-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sir Emmanuel Cantano
Athel Hall, Imperial County of Catriona
14
th
of Zenith, 1282
D.f.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The bright summer sun of Catriona gleamed off of Emmanuel's fine gold-on-gold clothing he wore today, as he rode his white stallion in the waning hours of the day. He whistled a tune, the words long forgotten, as he thought back on his past misfortunes and boons.
It had certainly been a brilliantly eventful week to the bard. He had met a terribly frightening swordsman several days ago, then saw that very same man slay a half-dozen foes in the matter of a moment without breaking a sweat. He had also met a lass, a glorious lass, and her expansive curves still jiggled and swayed in his dream-sleep when he shut his eyes at night. Alas, the lass was already taken, and Emmanuel knew he would never place his hands on those luscious curves. But a bard can still dream, and dream he did.
That trio had gone on to slay the wicked witch of Featherton, the name Emmanuel had decided to grant the necromantic sorceress in his upcoming ballads an songs. Sure, he would never sing of his
own
part in the destruction of that crone; to let on that he could pick any magical or physical lock in a matter of minutes would ruin a potential surprise! And what is more glorious in life than welcome surprises?
He hadn't received a reward for the slain witch, nor had anyone. A real shame, that, as Emmanuel knew he could use the coin. Living a life of luxury on the road certainly did not come cheaply, after all! Emmanuel had sought to remedy the situation by gambling what coin remained at Pinkwater Keep yesterday, only to come out of the deal a beggar once more.
At least he still had his clothes, his horse, and his tunes. And he could make the coin again by traveling to Catriona, singing in the taverns and halls of that great city. Furthermore, Emmanuel could make the coin a hundred times over if he found Talos - the eerie swordsmaster - in that city, as the bard had a plan to recoup his losses from Pinkwater.
So he journeyed westward now, following the setting sun, through the small settlement of Athel Hall towards the city of mages. He had passed by the small motte-and-bailey castle of that town just thirty minutes ago, the blue-and-white banners of the County flying atop its gates. The farmsteads and houses of Athel Hall were now disappearing around him, and the land was returning to nature as he traveled afield.
In fact they had all vanished, except for one particularly large farmstead before him, nestled beside a burbling stream. All manner of cabbage, carrot, and cauliflower grew in the fields nearby, and a steady stream of white smoke billowed from the house's only chimney.
Emmanuel had almost passed the farm by until he spied a girl outside, bending at the waist to tend to a brood of hens. She wore a long grey dress, and her sumptuous position had left her calves exposed. How positively
deviant
! The girl stood straight as he passed, glancing toward him with a frown that instantly turned upside-down. She pushed her plaited brown hair behind her ears, and smiled at him as if he were a knight of the tales.
The girl was young, likely no older than eighteen. Too young to be married to the one who owned the farm, if the same wedding customs held true in Catriona as it did elsewhere. Emmanuel decided to dismount and greet the maid, bowing lowly with a grin as he did.
How many stories had been told of bedding a farmer's daughter, after all? How many fascinating tales of lust had been written of taking the maidenhood of one so pure?
Emmanuel spoke to the grinning girl of nothing at all, praising her family's glorious tracts of land. Only a pittance of small talk was exchanged until the parents of said girl found their way from the farmhouse behind, foiling the bard's chances at writing his own song.
He greeted the father and mother just as warmly as he had greeted the maid, of course, as Emmanuel was nothing if not friendly to strangers. He introduced himself in splendid fashion, and the parents introduced themselves as Roger and Nadja. Looking over Nadja, Emmanuel detected where the daughter had received her radiant comeliness. Had Nadja held a decade less years, Emmanuel would even say the same of her.
The bard offered another pittance of small talk to the trio, then performed a number of songs for the family, regaling them of victories and conquests which may or may not have been his, and that may or may not have been entirely true. It did not matter, much; if one sang with enthusiasm and confidence, peasants would believe anything they heard in a ballad.
Nadja and her daughter, Viola, had been positively delighted by the songs. Not so much the father, but Emmanuel hadn't been looking to impress him, anyway. Those of the fairer sex were always far more receptive to the bard's art, in his past experience.
With the finale of his fourth song behind him, Emmanuel hatched a cunning plan in an attempt to bed the young maid Viola.
"Thank you, thank you," Emmanuel bowed pompously. "With that, I'm afraid I must be off! After all, I must pitch camp in the wilds before the sun fall."
Nadja shook her head. "Why Emmanuel, that's nonsense!" she replied warmly. "You're welcome to stay the night here. We even have a guestroom, so you won't wake in the midnight from my husband's snores."
Had Emmanuel not been in the western part of the Empire, the invitation would have come as a surprise to him. Here, however, the peasantry looked after travelers, and offers of food and bed were common. Expected, even; even for a man wearing ridiculous gold pants.
"That's most generous of you, my lady. I'll accept, of course," Emmanuel responded, bowing graciously towards the three, "and my humblest thanks to all of you, truly."
"It will be our pleasure," Nadja promised with a sweet smile.
-=-=-
Not an hour after the invitation for respite, Roger vacated the farm to perform some business or another in Athel Hall, guiding a donkey and cart patiently along the single-track road as he departed. Emmanuel had heard his reasoning for going to town, truthfully, but it had either slipped his mind or he hadn't cared.
Roger, being the dutiful father that he was, took his daughter Viola with him into town, likely to protect her innocence from the singing stranger. She had been staring at Emmanuel with a dumb smile for the better part of an hour, after all.
So, it was only Emmanuel and Nadja who remained at the farm behind behind, and what a glorious posterior that was. Emmanuel laid in the grass betwixt the house and the river staring whimsically at the burbling stream, and also the wench in a modest dress next to it.
It was Nadja's afternoon to wash the clothes of the family. To do so, she had to make use of the flowing river, the washboard in front of her, and the beater in her hand. She knelt at the water's edge, grabbed some item of clothing, then whacked it for several strikes against the board until it was somehow deemed clean. The process would then repeat, repeat, repeat, until the large pile of dirty linens had transformed into a pile of those deemed wearable.
Nadja's position left her vulnerable to the wandering eyes of a bard in gold. She leaned in deep towards the river, her curvaceous ass lewdly raised in the air as she knelt atop the grass. Emmanuel dreamt of what he would find under those cheeks, and what he would absolutely do to it if given the chance.
And seemingly, he
had
been given the chance. The town of Athel Hall was at least half-an-hour away if one was leading a donkey, and the farmer still had to perform whatever task he had mentioned when he'd arrived.
Additionally, Nadja
had
to know how alluring she presented herself to him as well, performing her domestic chores with a jiggling enthusiasm.
Emmanuel sighed, deciding to not allow himself to let the opportunity slip by. He found himself transfixed on Nadja's ass and hips, thrusted lewdly in his direction and covered only by her frustratingly long dress. He sauntered towards the lascivious maid, dreaming of her response to a question unsaid.
Emmanuel stopped just behind her, inches from her kneeling form as she continued to beat the soaked linens over the river's edge, seemingly unaware of his presence.
"Only a deceiver could ask a more beautiful sight," Emmanuel sang, his hands behind his back as if mocking innocence, "as the maid lay at the river's edge, bringing eyes none but delight."
The beating of clothes was halted, replaced instead by a moment of silent exhilaration as Nadja released the small board in her hand. Her reaction was but a coin-flip in Emmanuel's mind, odds well enough for the man. Nadja's face turned to look upon him with a half-smile, cheeks reddened from the assault on her modesty.
Emmanuel immediately sought to repair the delicate quandary he knew washed within her. He knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back with a smile. "But perhaps the maid does not know of her limitless allure, what endless charm she doth present with her generous fig-ure."
The sly smile was replaced by one full, Nadja's face not losing it's cool. "I-is that from a song?" she asked anxiously. The bard nodded, his hand slipping down her dress ever so slowly.
"Of course, Nadja. They are but the words of your own song. You see, gazing upon your fine features gives this humble man the greatest inspiration of all."
Her face grew one shade redder, a twitch of her lips the only resistance to Emmanuel's invading hand which was now resting not an inch from her ample bottom.
"Youre... you're too kind, Emmanuel." Nadja bit her lower lip, undeniably enthralled by his act. The bard found peasant women all too simple, and continued his performance with enthusiasm.
"I only speak of the truth, my dear Nadja. I often wonder what would I do if I came across such a maid, having but one fleeting chance to show my true fascination of her," he replied gracefully, his words becoming a mere whisper as his face closed with hers. He began to explore Nadja's curvaceous ass with his hand, a gentle squeeze before a firm grope.
"I... I..." Nadja stammered, pushing herself further into the invader's grasp, the washboard she had been holding on to all but forgotten.
"What would the fairest maid of all ask of me, I wonder, if I let the decision fall to her lips instead?"
