Fantasy Seed of the Void

Author's Notes

Isaen has emerged from the dark pit of the Tamberan Voidhold and must now make his way up the dark tower to a rendezvous at the Board and Bard. What will he encounter once there, and along the way?

Yet another series of mine with a long awaited chapter. I am finding more time and energy to write in my life's own adventure, and with this I wanted to continue Seed of the Void as I desire to delve more into the realm of fantasy. I hope you enjoy it! A fair warning up front, this chapter progresses Isaen's adventure but does not have much in the way of sex. But don't worry I have a good amount of that awaiting in Chapter 3, which is already written and just needs some editing.

The Dark Tower

Feral grunts and whispers in alien tongues answered a stiff shoulder from Isaen Dusksire, as he plowed across the chaotic passages of the Tamberan Voidhold. Clutching his hood, he endeavored to sneak from the exit of the dark pit he formerly resided, to the Board and Bard in a higher level of the tower.

The rogue had little desire to follow orders, less the orders of a crazed charlatan speaking in riddles about magical conspiracy and breeding armies of mages. Even less so, when their alleged 'master' remained a nameless enigma. But, Isaen also recognized that he had little or no way to get off this rock, other than to play along.

To just be unshackled, healed, given a whore, handed a blade, and set loose, Isaen's head was spinning. Either the allegedly healed gash on his arm had begun to infect his mind, or he was presently involved in some deep-seated shit. Neither of the scenarios felt appealing to the typically uninvolved wanderer.

"Steady on, the Towerguard!" A shout and a smack found a particularly unlucky man a few paces ahead, a spot on his romp. It seemed to Isaen that the guards outside the pit were no more friendly than the ones within.

Isaen changed his path up the spiraling, rocky streets to avoid the bulbous red-hatted guardsmen and their terrible mood. It was best he have no run-ins with them, he would sooner jump into the void than go back into the pit.

Above his head, ropes of lanterns, zig-zagged across the section of dwellings and cut into the face of the void-stone that floated through the dark expanse of stars. They illuminated just enough for the inhabitants of this hole to not be lost in the sheer, cavernous black that ascended to the top of the hollow tower. The magnificence of its hollowness was only broken up by the outcroppings that ran along the edges of the tower and the occasional bridge between them.

The lanterns themselves, of course, did little for the cold. Isaen pulled his cloak close as the Void stole the heat from his body slowly. Whether it was night or day, Isaen could not tell, as it was always cold in such a place.

Isaen stuck to the edges and shadows as best he could, but the crowds of humans, boarfolk, orcs, dwarves, and the occasional drakoth often swept him away. The best he could do was to not draw much attention to himself. A feat that felt achievable in this circus of freaks.

The Tamberan Voidhold was one of many dusty ports of call in the black sea of stars and rock. Vessels from all corners of the expanse visited here, as a safe haven for trading in curiosities and illicit goods. It was not frequented by respectful folk, at least as far as Isaen had seen. Only his fellow bottom-feeders could be found within the walls.

"Errrr, watch yourself."

Grunts gave little pardon as Isaen shoved past a few slow walkers.

As he took the long trek up the spiraling streets of the tower, his mind settled into his least favorite pastime, reflection. Much of his intrusive thoughts were centered around his newfound employment, as some sort of bull for a half-mad mage. There were lots of questions about the whole thing and how exactly he could derive benefit from it. Half of the questions he wouldn't dare ask his new associates, as they centered around how he was going to escape this scenario, once they got him out of this place.

What seemed like a good deal was most likely not in Isaen's mind, he had a habit of fatalizing any good thing that came his way. This was at least since the good times in his life ended so abruptly years ago. He wasn't a good man in any respect. Isaen shed any sort of dignity for a more self-gratifying existence of bouncing between what felt good to his gut until it didn't.

None of what Cicero had laid out for him felt good to his gut... yet. But all he could do was follow the spiral of the tower to the Board and Bard, and hope there were both answers and a ticket out of this abyss.

The further he ascended, the changes in the landscape became more apparent. While nothing in the Tamberan Voidhold could be called finely crafted or regal, there was a level of refinement to the facades carved from the dark stone the further up he went. Even the inhabitants wore better clothing, the higher he climbed.

One such inhabitant, a Boarman, decorated his tusks with dozens of golden rings that clanged as he stumped along the path, traveling opposite Isaen. The inconspicuous, hooded rogue dodged out of the way of one such tusk as he passed.

Isaen hadn't spent much time observing when he first arrived, promptly being thrown in the pit almost out the hatch of his ship, so he was the slightest bit curious.

Having traveled up the tower for what felt like hours, a certain level of fatigue had begun to set in. Isaen knew himself well enough that this was not normal, no doubt the stamina spell the mage had cast upon him was beginning to wear off. All that time in the pit and his body was reminding him of his limitations.

Stepping off to the side, Isaen quickly found a shadowy nook in the wall of the tower between two hovel doors, where he could rest. Back against the wall, he slowly slid down it until he could take a long breath. A stiff pain in his sides radiated outwards as he sat down. He distinctly remembered being bludgeoned by a spearbutt in that exact spot just the other day.

Putting the pain aside in his mind, he distracted himself by observing his rather curious surroundings.

To his intuition, it would seem he was near the port level as instructed. The streets were wider here, and a whole square was stretched out before him. Peddlers belted out prices for wares from all corners of known civilization. Ad hoc stands made out of crates were used to sell goods straight from where the container could be dropped, while more established places of business had elaborate trestles filled with all sorts of commodities. All the while, scurrying merchants gobbled up coin like the corn thrown for the hens.

Despite his pain and fatigue, Isaen wanted to be far away from here. He scanned as far as he could see for the titular Board and Bard, but to no avail.

The echoes of Cicero's words of discretion rang true for Isaen, he had no plans to make himself the center of attention by any means. Which meant he couldn't stick to any one place for too long.

Shifting a few meters over, he found another dark corner behind a stall selling the most disgustingly stale-looking loaves of bread. Most of the stalls seemed to be quite busy, even this one selling nasty bread (while it was mostly a treat for the Boarfolk). Gold was being exchanged left and right. Not far off the main hatch that led to large cargo ships, there was the flowing of crates being loaded and unloaded by all manner of slaves and constructs.

A few such slaves were being whipped rather sardonically by a crusty quaysman as he cackled. They were struggling to heave forth a large crate of fish. Many customers, agnostic to the whipping and gnashing of the slaves, salivated at the seafare being hauled in their direction. They held the coin in hand to alleviate the slave's burden upon learning of today's market price. Isaen had little opinion on the matter, other than empathy for their plight, given what he just experienced in the pits of this tower. For all he knew, he would have been sold off to be like them before long if Cicero had not dug him out.

Isaen caught himself before feeling too thankful for Cicero. He hadn't learned his true nature yet.

Before too long, his scanning eyes were distracted by the rather alluring sight of two ladies sauntering down the street. They were nicely dressed, and even from a distance, Isaen could smell their perfume. Both had brightly colored hair that wafted with the turn of their heads as they scanned the exotic nuances before them. They were the first such ladies he had seen since leaving the pit, aside from Sherry. They made him feel a kind of way in his loins.

He was not a ladies' man, suave in the craft of luring a woman with words. He was, instead, a sour person with little desire to interact with any sort of polite company. Of course, as he looked at these women, their tidbits of skin they chose to show with their fine draperies, he recalled how tempting the mandate to freely breed women was. He stirred as he watched them, wondering just how he would even go about snaring them and having time enough to plant his seed.

But by the time his senses caught up with his cock, he realized that such marks would be far less discreet than what Cicero had called him to do. Should he even concede to go along with it, it would have to be done carefully.

Besides, his current charge was to find the Board and Bard, not sit around the market leering. He could feel the fatigue really setting in, he was in no shape to fuck pretty ladies in the shadows.

Stepping out from the stand he hid behind, he challenged the flow of the busy street in search of this inn. His head was on a swivel, and his ears were open in hopes of finding it as he ignored the growing pain.

Before long, he spotted a rather green fellow with large eyes looking inconspicuous against a stone pillar. A 'twixt of his thin green lips was a pipe that burned orange. While Isaen couldn't place it, he looked to know his way around the Tower.

"I don't suppose you can tell me where the b--" Isaen paused, as he struggled to meet the gaze of the green man. His left and right eyes looked off in different directions, making it a riddle to decide which one to look at, and distracting to form a sentence to.

"Yeaaaaa?" His elongated and throaty response was curious as both eyes asynchronously found Isaen's.

"Do you... bah... do you know about where I can find the Board and Bard?

The eyes began to look in different directions again, a thin, green and clammy hand outstretched as a puff of smoke crossed between them.

"Tsk." Isaen fumbled for the pouch of coins Cicero had given him. Of course, the mad mage didn't think to give him anything less than a gold piece, it was such a waste to buy such mundane information at such a high price as that.

He placed the cold gold piece in the cold, green hand. Both eyes swiftly came together in astonishment at how highly this stranger paid for details.

"Wellll, I tain't 'aaave that good of directionnns. Want me tuh waaaalk ya there?" A pair of shoeless webbed feet stepped out, ready to go as the eyes seemed to be incentivized to both look at Isaen.

At least money bought him that.

"No... no... just point me."

A long, green finger pointed to Isaen's left.

"Go doooowwwnnn to that un' fooooork deeeerrrr. Bounce leeeeft and it'll be ri' down to ye left."

The green man sat back on the column, admiring the gold piece between his long fingers, as Isaen backed away.

"Thanks."

"Thaaaaaank you, frieeeeeend." It disconcertedly wiggled its digits at Isaen as he made his way down the street.

Isaen had had enough, if the splitting pain in his skull was any indication, he didn't have much time.

Of course, as he grew tired, he grew less discreet, bumping into several other travelers of various races, who, each in their own voice, hissed or snarled at him speaking in tongues he did not even pretend to know. He stumbled across the street and up the fork, just as the green man had said, hoping he was not duped by some strange bumpkin giving out bad directions for laughs.

"Eeyyyy easy there!" Isaen ran headlong into the bulk of another man. He stumbled backward only to find the red cap of a guard cocked to the side and a wisp of hair floating with the stale air around them.

"Yew drunk?" The guard crossed his arms, a bright bronze hilt of a sword on his hip. Next to him, another, armed with a short bow and dirk joined in the banter.

"I reckon this one forgot where he is. Downright disorderly if yew ask me."

"I'm... I'm just trying to find the Board and Bard."

"What? To get another drink? I think you are cut off, bugger." The guard grabbed Isaen's hood and whipped it back. His eyes studied him almost as if he had recognized the vagabond's face and the scar that ran from brow to cheek.

"No, I have a room there, I am not feelin' well."

"Aye, that's obvious. I think yew may need to get sobered up, but it's best to do that in the pit."

So close... he was so close, he couldn't go back there. He sized up the pair of guards. Both were unsuspecting, both distracted and at ease thinking he wasn't a threat. Neither had seen the blade at his hip. It was just a matter of an uppercut and a quick dash for the nearby alleyway. But could he make it there in his condition? His head spun thinking about it.

"Gentlebeastssss..." a hiss of words slivered over them. A black-scaled Drakoth, wearing a dark cloak, appeared beside the guards, his yellow-slitted eyes scanning the situation.

Rather than seeming undignified by the appearance of the fanged character, the guards had a rather unwelcoming lip curl to his presence.

"Thissss is a missssssunderstanding." He came beside Isaen, pulling him up and replacing his hood on his head.

"Greenbrier, you are not well." His yellowed eyes had a knowingness about them, one Isaen was not comfortable with. "We must get you to your room, my friend." He widened his eyes as if to silently convey his knowledge of Isaen's situation.

Of course, that old coot would have him followed, unless he had enemies with more knowledge of his dealings than he was aware. Either way, Isaen hated being followed, and he hated even more that he didn't notice.

"I thank you for your... dissssssscretion." The drakoth turned to the guards with a flick of his tongue and passed two silvers a piece. Amnesty had a much cheaper rate than simple directions it seemed.

"What's this then?" One guard, holding his bow over his shoulder, looked off-put by the bribe.

"Best see he gets a room." The other snorted, grabbing the arm of his compatriot.

"Yew just gonna let 'em go?"

"I'll explain to ya how it works around here later."

Their disgruntled expressions and bickering faded into the crowd. It was obvious to Isaen that at least one of the guards knew exactly who they were dealing with. Cicero's arm must be long, but that was not a tall feat for a mage.

"Who are you?" Isaen was pulled up to his feet and down the street at a quicker pace than his state allowed him to be comfortable with.

The reptilian ignored him, easily able to just drag him along for the ride.

Isaen struggled, ripping his arm from his scaly claws and standing indignant in the middle of the street. A sharp hiss accompanied a wary gaze as the reptilian's black scales blustered and claws grabbed him once more.

"We serve the same master." A sharp glare told him to march along with it, lest they draw attention.

Isaen was beginning to hate that phrase.

What exactly would someone, who could send off two guards like that, be afraid of? Isaen's survival instinct told him to play along. Of course, the sharp claws of the reptilian gave him little choice in his present condition.

Before long, he was shoved through the front door of a noisy tavern, the proverbial Board and Bard, no doubt. It was a homely hole in the rock, wooden planks placed over the uneven stone and red stone walls dusty and lined with candles giving the place an overall dim feel.

Only a small hearth illuminated the noisy figures rushing about, ales and braised beasts in hand as they shared an intimate evening. Tavern hands and attendants served their guests, and at the back of the room, the tavern-master loomed over them all with a suspicious gaze. Especially suspicious of the two newcomers rushing into his domain.

Propping Isaen on the counter in front of the tavern-master, the scaly figure drew a wearied breath and flicked his tongue with the magic word.

"Greenbrier." His hiss seethed with annoyance.

The long brows of the master crowning two droopy eyes perked up at the name. Shifting in his chair, he flipped through his ledger to regard his reservations.

"Greenbrier... yes, yes." The master no longer seemed so domineering, but rather skittish, as he flipped through the pages. His eyes scanned the pair, trying not to notice the disheveled-looking man hardly keeping his feet before him.

He snapped his fingers, motioning for a figure standing off to the side to come closer. Isaen could hardly make her out 'til she came close, but a lovely young lady with short, black hair stepped forward, broodingly attentive and awaiting orders. She wore a faded rose-colored dress and a white apron. Her dark hair, as it was worn, toyed with the tops of her ears. The girl's face looked dejected, but serious about her duties.

She, too, looked at the new pair with some suspicion. Though her orders were passed to her before she could think anything of it.

"Myla, stop daydreaming and get these men up to the attic room, see to their needs." His old, greyed and bushy brows spoke more than his lips, as he expressed himself; the girl's attentive green eyes watching every word.

"Yes, Ona." The maiden nodded her head, sad eyes beckoning the travelers to follow.

Isaen recognized the affectionate term for 'grandfather' as the girl led them towards a set of creaky stairs. The smell of mustiness strengthened as they ascended, but the view got slightly better. Despite his condition, he could appreciate the ample lass ahead of him, her womanly hips swaying as they rose amongst the steps. She had a sweetness about her, but where it mattered, there were savory features.

His scaly companion did not leave him to admire for long, dragging him up the stairs as his weakened legs attempted to keep pace.

"The room is right this way," she said, with the breath of a dove.

His reptilian friend couldn't appreciate the beauty of it. Having just been in a dark and foreboding pit, Isaen could appreciate such things. But soon, the ravishing maiden, like the sounds of the merriment below, would disappear through the door of the attic room. The Darkoth hissed his dismissal of the tavern maid, who quickly retreated.

Isaen was rather ungracefully tossed onto a wooden stool. The battered brigand holding himself up on a table in a dark room with only three red candles to light his surroundings.

"A pity, really." A feminine voice tsked.

Perched atop the dresser, a cloaked figure observed the weary Isaen settling onto the stool, barely holding himself up. Beside the figure was a discarded mask, the very one he saw on the alleged daughter of the mage Circeo, in his ill-gotten laboratory.

"He couldn't even make it to the inn, Rozen?" The woman passed harsh judgment as her familiar bright eyes shot darts down at Isaen.

Perched and maskless, he could tell a bit more about her. If she were Circeo's daughter, then the apple fell way far from the tree. Though a similarly characteristic darkness surrounded them both. This woman was very dark: hair, eyes, and demeanor. Only her porcelain skin showed bright, and that she partially hid beneath robes and long leather boots. Though he admired the sight of a section of thigh worn naked to the world.

"Ssssstuck in a pit that long... I'm ssssssurprissssed he made it asssss far as he did." His Drakoth benefactor, whom he had come to know as Rozen, surprisingly came to his defense. However, Isaen's splitting headache and splinters from the rough treatment, hardly motivated him to be thankful.

Isaen did have some burning questions, but hardly the energy to ask them. He held his head up as much as he could, a sputtering leaving his lips, as he tried to articulate.

A deep sigh from the hooded woman answered his nonsense.

"I haven't the time for this, we need to get him well enough to pass on his instructions." She hopped down from the dresser, looking a bit shorter than she did from her perch. But just as mean.

Rozen was unbothered; instead, throwing wood into a hearth and scratching his claw against a block of Spark-Iron to start a fire.

"That'sssss your department."

His cold-blooded nature craved the warmth when he could get it. The dark tower floating in the inhospitable void was not the most ideal place to be a cold-blooded Drakoth.

Isaen could hear her eyes roll.

"Very well." She grabbed something metal from the table and walked behind him. A bright-pink light consumed the room for a moment, as energy painfully pulsated through Isaen.

"Gaahhhhh, Gods, what in the damned Void are you doing?" Isaen felt a surge of energy enough that he regained his rather unthankful and belligerent nature.

"I suppose a gutter rat like you hasn't had the pleasure of getting a jolt from a Stamina rod?"

"No... can't say I have. I'm just a poor boy over here."

"Well, you are living the high life now." She ungracefully dropped the metal rod back on the table with a clank, as she joined Rozen near the fire.

Her rather nice body was silhouetted by the light of the flame. Isaen was feeling a bit more admiration for the female form, since the idea of this mission was put in his head.

Riding the surge of energy, Isaen stood up from the stool he was once slumped over, stretching his arms back and forth as he felt the tenseness in his muscles. He looked at the door, his mind still weighing the options of whether to go along with this, or make a run for it as a free man.

"Don't get too excited, it's going to wear off before too long." The cloaked mistress turned with her arms crossed. Isaen could then see her face a bit more in the light of the growing fire. She was a bit comely looking, the first sign that maybe she really was Cicero's daughter. But her eyes were sharp and had an allure to them outside of the malice they carried.

"Well, better say what you need to say to me then, witch." Isaen tossed up his hands contradictorily and made a dismissive face to the woman, as he paced across the room.

He looked around at the simple decor of the inn's attic-room, a bit more luxurious than he was used to, but far from a king's castle. A bed, table, chairs, minimal niceties. This was probably their best room too.

A flicker of her malicious eyes shot to the Drakoth, calling for his dismissal. A sliver of his tongue and hiss as he rose to his feet with a slap of his scaly knees.

Rozen's slanted eyes looked at Isaen once more, squinting at him, as he passed through the room.

"Good luck," he said, with a flick of his forked tongue as he slipped through the door quietly. The creaks of his footfalls followed him down the steps and into the noise of the merriment below, until Isaen and the hooded woman were alone in silence.

Isaen continued his pacing, slyly smiling at his companion. He would make a joke about her intentions of getting him alone, but it didn't look like it would land well, nor had he seen enough of her to be interested yet.

"So, your father sent you, with a message to give me?"

"Sit."

"I heard that just earlier, tell me a new one."

"Sit." She had a deathly serious glare this time, as she whipped her head around before returning to stare into the fire.

Isaen tsked before doing as he was told, reminding himself he needed to go along with this, at least 'til he got out of this infernal tower, and, at most, 'til the benefits outweighed the risks. The perks Cicero had outlined to him previously sounded juicy enough.

"Fine. But can I at least get your name? Or did your father even give you one? Is he your father, or is that some sort of pet name he calls all those in his employ?"

"Calista..." She walked to the opposite side of the table.

Isaen furrowed his brows, what was with this family and tables?

"... and yes, Cicero is my father." She seemed less than enthused about it."

"Ah, well, my condolences then."

She glared at him before tossing him another purse of coin. "Let me get this straight with you... Dusksire, keep obeying orders, and the flow of coins will keep coming your way. Clear?"

Isaen nabbed the purse and weighed it casually; it felt like nearly a year's wage from his most lucrative of previous employments. As enticing as that was, there must be a catch.

"I can tell you have doubts."

"Is it that obvious." He shrugged sarcastically and frowned. "You pay me handsomely to walk to an inn, your father tells me this wild tale of what he wants me to do, and the grander purpose it serves, and the strange benefactor to all of this is a mystery. How am I not to doubt?" He placed the purse on the table, his hand still resting on it protectively.

"I think someone like you has little else of a purpose to serve other than himself." She leaned over the table, Isaen sampling the sight of her heavy sacks hanging beneath her chest, covered in a tight tunic. "This assignment, after all, should be a dream for dredge like you."

Isaen couldn't deny the idea of it had an appeal. "So long as you all don't hang me out to dry, men like me are wary of being disposable." He judged her in his mind, a bit of self-righteousness exuding from the way she talked to him.

"Lucky for you, you are far from disposable."

"So your daddy told."

Her nostrils flared as she nodded. "Take comfort then."

"So what is your role in all of this then? You seem a bit put out to deal with the dredge like me. Do you take the auspicious role of cleaning up the women I chose to run through? Like Sherry?"

Calista smirked, taking some of the bags from the ground to the table and untying them. "No, I get the auspicious role of keeping you in line. Something I'll take pleasure in doing when you step out of it." She slammed a few artifacts on the table as she snapped her words.

"Truthfully, what did I ever do to you?" Isaen sat back with a more serious expression. It was like he was talking to someone whom he had wronged in a past life.

Calista scoffed and ignored the question, spreading a few things across the table. Scrolls, metal objects, jewelry, parchments, and tools.

"Just remember what I said, do as you are told, and the coin... and benefits, will keep coming."

"Benefits?"

"If you would silence your tongue, I'd give you the details before the stamina boost wears off and you drool into the wood grain again.

Isaen quieted, perhaps she would say her piece and leave.

"Good, shall we begin then?"

Isaen waved his hand as if to tell her to proceed.

"You're on the next ship to Minhaven, you leave on the morrow eve."

Minhaven... Isaen pondered just how far and in the middle of nowhere such a place was.

"Your objective there is to carry out your mandate in various villages and cities, seeding a generation of mages that will sprout into a formidable power."

Isaen sensed a shred of pride in what she was saying, a true believer if he ever saw one.

"So that's it? Just empty my loins into maidens far and wide until I run dry?"

"As discreet as possible, mind you. Beyond fathers, husbands, local constables, and nobles who would obviously dislike your activities, there are those who don't wish to see us succeed in our goals."

"Of course; wam, bam, thank you, madam. I get the picture."

Calista grimaced. "You have plenty of room to do this without raising suspicion, once you have crossed a threshold, we will pull you out and send you on your next task."

"Seems simple enough for such an out-of-the-way place."

"That's the idea. Don't fuck it up."

"Oh far be it from me to ruin a good thing for myself." Isaen felt his eyes getting heavier as they sat there conversing. "What else then?"

"There is a procedure you must follow after you... spread your seed."

"No doubt."

"After you manage to... do it... you are to take this..." Calista held up a necklace with a white jewel upon it.

Isaen noted how uncomfortable Calista looked with the idea of 'it', as she explained the birds and the bees of mage-making.

"...and draw an X across the women's core like so." Calista imitated the movement across her own abdomen with a long stroke from above her navel across to her right hip and then the opposite.

The jewel on the necklace flashed red momentarily, causing Isaen to flinch.

"You see how it flashed red?"

"Yeah."

"That's because I am obviously not taken with any of your... seed." She said seed in a disgusted tone.

"So like your father drew an X with his hand on Sherry's stomach, and the light showed green?

"Indeed."

"So I can tell if they are taken with my 'seed'..." Isaen imitated the ickiness of saying seed that Calista had exhibited. "...what then?"

Calista looked unamused but continued. "At that time, you are to give her the necklace, place it on her, and ensure she is wearing it."

"What if she doesn't want 'it'?" The it in Isaen's sentence obviously with multiple meanings.

"She will. Through magic craft, the woman you mark with this necklace, and it shows green will have an affinity for the stone, and will preserve it, just as she will her child which will entice her to preserve it even more.

"Marking your army, eh?"

Calista nodded, tossing over to him a sack of dozens of necklaces with such jewels. Isaen only then realized how much work he had ahead of him.

"And then you'll come and whisk them away, like Sherry?"

"Not always, situation dependent."

"What situation?"

"Not your concern." She glared at him, as he crossed a line of questioning.

"Fine, I'll just fuck and not ask questions."

"It's best if you do."

Isaen was getting annoyed with the lack of details. 'The same master,' 'don't ask questions,' all of it was a bit too mysterious. Just as mysterious as Calista herself.

"So why are you in on this?"

Calista spread out a few more things on the table.

"You're using magical tools and not your spells, so you are not a mage yourself. What's in it for you, other than your papa?"

Calista put both hands on the table and leaned across it once more.

"I don't care to know much more about you, Dusksire, and I don't care to have you get to know me. You follow orders, you get coins and the freedom to fuck as you please. I give you the resources and those orders. Understood?"

"Fine." Isaen didn't like it, but for now, this whole arrangement would be shrouded in mystery.

"Do you have any actual questions about your assignment?"

"What happens if I get in trouble? Say the sort I can't get out of myself. You all gonna leave me to rot?"

A small sack was slid across the table to him. Inside, a pendant with an emblem of an upside-down star with a stag's horn emblazoned on it, hung from a silver chain.

"That pendant will let us know where you are. If you are in trouble. Simply press it into your flesh until it begins to warm unnaturally, and we will come to get you out of any such trouble."

"That's reassuring."

"I assure you we have a lot of assets capable of handling anything on Minhaven, or beyond."

"Can't help me if I am dead already."

"That is why this assignment pays for you to be discreet, Dusksire." She clicked her tongue, much like her father did in his lab.

Yawning, Isaen shook his head to stay awake.

"What if I need to get in contact with you?"

Another sack was slid across the table. A sack for all occasions Isaen noted.

"Many who live on Minhaven worship Geb, the god of crops and strangely, festive dancing. His altars are throughout the land, no matter the realm, as he is not considered antagonistic to any other gods. Write your communique on one of these parchments and place it at the altar attached to a bundle of barley and seal it with the wax in that sack. We'll pick it up from there."

"Ah, so you will know where I am then?" He smiled, he had wondered how closely he would be watched, and this was his confirmation.

"I wouldn't even try to lie about it, Dusksire, know that we will be watching you very closely..."

He smiled at her, unbothered. "All right, what else." The weariness was setting in slowly again.

Calista began to push more implements across the table at him. Several vials were the first she brought his attention to.

"Some tools to help you accomplish your mission. These vials have various elixirs inside of them." Calista began to hand them one by one. "This is essence of Greyrose, a small drop will make the subject fall into a helpless trance, enough so that you can do the deed and bestow upon them the jeweled necklace."

Isaen twerked his head with a bit of uncanny disbelief. "Subtle."

"Next, is draught of Elksweet. A small whiff of this will cause the subject to lose inhibitions, and be far more open to the suggestion of letting you sow your seed within them."

"Interesting... why give me this if you gave me the other?" Isaen weighed the two in his hand. One seemed sadistic, while the other more pleasantly sadistic. As he pondered it, he figured neither was better than the other in the end.

"It's not up to me to decide how to get it done, Dusksire, just to give you the tools to do it." Calista rolled her eyes as she passed him another vial. "This one is for you, Elixir of Vitality. Simply, makes your nasty cock ready to do more work. I suggest you use this enough to get the job done."

"Something to hurry the process along?"

Calista squinted her eyes. "Don't think this is a pleasure expedition, Dusksire, you'll be expected to make continuous progress, less I have to rein you in and whip you into shape."

"Some men like that sort of talk, you know."

Calista looked likely to zap him again. Isaen raised his hands in surrender facetiously.

"Fine, fine. What next?"

Another vial found its way to Isaen's hand, this one more carefully.

"This is Essense of Sablevine."

"Gods... that's enough to kill hundreds."

"Indeed, use it carefully, and only when you need to."

Isaen didn't realize there was an expectation of killing to go along with this. Somehow, it seemed obvious that the need would come up. It seemed his employers had little demand for his methods beyond the ever vague 'discreet'.

"I once had a spin as a hitman for a merchant in Gellard, I don't suppose that will be part of my job as well?"

Ignoring him, Calista began to pass more and more implements across the table to Isaen, now in the form of magical items and weapons.

"Mkay..." Isaen shook his head as Calista continued.

"A set of fine daggers meant for throwing. I trust you can at least hit the broadside of a wild Grazebeast if needed?"

Isaen shrugged and took the set of daggers. They were probably the finest-fashioned weapons he had ever held in his hands, but he shrouded his delight beneath his dour demeanor.

"A charged magic rod." A bronze metal rod about the length of her forearm was passed to Isaen. It had magical glyphs marked on its sides, each with a slight glow to then indicate the rod was fused with magical energy.

Isaen knew keenly what it was for: to transfuse magically powered tools, ships, or other implements with magical energy. He had used some before, during his time as ship's hand, but to have one personally was rare. With this, he could power his own ship and go anywhere he wished, so long as he did not run out of magical power.

"Trusting me with a lot here."

"I hope you are getting it through your thick skull that it benefits you to go along with this," she snapped back.

Isaen felt that it remained to be seen.

The next item to be placed in front of Isaen truly took him aback, his hands couldn't wait to get a feel for its hilt and run his fingers along the finely engraved barrel.

"A hand cannon?" It was not exactly a discreet weapon.

"Indeed." Calista tossed him a sack of glowing blue shells, thick as a strand of rope. The object in Isaen's hand, he was so eager to handle, was, indeed, a hand cannon. A magical projectile weapon that used enchanted magic to propel shells hundreds of yards towards a target where it would deliver a devastating blow. It was much more powerful than a crossbow, but extremely expensive. Only the wealthiest of armies employed them, and in small numbers at that. An individual carrying one was very rare.

The barrel itself reached from wrist to fingertip on Isaen and the wooden hilt curved in a shape easy to grip and aim. The blue-glowing shells were breech-loaded, and with a quick check, he saw there was one already ready to go.

"Now you have my interest." Isaen smiled widely.

His handler deeply sighed.

A few more items of lesser note were passed on, some with even longer explanations for their use. Healing potions to remedy pox from relations with a dirty woman. Herbs for keeping him big, strong, and to increase his manly urges. A sack of magical scrolls, 'single-use spells' as they were called of various types. Maps of Minhaven with points of interest and villages that Calista noted were more out of the way than most. And finally, a wooden chip with engraved details of his embarkation on the next cargo vessel headed across the void to that forsaken land.

"When you get to Minhaven, you are to travel to the town of Ebon Down. There, find a merchant of oddities, he will have more instructions for you."

Isaen struggled to take mental note of it all, especially since he was slowly fading.

"Now... what other stupid questions do you have?"

Isaen had returned to feeling wobbly by this point, the stamina rod's boost wearing off fast.

"Well... I don't suppose you'll consent to being my first subject?" He smiled, his scar, the most distinctive feature of his face, scrunching as he mocked her.

Calista snarled, leaning over the table once more, her hood pulling back to show her dark-blonde hair.

"Get this, Dusksire, you take my orders when I give them, and I keep you in line. You can make requests for more resources or clarification on instructions, but beyond that, we don't have to interact. Understood?"

"Fine, I guess I'll have to make do with the cute maiden downstairs."

"Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but that is hardly subtle, and you have few places to run in this tower if that goes south."

Isaen tossed his arms up in dismay. This girl always had something contrary to say.

"I hope to gods, we are not traveling companions," Isaen said, as his head began to droop down.

"You won't see me 'til it's necessary, Dusksire." Calista wickedly smiled. "And one other thing."

"Oh?"

"NO elves." With that peculiar addition, she tossed a white cloth with a strange odor into Isaen's face.

"What the--"

THUNK

Out cold, Isaen's head hit the table hard.​