Orc Harem Ch. 01

It was a plausible idea, Hera had to admit. Drastic as the suggestion sounded, Jenakka and Akari made some good points. The Stakari had treated their people better than most other humans. They were certainly better hosts than elves. And with their orcish prospects looking increasingly unappealing, it left them with few excuses not to try their luck taking the human path.

"A human chieftain." Hera repeated. Then she sighed and stood from her chair. She leveled her gray eyes at Jenakka. "You've given us an idea. A decent idea, certainly, but that's still not a plan. I assume you've put more than a little thought into this?"

"I have." Jenakka answered, her voice firm and strong. She stood as well, joining her elder. "Send me off to university, Matriarch. The Trevelyan Institute is an elite college. Many of the students come from Stakari nobility. And anyone who's opened a history book knows that the blood of the Stakari is strong. Give me a year. Let me look through their stock. I'll find us a chieftain. And we will add the strength of Stakari blood to Clan G'Kalis."

Hera mulled over her adopted daughter's words. The plan was a reach, of that there was no doubt. Even if it worked, there was the very real possibility that their human chieftain would result in even more problems down the line. But nevertheless, Hera was proud of Jenakka. Proud of the girl's mind. Proud of the girl's spirit. Deep in her soul, Hera knew that Jenakka would not fail.

Hera gave their clan scholar a smile and nodded.

Jenakka beamed. Druma gave a small jump of excitement, clapping. Akari praised the girl, giving a small, quiet chant of luck and good fortune. Sayla remained seated. The champion gave a shrug.

"Human blood, huh?" Sayla muttered. "I guess we could do worse."

- - -

1.

One Year Later...

The sword came sharp and swift. There was a low hum as it cut through the air. A bright glimmer danced along the length of the blade as the steel caught the light. It would have been an ending blow against a less experienced man. But Adam Casterman was a lord's son. He'd been trained with steel since the age of eight.

Adam parried his opponent's thrust, using the other man's momentum to send him stumbling forward while he himself moved gracefully to the side. The young noble kept his own sword well in hand, gripping the hilt tightly just as his adversary found his footing.

The other man stood, shrouded in dark plate similar to Adam's own armor. The only difference between them were the surcoats they wore over their breastplates. Adam's was a checkered, red and black, the colors of Casterman. His opponent wore pale green, feathered wings emblazoned upon his chest.

Adam moved then, minding his feet and keeping his opponent square in his sight. Never turn your back on an enemy, Adam remembered. That was one of the first things Sir Garen Conwill, his father's master-at-arms, had taught him. Even if you're winning. Hell, especially if you're winning.

The other man gave a low grunt. Whether he was frustrated or simply tired, Adam could not tell. Not with the gray helm that covered his opponent's face. It was similar to the one Adam himself wore. The other man set his gaze firmly upon Adam, two spots of light shining through the helm's thin visor. The green-garbed adversary gripped his sword with both hands and charged.

It was a desperate move. And it would be his last. The man's boots thundered upon the floor as he barrelled down upon Adam, his sword held out ahead of him to skewer the fourth son of Casterman like a fish upon a spear. Unfortunately for the charging man, Adam had learned to counter such a move when he was ten.

Adam turned his own sword to point towards the ground, parrying the other man's thrust once more with a quick shove of his arms. With his opponent now overreached, Adam had his opening.

The young son of House Casterman quickly brought his blade to the other man's throat and held it there. Green stood there with the cold metal pressing into his neck, frozen stiff. For a moment there was silence but for the sound of their heavy breathing. But then came the sound of applause.

The clapping was modest, of course. Their little bout had attracted a number of onlookers, sure, but friendly sparring matches were never the type of spectacle to draw large crowds. It was tourney melees that filled the stands, not two friends bashing each other with training swords.

Adam drew his blunted weapon from his opponent's neck and clapped the man upon the shoulder. Green relaxed, his padded shoulders dropping like a weight had been lifted from his back. From under the man's helm came the sound of exhausted laughter as he planted his hands upon his knees. A moment later, Green stood up straight and removed his gray sparring helm.

With his dark red hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, fellow noble son Damon Longbow flashed Adam a friendly, toothy smile. Younger than Adam by a year, Longbow was always eager to test his mettle against any who was willing to challenge him. What he lacked in raw talent, he more than made up for with vigor, spirit, and a willingness to learn.

"Well fought!" Proclaimed the younger noble son. Longbow clapped Adam upon the shoulder in turn.

"Well fought." Adam affirmed, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stepped back, allowing Longbow some room to breathe. He gave a small wave to the dispersing crowd. "You nearly had me."

Adam heard Longbow snort. It was an expected response. Damon Longbow came from an old and proud house, one that provided the Kingdom of Stakaria with some of its finest knights and commanders in centuries past. Though young Damon hadn't quite reached the skill and renown of his forefathers, he possessed the same pride.

"There's no need to spare my ego, Casterman." Longbow told Adam firmly, giving his sparring partner a pointed look. "I never stood a chance."

Adam nodded, his grin curling into a smirk. He spun the blunted sword in his hand before driving the blade point downward into the matted gymnasium floor.

"Let me finish. I was going to say that you nearly had me breaking a sweat." Adam said, wearing a wry look. His smirk widened. His father, Lord Orson Casterman, had taught him that arrogance was unbecoming of the Casterman name. But the thrill of victory made some teasing too much to resist. Such was the rivalry between young men.

The young son of Longbow gave a short laugh, undoing the straps of his sparring gauntlets. He tugged them both off, wringing his sweaty hands in the cool air. He tossed the gauntlets towards the bench that lined the nearby wall, landing them beside his duffel bag. Then he pointed at Adam with an ungloved hand.

"Now that's more like it." Longbow said. "Fourth son or first son, that's the kind of confidence a noble-born should have. Never be modest about what you're capable of. That's the Longbow way."

"Does the Longbow way include losing to a Casterman?" Again, Adam could not resist. It earned him another pointed look. The fourth son of Casterman held up his hands for peace. "But you did fight well, Longbow. Your swordsmanship is improving. Somewhat. That's no lie."

That seemed to give young Damon a moment of pause, the fellow noble resting the dull sparring sword against the back of his neck. He chewed on his tongue for a moment, thinking. Then he turned his blue eyes back upon Adam, one of his brows raised.

"Do you think I could take on a Westwood berserker? One on one?" He asked Adam, half sincere.

Adam gave his friend a short shrug.

"You should do fine against goblins." Adam answered, doing his level best to keep his voice even and serious. It didn't work.

Longbow gave him a rude gesture in turn, looking none too impressed.

"You're an ass." Said Longbow. Together they moved towards the benches, the onlookers having long since departed. The defeated swordsman snatched up a water bottle beside his duffle bag and took a long swig. Then he poured some of the water over his head, sighing. He glanced towards Adam again, water dripping down his face and chin. There was a daring look in the younger man's eyes. "Do you have time for another round against me, Casterman?"

Adam clicked his teeth together, considering the offer. Indeed, it would have been the honorable thing to do, offering his fellow noble the chance to regain some pride with a victory. Adam set the practice blade under his arm and tugged off the gauntlet of his right hand. He checked his watch. Then he gave Longbow an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, friend." Adam told him, setting the practice blade upon the rack on the wall. "I can't stay. I've got a meeting with one of my professors."

"Oh, sure. Leave while you're ahead." Longbow jeered with mock offense. He gave Adam a dismissive wave, setting his own practice blade upon the same rack. "Just like a Casterman."

Adam took the barb with good humor. He gave the Longbow lad a friendly grin.

"Have patience. You'll get your rematch, Longbow. Until then, keep practicing." Adam's grin turned into a wry smile. "The Allfather knows you need it."

Adam turned and headed towards the showers, Damon Longbow's jeers fading out behind him. It hadn't been very noble of him to say, but some taunts were too fun to be left unspoken.

- - -

It was a short walk from the gymnasium to Embry Hall, the building where Professor Martos' office was. Embry Hall stood at the north end of Jaharis Plaza, constructed in neoclassical style. Three stories of red brick with rounded corner towers, it evoked the feeling of the old kingdom. Though the hall had been added to the Trevelyan campus only a few short years before Adam enrolled, it shared its aesthetics with buildings that had stood for centuries. At least in regards to its exterior. The interior was as modern as could be, Adam knew.

Entering the lobby, Adam was greeted with a common sight. A small number of people either sat or stood, waiting for a meeting or simply passing the time until their next class. One young man was angrily berating a vending machine for eating his money. Adam passed them all by, heading straight for the stairwell.

A short trip up to the second story later and Adam stood outside Professor Martos' office. The young noble knocked and a familiar, gruff voice beckoned him to come inside. And so Adam did.

"Mister Casterman." Maythor Martos greeted him, wearing a small smile. "You're early. As always."

The Professor was an older gentleman, older even than Adam's lord father. Born from a lesser house sworn to the Lords of Harkon in the Southern Marches, Martos had traveled to the northwest in his youth to pursue his passion for history. Now, he was one of Trevelyan Institute's finest professors. Over the decades of his career, the Professor had taught the histories of the kingdom to no less than four members of House Casterman.

Tall and slender, with his fine gray hair swept hack, Martos cut a wiry figure. With sharp eyes under a pair of small glasses and a long, hooked nose, the man resembled a dreaded snow-hawk. Many of his students were wary of him despite his age, believing him to be cold and severe. But the truth was the opposite, as Adam had learned under Martos' tutelage. The Professor was a warm man, whose passion for his field burned bright still.

"It's a good habit to have, sir." Adam said with a grin of his own. He stepped further into the Professor's personal office, a bonafide den of knowledge.

A bookshelf packed full of historical tomes and volumes occupied the entire wall to Adam's left. Another shelf took up half of the wall to Adam's right, but it held no books. Instead, it held all manner of trinkets and oddities. A carved miniature of a horse. A sphere of green glass. A dagger in its sheath set on a small metal stand. No doubt, each one had its own story of how it came into the Professor's possession. But Adam was certain that Martos hadn't invited him to his office to tell stories.

Behind the Professor was the office window draped with amber curtains. The afternoon sun bathed the room with warm, golden light. Martos stood from behind his large, oaken desk, a spot of pride glimmering in the older man's eyes.

"I wish some of my other students shared your spirit for learning. And punctuality." The elder praised Adam.

"The email said you wanted to discuss something important, Professor." Adam said, moving towards one of the cushioned seats set opposite to Martos' desk. When he went to take a seat, the Professor held up one hand and shook his head.

"You don't need to sit down." Said Martos. "This will be quick."

"Sir?" Adam's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as a puzzled look fell across his face. For a brief moment, Adam felt a pang of worry. But that sense of fear was quickly snuffed out when he saw that the Professor was still smiling. In fact, the man looked positively cheerful.

"I have good news for you, Mister Casterman." Martos declared, straightening his brown tweed coat. "I apologize for having you come all the way down here, especially if you were busy today. But I wanted the pleasure of telling you in person."

Adam said nothing. The prospect of this good news stoked the embers of excitement in his heart. He awaited the older man's words with keen ears and eager eyes.

"You are exempt from my course's final exam." Professor Martos boomed clear and proud. The smile he wore spread wide across his grizzled face. He stood tall, clearly pleased to bestow the honor upon his favored pupil. "And you don't need to attend any of my classes for the rest of the semester."

Adam was near gobsmacked. He had been well aware of his exceptional academic standing, especially in regards to his courses in the Department of History. But this? To be exempt from the final exam entirely was beyond even his best expectations for the semester.

"Oh." Adam said dumbly. The younger man broke into a short fit of laughter then, tittering in disbelief. Without thinking, he reached over the Professor's desk and clasped the man's hand in his own, shaking it firmly. The Professor for his part took Adam's reaction with good humor. "Oh, wow. That's... That's fantastic! Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!"

Again, Professor Martos shook his head.

"Don't thank me, son." He told Adam, freeing his hand from Adam's lengthy session of shakes. "You earned it. Your grades in my class have been outstanding. Every test, every essay, even the damned quizzes. You've aced them all. It's clear to me and to this department that you know your stuff. Stakari history must come second nature to you, Adam Casterman."

The bombshell had been dropped and now Adam enjoyed the aftershocks, the ripples of excitement and triumph that thrummed through his nerves and body.

"My father made sure I knew our history, sir." Adam said, unable to keep the bright smile spreading across his face.

"Did he now?" The Professor chuckled. "The very same Orson Casterman who was a pain in my arse thirty years ago?"

"My father never told me much about his university days." Adam admitted. Then he leaned forward some, lowering his voice in mock scandal. "How bad was he?"

Professor Martos' lips twisted into a frown, the man wincing as he looked back on the days when young Orson sat amongst his students. Adam could only imagine what the Professor had to deal with. A moment later, Martos brought himself back to the present. He turned his eyes back on Adam.

"Well... He wasn't anything like you, that's for damn sure." Said Martos. "How is the Lord of Casterman doing these days?"

"The last time we spoke, he was doing his very best to keep my mother happy. Empty nest and all that." Adam said. That call had been some months back, the young noble reminded himself. Many things in his life had changed since then. Important things beyond even academic achievement, involving green skin, alluring blue eyes, and wild, red hair...

I wonder how mother and father will handle that bit of news. And my brothers, as well...

The Professor barked out a laugh, shaking Adam from his thoughts. The older man finally sat back down at his desk, adjusting his glasses.

"Heh. That's married life for you." Martos said dryly. "Well, I've said what needed to be said. You're in the clear, son. At least in regards to my class. Go and enjoy your new free time. Go be a young man and do what young men do. You've earned it."

"I will, sir." Adam nodded. He wore a smirk then, spirited and eager. "In fact, I've already got some plans in mind."

- - -

Adam kept a brisk pace as he made the trek to his dormitory. There was a spring in his step that he couldn't stifle, no matter how he tried. The Allfather had smiled upon him today. It was impossible for him to be anything other than ecstatic.

He slowed down some as he reached the small plaza outside Hobart Towers, his dorm building named for the famous Stakari seafarer Haldric Hobart. Two white, square towers rising from the same hall, each stretching five stories into the air. Adam's room was located in the western tower on the third floor.

Adam climbed the white brick steps and entered the lobby, coming to a stop before Old Haldric's bronze bust. It was the centerpiece of the ground floor, placed in the main hall between the two towers. Old Haldric was there to greet all who entered, keeping watch over the young minds who slumbered in his towers. Adam smiled at the adventurer's metal visage, knowing that the stories of Old Haldric were partly what inspired his passion for history.

One of the first things Haldric did when he returned home from his first voyage was kiss his lady love...

Adam fished out his cellphone then, opening his contact list. At the very top was a familiar, pretty name. He clicked on it. The line barely rang once before a lovely, feminine voice answered on the other end.

"Nice of you to call, handsome." Jen G'Kalis purred through the phone. Her voice was low and sweet, smooth like warm honey. Never in Adam's wildest dreams did he ever expect an orcish woman to vex him so, let alone for one to become his girlfriend. His very passionate, very amorous girlfriend...

"Nice to hear your voice, beautiful." Adam flirted back, already feeling a stirring within himself as the sweetness from Jen's lips poured into his ear.

"You sound happy." Jen noted, observant and mindful as she was. It was one of the many things Adam loved about the woman.

"That's because I am happy." Adam snorted. He brushed the top of Haldric's bronze head for luck. It was mostly out of tradition, though. The young Casterman doubted he would get more fortune than had already been bestowed upon him. "Hell, I'm ecstatic. I've got myself a lot more free time from now until the end of the semester, Jen. I figured you and I could celebrate a little."

Jen gave a small hum. Adam could clearly imagine his girlfriend pursing her full lips, tapping one of her tusks tips with her finger.

"What's the occasion?" She asked.

"Professor Martos just exempted me from his final exam." Adam beamed, turning and making a beeline for the stairwell. If he hurried he could reach his dorm room and get changed in less than ten minutes. "He told me I could skip the rest of his classes, too."

"Wow." Said Jen. His girlfriend sounded genuinely impressed. Adam started up the stairs when her voice came through again. "That is something worth celebrating. But you know that I'm not the type to celebrate just a little. And neither are you."

"You don't want to get dressed up? Go out on the town?" Adam joked, rounding the first flight of stairs.