Mud & MagicChapter 4: The Crossroads free porn video

Rhys slowly came to, his consciousness sluggishly struggling towards being awake. The first thing he noticed was the murderous headache he had. Should’ve stopped after the first glass, he thought ruefully. The next were the smells. What had Chassari called it? Peach? The aroma of sweat and other, musky odors came next. His head rested on something warm, as did his hand. He gently moved it, caressing over something smooth, leathery. A woman’s butt? A contented sigh, very close, then a fluttering sensation on his neck. And there was something else. A weight on his back, hot skin against his and a very odd sensation between his butt cheeks. An arm had been draped around his hips from behind. He moved his hand off the shapely curve it had rested on, much to the audible disappointment of the curve’s owner, and groped. The hand was short and wide.

Slowly, memories stirred. A confusing mess of bodies, hands and mouths. At times he wasn’t sure who was doing what to who but he must have enjoyed it quite a bit. Rhys opened his eyes. His face rested on Chassari’s purple-scaled breasts. He must have used them as a pillow in his sleep. He craned his neck. Behind him, still asleep and smiling happily, was Galdor, the beardless chin on Rhys’ shoulder. Slowly, Rhys reached behind himself and removed Galdor’s cock from his butt crack. He wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or awkward. All he knew was that he just had touched another man’s cock for the first time. Rhys shrugged. So what?

Galdor yawned and opened his eyes. He looked unconscionably rested, a stark contrast to Rhys who’d love to just fall asleep again until his head stopped thumping.

“That was a nice way to wake up,” the dwarf said, grinning. “Too bad you stopped so soon.”

Now Rhys blushed. “That was not meant to wake – or arouse – you.”

Galdor touched himself. His member was long and slim and hardened in his grasp. “And yet it did both. Sorry if I came a bit too close. When I fell asleep earlier, I had my back turned to you. I don’t take advantage of drunk bedfellows. Unless I know full well that they want me.” He shot Rhys a steamy look then rolled off the bed. “Get your bearings while I relieve myself.” Whistling, he walked across the room. Something caught his eye and he altered his course, stopping at the table he, Rhys and Chassari had sat around. Galdor picked up the wax tablet. “Would you look at that?” he said. Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“He really likessss you,” Chassari said, writhing against Rhys. “As do I.” Her hand crawled along his back. He looked into her snakelike face. Her eyes were full of emotion as her fingertips caressed along one particularly nasty scar.

“What happened yesterday?” Rhys asked, sinking into the pillows.

“If you want to put it profanely,” Chassari purred, coiling a leg over his and pressing her pelvis against him, gently swaying her hips, “you and the dwarf fucked all my holessssss.”

Rhys closed his eyes, blushing. “I didn’t make an utter fool out of myself, I hope.”

“It was glorioussssss,” Chassari whispered. “And I wouldn’t mind if you did it again right now.” She slithered her hand between them, teasing Rhys to throbbing hardness within moments. “Or maybe ... you could do me while Galdor...” Her hand caressed Rhys’ behind.

“He’s not quite there yet,” Galdor said, returning from the bathroom. “Let him catch his breath, woman! It was his second time and you had to turn it into an orgy.” He wore a towel around his shoulders and his cock had returned to its original dimensions, short and thick.

“Sssso it wassss me?” Chassari leaned up on one elbow, her eyes spitting fire. “I heard no complaintsss when the both of you drilled me.”

Rhys reached up and touched her shoulder. Chassari shot him a surprised look and smoothed herself against him again. “Please, don’t argue. At least not right now. My head.”

“Sssssorry,” Chassari purred, resuming to stroke his hardness. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Rhys intercepted her hand. “I appreciate the offer but I have to go too.” He leaned against her and breathed a kiss onto her wide mouth. She moaned against him, her long-fingered hands hungrily kneading his behind. Rhys finally managed to slip free and dashed into the bathroom. Someone had placed a stack of blank paper strips next to the lavatory. He took care of business and washed up at the sink while he heard Galdor and Chassari’s voices through the closed door. He hoped they weren’t arguing about him. What a mess, he thought, scrubbing at spots of dried seed on his stomach. After his night with Dara, he had foolishly presumed he’d be prepared for sex but, oh boy, was he in over his head. With Dara it had been gentle and playful but last night, the bits he remembered, was messy, primal even. He had utterly lost himself between Chassari’s thighs, eagerly licking and slurping at her strange opening before she had ridden him like no one before. And then there had been Galdor, fucking her in the ass at the same time. Rhys blushed. He had read about that in Gran’s book, when the elven queen had called on one of her knights to ‘aid’ her while she rode Orran on the mead hall’s table but so far he thought...

A knock at the door tore him from his musings. “You still alive in there, Rhys?” Galdor asked.

“Yes. Almost done!” He grabbed a towel and rubbed himself down then slung it around his waist like an oversized loincloth. He opened the door. Galdor, fully dressed in a new set of trousers, shirt and vest, grinned up at him. “I’m going to get breakfast. Anything you want?”

“A bowl of that fantastic oatmeal would be nice, the one with cream and raisins?”

“Sure. I’ll be back in a minute. Chassari was kind enough to make up the bed before she left – the least she could do after the mess she caused.” He grinned.

“I’m sure we had our hands ... or other parts of our bodies ... in there too.”

“Right you are. And by the way ... look at the wax tablet while you clean up, all right?” Galdor left the room, whistling.

“The wax...” Rhys walked to the table. The empty mead glasses were gone but the dice bag and its contents were still there: the wax tablet which Galdor had used to keep score, the leather dice cup and two metal dice.

Rhys looked at the tablet. In three neat columns, the score had been tallied. The last row read:

G 80 C 59 R 61

Shrugging, Rhys put the dice, the cup and the tablet back into the bag and placed it neatly onto Galdor’s bedroll. He then dressed in loincloth, socks, sandals and the wonderfully comfortable blue robes with their strange, metallic fabric.

Galdor eventually returned, carrying a tray which he placed carefully onto the table they had used to roll dice the evening before.

“You won.” Rhys said, sitting down. He claimed the bowl with oatmeal and one of the cups. He smelled peppermint tea.

“Yes, and by quite a margin too. You know what that means, right?” Galdor used a long, thin knife to slice a wedge of cheese before buttering his bread. “The winner gets to spend a night with one of the losers.”

“I dimly remember Chassari saying something about ‘both losers.’”

Galdor chuckled. “Only if she had won. And even then, she already had the both of us. Tough luck for her.” He emphatically bit into his bread, chewing eagerly before washing down his bite with a sip of his own tea. “As the winner, I choose you.”

Rhys nearly dropped his spoon. “Me?”

“Of course. I told you I like men and women both. After having had the pleasure of doing Chassari and Elara already, I think it’s time I’ve had a handsome lad like you for a change.” Another bite off his bread.

Rhys looked at him, flabberghasted. “I- um ... haven’t been with a man before.”

Galdor gulped down his food. “I know. That means you should have no opinion either way. Unless your faith dictates that sex between men is evil.”

“That’s true. And I don’t think Mercy has any tenets like that.”

“Listen. I know it’s a bit sudden,” Galdor said. “I’m not an unreasonable dwarf. How about this? Come to me when you feel ready and I’ll show you how it’s done properly.”

“It might be a while until I’ve found that kind of courage,” Rhys said.

Galdor laughed, slapping his thigh. “And here my long lifespan works in my favor. I can wait, Rhys.”

They ate in companionable silence. Rhys eventually looked up. “You mean it, huh?”

“Well, if you were a dwarf, I’d demand you honor your gambling debt. But I think I can allow myself to be a bit more lenient in your case.” Galdor took a long sip from his tea and eyed Rhys over the lip of his cup. “Every dwarf knows what he’s getting into once he picks up the dice. Since you’re new to this – and I really want you to enjoy what we can do together – I’d prefer if you came to me on your own. Let’s call it an open invitation instead of a debt. But don’t tell Chassari, you hear? If she knew, my reputation as gambler extraordinaire would be ruined.”

Rhys shook his head, grinning. “Agreed. No word about this to her. And I’ll think about it.”

A knock at the door.

“Yes?” Rhys called. “I’m in high demand this morning.”

The door opened and Thurguz strode in. Gone were his ragged traveler’s clothes, replaced by a robe in metallic red, held in place with a golden belt. On one hip, a large, serrated axe hung while on the other, three pouches and a small book had been fastened.

“Good morning. Rhys, Galdor.” His voice boomed off the walls.

“What can I do for you, Master?” Rhys asked, setting down his breakfast.

“No need to drop everything you’re doing,” Thurguz said, waving his large paw. “Eat up then see me upstairs. It is time the two of us had a little talk.”

“About what?” Rhys asked, a bit puzzled. “Did I do something wrong?”

Thurguz chuckled. “No, not at all. But I’m sure you have a lot of questions. So, once you’re done eating, come on up and we’ll sort you out.”

The massive half-orc turned on his heels and closed the door behind him with gusto.

“I wonder what this will be about,” Rhys said. He looked at Galdor.

The dwarf shook his head. “You never know with him. One thing I can say though. You better mind your manners around him.”

Rhys quickly ladled the rest of his breakfast then he rose to leave.

“I’ll see you later then,” he said to Galdor.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back. Perhaps you want to have another go at the dice then?” Galdor asked, grinning.

“Oh Mother Mercy, protect me,” Rhys sighed and left his room.

The light in the tower’s central stairwell reminded Rhys of all the beautiful spring mornings in his village, mornings which would inevitably be spoiled by his father screaming at him or his brothers with their crude pranks. There had been exceptions of course, when Gran had tasked him and Mirrin with finding mushrooms or berries to spice up an otherwise bland meal. Not that either of them usually profited from their hard work.

“You look kinda done for,” someone said nearby. Rhys, his thoughts derailed, looked around to find Lishaka grinning up at him. The goblin seemed to be in a good mood, going by her relaxed posture.

“Good morning to you,” Rhys said. “Last night was...” He shook his head and rubbed his forehead.

“Yes?” She cocked her head. “What happened? Did Galdor hit you?”

Rhys chuckled. “If anything, he hit on me. No. I think dwarven mead and I do not agree all that well.”

Her eyes went wide like saucers. “He did what?”

“And then there was Chassari.” Rhys shook his head and instantly regretted it. He slumped against the wall.

“Wow. I wish I could have seen that,” Lishaka said, giggling. “Welcome to the tower. Things tend to go a little crazy here.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “You know what? Wait here just a moment.” Without waiting for his acknowledgment, she dashed back into the corridor.

Rhys sat down onto the carpet. Somewhere, a door slammed. His stomach gurgled horrendously. My first hangover and the Master wants to see me. Just perfect.

Quick steps came closer and a moment later, her robe flapping around her like unruly wings, Lishaka returned, clutching a delicate flask in her hand. Rhys noted the small curved claws topping her fingers. “Here. For you!” She pressed the flask into his hand.

“Dare I ask what this is?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s a potion meant to deal with the worst of a hangover. It was meant for Galdor but since he won’t even speak to me anymore, you can have it.” She righted her clothes and grinned. “Come on. It’s really safe!”

Rhys looked at the small phial. Like all the potions before, this seemed to have the consistency of old buttermilk and a similar color. Probably would taste even worse. But with his stomach complaining and the headache far from abating, there were few options. He uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid down his throat. To his surprise, it didn’t taste like death. Quite the contrary. It had a mild, minty flavor which seemed to explode in his mouth, taking the worst of the night’s taste with it. When it reached his stomach, the queasiness and the heaving receded nearly at once. He sighed happily. “Thank you. I feel much better already.”

Lishaka pumped her fist. “I told you! Are we friends now?”

“I don’t see a reason why not-,” Rhys began. The rest of his words was muted by her breasts in his face as Lishaka exuberantly hugged him. He returned the hug gently for a moment and then struggled to get her off him.

“Yay! I made a friend!” Lishaka crowed, tousling Rhys’ hair. The way she wriggled against him, her robe opened again and his nose ended up between her small breasts. The green skin under her robe smelled spicy, as if she had rubbed herself down with some kind of seasoning. Or maybe yesterday’s animated stew hadn’t fully washed off. Rhys snaked his arms between them and broke her hug.

“Listen, Lishaka-”

“Yes?” She looked down at him and her voice turned into a sultry rasp. “Shall we go into my room and... ?”

Rhys chuckled. “ ... get to know each other better?”

She nodded, her ears flopping.

“I can’t. Thurguz is waiting for me upstairs. Another time? And by ‘getting to know better,’ I was thinking about a chat.”

“Awww. I was thinking about checking out your anatomy,” Lishaka said. Her hand traveled down her front, splitting the robe completely and exposing her hairless mound. “I bet you’ve never seen a naked goblin before.”

“Now I have, kinda.” Rhys struggled to his feet. “Thank you for the potion. When I get back, we’ll talk.”

Her eyes lit up. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Lishaka?” That was Idunn’s voice, coming from below. “Where in the Pits are you?”

“Oh crap. I nearly forgot! See ya, handsome!” Lishaka stormed off, towards the floor below, where the training chambers were.

Rhys stretched. Even this soon after quaffing the potion, his headache nearly had vanished. Smiling, he brushed his hair with both hands and trotted up the stairs to Thurguz’ quarters. There was but a simple door and it already was open. Rhys entered his Master’s room.

To his surprise, the space was much smaller than he had anticipated, probably corresponding to the actual dimensions of the structure. The room maybe was thirty feet in diameter and round. Apart from one large circular table surrounded by a handful of leather-backed chairs in the center, most furniture was arranged around the outside of the room. Cabinets and wardrobes of all sizes, interspersed with shelving creaking under dozens and dozens of books. A specially fitted table, the outer edge smoothing itself into the curve of the tower’s outer wall, was heaped with glass bulbs, burners, strangely bent glass piping and other odd things Rhys couldn’t even name. Strange, arcane metal rods hung from the ceiling. They ended in lenses casting flecks of colored lighting onto the table.

Thurguz stood at the only window, poring over a large tome spread open on what looked like the back of a hunched-over gargoyle.

Rhys cleared his throat. The huge half-orc waved a large paw at him, the gesture urging him to stay quiet. Rhys shrugged and waited. Eventually, Thurguz righted himself and took a pair of glasses off his nose.

“Sorry about that. I needed to complete my memorization for today.” The huge half-orc walked past Rhys and closed the door behind him.

“Memorization?”

“Yes. It’s what wizards do to prepare for spell casting. But we’ll get to that in a bit.” He grabbed two chairs and carried them to the pool of light in front of the window. “Sit.”

Rhys took the seat. Thurguz sat down opposite him and eyed him curiously.

“How do you like it here?” the half-orc asked. “And be honest about it. If we want to work together, all of us, honesty is a must. If you have any grievances, don’t sugar-coat.”

Rhys shook his head and raised his hands. “No, no problems. It’s all just a bit ... overwhelming.” He blushed.

“Let me guess. The girls are trying to get into your ... I almost said ‘pants’ but since you’re only wearing a robe...” Thurguz chuckled.

“Yes, that. But all the other things too. Not even Gran’s book had any stories about wizard’s towers like this one.”

“Which book?”

“‘The Tales of Orran.’ She taught me how to read with it.”

Thurguz erupted in a short bout of laughter then he stood up and walked to one of his shelves. He dug around in it and brought forth a copy of the book. Rhys instantly recognized the gilded corners and the thick spine. Thurguz’ copy was in a much better condition than his own, worn-down book.

“You have one too?”

“Oh yes.” Thurguz sat down again and handed Rhys the book. “It’s one of the holy texts of the Old Kingdoms.”

“Holy ... text?”

“Yes. The Old Kingdoms were a theocracy and their ruler was worshiped as a god.”

“Is that even possible?” Rhys asked, his hand fluttering against his chest, invoking the sign of Mercy’s protection.

“Depends on who you ask. Fact is that Orran The First, the legendary hero, was the founder of the Old Kingdoms. It is also proven that most of his heroics happened, thanks to some long-lived elven sages who met the man. His descendants soon formed some kind of ancestral cult around him, which eventually turned into The Church of Light. ‘The Tales Of Orran’ is one of their holy texts, dealing with the life and legacy of Orran The First. The other two concern themselves with the Church and how the state should be run. Rather boring when compared to all the heroics and pleasures of the flesh contained within that one.” Thurguz grinned, pointing at the tome on Rhys’ lap.

“The Church, after making sure that Orran’s descendants ran the Old Kingdoms for half a millennium, faced a tiny problem though. Orran’s blood had run so thin, it was nigh impossible to trace a direct lineage. And when Orran’s last known direct heir died fighting the Great Giant Incursion in OY 596, they had to elect a king from one of the old noble families. Granted, the royal family of Lordehome was pretty frisky and had spread their blood around but it nevertheless caused a rift in the church and shook the people’s faith in their god-king immensely. The next two hundred years were a period of turmoil as kings came and went, often murdered in their beds by assassins or even their own spouses hoping to elevate their station. And sixty years ago, King Orran IV was tortured and killed by a splinter sect of the Church, ending the annals of the Old Kingdoms for good.”

“That sounds horrible. Wait- I thought the Church was sworn to...”

Thurguz smiled mildly. “A splinter sect of the Church, lad. When the last direct heir of Orran’s lineage died, one of many schisms tore into the Church of Light. Some high-ranking clerics thought that only the true heirs of Orran had the divine spark in them, others were a bit more practical and declared that the king, no matter his blood line, was a divine being worthy of worship. And it went downhill from there. The people who murdered Orran IV believed that the king had to be chosen from the old Lordehome nobility. Orran IV was an adventurer though, born in Storm Harbor, and he managed to win his throne by conquering a dark elven city. The then-ruling princess took him as her husband, which in essence made him king.”

The half-orc sighed. “I really liked him.”

Rhys looked up from the book. “Excuse me, Master, but how old are you exactly?”

“Ha! You really are as sharp as a tack. Well, if you have to ask, I am well past a hundred. More like a hundred and twenty. And before you ask, yes, the average half-orc only lives about sixty years. But that’s one of the perks of being a wizard, Rhys. You eventually find means to deal with pesky things like aging. Now, enough about me. Do you know why I told you all this?”

Rhys shook his head. “No. Besides teaching me a history lesson, is there another reason?”

“Oh yes, there is!” He looked very serious all of a sudden. “The Old Kingdoms had already splintered into a handful of independent city-states well before Orran IV even went Below. They were a kingdom in name only. But even back then, there were dreamers about who thought about reuniting the cities and bringing together what had been torn asunder. One of those dreamers was a young cleric of the Light. A man named Carver.”

Rhys suddenly sat up straight. “He was what?”

“Carver was a young cleric of the Light. If you want to be extra-technical, he was a firm believer in the Pure Light, the sect which preaches that as long as the King is good and has only the best interest of his subjects in mind, it does not matter which blood flows within his veins. A powerful vision, especially at a time when the Kingdoms were torn apart by selfishness and greed. There were a few noble families, high-ranking clerics and guilds which held immense amounts of money and power but the common folk were poor and miserable. Carver thought this a horrible state of affairs and he worked tirelessly to help the poor and the downtrodden.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. How do you think he managed to convince me and Idunn to join his cause?”

“You what?”

Thurguz waved a hand. “During the days of Orran IV, there were the four of us. Carver, Idunn, Zephrya and me. I was but a simple fighter back then. But his strong morals and unwavering faith drew me to him. He didn’t treat me like some misshapen half-breed of orc and man, he valued my strength and resilience, and even my counsel on occasion.”

“Who’s Zephrya?”

“She was a rogue, a gorgeous elven lass with raven-black hair and purple eyes. You can find an image of her down in the Hall of Portraits.” Thurguz sighed.

“May I ask what happened to her?”

“She-” Thurguz stopped. “No, that has to wait until later.” He cleared his throat. “The four of us traveled the length and breadth of the Kingdoms, fighting monsters, corruption and helping the common folk.”

“And you’re certain you’re talking about the same Carver-”

Thurguz cut Rhys short with a slash of his hand. “Yes. You see, no matter how much we struggled to expose corrupt guild masters or nobles mistreating their subjects, barely anything changed. One guild master was replaced by another, and within a few years, months or even weeks, they were as bad or even worse as their predecessors. It took years but Carver grew frustrated. We all did. But he was the first to snap. There was this noble, a certain Vardain. He owned a large swath of land south of Lordehome, several villages to his name, and he wrung his subjects dry. High taxes, nearly unobtainable tithes...”

“Sounds familiar,” Rhys growled, balling his fists.

“The royal laws and Church laws stated clearly how much a noble was entitled to and how he had to treat his subjects. Problem was, barely anyone enforced those laws back then. Gods know, no one does now that the Kingdoms and the Church have all splintered beyond repair. But back then at least there were some who tried to uphold these laws. When we learned of Vardain’s conduct, we acquired the proper writs and went to investigate, with the aim of apprehending him.”

“It didn’t work out?”

“Oh, the investigation went smoother than a buttered dick between titties,” Thurguz grumbled. “We only needed to ask the villagers and Vardain’s staff. Even his troops had few good words for him so no one raised arms when we apprehended him and his eldest son, who was nearly as depraved as his father. Liked to collect cherries off beautiful village boys and girls, if you get my drift.”

Rhys nodded grimly. “What then?”

“While we were away investigating and apprehending Vardain, someone had warned the High Justicar what was about to happen. What neither of us knew – the High Justicar was Vardain’s brother-in-law. So, when we deposited him in jail, a bailiff already waited and unlocked his cuffs. We stood there, fuming, as Vardain strutted past us like a smug peacock. They let him walk the minute we brought him in!”

“You couldn’t escalate this any further? Who was the Justicar’s superior?”

“That would have been the Princess. Sadly, she was little more than a figurehead at the time, the court was run by the senior nobles. No, we couldn’t escalate. We could only fume in impotence as Vardain left Lordehome. A few days later, the guard captain who had sanctioned our investigation was hanged for possession and distribution of dark elven narcotics and Vardain returned to his hold, continuing his atrocities.”

“Then what?”

“Carver told us he needed to rethink our approach and disbanded our group. He said he would cloister himself until The Light would send him an epiphany. So Idunn, Zephrya and I rented rooms at an inn and waited. One night, one of our contacts in the Guard came running. He dragged us to one of the watchtowers and had us look through one of the Guard’s fabled spyglasses. The southern horizon was lit up by a sinister orange glow, like a miniature sun. Idunn cast a far-seeing spell and we soon learned that someone had attacked Vardain’s manor. The building was badly damaged, fire had broken out and even spread to the adjoining buildings.”

“Maybe someone else-?” Rhys began.

Thurguz shook his head, his topknot flailing. “No. Even though Idunn didn’t see him at the scene of the attack, he unreservedly admitted that he had been involved with the raid. Like he said ‘If no one else does it, I have to do it myself,’ referring to taking out the scum of the Kingdoms. We were aghast. Carver had always been a paragon of his faith, strictly working according to the tenets of his church and the laws of the Kingdoms. But he had decided that he was no longer beholden to them since they so obviously had failed.”

“That was the moment you turned against him?”

Thurguz laughed bitterly. “No lad. We tried to convince him to keep working within the letters of the law. We had been friends for over a decade by then and you don’t denounce friends after a single misstep, no matter how egregious.”

He sighed. “In hindsight, we probably should have ended it then and there. But we were still trying to convince him that one bad apple does not necessarily spoil the whole bunch.”

“It obviously didn’t work,” Rhys hissed.

“No, it didn’t. He would swear by his faith that he would not snap, that he would still work within the law – and after a few weeks, when another evildoer was within our grasp, instead of apprehending or subduing them, he simply would kill them. It happened again and again, always his begging for forgiveness then another dead perpetrator. We tried everything, even having him undergo an atonement for his sins. We brought him before his bishop and told him what had happened. The bishop said he would see to it that our friend would be cleansed and then returned to us. Carver was put in chains and taken away. I will never forget his glare as he was led into the dungeons, as if he personally wanted to tear out my heart.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I’m not a pious man so I have no idea how such a ceremony would work. When Carver returned to us, a few weeks later, he had changed. He still had his magnetic personality but the last remains of his gentleness, his willingness to put himself in harm’s way to protect others, that had gone. And his powers had grown by leaps and bounds. He was able to intone prayers no ordinary cleric of the Light should cast, far-reaching, powerful miracles. Battle spells instead of the healing magic he once used to soothe the pain of others. When we realized what had really happened, it was far too late.”

Thurguz rose from his chair and paced his room. “He never made it to the atonement ceremony. Despite being locked up in the Church’s dungeon, despite being bound with silver cuffs, he somehow managed to escape.”

“How?”

“Desire. From what I’ve learned, she must have offered him a pact.”

Rhys shivered. Even in Gran’s book, The Lady of Desire was mentioned, The Dark Seductress, The Whispered Promise. When he was younger, Gran never ran out of cautionary tales involving stupid villagers who made pacts with Desire, having some petty wish fulfilled before she collected a horrible price.