John knows he serves Mistress Beytrixxa — a powerful succubus— now. He has a salacious imp named Zynga as a familiar. Beyond that, he has no idea what his new life holds for him... or how he intends to live it.
They stepped into the Broken Mare and found the common room half filled with a crowd looking for a midday meal and a drink. Probably more of the latter, but John was in no position to judge. He could use one himself.
"Go," Zynga urged him, once again looking like a halfling trying to whore herself out to the lowest bidder. "I can see the smoke coming out of your ears your mind is so busy. Get some quiet and think things through. Mind you do some practicing too, you're no use to Mistress if you can't use your magic and end up dead."
He nodded and started to pick a way through the tables when he realized Zynga wasn't coming with him. He turned and asked, "What are you going to do?"
She waved him off and said, "Oh, don't worry about me, I'll find something to keep me busy."
"What if I need you?" he asked.
"I guess you'll have to call for me," she said. "You're supposed to be a smart fellow, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
John stared at her a moment longer and then sighed and turned away. She was the least of his problems. Although an imp running around in a hamlet was a disaster waiting to happen. Better to focus on today's problems than borrow them from tomorrow though.
His room was empty when he got there. The chamber pot was clean and the pallet nicely made. A bowl rested on the table with a pitcher filled with water beside it. On the shelf was a clay cup with two fresh cut wildflowers in it. He smiled. Magda was determined to take care of him.
John pushed thoughts of Magda aside and reached into the pockets of his robe. He drew the pouch out first and emptied it onto the table. As expected it contained coins. A dozen gold and another six silver pieces. Enough to get him through a day... no, wait, his room and board was paid for a week. It wouldn't last long after that though. He'd need more, but how to get them?
He scooped them back into the pouch and tucked it back into his robe. His dagger came next. He studied the leather wrapped grip and the steel pommel. A black pearl was set into the middle of the pommel. The cross guard was steel and small. A thin black script was etched into it in a language he did not recognize. When he flipped it over he saw the same etching.
The blade of the dagger was ordinary enough. It was smooth and well maintained with edges on both sides. A miniature sword, at only six or so inches long. He held it in his hand and nodded at how well balanced it was before sliding it back into the sheath. Now what to do with it? He didn't have a belt and the straps on the sheath weren't long enough to reached around his waist. His thigh, under his robe? That seemed impractical.
John's eyes fell to his arms. The sleeves of the robe fell to his wrists... why not? He lifted his left arm so he could pull his sleeve back and then fumbled with the straps of the sheath to tie it to the back of his upper arm. The dagger fit snugly in the sheath and a leather tie was there to wrap under the hilt to keep it snug. He swung his arm a few times and nodded, it stayed put and fit well.
"That's that... now what?" John asked himself.
He went to the window and threw back the shutters to look out to the streets below. From his window he could see the bustling town at work like any other town, he'd expect. The wind off the seas to the west were fresh and brought the smell of salt, a welcome reprieve from the usual stink of the poorer sections of towns filled with tanners, stables, brothels, and worse.
The thought of a brothel made John raise an eyebrow. He looked about, searching for some sign of a house of ill repute. He shook his head a moment later, unsuccessful and uncertain of why he'd even bother. He'd lain with a woman just this morning, and that didn't even include his communion with his Mistress!
Thoughts of Beytrixxa drew him back from his predicament to the tasks assigned to him. He had to learn how to use this new form of magic. Understanding it meant...well, it was the first step in everything. It would draw him closer to understanding his place in the world and, hopefully, help him find more about who he'd once been and what had happened to him. He'd been revered and respected once... now he was little more than a gigolo, if his new familiar had the right of it.
John sighed and sat in a chair at the table. It groaned and creaked under him but held fast. Satisfied he wouldn't end up on the floor with a broken tailbone he put his hands together and steepled his fingers. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, centering himself and finding the peace that decades of practice had taught him. That much, at least, he could still do.
John felt the magic inside him with ease. The power was exciting and new. Different from that he'd touched before. In the past, as a wizard, he'd learned how to summon the mystic forces and bend them to his will with gestures, words, and more. Anyone could be a wizard though, it only took discipline, practice, and endurance. There was some pain too, as the body had to be hardened and taught to handle the powerful energies.
This was different. The magic was like a living thing. It moved on its own but stayed within him. He could touch it and feel it and it welcome him, though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. It felt good too, feeling the magic and letting it twist and writhe through him. It stayed within the confines of his body unless he pushed it out. Oddly enough, he could only push the magic out through his and his mouth. There was no way to project it from his back or his feet or his...
John struggled to keep from opening his eyes and swearing. He should have known... the magic was centered in his loins. He could, in effect, case a spell with his cock. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it! Yet what good would it do him. He was as he was, there was no changing it until he learned more.
He settled back into his meditative trance and experimented more. Pushing and shaping the magic and testing his knowledge against this new font of power within him until hours passed and he was well and truly exhausted.
John slumped back in his chair and dropped his hands at his sides. His arms ached and his belly was grumbling with need. He felt a deeper hunger inside of him too. The magic... he's used so much of it that it needed refueling.
"So I'm no better than a wand," John mused as he likened himself to an enchanted item. He felt a stirring in his loins and chuckled. "More of a staff... or a spear, I suppose."
There was no one around to laugh at his joke. The magic didn't care, it simply wanted to feed. John sighed and rose to his feet. He grabbed his spear relaxed his shoulders. Easy tasks, first find some food for his belly, then find a woman to bed. He knew what to do and now he know how... or if not he knew he could figure it out. Even the magic inside of him rested easier and accepted that he was in charge.
John made his way down to the bustling common room. The tables were full and it was loud enough a horde of ogres could sack the town and not be heard. Over the smell of ale, sweat, smoke from pipes of various types, he could still pick out the meat cooking in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled louder.
John made his way to the bar and raised a hand at a harried looking barmaid that was trying to squeeze past him. She waved a finger back, bidding him to wait. John started to nod and then thought better of it. Why should he wait? He was John the... well, no, he wasn't that man anymore. Still, he was no common peasant to be dismissed by a serving girl!
He snared her with a simple loop of magic. He cast it with a flick of his wrist and wrapped around her waist. She stared into space for a moment and then blinked her eyes and smiled before turning her attention on him. "I'm sorry, milord, what can I get you?"
"Ale and whatever the cook's special is tonight," he said. "I'm rooming for the week upstairs?"
"Of course, I didn't recognize you at first. That's a fine robe, milord, it won't happen again."
He smiled at her. "Good, good... now as for seating, I hate to take dinner alone in my room."
"I'll find you a place, don't you worry," she promised.
John smiled again and she was off. He turned and studied the room, searching for a suitable companion. He picked and discarded a few, not wanting to deal with their companions or changing his mind after noting their dress or mannerisms.
In the end only a few minutes passed before he felt a tug on his arm. He turned back to see the barmaid beckoning him with a shy smile on her face. John raised an eyebrow and followed her behind the bar and through the door to the kitchen.
