Speedrunner 1.0

Author's Note: Played with some genre tropes this level; let me know what you think!

I'll do another 'interlude' chapter with more mechanics stuff early next month, that will include a poll for Chloe's new advancement choices. This chapter was already pretty game-mechanics-heavy, so I figured I'd peel off some of that stuff into an interlude chapter.

---

Okay, I've got time for one more question, Diane.

Why am I doing this, she asks? Ha! All kinds of reasons.

But I'll share one. If I'm honest with you, I think that what we're selling will soon be the only thing worth buying in the entertainment space.

No, no, it's not the technology. Don't get me wrong, the tech is incredible, flawless. Revolutionary. Everyone's going to be blown away when they see it in a few days, although retail availability is a long ways off.

It's more that people are going to crave this sort of thing before too long. But we might not be quite there yet.

What do I mean? Well, what we're serving up is going to be authentic, isn't it? Real. That's what reality entertainment has always been about -- real people, real struggles, real triumphs and failures. Everything's real.

And before too long, technology advances are going to make that priceless.

Ah, you don't see it, do you? Okay. Let me tell you why authenticity matters, then.

Let's say I fed your entire history of media consumption to an AI along with some basic information about how well you liked what you've watched.

And then I asked it to create something new that you'd like. Could be a movie, could be a new series, whatever.

Hell, maybe you even tell it what you're in the mood for, genre-wise -- a romantic comedy. A space opera. An action flick.

Right now, if I fed that prompt to the best consumer-available AI and asked it to make something new...well, first, it'd be incredibly complicated to set up. And then it'd take a couple of days, probably, of chugging away at it. After that, you'd need to do the fine-tuning yourself to make it truly satisfying to watch -- which of course defeats the purpose. You'd see some extremely rough drafts before you got a good final product.

And nobody wants to eat a dozen half-baked cakes before settling in to actual dessert.

So that's all too long and too cumbersome to be practical, obviously. But five years ago it would've been entirely impossible, so that's progress worth noting.

Know how long it would take Prometheus to do it? Go on, guess.

Ha. Not a bad guess, but no, even faster. About three seconds. Maybe ten, if your tastes are a little complicated or esoteric. It's not even especially good at that kind of content generation, isn't optimized for it, but it's still trivial.

And these wouldn't be half-baked cakes. You're going to watch that romantic comedy and laugh your ass off, maybe shed a tear or two as the ending reminds you of the power of redemptive love. You'll watch the action flick and be on the edge of your seat, fist-pumping when the bad guy finally dies. That space opera is going to remind you what a small species we are, how vast space really is -- but how, even in conflict on a cosmic scale, it comes down to a handful of men and women and their connections with one other.

You will be consuming something that is precisely calibrated to your tastes and preferences with the goal of inducing the emotional experience you're looking for.

Now, we're a long way off from commercial availability of anything like Prometheus. But it doesn't have to be that good, or that fast, to be worth using. One day soon, anyone, from the comfort of their own home, will be able to generate fictional entertainment for themselves more-or-less on demand. Most entertainment companies are going to be out of business overnight.

Know what people won't be able to do, though? What AI won't do for you, at home?

Make the stakes in those movies real.

So, yeah: we may be ahead of our time. But trust me when I say that this is the direction entertainment media's heading, because the glut of stuff that's fake is going to make everything else feel lifeless in comparison.

Authenticity equals entertainment value. Eventually, the only thing that will be entertaining is what's real, because you can get as much fake shit as you want, generated on-demand, 24/7/365.

Ha. I can see from the look on your face that you get it now. We're going to be making the only thing anyone will care about, soon enough.

And hey, if you're an investor listening -- since we launch tomorrow, it's too late to get in on the ground floor. But it's not too late to chase the elevator by running up the stairs, if you catch my drift. Call me.

---

My initial plan, as I went through the now-familiar process of rezzing in -- awareness and sensation slowly becoming more distinct around me, the dark room I was leaving behind being replaced with the perception of another space -- had been to immediately do a run through of a bunch of information I realized I hadn't checked. I wanted to see if the system would give me descriptions of each stat, if those held any clues.

Unfortunately, that plan went out the window pretty fast.

"ATTACK! THE GOBLINS ARE ATTACKING!"

The shout was loud, but not from especially nearby -- through a window or something, maybe a block away.

Blearily, I fumbled about, my brain still catching up with all the new perceptions flooding my senses. It smelled kind of...well, rank in here. I was prone on some kind of fairly uncomfortable straw mattress, under a rough blanket, in what looked like the medieval version of a hotel room -- there was a candle on a little wooden bedside table. A little pot -- a chamberpot? -- in the corner.

And there was the sound of...altercations, both outside and from elsewhere in the building I was in. A few people scuffling. Snarled expletives. Something breaking -- pottery or glass -- and a grunt of pain.

Fumbling next to the mattress I was lying on, my hand, almost reflexively, closed around the hilt of a blade.

It was comforting. Familiar.

And I was glad I had it in my hand, because a moment later a small green man kicked in the door to my room.

Saying he kicked the door in was probably giving the door too much credit. It was a relatively inferior example of its kind -- little more than a few dilapidated boards held together by crosspieces. He didn't need to kick the door in so much as kicked out one of the vertical boards and then wedged himself through.

The little guy was a full foot, maybe a foot-and-a-half shorter than me. He had a wicked curved blade in one hand, with a jagged edge. His other fist was clutching a sack, which he pulled through the door behind him into the room.

I pulled myself to my feet, still getting my wits about me.

"Treasure or tush!" he shouted, belligerently, in a shrill voice.

ENCOUNTER STARTED.

Then he paused, and gave me the ol' up-down.

I stared at him. Then, following his gaze, I glanced down at myself, and registered a few additional pieces of information.

First: I was naked.

Second: I had more muscle definition than I normally did. Enough that I had abs.

Honest to god defined abdominals, like...like some kind of fucking Crossfit athlete or a calisthenics enthusiast. My arms weren't burly or muscular, but I had biceps veins, and a defined ridge of muscle at my triceps.

In short, I looked great. Athletic and great, like version of myself that had spent a couple of years eating right and going to the gym way more religiously than I did.

I broke into a grin, and glanced back up at the goblin.

"...Tush?" The little green man repeated the word, eying my naked body. He sounded almost eager, now.

I realized that I could see, under the ragged loincloth he was wearing, the silhouette of an almost hilariously oversized cock.

As I inspected him, the system helpfully pulled up information.

NAME: Spitlick

ARCHETYPE: GOBLIN MARAUDER [AI] [MONSTER] [HOSTILE]

Spitlick is an extremely representative example of a male goblin. Oversexed and undercivilized, he's got two things on his mind: plunder and booty. He's indifferent about the particular definitions of those words. Now, you might be thinking that you've got a bonus objective to fuck a monster, and you'd be right -- but are you sure you want it to be a goblin? Where there's one, there's always more.

Yeah. No sex with the little green man. I wanted to consider other options first.

As a result, I wasn't sure how this was going to go. I gauged the distance between us. The last time I'd been in a fight had been in third grade, when a girl on the playground had asked why my eyes slanted like that.

I eyed the edge of that wicked-looking curved blade he had. It looked like the kind of thing that was well-suited to hacking off limbs, which wasn't how I wanted my participation in the game to end.

But there was something instinctual, reflexive, in the stance I took, my left foot a bit forward and towards him, right foot back. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet. There was muscle memory in the way one of my hands gripped the scabbard, the other the hilt, and almost lazily slid blade free. It turned out to be a long, elegant weapon, a straight blade, double-edged and slim, with a modest little hilt.

I'd read books and seen fantasy movies where they talked about the balance of weapons being important. I'd never really understood what it meant until this very moment. But now, with this weapon comfortably seated in my hand, blade light, pointed between me and the goblin, I got it. This sword was well-balanced.

I kept the point low, which felt right. About at the level of Spitlick's upper chest, his center of mass.

It all gave me a lot of confidence. Sword in my hand, I felt powerful. Dominant. I wasn't afraid of this little fucker.

"No tush. Get the fuck out of here or I'm going to kill you," I said, casually. I felt surprisingly calm for someone who had never killed anything bigger than a spider cricket.

But this wasn't, real, right?

And my body seemed to know what it was doing, anyway.

Whether he understood what I'd said, Spitlick seem to pick up from my tone, stance, and the sword leveled at his face that tush was not on the table.

He screeched his rage at me.

But he was eyeing the blade in my hand with some respect. He glanced behind himself at the door he'd come through. Then he turned back to face me.

I could see the realization in his eyes. He wanted to run, but if he went to squeeze through the hole in the door he'd made, he'd be vulnerable -- I could skewer him in a moment. He didn't really want to fight me, but...

What was clearly a warlike nature won. He raised that jagged blade over his head, let out a shrill cry, and started forward.

Well. He was going to start forward.

It turned out that I was lightning-quick with this sword I'd never used before, though. Way quicker than Spitlick.

I lunged at him; the remaining distance between my blade and the goblin vanished in the space of a heartbeat. The point caught him in the eye, arresting his forward momentum. I shifted my weight, doing something with my feet and hips that let me whip the blade back slightly, and out again once more; it caught him again across the throat.

And Spitlick was dead, just like that. His scimitar clattered to the floor; his body toppled right after.

ENCOUNTER COMPLETED.

I blinked a few times, rapidly, processing what had just happened.

I knew how to swordfight.

And I'd just killed someone. Easily.

I'd just killed an AI-generated goblin in an extremely realistic VR setting, I hastily amended. I didn't need to give myself an ethical quandary to mull over right now. It all felt so real that it was hard to remember, but reminding myself that this was a game did help me compartmentalize.

I took a breath. Like I'd done it a thousand times before, I leaned down and wiped the blood -- green, I noted with distaste -- from the point of my blade on Spitlick's tunic. I used the point to nudge open the sack he'd been carrying. There was an assortment of minor valuables -- some rings, some coins in denominations I didn't recognize, what looked like a copper teapot, and so on.

I looked around the room, hesitating for a moment, and then decided on a few immediate priorities now that I had a moment to think.

First: Ted and Becky were nowhere to be seen.

I pulled up one of my abilities.

What Do You Think, Chat? [C][BASE]
Once per competition level, you may ask chat a question. Asking the question starts a five minute timer. When the timer reaches zero, you’ll receive an aggregated summary of responses and reactions to your question from viewers in the chatroom of your live stream. Chat may be wrong, uninformed, hostile, sexist, rude, and/or unhelpful. But you knew that already – it’s chat, after all.

(Currently, you have one additional use available on this level, as compensation for being unable to use this ability during the Tutorial level.)

I considered it for a moment, but this was as good a time as any, I figured. I wasn't sure how it worked, really; I needed to start using it to know exactly how to make the questions count for as much as possible. And I had a second use this level, so there wasn't going to be a better time to test. I activated it, and the system popped up another message, words flashing in my vision.

ASKING CHAT...

"Chat, which way should I go to meet up with Ted and Becky as soon as I can?"

A little 5:00 began counting down in the corner of my vision. Good to get the five-minute wait started; I had a few other things to do that would help pass the time.

There were clothes on the floor next to the mattress. Black undergarments. Black leather breeches. A kind of black collared top, sort of a sleeveless button-down shirt. I pulled them all on. There was no mirror, so I had to settle for just looking down at myself in the flickering candlelight.

I looked, I thought, pretty hot. In a rakishly dangerous sort of way. Very femme fatale.

There was also a leather belt. The belt had a few small leather pouches that mostly seemed to contain thin metal implements of varying thicknesses and lengths -- lockpicks, I supposed. I put the belt on, as well as a cloak that was folded underneath it, and then pulled up my gear.

GEAR

Sampler: Statement Lipstick [GEAR][CONSUMABLE: 1]
A lipstick that helps you make statements. Get it?
+1 Verbal until the end of your next encounter.

Exceptional Jian [GEAR][MELEE WEAPON][FINESSE]
An extremely well-made sword. Put the pointy end into your enemies.
This is a finesse weapon. Your competence with this weapon is based upon your Performance statistic.

Lockpicks [GEAR]
For picking mechanical locks. Lockpicks have a small chance to break upon each use.

Vagabond Outfit [GEAR][ATTIRE]
This attire combines performance and aesthetics for the woman who needs to go from Pilates, to dungeon-delving, to a cocktail party on a single outfit. Featuring thoughtful details like reinforced seams, hidden pockets, and patented no-rip fabric, you'll look -- and feel -- effortless and elegant, from boardroom to battlefield.

...That's how the marketing execs will pitch the spinoff clothing line they'll make if you survive this level, anyway. For you, it just gives +1 to Performance.

I sheathed the blade, considering all of that information. The Statement Lipstick I'd bought last level. The sword and lockpicks seemed self-explanatory, and the Vagabond Outfit further buffed my Performance. I wondered if there really would be a spinoff clothing line made.

Speaking of my stats...

STATISTICS
Appearance: 1
Verbal: 3 (+1)
Performance: 2 (+2)
Sexual Prowess: 6

EXPERIENCE
Dominance: 8
Satisfaction: 4
Connection: 1
Overall Score: 32

My Performance and Verbal both being 4 -- even if it was only temporarily boosted for this level -- was extremely satisfying.

I blinked. Last I'd looked, my Dominance had been five. How was it eight, now?

I considered it for a moment, thoughtfully, and then pulled up one of my perks to re-read.

Any% Completion [C][BASE]
Always on the lookout to set a new record, aren't you? Encounters in which someone is finished faster than they expect will award you one additional point of Dominance or Satisfaction. Encounters that end faster than anyone expects instead award two additional points of Dominance or Satisfaction.

I laughed. Apparently combat encounters counted just as sexual encounters did...and apparently Spitlick had been just as surprised as me by his abrupt demise. Three points of Dominance was a very nice start to this level.

The What Do You Think, Chat? timer had ticked down from 5:00 to 3:09 as I'd dressed quickly and looked over my gear. I really wanted to see what chat would suggest before I made my next move, and I didn't seem in further immediate danger; I could hear the sounds of commotion from elsewhere inside the building I was in, as well as on the street outside, but nothing that seemed close at hand. So I posted up against the wall, next to the door, so that I'd get the drop on anyone who peered in through the hole that Spitlick had made.

I focused on each of the statistic names in turn, and was pleased to see that my Chloe's Inspection perk did indeed offer some additional information. I should've done this much sooner.

Appearance is, quite simply, how good you look, the visual impression you make, how your charisma and presence inspires others. A high enough Appearance will make you irresistible; others will be drawn to you like a moth to flame. If you want to make an impression without saying -- or doing -- anything at all, this is the stat for you.

Verbal represents your aptitude for saying the right thing, in the right way, in the right moment. This includes your affinity for dirty talk, saying the thing that gets someone in the mood, arouses them, and then gets them off. Why get your hands -- or any other body parts -- dirty, when a high enough Verbal score can get the job done for you?

Performance reflects how well you perform. With your hands, with your mouth, with a strap on, whatever. It's the motion of the ocean, the stroke game, the rhythm, the ride. From complicated thrusting maneuvers to athletic and acrobatic positioning, this stat does it all. Those other stats are for losers; isn't how well you use your body to achieve the desired effect the be-all and end-all?

All three of those were more or less as I expected, although I couldn't help but notice that, in retrospect, they were worded in a way that seemed to include more than just sex.

I kept pulling up stats.

Dominance reflects your raw aggression and aptitude for controlling and imposing your will on others around you. A higher Dominance makes you more likely to get your way, impose your will, and, well -- dominate others in encounters.

Satisfaction is your propensity for achieving satisfaction during encounters. Higher Satisfaction translates into more difficulty wearing you out; stamina that allows you to go the distance, take a pounding without giving in or giving up.

Connection, as you might expect, is your inclination for forming connections with others. It reflects your ability to develop intimacy and close emotional bonds, how well you support other people. Maybe that seems useless compared to some of these other stats. Or maybe, at the end of the day, it’s on the only thing that matters!

I paused, reading and re-reading all the text.

The wording definitely seemed to make it sound like these all impacted more than just sex.

I decided that my newfound facility with the sword I was holding was probably most likely due to some combination of my Dominance and Performance stats. I didn't have anything that would let me test that hypothesis currently, but Ted's new Supportive Partner ability buffed Dominance; that would let me test it more thoroughly. Or maybe I'd get more stats over the course of the level and I could test that way.

And Satisfaction sounded like it was roughly equivalent to hit points in video games I'd played. Or stamina, or defense. Something like that. I was glad that mine was at least half-decent.

I wasn't sure about Connection yet -- some kind of healing or support stat, I supposed. With mine so low, I hoped it wasn't something that gave me a critical deficit. All the more reason to find Becky and Ted as soon as possible; their Connection stats were higher.

I felt a little bad, thinking of them without me. If Dominance was kind of...offense, for lack of a better word, the two of them would be massively ill-equipped to handle goblins.

And then the timer for What Do You Think, Chat? ticked down to zero and started glowing a comforting green. I focused on it, and a whole new set of information appeared in front of my eyes.

It appeared that the system parsed the results of my ability as a bar chart, which appeared to count the frequency of words in responses; more frequently responses appeared to be at the top.

I read through the labels on the bars for a moment before I shook my head and snorted out a disbelieving laugh. The six most common responses were, in ranked order:

GOBLIN?
MORE
LIKE
GOBBLIN'
THAT
DIIIIIIICK

"Nice job coordinating on the voting, guys," I said, drily. I tried not to show any annoyance; I knew that would only encourage them to be even worse in the future.

I kept looking further down the list of responses, hoping for something more useful. Unfortunately the next three lines were all different versions of the word dick, with different numbers of the letter i.

DICK
DIIIICK
DIIIIIIIIIIICK
stayawayfromwartrollitsfuckingmurderingppl

The results seemed to cut off there, only showing me the top ten most common results.

"Wow, all these different dicks for me, chat?" I quipped absentmindedly, as I stared at the last row for a long moment.

Stay away from the war troll. It's fucking murdering people.

Well, fuck me. I'd hoped for a little more direction than that.

At least I got two uses this level instead of one. And still, it was useful to know how it worked. Maybe it just posted a poll in chat and only allowed a one-word reply? I made a mental note to ask chat yes/no questions, or at least a question where a bounded set of one-word answers would be more meaningful to me, as opposed to an open-ended what should I do next question.

Ah, well. I opened the door and headed down the hall, my steps light on the floor and my blade light in my hand.

---

My trip down the hallway and then a flight of stairs made it clear that I had been in an inn. I passed another half-dozen rooms just like mine, although they were all unoccupied -- whether because there were no patrons, or because the patrons had fled, was unclear.

The common room was quiet, empty -- a few overturned chairs and tables but no more signs of chaos than that.

And then I stepped out into the pandemonium of the street.

It was just after dawn, and in the early morning light there were panicked people running about everywhere. The inn I had evidently been in was near what was obviously the entrance to this medieval town: stone walls that seemed to wrap around had a gap that included a pair of sturdy wooden doors, each twice as tall as me, with a watchtower on either side.

Except that one of the doors was currently hanging off its hinges, and -- as I watched -- a steady stream of goblins was pouring through the opening.

The doors to the town were nothing like the door to my room inside the inn; they would've taken more than a bunch of goblins to break down.

I didn't want to meet whatever had forced open those doors.

Probably a war troll, I thought, grimly.

I looked around. The silhouette of a castle was visible, behind me. Automatically, I pulled up the level information and objectives again. It was amazing how quickly it had started to feel natural.

LEVEL ONE: THE LAST DANCE

SETTING: [FANTASY][MAGIC][MEDIEVAL][MASQUERADE][MONSTER ATTACK]

ADDITIONAL RULES AND RESTRICTIONS:
There is no encounter limitation in this Level. However, encounters that lack novelty will not adjust your statistics or offer other rewards.
Level One begins at dawn and lasts for twenty-four hours of time. It closes regardless of the state of the Objectives at the following dawn.

OBJECTIVES - LEVEL ONE

Be inside the castle at sundown -- 0/1
Survive until daybreak -- 0/1
Overall Score >=200 -- 0/1

OPTIONAL

Win a duel -- 0/1
Bed royalty -- 0/1
Bed a monster -- 0/1
Steal something of significant value from the castle -- 0/1
Be crowned lord or lady of the ball -- 0/1
Unmask the King's secret -- 0/1

It was interesting that my fight with Spitlick hadn't counted as a duel; the word must mean something more formal than just a one-on-one encounter.

Well. With no new information, I set out towards the castle. I knew I needed to get inside, and Ted -- and maybe Becky -- would be heading that way eventually too, I figured.

---

Over the next half-hour, I discovered two things: first, that getting to the castle was going to be slow going, and second, that the game had been serious about encounters that lacked novelty not giving me additional rewards.

It was slow going because there were so many fucking goblins.

At just about every intersection, at least one goblin took note of me. And whether it was my Performance stat or my Dominance stat or both, I got to find out exactly how competent I was with that sword.

Single goblins were easy kills, just like Spitlick had been.

Groups of two or three were no problem as well; I was a lot faster than them, and fancy footwork along with some careful distance management still meant I won easily, without a scratch.

Four goblins at once was the point at which it started to get a little dicey, to push the limits of my abilities. There were enough of them that disabling or dispatching them in a single flurry of blows became difficult, especially if they fanned out to my sides. But they weren't especially coordinated, and -- with some focus and agility -- I had them tripping over each other to buy me some time.

Unfortunately, then I ran into an intersection with a group of six. Including a goblin with a short bow.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I muttered, when I checked and realized that killing the entire group of six still hadn't increased my stats.

Evidently the game's definition of novelty required the encounter to be something truly different, not just more goblin marauders with different weaponry. I'd done a backflip over two of them during that fight. And I had taken an injury that time -- a slice on one of my forearms. I stared at it, bitterly, for a moment. It had been a very deliberate choice between a dagger across the forearm or an arrow in the abdomen. I'd twisted to avoid the arrow, knowing I couldn't avoid the dagger. It had been the right choice, but I still didn't like it. I was approaching the limit of my abilities.

In addition to the minor injury, I was getting tired, slowing down a little. I needed to be more careful, conserve my energy. There were too many goblins to kill them all, and evidently they weren't going to make me any stronger, so I was just expending energy.

So I started sticking to the shadows, waiting for the intersection to be clear or for the goblins to be distracted before slipping across. It was difficult; it was getting brighter by the moment.

On top of that, I hadn't seen any other players. There were NPCs -- goblins and townspeople -- everywhere, running around full of malice and panic, respectively. But no players that I'd seen, yet anyway. I wasn't sure what that implied -- maybe there were multiple instances of the level and I was alone? Maybe the town was just that big? The castle was still pretty far off, though I'd been fighting my way through goblins for a while...

As a result, when I heard a guttural voice from a building halfway down the next block, followed by a quieter, female voice lowered in a murmur -- I took the opportunity to slip inside quietly, to see whether it would give me any ideas for a different approach.

---

I crept in through the doorway. It was some kind of shop -- a clothiers, maybe? -- although it had been trashed. I immediately ducked behind the counter, because there were several people in the store.

I was glad I'd come in.

Becky was in a costume that wouldn't have been out of place at a Renaissance Faire. She was wearing a kind of fitted plate armor that clung to her torso, perhaps doubling as a corset -- her waist seemed impossibly tiny, and her breasts were pushed invitingly up and together, creating a voluptuous expanse of cleavage just above the armor.

Also: her ears were elongated, and came to points. An elf.

Taken altogether, the armor looked totally impractical. Becky looked like the hot cosplay version of an armored heroine; maybe the love interest in an extremely fanservice-heavy anime.

She was also currently kneeling in the wreckage of the shop. And there were three goblins in front of her.

All of the goblins were naked, what passed for their clothes scattered on the ground around them. Just as Spitlick had been, they were anatomically enormous. Thick, veiny erections protruded as they crowded in front of Becky, leering at her.

No one -- neither Becky, nor the goblins -- had noticed me yet. Becky, looking extremely intimidated, was in the process of reaching out one delicate finger to touch the tip of one thick goblin cock.

"Easy, fellas..." she murmured, tentatively.

The goblin she'd touched groaned in response; his cock was big enough that I could see it twitch, even from across the room.

I focused on Becky, pulling up her description, hoping it would tell me more about whatever Origin she'd picked for the level.

NAME: BECKY

ARCHETYPE: ASPIRING ACTRESS
Most rational humans find former theater kids who're trying to make it in LA annoying. Their constant need to be in the spotlight; their deep-seated need for validation, to have an audience. But, hey: this is, after all, an entertainment production. Maybe someone who's trying to make it big in entertainment could be useful to have around?

ORIGIN: ELVEN BATTLEMAIDEN
Becky has chosen, in a predictable turn of events, to be an elf. The frontline of elven forces, battlemaidens combine magic and weaponry into a defensive, protection-focused fighting style. Of course, here, just like other elves, she's at the bottom of the social hierarchy, but she's got magic and good looks on her side, so it could be a lot worse, right?

Well, like the system said: no surprise that she was an elf. Princess must not have been on offer, I guessed.

I inspected the goblins as well. Two of them -- named Snotter and Fizzgob, evidently -- were labeled as Goblin Marauders, just like Spitlick had been.

The description of the third goblin, though, gave me pause.

NAME: Retchmung

ARCHETYPE: GOBLIN WARLOCK [AI] [MONSTER] [HOSTILE]

As a goblin warlock, Retchmung outranks the marauders, and has a modicum more control over his own baser instincts. The biggest difference is that he's proficient in magics of lust and rage. This allows him to influence emotions -- not just of his compatriots, but of those around him. There's not a lot of nuance to it, but with lust and rage, does there need to be?

And indeed, as I watched, Retchmung grabbed a crude scroll from the rags at his feet that must've passed for his clothes. He unrolled it and chanted an odd, low, growling, wordless chant.

I thought about interrupting, but hesitated. I could feel the dark power behind the words. Even though I didn't think I was the focus of his spell, it stirred something in me; I felt much more drawn to the goblins than I had been. They were squat, ugly creatures, yes, but those cocks looked...

Good.

I felt a twinge between my thighs and shifted, warring with the arousal I suddenly felt. The effect on Becky was even dramatic and immediate.

Becky's pretty blue eyes lidded, slightly. Her demeanor shifted from tentative to pleased. "Oh my. All this cock, for me?"

And then she took a thick cock in each of her hands and started fondling them in earnest.

I considered what to do. I hadn't run into any spellcaster goblins, yet; I didn't know what kind of other tricks Retchmung might have up his sleeve.

Feeling the gnawing, fluttering need as I watched Becky touching their hard cocks, I was half-tempted to join her. But I held back, waiting. I'd only have the element of surprise for a moment, and I wanted to make the most of it. And Becky didn't look to be in immediate danger, exactly; it had seemed like she'd already been planning on doing this when I showed up.

Curiously, the warlock seemed to be watching and waiting, too. Retchmung looked on, smug, stroking his own cock as Becky pleasured his underlings.

"Yesss," he hissed, wolfishly. "Give them pleasure."

I realized that he wasn't speaking English; instead, it was some language that seemed to consist mostly of harsh-sounding consonants. But I could understand it nonetheless; one of the perks of my higher Verbal score, perhaps? I wasn't sure.

I doubted Becky could understand what the warlock had said, but it didn't seem like she needed the encouragement anyway.

"Mmm," she cooed, batting her eyes at the two goblins she had by the cock. Both were panting, glassy-eyed, staring down at her hands massaging their shafts. I peered over the counter of the shop -- admittedly feeling some aroused envy, perhaps as a result of the warlock's magic -- as Becky slapped first one, then the other big cock against her chest.

One of the goblins groaned at the wet slap of the bulbous head of his cock on her cleavage; I could see a fat bead of precum forming on the tip of his cock. Becky smiled up at him. "You like that, huh, big guy?" She started pumping his cock more enthusiastically, focusing on him.

I didn't know how well they understood English, but the goblin just nodded, mutely, and then in that croaking, rasping language that the warlock had used, said, haltingly, "Elf slut is pretty. Touch me well. Soft hands. Soft tits. Feel good. I cum soon."

The warlock's gaze shifted briefly, surprised, but pleased. "Good. Elf perfect for the pleasure farms. You two have done well. Once she is finished with the two of you, I will take her there." I could see the eager, jealous expression on his face...but he reluctantly pulled his hand away from his own cock.

I blinked, trying to process why the warlock was handling the situation this way instead of joining in the fun. He was clearly envious of what Becky was doing to the other two goblins, was also apparently in charge; why not accept the same treatment?

Also: the pleasure farms?

But then I was distracted as Becky gave one of the goblins a final pump, and with a grunt, he started cumming all over her tits.

He came, in a word, prodigiously. Every spasm of his enormous cock jetted off a heavy rope of cum. In a moment, Becky's entire cleavage and the front of her armor was covered in cum.

"Jeez..." She stared down at the mess, clearly dumbfounded by the volume.

And then, even more astonishingly, as his orgasm subsided...the goblin keeled over, as if catatonic.

The other two goblins chortled, distracted from Becky for a moment as they gestured with amusement at...well, I wasn't sure if it was Fizzgob or Snotter, but whichever one of the two was currently slumping, glassy-eyed on the floor.

The remaining goblin marauder, clearly proud, grunted out, "My cock strong. Last longer."

Becky pulled her eyes back up at him and shook her head slightly. "Sorry, big guy. I can't understand you. But I think I know what you want."

She wrapped both her hands around his thick shaft and started pumping.

The goblin growled out a low moan, which made the warlock snorted out his amusement. "Stronger than Snotter, maybe, but not strong like orc. You cum soon too."

"Elf slut really good!" The marauder -- Fizzgob, evidently, by process of elimination -- protested, embarrassed. Becky was working over him over enthusiastically.

"Hmm." The warlock made a sound of disgruntled frustration, watching closely as Becky pumped Fizzgob, both hands stroking his cock.

And then she jutted her chest up, nestling the fat head of his cock between her tits. His cock was so thick, and the armor she was wearing pushed her breasts together so tightly, that she had to work to squeeze it into her cleavage. It looked, I had to admit, intensely pleasurable for the goblin.

The warlock seemed to agree; he let out a quiet grunt of appreciation as we both watched.

The effect on Fizzgob was immediate. With a groan, his eyes rolled back in his head and he started cumming.

"Sticky," Becky giggled, pushing her chest into him as his cock sprayed a load down into her cleavage.

And then Fizzgob, too, slumped to the ground, spent.

I glanced over at Snotter, the first goblin to finish. He hadn't gotten up yet. If anything, he seemed to be asleep, or semiconscious at best, flaccid cock leaking on the ground and staring up at the ceiling in a contented stupor.

Clearly orgasming took them out of commission for some time.

The warlock surveyed the sexual carnage -- his two blissed-out underlings, and Becky covered in their cum.

"C'mon," he grumbled, speaking English for the first time. "You come with me."

Becky look confused. "Don't you want me to, y'know..." She looked, pointedly, at his still-erect cock.

He looked torn, but sighed, resigned. "No. Later. You come with me." He tugged her to her feet; Becky rose, uncertainly.

I didn't know what the pleasure farms were, but if we were supposed to be inside the castle before sundown, I didn't think Becky should go with the goblin.

Time to act. I'd been conflicted: combat, or sex?

But whether it was the peripheral effect of the goblin warlock's spell influencing my decisions, the size of his cock, Becky's display...or just the knowledge that if he had an orgasm, he'd be defeated, I decided I was going to start with sex.

So I stood up, and putting as much seduction in my voice as I could, I said, "Well hi, Becky. Made some new friends?"

Becky and Retchmung both whipped their heads around. Becky practically squealed in delight. "Chloe! Hi! I couldn't find anybody else!"

ENCOUNTER STARTED.

The warlock's response wasn't nearly as effusive -- he reached down, picking up an odd, gnarled rod, probably some kind of spellcasting implement.

But I held my hands up, placatingly. "Easy, easy. No need to fight. Not when there are so many other more interesting possibilities." I pointedly glanced at his cock.

He lowered the rod, but only slightly. "No fight?"

I nodded. "No fight. Why haven't you enjoyed Becky the way your two minions did?" I gave Becky a meaningful look.

I wasn't sure whether she understood what I was getting at or not. But either way, she nodded, enthusiastically, and reached for the goblin's cock.

The goblin took a step away from her, reluctantly, it seemed to me, and shook his head. "No. You both come with me."

I hesitated. Clearly, he needed something more convincing. I pulled up one of my ability descriptions, re-reading it quickly.

The Voice [D]
Once per encounter, you may add half of your Dominance, rounded down, to your Verbal score for three seconds.
(Currently, this talent will temporarily give you +4 Verbal when activated.)

The few additional points of Dominance I'd already gained this level had made a big difference. The Voice would bring my Verbal up to eight, doubling it.

I activated it.

And, suddenly, the three-second timer in the corner of my vision already ticking down, I knew exactly what to say to get what I wanted.

"Big boss goblin like you gets to play some before bringing us to the pleasure farms, yeah? Or maybe you just can't handle it, like those two?"

The words tumbled out of me in a sultry, teasing whisper. The goblin stiffened. Both his posture, and his cock, were suddenly extremely attentive to what I was saying.

I'd spoken it in his language, not English. But out of my mouth, it lacked the guttural harshness that I'd heard so far -- it had a kind of throaty purr behind it instead.

I could see that his pride, his arousal, and his cock were all now pointed in the same direction. He turned towards us, beckoning us closer, sneer on his face. "I handle. You touch some."

I moved towards him. Becky was already reaching for his cock again, but I batted her hands away. "Me first. You get that armor off."

My voice was authoritative, and Becky looked appropriately cowed. She started working to quickly unbuckle her armor.

Meanwhile, I knelt next to the goblin. "Becky here finished off those other two fast, huh?"

Retchmung nodded his agreement. "They weak, stupid..." But he trailed off, letting out a pleased sigh as I grabbed him.

I've mentioned that I've always enjoyed giving handjobs.

But in this moment -- big, thick cock in both of my hands, the game having boosted my Performance stat considerably -- I didn't just feel like an enthusiast.

I felt like a virtuoso.

I wasted no time; the goblin warlock was already turned on, a sticky trail of precum leaking from the blunt head of his cock. I swirled my hands up and down his length, once. The precum was viscous, and lubricated his length well.

And then I started giving him steady, thorough, two-fisted pumps.

He groaned.

"You know," I said, conversationally. "Becky looks good, there's no question. Those big tits, that perfect blonde hair, pretty elfin features..."

Retchmung was staring at Becky as I described her, watching her strip off her armor, revealing her tanned body underneath. She gave him a lascivious look.

"But I have to be honest, I think I'm better with my hands than she is," I said, roguishly.

Retchmung didn't object. He didn't do much of anything, besides stare at Becky, and throb in my hands.

I glanced over at her; she'd pulled off the armor, and her breasts were out now, full and bare. "Play with your tits for him, Becky," I commanded.

She squeezed them together. They were still covered in goblin cum.

"Fuck," hissed Retchmung, as he watched.

"Ah, yes, you'd like to fuck her, wouldn't you? Take off that corset, too, Becky. Get ready for him."

As Becky undid her corset, I focused one hand on stroking the head and first few inches of the goblin's big dick. My plan was not to let things get that far. My other hand drifted, palming a pair of heavy, oversized balls.

I could feel that my ministrations were having their intended effect. The goblin was breathing harder.

"Should...should stop here," Retchmung grunted, reluctantly. "You go with me."

But he didn't pull away; he was staring, transfixed, at my hand pumping on his shaft.

"Why not do this first?" I asked the question innocently. I certainly didn't stop. It wouldn't be long now.

"Supposed to...take to pleasure farms..." But he barely managed to get the words out. I could feel him tensing up.

"Oh...but don't you want to fuck her, before we go? Maybe fuck me too, big boy?" I gave him a wink.

"Not...not going to...last..." The shame in his voice was almost palpable.

"Aw, really? Just like your two friends..." I remarked, wickedly. "Maybe you can at least show Becky what a big load you have for her. More than those other two, right?"

"Yes, please, yes," Becky said, throatily. She'd been observing him for a while, and now presented her tits, batting her eyes up at him.

"Shouldn't..." He croaked, desperately.

But if he hadn't wanted to finish, he should've pulled away moments earlier. He was no match for my words, my hands, and the enticing view of Becky -- and I knew it.

With a moan, he came, geysering cum all over Becky.

To his credit, he did cum more than the other two goblins, arcs of cum spattering across Becky's face, hair, and chest. She gasped in astonishment, only to be hit by a final rope in the mouth.

ENCOUNTER COMPLETED.

"No...ngh..." Retchmung looked like he was trying to resist whatever lassitude fell over goblins after they orgasmed, but over a few seconds, he went the same way as the others, collapsing into a stupor. The other two had actually fallen asleep, at this point. I assumed he wouldn't be far behind them.

The few moments of quiet that followed were marred by someone running past on the street outside, screaming, the sounds of goblins chasing behind them. It jolted Becky and I back into motion.

"Wow..." Becky breathed, blinking, wiping at her mouth. "I'm almost sad they're all done...their cocks were...I-I've never seen anything like...a-and there was so much....mmm..." A little shiver ran through her.

"Snap out of it," I said, peremptorily. "He cast a lust spell on you."

She blinked, reddening a little. "D-did he?"

I nodded. "Unless you just really do have a preference for big green dicks."

"I mean..." she bit her lip, guiltily looking down at herself, covered in their cum.

I shook my head. "Not trying to yuck your yum, but fuck, Becky."

"Um...yeah." She glanced down at herself, considering, and then brightened. "Hey, watch this!"

She picked up one of her pieces of armor, which was inscribed with some flowing, ornate writing, and said a few words. Unlike the goblin tongue's harsh consonants, these words had long, rolling vowels.

A moment later, I blinked, and Becky was redressed and clean again: armor back in place, hair perfectly coiffed, decolletage no longer covered in cum. She even looked like she'd applied a little makeup.

As if by magic.

"Wow, okay. That's useful." I tried to keep the envy out of my voice as I considered my own appearance. I'd kept clean during this most recent encounter, but a half-hour of running through streets and fighting dozens of goblins had left me looking generally disheveled. My clothing had nicks and tears in it, I'd caught a few minor scratches, and I was sweaty and tired.

She nodded, happily. "I know, right? I can do magic!"

Maybe I should've picked elf, too. There was no way Becky was going to use magic as well as I would...

That made a more productive thought occur, at least. "Think you could read this?" I held up the scroll the warlock had read the lust spell off of.

Becky picked it up distastefully, but nodded after inspecting it for a moment. "Yeah, the words are different from the magic I have already, but I can. Not sure how powerful it'll be. The magic seems to work off your stats. If this is an offensive spell, it's probably based on my Dominance."

That surprised me; I mentally reassessed her. "Look at you, referring to stats and everything."

"Hey, just because I'm not obsessed with the stats like you and Ted doesn't mean I don't realize this is basically a weird video game, okay?" She looked offended, but then softened. "Speaking of which. Have you seen him at all yet?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. Glad I found you, though. We can find him together."

I was a little surprised to at how true that was. I felt a lot more confident with another person here, even if it was just Becky. I had fought a lot of goblins solo, and having someone else on my team was going to be helpful.

I was also pleased to see a now-familiar glowing, upward-pointing arrow icon in the corner of my vision. I focused on it.

ADDITIONAL CHARACTER CHOICES ARE AVAILABLE.