A Dream of Empire Ch. 004

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A bard visits the town of Athel Hall.
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Part 4 of the 27 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/09/2018
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sir Emmanuel Cantano

Athel Hall, Imperial County of Catriona

14th 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?"

Her lower lip fell agape, showing just a hint of teeth. Nadja didn't need to speak for Emmanuel to know her answer. He leaned into her, pressing his lips against hers softly as his hand shifted towards her hot womanhood further down her form. She turned towards him, just enough to wrap an arm around his neck as their lips locked, warm tongues extending from warmer mouths. She nearly rose from her knees before Emmanuel pushed against her back gently with his unused hand, commanding her to bend further towards the stream.

Their lips parted, a strand of saliva hanging between their lips for half a moment. "No, my most beautiful maid. I want you as you were, when you captured me so completely."

Nadja complied after a moment's hesitation, likely remembering herself for just a moment. She turned back towards the water, her hips thrust lewdly in the air as she leaned in. "Please, please hurry Emmanuel. I do not know when he will return," she pleaded, nay, begged of the man.

Emmanuel found himself agreeing to both statements, shifting himself behind her and placing both hands on her salacious form. He pushed her dress up her legs sensually, revealing her motherly hips and generous ass. Emmanuel found himself unintentionally licking his lips before allowing the hem of her dress to fall on the small of her back. Nadja lay there, presenting herself for a man she had just met but two hours ago. Only her boots covered any part of her lower half, Nadja apparently having somewhat of an indecent side as she performed her wifely duties without undergarments.

The bard dextrously played with the wettened slit before him, his other hand reaching for his own belt buckle. A finger slipped within her, pressing against her inner walls as a thumb worked her button. Nadja stifled a moan, failing to stop the next as Emmanuel pressed another finger into her. She bucked her hips against his invading hand, lost in the depravity of the act.

Emmanuel's cock didn't require any attention for its own performance, already aching proudly for Nadja's hot cunt. His hands rose to her hips, gripping her as he pressed against the entrance of her warm slit. She was already gripping the washboard tightly, anticipating him within her.

"Doth the maid have a request of me?" Emmanuel asked in tune, smirking in satisfaction over the quivering farmer's wife beneath him. He let his cockhead swirl against her button, forcing her to twitch. Emmanuel knew of her ask a while ago, reveling in her pleasure as he forced her to say it.

"Take me, Emmanuel! Please!"

No further teasing required, Emmanuel slowly parted her sopping slit with his cock. He pushed his body towards her, Nadja sighing lustfully as she was invaded further still. Her walls stretched enthusiastically to accomodate him, offering Emmanuel a needy, dripping sheathe for his manhood. His hands reached up her quivering form, pushing Nadja's back away from him further still. He stopped for a moment when he had embedded himself to the hilt, reveling in the pleasure of a maid enthralled.

But the pair had to hurry, and Emmanuel began to pump into her deprived cunt, Nadja forgetting herself and moaning whorishly against his thrusts. She clung to the washboard in her hands, pressing it against herself under her bosom as she was ravished by the near-stranger. She felt his nuts slap against her button with each quickening thrust, her cervix pummeled by his cockhead. Nadja's modesty washed away as she cried towards the river for all to hear, her pleasure steadily building from his assault.

Emmanuel needed no encouragement as he fucked the farmer's wife, nor did he show her mercy. He raised a hand, smacking her indecently ample ass as he ruined her. Nadja yelped when hand met flesh, but otherwise displayed no resistance. He struck her again, the slap leaving a reddened print on her cheek.

"Oh gods..." Nadja moaned, clenching her eyes shut. Emmanuel felt her inner walls press around his shaft, a gentle stream of her wetness dripping from her cunt.

Interesting, Emmanuel thought. A maid's crescendo a mere whimper, after such a display?

"U-u-use me-e Em..." she muttered lustfully between hammering thrusts, undeniably misplacing her shame. She pressed her hips against the invader as he drove into her, Emmanuel coming near his own peak. He buried his cock deep within her to the hilt while he squeezed her hips.

He erupted deep within her, hot seed shooting deep into Nadja's core. She moaned as his cock twitched, wordlessly begging him to breed her as her cunt was flooded with the stranger's cum.

The pair panted along the bank of the river for a moment or ten, Nadja finally coming to and grabbing a pair of panties from the pile of unwashed clothes. She rose from her knees ever so slightly once Emmanuel finally abandoned her cunt, slipping the garment over one foot and then the other, then slid them up her curvaceous legs. She daintily grabbed the hem of her dress and made herself modest once more, shifting to Emmanuel as he rebuckled his pants.

Nadja leaned in to kiss him, placing just a gentle peck on his lips.

"My thanks, Emmanuel. I had hoped my display would intrigue you," she purred with a sly smile.

-=-=-

Roger and Viola returned from Athel Hall just after sunfall, their cart of produce replaced with that of various tools. Nadja hadn't had the chance to finish her dutiful cleansing of the family's clothing, what with having to clean the stranger's seed dripping lewdly from her womanhood, and she ran inside the house when Emmanuel warned her of her husband's impending arrival.

Grinning ear-to-ear, Emmanuel skipped towards the father and daughter as they returned. He nor Nadja would never let slip what had transpired, of course, nor would anyone suspect it he knew. What two strangers would love one another only two hours after meeting, after all?

"Salutations, my lord, my lady," Emmanuel bowed, "I trust all business transpired appropriately in town?"

"But o'course," Roger replied with a squint, clearly not appreciating Emmanuel's enthusiasm. "And I trust ye foun' everything to yer likin' here?" the farmer asked in return.

"Oh but I did, dear Roger!" the bard exclaimed. "The rolling hills, the beautiful stream; it's all remarkably exquisite, as if I'm in a dream."

Roger nodded. "Aye sir, aye. Pass' down from my pa, and my pa's pa before that."

"Fascinating," Emmanuel replied with a hint of sarcasm, garnering a soft giggle from Viola. He glanced towards her, noticing she held a dazzling red rose within her hands.

"Aye, aye. Well, off'ta see the missus," Roger said dumbly, leading the donkey and cart towards the house. Emmanuel nodded as he passed, then smiled warmly towards Viola, who remained standing with him holding a stupid grin. She offered the rose in her hands to Emmanuel.

"I found this in town, Emmanuel," the daughter said obviously, "an' I thought you'd like it, as I know I did."

Ah, the simple pleasures of youth. Emmanuel accepted the rose, naturally, finding her innocent fascination of him had already caused him to harden once again.

"My thanks, dearest Viola!" he said warmly, bringing the flower to his nose and giving it an exaggerated sniff. "Ah! It's as vibrant and savory as you are, my lady. A truly delicate perfume, one which may inspire a dozen ballads."

Viola's thick eyebrows rose up excitedly at his acceptance, her face beaming with pleasure. "You really think so, Emmanuel?"

The bard nodded. "I do, I do, so verily I do."

"Oh! I'm so glad!" Viola exclaimed, her anxiety fleeing her fluttering chest instantly. "What would you sing of it?"

Emmanuel smirked, having absolutely no idea. Songs and poems of roses were far too common for he, and Emmanuel hadn't thought of the subject since he was a child at school.

But the bard had a goal today, and the goal required him to sing of said childish affair. He tilted his head towards the house, wordlessly inviting the maid to sit on the porch with him. The half-minute walk would give Emmanuel his needed time to find the lyrics to an unknown ballad.

"I've an idea, why don't I sing a ballad for you now, my dearest Viola," he offered after a moment of silence, turning towards the house.

Viola skipped towards the steps leading to the front door of the house, smoothing her long dress behind herself as she sat on the lowest step of the stairs. Emmanuel ambled towards her with a grin, outstreching the hand holding the rose. He gazed into the maid's eyes, and began to sing.

"It's many thorns, my fingers they sting,

While I grip it tight, and while I sing.

They remind me of love, of love most misplaced,

For in your twinkling eyes, my heart does race.

The petals, they bloom, like a bud untouched,

Their sweet perfume, hinting of what I could clutch.

Blood red as my heart, and the love it holds true,

Like a petal, it may wither, but know it could not of you."

Decent enough for improvisation, the bard thought to himself. He looked over Viola's wide grin.

"Wow!" the girl exclaimed with astonishment, giving the man an enthusiastic applause. "That's amazing! You thought of that just then?"

More or less, Emmanuel notioned.