Charles Lynge has a secret that could get him classified persona non grata in the Geek circles that he tends to mill about in: he has never played a tabletop role-playing game in his life. So when he confesses this deep, dark secret to his boyfriend Julian Gray, Julian is more than happy to give him the crash course that he asked for.

Little does he know that he has just provided the perfect opportunity for Julian, who has always believed that Charles would be better off as a big, dumb, horny brute.

Had he seen the lines of black fire that surged along the borders of the battle mat moments before Julian unrolled it over the kitchen table, Charles might have reconsidered his request to play a one-on-one session. All other things considered, he was still a fair bit apprehensive. Not only had he never played a Tabletop game before, he was jumping right into a game with someone that their entire friend group claimed was "the best GM ever!"

"Hey," said Julian, reaching across the table to take Charles’ hand in his own. "Don’t worry about it. Just go with the flow. Think about what your character would do and how your character would act," he said. "Just think about the first time that we met. Pretend you’re cosplaying an original character and you should be good!

"And don’t worry," said Julian. "If you forget any rules, I’ll make sure to remind you. This is about introducing you into the game, so I don’t expect you to know everything right off the bat. Got that? This is for you and me to have fun doing something that I love and that I hope you come to love."

Charles looked up at his boyfriend and smiled. "Thank you, Julian," he said. "It really means a lot that you did this for me."

Two years on and he still couldn’t quite believe that this man was his boyfriend. The two of them had met at a comic book convention in town. Charles had been cosplaying as Alpine City’s Rampart from Nakamura Hiroshi’s Hall of Heroes. Julian, by some sort of universal serendipity, had been dressed as the Admiral, a fallen hero that was one of Rampart’s perennial nemeses.

They had spotted each other clean across the convention hall through a gap in the throng of people that had gathered for the con. The impromptu fight scene that had followed was the talk of the convention for the rest of its run. Just like that, they had clicked. They went on their first date that night.

There were days that Charles couldn’t help but feel a bit inadequate standing next to Julian. His boyfriend was one of those geeks that was blessed with good genes, an impeccable sense of fashion, and a good workout ethic. Where Charles had let himself go since college, having a bit of a paunch and soft, pudgy cheeks, Julian looked as cut and as handsome as he had in his college days. At least, as far as Charles could tell from Julian’s pictures from back then.

For all that Charles tried, he just could never quite manage the discipline or the motivation to go to the gym as regularly as Julian did. It was a sore point for him in an otherwise perfect relationship. But he kept quiet about it. He didn’t want his own insecurities to come between the two of them since they were solely his doing. Julian never had a bad thing to say about him and never once passed judgment.

"So," said Julian, snapping Charles out of his thoughts. "Shall we get started?"

The small smirk pulling at the corner of Julian’s lips made Charles even more nervous about this whole thing. But he nodded anyway. Best get it over with. Besides, who knew? He might even enjoy the experience, despite how apprehensive he was.

"You might have heard that every great adventure starts in a tavern…" said Julian, "And sure, many heroes of the world meet in the smoke-filled, jovial atmosphere of a busy pub. But that is not where your story starts. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your character?"

Charles rolled his eyes. Of course Julian would rail against literary cliche regardless of medium. That was just the way his boyfriend was. It was unsurprising that it bled through into his game-mastering. "Um… Well… Shit. I don’t know how to start."

Julian laughed. "Why don’t you start at the very beginning, a very good place to start?"

"Don’t quote The Sound of Music at me, Julian," Charles grumbled affectionately. "I guess… My character’s name is Lo—"

"Try again. Start with ‘my name is…’ It’s best to start in character right away," said Julian.

"Oh," said Charles, blinking. That made sense. Why didn’t he think of that? He summoned all of his experience cosplaying and said, in the most world-weary wise voice that he could manage, "my name is Logan Bitterblade.

"I come from a small town on the Argalan coast. My mother and father—" Charles paused when Julian cleared his throat and began to narrate.

"Don’t you have two fathers, Logan?" says the dwarf seated on the tree stump next to you as he idly tosses the chicken leg bone that he’s been gnawing on into the campfire. "You don’t need to hide who you are, here. We’re all fuck-ups and outcasts. We don’t care that your father preferred taking it up his arse than giving it up a pretty bitch’s arse."

Charles was shocked by the immediate vulgarity. But he reminded himself that he was playing in a fantasy world, during a more primitive time period. He quickly flipped through the small notebook where he’d written details about his character and cleared his throat. "Oh," he said. "If that’s the case, then I’m sorry. Yes. I had two fathers. They were both fishermen."

Charles didn’t quite understand why he’d started out just saying that. But then again he remembered that Julian had told him that being gay wasn’t openly accepted in this part of the world at this time in history. "I did not mean to lie. I only wanted to make an unpleasant story more pleasant for you to hear," he said.

Julian nodded and began to narrate again.

"You need not worry," says the woodland elf sitting across the fire from you as he flips a dagger with his hand. The blade gleams in the flickering firelight as it spins blade over handle before landing in the elf’s hand. Beside him a young human boy dressed in the colors of the priesthood nods and says "we’ve seen and heard worse. You don’t need to hold back on our account."

"I had a pretty simple and happy life by the coast. The most exciting thing that ever happened in our small village was the monsoon," said Charles, starting to really get into character. He was liking this so far. "It was hard. Sometimes the fish didn’t really come and we had to survive on stale bread and salt. But I had my parents and to ten year old me, that was all I needed."

Julian nodded. He said nothing, so Charles kept going. "But then the war happened."

"The war between the Kingdoms of Man in the north and the Orcish Empire to the south?" said Julian. Charles nodded. Julian scribbled something down behind the GM screen.

"It was a cold spring day. I remember. A fog had rolled in from the sea. No one expected the raid so by the time the bells started ringing it was too late." Charles shuddered. He could almost see the scene in his head, feel the panic of little Logan. "My parents died in the chaos…"

"Okay," says the dwarf, laughing. "This time you’re just trying to make your story sound more bad-ass." He turns to your new companions and shakes his head. "His parents were captured by the Orcs. That’s what really happened."

Charles frowned. He was pretty sure that he had written down that Logan’s parents died. But when he looked at his notebook, sure enough it said that his—Logan’s—parents had been captured. "Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "Yeah… My parents were captured. Just like most of the village. I managed to get away by hiding and staying still for long enough that they thought I wasn’t there… That was the day that I swore I would get revenge on the orcs for what they did to my family."

Julian raised an eyebrow. Charles blushed. "No. You’re right. Sorry. I was trying to be a badass," he said. "Can I walk that back?"

"Sure," said Julian, with a quiet laugh.

"Thanks," Charles murmured. Then, returning to character. "That was the day that I swore I would find my fathers again. I don’t care how this war turns out. I just want my parents back…"

"That’ll be easier once this fucking war is over," says the dwarf. "With any luck our mission is going to take us one step closer to that."

"I hope so," said Charles, entirely missing the mischievous glint in Julian’s eye.

"How are we supposed to open this door?" says the elf. He looks almost panicked. You can hear the sound of combat just outside the door. This is your mission, the one that you’ve been preparing for the last couple of days. The army is just outside, causing a major distraction. Now it’s up to you and your group of adventurers to sever the head of the snake.

Charles looked up from the battle mat at Julian. This was more fun than he had anticipated. He was really enjoying putting himself in Logan’s shoes. He supposed it should have made sense. He enjoyed cosplay, after all. This was a logical extension of that. But he still never thought that roleplaying could be this much fun.

He looked at his notes, where it said that the door was covered in strange runes. Then, he looked at his character sheet. It suddenly occurred to him that Logan should have some proficiency with knowledge of the arcane so he looked at Julian and said, "Can I roll to see if I understand the runes that border the door?"

"Are you skilled in the arcane arts?" said Julian.

Charles blinked. That was a weird question. Julian had to have known that he was playing a wizard. After all, just moments ago, he’d used a fire bolt to take down the regenerating undead juggernaut that had been guarding this room once and for all. "I mean, yeah, of course. Logan is—I mean, I am a wizard. After I dedicated my life to getting my parents back, I studied at the Arellon Institute for the Higher Arts and was commended with honors," he said.

Charles gestured at the imaginary door marked by a squiggly line on the battle mat. "Surely if I could cast powerful spells like blight or fireball, I could read these arcane markings on the door."

"I thought you grew up in a fishing village?" said Julian. Charles blinked again. Yeah, that was true. But just because he grew up in impoverished conditions didn’t mean that he couldn’t rise up to the challenge and learn to become a wizard. "And your dads were fishermen, right?"

"I don’t like what you’re implying about my people," said Charles, not noticing that he hadn’t yet left the character of Logan. "Just because we’re country folk doesn’t mean that we’re stupid compared to you city boys," he said, with a growl.

That time, he noticed. "Sorry," said Charles, a bit sheepishly. "I guess I’m getting more into this than I thought I would."

Julian laughed. "See? I told you you would be a natural at this. I’m glad you’re enjoying this. Your roleplay is phenomenal." Charles blushed at the compliment. "I could almost believe that you were actually Logan."

"Well, you know…" said Charles, bashfully, as he tried to hide behind his character sheet. He mustered his composure before speaking again. "Anyway! What I was trying to say is that I don’t like the assumption that just because I grew up in a fishing village, I can’t go on to study at an arcane academy and graduate with honors."

"Are you sure you’re remembering right?" said Julian, cocking an eyebrow. "Because that doesn’t sound right to me." Charles frowned. Julian held his hands up. "I don’t know! It’s your character. I’m just asking if you’re sure."

"Oh come on, Julian!" Charles whined. "I killed that undead juggernaut with a fire bolt. Obviously I know…" Charles glanced at his little notebook again. He could have sworn that Logan was supposed to be a wizard, but… There it was. In his own handwriting. He—Logan—was a Paladin of Vessyra.

But that didn’t make any sense. He had killed the juggernaut with a fire bolt. Or had he? Maybe he was misremembering. The thing was undead, after all. It didn’t really make much sense that it could be killed once and for all with fire. He must have taken it down with a Divine Smite or something like that.

He checked his character sheet and saw that he’d used one of his guiding bolts. That must have been it. "Sorry, babe," Charles grumbled, his voice now naturally an octave lower than what it should have been. "I guess I just got confused… Wow… I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight."

"I thought so," said Julian, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. Charles shook his head. Julian loved being right. "Because I remembered you telling me that Logan was always a bit of a jock, you know? Always more concerned with his body."

Charles agreed, subconsciously flexing his arms under the table. "Of course!" he said. "Fighting the forces of evil as one of Vessyra’s Chosen means building up not just the strength of your conviction, but the strength of your body as well!" He punctuated the spiel with a determined nod.

"What else was it that you told me?" said Julian, surreptitiously reaching forward and replacing the robed figure of the old Logan with a mini of a paladin in full heavy armor. "Didn’t Logan go to Arellon because he thought that magic would be the answer that could reunite him with his parents? Why didn’t he go on to become a wizard again?"

"Pfft. All I learned is that books are a waste of time!" said Charles, proudly. He did notice that his shirt was a bit tighter around his chest and arms. He supposed it must have shrunk in the wash. "Apparently it takes years to be any good at magic! I wanted my parents back as quickly as I could. And wouldn’t you know it, it turns out that the answer is FAITH."

"Faith?" said Julian.

He sounded skeptical, which didn’t please Charles. "Are you questioning the power of FAITH, boy?!" Charles thundered, slamming a fist on the table in front of him. "I need only BELIEVE in the raging tempest of Vessyra and I know that she will provide me with the power to obliterate my enemies as a token of her favor for my conviction!"

"Are you sure you didn’t just drop out of Arellon because you couldn’t read and the basic principles of thaumological science were too hard for you?" said Julian, with a smirk.

"Pfft. High-minded nonsense," said Charles, waving a hand dismissively. "All I need is the strength of my conviction and the strength of my fist," he said.

"Alright, well, you know what, maybe you’ve come across these runes in some confiscated heretical materials," said Julian, waving his hand in Charles’ direction to indicate that he should pick up the dice. Charles did so. "Alright, why don’t you roll an Intelligence check for me. With disadvantage because you’re not familiar with this arcane stuff. Let’s see what you know!"

Charles tossed the dice into the dice tray. They seemed to bounce around loudly. Every collision, every thud on the leather base, seemed to echo with resounding finality in his skull. Finally, the dice came to a rest. "Shit," Charles breathed under his breath. He looked up at Julian miserably. "Three."

"Oof," said Julian. "Sorry, but you don’t have any idea what these runes mean. Maybe one of your other party members might have some insight."

"I punch the door," said Charles. "Damn it! Blasted runes! Can any of you read them?"

"This ends here," said Charles, as the door finally began to swing open, the runes of inlaid mithril glowing with a faint silver light. The cleric had managed to crack the code, but ultimately it was the dwarf that had broken the enchanted lock.

Julian had a strange look on his face as he narrated the next part. The elf, the cleric, and the dwarf all look at you with determination. The battle outside is not going well for your forces, but you can’t spare even a moment of thought for how they’re doing. You’ve been sent here on a mission of utmost importance and unless you are successful, the siege will be in vain.

Charles shivered. He understood the stakes. This fortress was at an important strategic pass. A win here could turn the tide of the war as it would secure the supply route over the mountains for the coalition army. If they could kill the leader, the war-shaman ensconced in his tower, the garrison would surely break.

Beyond the doorway is a large room. You can tell that it used to serve a different, more practical purpose in the past. It has been re-purposed into something akin to a throne-room, though. "Well, well, well," says the cold voice of the orc reclining on a tall throne of woven branches. He is unlike the rest of his kin, slender rather than bulky, tall rather than broad. Upon his brow rests a crown of bleached antler adorned with beads and feather charms.

Beside the war-shaman’s throne is a large club decorated with multicolored scales that shimmer in the ambient light. He seems unconcerned with your sudden presence in the room, almost as though he believes that you are no threat to him whatsoever. "I never thought you’d actually ever manage to make your way through my door… I suppose congratulations are in order…"

He has a wicked smile on his face, at least from what you can see. The back of the room is pretty dim, making it difficult to make out what is behind there. The war-shaman is holding chains in his hand, though. They lead behind him into the darkness. The elf elbows you and whispers, "he has hostages."

Charles stared open-mouthed at Julian. He hadn’t expected that. No one said anything about hostages! He was about to complain, but he realized that was stupid. This was war. There were no rules in war. And as a paladin of Vessyra he had to be as changeable, as adaptable, as the storm.

Julian smirks as he continues his narration. The war-shaman claps. "I could use men like you," says the war-shaman. "Brave. Resourceful. Skilled. Too many of my men are brutish, well-suited for bludgeoning like a club but hardly appropriate for precision operations like assassination or intrigue."

Charles itched to smack this bitch upside the head with his maul, but for whatever reason he stayed his hand. He wanted to hear what the war-shaman had to say. Maybe it was the roleplayer in him, maybe it was the part of him that was so engrossed in the story, but the truth was that he just really didn’t want to interrupt Julian when he was on a roll.

"Tell me what it is that you desire, adventurers," says the war-shaman. "Wealth? Fame? Power? It can all be yours if you desire. You need only bend the knee. Swear your loyalty to me and you shall never want again."

This was it. This was Logan’s moment. Charles stood up, his chair falling with a thud to the kitchen floor. He jabbed a finger at Julian, who at the moment was looking at him with an evil smirk that befit the character he was currently playing. "I want my parents back," growled Charles. "I doubt you can give me that."

Julian laughed. There was a cold malice in his voice that sent a shiver down Charles’ spine and made his confidence flag. "Is that what you think, human?" said Julian. "That I can’t give you what you truly desire?"

Charles watched with growing apprehension as Julian raised his hand, fingers posed to snap. He knew they were playing out a fictional scene, but some small part of him was afraid that Julian would actually bring out something horrible. He was that invested in the story.

The war-shaman snaps his fingers and you hear the jangling of chains as whatever he has hidden in the darkness comes forward into the light. Two human body-slaves, wearing nothing but the cold iron collars around their necks and metal cages around their cocks. They crawl forward, fully nude, eyes blank, jaws slack, tongues lolling out and drooling.

Charles froze. Julian wasn’t… He couldn’t possibly be implying… He looked at his boyfriend and his heart sank in his chest. The evil glint in Julian’s eye told him that it was exactly what he suspected it was.

It’s your parents. Their glassy eyes just pass over you, almost like you’re not there at all. They look at war-shaman with reverence as he pulls off his loincloth and lets his big hard cock spring out. The two slaves scamper up the steps of the throne dais and start lapping at the war-shaman’s massive member, wagging their butts from side to side as they slobber at the throbbing cock like a pair of animals.

Charles gulped audibly. He was at a loss for words. Logan was at a loss for words. "W-What?!" he stammered. He took a deep breath. He centered himself. He drew upon his faith. His conviction. His turbulent emotions turned into a raging storm of fury.

He opened his eyes and used thaumaturgy on his voice. His words thundered through the room. "You infidel! How dare you besmirch these proud and noble men with your perversion! You will pay for this with your life!"

"I raise my maul and charge forward," said Charles, picking up his dice. "Friends! Now is the time to join battle! Today we fight for liberty and justice!"

Julian grinned at Charles as he spoke those famous three words. "Roll for initiative."

Charles gripped the dice tightly in his hand. He needed to roll high. Logan needed to roll high. They needed to roll high. As he let the dice fall, their bouncing around reverberated in his skull. Like they were knocking around in his head. By the time that they settled, he felt lightheaded and fuzzy. For a moment he couldn’t even tell what number he’d rolled.

"HA!" Charles practically screamed. "I BEAR THE FAVOR OF VESSYRA!" he said, pumping his fist in the air. "NATURAL 20!"

But instead of the "good job" that Charles expected, Julian just looked up at him with a weird expression. He realized why when Julian lifted the GM screen and showed him the natural 20 sitting on the other side. "What’s that with your bonuses from Dexterity?"

Charles deflated. He was so demoralized it took him a moment to figure out what the total value of his roll was. It didn’t help that his thoughts felt slow, but eventually he got to the answer. "19…" he said.

"Seriously?" said Julian, raising an eyebrow. "You took Dexterity, not Intelligence as your dump stat?" Charles scowled at his boyfriend. "Well, that’s a 22 for the war-shaman so… unfortunately he goes first. The rest of your party weren’t so lucky…"

Shit. Charles thought to himself. This meant that the war-shaman was going first. And they had no idea what he was capable of. They knew that he was a proficient magic-user, and a powerful one, but how proficient, and how powerful, they didn’t know.

"So, at the top of the initiative order is the war-shaman," said Julian. Then, he went on to describe the shaman’s turn.

The war-shaman’s eyes glow with this intimidating pale grey light. With his free hand, the one not holding on to the pleasure slaves’ chains, he makes arcane gestures so fast that you can’t follow them. He speaks a few words in that guttural orcish tongue before you feel the spell wash over you.

Julian looked Charles straight in the eye. "Give me a Wisdom saving throw."

Charles rolled the dice. Again. They were loud in his head. And again he felt lightheaded. More so this time. Fuzzier. Strangely enough, he was starting to feel horny, too. He clutched the edge of the table as he read out the result of the die roll. He didn’t have any bonuses to Wisdom. He held up six fingers.

"Oof," said Julian. "That wasn’t enough, unfortunately." Julian rolled a few dice behind the screen before he said "O-ho-ho-ooooh noooo, none of your team managed to make the save." Charles cringed at that.

The arcane energy passes over your body. You don’t feel harmed or any different for that matter. You’re about to laugh, to mock the war-shaman for his ineffective spell, but you find that you’re suddenly unable to move. You can blink and make your nostrils flare, but that’s about the limit of your mobility at the moment.

"Well, that spell was hold person so it means that you and your friends are all paralyzed," said Julian.

Charles wanted to say something but he realized that he couldn’t move. Not just in the game, but in real life too. His eyes went wide. This was freaky. He was starting to panic. "Charles?" said Julian. "Are you okay? Can you move?"

Charles’ eyes nearly bulged out of his head from the effort of trying to fight his sudden paralysis. But no matter how much he fought, he couldn’t move. "No? Good," said Julian. "Now, it’s your turn, and you can try the save again at the end to see if you break free of the effect."

All of a sudden, Charles realized that he could move. "Julian! What’s going on?" he said, as his fingers closed around the dice of their own accord. He shook them loosely in his fist before he let them go. Scarcely had the die left his hand before he froze again.

The d20 knocked around the dice tray before coming to rest on a 20. Happiness swelled in Charles’ chest. And then the die rolled over onto a 2. "Damn. Sorry. That’s not going to cut it," said Julian. "And it doesn’t look like any of your other party members are able to break free, either."

"It’s the war-shaman’s turn again." said Julian. "Roll an Intelligence saving throw for me, Charles."

Charles picked up the dice and promptly rolled a Natural 1 as he screamed internally, unable to move.

The war-shaman draws a sigil in the air. It burns with green light that seems to consume your entire field of vision, Logan. Then, the war-shaman jabs his finger through the middle of the sigil, pointing right at you. The beam of crackling green energy slams into the middle of your forehead and all of a sudden you feel like the intelligence is being drained right out of your skull.

Charles felt it. Magic ripping through his mind. The fog in his head grew denser and thicker. He felt fuzzy. So fuzzy. And horny, too. So horny. His hands, freed of the paralyzing spell, went unbidden to his crotch where he rubbed his hard cock through the coarse fabric of his sweat pants.

He moaned out loud, grunting as he bucked his hips into the motion of his hand, humping his palm. He was hot under the collar. Literally. He could feel himself sweating. Every breath was like sucking in steam. He pulled at his shirt with his free hand but couldn’t get very far, having forgotten how to take a shirt off.

His jaw went slack as the heat reached his head. His cheeks flushed. His eyes watered. Sweat trickled down from his brow. The heat seemed to concentrate inside of his skull. Melting his brain into slush. He could feel thoughts popping like delicate soap bubbles, memories dripping out through his ears.

His jaw went slack, his eyes glazing over. A trickle of drool dribbled from the tip of his chin as he breathed loudly through his mouth, moaning and panting as he fumbled with his sweat pants. His IQ plummeted point by point, from one moment to the next. The vaults of knowledge he’d cultivated through the years were emptied one by one. Then, the connections between them were burned.

The changes didn’t stop there. His thoughts slowed as his cognitive abilities were destroyed little by little. Then, the thoughts ground to a halt altogether. He felt so dumb. So blissfully thoughtless. Empty. His cock surged and throbbed painfully between his legs.

The sweat melted the fat right off of his body, exposing the soft musculature underneath. Then, he started to grow. His pecs swelled, giving him a pair of muscle tits any barbarian would have been proud to sport. His abs tightened, becoming so defined that he felt he could grind rocks to dust with them.

His biceps bulged, tearing through the sleeves of his shirt as his torso exploded out of it. His thighs followed suit, tearing through his sweat pants as his briefs turned into a jockstrap. His once-modest ass bubbled out into a nice muscular cake and all he could do was moan as he suddenly felt empty inside.

All words abandoned him as he grabbed his cock and started stroking mindlessly, feeling the orgasm building and building and building. Cumming would seal his fate, but he was too dumb to know that. He erupted all over the table, pearlescent white jism that represented his old life, his old self, all the intelligence that had been melted out of his head, soaking the battle-mat and the character-sheet that he had sat down with at the beginning of the evening.

If he had had any presence of mind left, he would have noticed that the Intelligence score on the sheet was now listed as a 1.

"Hey babe," said Julian. "Are you joining us for some roleplay tonight? We could use our favorite sex slave barbarian."

Logan looked up from the couch where he’d been showing off his thick beefy ass for all his fans on the ‘net. A few weeks ago he’d been fired from this weird desk job he hadn’t even known he’d had. He had been glad to be rid of the job. He was too stupid for that sort of shit.

Apparently they needed the money, though. If it wasn’t for Julian’s fast-thinking Logan would have gotten them evicted. Luckily for the both of them, Logan had a lot of marketable assets that allowed him to build a massive online following pretty quickly.

The musclebound jock pulled the dildo out of his hole. He replaced it with his favorite prostate-massager-slash-butt-plug, shoving the toy roughly up his muscle cunt. That was all it took to send him over the edge and he sprayed the couch with his cum. Gasping for breath, he wiped the drool from his chin. "Fuck yeah, bro!" he said. "I wanna beat some shit!"

"Great!" said Julian. The first day with feebleminded Charles had been fantastic. The brute had been altogether incapable of coherent thought and had relied on him to do all the thinking. But it had been exhausting, too. Luckily, the spell he’d cast wasn’t meant to fully replicate the spell in the game and over time some of Charles’ intelligence had returned.

Not nearly enough for Charles—now going by Logan—to ever qualify as even remotely smart again, but just enough that he was functional.

Logan moaned, snapping Julian out of his thoughts. "Uhh… Bro… Like… Should I like get dressed or something?" Logan murmured.

Julian shook his head and laughed. "Nah, it’s not like you’ll keep any of it on anyway," said Julian. "Besides. Don’t you want to be in character? Caius, Tiberius, Amariel, and Thragar might have rescued Charles from the clutches of the war-shaman, but it’s not like he knows anything other than being a big dumb slut."

"Huhuhuh," chuckled Logan, his voice devoid of any and all intelligence. "Guess your rite, bro!"

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