Captives and captivating

	When she awoke, all she could see were faces.  “Gah!” she exclaimed, quickly rolling onto her side. “What?  What happened?  Where am I?” she demanded.

	The faces belonged to a few of the adventurers who had insulted her in the tavern the other night, she noted. Not the huge one, but the other four.  “Uh, we're in the Neverwinter forest,” the archer noted.  “You fell down.”

	Capricorn looked down at herself.  “Oh!  I... how did I get out here?” she asked; she winced as the pain from her gashed arm caught up to her.  “Ah!  What happened?”  She clutched her arm and flinched as something shifted in the cut.

	“May I?” the cleric asked.  She nodded, and he quickly cast his Cure Wounds spell, knitting the cut closed.  A chip of bark spat out from the closing gash, then it was as good as new.

	“Thank you,” Capricorn said, the suddenly remembered she was supposed to have dignity.  “Hmph!  I should... get back to Tumnal's men,” she said, straightening up.

	“Countess!” a new voice called.  An Eladrin shouldered up from the rear of the group.  “Countess, we found you, thank goodness.  We should make our way to the Near Green at once!”

	“Yes.  Yes, I... we should do that,” Capricorn said, though the very idea made her mind lurch painfully.  Surely, she had better things to be doing?  “All... right, then.  What is your name, knight?”

	“Strillen, my Lady,” the Eladrin said.  The soldier saluted as Capricorn awkwardly dusted herself off.  “Allow me to escort you home.”

	“I am... home, yes,” Capricorn said.  The strange emptiness in her mind was back.  It felt good.  It felt like the master.  “Yes.  We should go.”


	The adventurers stayed behind at the clearing, looking for whomever they may have found, while Capricorn walked in the wake of the soldier, Strillen.  She made her way back along her path, even as the world swam before her eyes.  She felt a longing and a feral, aching desire building inside her, swelling and pushing her thoughts away.  She needed to serve the master.  It was all she wanted, and it was...

	Strillen turned when he heard her slow.  “Countess?  Do you need to rest?” he asked.

	“I... no, I don't need to rest, I just... I feel a bit hungry,” Capricorn said.  It was true, actually, she was feeling peckish.  It wasn't as overwhelming as her need for her master, though, just easier to explain.  It wasn't Strillen's fault that he didn't yet belong to the master.  Everybody would, though.  Sooner or later.


	Gillint wobbled away from the site of his work.  He could feel his hands shaking, and he looked down at the blood that coated both arms up to the elbow.  He had it dripping down his beard, too, and staining his cheeks and chest.  His belly ached.  He had fed too much.

	He paused to clean himself of the blood.  For a bare instant, his mind returned to him, and he wondered if this was really all right.  Was it a good sign that he was blacking out and soaked with blood?

	Then there was only the hunger, and the Dance Lord reasserted himself.  Of course.  He was the master, and what he did was right by default.

	His disciples, too, he thought with a twisted fondness.  They deserved all the toys he could bring them.  A shame he had broken the last ones.  He had brought them two before that, though, perhaps those were still good.

	He walked briskly through the undergrowth of the forest, until he heard talking ahead.  Curious, he quieted his footfalls until the source came into view.  His eyes went wide when he recognized Capricorn and an Eladrin soldier he didn't know.


	Capricorn's mind faltered.  Oh, but she needed to serve, she needed to obey the master...

	“Strillen,” she said quietly.  “Have you ever met somebody who was so good to you, so generous and so wise, that you felt like you should serve them even if they don't ask you to?”

	Strillen blinked under his helm.  “Er... no, not really,” he said.  “I've met fine leaders, Countess, of course, but I've never felt that kind of... religious devotion, I suppose.”

	Capricorn didn't even notice the implied insult to her own leadership.  “Well... I have,” she said dreamily.  She licked her lips at the thought of the master's dance.  “I wish I could be with him forever.”

	Strillen blushed.  “I do not know if you should be discussing this with me,” he said awkwardly.  “This is your private opinion, my Lady.”


	Gillint could barely contain his laughter.  Capricorn had come back for him!  He had written her off completely.  This was almost too good.  And this Eladrin boy, he was young and healthy; he'd make a wondrous toy.  He lifted his pipes to his lips and blew, almost silently.


	Strillen stumbled as he missed a step in the dark.  “Mph!  The hour grows late,” he observed.

	“I know,” Capricorn said.  “Have you ever attended a real satyr revel, my lad?” she asked.

	“Oh, yes, Countess, I have,” Strillen said.  “It was brief, but quite enjoyable.  I attended a gathering of the Flock of the Swimming Light,” he said.  It was another of the flocks that dwelled on the islands in Duke Severus' duchy.

	“Mmm... those flock revels are nice, I suppose,” Capricorn said.  What was left of her mind faded away almost completely for a moment, and she stumbled over her words as Gillint's music drifted over her tattered consciousness.  “But... I mean... the real ones.”

	“Real ones?”

	“The real revels,” Capricorn purred.  Suddenly, it felt like she was attending one.  She slid the straps of her dress off of her shoulders and let it droop down, opening her cleavage to the air.  “The ones where no man or woman finds themselves with unmet needs, that go on and on...”

	Strillen blushed again.  “Er, no, my Lady,” he said.

	“I need to... attend one,” Capricorn mumbled.

	“When we get you home, my lady,” Strillen insisted, before noticing she had stopped moving.  He turned around and recoiled instinctively - she was completely naked now.  “My lady!”

	Gillint reached out with his magic music, and grappled with the mind of the young soldier.  The Eladrin flinched subconsciously as need and self-preservation battled in his mind.  All Eladrin and elves have some resistance to being magically charmed, but Gillint was drawing on a power that was not his.  Strillen's shocked stance softened.  “Oh... my lady, but you are a beautiful woman,” he said.  His armor was so tight all of a sudden.  “You are lovely.”

	“Mmm...” Capricorn hummed as she twirled on one foot, idly flinging her clothes off into the trees.  “I need... to revel...”

	“But... we can do that... at home,” Strillen tried, though he didn't want to go all of a sudden.  “Yes... home...”

	Capricorn nodded as Gillint moved off.  “I know where home is.”

	Gillint ran through the trees for another few minutes, sprinting until sweat beaded on his brow.  What a gift!  His first servant and a new friend, to replace the two he had lost en route.

	He burst into the clearing he and his tempt had made his, and threw his arms open.  “My friends and children, sing in joy!  Your master returns, with a fresh new toy!” he nearly shouted.

	The other other seven satyrs of his new tempt clapped and saluted mockingly.  “Good, the last two have had it,” Slicce chuckled.  She jerked a thumb at where two human bodies lay broken and naked in the shadows by the clearing's edge.  “What have you got, Dance Lord?”

	Gillint sneered, and waves of persuasive magic rolled out of him and into the willing receipt of the new tempt.  “Ah, but a grand new prize I bring for us; our dear Countess returns without a fuss!”

	“Ho!  You got Capricorn herself to come back,” one of the other satyrs laughed, and the others laughed along.  “Well done, Dance Lord!”

	Gillint waved modestly as Capricorn and Strillen became visible behind them.  The Countess walked into the scene of horror and grinned, her mind now gone completely.  Strillen followed, hurriedly shedding his armor, but stopped dead when he saw the tableau - eight satyrs, their eyes gleaming with malice and hunger and arousal and pride, his Countess naked and himself on the way, and two savaged human corpses.  “Oh!  Countess, what is this?” he demanded, fighting back against the power of Gillint's magic.

	“Home,” Capricorn whispered, and she slowly walked into the closing circle of young satyrs.

	Slicce and Gillint slowly walked forward on either side of the frozen soldier.  Strillen's hand reached nervelessly for his blade, but it was gone – cast aside in the woods.  “Oh, healthy boy, be not afraid, for by the God of Pleasure, you'll now be laid,” Slicce purred.

	Gillint grinned.  It wasn’t a pure rhyme, but he was so proud.  He watched with a glow of paternal confidence as Slicce reached into the Eladrin's mind as he had taught her, gently tweaking aside his resistance and his self-preservation.  He was tough, far tougher than the underconfident debutant Capricorn, but he would break soon, Gillint predicted.  Slicce pulled the soldier's remaining clothes away and pushed him flat on the ground.  Strillen shook from head to toe in helpless fear, arousal, and magical confusion as Slicce straddled his shoulders, pinning his arms and locking eyes with him.  She began raping him as the others did the same to his Countess.

	Gillint looked over his shoulder and saw Capricorn's own development well in hand.  He sighed contentedly.  Life was good.


	Two days later, Crocutter The Faithful looked up from his work with a frown.  He felt his anchors loosening.  What was this?

	He stood from his crouch and walked slowly across the arena-sized room to the south end, staring off into the distance.  One by one, he felt the souls to which he had anchored his spell vanishing.  True, they were tertiary anchors at best, but anchors they were.

	A massacre, then.  Their lights were dying, one by one.  Souls gave off a funny light, and were easy to see.  For him, anyway.  The Master had said it was a rare gift, indeed.

	Crocutter snorted and looked away as the lights kept fading.  Drow were a renewable resource.  Of course, if ALL of the anchors died, that would be a problem, but not a significant one.  That satyr would be more than enough.  And, of course, the Shard.

	A faint groan from the floor below caught his misshapen ears.  Crocutter took note.  "New bodies, then, I suppose," the massive fiend grunted.  "Fine."  He returned to his table, still feeling the lights disappear as the drow he had made his anchors died.  "What are a few weeks?" he rumbled.  "I am patient."