{Raven}
Henry’s enchanted blade whistled through the air where Raven’s head had been just moments before.
Raven ducked under the wild swing. The cramped storage room didn’t give her much room to maneuver. Bottles clinked ominously on their shelves as Raven rolled to avoid Henry’s next strike, the purple-tinged blade leaving an arc of dark energy in its wake.
[An enchanted weapon,] Raven noted. [I do not want to find out what that thing does.]
"You’ve gone soft," Henry spat, pressing his advantage. "The reports said so much about you. Spending so much time with that nim whore has made you weak!"
Raven’s response was a swift kick to his knee, followed by a slash with her own knife that barely missed his throat.
Quietly, Raven parried his next blow and spun away from his blade. She feinted left, then struck right, scoring a shallow cut across Henry’s arm.
But the bastard just grinned, dark energy crackling around the wound.
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"Sanguis, ferrum, impetu!" Henry’s spell drew the blood that Raven had just made come out and made it coat his blade, turning it a deep iron-like grey.
She knew she’d need her own tricks to win this fight. Raven remembered the hours spent watching Melisa practice her spells, the way the nim girl would combine different magical elements.
[Time to put those observation skills to use.]
"Ventus, spirare, defendere!" Raven’s wind shield spell parried Henry’s next magic-enhanced strike, making him stumble.
The man snarled. Henry pressed forward, his enchanted blade leaving trails of dark energy with each swing. Raven ducked and weaved, looking for an opening while avoiding the shelves of bottles that threatened to turn this fight into a very wet, very glassy mess.
[Come on, asshole. Get cocky. Make a mistake. That’s all we do in the Shadow Mages, isn’t it?]
As if on cue, Henry overextended on his next thrust. Raven grabbed his wrist, using his own momentum to slam him face-first into a shelf.
Bottles crashed to the floor, filling the air with the smell of spilled alcohol and broken dreams. There were probably at least a few patrons wondering what was happening.
"You bitch!" Henry roared, blood streaming from his now-broken nose. "I’ll gut you like-"
"Like what?" Raven interrupted with fury lacing her words, kicking his enchanted blade away. "Come on, at least be original."
She punctuated her point by driving her knee into his groin, making him double over with a very satisfying wheeze.
As Henry crumpled, Raven pressed her advantage. She slammed his head against the shelf again, then drove her elbow into the base of his skull. He went down hard, unconscious before he hit the floor.
And, without wanting to let a single moment go to waste, Raven promptly finished the fight, driving her knife into the back of his head.
CRACK
It was done.
[Well,] she thought, wiping blood from a cut on her cheek. It wasn’t hers. [That could have gone worse. Though Melisa’s probably going to be pissed I didn’t wait for backup.]
Now, though, she had a different situation on her hands.
She was in the back of the bar, with a dead Shadow Mage on the floor, covered in his blood.
How exactly was she supposed to exit this situation?
---
{Javir}
Javir leaned against the wall across from The Queen’s Rest, trying her best to look casual.
Soon enough, she caught yet another lingering stare from a passing merchant. Another passing glance from a lady with a purse. Some were obviously just people appreciating her appearance. But not all the eyes on her felt quite like that.
There was the old woman feeding pigeons who hadn’t actually thrown any bread in the last ten minutes. The young couple whose passionate embrace seemed just a touch too rigid. The window washer who’d been cleaning the same spot since Javir arrived.
[Either I’m getting paranoid,] Javir mused, [or this place might just have more Shadow Mages than their actual headquarters.]
She shifted her weight, feeling the reassuring presence of her sword beneath her cloak. The weapon was more than just steel – it was a focus for her magic, carefully enchanted over years of service as Court Sorceress. Not that she advertised that fact anymore.
[Come on, Raven,] she thought, glancing at the bar’s entrance for the hundredth time. [How long does it take to scope out one shifty tavern?]
The "window washer" had moved to a new spot, one with a suspiciously good view of both Javir and the bar’s entrance. Meanwhile, the "couple" had been stuck in their awkward embrace so long they were starting to draw genuine stares.
[Alright well, now it’s just amateur hour,] Javir thought with a mix of amusement and irritation. [What would Miria tell them if she saw this?]
The thought of her former friend sent a familiar pang through her chest. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe Miria had been working for the Shadow Mages all along. All those years of friendship, of sharing secrets and dreams and...
[No,] Javir cut that line of thinking short. [Focus on the mission.]
But after another ten minutes of watching the world’s least convincing street theater, Javir’s patience finally snapped.
[Fuck it. If they want to play games, I’ll play along.]
She pushed off the wall and strode toward the bar’s entrance, her long legs eating up the distance in confident strides. She could practically feel the tension ripple through the watching Shadow Mages.
The interior of The Queen’s Rest was exactly what she expected – dark wood, brass fixtures, and enough tension to snap a bowstring. Every patron seemed to be very intently NOT looking at the door behind the bar, which only made it more obvious where their attention really lay.
[Subtle as a horny nim in a monastery,] Javir thought, making her way to the bar.
The bartender approached, his ordinary features carefully arranged in a mask of polite inquiry. But Javir didn’t miss the way his hand stayed below the counter, likely near a weapon.
"What can I get you?" he asked, his voice professionally neutral.
Javir opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, the door behind the bar burst open.
Javir’s eyes went to her.
The man’s eyes went to her.
Everyone’s eyes went to her.
Raven emerged, covered in what appeared to be equal parts blood and very expensive alcohol. Her usual pristine appearance was thoroughly disheveled, and she was sporting what would definitely become an impressive black eye.
The entire bar went dead silent.
Javir’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
[Well,] she thought, already reaching for her sword, [looks like we’re doing this the fun way.]
"Professor," Raven said casually as if she didn’t look like she’d just gone three rounds with a very angry wine cellar, "I didn’t really manage to-"
The bartender’s hand emerged from under the counter, gripping a blade that gleamed with suspicious purple energy.
"Stop," Javir cut Raven off, drawing her sword with a flourish, "whatever it is, save it for after this, alright?"
"Right."
Around the bar, various "patrons" were rising from their seats. Weapons were being unsheathed. Polite masks were falling from now-angry faces.
[Well... This might be fun.]
---
{Jaylin}
Jaylin watched Margaret attempt yet another wind spell, trying very hard not to stare at the way the nim woman’s massive tits bounced with each movement.
[Focus on the magic, not the milkers,] Jaylin scolded herself, her face heating up. [Gods, I’m starting to sound like the kitsune...]
"Ventus, morros, caram!" Margaret called out, her red eyes sparkling with concentration. A small breeze rustled through Javir’s backyard, barely strong enough to disturb the leaves.
"No, no," Jaylin said, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary. "You’re still too hesitant with the spellsign. It needs to be more..." she demonstrated the gesture, "...like this."
In the background, little Hazel darted around the garden, her purple arms outstretched as she chased butterflies.
"Gonna catch you!" the eight-year-old nim called out, her tail wagging with excitement. "Gonna catch ALL of you!"
Margaret watched her younger daughter’s antics with a fond smile before turning back to Jaylin.
"Whew," she fanned herself, making her impressive chest jiggle in ways that absolutely did NOT make Jaylin’s mouth go dry. "Mind if we take a quick break? This magic stuff is more exhausting than I thought!"
[Don’t look at her tits, don’t look at her tits, don’t- AGH, I looked at her tits.]
"F-Fine," Jaylin stammered, crossing her arms. "But only a short one. You need to master these basics if you want to progress."
Margaret settled onto a nearby bench, patting the space beside her. Jaylin hesitated before sitting down, making sure to leave plenty of space between them.
"You know," Margaret said thoughtfully, "I appreciate all this training, but I’m not sure when I’ll actually use it. I’m not exactly planning to pick any fights!"
She laughed, the sound rich and warm, making something flutter in Jaylin’s stomach.
"That’s not the point," Jaylin snapped back. She softened her tone, remembering how the Shadow Mages had attacked this very manor. "Look what happened here. Sometimes the fights pick you."
Margaret’s expression grew serious.
"I suppose you’re right. Though I’d rather spend my time learning how to heal, like Melisa."
The mention of that other Blackflame made Jaylin pout almost.
"Mommy!" Hazel’s voice rang out. "Look! I almost caught one!"
"That’s wonderful, sweetie!" Margaret called back. "Just be careful not to hurt them!"
"Alright," Jaylin stood abruptly. "Break’s over. Let’s try that wind spell again."
Margaret rose with surprising grace for someone so... well-endowed.
"Yes, professor," she purred, and Jaylin absolutely did NOT shiver at her tone.
"Just... just do the spell," Jaylin muttered, face burning.
Margaret took her stance, raising her hands for the spellsign.
"Ventus, morros, caram!"
This time, the spell worked. Perhaps a bit too well.
A whirlwind erupted between them, far stronger than anything Margaret had managed before. Jaylin, caught off guard, lost her balance and tumbled forward.
Right onto Margaret’s very soft, very generous chest.
They crashed to the ground together, Jaylin’s face planted firmly between Margaret’s enormous breasts. The older woman’s arms had instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close.
[Oh gods oh gods oh gods,] Jaylin’s brain short-circuited.
"My, my," Margaret’s voice held barely suppressed laughter. She didn’t let go. "If you wanted to get closer to me, you could have just asked~"
"I-I didn’t- This isn’t-" Jaylin sputtered, trying to push herself up but only succeeding in groping Margaret in the process.
"Ooh!" Margaret cooed. "Careful where you put those hands, young lady~"
From somewhere nearby, Hazel’s innocent voice piped up:
"Mommy, why is Teacher Jaylin’s face all red like that?"
"Because she’s silly," Margaret answered, still not letting Jaylin up. "And cute when she’s flustered."
"I am NOT cute!" Jaylin finally managed to extract herself, face burning intensely.
Margaret sat up, adjusting her thoroughly disheveled dress in a way that only made it more distracting.
"Whatever you say, dear," she winked. "Same time tomorrow?"
[UGH, I hate this family,] Jaylin thought, very deliberately NOT watching Margaret’s chest bounce as she stood. [I hate them so much.]
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"Fine," she growled. "But next time, try not to blow me into your tits!"
"No promises~" Margaret sang, squeezing her chest together with her arms, and Jaylin seriously considered just becoming a hermit in the mountains instead of dealing with these impossible nims for one more day.