Fantasy Play
Posted on Fri Sep 19th, 2025 @ 11:17am by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Commander Jenna Ramthorne
3,468 words; about a 17 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: Holosuite
A sorceress and a mage battle for supremacy, taking turns lobbing magic at one another while ramping up the intensity with each volley. That is until the mage uses a binding spell on the sorceress and uses a twisting action to tighten the binds, causing her to moan in unexpected pleasure.
The mage, running out of spells and nearing defeat was captivated at this turn of events. Being that she was still bound, he approached cautiously, making her curiously nervous. And then in one quick motion, he removed her boots.
Fearful, she decreed, "What are you doing, no... no..." Just before he began tickling her feet. This caused her to wriggle and squirm, the giggles erupting from her mouth like a burst bag of popcorn she was trying to contain. "No, no, no... stop it, don't..."
But he continued, his curiosity piqued, his interests aroused. He began to tickle her legs, moving up to her knees. She continued to laugh and squirm. Just as the binding spell ended, he reached her thighs and drew his thumb up the inner.
Her laughing stopped and now there was an intense look upon her face as she glared at him, her lip bitten as she attempted to maintain her composure. How dare he touch her, tease her as he had, and... would he continue if she let him?
Reacting quickly in the hopes of throwing him off his attack, she tore open her breastplate, exposing her bare chest briefly before the fabric of her shirt fell back into place.
This had the opposite effect, however, as this drove him on, now in control of his actions, his hand went up her shirt, still lazily touching the inside of her abdomen, until it found her breast.
In shock, she started to pull back, but found his other hand was holding the small of her back, and with it the last of her resolve. His eyes never left her face, as he revelled in her shock and that little hint of pleasure.
It wasn't until his mouth engulfed her nipple and his tongue flipped against the nub ever so gently that they heard the audible clearing of a throat behind them. They were not alone.
"Erm, if you must be so brazen with your toy, perhaps might I suggest continuing somewhere a tad more private. The tabletop of a street-side bistro is not what most would say, a place for that sort of display."
The mage stopped, looked up at the maître d and then back to the sorceress, "Shall we continue our battle at your place or mine?"
She giggled, grabbed his hand and led him away from the gawkers and on-lookers.
She stood squarely before him, her demeanour shifting for a moment, her glare piercing in a way her words never seemed to do. " You dare challenge me to continue? A hide you must have and it will be duly punished."
The maitre d paused again, wondering if he would have to insist and create more of a scene that had already been created. He cleared his throat and gave them a look.
Challenged by now two adversaries, he had to make a choice of which one he would succumb to. One held a challenge over his hide, while the other held the authority card. With a single clench of his jaw, he swept the sorceress up in his arms, before turning and bowing at the maitre d. "The field of battle is yours. I take my prize elsewhere to..." He licked his lips slightly, "Devour."
There were audible gasps among the crowd and a singular whistle followed by a cheer. but the Mage pressed on, forthwith carrying the lady from the crowd and into the lobby of the local hotel, where they each held accommodation.
Eyes followed them, unbeknownst to the Mage and his sorceress. A darkened figure secluded in the shadows, chalice and talisman within its grasp. His time as approaching to take his true position as Fiest Mage, and to claim the beautiful sorceress as his own. Their folly would be his victory.
Lobby of the Gilded Griffin Inn
The hotel lobby smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender from the reception desk’s diffuser. Rich tapestries hung along the walls, their intricate runes catching the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Patrons milled about, checking in or lounging with teacups, entirely unaware that a different sort of storm was about to break.
The sorceress and mage stood near the grand staircase, eyes locked. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, catching the light like liquid fire. His robe, slightly ruffled from the market skirmish, only emphasized the casual confidence in his stance.
She smirked, raising a hand. “You know,” she said, voice low, “I could finish you here.”
“Could you?” he replied, stepping closer, a spark of magic flickering at his fingertips. “Or would you rather… play first?”
Before she could answer, he flicked a sliver of wind at her, teasing her hair across her face. She shivered, more from the thrill than the chill, and retaliated with a ribbon of golden light curling around his arm. He caught it mid-air, grinning.
Their spells danced back and forth, small arcs of fire, wind, and glimmering motes leaping between them. With each volley, the air charged, the faint hum of magic vibrating through the polished floor.
She twirled, letting a gust lift her robe just slightly — intentional or not, he didn’t wait to find out. His reply was a tickling illusion, a feather-light touch along her side that made her gasp and stumble, the glow of her magic faltering for just a heartbeat.
“Cheating!” she panted, laughing despite herself, cheeks flushing.
He shrugged innocently, eyes twinkling. “Curiosity is not cheating, my dear. Just… observation.”
She caught her balance, countering with a spell that made his robe cling unexpectedly, as if glued to his skin. He squirmed, laughing. “Ah! Truly diabolical!”
The lobby grew warmer with tension — not just from the magic, but from the closeness, the playful jabs, and the sparks of something far more intimate. Patrons glanced up, some whispering, others pretending not to notice, but neither duelist cared.
Finally, she leaned in, voice low and teasing. “So… are we continuing this… or shall we retire to a place with fewer witnesses?”
His grin deepened, hand brushing against hers. “Lead the way.”
"I thought you'd never ask" she grabbed his hand and ran through the marble-lined lobby, stopping only for the lift doors to open. The antique metal gates slid open, revealing an empty lift car. Perfect. "I have redecorated since the last we graced this hotel. Our usual rooms have been...adjusted more to your taste."
Just as the lift gate began to close, a hand reached through and stopped them, and the lift from moving. The gates parted once more and a cloaked figure stepped onto the lift, his face hidden, his eyes glowing. He entered and then promptly turned around to face the gate.
The first mage was taken aback by this sudden intrusion into their private affair, but without a beat asked, "What floor friend?"
The Sorceress eyed the newcomer with a quizzical expression. It could be something completely innocent, a happy chance almost. But there was something beneath the hooded gaze that haunted her. His eyes glowed for a moment before retreating to darkness. The hooded man did not reply.
Noting there was silence, the mage used the handle to make the lift go up, figuring the newcomer would at least indicate when to stop. But then he caught the eyes of the Sorceress, now staring at the newcomer; her focus, her stance, even her whole aura had shifted. Inside the lift, the whole mood had changed.
Taking no chances, he slowly drew his wand from his cloak sleeve and attempted to garner her attention by moving closer. Second floor approached. They were on the thirteenth. This ride was about to last the rest of their lives.
"Hold fast my friend and set down your magic" the cloaked figure announced, turning swiftly and brandishing his own wand. "I have no quarrel with you, however your accomplice has a price on her dainty head and I have all intentions of becoming rich "
"Friend?" The mage said stepping now in between the new Warlock and the Sorceress to defend her. "I don't know you from a bag of Newt warts, sir. You will not harm a hair on her head until I've done had my way with her myself."
The lift was not ideal for a duel, let alone the three of them all wielding magic spells. Tight spaces often created magic overlaps, things like turning someone half toad half horse. Try not to picture it, as it is not a pleasant thought to even consider.
The lift glided upwards at an imperceptible pace. "It seems then, we are at an impasse." The warlock replied evenly, eyeballing the Mage from beneath the hood of his cloak.
"You could join us?" The Sorceress suggested with a wink, attempting to diffuse the situation until they could get out of the lift.
The side eye the Mage shot her spoke volumes. He had signed on to the idea of an intimate match with the lady, but was not prepared for the idea of a shared match with the Warlock as well.
A chuckle broke the awkward silence, emerging from the Warlock. "You think I want anything to do with that spectacle you just put on in the market? See kid, that's where she gets you. She's a seductress, mighty good one too. She wants you all to herself. It's why there is a bounty on her head." His voice low, grovely, but then he licked his lips under the darkness of his cloak.
"Kid?" The Mage retorted. "Wait, I get it now, you just want her for yourself."
The Warlocks eyes rolled, "Duh." He said just as the lift approached 13. He dropped something out from beneath his cloak, which clattered to the floor of the lift. "And I will have her." The lift stopped, the gates rolled open and the Warlock, in position, stepped off. From the item rose a flash of glitter filled dark sky that quickly filled the lift.
"Demonnite Powder, get low!" The Mage shouted as he waited for the inevitable stunning spell to hit next. First blind them, then stun them, a common one-two punch.
The Sorceress ducked low and lunged forward towards the Warlock, pulling the Mage with her so he would be safe from the spell. Only someone with extreme skill would dare cast a spell in such close proximity.
"If I recall, I am not property to be bidded or sold. I choose who I play with" she scowled darkly.
Pulling himself up, and brushing himself off, the Mage said, "Of course." Cleared his throat. "Uh, hum, right, I only meant... Now, which way did that fiend go?" He flipped his head back and forth trying to see down the wide hallway, but the Demonnite powder still filled his eyes like ragweed during pollen season.
The Sorceress turned, their quarry had indeed disappeared. Was it a vanishing spell or had he really taken his leave?
"Coward" she snarled as she dusted the powder off the Mage's face. "He knew he was no match for you"
Frustrated now, mostly mad at himself, he let slip an elvish curse. "Dirthara-ma! (may you ever learn). Caught me distracted is what he did." He was gracious, she helped with the dust but now another question burned in his mind. "What, um, what did you do to earn the price on your head?" He asked cautiously, now not entirely sure he should trust his former dueling partner.
"A little bit of this. A little bit of that" she said coyly before turning the topic of discussion towards him. "Most likely the same reason you have been pursuing me"
"Don't pretend you know me." He was still distracted as he worried about the Warlock. "I have my own reasons and none of them are coin-related." He paused as she placed her key in the lock, thinking he heard a floorboard creak. His mind flashed to the binding spell he had used earlier on her, and a sly grin rose on his face. "My interests are more — personal."
"Oh really?" She matched his sly grin with her own "You wish to see if I can match your prowess with the wand, or shall we duel with hand cast spells instead?" She challenged him as the lock religuished its hold and slid open. "Your choice - or of course there is the bedroom." She stepped in, tossing the words over her shoulder as she did so.
He entered slowly, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. The darkened interior had all the makings of a trap waiting to spring. He attempted to keep the conversation light as the door closed behind him. "You'll find my hand work is the best you'll find, outside the bedroom or in, this side of the Magato River Delta, that is."
His left hand held onto his wand trigger, ready to spring it quickly if need be. His right, kept it's spell on hold and focused on the Sorceress. One flick, one inkling something was wrong and he would use it to disarm her, or anyone else should they get in the way. It was also useful for a quick disrobe.
"Is that so?" She said coyly, morning to the vintage sideboard and lifting the glass topper from the decanter. Amber liquid was poured into two ornate glasses, and some ice was added and she extended a glass towards her companion. "Its not poison, well only if you include good bourbon in that category"
"Bourbon, eh?" His stance softened slightly and he moved closer. He was now in the lionesses den and she was offering a distraction. The temptation was real as he lowered his guard only a bit, one hand still ready on his wand, his other reached for the glass. Taking it without incident, he watched her, studied her, just as he raised the glass to his lips, a sound, he hesitated, then gave in and took a healthy gulp.
"You sense deception, why?" She asked, taking a swig of her own glass, the ice clinking as it moved. " you came here of your own free will, what have I to gain from poisoning you this far into the evening? There is much to do"
The glass came away from his lips again as he studied her, "I mean, if you were me, wouldn't you? Our battle started innocently enough, but then some Warlock challenges us, or rather you, and lets loose the idea that you are a wanted woman. Now I find myself alone, in your chambers, in a vulnerable if not compromising situation." Even as he said it, he could feel something in the drink affecting his mind, clouding his senses. He glanced down into the liquid. "Really good Bourbon."
"It is, only the best for my acquaintances. To those who I allow to enter my chamber," she sipped her drink, setting the glass down on the ornate counter. Stepping up to the Mage she came only to his nose her short stature limiting her reach. Still, she dropped his Cape and revealed his true form in one easy movement.
"And that Warlock? Was he at any point one of your acquaintances?" He asked simply in an attempt to put her on the spot, interrupting the seductive motions that were flooding his head.
"He was a previous acquaintance, he never entered my chamber and I believe the loss of that still haunts him. Not to mention those before him. Their loss if they cannot hold their own" she purred, watching the reaction her words and body were having on him. "And you Mage, are you tempting fate? Or are you ready to lead with something other than your head?" She ran a finger along his jawline.
"You pretend and call me special, well, you're not wrong. I have always been one to tempt fate, a bad habit of mine." Her fingers caused the hairs on his neck to stand up and his skin to tingle. He placed the Bourbon on the nightstand next to the bed and began fiddling with his tunic threads. "I sought you out because I'd heard you are the best. Something my ego could not bear to go unchallenged. I had to see for myself." His head was growing fuzzy, whether from the Bourbon or lack of blood flow.
"I see you are receptive to my proposition." She took a step back to allow space for her dark arts. A wave of the wand and the utterance of words and he was disrobe of all but his briefs. "Very receptive indeed" she licked her lips and cast her eyes over his frame.
He chuckled at her callus showmanship. "Perhaps. It's a shame however, I expected less flash and more panache from you." Having his wand disarmed still allowed him the use of both hands. He twisted them and then wriggled various fingers. As he did a well crafted energy sphere molded and shaped itself into his palm while he whispered words into the mix. Then, with a flick, he sent the ball in her direction.
Instead of a sudden disrobe, the ball spilt and metamorphosed into a hand, then two, then four as it began to slowly undress her. It pulled expertly in the right way at her corset strings, releasing the pressure before removing it altogether. "Sometimes speed is good. Other times..." He twisted his fingers and the energy hands moved slowly down her rib cage, caressing like an electric tingle at her sides. "It's about the style."
"You are indeed powerful with your hands my Mage" the Sorceress demurred, glancing down at her statement of undress. "You wish to play these games? Let us see what else you can do" the challenge was thrown and she cast the ornate wand aside, taking a handful of powder, whispering words and blowing it into his face, allowing his mind to foresee its wildest fantasy whilst his body remain immobile.
The powder flashed in his eyes, like twilight dust, as the real world dissolved away around him. He was left, in the market square once more, gawkers surrounding them. She was once again bound by his spell, though this time both physically and metaphorically.
The binds held her again, writhing against invisible cords as laughter spilled from her lips. Every spell she flung at him transformed midair into feathers, sparks, or harmless streams of butterflies. Her fury only deepened her blush, and he reveled in the sight, drunk on the sound of her helpless giggles.
The scene cracked, warped, and swelled. Now they stood in a grand amphitheater, thousands of eyes upon them. The duel became a performance, her fire and his wind colliding in brilliant bursts of light. When her shirt slipped from one shoulder, the crowd gasped and roared its approval. She met his gaze, not with shame, but with a smirk that dared him to go further.
The noise of the audience dissolved into the crackle of lightning and the rush of flame. Their magics wound together in a storm above, threads of power knotting and pulling them closer until he felt her heat against his chest. Their hands glowed where they touched, magic surging, sparks racing between their skin.
She tried to twist away, to reclaim her superiority, but he caught her—always catching her—one arm tight around her waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. The battle, the spectacle, the laughter, it all melted into the single truth his dream whispered: that she belonged in his grasp.
And with that final realization, he pulled her in, hard enough to break the illusion, desperate to taste what victory might truly mean.
She was impressed; he could equal her in both magic and sorcery, fire and passion. He would indeed be her chosen one and would take his place by her side as they dominate the magical world. She allowed him to pull her close and didn't fight the touch, welcoming the caress of an equal. "I choose you, my Mage."
In the dim hallway, the Warlock lingered, watching with quiet satisfaction as his prey writhed just beyond the lift doors. The Demonnite Powder had taken hold perfectly, snaring both Sorceress and Mage in a single, tangled dream. They would remain bound in their illusions until he chose otherwise—or until their bodies withered, forgotten and weak. Victory had cost him almost nothing. Now only one task remained: to claim his coin.
END
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