“I know,” Amya said at last, “what you need is a disguise!”
“How so?” asked the Knight.
“Well, I remember how that ring works,” she explained, “So the trick is for him to take you from behind, while you wear the ring, and say the word.”
Sir Roland listened.
“Obviously, he won’t do that if he recognizes you. Or if he knows that you have the ring. That’s where the disguise comes in!”
“What kind of disguise do you mean?”
“You,” Amya smiled, “are going to be a beautiful elven woman!”
“What?!” gasped the Knight, “that’s impossible!”
“Oh really,” replied the sorceress, coldly, “do you have a better idea, scarecrow-man?”
“Uh…no…” the Knight stammered, “but, uh, I don’t think I could pass for an elf.”
Amya laughed wickedly, “I am a sorceress, dear sir. I will craft you an illusion that looks real, that feels real, and that will make that stupid elf so desperate to bed you that he won’t even notice if something slips off his finger.”
Sir Roland considered it. It was distasteful, but necessary, it seemed. Reluctantly, he agreed.
“Excellent,” smiled Amya, “this is going to be fun.”
She turned to one of the burly orcs, “Have my illusion chamber prepared.” The orc bowed, and hurried off to do his mistress’ bidding. Amya rose from her seat, “Come, Sir Roland. It is time for us to prepare the bait for our oversized elf friend.”
The Knight grinned back at his mistress. For revenge, he would do just about anything.