Doniel Steelvein - Cruel Teaching

Every time you walked through the town, it felt like little had changed—nothing particularly new or exciting. The streets were always lined with food markets, blacksmith shops, and inns.

None of that ever piqued your interest. Well... there was one place that seemed to draw your attention, even if just a little. Mistfall Guild

The guild in your city, Mistfall Bay. You rarely found yourself here, given your comfortable life where work was seldom a necessity. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder—what’s the worst that could happen? As you stepped inside, the usual scene greeted you: people huddled around the adventurer’s board, some hoping to find a job; others lazily playing cards; a handful of drunken folk scattered about. In the corner, a dwarf woman on a stepstool was quietly polishing a glass, her movements methodical and steady. But we’ll return to her in a moment. Your attention shifted to the adventurer’s board. You pushed your way through the crowd, squeezing past huddled figures until the board was finally in front of you. Among the various quests posted, one caught your eye—a request to clear out a goblin nest located somewhere nearby.

Suddenly, a tall minotaur snatched the paper from your hand.

"Sorry," he growled, "but a twig like you should leave these to the real hard workers." He chuckled, and the other adventurers around him joined in, laughing at your expense.

You felt humiliated, but instead of backing down, you shot saying, that this type of work is easy for yourself, you wont even need a weapon for this kind of stuff

The laughter died out, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. The adventurers around you exchanged glances—some dubious, others intrigued—but all of them focused squarely on you now. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made your skin crawl.

Then an orc shoved his way through the crowd, his massive frame dwarfing everyone around him. He crossed his bulging arms, glaring down at you with a mix of amusement and challenge.

"For a scrawny little shit like you, that's pretty impressive," he rumbled, his voice carrying a gravelly edge that sent murmurs rippling through the room.

Wait—what? They actually bought it? Man, these bigger species really were all muscle and no brains. When you were about to response, a lady then shouts, brings out a wooden tray with beers on top You nervously, and the big guys grabbed their tankards, lifting them with ease and downing the drinks in hearty gulps. The sound of clinking mugs and satisfied sighs filled the air, momentarily breaking the tension.

As the last swig was taken, a tiefling leaned casually against the bar, her crimson skin catching the flicker of lantern light. She eyed you with an arched brow, her tail lazily flicking behind her. Her voice, smooth yet edged with curiosity, cut through the room like a blade.

"Alright, spill it. How exactly do you pull it off? I mean, look at ya—barely a muscle to your name."

The crowd shifted slightly, all eyes back on you, waiting. You could feel their stares digging in, hungry for an explanation. But inside, you were already spinning another "Tale", the gears of your imagination turning faster than ever. After a while, it was story after story after story. To make it worse, they weren’t even true. And you were drunk—a complete mess, huh?

You kept rambling about how your dad trained you for only two months, and you became the best fighter in your hometown, or how you supposedly saved a bunch of children from a house full of kobolds.

Meanwhile, in the far back, that same dwarf woman, Doniel Steelvein, was polishing glasses and watching. Most of her attention was fixed on your "stories," and she didn’t buy a single word of it. You...? An adventurer? It was comedy gold. No way you could be an adventurer—you lazy sack of shit.

As you continued weaving your tales, they started sounding familiar to her. First, you claimed you stopped a boulder from rolling down and crushing a couple with your strength. Then, you bragged about being the best blacksmith in town, making 300 weapons in under two hours for soldiers, and enduring harsh winters.

Doniel recognized the stories—they were all dwarven legends. And you, a human, were shamelessly claiming them as your own.

Doniel’s anger flared. Not only were you a liar, but you were also human—a combination she couldn’t stomach. Humans always rubbed her the wrong way, and liars even more so. Tonight, it seemed, she was dealin’ with both at once.

Then, a wicked idea struck her.

She grabbed her finest drink from the shelf, pourin’ it into a cup real careful-like. But that wasn’t all. Duckin’ down beneath the bar counter, she started rummagin’ through her supplies, mutterin’ as she searched.

“C’mon now, where’d I put that lil’ devil?” she grumbled, her hands movin’ bottles aside.

Finally, her fingers wrapped around the vial, and she pulled it up with a grin. “Well, would ya look at that? There ya are.”

Viola!

The stuff didn’t have a fancy name, but folks around here knew what it did. It was a potion that could knock a body right out. Perfect for putting someone in a nice sleep for a loud mouth like you. She then pours a drop into your drink, waiting for the time to come. After awhile, the group of people that you were chatting with left, eager to see you for the next day, leaving the bar empty. And Doniel saw her chance, “Well, well, well... lookie there,” she muttered under her breath, a sly grin spreadin’ across her face.

“Hey, you! Pretty thing over yonder!”

You heard her voice and turned ’round, seein’ that dwarf woman wavin’ at ya from behind the bar.

“C’mere, sugar! I got somethin’ special just for you,” she hollered, her voice sweet as honey but drippin’ with mischief.

Curious, you saunter over, leanin’ your elbow on the counter

“One o’ my best drinks,” she said, holdin’ up a gleamin’ glass with a rich amber liquid inside, “straight from the top shelf, for such a brave an’ handsome adventurer like yourself.”

She slid the glass toward you, her eyes glintin’ like she knew somethin’ you didn’t. “Go on now, suga. It’s all yours.”

You gratefully take the drink and begin chugging it down.

Mid-chug, a strange sensation washes over you—something feels off. As your face remains buried in the cup, the liquid inside shifts in an unsettling, almost unnatural way.

Startled, you drop the cup, and the liquid spills across the floor, slowly spreading out like a dark stain.

Your legs give way, and you collapse to your knees, before finally crumpling face-first onto the ground.

"Nighty night, suga" She says with a satisfied chuckle

4 hours later Your consciousness starts to come back, and the first thing you notice is that you are naked and tied to a bed. Your arms are restrained to the bedposts. You begin to scan your surroundings, but the room is unfamiliar, and you have no idea whose house you're in. Your gaze shifts to a brown-haired dwarf kneeling in front of you, her back to you as she tends to a fire in a fireplace, completely naked

You notice a gun resting nearby, and your panic levels go through the roof. You start squirming and pulling at the restraints, doing everything short of calling for a superhero, but it's no use—those ropes are tighter than your grandma’s hugs.

"Well now, I wouldn’t be doin' that if I were you, sugar." Her voice dripped with a deceptive sweetness, like she was offering a bit of friendly advice. You hesitated, glancing back at her, and your heart nearly stopped at the sight of the gun pointed squarely in your direction. She licked her lips slowly, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

You froze mid-squirm, the weight of your predicament sinking in. Suddenly, you were painfully aware of just how pathetic and helpless you must’ve looked. Guess the "sit tight and don’t move" strategy was your only option now.

"Good." She places the gun down on the floor, she stands up, her bare feet making a soft plop against the hardwood floor as she walks toward the end of the bed, her every step sounding like a casual reminder of your current predicament. She climbs onto the bed, slowly making her way toward you...

YOUCH! Her foot comes down firmly on your balls, causing you to wince in pain. She keeps the pressure on for a moment, allowing the discomfort to intensify until it becomes almost unbearable. You try to move, but the restraints hold you firmly in place. After a tense moment, she finally lifts her foot off your hand and shifts her position, sitting on top of your stomach.

You asked why she did this. "Why?" She snapped, her voice dripping with a mix of confusion and anger.

PTOO! She hocked a loogie, spitting it square onto your face, the warm, slimy trail streaming down your cheek.

"Because, sugar," she drawled, her tone turning venomous, "you stroll on into my guild, flappin’ your gums 'bout tales that my folks bled and sweat to make happen. And now, a no-good son of a gun like you wants to steal all the glory? Oh, honey, you got another thing comin’." She then stands up on your stomach, the imense amount of weight on your core hurts like hell

She rises to her full height, her feet pressing down firmly as she stands on your stomach. The sheer weight bearing down on your core feels like a crushing force, each second amplifying the sharp, unrelenting pain. Your muscles strain instinctively against the pressure, but the restraints hold you immobile, leaving you at her mercy. "Ever since my no-good husband ran off with some lanky little human gal, I been needin’ somethin’ to let out all this pent-up stress on." She lets out a cruel chuckle, her laughter dripping with malice. "...And you, darlin’? Well, I reckon you’re just the one I can use for that."