GM: The crowd pushes past you in waves. Orcs mostly, their thick shoulders and tusked faces creating a sea of green and grey skin. They moved with purpose through the station. The air smells of coal smoke, metal, and sweat.
You navigate through the masses toward the station exit. Columns of black iron support the ceiling high above, each one etched with orcish runes that glow faintly with protective enchantments. No decorative stonework, no mosaics, just functionality.
The exit leads onto a broad street paved with dark cobblestones. Buildings tower on either side, their facades flat and angular. Forges belch smoke through chimney stacks, and the constant ring of hammer on anvil pulses through the city. Bridges of black metal span between buildings at various heights, creating a network of paths above the street level.
Prestant: I pull out the worn map I purchased before our journey and unfold it. "The Arcanist Guild should be in the Scholar's Quarter. Northwest from here, about a twenty-minute walk."
Iuona: "Lead the way."
GM: The walk takes you deeper into Dilmer's heart. The Scholar's Quarter proves slightly less harsh than the industrial districts, though only marginally. The buildings still favour function over form, but windows appear more frequently, and the occasional iron planter box holds hardy mountain flowers. You pass several shops selling books and alchemical supplies, their signs hanging from chains of dark metal.
Finally, you stand before a three-storey structure of grey stone. The Arcanist Guild's symbol, a stylised circle and star, is carved deep into the lintel above the entrance. But heavy chains bind the double doors shut, and a large notice is nailed to the wood.
Sundae: I hop closer to read the notice.
GM: The notice reads: "BY ORDER OF THE SHAMAN COUNCIL OF DILMER - This establishment is CLOSED indefinitely pending investigation into unauthorised magical practices. Any attempt to enter will result in immediate arrest. - Thulgrak, First Shaman"
Iuona: "Well, that's unfortunate timing."
Prestant: "Very unfortunate." I think about the Haze capsules and also about tome I have hidden away in my pack. "The exact people we need to talk to are under investigation? I'm not buying it. The Shaman Council are not known for being this heavy-handed with the guilds."
[Prestant rolls a Lore (+6) check and gets an 18.]
Aviditi: "Want me to break down the door?"
Prestant: "No… I don't want to get in trouble with the guards. Not if we can avoid it."
Iuona: "Well we could go see Gortos, he was one of my father's closet friends and is quite high up in Dilmer's political and social ladder."
Prestant: "Didn't you say that Gortos was a handsy drunkard?"
Iuona: "Yes, but unfortunately, he is a useful handsy drunkard."
Prestant: "Alright then. I guess we will go see Gortos."
Iuona: "There is just one thing." I let out a prolonged sigh. "Gortos hates humans, completely despises them more than anything."
Prestant: "So me coming with you would not be helpful then?"
Iuona: I shake my head.
Prestant: "You going there alone is completely out of the question."
Iuona: "I'll take Aviditi."
Aviditi: "If this Gortos tries anything, I will make him regret it."
Prestant: "Fine. But let the record show that I don't like this one bit."
Sundae: I rub my temples hard as I try to make my brain run properly. "Uhhhhhhhhh."
Prestant: "What's the matter Sundae?"
Sundae: "Ah hah!" I spring up into the air. "I know what we can do while Iuona avoids Mister Handsy!"
Iuona: "Gortos."
Sundae: "Whatever his name is doesn't matter. What does matter is that my uncle's second cousin once told me how to find the underground market in Dilmer when he was trying to get into my pants. If anywhere has information, it will be there."
Prestant: "There is a lot to unpack in what you just said…"
Sundae: "Come with me!" I take Prestant's hand and start to bounce away, dragging him along with me.
Prestant: "We will meet back here at sundown." I inform the other two as I am dragged away.
Iuona: I wave at them and stifle a laugh. "Stay safe."
Sundae: "Don't get groped!" I pull Prestant away and towards the underground market.
GM: You drag Prestant through Dilmer's streets with your relentless enthusiasm. Your cottontail bounces with each hop, and Prestant stumbles to keep pace as you weave between orcs who barely glance at the two of you. The buildings grow rougher the further you both venture from the Scholar's Quarter.
Prestant: "Are you certain you know where you're going?"
Sundae: "Of course! Uncle's second cousin was super specific. Said there's a clock tower in the Ironworks District with a broken face. That's the entrance."
Prestant: "And you trust the directions from a man who was trying to bed you?"
Sundae: "He was very motivated to impress me. Showed me his 'clocktower' and everything."
GM: You turn a corner and the massive structure looms before you, a clocktower of black iron and grey stone. Three of its four clock faces tick steadily, but the northern face is shattered, its hands frozen at eleven and eight. At the base, a narrow door sits beneath crumbling stonework, barely visible in the shadows.
Sundae: "There!" I bounce forward and try the handle.
GM: The door doesn't budge. Locked. But as you examine it, you notice the keyhole is strangely large, almost ornamental.
Sundae: I pull out my lockpicks and get to work, my ears twitching as I concentrate.
[Sundae rolls Finesse (+3) and gets a 16.]
GM: The lock clicks open with surprising ease. The door swings inward, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness. The air that wafts up smells of incense, sweat, and something chemical.
Prestant: I conjure a small flame in my palm for light. "After you."
Sundae: "Always the gentleman!" I hop down the stairs, my eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness.
GM: The staircase winds down for what feels like three storeys. Stone walls press close on either side, slick with condensation. Then the passage opens into a vast underground chamber carved from the mountain itself. Lanterns of coloured glass hang from chains, casting everything in shifting reds and purples. Market stalls sprawl in chaotic rows, some selling weapons, others jewellery, still others displaying vials and packets of substances you can't identify.
Orcs, humans, dwarves, and even a few elves browse the wares. In one corner, three women in sheer silks lounge on cushions, beckoning to passers-by. A dwarf haggles loudly over a crate of what looks like stolen military equipment. Two orcs exchange a heavy pouch for a package wrapped in oilcloth, both glancing around nervously as they make the trade.
Sundae: "Whoa..." I breathe, my eyes wide. "This place is amazing."
Prestant: "This place is illegal." I keep my voice low, scanning the crowd. "We need to be careful. Asking the wrong question might get us shivved."
Sundae: "Oh, but there is so much to ask about!" I pout. "I'll be good."
Prestant: "The area is huge. It'll take forever if we stick together." I survey the sprawling market. "Let's split up and cover more ground. We'll attract less attention that way."
Sundae: "Ooh, solo recon! I can handle that."
Prestant: "Head back to the entrance afterwards. If there's trouble, real trouble, shout as loud as you can and light a torch or something visible. I'll fire step to you immediately."
Sundae: "Got it, boss!" I salute with a grin, my tail wiggling.
GM: Sundae, you weave through the market, your small stature letting you slip between larger patrons. Stalls blur past, weapons, silks, suspicious potions. Then something catches your eye. A vendor displays a collection of jewelled daggers, one with a ruby pommel that glitters like fresh blood.
Sundae: "Ooh, shiny!" I bounce over, completely forgetting my mission as I pick up the blade.
GM: "Twenty gold," the vendor grunts.
Sundae: "What about... sixteen?"
GM: Before the haggling continues, a shadow falls over you. You turn and crane your neck up, up, up. A half-giant looms above, easily eight feet tall with shoulders broad as a door. His face is scarred, his expression grim.
"Well, well. Little Sundae Bounce." His voice rumbles like distant thunder. "The boss isn't happy you skipped out of town." It's one of the collectors for the Silver Fangs, the gang you owe money to.
Sundae: My heart hammers. I force a bright smile. "Gront! Fancy meeting you here. How about we discuss this somewhere... quieter?"
GM: He glances around the crowded market, then jerks his head toward a narrow alleyway between stalls. "Move."
Sundae: I hop ahead.
GM: The alley is barely wide enough for Gront to fit, lit by a single flickering lantern. Stone walls press close on either side.
Sundae: "Look, I know I owe the boss, but I'm working on it! Just need a little more time—"
GM: "Time's up, little bunny. Boss wants payment. Now." He crosses his massive arms.
Sundae: I chew my lip, ears drooping. Then an idea strikes me. I step closer, looking up at him through my lashes.
"What if... we made a deal? Just between us?" I paw at my armour, fingers tracing the neckline. "I could make it worth your while to forget you saw me. For now."
GM: Gront's expression shifts from grim to interested. "What kinda deal?"
Sundae: I reach up and unfasten the clasps on my armour, letting it fall away. My breasts bounce free, nipples already stiffening in the cool air.
"A handjob. Quick and dirty. You get off, I get a head start. Fair?"
[Sundae rolls an Influence (+2) check and gets an 8.]
GM: His eyes lock onto your chest, pupils dilating. "And I get to play with those tits too."
Sundae: I nod. "Deal."
GM: Gront fumbles with his belt, his massive hands clumsy with eagerness. When his cock springs free, your eyes widen. It's enormous, thicker than your forearm, longer too, veins prominent along the shaft. Already half-hard.
Sundae: "Holy shit," I breathe. I wrap both hands around it, fingers barely meeting. Both my hands combined barely fit around its girth. I start to stroke, working up and down the length.
GM: Gront groans, the sound deep and guttural. His cock swells further under your touch.
Sundae: I pump faster, twisting on the upstroke. My arms ache from the effort, it's like jerking off a tree trunk. I lean forward and press my tits against the shaft, squeezing them around it as best I can.
GM: The half-giant's breathing becomes ragged. His hand comes up to maul one of your breasts, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. He pinches your nipple between two thick fingers.
Sundae: I whimper but keep working, sliding my breasts up and down while my hands stroke what doesn't fit. His cock throbs between my tits.
GM: "Fuck, gonna—" Gront's whole body tenses.
Sundae: I recognise the warning and leap back.
GM: Roll a Dexterity save.
[Sundae rolls a Dexterity (+3) save, as she is a Cheat, she gets advantage on Dexterity saving throws. She gets an 18.]
GM: You twist away just as Gront erupts like a geyser. Thick ropes of cum spray across the alley wall where you stood a heartbeat before. The sheer volume is staggering, pulse after pulse splattering stone.
Sundae: I land in a crouch, breathing hard, completely clean. "Whew! That was close."
GM: Gront slumps against the wall, spent and dazed. "Fuck... yeah... that'll do."
Sundae: I snatch up my armour and fasten it quickly. "So we're good? You didn't see me?"
GM: He waves a hand weakly. "Yeah, yeah. But little bunny, this buys you a week at most. After that the boss'll send someone who won't be so easy."
Sundae: "A week's plenty!" I bounce toward the alley exit, then pause. "Oh, and Gront? Maybe eat more fruit. Stay healthy!"
GM: He just grunts, still catching his breath as you disappear back into the market crowd.
Sundae: I think to myself, it is time I changed up my look.