Master of Elves Ch. 04-09

I'm publishing this as a chunk b/c I can't control my own release schedule here.

Note that Ch. 4 has a reference to SA and graphic violence.

***

Chapter Four: Caravan Guard, and a Very Bad Memory

The caravan consisted of three large covered wagons, pulled by oxen. Jorgen and three other guards were expected to walk alongside the caravan, taking turns to ride next to the driver of the first wagon, which was filled with provisions, including barrels of water and beer. The second and third wagons contained goods to be sold. He had no idea what was in them.

Drawing the first shift in the wagon, the big barbarian kept his sword at his feet. He wore his auxiliary armor, which was so lightweight that he barely noticed it.

Jorgen had had enough marching for one lifetime, so it was a treat to just ride and let his mind wander.

He thought about Aleisa and what she had planned for him. Jorgen wasn't a particularly religious man. He offered occasional thanks to the gods, like any northerner, but he wasn't knowledgeable. He knew little about Freia, and even less about Aleisa. Were they truly the same being?

In any case, Aleisa or Aleisa/Freia were apparently at odds with the empress. Maybe. Maybe not. He didn't know anything about the empress either.

The situation with Westhaven was clearly complex. And two thousand years with little change, that was hard for the barbarian to fathom. He got the sense that Aleisa planned to shake things up.

As the afternoon turned to evening and the caravan stopped for the night, Jorgen helped set up camp and sat down for a meal of stew and crusty bread. It was not bad at all. He didn't say much to the other three guards. They appeared to be old friends and he felt like an outsider. That was fine.

**

Jorgen drew the first watch that night, and as he stared out into rolling plains of eastern Athea, lit by moonlight, his mind turned to his wife and son. Memories that always led him to a dark place.

It still burned at his soul. He'd loved Ania, and he'd been so proud to be her husband. And he'd failed her, in the worst possible way. His fists clenched as he tried not to experience it again. He failed.

[REMOVED FOR SA]

This scene was not overly graphic or smutty, but it was explicit. Jorgen was knocked out and captured, then forced to watch as Ania was Multiple-SA'd over the course of hours, and killed, and their son was killed. It was important to MC's character development, but you can probably use your imagination.

[/REMOVED]

Jorgen still relished the revenge he'd taken on that piece of shit. Its shock as the berserk barbarian tore through its rape gang like a tornado of steel and red mist. The look in its eyes as it was forced to swallow its own monstrous green cock, severed at the root and shoved through the orc's broken face into its throat. The disgusting beast's legs and arms in a pile beside it, makeshift tourniquets keeping it alive. To suffer for as long as possible.

A grim smile crossed the barbarian's face. A hint of the berserk madness that had gripped him for years, often for days at a time, after his family was destroyed.

That fucking orc had unintentionally turned the tide of war. Jorgen the Berserker had joined the Areisian empire's army and killed almost two thousand orcs with his own hand over the next four years. The squad of berserkers he led had killed three thousand more. Thanks to that evil, rapist, sadistic, child-eating fucking beast, the advance was stalled, and then crushed.

But Jorgen's father was dead - his mother had not survived childbirth - his wife was dead, his child was dead, almost his entire squad was dead, and the war was over, this time.

The barbarian's anger rose again. "How could it ever be over while there is a single fucking orc alive!?"

**

Jorgen found himself in a familiar marble circle. A profound sense of calm washed over him.

"I've topped off your pool of willpower, Jorgen."

"Thanks, Aleisa, I think? Do you have something to do with my willpower? I don't know how I learned to lock things away. Do you know?"

"I just provided a bump. Get some sleep."

**

The big barbarian came back to awareness slowly. Looking down at a sharp pain, he saw that he'd gripped his sword's hilt so tightly that his fingers were locked around it. Like a corpse. He peeled them off one by one, examining his bruised hand. He thought about what had happened.

The pain and anger on nights like this welled up in waves, feeling fresh and raw once again. It was probably because he'd connected with Astra, let his guard down a little. He refused to regret that.

The big man felt calm now, but the memories were still close to the surface. He hoped tomorrow that they'd have faded to a dull ache.

He managed to push all of this out of his mind most nights, before it got to this point. He'd built a fortress of pure willpower, though he didn't know how. Aleisa had something to do with it?

It didn't matter, he decided. As long as it worked.

This was Jorgen's afterlife. Westhaven was perhaps his Valhalla, or his Elysium. Or not. Jorgen would follow his fate, whatever it was, and take one day at a time.

The brooding barbarian was finally pulled from his thoughts when the second shift came. He'd managed to lock up his fortress, at least.. It allowed him to catch a couple hours of sleep. But, he woke in the pre-dawn feeling guilty about that. Why should he be able to sleep?

The caravan set off with the dawn, heading west into the empire's heartland.

**

The plains where a mix of green grasses, scrub oaks, and akaesha trees, as Berrin named them. It was all gentle hills that sometimes flattened into a true plain.

Small rocky outcrops often marked a spring or a watering hole. Berrin said that there was a massive underground lake beneath a good portion of Athea's plainlands. Water was forced up through these "kopies." These springs were the headwaters to many of the streams that eventually flowed east and west to the seas.

Early in the journey, those streams had emerged out of the eastern plains, flowing into the Sestea river. The central plains were drier. Berrin said that, as they went further west, they would see streams forming again, this time flowing west.

The big northern man watched the alien landscape roll by. One one particular rise, he felt like he could see all the way to the edge of the world in every direction. The grassy plains interrupted only by small hills and copses of those hardy trees.

The early summer sun was hot, but not scorching. Grazing beasts and stalking predators were a common sight.

The biggest excitement had been when a large male lion, which seemed to have been following the road eastward, approached to investigate, stalking towards them with the graceful confidence of a killer.

It was nearly as big as the oxen. Much larger than the barbarian had imagined when he'd listened to descriptions of lions. It was rare that he faced something larger and heavier than him. Even the largest orcs were roughly equal to Jorgen's height and weight. This lion probably weighed 350 pounds.

Jorgen was tense, ready. The lion, not slowing from its heavy, yet still graceful stride, glanced his way before seeming to dismiss him entirely. It just chuffed and casually passed the caravan by, staying on the road the whole way. The oxen did not appreciate that.

The big man managed to keep himself distracted, for the most part.

***

Chapter Five: Brat

Four days later, the caravan stopped at a small town called Warm Springs. Jorgen was surprised to find that it was a mining town. Apparently there were deposits of iron ore under the rolling plains.

It was also the headwaters of a small stream that flowed west, in the direction they were headed. Berrin said it would grow into the Mistwalk river, and they'd follow it for a few days before veering northwest towards Coldwater.

Warm Springs had a nice Inn and Berrin was kind enough to treat his guards. It was a pleasant change of pace from the rough and dusty road.

Jorgen and the other guards spent the evening in a lively, but not raucous common room. He was enjoying a mug of ale and listening to a lovely young bard's tales of heroes and monsters.

When she caught his eye, he gave a friendly wink. Maybe a little more than friendly, as she'd raised a questioning eyebrow. Hoping to extinguish the awkwardness, he turned to draining his ale, then calling for another.

She was young, maybe nineteen by his reckoning - but with Areisians it was hard to tell. She had pointed ears, more so than Nelion's. He wondered if she wasn't a half-elf. They had been skirting the edge of the Faewyld for the past three days.

She wasn't quite what Jorgen was expecting. He didn't know yet that this cute little bard was more dangerous than any raid by half-elf bandits. If such a thing even existed. Nelion wouldn't lie, would he?

The bard was not just cute. She was beautiful. And the size difference was doing things to the barbarian. She was barely over five-foot in his estimation. He thought she weighed ninety-five pounds maximum. About a third of Jorgen's mass.

It was almost like the huge barbarian and the tiny half-elf were two different species. In a way, Jorgen supposed that's exactly what they were. He was good with that.

Small and delicate, she had cropped brunette hair fading to a truly golden brown at the tips, which seemed to naturally curl upward. Her long bangs were not much shorter than the rest of her hair, but did help frame her sexy little face. They were choppy with long and medium length locks. That choppy style extended to the rest of her hair, so the effect of the lighter color tips was visually striking and attractive to Jorgen. It reminded him of a chocolate and caramel candy he'd discovered in Areistea. Delicious.

She was elfin, Jorgen decided, if nothing else. The beautiful girl's ears, of course, were both cute and elegant, depending on some factor the barbarian hadn't even begun to understand. They were only about an inch longer than human ears, coming to a point that wasn't overly sharp. The backsides gently curved and seemed to attach just a bare eighth-inch behind the line of her jaw. He wanted to use his tongue to trace a gently curved line from her chin, along her jawline, then up the lobe of her lovely ear, right to the point.

Jorgen was getting a little lost in Lillie's beautiful face, he realized.

It was pretty, heart-shaped, and dusted in a small splash of freckles across her upper cheeks and the bridge of her adorable button nose, which turned upwards at the very tip. She had big green eyes that were full of life and mischief. She wore a white blouse that was unlaced enough to reveal a hint of modest cleavage, and a loose-fitting leather skirt that was short enough to show off her pale, soft little thighs.

Jorgen wondered what she would look like riding his cock, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, his girth stretching her tight, young pussy. So much for the friendly wink.

Which was why he wasn't surprised when her song ended and she pranced over to his table and invited herself to take a seat. She just smiled at him, laughter in her eyes. Like she could burst into giggles in an instant, quite possibly at his expense. This was a challenge. Everything about this girl indicated that his night was about to get interesting.

He noticed that the guards and other patrons were politely pretending to ignore the scene. The big barbarian decided he had no choice but to go on the offensive. This little brat was dangerous.

Jorgen called for two ales, then looked over at the playful bard, eyes roaming as he spoke.

"You look like an elf. Or at least more elven than I've met so far. It's very attractive," he opened.

"And you look like no human I've ever seen. You're so fucking huge. And blonde. And huge. Where are you from?"

He chuckled at her language. This was going to be fun.

"I'm Jorgen, of the Northern Tribes. You wouldn't know the name of my tribe, but most people in the empire just call us barbarians. You?"

"Lillie. Pleased to meet you." she introduced herself like a dignified young lady. He wasn't fooled. "I'm a half-elf, actually. My mother was a a full-blooded elf and my father is a human."

That matched Nelion's explanation. Interesting.

"Was? Your mother was from Westhaven? I'm told that's frowned upon."

She took an long impressive pull from her oversized ale. Rather it was normal size and her tiny hands made it look huge. The barbarian wondered how those delicate elven fingers would look wrapped around something even bigger. She finished chugging her ale and belched, interrupting his fantasy. For now.

"Hmm? Oh right, Westhaven. The whole quarantine thing. Why are we talking about elves right now? Compliment me some more."

She was pouting now. It was absolutely fucking adorable, and he kind of wanted to strangle her. The big barbarian leaned back and crossed his arms, flexing his biceps.

"You're a lovely, talented young lady, Lillie. You're also a brat. Lucky for you, I don't mind that," Jorgen provided, with a stern fatherly expression -betrayed only by the twinkle in his otherwise intense blue eyes.

She froze up for a second. That was a blush. Perfect

"I suppose I can humor you for the moment. My mother returned to Westhaven after I was born. I don't know where she is now. All I really know is that she was a full-blooded wood elf named Laela. My father wouldn't tell me much else about her."

"I see."

Her soft, seductive lips curved into a wry smile.

"What do you see?"

"That your mother was beautiful, and that your father was a lucky man, though not a very good one."

The ale had apparently loosened his tongue. He was being pretty direct at this point. It didn't seem to bother her, so he raised a hand for another ale, and getting a nod from Lillie, another one for her as well.

"I'm sure she was, she was an elf. They're all gorgeous. What do you mean about my father?"

"He must have known the effect of imprinting, yet he still took her to his bed. Do you think it was worth it, for either of them?

"What do you know of imprinting?"

Her mood was changing, but the fiery little bard didn't seem like she was about to disengage. In fact he saw a hint of passion in her eyes now.

"Not as much as I'd like. I have a feeling that it's important to learn as much as I can though."

"It's a curse, is what it is."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse. It's the reason They're a dying race. Their females imprint on the first human male they fuck."

"Is it permanent?"

"Over time it fades, or so I'm told. Or rather, the imprint on that particular man fades. The desire for human cock does not."

"You're told. But you haven't experienced it?"

She grinned at that, eyes sparkling, all dimples and freckles and sex on a stick.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She relented and continued, "first, it's not as severe for half elves, if it happens at all, which is rare, and second, I'm a virgin."

Jorgen's breath caught as she continued.

"I've had the desire. Just being near human men affects us. But it's probably as much teenage hormones as imprinting."

"How old are you?" "Aleisa, let her be old enough," he prayed. He was going to be doing that now, apparently.

"Twenty-one. You?"

"Twenty-four," he breathed, relieved. "You look eighteen at most, but I'm learning that ages on Athea can be deceptive."

She brightened at that, taking it for a compliment.

"It's true. So I take it your people never had any contact with elves?"

"Palla never had any, as far as I know."

"Palla is where you're from? That north? I'm obviously not big on geology."

"Geography."

She glared at me and her sharp little foot connected with his shin. It actually hurt a little.

"Whatever." Pouting again. "Pallas, fine. Why are you in Athea?"

"I'm not sure, or at least I wasn't. I just had to keep moving, I guess, after the war. I'm trying to let fate and goddesses guide me. Seems like an interesting thing to do. All the better if I can help people along the way, I think."

"What war? And you didn't leave a lover or a family behind, did you? It seems strange that you would leave your home continent just to see what's out here."

"No, no lovers or family. Mother long gone, father, wife and son were killed, and I'm not quite sure why I ended up here. But it seems I've picked up a quest, of sorts.

"As for the war, orcs broke out from the empire's containment near Highrock. They pushed deep into the north. My home."

The young elf's eyes widened and her face paled. Did she not know about the orcs?

"Orcs? I thought they were all gone. They're still out there? They almost killed us all. Raped us, took us as slaves, ate our children. How are they still alive?"

She looked very small all of a sudden. Smaller. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. Instead he answered her question as best he could.

"Hey it's alright. They're very far away. So far you haven't even heard of it.

"Yes, they're still out there - like I said, very, very far away. They have been contained to a peninsula in southern Palla. Locked in a stalemate with the empire for two thousand years."

"Why haven't we killed them all?"

"They've tried. That landscape is a nightmare, and the orcs are able to go to ground, practically disappearing into their holes. They breed like rats in their burrows, then surge out when they've eaten everything underground. Mostly that means their own weak, old, and young.

"So, we put down the surge and the cycle repeats. Containment is the only thing that works. They manage to break out every decade or two. not usually as bad as this last time. We lost a lot."

Lillie still looked pale, and seemed to be having a hard time processing. Jorgen left her to her thoughts, and drained his ale, calling for two more.

She finally looked up at him with tears in the corners of her soulful green eyes.

Returning her gaze with a gentle expression of his own, the big barbarian noticed that her eyes were wide-set, almond shaped, and angled so that the outer corners flared up into curved points. He didn't think they looked particularly cat like, yet at the same time 'feline' was the overall impression. Feline, a little alien, and absolutely beautiful.

And now crying. She spoke up before he could move to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry about your family. I was shocked to hear about the orcs and I missed the most important thing you told me. I'm sorry Jorgen," she said, reaching out to touch his massive hand with her tiny one.

The little elfin girl looked down at their joining, noticing the difference herself. Her eyes widened comically and the huge barbarian broke out into a deep belly laugh that the little half-elf could feel in her bones.

She pouted and squeezed again.

"I'm being serious here!"

"Sorry, sorry." Jorgen gave an encouraging smile and flipped his hand to clasp her tiny hand in his. It disappeared, enveloped by his massive paw. She blushed, but managed to gather her thoughts.

"I can't imagine the pain of losing a wife and child, or how hard it would be to fight a war against the orcs. The fact that you did and survived shows you're a strong man. A good man."

He was surprised at the sweet, earnest compliment. She could be really charming when she tried.

"Thank you, Lillie."

"Can you tell me about your family? How did you meet your wife?"

"Honestly, I was hoping to change the subject. I had a rough night recently. Sometimes I experience it all over again, and, well. The reason I'm traveling, the alternative is..

"I just have to keep moving."

Lillie thought that big man's laughter a few moments ago felt like a distant memory. The pain she saw in his deep blue eyes was breaking her heart.