Thread: Stolen Bones [Alakazam & Grungeknuckle]

Samuel's brow contracted, vexed. He knew that name... how did he- His face falling, Samuel realized with a groan, who the thief was talking about. A second realization came to him, and he withdrew the staff and stepped back from her, retreating to his workbench under the stairs. He'd been unconsciously staring at her soft breasts, watching them heave with her breathing and sobs, and had suddenly felt far too close to her, far to warm. Even from the work bench, he would glance back at her, through the slats between stairs. Pondering the situation, Samuel put his staff aside, letting his mind work on the problem, while his hands grabbed at tools and herbs. Paul Briar was much more experienced and powerful than he was, had a lot more money, and had connections in the community, including in the criminal underworld apparently. And as Briar was a specialist in illusions and, more importantly, wards anything ranging from a subtle break-in to an full-frontal assault would most likely end up with Samuel getting a face full of fireballs. And reporting the stolen item was out of the question, as was trying to extort Briar for it. However, the man was smart and well-learned, he'd know what he had, and how to keep it stable, or at least in stasis, for the time being. That gave Samuel some much needed breathing room. He'd have time to come up with a solution, or at least keep his eye on it until the Urn was out in the open again. One thing was clear to Samuel, however. He wasn't going to be getting the Urn back. As hard as it had been to create and fill it, at it's current state, it was too much of a risk to try and grab it, and have a fight start, just to end with the thing breaking and exploding. There were other ways of removing it from the playing field, though. He came back to the thief, holding a small wooden tray, three prepared concoctions on it. A small cup, which he set aside near the fireplace to warm. A bandage, soaked in a healing agent, for the welt on her head. And a thick, fizzling mixture, to dull the pain and warm the blighted flesh. Pushing her mussed brown hair back, he wrapped the bandage around her head, knotting it into place. Next, he poured the bubbling oil into his hands, working it into a lather, then kneading it into the woman's flesh where he had struck her. His own palms were already tingling from it as he finished up her stomach. Samuel didn't dare look the woman in the eye as worked the mixture into her right breast, his large hand carefully cupping and rubbing her, his thumb going over the point of contact on her nipple. His tense jaw and errant, averted eyes spoke volumes. The thickened oil was like a fire on a winter night, it wouldn't dispel the chill in her bones, but would provide some comfort, and give her something to fight against it. He was so distracted by his own thoughts, Samuel had placed his hand on her womanhood, already massaging the mixture into her lips, before he remembered he'd never spelled her there. Threatened, perhaps, but never let the dark power flow. He drew his hand back, reminded, quite clearly, that he had a more-or-less naked, vulnerable, and attractive woman tied up in his cellar. Reaching between her thighs, Samuel fumbled around in her wadded up breaches trying to retrieve, and pull up, her panties. He was uncomfortably aware of his bare arm brushing against her pussy, as he extracted her undergarments from her ankles, sliding them back up to her hips. Wiping what was left of the mixture off on a rag, Samuel moved to stand over by the fireplace. His palms were still tingling from where it had soaked into his skin.