The Outlander & the Elf Maid Ch. 04

Chapter 4: Stand Off

Grohl saw the small hamlet of Belshire come above the horizon. He had grown tired of the sound of wooden wheels grinding against the road, the clip clopping of horses hooves, and metallic clanking of weapons and armor. There was one part of this journey in which he was taking some pleasure, and that was it reminded him of being on campaign –the times when all would tremble at the approach of his horde.

That old feeling welled up within him as the farming village became larger in the distance. The sheer sense of unbridled power, and the idea that the local populace was at his mercy, occupied his mind, and fueled his passions. This is what he missed the most!

The orc commander playfully entertained the idea of sacking the town -taking what he wanted, burning what remained, and slaughtering its inhabitants. It had been so long since he had indulged this inclination. The relative peace under Axania's rule, combined with the fact that the Captain of the Empress' personal guard just could not join –or start- a raiding band, had made his life dry and boring, but that was just about her change.

The sound of a bell frantically chiming filled Grohl's ears, and a puzzled expression crept across his face. His comrades glanced about at each other with the same look of bewilderment, as they pressed closer and closer to the town.

The slaver company was now near enough Belshire to see that there were people running around in confusion and terror. The captain was about to send a rider forward to let the town's folk that they were just passing through, but stopped at the idea that they could give him an excuse –an excuse to finally get some excitement in his life!

——‡―—

Their bodies were small, but perfectly formed. They both were a little chubby, as halflings tended to be, but still very sexy.

Gilford -and the girls- had managed to find the largest pile of hay in the barn, and throw a large blanket over the top of it. By now, the dome-like pile had become a concaved nest from them rolling about, stripping, and groping one another.

This had not been the constables plan: to abandon his town while an orc-horde approached, and to seek carnal knowledge with these two young lasses of the half-folk, but things like this tended to happen to him anyway.

He had caught wind of the band of orcs headed their way, and set out to find his former lieutenant, Altrost, and the band of mercenaries his onetime subordinate now led. The constable felt it was time to take a stand in the name of the rightful King. Since the defeat of the loyalists, the bitch Empress has gradually become bolder –sending her monstrous forces out when she wanted to impose her will. Gilford did not know what this current event was about, but he reckoned it was not good, and he had made an oath to his community to serve, and protect the people of Belshire.

Two days earlier, he had dispatched a courier with a message for Altrost to meet him at this barn in Juniper Hollow, and now he was hoping that the good lieutenant would not arrive too soon.

The two young halfling girls were like little voluptuous bookends with their hourglass figures. Tiny rosy-pink nipples rested in the center of their ample breasts. Gilford ran his hands over the two of them, and he savored the warm feel of their soft and pale skin as they kissed and licked his chest. They made their way down his stomach until they found his manhood –already rock-hard in anticipation of the salacious deeds to come- where they began to run their tongues, in unison, up and down his thick eight-inch shaft. The little duo seemed to almost be fighting over it as each one took a turn engulfing the swollen head with their hungry mouths.

The good constable moaned his pleasure as the two continued to work his rigid cock. He decided to leave the one with the tawny-brown hair, but coaxed the other, with flaxen-blonde hair back up to him.

She took the hint quickly, and crawled on all fours up to his head –eyes smoldering with lust. She straddled his face, and slowly lowered her moistened little honey-pot onto his mouth. She suddenly twitched at the initial contact of his oral appendage, as licentious sensations jolted her body, and caused hips to erratically spasm. She whimpered and cooed, as the other rose to her feet and hovered her tiny wet gash just above the tip of Gilford's throbbing rod.

He felt the slick-hot dampness of the halfling's taut fuck-hole open up to him, and grip his burgeoning prick. It was so tight that it was almost painful, but still she took more and more of it inside her as she called out loudly. Obviously, it was much larger than she was used to, but that did not daunt her from slaking her desires on his huge pole.

It was painful for her. To begin with, he was large for a human, but he was gargantuan for a halfling. His tumescent manhood stretched her to her limits, and she winced as it continued to invade even deeper inside her. She bucked her hips, stroking his immense rod with her sopping tight pussy, as she wailed; letting it reach the verge of popping out, only to plunge it to her farthest depths.

The blonde one turned completely around –repositioning her self on the constable's face- so she could fondle her friend while she fucked him with wild abandon. She caressed the other's tits, and squeezed the nipples between her fingers, as they bounced teasingly in front of her. Then, resting a hand on her lusty companion's shoulder, she reached down and began to massage the brunette's swollen clit –as her own was being similarly worked by Gilford's tongue.

The wanton and lascivious actions sent the two halflings reeling into blissful climax. Their cries reverberated of the wooden walls, and echoed in the constable's ears. It was then that he felt something quite unusual come from the one that straddled his face. There was a sudden gush of her salty-sweet nectar that came from her craven slit, and coated his mouth and chin. Then the same thing happened with the other halfling that was riding his cock. His crotch was completely drenched.

The two young halfling girls collapsed on his chest -continuing to grope and kiss each other- when their orgasms had finally abated.

In between kisses, the one with the darker hair purred some advice for her friend, "You really must let him put his big thing in you. Mmmmm... Hurts so good!"

They both giggled at this, and began to stir.

The golden-haired one moved onto her back, and opened her legs wide –inviting him to violate her tiny box, "Oh, mister Gilford, please put it in me?" She cooed.

He deftly moved atop her, and positioned the tip of his pulsating rod to open the folds of her dripping cunt. He watched the tip as it pushed past her swollen lips and into the taut grip of her honey-hole.

She grimaced as she opened to him, and felt the impossible length of his shaft slide slowly inside her.

"Oh! Go deeper, mister Gilford, go deeper!" she exclaimed, her words dripping with prurient longing.

He went in until he could go no deeper, and then started with slow gentle thrusts.

The other lowered her abused little pussy onto the blonde ones mouth, and her eyes rolled back as she felt her friend's tongue drag across her sopping slit.

The two moaned and whimpered as they reveled in salacious abandon. The constable watched the two small women –his cock appeared gigantic as it slid in and out of the blonde's tight and tiny snatch, while the brunette proceeded to grind her wanton gash over the face of her friend.

Gilford then took the darker-haired one's nipple into his mouth, and began to suckle upon it. As her moans grew louder, he quickened his pace on the other until, she too, was crying out, "Ah, yes! Fuck it, mister Gilford, Fuck it hard!" she yelled.

The golden haired one's fingers wandered down to her clit, and started to rub at it feverishly, "By the gods," she yelped, "I'm cumming! I'M CUMMMMIIIINNNNGGG!"

The other, spurred on by her friend's enthusiasm, was pushed over the edge rapture, and began to call out her ecstasy.

He felt the blonde spasm and buck underneath him as he continued to pound her tiny box unrelentingly, and likewise felt the onset of his orgasm –he had reached the point of no return. Feeling just about to let loose, he pulled his burgeoning member from the halfling; and without warning, the other had taken it into her mouth.

She was sucking and stroking him furiously when the first jet of his hot seed filled her mouth, and she swallowed heartily only to have it filled again by a second and third sticky load. It ran down her chin, and splattered on her friend's tummy.

Gilford collapsed backward, and the two followed. They both spent the next couple minutes sucking at his sated rod trying to milk every last drop of cum out of it.

Finally, they were all lying together –exhausted. Gilford was between the two -their small bodies snuggled up against him- as he reached over, and pulled the large blanket over the three of them.

Sleep came quickly.

——‡―—

Terrin was thirteen years old, trim, and fast. More than anything he wanted to be a cavalryman –just like the good constable. One might call it hero worship. That is why Balfor, as captain of the Belshire militia, made him their official drummer-boy, but today he was messenger-boy.

He was a good distance ahead of the horde –running as fast as he could. He figured he had picked a good spot for his post. It had maximum line-of-sight, good cover, and several escape routes. He had paid close attention to the tales that Master Gilford told about all the raids he had performed during the war. The Young boy made sure that he could slip unseen from his hiding place, and get far ahead of the enemy before returning to the road.

Calculated in his head as he ran, Terrin figured that by the time he got back and raised the alarm, they would have a good half-hour to prepare. He did good, by his own reckoning, and both Gilford and Balfor are going to be proud –but enough of that. He had to keep the details of his observations in mind. Intelligence, Gilford called it; so he kept repeating in his mind, About seventy men-at-arms, ten to twelve support personnel, five officers on horseback, four wagons (two covered, and two with iron cages), carrying the colors of the Empress, and moving at a league an hour.

Gilford had said you needed a good memory to be a raider. It was best not to right things down, lest the enemy gets hold of it, and then they know what you know.

Up ahead, he could see Belshire, and he launched into a sprint. In a few minutes, he would be at the public house reporting to his captain. When he finally made it, he was winded.

"Relax, son, and breath," Balfor advised him. The boy took a hand full of deep breaths, relayed the information he had gathered, and waited for his next orders.

The twenty-four other men of the militia had been on standby, lounging around the public house, since the early morning, and the men had already started to move by the time their captain bellowed his first order of the day, "Suit up men, and sort out your kits. The potential for gratuitous violence is imminent."

As far as volunteer militias go, the Belshire boys were pretty well trained. The town had two hardened veterans: Gilford was an expert on covert warfare, reconnaissance, and deception; Balfor was an infantryman -he could drill his men to fight as a unit, and train them to fight one-on-one; but then they also had Garris. –he was not a veteran soldier, but he was an excellent hunter, and tracker. He could put an arrow up a squirrel's ass, one hundred yards out, and not draw blood; or you could blindfold him, take to the middle of nowhere with nothing but a loincloth and a razor-strap, and find him on your porch -the next morning- with a pint and a mutton-joint –so Balfor was wont to say. Besides that, the corpulent pub owner was a brilliant tactician. He was quite the intellectual, able to think several moves ahead, and no one was able to beat him in games of strategy. It almost seemed as if the perfect combination of people had come to reside in Belshire.

"Terrin," his captain announced, "Go out and tell as many folk as you can find that when they hear the bells chime to start running about the village –willy-nilly."

His order might have seemed odd to most, but the drummer knew that Master Balfor had been making a plan for the arrival of their most unwelcome guests.

"Yes, sir," the lad replied, and turned formally on his heel to dutifully carry out his new orders.

The young man set about his duties, and spread the word throughout town to every person he came across. He got some strange looks from various folk as he made his way, but would give a brief explanation, and move along.

——‡―—

When Grohl led his men to the edge of Belshire, the main road was devoid of any life through the length of the village –save for one figure. A portly man, clad in a chainmail shirt, brigandine greaves, a sword at his hip, and a twelve foot pike in his hand.

"Hold there!" the lone man-at-arms commanded, "This road is closed to all traffic by the authority of Magistrate Gilford."

The orc commander gave the signal for the column to come to a halt, and then invoked his own authority, "I am Captain General Grohl, an agent of Her Majesty –the Empress Axania, I command you to step aside upon pain of death," he replied.

Both of them knew to choose their words carefully –it was a matter of common-law, and it could end in triumph, tragedy, or stalemate simply by the words spoken in this moment.

"Forgive me, Captain Grohl," Balfor replied, "I have no intent to impugn your office, station, nor your service, good sir, but Belshire recognizes no such sovereignty. I pray you, please move around our town, find another way, and there will be no quarrel."

"Your recognition of the Empress Axania's sovereignty matters not," the orc commander countered, "You are bound by law to stand down; and if you do not, I shall be within my rights to seize this ground by force of arms."

Balfor simply raised his right hand, and from behind, from out of windows, and from the top of buildings, the Belshire militia appeared –bows in hand, and arrows ready to be drawn.

Grohl immediately realized they were deployed perfectly. While he greatly out numbered them, he and his men were in crossfire with no cover, and no hope of escape. He reckoned that he would lose half his force before they could retreat from the field of fire, and regroup for an attack. He also realized that this man could not be bluffed. Maybe it was the look in the man's eyes, or the fact that the man used environment and personnel to their greatest potential –all the while, catching him off guard.

No, this man cannot be bluffed, Grohl affirmed to himself.

Balfor had been no expert at deception; his strength was the stand-up battle, but he had learned some things from Gilford about deceiving the enemy and misdirecting their attention. That is what he did with the orders he gave Terrin: he wanted this orc to think that they were unprepared, in disarray and panic, so that the horde's approach would be overconfident; this gave them the element of surprise, and buy the town some much needed time. He knew that he could not hold them off forever. Although for mow, the horde would most likely stand down, and set their encampment out of range of Belshire's longbows.

The one thing that he did not count on was that Grohl –the Empress' attack-dog- was leading this expedition. It brought an unforeseen dynamic into play, and gave rise to more questions. Something was afoot here he could not figure, and this made the portly militia captain -and public house proprietor- very nervous. He would need to set up a face-to-face negotiation with the orc captain as soon as possible. Not so much to reach a resolution, but to gather information. Balfor was smart enough put together the pieces he would gather, and moreover, he could get answers from the pieces that were missing. He believed that, sometimes, what is not there could give even more revealing answers –when compared to what is already in place.

Grohl turned to the captain of the slaver company, and gave his orders, "Move your column five hundred yards back down the road, and set up camp," then he turned to Balfor, "Have your men stand down, and we shall discuss terms."

Good, Balfor thought. He was behaving in just the way he expected, and this gave him the edge. He nodded in agreement, gave the signal for his men to back off as the slaver company wheeled about, and began their egress from the skirts of Belshire.

"Captain-General Grohl, let us retire to more comfortable surroundings," he offer, "and let us find peaceful resolution. Bloodshed here is avoidable."