and a difficult task,” said Ketheric, “but once you do acquire the Crown, who then wears it? Do we take turns, like children vying to play with a new toy? How does one Chosen pry the Crown from atop the head of another, once he or she has had a taste of its power?”

Destri spoke up, “An excellent question, it is something Bane’s Chosen and I have discussed at length, and it is why we believe our lords sent us here; to untangle such details. However, as we have amassed a great archive of information on the Crown since, we have considered some ideas that we would like to run by Myrkul’s favoured.”

Ketheric offered a nod for them to continue with their suggestion. Gortash pushed his chair back, and stood up. He was at his best at speaking publicly when he was able to pace and move around the space.

“Upon our in-depth research into the Crown, we have discovered the nature of its construction is not entirely pigeon-holed to the conventional use, as you would say; a sole wearer attaining godlike powers. Instead, we found that the three begemmed finials embedded in the Crown can be detached from its base, causing the Netherese power it wields to be turned inverse; essentially allowing whoever holds the Netherstones to obtain full, and total domination over whoever wears the Crown.”

Balthazar perked up at this, clearly intrigued while his beady eyes fixated on Gortash while he paced at the end of the table, “And who do you suggest should don this device of total domination? How do you suppose we find the optimal person that can be controlled, and usher in the Dead Three’s will?”

“We don’t know yet,” Destri admitted, “But we have infinite options, once the Crown is ours. What we do know, is it has to be big . We have to choose someone of great influence and power; kings, politicians, warlords…someone that, with the power of the Dead Three behind them, can easily conquer Faerûn while we dominate from the shadows.”

Balthazar scoffed, “Without a candidate, the plan is useless.”

Ketheric shifted in his seat, causing his armour to clank and creak in protest, “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go ahead with it. Our lords have ordained it. We must trust that they know more than we mortals ever will, and that their wisdom will show us the way.”

“ We are not mortal, General,” Balthazar replied, sitting back and scratching his bloated stomach.

“The sentiment still stands,” Kethric said, with irritation in his voice at Balthazar’s impudence. He looked to the cobweb infested chandelier for a moment before he sighed thoughtfully, “Very well,” he nodded, “We will assist you with acquiring the Crown in whatever ways we can, and may it please our lords to see us achieve such leaps of faith for their favour. I would only ask for some assistance in return, to perhaps strengthen our bonds before we charge forward.”

Gortash looked to Destri for confirmation, before he replied, “Of course, General. Our alliance is of great import to us all. Name your request, and we shall grant it.”

Ketheric’s brow furrowed as he considered his words, “My scouts have identified an Illithid colony in the Underdark below Moonrise Towers. While it lies deep, its seeping growth threatens the very existence of Moonrise, and the lands around it. It would be remiss if we did not snuff it out, lest our alliance is cut short due to Illithid enslavement.”

Destri thought it a bit ironic that Ketheric was concerned about the cursed lands of nothing-but-despair, that even he wasn’t able to traverse. Though perhaps he hoped to restore the land to glory someday, once the Dead Three had their way.

“Of course we’ll help,” she said, “Once we have the Crown we can-”

“-Show me,” Gortash interrupted, his gilded hands resting firmly on the dining table as they all looked to him, “Show me the colony. Gentlemen…I think our prayers have just been answered.”

---

Ketheric led the other Chosen and a platoon of mixed cultists through the prisons under Moonrise, to an empty cell where the floor had caved in to reveal a sinkhole. This turned out to be a natural seam in the earth that opened up into a series of tunnels that, if followed correctly, led deep into the Underdark.

The group, wary of the Illithid threat, agreed not to get too close; but at least near enough to have a Banite cleric summon a Scrying Eye. They had tucked themselves away on a rocky outcropping, hidden at a safe distance away from the entrance of the colony.

To the curiosity of the rest of the group, the Banites brought some type of mechanism with them that folded out into a flat surface that resembled a black mirror. It was propped up on an easel, and the cleric stood next to it while resting a hand on a crystal embedded into the brass frame of the odd contraption.

As the cleric closed her eyes, she began directing the Eye down a slope towards the entrance of the colony.

Gortash twisted a dial on the frame, making the black mirror hum to life, thanks to the now-illuminated crystal under the palm of the cleric. The entire group gasped in awe as they were all permitted to watch what the Scrying Eye saw; not just rely on the description of the caster that summoned it.

“Did you make this?” Destri whispered to Gortash, who nodded at her proudly before looking back to play with the dial; it seemed to adjust the sharpness of the image. Destri lingered her gaze on the tyrant as he fiddled with the black mirror, impressed with his ingenuity.

The company gathered around in silence, as the screen revealed a large sphincter-like doorway that opened agape at the approach of the Eye. A few snigg*rs broke out from the cultists at the uncouth image, but were silenced with a look from Ketheric.

The Eye moved forward through the threshold, and revealed walls caked and stretched with flesh and gore. Destri held her breath at the vision; it was like a dream come true.

After some time, it was clear the colony was still in its growth period; not yet powerful enough to begin conquest, but it wouldn’t be long before the Illithids would begin absorbing the local civility. A few Illithid thralls floated by, but to everyone’s relief, they seemed wholly uninterested in the little spy that traversed the fleshy hallways.

As the Eye moved deeper into the colony, the image on the screen began to waver. it was clear the distance between the black mirror and the Eye was stretched thin, and Gortash addressed the concentrating cleric with a thinly veiled threat to focus harder. She obeyed, and pushed through the perspiration and mental strain.

“Further…” Gortash whispered, as the Eye finally made it to the deepest recesses of the colony. The screen wavered again, and he didn’t bother reprimanding the cleric; he didn’t want her to lose concentration. She pushed further and further, clenching her jaw so hard she had bit into her tongue, causing a seam of blood to glimmer between her lips. The screen began to tear and the signal was hanging on a thread.

“Further…” Gortash urged, as he saw the shores of a brine-filled pool, “Keep at it…almost there,” his voice was but a whisper. The rest of the company was dead silent as they awaited the grand reveal.

“There…there it is…” he said with wonder in his voice. The cleric urged the Eye to pivot its vision upward, and there, looming above was a colossal Illithid Elder Brain, slime-wet and pulsating with psionic energy. The group gasped, and the image began to fizzle and buzz.

A Myrkulyte directly in front of the screen stepped forward and attempted to improve the signal by slapping the side of the screen, but in doing so launched it off its easel, and into the abyss below. The Banite cleric cried in pain as the signal was severed abruptly, and she collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Everyone had turned to the Myrkulyte who looked from face to solemn face with embarrassment and shame.

“Go get it,” Ketheric said, breaking the silence.

“G-General?” the cultist stammered.

“You’re the one stuttering, not I,” Ketheric said, slowly stepping towards his faithful, towering over him.

“I-I’m sorry, I only wanted to help the-”

“-Then go get it,” Ketheric repeated, picking the man up by the neck, and tossing him over the edge as well.

The group listened to the extended sound of the cultist's scream as he plummeted into the forgotten depths below. It must have lasted a good thirty seconds, which scratched an itch everyone had, but were too afraid to volunteer to test the depths themselves.

“Well, there you have it,” Gortash said, clasping his claws together, “An Illithid Elder Brain, in the wrinkly, pulsating flesh. I think we have our mark, ladies and gents.”

---

Gortash was pacing his chambers, rambling with his mind racing. Opportunity after opportunity sprung forth like an endless torrent of blossoming webs. Destri watched as he marched back and forth while in some intellectual frenzy.

“Think of the possibilities,” he said, nearly reeling, “We have to learn as much as we can about the Illithid now. Everything. I can get Lilla to-”

He had stopped pacing immediately and massaged his neck, avoiding Destri’s gaze.

“Lilla will be ecstatic to hear you have more research for her, Enver,” Destri chimed in cautiously, unsure how to approach his abrupt silence.

“We will have to do it ourselves, I’m afraid,” he muttered, walking away from her to open the balcony doors.

“What does that mean?” she asked, “Has she gone and quit on you? Tired of your bullsh*t?”

It was a jest, but Gortash didn’t laugh. He only looked out to the black waters below.

“She should have,” he murmured, “The first day she met me. She should have ran.”

Destri shut the novel she wasn’t reading anyway, and got off Gortash’s bed to meet him at the balcony. “What do you mean? She’s obsessed with you. You wouldn’t be able to convince her to quit for anything.”

He finally looked at Destri, hoping she wouldn’t mention the deep sorrow she saw in his eyes, but she didn’t have to. Her expression fell to dread.

Gortash cleared his throat, steeling himself for his next words. “I think she’s going to die.”

“What?!” Destri baulked, “What does that mean? Is she sick?” Her mind raced, and she connected a dot, “Did something happen with Bane?”

Giving a despondent sigh, Gortash rubbed his stubbly jaw, “He appointed me his Chosen, and ordered Lilla’s disposal in the very same meeting.”

Destri gawked at him, rage boiling up. It wasn’t rage she deserved to have, but she felt it anyway. It wasn’t fair. Lilla was the only being Destri could imagine who would both embrace the darkness, and bring light to it. She was the sweetest thing in their miserable existence, and she knew Gortash adored her. So did she.

“He’s jealous of her,” Destri surmised, bluntly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gortash spat, turning away, “our lords have their own divine reasons for the things they do; it’s not for us to question them. It’s no petty lover’s quarrel, I can tell you that much.”

“There has to be more than that,” Destri insisted, “Please, just tell me what happened.” When Gortash gave her a dangerous look, she added, “Maybe just talking about it can help sort out whatever the hell has gotten into your skull. There has to be some rationality to this situation. It has to make sense somehow.”

Gortash swallowed dryly, “He said Lilla was actually ordained from birth to serve him somehow, but he didn’t go into details.”

“ WHAT? ” Destri wavered, and sat down on the nearby armchair, “What the f*ck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know! ” Gortash growled, running his hand through his hair in irritation, “I’m tortured by it!” He started pacing again, clenching and stretching his claw over and over, “It was so contradictory. He said that she had successfully carried out her duty, while simultaneously denying her entry as an initiate, because ‘her potential had been squandered.’ ”

“ WHAT? ” Destri repeated, completely thrown off kilter, “And he wanted you to kill her?”

“Well, I suppose, but he said he knew that I carried affection for her, so he offered to allow me to throw her to the Banite pleasure pits instead.”

“Oh my GODS ! Enver, you did not -”

“- NO , of course not!” he hissed. He was pacing more quickly and his movements were sporadically now, ravaged with anger and confusion with the fresh replay of the incident. “I had to think fast, on the spot- literally. I offered to throw a grand tournament, and suggested she be a contender…”

“ENVER, WHAT THE f*ck ?”

“I had to think of something ! To give her a chance!” He had grasped his head with both hands, as if the frustration would erupt from his skull if he let go.

Destri saw him; tortured, pathetic, sick with guilt. The situation was tearing him apart, and he was able to do nothing else but wait and see if that sweet young woman would die for him. Her heart softened, awakening the sickness of the Urge. But it quelled, quivered, and fizzled out as she looked upon Enver’s grief. She only felt love. Deep love. Because she could finally see him; the cowering child who just wanted to be loved, and now here he was, his actions ruining the life of another lovable being who just wanted love in return.

“Enver…” Destri’s voice was soft now, she put her hand on his forearm to soothe him, “It’s not over. I assume the tournament is set for after the heist, yes? Once we get the Crown, you can beseech Bane again for release of Lilla. He should be happy enough with your success to grant you your wish…”

“It won’t-…He won’t,” was all Enver said. Defeated. Worn. “Perhaps it’s better this way, anyway.”

“What. The f*ck. Do you mean by that?” she clenched her jaw, the softness in her heart almost immediately flipping back to rage. “What does that mean, Enver?”

“The things Bane had said…I have reason to believe her mind isn’t her own. She may be a thrall after all.”

Destri said nothing at this, wrought with pure confusion, and in truth; disgust. She had no right to feel this way, given her own nature, but she couldn’t help it. Lilla had only ever wanted to please Gortash, and here he was; rationalising her demise so he could feel better. He should have outright gutted Lilla on the spot over Bane’s altar. At least then she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Lilla would have even volunteered to do it; Gortash wouldn’t even have to ask her twice.

When Destri stayed silent, Gortash continued, “All this time I had thought she truly felt the feelings she felt, and that her desires were anchored to free will. It turns out Bane’s vision of her, whatever it was supposed to be, resulted in Lilla not having control over her own desires. She was pre-programmed to serve me, and love me. Which isn’t love at all.”

A void began churning in Destri’s heart; sucking the love, the anger, the confusion, the rationality into a black hole of nothingness.

“You don’t know that though, Enver, do you?” she annunciated slowly, causing him to turn to her with a renewed sense of…fear. “You think because she was born with the intervention of a god, she has no mind of her own? She has no ability to love? You think because her birth was ordained by Bane, Lilla’s servitude, her dedication, her adoration, her reverence and her love mean nothing ?”

The expression on Enver’s face signalled he realised what he had just done. Lilla and Destri had much more in common than he had ever stopped to think about. Cared to think about.

“I hadn’t…”

“No, you hadn’t, had you?” Destri spat, “You were just so caught up in your guilt, that you convinced yourself she inadvertently betrayed you by proxy of Bane’s intervention, didn’t you? When you were told to throw your toy away, you rationalised that the unconditional love she showed you wasn’t real, so you didn’t have to think about whether you deserved her love in the first place or not.”

“ I DIDN’T DESERVE IT ,” Gortash yelled hoarsely, his voice breaking at the edge. He glowered in silence at Destri for a moment to collect himself, before relaxing his stance, and softening his tone, “I know I didn’t. All my life I wanted this, and the very second I had it, I knew I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t believe the love, as twisted as it was. I wasn’t prepared for it to be real. It was exactly what I needed, but I didn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her, and I don’t deserve you. That’s why I can’t handle this, Destri. I can’t. I just don’t know how,” he paused, swallowing to steel his voice from breaking again, “I don’t know how to handle her love… And I d-don’t…I don’t know how to handle yours .”

Destri’s eyes were wet with tears, and she felt like her heart was bleeding; hollow and full at the same time. It was unbearable. She reached up to Gortash from her chair, pulling him down. He knelt at her feet while he rested his head on her lap. He didn’t sob, or cry; just closed his eyes, and let himself feel the undeserved solace of her touch and forgiveness.

It was difficult finding the right thing to say, Destri thought, but she also realised the right thing wasn’t important. What was important was letting her love envelope the broken tyrant before her. She was waiting to get blood-sick, but no nausea followed. Instead she felt easy, despite the situation. She knew she just had to sit there, and be an anchor for Enver to prevent him from being pulled into a spiral of void. If he got sucked in, he wouldn’t come out the same, and she could tell neither of them wanted that.

“Shh,” she hushed. He wasn’t making a sound, but it felt right to say anyway. She was so nosy when she first learned about Enver, she creeped and peeked at his parents house. Learned what they did to him when he was young. He can never get his childhood back, but there was still a little boy somewhere inside him, and the only urge she had towards that little boy, was to softly say “Shh.”

---

At some point, they had moved to Gortash’s bed, laying on their backs and staring at the rotting ceiling boards.

It felt nice, just sitting in silence without expectation, and enough time had passed the opened wound was now closed over and soothed; at least for now. There was so much to do, and too much to think about, so Enver and Destri took full advantage of their quiet moment.

Eventually though, Destri looked to Gortash and broke the silence with a grin.

“Should we take our potions, then?” she asked, reaching into her bodice and turning the bottle of swirling crimson liquid in her hand. It was clearly blood-coloured, but had an additional property added to it, like a violet shimmer when it caught the candlelight a certain way.

Enver pulled his from his jacket pocket; it had an orange glimmer instead, “I suppose so, why not. Though I’m a bit wary, now that I know how unscrupulous the alchemist is.”

“Enver, we’re all unscrupulous,” Destri chuckled, slapping him in the arm. She propped herself up on an elbow, seeming as if she had an idea.

“What is that look for?” he asked cautiously.

“Let me see yours,” she said, reaching out for him to pass his vial to her. He hesitated at first, but finally handed it over to her. Destri looked at it closely, watching the shimmering orange and crimson essence swirl hypnotically. She couldn’t help herself. She unstopped it and inhaled the aroma deep into her lungs.

The ghoul was right to have a tantrum at the loss of the samples; Gortash’s scent was nothing like Destri had ever experienced. Her amber eyes rolled back in her head as the decadent aroma warmed her insides, all the way to her bones. She shuddered like a Speed-Potion addict who was just about to partake.

“What are you doing!?” Gortash growled at her, moving to grab her wrist, but stopped when he realised he would cause her to spill the liquid.

“Let me drink it,” Destri begged, her eyelids heavy with desire, she took another whiff of his potion and exhaled with a dazed indulgence.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes.”

“These were made specifically for our personal use. At best it will be a waste and won’t be effective, at worst…well who bloody knows!”

Destri couldn’t control herself, she put the bottle to her lips and tipped it down her throat, moaning instantly when his blood touched her tongue.

“Destri, stop!” Enver barked, pushing himself up further to lunge for her.

It was too late, she had swallowed the entire tincture. She lingered there with her head dropped back and her eyes closed, a drop of blood dribbled down her chin. Gortash just glared at her, until she pulled her head back up and opened her eyes, looking at him. She smiled a blood-red smile, and her pupils were dilated beyond recognition; giving her the appearance of a large jungle cat that was satisfied with its kill.

“Drink mine,” she said in a haze.

“No!” Gortash protested, starting to get up from the bed, but Destri grabbed his wrist. Firmly, but gently.

“Please…” she said, her cat-eyes fixated on him, “You need to understand…Please. It won’t work if you don’t, I can just…feel it. Please… Just trust me.”

It was the way she said it. The way she begged. He knew he should have just left her alone with whatever sensation she was wallowing in, but she was so compelling…she wanted this so badly…

“Fine,” he grunted begrudgingly, snatching the vial from her hand, and popping the stopper, “If this gives me permanent nerve damage, or some cognitive ailment, it’s on you.”

He brought the bottle to his lips, and smelled cinnamon and copper. It wasn’t half bad, considering, and he felt his mouth begin to water, which perhaps was even more disturbing. He tipped the liquid down his throat, and it coated his tongue and oesophagus with a soothing tingle. It did taste mostly like blood, but it was palatable…delicious, even.

The moment the serum hit his bloodstream, his body and mind immediately relaxed, and he was compelled to lie back on the bed. As they lay, side by side, the ceiling began to slide away from them, further, and further until there was nothing left but the open, starry sky above. It didn’t make any sense, because Shar’s curse should have shrouded the sky in deep shadow, but as they looked up, they saw the beauty of the cosmos.

Enver looked around him, they were lying on a soft, grassy knoll, and next to him lay Destri…but she wasn’t as she was now. She was a child.

Perhaps five, or six, with knobby knees and a big grin, “Do you see it!?” she asked enthusiastically, grinning with little tiefling fangs. Her horns were short, not grown out into elegant curls yet.

“I…” Gortash started, but his voice was that of a child as well. He looked at his hands, his torso, his little feet, “I’m me? As a kid!?”

Destri laughed a cherub laugh, “We’re adorable, bahahahahahahahaha!” she stood up, twirling around in the long grass.

“What is happening?” young Gortash asked, looking around for anything familiar, but they were in the middle of nowhere, on a hill, at high midnight, with nothing but sky and nature around them.

“Does it matter?” little Destri asked, grabbing his hand, “It’s just for us!”

She tugged his hand, urging him to run with her. They ran through the grass, faster, then as fast as their little legs could take them. The cold night air whipped by, making their eyes water, and their grins wider. Neither of them had ever done anything like this before -they couldn’t have- but they both knew it was something kids probably did, and they now understood why. They were so free, with nothing to worry about but each other and the next fun thing to explore together.

When they reached a babbling brook, it was all of a sudden morning, and the forest birds sang happily, just for them, while the golden morning rays pierced through the forest canopy, highlighting the rich greens of moss and ferns. They stomped and splashed together in the fresh waters, then turned over rocks to see what was underneath; it was mostly bugs. But little Enver managed to catch a tiny frog, and ran to Destri to show her. She looked at it with childlike wonder, and had no urge to crush it. It hopped out of his palm onto her face, making her scream, until they both fell over into the grass, laughing until it hurt. They laughed and joked there until they fell asleep.

When they woke, they were older; eleven or twelve, running through the cobbled streets of Baldur’s Gate. Every adult that passed them seemed happy to see them, and some passed them ripe fruit and sweets to eat.

“What is this ?” little Enver asked, biting into a slice of summer melon, and handing it to young Destri, who dangled her feet over the dock into the warm summer water, “It feels like a memory.”

“Maybe it is,” she replied, chomping into the melon and leaving a fanged imprint, passing it back to Enver, “It’s not real, but we’re still both experiencing it. Just eat your damned melon, who cares anyway! You don’t need to know everything all the time, idiot.”

She smiled at him before jumping off the dock, intentionally creating a massive splash to douse Enver and his melon with salty river water. He grinned, and dove in head first, searching for her under the crystal clear waters.

When they emerged, they were older now, seventeen or eighteen, and they looked at each other differently when their eyes met. The deep golden sunset cast its light across the surface of the Chionthar, highlighting the two young adults with halos of warm amber.

“C’mon,” Destri said, her voice was older now, not childlike at all, but still free, as if she wasn’t born with the blood of the Murder Lord. She swam to shore, and Enver followed. He couldn't’ take his eyes off her.

Destri showed him a special way to get on top of the Seatower, where they watched the remainder of the sunset together as they sat between a parapet. Despite the fact they were just holding hands and frollicking as children, Enver all of a sudden was afraid of touching Destri. He had accidentally brushed her hand as they propped themselves up to look at the view, and he apologised before resting both hands in his lap. Destri ignored the sunset, and stared at Enver, with his shock of messy black hair tumbling down around his ears, and down his neck. She liked the way his neck was shaped, and how his posture was bad while he slumped awkwardly into himself to avoid taking up space.

“You can kiss me, you know,” she said, chuckling when Enver’s face turned beet red as he gawked at her.

“Oh…okay,” he whispered, eyes wide with fear and excitement. He didn’t have to do much, though, because Destri reached out, and pulled him into her so their lips met softly. The entire kiss was soft, and sweet, making teenage Enver forget about how scared he was.

When they finally pulled from one another, and opened their eyes, they were older; twenty-two or twenty-three. Their noses were almost touching, and their bodies were intertwined on a soft, comfortable bed. It didn’t matter where they were, because they had finally given in to each other. It wasn’t like f*cking, or rutting, but it was tender, gentle lovemaking. They were so focused on one another, eager to please the other. They smiled at each other, uncaring how or why this hallucination had brought them here, because this was the best feeling in the entire world. Once they had finished making love, they lay together and giggled into the night before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When they woke, it was night time again, and they were older; maybe thirty-four and thirty-five, and they sat on a familiar balcony next to a grand oak tree. Destri lay on the chaise lounge, incredibly pregnant, while Enver sketched her beautiful form as she lay uncomfortably, yet still gracefully across the chair. They grinned at each other knowingly, as if they had an inside joke, and never planned to reveal it to anyone else.

When morning came, they were older, maybe forty-eight and forty-nine, and Destri taught their son the cello, while Enver taught his daughter how to assemble a crossbow. Both children were tieflings, and had the same lavender skin as their mother, but their eyes were not amber; they were inquisitive human eyes, with irises as dark as obsidian, that shimmered with flecks of deep green in the light.

They were older when the noon sun beat warmly down on them; maybe sixty-four and sixty-five. They sat in the garden, enjoying noonday tea, and read the broadsheet aloud as their children were somewhere off on their own adventure. Destri’s hair had streaks of grey woven through her long braid, and Enver’s donned flares of white at his temples, giving him a refined look. They giggled at one another at their ageing, but both thought the other looked incredibly beautiful.

When the sunset came, they were older; eighties maybe, and they had wrapped a blanket around them as they read together on the sofa, eternally glad to be exactly where they were at that moment.

“Will we remember this when we wake?” Enver’s wizened voice warbled as he turned the page with a bony finger. He rested his chin atop Destri’s head, which now donned a pure-white braid that complimented her wrinkled lavender skin.

“I’m going to,” she insisted, leaning back into his chest, and he responded by holding her tighter, “I refuse not to.”

When they were older, they couldn’t see each other anymore, but they felt each other’s presence, while both stared up at the starry night sky; enjoying the way the cosmos shimmered for them. They were still right next to each other, even if all they could see now was the wooden underside of a coffin lid, or rather the rotten ceiling boards of the guest room at Moonrise towers.

Gortash and Destri said nothing, but simply lay in the bed, their heads turned to each other, and their hands held between them. They smiled at each other, knowing they can keep an entire lifetime of memories together that never really existed, but it didn’t matter.

When sleep took them, they stayed like that all night, not once letting go of one another.

Chapter 23: CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chapter Text

Thanks to the newly uncovered plans, morale among the Chosen’s caravan was high on the journey back to Baldur’s Gate from Moonrise; it seemed even the looming shadow curse was unable to dampen their spirits.

Gortash’s mind was fluttering through every potential that dominating the Elder Brain could offer them; his eyes were fixated out the carriage window, but they moved back and forth as if he were reading something in the distance.

Destri had stopped reading her novel and watched him for a while, appreciating the way his brow creased while he was in some intellectual trance. She knew that type of daydream well, though hers were usually a lot more simple: consisting of butchery and the various ways one can obliterate a body before its life is snuffed out. She was always proud of her own creativity, though artistic flourishes were more of her sister Orin’s thing; Destri was highly adept at killing in numbers, which to Orin’s chagrin, her Father appreciated over all.

A sigh from Gortash pulled Destri from her bloody daydreams. He had sat back in his luxurious carriage seat, and was gazing at her with a dark look; his gilded fingertips pressed against one another.

“Productive brainstorm?” she asked wryly, flashing him one white fang behind a smirk.

“As constructive as it's going to get without more research, I’m afraid,” he replied with a playfully sinister glimmer in his eye.

Quite unsure what it was he was considering, Destri pushed the conversation forward, “So,” she cleared her throat as if she were some blushing maiden, which caused her to flick the tip of her tail with irritation, “Have you changed your judgement about Myrkul’s Chosen? He was certainly imposing in his own right, I-”

She was cut short with the feel of cold metal on her thigh; Gortash had taken his cane and pressed against the inside of her knee, pushing it outward. Destri’s amber eyes flared with surprise and excitement at his act, and the nefarious way he glared at her.

“I don’t want to speak about Ketheric now,” he gave a crooked grin, moving the golden head of his cane further up her thigh and pushing outward even more, making her shudder. Destri had worn a leather bodice and skirt for presentation and comfort during their travels and talks, and it seemed Gortash was keen on taking advantage of that.

Destri couldn’t help but lick her lips, “What about all that 'being Chosen,' and ‘keeping things professional?’” she asked, but her breath hitched as he hooked the crook of his cane under her knee and pulled, forcing her to rest her leg on the cushion next to his thigh. He brushed her smooth shin and calf with his free hand.

“I perhaps was hasty,” he grinned, lifting his boot and pushing her other knee outward with his foot, so Destri’s legs were spread for him, causing the fabric of her skirts to fall between her legs precariously. “Besides,” he continued, nudging the material out of the way to expose her lace undergarments, “I think we’re a bit beyond that now, don’t you think?”

Destri could only respond with deeper breaths as he pushed the head of his cane against her sex; the curved of the golden handle fitting almost perfectly with her shape, and nudging all the right places.

“That visit to Moonrise really got you worked up, didn’t it?” Destri asked, trying to act cool, but biting her lip and her chest rising and falling under her bodice gave her away.

“Silence,” was all Gortash responded with, while he carefully hooked the curve of his cane under the fabric, making Destri shiver at the cold metal on her moistened lips. He pulled the lace to one side, so he could see her exposed sex; and the slickness that had gathered at her entrance.

Destri liked it when he was like this. She liked it when he was vulnerable too, like the night before. She liked him in all his forms, even when he was a pathetic mongrel who threw others aside like nothing, without another thought. Most of all, she liked the hungry ways he looked at her, and how he was breaking his own rule for her. He was right though, it was already mostly broken when she revealed herself to him on his balcony when that foul drow was sucking his co*ck, and then again when they drank each other’s potions… but they still hadn’t truly been together since the night Destri tried to kill Lilla. That was fun. Really fun. But she constantly ached for more… and now he was going to give it to her.

“Remove those,” Gortash ordered curtly, retreating his cane and resting both hands on it, while removing his foot from her knee so she could obey him.

Obey him she did. She watched his gaze boring into her sex as she slipped off her lace garment, and threw it at him playfully. With a grin, he plucked them from his lap where it landed, and smirked, “Good girl,” he said, “now undo your leathers so I can see your breasts.”

The forwardness of the instructions were exhilarating; Destri could sense that same excitement Lilla must get when her master does as he wants with her. Plucking the laces of her bodice, it fell open to the cushions behind her, leaving only a low-cut crimson blouse covering her torso. She grinned at him while tracing her clawed fingers down the neckline, and pulled the fabric down to expose her lavender breasts; dark violet nipples peaked from the cold forever-night air.

Gortash grinned, “I expected you to put up more of a fight,” he said slyly while his gaze trailed lazily over her exposed immodesty.

The comment was meant to annoy her; to get her to react, which only made her hungrier. She didn’t respond, but stayed splayed for him, sitting back and letting him study whichever part he chose.

“That potion of yours lingers in my veins still,” he said, openly grazing Destri’s body with his glare, “a whisper of yourself. In some way I can feel your wants, your desires. You enjoy being watched. And you enjoy watching.”

“You need a whole blood potion just to figure that one out, tyrant?” she purred, reaching up to her breasts and caressing the sides with the back of her hands.

Gortash bristled mischievously, “I’ll ask the questions, Bhaalspawn,” he smirked, “How many times have you watched me from the shadows without my knowing?”

“Many before you even made yourself known to me?”

“Yes…”

A conflicted expression flashed in Gortash’s gaze. The thought of being completely exposed and vulnerable to a murderous butcher didn’t entirely give him a sense of security…but the fact that it was her, watching him do gods knows what for who knows how long…

Gortash’s erection twitched against the material of his trousers, “Did dear daddy tell you to spy on me? Is he as much of a pervert as you are?”

She should have slit his throat there and then for that. Watched his smirk turn into shock as his blood ruined his beautiful emerald jacket and golden cane. She could even behead him with two -no- maybe one cut of her dagger if she angled it right. Then she could jam and curl the head of his cane into the neck-hole and through his mouth before poking his dismembered head out the window like a puppet for the whole caravan, and her butler to laugh at. Instead she moaned sinfully at his insolence, and squeezed her breasts for him.

“No…” she breathed.

“No?” he echoed, “so you were watching me before Bhaal sent you to me? Did he know you were peeking through my windows at night?”

Destri emitted a whimper. He already knew all the answers. He had figured them out himself, and just wanted her to humiliate herself by admitting it. The shame was unbearable. Erotic.

“No…”

Enver smirked, “So you were slinking around in the shadows on your own accord, and ‘Father’ didn’t even know…”

“Enver…” Destri didn’t know what to do with herself. She wanted to run. Or kill him. Or kill herself. Or f*ck him. Any one of them would do, but she was a prisoner to his nefarious glare. This was a secret even Bhaal didn’t know about. It was for Enver only, and she could tell he liked that. She did too. She retreated one hand from a breast, unable to resist feeling her entrance for the enticing slickness.

“You spent however long watching me like a deviant, didn’t you? Blood of Bhaal, Chosen of the Murderlord. Nothing but a little pervert.”

“I’ll f*cking kill you,” Destri whispered, dipping her fingers into her c*nt, “I’ll pull you apart slowly while you watch. I’ll slice long, perfect strips and sculpt your flesh…”

“There you are, Bhaalspawn,” Gortash smirked, hanging up his cane, “a dirty mouth for a dirty girl. While you consider all the ways you’ll flay me, I’ll work you until you can do nothing but cry my name out.”

He leaned forward and lowered his knees to the carriage floor, pushing Destri’s legs all the way open before putting his mouth onto the supple flesh of her inner thigh. She lay her head back and moaned, running her fingers through his hair.

Enver sucked her skin, trailed his tongue to her upper thigh to the hollow just outside her sex where the moisture had slathered generously. He moaned at the taste of her; that faintest hint of cinnamon he detected in her blood potion.

“I’ll kill you…kill you…” Destri breathed, writhing while adding pressure to his head. He obeyed her silent request, and moved his mouth to her inner lips, licking and lapping while he clutched her thighs open with his golden grip. Destri took a split moment to look down at the image of the tyrant on his knees before her, and had to compose herself at the image of his clawed fingertips pressing into the flesh of her thighs. This was what he was meant to do. He could pretend he was the king. Pretend he was in charge. The boss. But he was on his knees for her . Pleasuring her like a Calish*te queen in a silken coach.

“Lordling…” she whispered, grinding with the rhythm of his tongue, “Tyrant…” the sensation was already palpable, and she felt foolish for losing control over her pleasure so quickly. She was going to play a game where she refused to say his name - to deny his prediction… but his tongue was so steady, and his lips so expertly knew her needs, that she began to panic with pleasure.

“No…no!” she groaned, “Tyrant…Tyrant…I won’t…” it was too much, the ramping pleasure was beyond easy and sensual; it was overbearing, maddening, but she couldn’t stop him. He knew what he was doing, like he knew her body intimately before he had ever touched her in such a place. Then she realised…the potions. He was utilising some inner knowledge he had absorbed from consuming her blood, and he was utilising it to torture her. He could give her release if he wanted, but he had the control.

“I’m…NO!” Destri gripped the cushions behind her for support, and tried to twist her legs to get away from him, but he held her in place while she went mad. Insane. Too much. Too light. Not enough. Like a feather. The way his tongue flitted expertly up and down and around her cl*t while somehow having control over her climax was too too too much. The pleasure dug too deep as his mouth worked her with sinister precision.

“NO! I…Env-” She tried to stop herself saying his name, but Destri’s entire body clenched. She had to exchange his name for release. For her sanity. “Enver, please! Please! Please! Let me come! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…”

The sweet music of her begging his name was his queue. Gortash pushed his lips firmly into her sex and thrashed his relaxed tongue into her cl*t, drawing out seizures and fits from his prey while she gripped his head and ground into his mouth. He even pushed her thighs up even further while her legs shook, and she moaned and groaned his name without any regard for what the rest of the caravan company may be hearing. She couldn’t even control it if she tried. She repeated Enver’s name while she climaxed deeply, then continued to whisper it into exhaustion while her body turned to weak jelly.

When the tyrant was fully happy with his work, he backed away and adjusted her skirts to cover her up again, and pulled up her crimson blouse over her breasts before returning to his seat with a smug, moist smile.

Chapter 24: CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Chapter Text

When Lilla finally woke, she was surrounded by pitch darkness, even with her half-elven eyes.

Despite not being able to see a thing, she felt the world spinning around her, as if she had too many goblets of wine the night before, and the numbing daze still churned through her veins, fogging her mind.

She pushed herself up from what felt like a sleeping roll or cushion, and tried feeling around with her fingertips. Cold, rough stone surrounded her at an angle, indicating the mattress was tucked in the corner of a room, but there was no guessing how large the room itself was without a bit of exploration.

During her research into the Crown, Lilla had come across many stories of various techniques for torture and imprisonment; some of which included sensory deprivation to instill disorientation and fear within the prisoner. Another tactic was locking a victim up in a dark prison with an opening in the floor which led to a pit of unknown-but-certain death. If this was the type Lilla was in, she would surely fall to her doom without even seeing the edge.

Exploring her surroundings perhaps was too big of a step just then, considering she was still groggy from whatever Rugan had forced her to inhale before she passed out. Instead, Lilla backed into the corner and tucked her knees into her chest, hugging them as if it would provide any comfort.

The darkness and silence offered nothing but a cold chill, and forced Lilla to replay the betrayal of her master over and over in her head. He had promised not to sell her only hours before he gave her to Rugan. Lilla wouldn’t even have been against laying with Rugan if Gortash willed it, but to give her away altogether…it made her insides clench with the pain of her master’s treachery.

Why? If he was displeased with her, wouldn’t he simply tell her? She would have happily appealed to whatever her master wanted…he knew that. The only explanation is he simply did not want her anymore, which caused her such a deep, hollow pain, she wasn’t sure there was any point in tossing it around in her mind any longer.

She was Rugan’s lapdog now, but he will be disappointed when Lilla is unable to provide him a modicum of the love and loyalty she had given Gortash. She knew she was broken somehow before this, but at least her master loved her that way…but to be broken again after being discarded in such a manner…there was nothing much left to give. Perhaps Rugan only wanted her for her body, which was fine, as long as he expected no enthusiasm; no emotion. She wouldn’t fight him, and he could just use her as he needed, and leave her alone again until his next urge took him. That seemed fair, Lilla supposed, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Her body wasn’t hers before this, anyway; she had given it to Gortash to do with what he pleased, which offered her such a sense of purpose and bliss - there was no use explaining it to anyone, even herself. Now she felt cracked, or fractured… and the ecstasy of giving herself fully was seeping out into the darkness of the cold, stone prison.

The choice to cry was hers, and it teetered on the edge of how she decided to perceive her situation. Lilla’s heart felt dry, as if even if she let herself spiral into despair, the tears may not even come. They were locked up inside her, waiting for her to process how forsaken she truly was.

“Bane…” she whispered, knowing he was not listening, and wanted nothing to do with her. He had enjoyed her body, but the truth of their meeting weighed heavily on her. Whatever ‘boon’ he told Gortash he was giving her, it was nothing but a farce. The surge of power she felt when Bane’s vessel was loosed within her was nowhere to be felt. There was no renewed sense of confidence, or purpose, or even a dark capability she anticipated unleashing…it was just silence and numbness.

She had no allegiance to Bane, especially now that Gortash had discarded her. If anything his presence seemed to preempt Lilla’s banishment from Gortash’s side, and she knew this had something to do with Bane, even if she wasn’t privy to the details.

WHY? All she had done is served his Chosen, even before he was appointed, and before she knew anything about Bane. Though, she admitted deep down she always knew about Gortash’s worship in some way…she just was either too frightened to dig, or even worse…didn’t care.

From what she knew about Banite worship -which was at least a basic understanding thanks to her upbringing by the Ilmater temple- was they treated their allies well, until their usefulness ran out. Lilla strained to pick out what it was she had run out of…He did mention she had “scraped the bottom of the barrel” as far as her research into the Crown and Cania had gone…it was a hard pill to swallow that perhaps it was all that tipped the scale in regards to her usefulness to Gortash. Once he had the Crown, he would dominate all of Faerûn, and could have as many doting secretaries as he liked; all prettier, and smarter than she was. Women and men would grovel at his feet and lick his boot just for a taste of his attention.

That was when Lilla’s heart finally broke, and hot tears began sliding down her cold cheeks.

“I was there first…” she whispered to the darkness… “I WAS THERE FIRST. I WAS FOR HIM, AND I’M NOTHING NOW.”

The aching knot in her chest finally expanded too fully to keep her sorrow in. She cried, and cried until she fell over into the mattress, clutching the stiff, itchy fabric with trembling hands.

“I was there…” she sobbed, “I’ll never be anything again.”

Even worse, she very well knew that she still loved him, and if he opened the door to her cell there and then, just to tell her she was useless, she would thank him, and ask if he needed anything. The painful tightening around her heart clenched hard, refusing to let go until she wept herself to sleep.

---

When Lilla opened her eyes next, it was to the flicker of candlelight bouncing off the walls of her cell, indicating it was quite compact, and thankfully unequipped with a pit or oubliette.

The light fluttered through the bars in the door at the opposite side from her bed, and she shot up to tuck herself into the corner, awaiting her jailor. The hinges of the iron door squealed as it opened, flooding lamplight into the room, nearly blinding Lilla. She squinted, attempting to focus on the new arrival, but was only able to see the blurred outline of his silhouette.

“Rugan?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

“Rise and shine, Princess!” Rugan’s voice rang out from the deluge of light, “Come now, time is short.”

He stepped into the cell and placed the lamp on the floor, casting long shadows in all directions around him. Lilla didn’t move, hugging her knees and looking away from him.

“Aw hell, Princess, you’re not mad, are you? I told Gortash I’d take good care of you,” he stepped up to her mattress and knelt down next to her, speaking low, “And I do believe he told you to do as I say, isn’t that right?”

Lilla finally looked him in the eye, he was right…her master did tell her that…But what did it matter now?

“He’s not my master anymore, is he?” she muttered, pulling her gaze back to the wall as she rested her head on her knees.

“C’mon now, I understand the situation isn’t ideal,’ Rugan said, standing up again and stepping away, “but you still have work to do, and I expect to get what you owe me.”

He waited a moment to allow Lilla to get up and join him, but she didn’t move. She felt listless. If he wanted her body, then he could come get it, but she wasn’t going to play his game.

“Suit yourself,” he said nonchalantly, before picking up a bucket of ice cold water, and throwing it over her.

Lilla screamed in shock as the freezing water doused her body and her bed. She panted through the sharpness of the sensation, and stood up to avoid soaking in the frigid, soggy puddle her mattress now was.

“There she is, wakey, wakey!” Rugan chuckled, “now come on, the quicker you get to work, the quicker the day will be done. Then we can start again tomorrow!?”

Lilla was shivering, holding herself within her arms in futility, “Wwww-What work am I to dddd-do?” she stuttered.

“Well that’s for you to find out, isn’t it, Princess?”

Rugan picked up the lantern and walked out of the cell, and up some stone steps that were right outside the cell door. Lilla followed, now that huddling in the corner on her mattress was no longer an option.

---

The long hallway Rugan led Lilla down consisted of dim torches and many cell doors, though most seemed to be empty.

She followed him around a corner, and up another flight of stairs to a large cavern; they were clearly underground somewhere, in the repurposed ruins of some temple. The Banites must have co opted this subterranean temple, as there were signs of construction and renovations to make it more accommodating for them.

A row of surprisingly well-kept and expensive looking wardrobes lined the wall Rugan led her to, and he opened one to pull out a linen tunic before throwing it to Lilla to catch.

“Get your wet clothes off, put this on,” he ordered, waiting patiently for her to undress.

Lilla realised she wouldn’t be awarded privacy, and followed his command; even if it were to simply get out of her sopping wet dress. The tunic was of good quality, with the hem woven with wool and gold thread; much too ornate for a mere prisoner, though this didn’t particularly ease her anxiety. She may be some sacrifice, or something worse she wasn’t even able to comprehend.

Once Lilla had changed, Rugan passed her some cotton legging, and a pair of knee-high leather boots. Finally, after she was fully dressed, he handed her a belt with a brass buckle; the shape of which matched the devil-locks in Gortash’s library.

She looked at Rugan, confused.

“Questions will have to wait,” he responded to her silent stare, “get that on, and I’ll take you to the mess hall for breakfast. I want you strong, and preferably angry. Are you angry yet?”

Lilla gawked at him, “W-what?”

“Just put the belt on and follow me.”

---

The mess hall was a long, wide room carved out into the stone, but met halfway with the ancient ruins. It was clearly designed for a hundred men, easy, but only one table was occupied by a group of people.

When Rugan brought her close, he introduced her to the table, who were eating not prison slop, but roast potatoes, meat, and ale.

“Initiates, this is Princess. She’s going to be competing for the Chosen’s favour.”

Lilla froze at the revelation. She had no idea what to say. It seemed neither did the initiates at the table, because they gawked at her for perhaps ten seconds straight. Before bursting into laughter.

“You really got the sh*t end there, Rugan!” a Duegar woman called out, flinging a potato at Lilla.

A massive half-orc male was laughing heartily, “The Chosen’s whor*? Wouldn’t she be better suited to the pleasure pit? I wouldn’t mind a go.”

A human male with dark skin, silky auburn hair, and a massive, grotesque scar that trailed from the corner of his mouth to the edge of his ear laughed a disturbingly crooked laugh, “Aye, me too! We could all have a romp before the tournament!”

“Tournament?” Lilla whispered, completely dumbfounded.

The table burst out into fresh laughter, and the duergar dwarf almost keeled over into her plate.

“You got your work cut out, Rugan! What did you do to piss off the boss?”

“Just eat your breakfast, you lot. I want you in the training room in thirty minutes.” He pushed Lilla down onto the bench next to a muscly human woman who didn’t bother addressing her, and shoved a plate of food towards her. “Eat” he said into her ear, “you don’t want to see what I’ll do if you’re late.”

Rugan walked off to leave the table of initiates to finish their breakfast while they chewed quietly, staring at Lilla. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering if maybe she should try to start a conversation, but all she had in her mind was question after question that she knew they wouldn’t indulge.

“So,” the duegar woman started, “the Chosen got tired of you slobbin’ his knob, did he?” she gave Lilla a dark smirk, “he sent you down here to give him a grand show before you’re gutted?”

“That’s so romantic,” the strong woman next to Lilla said, “What a way to go. Honestly, count yourself lucky. Bane’s will is growing stronger, and more flock to his great Edict every day. It’ll bring more interest with a dramatic story of Gortash’s concubine fighting for his favour, before she’s tragically cut down by her first opponent.”

“I’m…I was his secretary,” Lilla corrected her timidly, which brought on another round of laughter from the group.

The half-orc male slammed his fist on the table with amusem*nt “I don’t know why he thinks the likes of you could stand up to any of us, even The Earl over there,” they all looked at the end of the table, where an incredibly old and grisled man sat quietly, looking forward with a grim stare.

The dark scarred man guffawed, “Ay Earl go easy on Princess here, okay?”

The Earl slowly turned his head, finally noticing Lilla had even joined them, before pulling his gaze back ahead, uninterested in the conversation. There were a few other initiates at the table, but they kept their heads down, and let the duegar, orc, and two humans take the lead.

Lilla poked at her food, but not only was she not hungry, her stomach wouldn’t be able to keep food down anyway. She had to get as much information as she could about what in the hells she had gotten herself into.

Cleaning her throat and sitting up tall, she tried to address the table; “I’m Lilla,” she said, attempting to sound confident. The table went silent again as she awkwardly absorbed their stares. A few moments went by until the duegar decided to humour her.

“You mean you’re Princess. That’s the name your master gave you. Don’t let him catch you using your old name, or whoever hears it gets to watch the punishment.”

The other initiates chuckled to themselves as they pushed their food around their plates. “I’m Laird, that’s Baron,” the grey dwarf continued, gesturing to the orc next to her, “an’ the humans is Duke and Dutchess.”

Every one of them glared at Lilla, with not so much as a friendly nod. She surmised that humouring her introduction would be as friendly as this lot got.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said sincerely, nodding her head politely, “Are you all competing in this…tournament?”

Laird rolled her eyes, stuffing a potato in her mouth without a utensil, “Gortash really sent you down here with no idea, did he?” she laughed loudly with the potato crammed in her cheek, “At least you don’t have the humiliation of getting off easy.”

Laird chewed smugly, but what she said resonated with Lilla somewhat. She must have meant if Gortash prefaced Lilla with whatever she was up against, it could be considered favouritism, and therefore humiliating for Lilla…and maybe Gortash as well. This could also cause Lilla to get the brunt force of harassment…though something told her she would be getting enough as it was.

“So we’re all supposed to kill each other?”

Dutchess spoke up, since Laird was chewing with impatience at Lilla’s line of questioning “It is our greatest honour to entertain under the stalwart eye, and iron gauntlet of our lord Bane. Maybe Gortash didn’t need a… secretary anymore, but at least he offered you the best way to appease Bane’s desire for order.”

Despite the dreary reality of the situation, Lilla still appreciated Dutchess’s assurance, regardless whether or not she meant it as such.

“What happens when you win?”

“You get to be the bearer of Bane’s glory in Baldur’s Gate,” Duke added, picking at his scar, “Therefore the favour of the Chosen.”

“And not to mention a favour from the Chosen,” Dutchess said.

Lilla perked up, “What type of favour?”

“‘Avin him tear up that little muff of yours, if you manage to cut all of us down” Liard jeered, shoving a chunk of meat into her mouth while laughing, and washing it down with ale.

Lilla ignored the insult; she knew it wouldn’t serve to try and argue, or stand up for herself…yet, anyway. These types of things were meant for thinking on…considering thoroughly. She needed to get to know these people, and well. She needed to find out what type of resources she had access to as an initiate. She needed to figure out how not to die.

---

“What do we know about Lilla, so far?” Destri asked, lying on Gortash’s bedroll, watching him pace his lavish tent.

He sighed thoughtfully, this was a nice question, actually. A refreshing one, at least, despite it will undoubtedly draw more frustrations after a few more.

“She’s smart, and sweet,” he started, looking at Destri, “like you.”

Destri scoffed, “I am not nearly as smart as Lilla, that is a lie.”

“You are both smart and sweet in the ways that compliment each other. Fill the voids of each other, so to speak.”

Warmth fluttered in her chest at this. Not one for poetry, huh ? I once knew a man from Ahm, Who said there’s No Cause For Alarm, He didn’t like Devils, or nice tiefling revels, so I chopped off both of his arms.

“I’ll allow it,” she chuckled, “Now, what else? Bane had some hand in her birth, like my Father had a hand in mine, right?”

“I can only suppose it’s similar, though I have never heard of someone like Lilla being created by Bane.”

Destri laughed again, “So does this make her a Banespawn?” She laughed even harder at Gortash’s expression, which unintentionally broke into his own grin at the ridiculous comment.

“I don’t know what her purpose is… was supposed to be, though. Therette has been tasked with gathering as much information about her as possible, but until then, I can only guess.”

“Right,” Destri agreed, “but what can we piece together right now? Things you know that make sense…or don’t make sense…”

“I’ve run it around my brain a million times over,” Gortash reminded her, “Bane’s will is unknown to me.”

“ Well then stop thinking about BANE , you imbecile!” Destri slapped his arm, “Think about Lilla. What do we know? She was an orphan, fine; it means we don’t know her parents, but Therette will hopefully shed some light on that soon. We know she grew up in an orphanage run by the Church of Ilmater. How did a Banespawn end up in an Ilmater orphanage?”

Gortash scoffed, “Would you please stop calling her that? We won’t know anyway until Therette reports back.”

“Fine, but I admit it seems like divine intervention that she’s tied with Bane, and she shows up at your doorstep.”

“Yes yes, I’ve considered this already. It only strengthens my belief that her nature is pre-ordained.”

“You would, Enver, because you’re an egotistical maniac.”

“The point?”

“You are assuming by Bane’s design, Lilla was led to you specifically, implying that Bane ordained the meeting between Lilla and yourself.”

“Yes well…” He feigned not wanting to seem too self-absorbed, “It’s not entirely clear if she was drawn to me specifically…but perhaps I was simply the first Banite she came across, and something Bane planted within her stirred.

She rolled her eyes, and lay back sensually into the cushions, “Regardless, Bane said that one of Lilla’s flaws, according to him, was she wasn’t brought up with his Edict. Does that count as her unfulfilled task? Is that the only reason he not only denies her as an initiate, but orders you to get rid of her?”

Gortash clenched his jaw in defence of his lord, “It could be. I don’t presume to understand how Bane conducts his duties.”

Destri began unravelling her long braid, letting her hair flow freely, “What then is her fulfilled task?”

Gortash pushed himself up on his elbow, “...She was preordained by Bane’s Black Hand to be with me…or near me, at least.”

“What are the chances Bane’s lost child ends up on the doorstep of his Chosen, months before he even appoints the title?”

Gortash furrowed his brow, “That has to be a coincidence.”

“That’s not very pious of you, you can’t just pick-and-choose what is an ordained prophecy by the gods, and what is coincidence. Pick one.”

“How can I, when both options make no sense?”

Destri ran a hand through her midnight hair, “So? Perhaps it’s neither. Maybe it’s something impossibly frustrating for god and mortals alike - between an ordained cosmic plan and chaotic random events? A flaw gods don’t want to admit they may not understand themselves?”

“You’re saying that Lilla is successful in one of her tasks, but Bane made some mistake, and won’t admit it.” Even Gortash didn’t want to admit it himself, he hated even implying Bane had simply, and hilariously just f*cked up somehow. And for some reason, his mistake was so uncomfortable for him to deal with, he wanted to get rid of it.

“And what do we know about Lilla?” She repeated, circling back around to the first question.

“...That’s she’s lovable…” Gortash’s expression was troubled.

“She certainly is…That is a pretty big mistake for the God of Hate and Tyranny to make, I would assume.”

“This is blasphemy,” Gortash whispered. His eyes moved back and forth across the wall, indicating he was thinking deeply.

“It sure is,” Destri agreed, “especially if your god is a jealous one.”

Chapter 25: CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Chapter Text

Lilla followed the other aspirants into the training grounds, which was housed in a repurposed chapel of the forgotten, underground temple. Any signs of who the temple was originally dedicated to had either been lost to the ages, or scrubbed diligently by the Banites.

Instead of pews and altars, the circular cathedral hall walls were lined with training dummies, a few fighting rings were placed at one end, and a large mud pit was directly in the centre.

“Princess!” Rugan called for Lilla to break from the line and meet him next to a dummy. Laird managed to put her foot out and trip her, causing Lilla to fall face-first into the mud. Nobody laughed, but Laird smirked, and the rest of the aspirants branched off to meet with their trainers.

Rugan made no effort to help Lilla from the ground, so she pushed herself up, and wiped off what muck she could before meeting with him.

“Have you ever held a sword?” he asked, leaning against a rack of weapons.

“No,” she admitted, “I know a couple spells…”

“That’s a good start, I suppose,” he scoffed, standing up straight and looking through the weapons, considering which one to begin with. He finally landed on a small shortsword, which may have been just a large dagger.

He handed it to Lilla, “Strike the dummy,” he ordered, crossing his arms.

Lilla looked at him with uncertainty, but took it anyway…this was going to be pathetic. She lifted the shortsword up over her head, and brought the blade down directly onto the dummy’s wooden skull. It glanced off, sending Lilla off balance.

“f*ck…” said Rugan, scratching his chin.

“Yeah…” said Lilla, sheepishly.

“I hope you ate well, because we are going to train through lunch and dinner.”

Lilla gulped, but said nothing; she hadn’t eaten at all. She couldn’t bring herself to do it yet.

Rugan was a patient teacher, for a Banite; at least Lilla assumed it was the case. She could hear the other trainers barking orders and using whips and clubs to punish the other aspirants for slip-ups in their much more advanced combat training. Her own training consisted of solely slashing the dummy over and over and over again, back and forth and back and forth, until her arm turned to jelly, and she felt light headed from lack of food.

After several hours, Rugan could tell Lilla’s efforts had weakened, and her motivation stalled.

“Did you f*cking eat your breakfast, or no?”

“...No…”

He yanked the sword from Lilla’s enfeebled arm, and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, leading her back towards the mess hall. He shoved her back down onto the bench, and scanned the table for her plate, which was untouched, except for a clump of mud that one of the initiates had dolloped onto the potatoes.

Lilla looked up at Rugan, who kept a hold on the back of her neck. He nudged her forward a bit, “Eat,” he commanded.

“Rugan, it’s…there’s dirt in it.”

He bent down close to her face, “Your whole face has dirt on it. You should have eaten it when I told you. Now eat .” He nudged her further still, her nose inches away from the clod of mud.

Lilla turned her head away, defiant.

Rugan signed, “Gortash promised you were so obedient,” he whispered in her ear, disappointed, “I was hoping we could just skip the breaking phase together, and train until you at least had some chance.”

When Lilla didn’t respond, he pulled her up from the table, and marched her back to the cells.

Thankfully he threw her into a fresh cell, so the bed wasn’t soggy and wet from the ice bucket shower he had given her earlier that morning. There seemed to be some peculiar code the Banites followed, which seemed foreign and contradictory to Lilla. She was given warm, clean clothes, and a clean bed, but she was still treated like a prisoner. It didn’t matter, anyway; her earlier desire to at least try to push forward had dissipated, and she was back to feeling listless and dejected.

“When you’re hungry, call for me and I’ll bring you your plate,” Rugan said, walking out of the cell and reaching for the door to close it.

“Rugan…” Lilla whispered, stopping him for a moment, “Why didn’t he just kill me outright?” she asked softly, “Why is he making me do this?”

He hesitated for a moment, but she was unable to see his expression in the darkness. Finally, he closed the squealing metal door and locked it without answering her. Lilla crawled onto her sleeping roll, and wedged herself into the corner, tucking her knees into her chest.

Lilla didn’t sleep well. The dark cell was cold, and the linen tunic didn’t do much to keep her warm during the frigid early hours; the only solace was the mud caked over her front helped a little bit with insulation. Her stomach growled, grumbled and whined. The pang of hunger began scratching at the inside of her stomach; every hour at first, but soon the oppressive, maddening wrench was all she could focus on.

“Rugan?” she called out into the darkness, “Rugan, may I have some food?”

Silence followed for some time until she heard distinct footsteps somewhere down the hall, and the bouncing of lantern light expanded closer and closer through the small door window, until the lock clicked. Rugan pushed the door open, again flooding the cell with light. He was holding Lilla’s plate out, and dropped it to the floor with a clatter, causing much of the food to scatter around the damp cobblestones.

“Go on,” he urged, “let’s get this part over with.”

Lilla looked at the potatoes and meat scattered about, caked with muck. “I’ll eat Rugan, I promise…can I just have a fresh plate?”

Rugan laughed, “I think you’ve mistaken yourself somewhere along the way, Princess. This isn’t a charity. I was chosen for my patience, but where I lack in brutality, I make up for in efficiency. You eat that plate now, or I bring it again to you in the morning. If you don’t eat it then, I’ll bring it to you the next morning, and with a nice dollop of extra muck. You’ll be surprised how low your standards get when your stomach begins to eat itself.”

Lilla began trembling…the reality of her situation was just beginning to scratch the surface, and she was beginning to realise being sorrowful and pathetic would only lead to more discomfort.

A long silence fell, as Rugan stood in the doorway, stoically awaiting Lilla’s answer. She wanted to crawl back into the corner and fight the hunger until Rugan gave in and brought her a clean plate…but she knew it wouldn’t happen. Her stomach wrenched in pain, especially now that she could smell the meat and potato calling to her from the floor.

Finally, she crawled forward carefully, picking up a muddy potato from the ground, and brushed it off before taking a timid bite into it. It was delicious. Salty and crispy, and of course quite gritty from the mud; but her hunger was so inflamed now, she didn’t care. She let out a little moan of satisfaction as the starchy mouthful slid down her throat.

“Good girl,” Rugan said, impressed, “eat your fill, and maybe get a reward.”

Lilla didn’t even care what the reward would be, she was too busy picking up a chunk of meat and brushing it off gingerly before popping the whole thing in her mouth.

“That's a good girl,” Rugan smirked, squatting down to watch her proudly.

Once Lilla felt like she was satiated, and the dirty food was no longer palpable, she sat back on the bedroll, and wiped her mouth with her muddy sleeve.

“What do you say, Princess?” Rugan asked.

A familiar sensation stirred within Lilla; something enticing…even exhilarating.

“Thank you…Rugan.”

“Good, good girl,” he said, holding out something in his palm.

As Lilla’s eyes adjusted, she realised it was a plump raspberry. Her pupils dilated, and she looked up at him with bewilderment.

“You don’t like these?” he asked when she hesitated, “I had hoped it would help offset that earthy taste.”

Lilla was frozen, unsure how to respond.

Rugan stood up again, “Very well,” he sighed, “I’ll eat it then-”

“-No!” Lilla squeaked, surprised at her own intervention.

He co*cked his head at her, smiling his handsome smile, “You would like dessert then?”

Lilla’s mouth watered, and she blinked shamefully, “Y-yes. Yes please, Rugan.”

He bent down, holding out the berry in his palm, “Go on, then” he whispered, “it’s yours.”

She crawled forward and reached out towards it, before Rugan retracted his hand, “Uh uh, nope. You come take it from my palm like the little pup you are, and if you’re good tomorrow, I might promote you to use utensils at breakfast.”

A familiar fluttering in Lilla’s chest awarded her some odd sense of comfort. She crawled forward towards Rugan’s outstretched hand, and lowered her mouth to his palm, taking the berry with her lips.

“Very, very good girl,” he said with a warm smile, “Assuming you continue to be good like this, we’ll progress just fine.”

The juices of the berry burst forth over Lilla’s tongue, and she was unable to hold back another moan. She closed her eyes and remembered the times Gortash had rewarded her in the very same way, causing waves of contentment to wash over her.

“Thank you, Rugan,” she whispered, finally looking up at him from her hands and knees.

He reached out and ran a thumb gently across her lips, gathering up a drop of red juice, then sucked it off his finger with a wink.

“You just earned yourself a blanket for tonight, and maybe a hot bath in the morning,” he stepped out of the cell for a moment, and returned with a heavy wool blanket, tossing it to Lilla. “Just don’t f*ck it up, you understand, Princess? See how easy it is to win comforts? We can just as easily go back to cold buckets and gritty potatoes.”

“Yes, Rugan,” she said, wrapping the blanket around herself, finally feeling warm…and with a peculiar spark of happiness; even some pride.

Rugan left the cell, and closed the door, before speaking through the small barred slot, “You’ve got four hours of sleep until we start again. I want you up and ready to go the moment I open this door again.”

“Yes Rugan,” Lilla repeated, holding back a yawn, and leaning back onto the bedroll, before sleep took her.

Perhaps she was still doomed, and forsaken by her master…but at least she knew if she appeased Rugan tomorrow, she could get another berry…

Chapter 26: CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Chapter Text

For the next two tendays, Lilla trained vigorously with Rugan. It was harsh and uneasy, just as Gortash had warned her before she was sent away; of course at the time, she had no idea what he was referring to.

Lilla realised very quickly she was years behind in combat acuity compared to the voluntary aspirants. Every day, more joined in anticipation of the grand tournament, until the mess hall and training dome were consistently clamouring with Banites from far and wide.

Despite Laird and the rest being antagonistic with her, Lilla stuck with their table, realising their demeanour was simply in their nature, and nothing entirely personal against her. Some days they would laugh with her, and some days they would beat her, until they were called away by their trainers.

One day Laird and Dutchess had knocked Lilla around so badly, she acquired two black eyes and a split nose. When she tried to run away to the cells, they caught up with her and locked her in one of the ornate wardrobes that held the aspirant garbs. It took Rugan a good half a day to find Lilla, huddled at the bottom of the cabinet, before he took her to the infirmary.

She sat quietly, looking ahead wearily through bruised, swollen eyes as Rugan gingerly dabbed healing salves on her face.

“It is their nature,” Rugan finally said, just to cut through the silence.

“I know,” Lilla replied weakly, not looking at him.

“It may not seem like it now, but being knocked around in such a way can strengthen one greatly…And it will continue to happen until you are able to strike back, and strike back hard.”

Lilla didn’t respond. She remembered Gortash telling her the same thing about his time in the House of Hope…but this wasn’t for her. Berries weren’t enough to keep her motivated to live through such brutality, and she knew she didn’t even have it all that bad. She was weak, and there was no chance in the hells she was going to survive this. Even if she completed her training to Rugan’s standards, she would never be ready enough to contend against the aspirants she had seen.

She was still mucking about with a training dummy, and sometimes Rugan as an opponent; while the other initiates were sparring savagely in the rings - sometimes killing one another in the process. She had watched them during a short break, and knew instantly she was no match; she couldn’t even get through to lunch without being beaten, and that was simply during the Banite’s leisure time.

“I don’t understand the point of this, Rugan,” she finally whispered, looking at the ancient stone wall ahead of her, “I’m going to die, we both know that. I don’t even know why you are wasting time on me…”

Rugan swallowed dryly, “Because Princess, your life is tied with mine in this. I’d rather like to live, but if you fail…we both fail…”

Lilla looked at him, his soft blue eyes were warm; the creases in the corners brightening his weak smile.

“If I die, you’ll die?”

“That’s right, Princess.”

“That doesn’t seem fair…”

“Life isn’t fair, you know that as much as I. At least Bane will know I put my all into trying, and there will be a chance he won’t see me as a failure when my spirit falls to the foot of his throne in Banehold.”

Lilla was silent. Stunned… She had no idea that Rugan’s life was in the mix…she had been so selfish. Despite everything, he was good to her; kind, even. He was softer when the other Banite’s weren’t looking, but he knew how to pressure Lilla when she was slacking, and how to reward her when she obeyed. Their relationship had blossomed into some semblance of trust over the time she had worked under him, and now that she knew his own life was on the line…it changed her perspective.

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely, “Laird was right…you really got the sh*t end of the stick…”

Rugan laughed his handsome laugh, “Aye,” he agreed, “but Gortash clearly has some faith in you, otherwise he wouldn’t have done it this way.”

The smile Rugan’s laugh brought to Lilla’s split lips faded immediately at the mention of her old master, “How kind of him to forsake both of us in one wave of his hand…”

The comment made Rugan’s brow furrow with frustration, but Lilla could tell he acknowledged the truth in it. “He is Chosen,” Rugan insisted, “He speaks for Bane, and I do not question Bane’s edict.”

Lilla knew better than to get into a debate about contrary religious semantics with a Banite; it’s one of the many reasons her face was smashed to a pulp by Laird. Instead she took a good look at him, and co*cked her head in curiosity, “Why did you start worshipping him?” She asked, “What did he promise you?”

Rugan was clearly not ready for the question, so he continued dabbing salve on Lilla’s cheekbone in silence while considering her question.

“I suppose much the same reason Lord Gortash had, though I don’t know his story in detail. All I know is Bane helped him when the rest of the world forsook him, including the people who should have loved him most.”

“I know how he feels…” Lilla replied bitterly.

This triggered Rugan’s ire, and his face contorted into a sneer; which was still admittedly very handsome.

“Then perhaps you should spend some time meditating on the gifts Bane can provide you, and less on sulking. Try to make something of this. Make something of yourself. If not for yourself, then for me.”

Lilla sucked on her tongue resentfully, looking away, “Bane promised Lord Gortash a boon for me, but he lied. He didn’t even have to lie about it, but it was fun for him, using my body under the pretence of helping me.”

Rugan was stunned, unsure what she truly meant, or how to even approach her comment.

“Get some sleep,” was all he said, packing up the medical kit, “We train in the mud pits tomorrow. It won’t be nice.”

---

Lilla lay on her bedroll, her body sore, her belly full of good food, and her face already feeling the effects of the healing salve. She looked up to the dark, stone ceiling, considering Rugan’s words from earlier.

She had accepted that she was going to die, and that she had no other purpose, now that Gortash had thrown her away…but knowing her own self-indulgent anguish was weighing against Rugan’s life…she hated that responsibility. She wanted not to care, but she couldn’t help it. She saw love in him; enough to preserve. Everything would be so much easier if she was as hateful, ambitious, and strong as the other Banite aspirants…

---

As the tournament day drew closer, Lilla tried her best to appease Rugan, now using his life as her motivator. He sensed this, and felt a swell of pride and appreciation when she pushed past her pain to train harder, and longer than the other aspirants.

When they had all retreated to the barracks to sleep, Lilla insisted on continuing into the late hours, until Rugan forced her to go to bed.

“You’re supposed to be strong , and sleeping and eating will make you strong, just as much as training will.”

He shut the door to her cell, and she couldn’t see him grinning.

“Goodnight, Rugan,” he heard Lilla’s gentle voice from behind the iron door.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he whispered low, so she couldn’t hear.

---

Word arrived that the Chosen had returned from Moonrise towers that night, so Rugan put in a request to meet with Gortash as soon as possible, to update him on Lilla’s training. He was invited almost immediately to Gortash’s manor, wasting no time.

The drow butler wasn’t there to answer the door, so a travel-weary Gortash let Rugan in himself, directing him to the parlour for a debriefing. He found himself pacing the room, while Gortash sat on the emerald sofa, eyes tracing back and forth, fixated on Rugan.

“My Lord…Chosen,” Rugan started anxiously, “the girl is doing better than expected, and puts every bit of her spirit into training…”

“But,” Gortash added, bluntly.

“But…I don’t think it will be enough. The grand tournament is in a tenday, and she is still vastly behind every other aspirant in the roster.”

Gortash made no distinct expression, and sat stone-still, which was infinitely more intimidating for Rugan than if he appeared upset, “Bane himself has granted Lilla a boon to assist her with keeping up with the other fighters, has that manifested yet?”

Rugan swallowed a lump in his throat, “My Lord, she seems to think Bane’s gift was a farce…and that it was simply a ruse for his own pleasure.”

The only indications of Gortash’s vexation was the slightest hitch of breath in his chest, and the way his claw balled into a fist as it rest upon the back of the sofa, “That is impossible,” he said, “blasphemy.”

Panic boiled in Rugan’s gut, “I believe none of these things, My Lord, I only relay what the girl believes. I have not seen such power manifested in her yet, but there may still be time, if Bane truly granted it to her.”

“Perhaps the power Bane bestowed within Lilla will manifest if she is pushed further. Has she endured any hardship, or are you holding back due to her pretty face, and sweet nature?”

Rugan baulked, his eyelids fluttering in fear, before he swallowed his anxiety and looked to the floor, “Perhaps…My Lord…Perhaps it is better to recuse me from her training. There could be someone more qualified to push her to her fullest extent.”

Gortash let a painful silence stifle the room before continuing, “You understand excusing yourself will lead to your death immediate, yes? It won’t be an escape from your fate if she loses, and will be considered failure in the eyes of Bane.”

Rugan nodded solemnly, “I understand that, My Lord…but perhaps if someone else was more suited to…someone else could give her a better chance than I can. I seem unequipped to bring out Bane’s power within her. She should be paired with someone who can draw out her full potential.”

“You’d accept failure, death, and an eternity of suffering under the black guantlet of Bane, just to give Lilla a tenday of training…On the chance someone else may do better?”

Rugan dropped to his knees, and bowed his head, awaiting the wrath of the Chosen’s sentence, “Yes, My Lord…I accept this fate, if it will increase the girl’s chances.”

Gortas stood up from the sofa, towering over Rugan, who was grovelling at his feet. He should have snapped Rugan’s neck right there, but he stayed his hand, staring down at the pathetic man.

“You love her…”

Rugan looked up at him, terror in his eyes. “N-...” his instinct was to protest out of fear, but it would be absurd to lie to the Chosen just before he was sentenced to death anyway, “Yes, My Lord. I love the girl,” he was unable to hold back a bitter scoff at his admittance, “ I am ill-equipped to treat her as a Banite should, and have disgraced your trust, as well as the temple. I am ready to accept your judgement.”

He lowered his head again, exposing the back of his neck to Gortash, who stared silently for a few moments, contemplating the situation.

“If you truly love her, then you are more equipped than any to guide her. And if indeed you are correct, and she fails, then perhaps your spirits both will be sentenced to the Black Bastion for judgement. Together.”

Rugan looked back up at Gortash, wide-eyed and confused by the Chosen’s brazen display of sacrilege, but dared not question the contradictory nature of his edict.

“Of course, My Lord. Thank you,” Rugan was stunned, “I will continue to do everything I can to prepare the girl for the final day. Thank you…Thank you…I recognise your mercy is limited, and this is…Thank you…”

He stood up and saluted Gortash, before hurrying out of the manor, and back to the underground temple to continue devising Lilla’s combat strategy.

Gortash stood in silence, flexing and stretching his gauntleted hand over and over in thought, “Where in the hells are you, Therette?” he murmured under his breath.

---

“Ay, Rugan!” Dutchess called across the mess hall one morning during breakfast, “Why don’t you let Princess come sleep in the barracks with us?”

Rugan stayed silent with his arms crossed, waiting for Lilla to finish her meal, and unperturbed by the jeers from her table.

Laird guffawed, “Right? It gets mighty cold, and I think Baron here is getting tired of me warming his bed.”

The half-orc male laughed, giving Lilla a wink, making her blush. By the size of him, he would be similar, if not much larger than Bane while possessing Gortash’s body. This forced an uncouth comment bubble up from within her, that she was unable to stop before it was too late.

“Stretched you out too much, did he?” she muttered, taking a sip of tea, “Like throwing a sausage down a hallway.”

The entire table went quiet at Lilla’s unexpected insult. She braced herself for another bombardment of beatings, but to her surprise, Laird started to laugh. Then Baron. Then the rest of the table. The rest of the occupied tables stopped clamouring to turn and look at the abrupt burst of cackling from Lilla’s audience.

She looked to Rugan in confusion, who only raised his eyebrows with a smirk, and she started to laugh as well.

“You’re not wrong,” Baron snickered, pushing himself up with his massive green arms, and making his way to Lilla’s side of the table, towering over her. He was directly behind her, which made it impossible to turn around and look up without facing directly at his crotch. “In fact,” he bent down to speak into her ear, “I’ve been aching for some tighter upholstery.”

Lilla was wrenched from her seat and thrown on to her back over the table, smashing clay plates and mugs as she landed. The air was knocked out of her, and she gasped painfully, trying to recuperate her senses.

Though her vision was blurred from the shock, she could see the orc unbuckling his belt, and taking out a very large, very intimidating co*ck.

“NO!” Lilla cried, trying to bat him away, but he easily grasped both her wrists in one massive hand, and pinned her down. The rest of the aspirants at their table, and beyond, only watched in suspense, to see if she had what it took to get out of her situation.

Rugan steeled himself, breathing slowly and fighting his urge to react, “C’mon Lilla,” he whispered to himself, “fight! Don’t make me intervene…”

If he stepped in to save Lilla from Baron, it would be considered a desecration of the Edict. Banites were expected to fight, claw, and manipulate their way through their ranks in a strict hierarchy. Preventing Lilla from learning this the hard way would forsake both of them. He only prayed silently to Bane, and hoped Lilla finally had what it took to hold her own. Though it didn’t look promising...

“Not bad, aye?” Baron growled, reaching up Lilla’s tunic to find the waist of her leggings, “You must be aching for it too, after all this time away from the Chosen…or is Rugan keeping you to himself every night?”

“Lucky bastard,” grunted Laird through a mouthful, leaning away to give Baron space while Lilla flailed underneath him.

While Baron was occupied by reaching for Lilla’s undergarments,he let one of her hands slip out, which still didn’t seem to grant her much of an advantage. She looked to Rugan in desperation, but quickly realised she was on her own. It was difficult to think when one was almost certainly about to be split in two by an orc opponent, but she had to work with whatever she had; brawn was not an option.

She closed her eyes, muttering an incantation under her breath to conjure her Mage Hand directly above Baron’s head. Reaching around the surface of the table with her free hand, she fumbled with a fork before gripping it tight, and willed her Mage Hand to shove the orc’s head forward towards her. As he fell forward, his face was close enough for her to stab the fork directly into his eye, causing him to howl in surprise, and grasp his face in pain. For good measure, Lilla lifted a leg and kicked him in his engorged green balls as hard as she could, sending the massive orc backwards to the ground with a thud.

He was screaming while gingerly touching the fork handle that protruded from his destroyed eye, and his trainer ran over to retrieve him, spitting obscenities not at Lilla, but at Baron. “You f*cking imbecile,” she hissed, “You let that waif of a girl with a f*cking Mage Hand get the better of you, you absolute f*cking halfwit. You’ve embarrassed us both, and I can’t even punish you until we get that f*cking thing out of your skull. I’ll make you eat your own eyeball for this.”

The trainer pulled a whimpering Baron to the infirmary as the entire mess hall watched in silence; his flaccid co*ck still flopping out of his trousers, as he stumbled forward in humiliation. After a moment, they all turned to Lilla, who was adjusting her tunic; heart racing, and panting heavily. She looked at Laird, who was staring at her in surprise…then a wide grin revealed the grey dwarf’s crooked yellow teeth.

“That was f*cking HOT!” she yelled, clapping Lilla on the back, knocking the air out of her once again.

The aspirants began to slam their mugs and goblets on the wooden tables in a rhythm as a sign of respect for Lilla’s surprising, and very entertaining victory. The Earl -the impossibly old grizzled man who barely ever said a word- was laughing a toothless laugh so hard, he fell off the bench into the dirt. She looked around, unbelievably confused, and still trembling from the ordeal. Though as the mess hall cheered “Princess” as they banged their goblets, there was something else that began to blossom deep in her gut. Something sweet and savoury. Something fulfilling, like pride…it was hunger for more.

Rugan came over to her and clutched her upper arm, whispering into her ear over the cheers and drumming, “C’mon, Princess, let’s get you out for some reprieve before the blood in the room boils hotter, and someone else gets another genius idea…”

The cheers and chants began to dissolve while the aspirants ceased celebrating, and went on with their day, while Rugan led Lilla down the dim stone hallway, back to her cell.

“Are we not training?” Lilla asked, revitalised by her triumph, “I feel like I could take on another orc, at least!” she jumped from toe to toe, punching the air, high on her victory.

Rugan pulled her into her cell, pulling the lantern close to look her over, “Are you okay?” he asked her, hushed, as if someone in the otherwise abandoned cell block would hear them, “Did he hurt you?”

His eyes glimmered in the lamplight, concerned for her wellbeing. Lilla had always felt an attraction to Rugan, but she hadn’t been in any state to fantasise about him while she was imprisoned in this temple…until now, that is.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “you understand why I couldn’t intervene?”

A calmness overcame her while she gazed at his desperate face, and she reached out to touch his cheek, “Do I get a reward now, Rugan?” she asked sweetly. The taste of conquest had made her wet and wanting.

“W-what?” he stammered, almost recoiling, but he was too weak a man to fully back away from her advance, as he should have.

Lilla leaned forward, and kissed Rugan, wrapping her arms around his neck, and drawing out a surprised moan from him. It was impossible to push her away, and he found himself grabbing her instead, and lifting her up so she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Pushing her against the stone wall, Rugan fumbled at her aspirants belt, and discarded it to the cobbled floor, once it was fully removed. He anchored her against the wall with his hips while pulling off her tunic, and sighing with yearning at her exposed breasts. He’d seen them time and time again while she showered and changed, but he had always associated her nudity with duty, not desire. However now it was like seeing them for the first time, making him grin boyishly before burying his face happily between them.

He couldn’t handle it, he took her mouth in his again, pressing her harder against the wall, and exploring the soft skin of her jaw and neck with his tongue before lowering her to the bedroll. Rugan pulled at her cotton leggings, eager to explore where Baron could not. Lilla let him peel her clothes off while she bit her lip in anticipation.

Diving back into her neck and bosom for another taste, Rugan trailed kisses back up to her lips, before slowing down and grinning down at her, “Lilla…you’re so f*cking beautiful…”

“It’s Princess,” she corrected him coyly, making him chuckle, “now please. My reward.”

Rugan wasted no more time, he loosened his trousers; ecstatic at the beautiful sound she made when he pushed himself inside her. They moved together fluidly and sensually, until Rugan began rutting quicker, unable to keep himself cool. It took much willpower to let her climax first; not because it wasn’t his wish, but she made him feel like an awkward young man again, struggling with his composure.

“Lilla I…Princess…I’m…I,” he was grunting, clenching his jaw in hopes to distract himself from unleashing himself too early.

“Rugan, come for me,” she whispered, smiling blissfully up at him.

His restraint was futile, and he began bucking at her command, almost delirious with joy. Thankfully, Lilla began panting in pleasure, indicating she was close, too. Her delicious sounds of satisfaction gave Rugan the permission to release into her fully, just in time.

“I love you, I’m so sorry,” he murmured sheepishly as his climax settled.

“I know,” she grinned.

“They’re going to kill me,” he panted, resting his face into her neck.

“Not if I win,” she whispered, kissing his forehead, looking at the stone ceiling.

Chapter 27: CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Chapter Text

With an entire day ahead of them, Rugan and Lilla sheepishly got dressed and set back out to the training ground together. He led her through the dim cellblock with a grim expression, and Lilla took notice.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” she joked, causing him to spin around to protest, worrying he had somehow offended her. When Rugan saw she was teasing him, his frown turned to a shy grin before turning back to walk ahead.

“I shouldn’t have done that, is all,” he muttered, though the way he said it told Lilla he wasn’t entirely remorseful.

---

About twenty aspirants were ready to partake in a group challenge, while standing at ease at the border of the grand mud pit in the centre of the cathedral training dome; awaiting direction from the overseeing instructor. Lilla joined the ranks next to Laird, Baron and Duke, gazing nervously at the lake of muck. Looking up, she noticed Baron had a black bandage wrapped around his head, covering the eye Lilla had destroyed earlier that morning.

“Did they really make you eat your eye?” she whispered up at him, seeing as he had no peripheral vision on the left side where she stood.

“Aye,” he snorted, “It was delicious.”

“Aspirants, ATTENTION,” the instructor called out loudly, eyeing the lineup, making sure everyone had obeyed immediately, “for this afternoon’s challenge, you will all be set into four groups of four, each representing your faction city.” She pointed at the initiates at the end of the line and named the groups in order, “Waterdeep, Calimport, Baldur’s Gate, Neverwinter.” Once she was at the end of the line, she stood at ease, ‘Your goal is to get the package given to you to the end of the pit, and place it in its cradle. One member from your team must do this before the other factions. If you do this, your team will win a prize. Initiates. Do you want to know what the prize is?”

“YES, BLACK GAUNTLET,” the aspirants chanted.

“Your team will get first dibs at the pre-tournament feast. Your team gets to choose which part of the roast hog to eat. Your team gets to choose which spirits to abuse. Your team gets to gorge yourselves on glory and salty crackling, while the others watch in shame and envy. Does that sound FUN, INITIATES?”

“YES, BLACK GAUNTLET,” they chanted in response.

“Does that sound FAIR, INITIATES?”

“YES, BLACK GAUNTLET.”

“Don't you want to know what the challenge package is, initiates?”

“YES, BLACK GAUNTLET.”

“Turn around.”

The aspirants turned to look behind them. At the ground behind each of their feet, lay massive, blue-speckled alioramus eggs.

“When I say so, each of you will take your egg, and bring it to the end of the pit, then place it in the cradle. Does that sound simple, initiates?”

“YES, BLACK GAUNTLET.”

“You can use whatever means are at your beck and call to achieve this, but your egg must lay in its cradle before anyone else’s. It mustn’t be cracked. It mustn’t be broken,” she looked around with a malicious smile, “It mustn’t get… dirty .”

The aspirants all turned their heads towards the Black Gauntlet instructor.

“You heard me, maggots. You get one drop of mud on that pristine little dinosaur baby, and you are disqualified. If all of you fail, you will ALL spend the night in the mud pit. DOES THAT SOUND FUN, INITIATES?”

The group hesitated, and answered “Yes, Black Gauntlet,” at various intervals, accidentally showing their apprehension. This made the instructor laugh while everyone waited in silence for her to finish.

“INITIATES…” She finally hollered, “ GO ”

A few aspirants immediately clutched their eggs safely to their chest, and jumped into the pit, not realising just how deep it was. Many of the medium sized contenders sunk into the pit with mud up to their collarbones, immediately dunking their eggs with them. A few more who learned from their lessers, held their eggs over their heads, but quickly learned the floor of the pit was pocketed with uneven holes, making some places much deeper than the others, causing some to topple over.

“f*ck it!” Laird sighed, acknowledging as a dwarf, she was completely ill-equipped to traverse the pit. She tried anyway, sucking in as much air into her lungs as she could before jumping in with her hands over her head. She was completely submerged in frigid muck; only her forearms from the elbow up protruded out of the surface. She felt around the edge for her egg, struggling to find it. Lilla bent down and pushed it between her hands, allowing Laird to clutch and pivot, before trudging carefully under the loose muck towards the goal. There was no way in the hells she would make it all the way without suffocating.

Lilla was the last one in, and she followed Laird’s lead by first sliding into the cold slop with hands above her head. Submerged up to her neck, she turned and grabbed her egg, before following the rest of the aspirants towards the finish. She realised being slower than the others to begin may have given her an advantage, as many of the aspirants were falling over and flailing to stabilise themselves; slinging mud everywhere and getting their neighbour’s egg dirty in the process.

Baron seemed like the only one who was progressing well, given his stature. The mud only came up to his nipples and he held his egg high above everyone else, out of reach of the splashing slush. He was just over halfway, and his progress looked promising, until a gnarled, muddy claw reached out and grasped at Baron’s outstretched arms.

A mud mephit had crawled out of the sludge to obstruct Baron’s advancement, and Lilla noticed the three other aspirants that were somewhat progressing with clean eggs were beginning to have the same problem. It appeared the exercise was not intended to be winnable; the instructor looked on at the chaos, wearing an iniquitous smirk.

“Lilla!” Rugan called from behind her, she looked back, careful not to slip on the uneven ground, “ Any means necessary !”

She blinked at him obtusely for a moment, then spun back around to see Baron’s egg had succumbed to the grasping mephits, and the other two aspirants had failed as well. Lilla was the only one left who had not gotten her egg dirty yet, but she was only a few feet into the challenge… Everyone was gawking at her.

“Let’s go, Princess!” the instructor called out snarkily, “you’re our only hope!”

The mephits had sunk back down into the muck, awaiting Lilla to cross the halfway point...Then it hit her.

“I’M SUCH A DOLT!” she cried, looking back at Rugan, who had his head clutched between his hands in suspense. She closed her eyes and muttered a quick incantation, summoning her Mage Hand. She willed it to gingerly lift the large egg from between her hands, and urged it to hover towards the cradle at the opposite end of the pit.

Once it hit around the halfway point, the mephits began emerging from the muck, peering up at the floating egg with their wicked little eyes. One jumped for it, flapping its wings vigorously, flinging mud everywhere. The Mage Hand surged upwards, causing the egg to wobble precariously the higher it went, but thankfully it remained unscathed. Another two mephits lept from the muck, and Lilla willed the Hand upwards further, straining her concentration. It was a much heavier item than she was used to carrying, seeing that a feathered quill was the norm, but she was so adept with her summon, there was a minute chance the Mage Hand could potentially get to the end…As long as the mephits didn’t jump any higher.

The entire room held their breath in anticipation to see if Lilla could make it - including the instructor; though she had a sour scowl on her face at the turn of events.

The mephits began angrily slinging mud towards the egg, which in turn caused the other aspirants to begin attacking the grotesque little elementals to stop them; they would have preferred the prize, but they certainly did not want to stay in the freezing pit all night.

Banding together, the aspirants pulled the mephits down, shoving them under the surface to give Lilla’s egg a chance. She was perspiring, gritting her teeth as the combination of the distance and mass of the egg weighed on her mental fatigue. Still though, no longer having to worry about the mephits greatly helped.

Lilla committed a last surge of will to lower the Mage Hand very carefully, as all she wanted to do was let it go so her mind could rest. She bared her teeth, and closed her eyes, giving up her last modicum of focus to have the Hand gently lower the egg into its cradle before she groaned in exhaustion, unable to keep the Hand in existence any longer, and returning it to the Weave. In doing so, the egg dropped about an inch from the air into the cradle, causing everyone to gasp.

The instructor, including the other trainers, ran over to inspect her egg. After they murmured a few words to each other, the Black Gauntlet stood up straight and pointed to Lilla, “Princess, you lucky little bitch.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled so broadly, while the other aspirants cheered, splashing one another with muck. Baron, and Duke trudged excitedly towards her to grant her their appreciation. They jostled her around playfully, laughing and calling her uncouth names in an endearing manner.

*GLORP* a large murky bubble breached the surface of the mud between them, sparking a panic in Lilla, “OH MY GODS, LAIRD!” She reached down, feeling around for the duegar, “Help me!'' She ordered the others.

Baron felt around with his massive arms, finally finding Laird under the mud, and heaving her out. The grey dwarf spluttered and coughed violently, her mouth and nostrils clogged with gritty slop. He flung her body onto the edge, into drier dirt, while Lilla and the rest hoisted themselves out to see if Laird was okay.

She cleared her sinuses with a massive snort, and spat a glob of mucus and grime onto the ground before looking at the rest of them.

“Well!?” she said, waiting for the verdict.

“Princess won,” Duke said with a big, grotesque smile, “nobody was supposed to win, but we got first dibs at the last-day feast.”

Laird spat again, scraping muck from her face so she could better see Lilla, “Of course she f*cking did,” she groaned, grinning with gritty, dirty teeth.

---

At dinner in the mess hall, the aspirants at Lilla’s table were jubilant, recanting Lilla’s victory with an air of comedic bitterness.

“That f*cking Mage Hand…” One-eyed Baron chortled before chugging a stein of ale.

She enjoyed the camaraderie, joining in by attempting and failing to match the vulgarity of the others, which made them laugh even harder.

After dinner, Rugan escorted her to the showers, which consisted of a pocketed cavern of small, naturally-warm waterfalls cascading from the walls. He looked away while she washed the mud off her body, now that her nudity seemed taboo to him.

Lilla was deep in thought as she scrubbed grime and grit from between her toes, thinking it mustn’t be long before Lord Gortash and Lady Destri dive into Cania to retrieve the Crown…

---

Several days had passed since Lilla won the mud pit prize for her group; the same several days Gortash and Destri made the final preparations to dive into the Eighth Layer of Hell.

They had no reason to wait any longer; they were as ready as they ever were going to be, so at midnight they visited the Devil’s Fee with a band of cultist clerics in tow.

Helsik unlocked the front door to The Fee when they arrived in the dead of night, looking up and down the lane to assure nobody had taken note.

“Well well, aren’t you all cute and matchy-matchy?” she smirked, looking Gortash and Destri up and down.

They were adorned with soft, stealthy, tight leather armour, while cloaked in enchanted black wool to keep the frigid Canian winds from freezing them in seconds. Both had hip-satchels that contained a handful of potions and scrolls Lilla had previously prepared for them, and Gortash had a leather pack slung across his chest, large enough to accommodate their destined prize.

“Do you have it, then?” Helsik asked as they ascended the stairs to the Fee’s second level.

Destri handed the dwarf warlock the immensely rare flesh-bound book they had pilfered from the Szarr palace.

“Such a shame too,” Helsik muttered, thumbing through the musty pages before giving it back to the tiefling, ”would have been a massive profit to resell…Nevertheless, it’s a perfect offering for the portal.”

Helsik unlocked the upstairs door for them, and led them into an open office space with a large clearing to accommodate a seven-pointed portal star painted on the ground with what looked like fresh blood.

“Alright kids,” she turned to the group and held out her hand “first order of business.”

Gortash reached under his cloak, and pulled out a bulging bag of coin before dropping it in her palm, causing her arm to drop from the weight.

“Mmhm,” Helsik sniffed the coin purse, “Smells like twenty thousand, even.”

“Can we proceed, then?” Gortash asked with a hint of impatience.

“Please do!” Helsik chirped, rummaging around in the purse, and juggling a gold coin between her knuckles, “Set the tome in the middle, light it on fire, then stand back to let it work its magic.” She left the room, then turned back, “Good luck, and all that!” she waved a flippant hand while she made her way downstairs to count and play with handfuls of gold.

“Clerics, your blessings,” Gortash commanded the cultists to approach.

He and Destri knelt on the floor away from the seven-pointed symbol to accept the Dead Three’s grace in anticipation for their task. First, the Banite flattened her right hand in a bowl of black ash, and applied a stamp of her palm to each of the Chosen’s foreheads, muttering a prayer to Bane before stepping back.

The Bhaalist stepped forward, and dipped his fore and middle fingers in a bowl of blood, painting the image of a crude, crimson skull over the centre of the black palm, uttering an invocation with crimson words, then stepping back in line to let the Myrkulyte walk back and forth in front of the Chosen, swinging a fragrant censer before them, while chanting.

He lowered it to the wooden floor, letting the chain pool around its base, before pulling out a black box of stark white bone dust. He used it to trace a reverse triangle encasing the black palm and crimson skull, beseeching Myrkul for his contribution to the Chosen’s success.

All three priests stepped back, chanting the same words together. As they did this, the ash, blood and bone dust began to dissipate from Gortash and Destri’s foreheads, but drew out the same symbol as a magic rune, floating sinisterly in front of their faces. It was the symbol of the Dead Three; in insidious unison. Once the chanting stopped, the symbol disappeared from the air as well, leaving a sense of motivation, approval, and encouragement from their united masters.

Gortash stood up, holding his hand for Destri to take, and pulling her up gently as well.

“Leave us,” he ordered the clerics, who bowed, and exited the room before closing the door behind them. He turned to Destri, his eyes soft, and his smile softer.

“Let me kiss you,” he insisted tenderly.

She grinned, flashing a fang, “We’re not going to die, Enver.”

“I know,” he said, stepping forward, and taking her gloved hands in his, “but if I kiss you now, you’ll know I wanted to before we are victorious, not after.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered, leaning in.

She let him kiss her, but easily melted into him when she felt how soft, and gentle it was. All the times they had been together, it had been a romp, or a punishment, or theatre. But at that moment, it was tender, and sweet. Back at Moonrise, Enver had confessed he didn’t know how to deal with her love, but that was clearly wrong. This was how to deal with it. Exactly this. It was how to hold her hips, then slide his arms around her, pulling her in closer. It was how to grin unexpectedly at the spark that fluttered between them as their lips met. It was how to pull away and look at her dreamily, his eyes scanning every feature of her face, and how to lean in for one more kiss, because he just couldn’t help himself.

When Gortash finally pulled away for good, Destri was weak at the knees and trembling, even though the hellish cold hadn’t even been a factor yet.

“That was…” she breathed dopily, licking her lips.

He smirked at her, content with the effect his embrace had, and relishing the warmth in his chest he felt at her touch; the sensation alone could warm him in the icy darkness of Cania.

“Come now,” he said, “the Crown awaits us.”

Destri nodded, unable to wipe the grin from her face, and turned to step towards the symbol on the floor. She placed the tome in the centre circle, and stepped back, before lifting a mostly-melted candle from the desk behind her. She looked at Gortash, who nodded, then she gently tossed the candle in as well, wick first.

The moment the flame met the flaky, spongy leather, the entire book erupted in flames, as if doused in alchemist’s fire. A pillar of icy hellfire burst upward towards the ceiling, before being pulled inward into the centre of the book. The ashes of the charred tome began falling inward as well, as if sucked into a vortex, which expanded outward wider and wider, until a full portal was formed. Without warning, a blast of frigid wind spewed forth from the portal, and swirled around the room, causing parchments and notes from the desks to go spiralling violently.

They looked at one another, and in tandem reached into their satchels to take out the frost-resist potions Lilla had packed them. They drank them together, feeling the warming effects immediately.

“This is as good as it’s going to get,” Destri told Enver, and with a smirk, jumped straight into the portal.

It reminded him of the false memory they shared where she dove into the Chionthar when they were children, making him grin boyishly before leaping in after her.

Chapter 28: CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Chapter Text

The world somersaulted around Gortash.

He landed feet-first in snow up to his knees, and the intense freezing winds burned his face before he could even blink away the disorientation.

“Enver!” he heard Destri’s voice somewhere in the distance, beyond the churning blizzard. He was surprised when he felt her hand grasp his, as she was much closer than she sounded; the frigid gales had carried her voice away like it was nothing.

She pulled him forward into a place where the winds weren’t so abrasive. Gortash rubbed his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, finally able to look around. They were tucked in an icy crevice, embedded in a sheer, cliffside glacier. The portal they had arrived from was situated on an outcropping just big enough for the two of them, and Gortash had realised if Destri hadn’t led him to safety, he could have easily stepped off the edge to his doom.

They took a moment to take in the vast, dark landscape of Cania. They were thankfully high above the other colossal glaciers in the distance, away from the tumultuous devastation of tectonic chaos. The glaciers were moving; smashing into one another in (quite literally) earth-shattering contest to be the last one standing.

It appeared Helsik had done her part admirably, aligning the portal directly under Mephistar, close enough to access the dungeon, but out of sight from suspicious eyes.

“Let’s go,” Destri whispered, clearer now that they were in the shelter of the crevice. She sidled further through the gap, watching her warped reflection in the glossy ice walls oscillate from stretched to squat and back again. Once she and Gortash stepped into a larger cavern, they held their breaths at the sinister sight.

It was a massive oubliette; a graveyard of sorts, spanning many different levels that connected back and forth with precarious bridges of ice. Lining almost every foot of the cavern were statues…no…ice-bound bodies of prisoners, or corpses. They carefully tiptoed past the poor souls who had been encased in icy tombs with terrified expressions frozen on their faces.

“We mustn’t linger…” Enver whispered, encouraging Destri froward as she curiously regarded a massive frozen polar bear.

They wove their way up the sides of the room, and across many slippery bridges until they came to a sheer, cylindrical wall that prevented them from climbing any higher. The icy barrier was smooth, but behind the glassy surface were more corpses entombed for eternity.

“How do we get up?” Destri asked, looking around for a foothold, and seeing only smooth ice.

Enver pulled her in close, and she felt something hard press against her hip, making her grin slyly, “Enver, is that a grappling hook in your pocket, or are you just happy to-”

He pulled out the grappling hook and rope with a look of mock exasperation on his face. Some sort of contraption was strapped to his arm that looked like a miniature crossbow, in which he set the hook in with a satisfying “click.”

He raised his free arm above his head, and the crossbow released, slinging the hook directly upward, followed by the spiralling length of rope. They both watched quietly as the barb caught the edge of the sheer wall expertly, before Enver gave it a hard tug to assure it was secure.

“Hang on,” he commanded Destri with a proud grin, gripping her tight, and encouraging her to do so back. The moment she wrapped her arms around his neck, the crossbow emitted another “click,” and the rope began spooling into some contraption under Enver’s cloak, yanking them upward as it pulled the rope with a mechanical ‘whirring’ sound. It wasn’t a vast distance to travel, but if he hadn’t brought such a device, their mission may have been extended significantly, forcing them to find another way into the vault.

Once they reached the top edge of the oubliette, Enver hoisted Destri up first, who once on horizontal ground, reached down to pull him up. He took a moment to retrieve his grappling hook, in case they had need of it again, while Destri kept watch with her intense amber eyes.

The cavernous hall was devoid of guards, or debtors, or even minions. Everything felt so unnervingly quiet, but Destri remembered Lilla mentioning Mephistopheles wasn’t one for company, though that didn’t mean there weren’t traps and failsafes around.

They carefully made their way down the vast hallway; the walls, floor and vaulted ceiling carved meticulously from crystal clear ice, all embellished with gold filigree. Despite the sinister darkness, the crystalline shimmer of the glacial walls, paired with the golden decor, offered its own sense of beauty.

When it came time to choose a direction at a junction, Enver immediately gestured left. Destri wondered how he even knew which way to go, but recalled Lilla had essentially constructed a map from scratch, using various sources, and her master had completely memorised it. A mixed emotion welled in her gut at the sweetness of Lilla’s devotion to Gortash, as well as the looming tragedy of her potential demise.

“This way,” Gortash whispered, gripping her arm, pulling her around the corner, but immediately stopping short.

They were face-to-face with a human woman, whose body was almost fully encased in ice, except for her head. When the woman saw them, her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth.

“Uh, oh…” she whispered

Gortash and Destri froze.

“Uh, oh!” the woman said, louder, beginning to smile insidiously, “Uh, oh! UH, OH! UH, OH! UH, OH! UH, OH! UHgh-”

Destri had lunged forward and thrust a dagger into the woman’s throat, causing hot blood to spill forth over the icy casing, dribbling to the floor in steamy pools.

“Uhghh, ohhhhgg. Uhhg. Ohhhhgg… Uhggg…Ouhhhh…” The woman was attempting to gurgle on with what seemed like her own vocal siren, while a flush sense of satisfaction tore through Destri’s body as she watched the human struggle through to her last breath.

“Good job, now let’s move,” Enver nudged her, breaking her out of her murderous euphoria.

Thankfully, it seemed like the living alarm hadn’t caught the attention of anything bigger and more authoritative, so they continued to tip-toe towards the vault. Once they were at the end of the dim hallway, Enver stopped at what seemed like just another wall; but at second glance Destri saw it was in fact a grand window made of glassy ice, sealed completely flush to the wall.

Enver rummaged through his pack, and gingerly pulled out a small, cushioned sack. From it emerged a glowing orange bottle of Alchemist’s Fire.

“Hold out your dagger,” he hushed an order to Destri. Her blade was still slathered with blood from her kill, so she wiped it clean on her cloak before doing as Enver said. He very delicately tipped some of the combustible liquid across her blade, and after a few seconds, it had absorbed into the crimson metal completely, leaving soft licks of flame that travelled lazily towards the tip.

“Cut us a door, if you please, my dear,” Gortash stepped back to give her some room to work.

Destri held up the tip of her blade to the glassy surface of the sheer ice wall, which emitted a satisfying hiss as the two elements met. She braced the pommel with her palm, and pushed; the dagger easily sunk deep to the hilt. She slowly and carefully outlined an opening big enough for each of them to fit through in single-file, then stepped back to let Enver push the block of ice out of the way.

They ducked through the opening, and both struggled to keep themselves from gasping at the incredible sight before them. They stood in a colossal room, multiple stories high, and long enough that the end couldn’t even be seen through darkness. Hundreds of vast ice pillars, wrapped with golden staircases spanned the room, each reaching up all the way to the ceiling. There were no lanterns, or torches to be seen, but above them idly hung huge, slimy glow worms; granting the appearance of a starry night sky.

As the pair quietly stepped further into the room, they saw each pillar acted more like a pedestal, holding various magical objects encased within the ice. It was the Archive -Mephistopheles’ Vault- and the Crown of Karsus had to be in there…somewhere.

“How in the hells are we to find it?” Destri asked Enver, looking from pillar to pillar.

“With this,” he grinned, pulling out a small palm-sized box, and unhinging the jewelled lid. A tiny golden pixie within was huddled in the foetal position, but as the box opened, it sat up smoothly, stretched its arms, and stood up. It was so delicately intricate, Destri’s pupils dilated immediately, thinking it was real at first. But the moment the clockwork pixie began to spin and twirl in dance, a hauntingly beautiful song chimed along with it.

“Is that a music box?” Destri whispered, enchanted.

“Precisely,” Gortash confirmed, holding the box at arm’s length, slowly walking forward, “It was salvaged from Eileanar - Karus’s Enclave, after the Folly. It is drawn to its own magic, and should lead us to the Crown…or at least will narrow down the Netherese items in this room…”

Destri gawked at him, “That’s…genius...”

“It was Lilla’s idea,” he said with a weary grin.

“Where did you get it?”

“She may still be, yet. We’ll have to see how well this works...”

They walked in silence for a few moments, listening to the sad, beautiful melody as the metal pixie twirled and danced; much too graceful for an ordinary mechanical item. After a while, a violet glow sparkled high above them, atop one of the pillars.

“Come,” Gortash whispered, making his way up the spiralling golden staircase. When they got close to the shimmering item, they saw it wasn’t a crown, but some potion secured in a beautifully constructed bottle. “We’ll keep looking,” he said, and ushered Destri back down the stairs.

It didn’t take long for another item to light up with the beautiful purple hue, though it again was no crown; only a tablet. However, Gortash noticed the tablet was etched with the ancient language of the nobles of Netheril; Loross. This confirmed the music box was indeed doing its job, and they simply had to keep looking…though time was of the essence. It would be unwise to linger in the vault longer than required.

They passed a few more pillars that held artefacts from Netheril, but the Crown was nowhere yet to be found. That is until they came upon one particular pillar that almost entirely glowed, due to the magic song of the Netherese music box.

“It has to be in there somewhere…” Destri whispered, darting up the stairs, “I’ll start at the top, you search from the base.”

“Affirmative,” Gortash nodded, closing the music box, and storing it back under his cloak.

They scanned item after item, almost losing confidence, until about halfway up, Gortash spied the three gems…

“Pssst!” he gestured for Destri to descend to him.

“That’s it?” she whispered, unimpressed, “It doesn’t even look like a crown, really.”

“What it looks like is inconsequential,” Gortash said with wide, excited eyes, “This is it.”

“Do we get it out the same way as we got in?”

Gortash pulled out the bottle of Alchemist’s Fire in response; only a few more drops remained; enough to release the crown from its icy casing.

As before, Destri let Gortash dribble the last of the liquid onto her blade, and she waited for it to ignite with lazy flames before sinking the dagger into the pillar next to the Crown.

“Taper the cut,” Gortash advised, “We need to pull it out as a wedge, not a block - otherwise it won’t release from the back.”

Destri nodded, focusing carefully; she didn’t have much time before the enchantment to her dagger dissipated. She breathed methodically as she painstakingly guided the dagger around the crown while the solid ice sizzled in protest at the heated blade.

The moment the cut had completed, she tried to pry the wedge of ice free, but it stuck fast. She tried from the bottom, then the side, but it only slid a tiny fraction forward.

“Enver…” she turned to him in a panicked whisper, “I can’t get it out.”

“Lend me one of your daggers,” he suggested, holding his hand out. She quickly unsheathed her offhand from her hip, and placed the handle in his palm.

They both sunk their respective daggers into each side of the crown, and on Enver’s count, they pried as hard as they could.

“Be ready to catch it, lest it goes flying across the room…One….Two…THREE!” They both pushed the handles of their blades forward, using their combined body weight to force the wedge of ice from the pillar with the daggers. The encased Crown shifted reluctantly at first, but then slid out with another full shove from both of them.

The wedge of ice flung outwards, threatening to fly into the darkness, when Destri’s feline reflexes triggered, and she reached out to stop it from plummeting to the floor. She clutched it to her chest, eyes wide, gawking in suspense at Enver.

He began to smirk, then she followed, grinning wildly at their success.

“We have it…” he said, barely able to believe it, “Hand it here.” Destri passed the icy wedge to him, and he tucked it into the satchel that slung across his chest. “Now we just need to-”

A cracking sound interrupted him, and they both spun to look at the pillar; a massive crack in the ice had begun crawling up and down the length of it. They held their breaths for a moment, as if exhaling would encourage the fracture to grow, but it started up again anyway, setting in motion a branch of fresh cracks between the other Netheril artefacts.

“We have to go, NOW,” Enver hissed, and pulled Destry by the hand, down the golden stairs to the base of the pillar; the fracture chasing them menacingly as they ran.

The moment they reached solid ground, the entire pillar ruptured violently, sending shards of ice and magical artefacts flying in all directions. Enver shielded Destri with his body as frozen chunks crashed into him, then sped towards the exit at full tilt, pulling her with him without another hesitation.

As they ran, the cavernous room began to tremble with a terrifying, resonant energy; they knew they did not want to find out who or what they had awoken. When the crystalline glass door was finally in view, they felt some relief, and darted towards the hole Destri had carved…that is until they saw an immensely large, incandescent beetle scuttle through from the other side. It stopped when it detected them, screeching loudly. Gortash silenced it with a bolt loosed from his compact crossbow, pinning it to the ice with a sickening crunch. Another beetle shuffled through the hole, then another; both of which scuttled menacingly towards them with their carapaces cracked open, clacking their wings threateningly. Another two bolts loosed from Enver’s wrist, taking them out, but more beetles came swarming through the opening; some racing towards Destri and Gortash, shrieking, while others ran up the wall, chipping at the ice.

One of the beetles flew towards Destri in attempt to take her out, but she sliced it out of the air with a flourish; however the green bile that sprayed from its abdomen splashed her arm, searing the skin.

“Their blood is like acid!” She hollered in pain, watching the skin of her forearm sizzle.

Gortash was shooting beetles out of the air, while walking backward, trying to think quickly. He pulled a scroll from his satchel, and glanced at it before squeezing it in his fist, turning it to ash, and absorbing the spell within. Flames spun around him as a massive fireball ejected from his palm, flinging a blazing eruption that landed explosively where the highest density of beetles swarmed.

A good majority of them were engulfed in flames, screeching and shrieking as they flipped onto their backs, scorched and dying. To Enver’s satisfaction, the rest of the beetles began to retreat back through the hole in the ice, but only to make way for something else…

Something tall and dark lumbered into view, blurred behind the icy wall. He thought at first it was a hooded figure, dark and sinister, until the cloak split in two, and four massive, insect-like wings splayed outward. It leaned down to poke its head through the hole, giving Enver and Destri a better look. It was a massive, beetle-like creature, with giant clacking mandibles, and a disgusting, hairy proboscis. When its large, insect eyes locked onto them, it co*cked its grotesque head, and shrieked loudly with an unnerving pitch, before spewing sickening green acid towards them from its proboscis.

“We need to find another way out, let’s go!” Enver called to Destri, who needed no more encouragement to get as far away from the monstrosity as possible.

They chose a direction, and followed the wall, praying to Bhaal and Bane to lead them to some alternate exit. Meanwhile, the massive beetle creature was tearing at the ice wall, trying to open the hole Destri had made larger, so it could pursue them. They had no interest in letting it, and ran full-speed the length of the wall, unsure where the darkness would take them.

Eventually, colder air began to pierce their skin, and their breaths began to emit puffs of mist.

“There!” Destri panted, pointing towards an opening in the wall where some dim, natural light from the world outside barely shone through.

They sprinted towards it, hearing the creature behind them screech shrilly from the darkness, hunting them. When Destri and Gortash arrived at the end of the room, the small opening, big enough for each of them to crawl through, was their only solace.

“Go, go!” Enver shoved Destri, who did not hesitate, and crouched down on her hands and knees to shuffle through the crack in the wall. When she got to the other side, the freezing Canian winds seared her skin, almost ripping her from the sheer cliffside with its force. She flattened herself to the glacial wall, waiting for Enver to emerge. Looking down; she saw she was standing on a small ledge that ran the length of the sheer cliff wall. Below them was a dark, misty abyss, yawning in anticipation for them to feed it.

When Gortash finally squeezed himself through the opening, she hoisted him up and held him stable, “Are you okay?” she shouted over the churning blizzard.

Gripping onto her, he prayed to Bane he didn’t get pulled from the cliffside by the raging storm around them. He didn’t answer, but looked around to get a sense of direction. They could be anywhere on the outer edge of Mephistar, and getting back to the portal could be another deadly challenge. Unfortunately, their only option was to pick a direction, and follow the precarious ledge until they found something more substantial to grip onto, before deciding how to proceed to the portal. Gortash closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the map to Mephistar in his mind’s eye, flipping and turning it around in hopes it helped solidify which way to traverse.

“Left,” he said, when he finally opened his eyes. Enver slid by Destri to take the lead, flattened his back to the sheer face of the fortress. He covered his head and face with the enchanted cowl to leave only his eyes visible, and began sidling along the edge. Destri followed his lead; the raging winds clawing at her cloak, and threatening to yank her into the icy void below. If she were to fall, at best she would simply hit solid ground and die instantly, or be crushed by a runaway glacier, eagerly looking to smash into its neighbour. At worst, her body would wedge itself perfectly in one of the crevasses that tapered to a thin point, liquifying her legs until she died in agony.

“Father I beg you…” she whispered into the howling storm, wondering if her words could even reach him in his bloody realm. She felt completely ill-equipped to deal with such an environment, despite all their preparations. If the heist required her to cut through hundreds -even thousands- of throats, she would have shone like the crimson eclipse…but all she could do here was helplessly grip to the side of a mountain, and pray she didn’t get swept away by a wrathful gale.

“There!” she heard Gortash’s voice over the winds. Destri clutched the wall, and leaned forward carefully to see what he was pointing at. Perhaps twenty feet away, and ten feet below, was the ledge that held their portal; welcoming them to safety and victory. However, the ledge they were standing on had run out.

“How do we get across?” she asked.

Enver again rummaged into his pack, pulling out another scroll. Lilla had managed to find him a Dimension Door spell, which she insisted on packing. Her over-preparation was indeed becoming a great boon to them, and he couldn’t help but grin with chapped, frozen lips.

He held the scroll in his fist, about to absorb the spell - when a spray of stinging acid from above splashed his hand, as well as the scroll. He yelped in pain, and watched the parchment disintegrate before his eyes. They looked up, and directly above them was the hideous, man-sized beetle, gripping the the sheer side of the fortress with its many, spindly legs.

“Oh f*ck…” Enver muttered under his breath. The beetle-thing shrieked in rage, beginning to scuttle menacingly down the cliff towards them. “Hold on!” Enver ordered Destri, as he grabbed her waist, and pointed his grappling hook towards a small, overhanging boulder; hoping and praying it was secure, “I’m relying on you to cut the rope at the right time!”

The grapple let loose, and the hook found its mark; but they had no time to test its reliability as the beetle monstrosity crawled towards them, spraying acid. They jumped together, then plunged a few feet until the rope went taut, causing Enver to grunt at the straining weight. However, he held fast, and they began swinging towards the outcropping below; their eyes welling with tears as they sped through the frigid air. Just as they made it to the end of the swing, Destri flipped a dagger in her hand and sliced the rope, allowing them a few more feet of momentum, as they plummeted towards the outcropping.

They braced themselves for impact, but thankfully the thick snow broke their fall as they landed several feet from the portal. There was no time for reprieve, however, as the monster shrieked in anger, and opened its carapace to display its wings; ready to fly down towards them. Destri and Gortash began trudging through the snow towards the portal as fast as they could; the sweat on their foreheads freezing immediately, and the air stinging their lungs as they wheezed raggedly.

The beetle monster raced towards them, but a massive gush of wind shoved it mid-air against the side of the fortress, causing a tremor, and shaking loose an overhang of snow that had clutched precariously to the wall above. The monstrosity was engulfed in the falling avalanche, while the massive snowfall plummeted towards Destri and Gortash.

“Go, go!” he urged. She felt him shove his satchel into her hand, before pushing her forward into the portal.

The world flipped around, and she landed with a thud on the other side in the Devil’s Fee, disoriented. Before she was able to get her bearings, a deluge of snow exploded upward through the portal like a geyser; so forcefully it hit the ceiling, and filled the entire room halfway with white powder, until the portal finally closed, shutting off the chaos like a tap.

After that was silence. No raging winds, no screeching beetle…no Enver.

“Enver?!” Destri cried in panic, hoisting herself out of the packed snow, and glancing around in desperation.

Nothing.

“ENVER,” she yelled, beginning to dig in the snow at random.

Then she heard his muffled voice from somewhere under the avalanche. She estimated his location, and began burrowing vigorously, until Gortash’s head was finally visible. He spluttered and inhaled deeply once he was able to breathe again.

“Do you have it!?” was all he said, despite the rest of his body being buried by packed snow.

Destri held up his satchel, and opened it, just to be sure. She pulled out the ice block that contained the Crown of Karsus, and Enver rested his head back into the snow, with a satisfied grin.

“I’d like a hot bath now,” he muttered, exhausted.

“I need to kill something,” Destri moaned, her hunger aroused by their victory, and her tail twitching.

“And I’ll need some compensation for the damages to my study,” Helsik’s unimpressed voice came from behind them.

Destri spun around to see the dwarf warlock glaring at them, annoyed by the snowy destruction that engulfed the room.

---

That night, Gortash relaxed in his private chambers, soaking in what was probably the single best hot bath he had ever had.

His bones still held the chill from the frozen layer of hell, but it was nothing compared to the victory he basked in while he turned the Crown of Karus over and over, admiring its craftsmanship.

Infinite possibilities awaited him, and he was eager to explore them through the auspices of the Illithid Elder Brain. First though, the Grand Tournament was tomorrow, and he was expected to attend as the Chosen of Bane; his success as the leader of the Banites in Faerûn was progressing with utmost triumph.

He didn’t, however, relish the thought of watching Lilla die at the hands of some beast in the colosseum, or by Banite weapon in single combat…but he prepared himself for such an outcome regardless. The least he could do was respect her service to him, (and her love, such as it was,) by overseeing her sacrifice to Bane, and to say a prayer for her soul to be regarded in Banehold with glory.

Enver pursed his lips grimly, thumbing the hauntingly beautiful Netherstones inset in the Crown, as he thought about Lilla’s perfect form, and flawless servitude - until a knock at his chamber door pulled him from his memories. He sat up in the water, placing the crown on the side table.

“Who is it?” he demanded. If it were Destri, she would have just come in through the balcony. Unless it was some polite intruder, it must have been…

“It’s Therette, My Lord,” the drow’s muffled voice came from behind the oak doors.

“Well get in here!” Gortash commanded irritably, standing up and reaching for a towel, “Where in the HELLS have you been-”

He was stopped short at the image of the lanky old drow, entering the room, dressed in what looked like colourful desert attire, including a red linen cowl, and sheathed scimitar.

“Calimport, My Lord,” Therette answered, stepping into the chamber, “I only just arrived with a caravan of Banites looking to attend the tournament tomorrow.”

Gortash wrapped the towel around his waist, glaring at the elf, “I beg your pardon, but WHY did you feel it prudent to take a trip all the way to Calimshan? Have you gathered the information I requested on Lilla?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Therette drawled, reaching into his dusty cloak, pulling out a stack of parchments, rolled up and tied with a black ribbon, “The investigation into the girl brought me to Calimport. It could not be helped.”

Gortash took the papers his butler held out for him, dumbfounded, “Did you read these?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“And?”

“I believe it may be best for you to read on your own, My Lord.”

Gortash gawked at the papers for a moment, before collecting himself, “Thank you, Therette,” he said finally, “I apologise for my shortness.”

“Apology accepted, My Lord. May I perhaps take some time off, to recuperate from my sun-sickness?”

Gortash looked at Therette, realising the old drow’s eyes were red and swollen -more than usual, at least- and it was obvious a dark elf did not fare well in the sunny desert- of course he wouldn’t have.

“Of course, Therette…thank you for your service. You’ve gone above and beyond…as you always have.”

“My Lord,” Therette bowed deeply, and left Gortash to pluck at the black ribbon that held Lilla’s mystery together.

Chapter 29: CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Chapter Text

Gortash hadn’t even had a chance to sit down to read the report Therette had brought him.

He stood in the middle of his chamber, flipping through the pages intently, eagerly. The stack of parchments were ordered in a fashion that unfolded Lilla’s story in chronological order, starting with some official documents, stamped with the black palmprint of Bane…

It appeared she was born in Calimport, or at least just outside of it. The Banite temple had been destroyed there many years ago, but as is the Banite way, they always seek to prevail. Apparently the secret sect there had been commissioned by Bane to attempt some type of experiment, in which two Banites conceived a child within an exploratory ritual.

As Gortash continued to read, he realised he had to finally sit down; each page brought a furrow to his brow, as he was taken aback by the revelation. The last document was a letter, which he read over, and over, and over again. Once he confirmed there was nothing to misconstrue, he gawked into nothingness, churning the new information around in his mind. This was…highly unusual, incredibly unnerving…and absolutely spectacular.

---

Destri stalked the warm summer rooftops of Baldur’s Gate.

As usual she silently lept from house to house, naked and barefoot. Sampling the scents of blood in the air, she selected the most delectable ones, and followed them as she pleased. She felt good in her skin again; feral, feline, elegant…sensual.

The tyrant made her feel sensual too, but never like this. When she was with him, he was in control…she liked that. When she was by herself, though, her control was at the tip of her blade, in a poor fool’s throat or gullet. She liked that too.

It had been too long since she hunted multiple times in one night. Her sacrifices to her father as of late had been only to offset her withdrawals, but tonight was a celebration. Tonight was for her Father and the Crown. Bhaal had recently given her some leeway, thanks to her new appointment as Chosen, which was a bit ironic. A bit funny. One would think Chosen of Bhaal would be expected to ramp up their sacrifices. To Kill more. And often. But Bhaal kept her from going mad a tenday at a time so she could attend more boring matters, alleviating her withdrawals if she didn’t partake in his crimson sacrament. There would be ample time to ‘expand her portfolio’ as the tyrant would say, once he put his plan in motion.

Gortash wasn’t there on the rooftop with her to make her bumble and tumble into his arms. She stood tall; tail twitching, and scanning the darkness for the soft bits of a torso to shred open, or a silky throat to sever.

Destri. Destroy. Destruction. It was in her name. Decimation and obliteration. Desolation and ruination. The beauty of life was too delicate to flourish without the edge of blade, and tonight she yearned for that beauty to exalt her with hot, red showers.

The scents of Baldur’s Gate were intoxicating. She had almost forgotten how delectable they were when she was at Moonrise, where the aroma was already dead and decayed. Or Cania, when no smell at all permeated the air; which was almost worse. Now she was home, where the sweet berry pies awaited on windowsills, making her imagination run wild with all the ways she can make ribbons with flesh, and squish warm entrails between her fingers.

Midnight was perfect in the Lower City. It was when all the fools had begun drunkenly stumbling home, aching for her blade. She learned from an early age that alcohol thinned the blood, making it spread more evenly across her face and skin when the artery was nicked at the perfect angle. It took her several years to get it right, but now it was like breathing to her.

She followed a savoury scent -many, in fact- towards a pack of intoxicated humans who had cornered a poor, defenceless half-elf barmaid in an alleyway. Destri watched from above, as they jeered and berated her; alone and nowhere to run. Something even darker than her bloodthirst caressed her loins, encouraging her to watch to see if they would tear the girl’s clothes off and have their way…she liked watching.

She could kill them all after the men were done with the elf…but Destri decided it would be more fun to sever their life from flesh while their co*cks were still engorged with erotic blood.

One of the humans had the elf girl pressed against a barrel; his tongue hideously assaulting her neck, sucking at her skin, while she tried to push him away. She wouldn’t be raped today, Destri thought, thanks to me.

She dropped silently behind the four human men, and the elf girl saw her first.

“Saer!” the woman pleaded to Destri, “Please, help me!”

Of course, Destri thought, I will be your saviour.

The men turned around to see who had interrupted their fun, and began to smirk and guffaw at the sight of the naked tiefling.

“Humans…” she purred, shifting her body sensually, and pointing the tip of her dagger towards them, “Were you going to harm this young lady?”

The elf’s eyes widened in confusion at Destri’s nakedness, and nonchalance at the situation.

“Aye,” one man with deep brown skin confessed shamelessly, “but we’re accepting volunteers tonight.”

“That’s right!” another human, fat with flaming red hair and freckles chimed in, “The more the merrier, aye? Looks like you’re already prepared for us…”

The rugged men laughed comically evil laughs as they regarded Destri’s naked body. She began to laugh with them; the sinister giggle she had picked up as a child when she first realised how beautiful blood was.

Her laugh unnerved the men, as well as the elf girl, so the darker one lunged towards her. She continued to giggle playfully, as if she were joining in a game; but the game was her blade singing through his lower abdomen. He stumbled forward as his intestines gushed out, and tumbled towards ground, causing him to trip and slip on them. Shocked, he tried to pull them back in as he toppled over, but fell face-first into a puddle of soil the men had left in the alley earlier.

“You f*cking BITCH!” the redhead screamed, darting towards her, and unsheathing his own dagger. He raised it to strike Destri, but she continued to giggle playfully, childlike, and spun effortlessly while catching his trachea with the edge of her crimson lash. He lumbered forward in surprise, watching Destri moan as his hot blood showered her entire body; face and all, before toppling over, hitting the cobbles with a thud.

The two other men came at her together, but she lept upward, somersaulting in the air elegantly, and landing silently behind them, before plunging each dagger into their lower spines. The men arched their backs in pain before Destri pulled upwards, encouraging more bloodmist to gush forward onto her lavender skin. Both men froze, paralysed by the severance of their nervous stalk. All the while, Destri was constructing a new cello piece in her mind, inspired by the men’s courage, and determination.

When all four humans were sprawled on the ground around Destri in a perfect circle, she spun around -a blood-bathed ballerina- and bowed with daggers in hand to the cowering barmaid, who had watched the entire show in horror.

“What do you think?” she asked the half-elf, looking up at her with glowing amber eyes “I am accepting critiques.”

“...Thank you…milady…thank you for saving me…”

Destri straightened herself up, looking down at the beautiful creature, co*cking her head to the side.

“I saved you from those nasty men, didn’t I?” she asked with an air of solemn curiosity.

“Yes!” the woman agreed, “H-how can I repay you?”

Destri thought for a moment. A flutter of imagination brought her to the tyrant’s quarters again. He could tie the barmaid up and have his way with her while she watched. She liked watching, and he liked tying and f*cking. It was hard to believe the woman wouldn’t enjoy the tyrant herself… But she knew his mind wouldn’t be in the right place for a new toy, while Lilla awaited her sentence. She wondered if he would even accept such a gift in the first place, and decided to keep the fun fantasy to herself. For now, anyway.

“I’d like you to meet my father, if that’s alright with you,” Destri purred, stepping closer.

The barmaid looked confused; scared even. Destri studied the women’s lovely features, knowing she would have been better off with the humans. At least they’d just use her to satisfy their co*cks, and leave her to work the next day, albeit sore, bruised and ashamed. But for Destri…her blood smelled too sweet. Like berry red pie.

“S-sure…” the barmaid said cautiously, “I have a few days off in-”

Her comment was cut short by Destri’s blade, easily slicing through her neck. Soft butter. Lightning quick. Lickety split. The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and her blood-spray graced Destri’s entire body with crimson ecstasy.

“Thank you, Father!” Destri whimpered, as the murder god’s pleasure gripped her nerves and her mind, vibrating in her bones and her core. That was the right one. The others were foreplay.

When her unholy climax had ended, and the barmaid crumpled to the ground in a puddle of mixed blood. Destri craved the tyrant, and so made her way towards his manor.

---

Gortash had read through Lilla’s dossier multiple times over when Destri lept from the great oak tree, and landed on his balcony.

“Aren’t you a bloody mess…” he muttered in distaste when he saw her, “I just had that rug replaced before we left for Cania, you know…”

Destri looked down to see the brand new rug, just as gaudy as the last; now soiled from her bloody footprints. So beautiful.

“Sorry,” she said, clearly not meaning it, before she stepped towards his bed.

“Don’t you dare- ugh…” Gortash rolled his eyes in defeat as Destri flung her bloody body into his bed, once again destroying his silk sheets.

“I smell the drow,” Destri said, admiring her crimson-stained hands, now that it was under candlelight, instead of blackened by moonlight.

“Therette has returned with word about Lilla’s upbringing…I’d invite you to read it too, but...well…” he gestured in annoyance to the mess Destri had made.

“Run me a bath?” she asked, smirking.

---

Gortash had promised Therette a break, and therefore filled the luxurious copper tub himself, just like the day Destri had first visited him in his chambers.

She was making a habit of ruining his rugs and sheets, but something about it seemed endearing; like it was their own little inside joke; one he had ample funds to play perpetually.

Lowering herself into the steaming, aromatic waters, Destri groaned in pleasure. Passing the threshold into the tyrant’s domain cleared her mind-matter of the feral buzzing, and brought her back to her real self…though at this point, she wasn’t really which one was which; both domains gave her their own brand of ecstasy... Though at least when she was under the tyrant’s roof, she was more articulate, more comfortable, and cared about more… beyond spilling blood.

Gortash was changing his sheets, awaiting Destri to finish reading Lilla’s dossier while she soaked in his bath. She read silently, until finally getting to the very last document; a letter written by the former Black Gauntlet of a sect of Banites in Calimshan. The previous documents indicated they performed magical religious experiments away from the bustling population, and took up in some sandy ruins within a hidden oasis in the desert northeast of Calimport.

The report was dated near twenty-five years ago; she read it aloud:

“To the next Faithful who finds this report, it is imperative this information stay classified, and only available to those at the highest ranks of the temple.

Bane had tasked us with an experiment to breed a child of His blood, in His name. We have done so with the intent to raise the child under Bane’s Edict, but have failed in doing so.

While this child-oracle is indeed infused with the will to seek out the next Chosen, and serve them with undying passion as their bodyguard and vassal, we have run into difficulties with applying the Edict to her curriculum.

Her parents were the first to reject teaching the Edict to the child; unable to subject her to the harshness required to grow strong with Bane’s will, and therefore have been executed in shame, accordingly.

However, the girl was taken into the care of another Banite overseer - selected for his abject ruthlessness, but he too was unable to subject the child to the Edict. He was found lacking in duty, and was caught treating her like a weak, civilian child; feeding her sweets, playing music and reading with her - essentially loving her unconditionally, as a father would.

The overseer was executed as well, but we soon learned that no Banite in the sect was able to treat the child with fear and loathing. In fact, every Faithful -such as we were- found they were only able to regard the child with love and care, and recoiled at any pain inflicted upon her when attempting to subject her to Bane’s teachings.

We have reason to believe the experimental ritual had an inverse effect -rather than spurring on the hateful ruthlessness befitting a Banite, the child draws love from others… even against their knowledge. We believe she is an abomination to Bane, and she must be executed to hide his shame, but we were unable to bring ourselves to commit such an act against her.

Acknowledging that we had failed in our unholy task, but could not dispose of her, we instead erased the child’s memories, and sent her to the steps of an Ilmater temple within Calimport. This was in hopes to provide her a better life, under the care of more suitable subjects. At the time of writing this report, I have reason to believe the girl is being transported somewhere north, to some distant Ilmater temple, and away from the slaver society of Calimport.

Our sect has agreed unanimously to commit our souls to Banehold in shame, so that our lord can judge our spirits. We have accepted this wholly, and only wish that the girl finds a loveable home, and a better life. We have learned love is too precious a thing to snuff out, and are within sound mind to admit we have failed Bane in all regards. Pray for our souls, as we acknowledge the eternal suffering we will endure at His Black Hand.

Dreadmaster Amedius Kharne”

A long silence followed once Destri completed reading the letter aloud…Gortash waited in an armchair while she read it again quietly, while soaking in the tub. After a few more moments of silence, Destri began to laugh her flowery laugh. It was musical, and pleasant, but Gortash furrowed his brow.

“It’s rather not that funny…” he insisted.

“It’s a little funny!” Destri continued to laugh, deeper and harder as the information hit her. It tickled her stomach, and the absurdity washed over her in layers, causing her to laugh more and more. “You were right about one thing, tyrant,” she chuckled, holding her stomach as her laughs made the warm water around her ripple, “Lilla was made for you! She found the Chosen of Bane…”

Gortash ran a hand through his messy black hair. She was right…Lilla was indeed infused with Bane’s will in some way…but it had been incomplete; incorrect. Bane had made some dire mistake.

Destri lifted the letter over her head, reading through it again, and laughing even harder, “Bane really f*cked this one up…”

Gortash said nothing while clenching his fist uncomfortably.

“Lilla was supposed to accept your tyrant god’s teaching, but every single Banite in that sandy old church couldn’t bear to treat her poorly…she’s quite literally TOO GOD-DAMNED LOVEABLE! BAH! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!” She flung her head back onto the cushion, clasping a hand to her forehead with glee.

Gortash only cleared his throat, unable to argue.

“You know what this means?” Destri asked him, craning her neck so she could see him better, “You were worried this whole time that Lilla’s love for you wasn’t genuine…and maybe you are right…But you never stopped to think that your love for her wasn’t of your own free will either!”

Gortash glowered…he hated not feeling in control of his emotions…even if the revelation wasn’t entirely negative for him personally, it had dire implications on the Banite church…and Bane himself.

“All this time, you were drawn to Lilla as much as she was drawn to you…you had no choice in the matter…” Destri emitted another fresh batch of laughter, making Gortash clench his fist.

“If you’re quite finished…”

“Oh, I certainly am not,” Destri assured him, “This is too good. She is truly a Banespawn!”

“Good grief…” Gortash murmured, irritated.

“This is why Bane wanted to get rid of her…” Destri realised, confirming Gortash’s discontent, “He was scared of her…or he couldn’t bear someone so loveable came from his own making…”

She wasn’t wrong…and the revelation brought on more concern regarding his faith than he had dared to consider. It explained why Bane wanted Lilla gone, and also implied what Rugan said about Lilla’s boon could be true…

Gortash stood up, and began pacing the room, exasperated.

“As Chosen, by all rights it's my responsibility to get rid of her…” he said, attempting to maintain some authority in his voice. He hated the words coming from his mouth, but he was Bane’s Chosen. He was selected to make difficult decisions for his lord. Of course he was…

Destri rolled her eyes, “Oh here we go…” She dropped the dossier on the floor before picking up the Crown of Karsus that sat on the side table next to her. It’s the first time she had seen and held it outside of its icy casing. It was heavier than she expected, but the way it balanced in her hand made it feel otherworldly, like it existed outside the law of gravity. It called to her, whispering a promise if she just placed it on her head…

She put it back onto the table, deciding there would be much time to acquaint herself with the Crown’s power later.

“So what now,” Destri asked, stretching her body out under the water, and gripping a bar of soap with her tail before handing it to herself, “We go watch Lilla win that idiotic tournament, just so after you can kill her while she looks up at you with those big, brown puppy dog eyes?”

“WE are not attending the tournament,” Gortash hissed, losing his patience, “YOU are not to set foot there. Knowing you, you’ve already figured out where it is... This is a Banite matter, and we agreed to keep out of each other’s affairs,”

“Unless your tongue is between my legs, that is. Or we are making a lifetime of memories by drinking each other’s blood potions… Ooh! Or sharing a romantic kiss before diving into hell together…” Destri replied flippantly while scrubbing her outstretched leg, not in the mood to entertain the tyrant’s tantrum.

“I have responsibilities, Destri,” he muttered from behind her, “Responsibilities that vastly extend beyond basic butchery,” he waved his hand in annoyance at the last couple words.

Destri stopped scrubbing, and placed the soap back in its cradle before rising slowly from the bath. Gortash said nothing, and when she turned around, his expression was stony… but a whisper of fear glimmered behind his obsidian eyes. She could almost smell it.

She stepped out of the tub and moved slowly towards Gortash, who cleared his throat, refusing to falter.

“Basic butchery?” she whispered sensually, circling him, “Release me from my oath, and I’ll show you the most spectacular butchery you’ve ever witnessed…”

Gortash rolled his eyes, but she saw his throat move with a dry swallow, “Please, this is no time for petty threats. We are allied in the same cause, and it would be a fool’s errand to stray from that now that we have the Crown…”

“When I first saw you…I was enamoured,” Destri whispered, brushing her tail up his thigh, “For weeks and weeks, I couldn’t decide in which way to butcher you…”

The comment made Gortash freeze. Though he held an uninterested expression, he waited in silence for her to continue. He felt cornered in his own home, and she would pay for that someday soon.

Destri continued circling him, taking in his scent, and relishing the honeyed hint of fear that wafted from his perspiration, “I finally landed on the perfect solution…” She shoved him down on the bed and straddled him, gripping her dagger from the side table with her tail, and placing it in her hand, as if it were her surgical assistant before she operated on a patient.

“Your blade is bound…” Gortash whispered the truth, but the uncertainty in his tone was obvious. She could sense the terror in his voice, and to her pleasant surprise, the bulge between his legs.

“Maybe…” she trailed the blade up to his chin, listening to the scrape of his stubble on the thin metal, “It’s not the first time I’ve sworn an oath in which my hunger had broken…” It wasn’t entirely true; her feral urge had indeed taken her the day she tried to kill Lilla, but she was still unable to harm the tyrant due to the first oath she swore.... He didn’t have to know that, though. It was better left ambiguous for such an occasion as this.

The shimmer of terror in Gortash’s eye was what she was waiting for, “You would be perfect,” she started, rubbing herself against the erection that pushed against his trousers, “First I would flay your skin, so, so carefully, so as not to tear it. It would be most difficult around your beautiful, smug grin, but I’m very good at slicing. Don’t worry, I’d treat it well too; moisturising it, preserving it… while I worked on the rest of you,” She ground a bit harder now, aroused by her imagination, as well as the combination of the tyrant’s fear, and hard co*ck beneath her.

“I’d peel every layer of you, and lay you out before me, so I can see every inch of you,” she continued, writhing against him with her blade at his throat, “ventricle by ventricle, sinew by sinew, until your entire being was splayed for my own pleasure to look upon. The hardest part would be separating your nervous system from the rest of you, but it would also be the most meticulous…”

Gortash’s breath hitched as he listened to the horrid description, while the Bhaalspawn ground against him erotically. He had too many emotions to deal with right now, so his co*ck was the easiest option to focus on. He and Destri had never actually engaged in true intercourse, and the thought of entering her unexpectedly drew out a groan from deep within his diaphragm. He couldn’t help himself…he may have been Chosen, but he was still a man. He gripped her naked thighs, staring up at her while she bared her fanged teeth with pleasure at his touch...Or perhaps rather, thought of his corpse.

“Does that sound basic enough for you, tyrant?” she whispered into his ear while she let him guide her hips to his desired tempo, “Your pretty entrails would be my centrepiece, perfectly arranged in a pink and crimson bouquet…”

Gortash emitted another moan, complicated by the contrasting sensory overload. He clenched her thighs harder, ready to climax, pulling her in with desperation…before she pushed herself off of him, and stepped to the balcony. Gortash cursed under his breath in dismay.

“If you let that young woman die,” Destri said, turning back to him, “I’ll find a way to pull you apart in the most delectable way possible. And Bane will simply find a new chosen to take your place.”

With that, she leapt effortlessly onto the railing, off the balcony and into the shadows of the oak tree; leaving Gortash quivering with dissatisfaction and fear. He hoisted himself up quickly, and darted to the balcony, placing one hand on the railing, and the other over his erection.

“You are not in control of your emotions!” he called out to the night, unsure if the Bhaalspawn could hear him, “You are under the girl’s spell!”

He pushed away from the railing in anger, knowing he too was under Lilla's spell. He was under the spell of both women, for that matter. Destri had gripped his heart in the most unnerving way, and he craved her presence when she was not there - even if it meant having her dagger to his throat. Self doubt gripped at his insides; as Chosen, he should be able to handle all complications in divine fashion, as well as secure whatever prizes he pleased.

He knew if Lilla died tomorrow, then it would be one less complication for him to deal with…but that very thought churned a nauseating knot in his stomach. Lilla had always been good to him, and supported his endeavours, whatever they were. Her love was never used against him; in fact she gave him everything he had ever wanted, and never thought he could have. The one time she ever protested was when she thought he didn’t want her anymore…He wanted to curse Bane for creating something so beautiful, just to make Enver throw it away.

“GODSDAMNIT!” Gortash spat, heading towards the library to pray, and think.

---

The temple mess hall that night was adorned with massive banners with the mark of the Black Hand. Roaring braziers were scattered about, warming the underground ruins, as well as the spirits of the aspirants as they gathered.

War Drums beat in tandem, around the perimeter of the room, and the mouth-watering aroma of pork wafted about in anticipation of the great feast.

“ASPIRANTS,” a Black Gauntlet’s voice boomed from the centre of the hall, hushing the spirited clamour. The room went silent, including the war drums, as they all awaited his speech, “Tomorrow, forty-nine of you will die.” The room fell into further silence, as fifty aspirants held their breath while the Black Gauntlet continued, “Forty-nine spirits will be ushered to kneel at the foot of the Black Throne, to bask in the glory of our lord Bane.”

At this, some tables began to bang their cups on the wooden benches as they had done for Lilla when she fought off Baron’s advances. The Black Gauntlet waited for the rhythmic banging to die down before continuing, “Your sacrifice in this life, will be wholly revered in the next, and know that your glorious dedication to the Edict will inspire those from far and wide to seek His teachings, to empower our lord, and therefore one another!”

More banging and chants of ‘Bane’ erupted from the aspirants; including those at Lilla’s table. She realised she was truly the only one there against her will. When she dies, how will Bane regard her sacrifice? Will he know she didn’t revere him the same way the rest of the aspirants did? Would he know she only accepted his way because Gortash followed him? Perhaps it didn’t even matter at this point; there wasn’t much she could do about it anyway…

“HOWEVER,” the Black Gauntlet called, once again silencing the excitement, “ONE of you will climb high above all others, through blood and pain, to represent Bane’s glory across all of Faerûn, as well as Banehold -as his Striking Hand- as his Grand. Tournament. Champion!”

The room erupted with cheers, and the drumming started up again. The Black Gauntlet’s speech was completed, but he pointed to Lilla’s table, and then to the massive roast hog at the end of the room. Laird, Baron and the rest of the aspirants in her group pushed themselves up from the bench vigorously to partake in first-dibs.

Lilla felt herself hoisted from her seat, causing her to tense in fear, thinking at first it was another attempt by Baron to assault her. It was indeed the half-orc’s huge arms that gripped her tiny waist, but instead he lifted her high up over his head, and placed her on his shoulders.

“To Princess, and her stupid f*cking Mage Hand!” Laird shouted, encouraging the rest of the room to beat their mugs on the table for her. She had, in fact, saved many of the aspirants from a terrible, frigid night in the mud pit.

Lilla grinned, ducking out of the way of hanging braziers, bouncing on Baron’s shoulders, while he danced his way jovially towards the roasted beast. She had to clutch onto his muscly, bald head to avoid falling off. He finally lowered her to the ground, and shoved a bowl into her hands, before taking a knife, and began carving into the most tender parts of the hog. He tossed chunks of succulent meat into his comrade’s bowls, as well as handfuls of crispy crackling, and scooped roast vegetables and potatoes into his own bowl, letting the others decide for themselves after that.

Once their dishes were full of the primest choice of meat, they were ushered to a table scattered with various bottles of spirits. Ale was already served at every table, but the Black Gauntlet had promised them a choice of drink for winning the mud pit challenge, so they scanned their options carefully, before making their selections.

Baron picked up a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey; Lilla recognised the bottle as the same type Gortash often drank. Laird, Duke, Dutchess all selected theirs, and started back to their table. The Earl reached out with bony fingers, and plucked a bottle of Marsember Ice Wine from the table, before granting Lilla a funny toothless smile, and returning to his seat. Lilla hesitated, as she was more used to serving wine, rather than drinking it; but she finally elected for the Syl-Pashan Sup; a Calish*te wine that would pair beautifully with her hearty meal, and hopefully warm her gullet under the looming prospect of tomorrow’s death.

All night, her fellow aspirants were cheerful; recanting stories of their reasons in joining the Banite church, and what they would do with the Chosen’s favour -should they win it. He would grant them a wish -within reason, of course. Some wanted manor houses in the upper districts, while others wanted only to serve at his side as his personal guard. The camaraderie and banter made Lilla smile widely, making her forget for a little while of their impending fates.

“What about you, Princess?” Dutchess asked across the table, “You somehow cut every one of us down tomorrow, what are you asking for?” The smirk on Dutchess’s face signalled she knew it was an impossible feat, but Lilla appreciated that the large woman humoured the concept of her victory anyway.

“I suppose I’d go back to being Lord Gortash’s secretary…if he’ll take me…”

The entire table went quiet, with dissatisfied expressions as they chewed and gawked at her.

“You’re SO f*cking weird sometimes, Princess,” Laird said, starting to laugh.

---

When the night was over, and the aspirants wound down to return to the barracks, Rugan escorted Lilla to her cell.

She was a little tipsy from the Calish*te vintage, and hummed a happy tune as they walked through the dimly lit prisonblock. The alcohol and camaraderie had made Lilla feel more comfortable with her doom, and she hoped this feeling followed her to the next morning.

“Well, this is me,” she joked, turning to Rugan as they arrived at her cell. He gave a weak smile out of courtesy, causing Lilla to sigh, and deflate somewhat. “I’m sorry, Rugan. I’ll do my best tomorrow, but against forty-nine aspirants…I truly wish I could do something to spare you.”

Rugan set down the lantern as they entered her cell, gawking at her, “You’re sorry for me?” he scoffed, “You…you don’t deserve this. I just…” He scratched the back of his neck, anxiously. He didn’t want to be executed, but he certainly didn’t want Lilla to die. He had tried beseeching Gortash for a better trainer, but the Chosen’s answer was so odd, he refrained from asking him to clarify out of sheer fright.

He was failing already… he shouldn’t be so pessimistic - but would lying to the young woman and telling her she had a chance make things sweeter? It would be disrespectful to do so, and Lilla would know better, anyway.

“I tell you what,” he said, feigning confidence, and flashing her handsome grin, “you win the tournament tomorrow, and I’ll have a whole basket of ripe berries awaiting your victory.” Lilla raised her eyebrows at him, biting back a grin. He hadn't fully understood the significance of the berries, but the sentiment was sweet, regardless.

She giggled, “Thanks Rugan…” then sat on her bedroll cross-legged, “I really appreciate all the effort you put into training me. I don’t even know if I’ll end up in Banehold, but if I do, I’ll put a good word in for you. Maybe we’ll see each other there!”

Rugan masked a sob with a laugh, “Aye, Princess, that I’ll look forward to…” He hesitated for a moment, as if he was contemplating whether or not to speak his next words. “Did you- Did you want me to stay here for the night? NOT in that way-” he interrupted himself, assuring his intentions were purely wholesome, “Just…to keep you company. Respectfully, of course.”

This made Lilla laugh sweetly. She stood up and stepped over to him, kissing him gently before pulling away.

“Thank you Rugan, but no…I think I’d rather like to be alone tonight.”

He nodded, “Of course. I’ll see you bright and early for preparations…”

He pursed his lips in a hesitant grin, and took the lantern with him before shutting the door, leaving Lilla alone in the dark.

She lay on her bedroll, thinking of the odd relationships she had made during her time training. They were uncouth, and unconventional, but the thought of losing them made her feel uneasy. They were all prepared to die tomorrow, but unlike her, they all felt their deaths were justified. For a cause. For Lilla…her cause wasn’t as clear. She was simply discarded, as far as she could tell. All as a thanks for her unconditional servitude to Lord Gortash…

A hot flash of anger washed over her at the injustice; perhaps the first real sense of fury she had felt in…forever. Rugan was right; she didn’t deserve this, but she had exhausted all the potential reasons Gortash would have sent her to her doom; she gave up trying to rationalise his decision many tendays ago. She had come to terms with the fact she would die not knowing.

Still, it didn’t make her feel any less angry. He told her he saved Karlach by throwing her to the hells, but if he was truly remorseful at the time it happened, he showed very little when recanting the tale to Lilla. Maybe it would have been more humane to kill Karlach outright…who was he to decide what was better for her? In fact he seemed more concerned that Lilla not judge him for his decision, rather than what Karlach may have been going through after his betrayal. Perhaps that’s all he cared about when it came to Lilla too; how he was perceived, rather than how his choices affected her.

Lilla tried to remind herself that Gortash had very little, or rather no experience with unconditional love; even when he was a child. She sensed that this must weigh heavily on his heart, and obstruct his decisions when it came to such matters…but it still didn’t seem like an excuse. Though maybe there was no sense in finding justifications or rationalisations…she knew his past trials had steeled his heart, and made him strong in many ways…but she saw his softness, and knew the good was there. Even if that goodness was exclusive to only her and Lady Destri…it was there.

Then why throw me away? She thought, pacing the cell now, maddened by the cycle in which she had spun these questions since she had arrived. He could have just as easily thrown her off his balcony, as he had once threatened. It would have been better than this. Had she not served him well? She made sure not to stand in the way of his worship either, which she suspected played some large part in this. All she had ever done was serve her master willingly, and loyally.

Lilla began to pace more sporadically, breathing raggedly with anger. And Rugan…even he felt remorse for Lilla’s impending doom, and he wasn’t even the one who ordered it! Now he will be executed by Gortash simply for being assigned as her trainer. It was a losing battle for him, and it was on Gortash’s order.

Who did he think he was?

These were rhetorical questions, and she knew they could be answered easily, but she didn’t care to have them answered anymore. She wanted to show Gortash her wrath when she won that tournament…by any means necessary.

Lilla closed her eyes, hoping and praying to whoever was listening that the next word uttered from her lips bore fruit…it was a long, looooong shot…but…

“Raphael…"

Opening her eyes, Lilla looked around the dark room and saw nothing. Heard nothing…until she felt him coming. The presence was unmistakable, and it streaked towards her from some distant plane like a hot, red shooting star bearing a big, devilish grin.

“Please hold, my dear,” his chocolatey voice purred in her ear from somewhere within, “I’ll take your call as soon as I’m able…”

Lilla’s heart began pounding, shocked by her own act of impulsivity, as well as the impending result, speeding towards her from the hells. There was no turning back now.

She intended to win tomorrow, and spare Rugan’s life, even if it meant making a deal with the Devil himself.