It's an obvious ploy.

So obvious, really, as the emissary from the Halfling Republic stands demurely before me, all homespun charm and soft, plush curves to contrast with the ornate black iron of my armor. It's comical, really. My imposing visage, spun up to imposing majesty from the Magics of the Pit by the Dark Elves of Terr'akas, practically blots out the sun in front of the poor lass.

I've been good about checking off all the classic Dark Lord boxes, really. Black metal outfit wrought with the souls of the damned, good old-fashioned modern metallurgy, and more twisting spires than you can shake a Gothic stick at? Check.

Dark magic woven into my bones, with sinew and muscle brimming with unwholesome power? Definitely a check, although that takes quite a bit of time in the High Tower's gym with the orcs, admittedly. The legion of die-hard abomination-esque followers is pretty obvious, too.

A hint of darkly potent eroticism? Check, check, and check; I've thrown my points into that one with gusto. Who knows what ethereal handsomeness lurks beneath the skull-like helm and blazing crown of dark flame, or what towering column of flesh and steely vigor might rise from the depths of the midnight robe for a comely emissary of the Light?

Well, she's about to find out, I think, because the forces of Light and Good and Right have come together and offered me the one thing I am powerless against.

I gulp, her speech about the unspoiled lands of the South fading in around the thudding of my heartbeat.

Something about trade routes and peaceful coexistence, I think. That's what she's saying, her voice all cute and melodic and her excited speech making her body sway in all sorts of interesting manners. Let's be real, there's something darkly magical about all the curves of a human just kinda, uh... bouncing like that, condensed down to a half-height vision of pure, adorable sex.

And the dress.

Oh, fuck. The dress.

Remember, c'mon, remember the invasion plans; remember the legions of orcs that depend on a war-based economy; there's no way you can lead them into peaceful coexistence with the way her dress is pressing out against that gorgeous little - big - that - that ass and... gods damn it.

My mind is whispering, all sorts of dreadfully sinful things.

Bounce her on your lap, sign a treaty, sink into her gorgeous pink, kiss her and promise her peaceful coexistence and resource sharing, and just fuck the thoughts happily out of her mind...

I sigh, heavily, the sound somehow very human all of a sudden.

"So," I offer, the faintest glimmer of a smile growing begrudgingly as she grins back up at me.

"I might have a deal for you..."

Yes: Fantasy fuckstuffings, happy sex, butt stuff, and size differences. Blushes are always sexy!

No: Pain, gore, pomposity.

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