Arma tapped the side of his boot against the boxes in the cart. The first was empty, the second was filled with sacks of grain, the third with smaller boxes, and the fifth with furious moans. The hunter gently pressed his heel against the seams of the wooden lid, and kicked open one of the wooden crate’s four sides.

Inside, the precious cargo was the generally competent and generously-gagged warden, Nalen Kara. Her red coat was packed beneath tremendously thick ropes, thick as a thumb and strong as stone.

Her body was contorted into a hogtie. Her boots squished against her rear, held in place by a series of leather straps that were locked with careful and orderly precision before being layered over with haphazard ropes.

Poor Nalen could scarcely squirm. Straps squeaked. Ropes creaked. Her voice, hoarse from infuriated grunting, managed a gurgle from behind a packed gag and cloth that ran over her cheeks. Arma noticed that she must have had a hefty stuffing. The way that the gag pushed her cheeks up slightly, combined with the visible sweat and drool, told him that she’d been filled up and squirming for hours.

She buckled left and right as he opened the crate. Arma got a good look at her; dark skin, darker hair, a slightly stained jacket, and penetrating eyes that sized up Arma. She went quiet as he leaned down to speak to her and removed her gag. Nalen huffed loudly, relaxing her jaw.

“Is there a reward for finding the Warden?” asked Arma.

Nalen’s brow furrowed. “Standard fees apply. Untie me now.”

“Well, momentarily. I did want to ask about a certain bounty you posted.”

“I wasn’t asking you to untie me. It was an order.”

Arma sat on another box. “I could. Or, I could stuff that gag back in your lips, check all those locks, tighten your rope, and seal you back up in the crate. I just have a few questions, first, and after we have our conversation, I’ll let you free and be on your way.”

The Warden’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, bounty hunter. This had better be related to a case, or you’re going to be paying me a visit in the Gullet.”

“It is, in fact,” said Arma. “I’m looking for a person of interest - and there’s nobody more interesting than the pale witch who left you like this…”

***

The old fort was a crumbling ruin on the outside, but on the inside it was much nicer.

Arma might even call it a dilapidated wreck. The hunter knew better than to trust appearances, especially when it came to Fantom - a woman who had a shaky relationship with truth and reality.

Much of the wood had been eaten away by time, so Arma knew how unusual it was to find a pristine oak door, banded with wrought iron. The fact that it seemed to be slightly ajar, that it was cold to the touch confirmed his suspicions. He carefully placed a hand on the door, turning the knob left and then right to bring it open.

“Inside” wasn’t really inside, but it was elsewhere. The doorway opened to a lavishly appointed hideaway. Valuable possessions littered the floor in an utterly haphazard manner - rare gemstones lay in piles and boxes, tapestries and artwork sat beneath linen, and manakins were decked in a dizzying array of magical equipment.

Past it all, though, was his target. Fantom luxuriated in a large throne of red cushions.

“A visitor!” said Fantom. The ninja sat sideways, showing her profile to the newcomer. Arma took a long look; she was exactly as he had imagined her. Wide hips, generous curves, and not a single care in the world.

“I’m not staying long,” he said. “But neither are you.”

Fantom laughed. It was haughty, low, and bitingly sarcastic. “Wrong and wrong. I’m quite enjoying my time in my lair, and I think that you’re going to be staying with me a very long time. Probably forever.” She straightened up. “You’re cute, and I recently found my entire collection liberated. As such I’m oh-so-lonely here.”

Arma turned sideways, adopting a fighting stance. “Not to worry. I’m sure that the prison is going to have plenty of others for you to talk to. Not much privacy though.”

Fantom sat up completely straight, giving him an imperious stare. “Now, there’s no need to be hasty. You see, somewhere in this room, there’s a single switch to deactivate all the traps. And there are traps. You see before you a few valuables, but the rest are all fearsome illusions. Every inch of my hoard is another chance at-”

Arma picked up a dagger from his waist, and threw it directly at Fantom.

It phased through her, implanting itself with a metallic thud on something hard inside of her.

The Fantom-illusion faded away, as did almost all of the treasure. Wisps of ghastly energy dissipated, leaving behind his dagger - squarely impaling itself on a small gemstone hidden between the cushions.

Arma walked with the confidence of someone who had solved a dozen puzzles at once. He deftly avoided the spaces where traps were now visible, circling behind the pile of pillows. He picked up a sheet and threw it into the air, revealing a blushing and surprised villain beneath.

“Not very chivalrous of you,” she said.

He chuckled. “It was an all right illusion. Just a bit obvious. You came on too strong.”

“I was banking on-”

Arma interrupted her as he hoisted her up. “You were betting that nobody would ever risk hurting you, right? That’s why you put the switch somewhere that no adventurer would attack or see?

Fantom scowled, trying to look away. He held her quite firmly, with a powerful, gloved hand around her neck. With a grin, he marched her towards the center of the room and clasped her hands behind her back.

“I’d hate to get rough with you or damage any of your treasures. They’re worthless to me, but I know you work very hard assembling your little hideout.”

“In that case, you almost certainly know how powerful I am. I’m sure I could give you more than you’re being paid.”

Arma clasped a pair of cuffs around Fantom’s wrists, shoving her to her knees.

“It’s not the coin I’m interested in.”

The hunter searched his prey for weapons with all the deft, practiced speed of a professional. She felt like an animal, caught and harvested for all it was worth. His movements were forceful, but not unkind. As he shoved her to her knees, it was against the bed of pillows. After all, he needed her rear in the air so he could make absolutely certain she wasn’t hiding anything at all.

Fantom blushed and panted. Her captor ran hands up and down her body, stroking her hair and headband after giving her rear a thorough molestation.

She didn’t notice she was flexing her fingers until he clasped one strong hand over them. “Stop,” he seemed to say. “You’re mine.”

After carefully examining her head and mouth for any hidden lockpicks, he moved to her chest. Fantom wasn’t wearing much at all, but ninjas - especially kinky types like Fantom - were renowned for their ability to escape just about any situation. Arma held her close. She was warm. Pleasant heat radiated from her body. He gently brushed his chest against her back, clutching her tighter as he began to run one hand beneath her tunic to touch at her teats.

Fantom blushed, quietly biting her tongue. His fingers gently circled, then grasped. He took a generous handful of her bust, rubbing it with his fingers and thumb. He used his other hand, massaging both her breasts in pleasant circles.

His captive was positively glowing. Arma knelt down, gently pulling away the belt from her waist. Fingers gently crept between her legs to tease at her womanhood.

Fantom shuddered slightly as he ran his middle finger between her thighs. He did it again, eliciting short and rapid breaths from his bound captive. Although he felt confident she was disarmed, he continued for a good long while, each time riling her up further and further.

When she could take no more, when she was about to squeal, he gave her the most tender mercy he could afford. Standing behind her, he shoved a wad of handkerchief between her lips and wrapped a thick cloth into her jaw. Another one went over her mouth and nose to keep her from loosening the gag. Fantom’s mewls became quiet, subdued whispers choked out through layers of tight cloth.

On the way out, he grabbed the doorway off of its hinges. Fantom’s hideaway turned into a small, portable hole. Arma had every intention to keep her home around, after all.

She was thrown across his horse like a fresh kill. An hour passed, and the two approached Arma’s hideout, he hopped off the horse, taking her with him.

“You’re the sneaky type. You’re always going to use your surroundings to your advantage. We simply can’t have that.” The grin continued, and Fantom’s blushing, moaning face was obscured further by a heavy, padded blindfold.

He was already planning how to properly use his new acquisition even before they arrived. He’d set up a few facilities with the intent of taking Fantom on as a servant, but he wasn’t expecting to have her here - so helpless, so warm, and so adorably frustrated with her scenario.

There were several rooms already prepared, the largest being a private quarters for her. Of course, he wouldn’t let her have her magical reagants and equipment - not yet. She’d need to earn his trust, and that meant spending a few weeks - or months - as his slave.

Long, golden, elegant chains had been prepared, covered in runes to make sure she wouldn’t run. They’d attach to her wrists, and from there connect to a new belt and collar. It might be a bit inconvenient, but he had an alternative if she didn’t like being chained up. That was, of course, an extra-heavy padded hood with ensorcelled gag and various magical effects.

Arma assumed she’d prove very resistant at first. But a few days in sensory-deprived darkness would soften her up. He’d have her chained to the bed, kept in physical sustenance by an incredibly tight hood and massive collar around her neck. Only when he decided to join her in bed would she get any sort of stimulation at all. At least, on the first night. On the second, he had a few toys and teases planned for her - he’d done his research, and he knew that she’d enjoy being the victim of her own torments more than anything else.

He had a few crueller jabs, as well. There was a nice little oubliette - a stone-walled hole in the floor - that he’d slowly lower her into, totally wrapped in chains and heavy bonds. He had a sending stone he’d use to taunt her, telling her how she was being entombed inside to be forgotten. Of course, in reality, she’d be hung up in his dining room as a moaning and squirming little objet d’art but she didn’t have to know that.

In time, Arma knew she’d be a loyal and dedicated servant. Perhaps he’d even remove the bonds, like the heavy ball-and-chain around her neck, and let her perform more than simple drudgery tasks. But he’d have to acquire magical protection - the last thing he wanted was a pesky, lippy, ungagged magic-user trying to take revenge on him. An arcane-enchanted collar would do nicely.

Closer to the hideout, they were on a mountain path, overlooking a town - one with a bounty office, and surely one where agents of the Warden were eager to haul her away.

“Ah, yes. Civilization. Take a good look, Fantom.”

“Mmnfg.”

Arma petted his captive gently. “It’s the last one you’re going to get, after all.”

Her moans and mewls filled the air as Arma rode away from the city, away from others who might free her, and towards his mountaintop hideaway. He couldn’t help but grin, hearing her squirming in her bonds and trying to roll away.