The dark elf Zarik Mudalal was lord of the Mud Castle. Well, the proper name he had given his home base was Castello Mudalal. Mud Castle was just what everyone called it. Despite the lord's aggressive attempts to correct this unfortunate misuse of his family name, all he had accomplished through his half-hearted efforts was to permanently etch the name into the collective consciousness of everyone who lived there... as well as the people who lived in the village around the castle... which everyone called Mud Village.

At least everyone in Lord Mudalal's world knew to use his land's proper name in his presence or suffer his ire.

The lord of Castello Mudalal was lord by right of strength, though he refused to think of it as anything less than his right to possess the land he had taken for himself. He was what enlightened people of the Vitalian peninsula called a Robber Knight, even if Zarik would prefer to be seen as a Robber Baron.

His family claimed a direct line of blood-relation to the royal family of the now defunct Mudalal Empire. They were a once powerful nation of moor elves whose lands could be found far, far to the east, across the sea... Beyond Croazia, farther than the Ungri lands, and on the other side of the Carpathian Mountains. That kingdom was long gone before the Holy Romulan Empire came to power.

In fact, the kingdom had existed so long ago and in such a faraway land that, unlike his foolish father and grandfather before him, Zarik didn't bother telling anyone about it. He still held the same pride of his origins and sense of entitlement as those who came before him, but he was the first male in his family line to abandon the family quest to retake the homeland, and the first to emigrate so far away from their seat of power.

There wasn't much power left to begin with, in Zark’s opinion. But whatever influence remained in Croazia, Zarik had chosen to make his own path in the world, and he held no regrets.

After relocating to the Vitalus peninsula, Zarik spent the next half-century fighting for one fiefdom or another as the land’s princes vied piteously for the right to restore the Holy Romulan Empire to prominence. He fought in a crusade and lived to tell the tale, and yet still, he had struggled to amass enough power or influence to claim any significant land of his own.

Yes, he might hold a castle or two for a time, but he found that without sufficient backing, he was unable to secure lands and meet his ultimate goal of establishing a proper barony. Dark elves were long lived. He was confident he had enough time to build his legacy.

Meanwhile, his family back home foolishly strived under the delusion that this world would one day return to a simpler time. A time when the races of the world were pure and segregated into their 'rightful lands'. Bah, their idyllic Moor Elf Dominion was a fantasy!

Perhaps, once upon a time the enlightened races kept to their original lands and refused to cross breed, but the world had become cosmopolitan, a melting pot. Even if there were some regions of the world where one race was the clear majority like high elves in Hispania, or dwarves in Ungri and Carpathia... the world wasn't moving backward to purism.

If anything, wars, shifting political lines and immigration would lead to a world where every race lived side by side. It was possible that one day all the races would be intermingled. Zarik had witnessed the phenomenon enough times to accept it as reality. Racial ties would one day be completely replaced by political and geographical ones.

Most of his life, Zarik had fought for one fiefdom or another, but this time he was building his own. He had finally found a powerful ally. It was true… this powerful ally had unusual requests that would be morally disgusting to a lesser man, but Zarik was a pragmatist first and foremost in the pursuit of his ultimate goal.

Five years ago, he had been approached by a representative of House Visconti. The plans the representative laid out seemed ludicrous at first, but the more he talked, the more excited Zarik became. There was something to be said about diabolical ingenuity in the hands of ones with resources and time.

Under his secret orders, Zarik tactically acquired this estate from its previous inhabitants. They had been no more than brigands, and little threat to him and his company of elite fighters. It had been as easy as blocking both in and outgoing traffic from the grounds. Then, wait for the enemy’s supplies to deplete themselves.

The dilapidated castle had been controlled by disorganized bandits and ruffians for many years, and in one fortnight, Zarik had driven the entrenched residents inside to give up their leader. After this leader refused to capitulate, the dark elf summarily killed the insolent human, and informed the surviving bandits they worked for him now.

It had taken him five years to restore the castle, its walls, and populate the village that now supported the estate. It didn’t bother Zarik that his settlement was populated mostly by thieves, cutthroats, murderers. Nor did it bother him that all the villagers had been acquired to farm the land and perform the various labors required in order for a village to thrive.

It didn’t bother Zarik that his mission was to fulfill all manner of strange orders in human trafficking. Nor did it bother that a third of his supply was required to be children. He was playing the long game, after all.

Indeed, though he was blissfully unaware of it, there was a kind of sweet irony that a castle which had been home to bandits for over a decade was itself conquered and restored to providence by a bandit. At least the lord of Mudalal was somewhat better dressed.

Lord Zarik Mudalal was short for a dark elf, which meant that standing at about 180 cm, he was as tall as an average human. His face was severe and full of points. His nose was long and pointed; his oiled and well-trimmed beard had been styled to a point; even his ears were longer and pointier than the average elf’s, which were all features he shared with his ancestors.

From the waist up, he wore a finely quilted purple doublet over a white shirt with a high collar. He liked to stand, as he did now, at the window of his luxurious room overlooking the castle grounds. Anyone walking inside the walls could look up and see him there, looking down his nose at everything with a calculating and evaluating gaze.

He literally lorded over his property and watched his people work.

Over there, a fresh shipment of children had just come in. They were moved from their transport cages to the larger, sturdier ones that had been built along the far side of the interior castle walls. One of the laborers was fixing the awning built over the cages which served to shield them from the rain.

On the other side of the estate, a new batch of adults wearing magical suppression collars were being inspected by a priest in black robes. One of the prisoners grew rowdy and aggressive and the priest calmly lifted his aptly named ‘bitch stick’ and jabbed the prisoner through the bars. The magically charged baton let out a jolt of electricity and the man collapsed like a sack of yams. Though… Zarik was fairly certain yams wouldn’t convulse in that herky-jerky way.

Lord Zarik took a deep breath and groaned a long sigh of pleasure.

Surely, anyone who looked up and saw him perched there at his windowsill, looking over his property with that smugly satisfied smile, would revel in his superior aristocratic glory.

Yes, from the waist up, framed by the majestic window looking out from his room in his castle, he looked like a dignified lordship. From the waist down, however... he was butt naked.

"Hmmmmmm.... yesssssssssss," purred Zarik. He kept his lofty gaze upon his dominion even as he thrust his cock deeper into his wench's mouth.

His room had been enchanted with magical wards to allow sounds from outside to come in, but none to go out. This allowed the lord of Mud Castle to keep his situational awareness of anything that might raise an alarm, while enjoying the thrilling knowledge that no one outside could hear the slurping and gagging noises coming from inside.

He relaxed and casually looked down to watch. Said wench was presently on her knees with her head sandwiched between his thighs and the cold stone under the window. Her blouse and bodice were undone and hanging from her waist over her green dress. Her loose chocolate curls ran down her neck and spilled onto her exposed breasts that were thick and fat over her tight core. Her areolas, a shade of tanned flesh that complemented her olive skin, were erect and firm.

Zarick salivated as he watched her breasts bounce delightfully with every bob of her head as she worshipped his instrument. Suddenly, she lay his member across her face, stroking it with sensuous smile on lush lips. Then she moved his balls aside with one hand and looked up at him with those hungry forest-green eyes. In a single fluid motion, she licked him from taint to tip before his shaft disappeared into her mouth's hot embrace.

It wasn't deep enough for his taste. He grabbed the back of her head with a free hand and moved away from the window and into the room's interior. This forced the woman to crawl forward on all fours while he was still inside her. To her credit, he didn't feel any teeth even though he might have expected it with her being jostled around.

Zarik stopped in the center of the room and looked up, confirming to his satisfaction that he could now put his full attention on the woman without anyone outside seeing. With one hand on the back of her head and the other curled under her neck, he thrust savagely into the back of her throat. She wriggled, stuck out her tongue, and dropped her jaw... and his cock slid down her throat until her face was buried completely into him. She gagged and bucked, making all manner of choking sounds until tears smeared with the black makeup she used as eyeliner streamed down her cheeks.

When he was finished cumming inside her, and she had swallowed it all, he wiped himself down with a moist, hot towel he kept in an enchanted receptacle just for this purpose. The enchanted box kept his towels at just the right temperature and moistness. It was just one of the many luxuries he liked to surround himself with.

Luxuries which included, by his own account, the seductress he indulged in to relieve stress.

"Are you feeling better now?" said the sultry voice of the woman named Sly. She sat on his bed curling a strand of hair around one of her fingers. Her wild hair and ruined makeup, along with the lewd way she spread her legs was exhilarating. "Or does the lord of Mudalal require more of my attentions?"

"You are truly a savage," said Zarik, neither playfully nor reproachfully. From his point of view it was merely a point of fact. He had never met a woman who enjoyed such rough personal treatment as she. This had been a welcome reprieve, but it was almost sunset, and he had work to do before dark. "I’m afraid I have to decline. Next time, I promise I'll tend to you more."

She pouted her lips and whined. "I'll hold you to it, my lord."

Zarik grabbed his boots, breeches, and pants from under the window where the minx had stripped him of them. When he turned to face her again, he was surprised to see Sly was already changed.

Somehow the woman had managed to get dressed, fix her makeup, put up her hair, and look as good as or better than she had when she had solicited him earlier. All of this in the span of the few moments while he had his back turned. It was obviously a trick done with magic, but it never failed to impress the lord of Mud Castle.

He chuckled.

The woman named Sly was an anomaly. She had been supposedly captured by one of his bandit detachments. Her story should have been common. A human girl gets abused by bandits then sold into slavery. She loses her humanity and her will to live. She dies another casualty of harsh times in a harsh world.

And yet, instead of the story of a broken girl being used... she managed to subdue her abusers, work her way into the lord's confidence, and now had free reign of the castle and surrounding grounds. She had her own quarters in the castle, servants at her beck and call, a wide assortment of mysteriously acquired clothes and jewelry, and... oh, yes! she seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly.

Zarik was sure there was something more to this meteoric rise than met the eye. He couldn't put his finger on it... not before he wound up putting said finger insider her instead.

Every time he started thinking about the nagging feeling he should investigate the matter, his mind simply wandered to a different subject. Or, he found himself fucking her brains out. All thoughts that might lead to any manner of dangerous conclusions always seemed to come around and arrived at sex.

And when he wasn't thinking of doing her... or doing her...

Well, there were always more important things to contemplate than the mysterious woman named Sly.