The following day, Greywind undertook the journey back to the port city upon a hired mare. Jannis remained uncharacteristically dormant, sated and sleeping within the recesses of his mind, granting Greywind a rare, crystalline psychic silence during the two-day trek.
Upon his arrival at The Fire Place, Dragnar greeted him with a knowing rumble. "Word has traveled. The cave has collapsed, the cult is scattered, and Elara is safe. You are as efficient as you are expensive." He handed over the promised 75 Gold, supplemented by a 25 Gold bonus for the liberation of the captives and the destruction of the site.
Dragnar leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "There is another who seeks an operative of your particular... caliber. It concerns the political mire of the neighboring city, Silverhaven. A nobleman named Lord Valerius stands accused of corruption and alliance with the criminal guilds, yet evidence remains elusive. There are those who wish him to be... 'handled.' The pay is substantial, but the risk is steep. If you are caught, you are an enemy of the state."
Contract Offered:"An Iron Hand for Silverhaven"Objective: Investigate or neutralize Lord Valerius. Reward: 200 Gold up front, 300 Gold upon completion, plus political sanctuary from the opposition.
In the shadowed corner of the tavern, a woman with chestnut hair and piercing green eyes sat alone, nursing a glass of wine. Greywind's gaze drifted toward her. "Who is she, Dragnar? The one in the corner. She looks like she's measuring the room."
"She calls herself Mira," Dragnar replied, glancing subtly over his shoulder. "An artifact hunter from the North. Arrived two days ago, asking after sand relics or core stones from the wastes. I gave her nothing, but she remains, picking the brains of my regulars. I do not trust her. Her eyes are too sharp for a mere treasure seeker. And she is far too interested in the happenings at the Caverns of Breathing Sand. Tread carefully, Greywind. If you were involved with that cult, she may be looking for you."
Fatigue eventually settled into Greywind's marrow. He tossed a purse of coin onto the bar. "A room. For tonight." Dragnar caught it and handed him the key to Room 4. "Rest. You look like a man who went to war with the desert and barely won."
The room was Spartan a bed, a table, a chair, and a narrow window overlooking the street. Greywind stripped his gear and sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his face. The sudden silence felt alien. Then, a warm, familiar whisper slithered into his thoughts like silk over bone.
"My sweet Grey..."
Greywind's brow furrowed. "I had just hoped for a moment of peace before your voice returned."
"Hehehe..." Jannis chuckled, her voice sounding so vivid it was as if she sat on the edge of the bed. "I merely wished to remind you. It has been six moons since our pact began. It is time for the Contractual Reinforcement."
She explained in a sultry, pedagogical tone: "The reinforcement is a ritual for those allied with the likes of me. Usually, it is a covenant of blood. But, like any connoisseur of fine things, not every demon craves blood. Some prefer... other essences. On my face, darling."
A phantom touch traced Greywind's cheek. "When the time comes, say the words: 'I shall open my mouth'." Her voice dissolved into a naughty sigh, accompanied by the psychic sensation of a long, wet tongue flickering before his eyes.
"Do you find my true form so unappealing?" she asked, suddenly serious. Before he could retort, the psychic image before him shifted with erotic fluidity. First, she became Liana the innocent village girl, her hair loose, her simple garments falling away to reveal a shy, beckoning form. Then, she shifted into Alisa refined, intellectual, standing nude with a confident, challenging gaze. Finally, Elara the scholar, her back arched as if inviting him to wash her skin once more. Each transformation carried a distinct psychic aura, a curated allure.
"Do as you will," Greywind muttered, feigning indifference despite the mounting psychic pressure.
Jannis giggled and shifted one last time. She returned to her own form, but stripped of the tattered wings and twisted horns. What remained was a feminine humanoid of flawless, roseate skin and marble-white hair. Her face was Greywind had to admit stunningly beautiful in a way that defied human nature. Her eyes still burned with cracked pupils, but her expression was soft, almost vulnerable.
"I can read your thoughts, Grey," she whispered, "sitting" upon his lap in a weightless, psychic impression. Her phantom hands reached down to loosen the ties of his trousers.
"Enough. I will do it myself," Greywind said, brushing away the "touch" with a physical hand. He needed to control at least this much. Jannis "knelt" on the floor before him, her eyes wide with a ravenous, childlike anticipation.
Greywind, moved by a mechanical necessity born of exhaustion, finished the task. He moved his left hand slowly, aiming only to satisfy the ritual's demand. Jannis cheered him on with a sultry hiss, whispering praises into his mind. "Yes... like that... see your own strength... you need no one else..."
At the peak of the tension, a psychic sensation long, wet, and terrifyingly vivid touched the sensitive tip of his length. It was no physical touch, but a psychic illusion so potent Greywind gasped in shock. The intrusion pushed him over the precipice.
"Jannis... I !"
"Where? Where? Pour it onto my face!" Jannis pleaded, her voice thick with greed.
And Greywind complied. In the psychic space they shared, he "saw" himself release his essence upon Jannis's upturned face. She did not blink; she accepted it with a smile of religious ecstasy, her eyes closed as if receiving a holy sacrament. The physical reality was merely fatigue and release, but in the mind, it was a dark, intensely personal rite.
After a heavy silence, Jannis opened her eyes. Her visage returned to its full demonic splendor, yet her expression remained sated. "The bond is renewed... for six more moons," she whispered. "Sleep, Greywind. I shall guard your dreams. Perhaps I'll give you something sweet... or a delightful nightmare. We shall see."
The following morning, Greywind awoke feeling transformed. His body felt lighter, his senses keener, and a new vitality thrummed in his blood. His muscles felt denser, his frame stronger.
As he was assessing these changes, a melodic knock came at the door. "Breakfaaaast~"
Greywind opened the door to find Jannis in her humanoid form, wearing a simple apron over a minimal, illusory outfit, carrying a wooden tray of fresh bread, cheese, and tea. She smiled sweetly, though her glowing eyes remained mischievous.
"Master~ your breakfast," she said with mock subservience. "Shall I feed you? Or... would you prefer to eat me first?" She emphasized the point by cupping her own breast with a sultry look.
Greywind's face twisted in revulsion. "Where did you get this? You didn't "
"Oh, peace, peace!" Jannis interjected, snapping back into her full demonic form. "Our contract that none but you shall see me remains intact. I simply 'descended' to the kitchen while it was empty and took this. I even left a note on the board saying it was for Room 4. Relax. The food is real and delicious."
She set the tray down. "Enjoy, my love. And congratulations on your new strength. I can feel it you are growing formidable. It... excites me." She hissed and vanished into a scent of sulfur and wildflowers.
Greywind finished his meal and descended to the bar. "I take the quest," he told Dragnar. "Lord Valerius. Do I meet the opposition first, or head straight for the target?"
Dragnar set down a glass. "The client wants a meeting. She fears you might be a double agent or easily swayed. She will provide half the payment up front, evidence, and a map of Valerius's estate. The meeting is today at noon, in Warehouse 7 by the docks. She will be disguised as a cloth merchant. The password: 'The north wind brings a finer wool.' You respond: 'But the southern wool is warmer.'"
He handed Greywind a sealed letter. "Sign this simple contract and take it with you. Careful, Greywind. Politics is a gutter, and this client Baroness Michelle von Kessel is as cunning as they come."
From the corner of his eye, Greywind saw Mira talking to an old sailor, likely digging for information. He moved quickly to sell his loot not to Dragnar, but to a curio shop called The Rusty Relic. There, he sold everything, including Althea's locket. The shopkeeper, enamored with the silver pendant, placed it immediately in the front display.
At noon, Greywind entered Warehouse 7. The Baroness, a middle-aged woman in modest but expensive merchant's garb, waited with two professional guards.
"The north wind brings a finer wool," she said, her eyes calculating. "But the southern wool is warmer," Greywind replied.
She briefed him on the estate's layout. Greywind signed the contract and took the case containing 100 Gold and the intelligence. Before she departed, he stopped her. "Wait. Who exactly is to die? Only Valerius? Or anyone in my way?"
The Baroness paused, her gaze cold. "The primary target is Lord Valerius. If you can reach him without a trail of bodies, that is ideal. But if you must remove guards, servants who see your face, or even the hounds... do what is necessary. Just ensure they cannot identify you. There are three servants listed in that case who are on my payroll they are not to be touched. Otherwise... I care not for collateral damage, so long as the work is clean."
With that, she vanished through the back door. Greywind returned to the tavern, gathered his gear, and prepared for the two-day journey to Silverhaven. He donned a hooded cloak and used charcoal to alter his features, thickening his brows and deepening the shadows under his eyes. Using his forger's kit, he crafted a set of papers for "Gio of House Verdani," a young noble traveling to study provincial administration.
Meanwhile, back at The Rusty Relic...
Mira was walking through the market when her eyes caught the glint of the Sand-Drop Pendant in the window. Her face went deathly pale. It was the gift she had given Althea years ago.
She entered the shop, her voice trembling. "That pendant... where did you get it?"
"From a young man," the shopkeeper replied. "Brown hair, dark eyes, looked a bit grim. A warlock, I'd wager. He sold it this morning."
Mira left the shop, her heart hammering. She had a description. A brown-haired warlock with dark eyes. She began to sweep the city, asking at every inn, every stable. But Greywind was already gone, lost to the road.