-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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.
"But of course, dearest Viola," he assured her softly. "Emotions through song can never lie."
Emmanuel took a seat next to the excitable Viola, and the pair spoke alone for a good twenty minutes before Nadja called the house to supper.
-=-=-
The fireplace blazed lazily this summer's eve, warming the farmhouse unnecessarily as Nadja served the table. It would be vegetable stew and ale this night, likely a common occurrence for the family. Nadja's breasts pushed against Emmanuel's back as he was served, and he wondered if she had done it on purpose. A sultry smile across the table a moment later confirmed his suspicions, and fortunately her husband did not notice the glance.
The four conversed on much of nothing as they ate and drank, until Roger offhandedly asked his wife what had transpired when he and Viola were away in town.
Nadja cleared her throat before speaking, casting a sly glance in the bard's direction.
"Oh, I was just beating the laundry down by the stream while Emmanuel practiced his ballads. They're really quite pleasant. I was truly surprised by their breadth of emotion."
Emmanuel almost choked on the watery stew, and waved his hand to reject the startled glance from Viola to his side.
"Mmm," Roger mumbled in reply to his wife's statement. Nadja, seemingly toying with the man, the men, continued her story undeterred.
"The emotions of those poems tore straight into my core," Nadja said with a smile.
"Interestin'," Roger replied idiotically, taking another spoon-full of his stew.
"Their fervor erupted so very deeply into-"
"Well!" Emmanuel interjected with a worried grin. "I'm certainly glad you appreciate my tunes, Nadja. That gives me hope they'll be taken well in Catriona."
"And I so very much did," Nadja replied slyly. "If only all men were capable of expressing their passions as you do, Emmanuel."
Emmanuel grimaced and glanced towards Roger, who, remarkably, continued eating the stew before him as if the conversation wasn't happening. Or perhaps he didn't understand his own wife's innuendos, the more likely explanation. How simple a man.
The bard quickly drank down his stew, deciding to leave the family's company before Nadja could torment him further. He bowed his farewells, and skipped towards the guest house to rest until the morning.
-=-=-
Emmanuel undressed and laid in bed restless that night, being unable to sleep. Chances missed would always sour his mood, and tonight was no exception to that rule. He could write a song of bedding some... farmer's wife instead, surely? That could work for a ballad...
The bard sighed. It certainly didn't have the same ring as farmer's daughter, although he supposed it was easier to rhyme with. Strife, rife, life. Knife, if he was feeling particularly depressed the day he wrote it. He could always sing that one in the smaller taverns across the land, betwixt his travels from one major city to another. The song would never please the grandiose Imperials in the capital of mankind, but surely it would cater to the simple peasants of Harvath.
Another sigh, and another toss to the side. Perhaps he could continue his work on Alanna's ballad while he waited for slumber to arrive. Now that was a song.
He almost left the warmth of the of bed before he heard the front door to the guesthouse creak open, and knew Nadja had snuck away from her husband to find a second crescendo in Emmanuel's arms. He would most certainly agree to her advances, of course.
"Emmanuel," a soft, young voice said in a whisper, "are you awake?"
Really?! What glorious luck. What a fantastic day!
"I am, I am," he whispered in turn, prompting a farmer's daughter to gently shut the door behind her. Emmanuel turned towards the maiden, who was illuminated only by a gentle beam of moonlight coming from the small window behind her.
She swayed towards the bed nervously in only a thin white nightgown, her long brown hair now laid freely on her back. The white of her dress brought out the gentle fairness of her smooth skin, and her moon-shaped brown eyes were the cutest addition to her dazzling smile. Her nightgown, falling only to her knees, still hid many of her curves from view, but the maid most certainly looked thin, fit, and fertile. Her hips were only the gentlest arcs, her busom just a delicate handful.
Emmanuel noticed her anxiety, and sought to remedy that before all else. He would not miss this gods-given opportunity.
"I'm so very pleased you're here, Viola," he reassured those trembling hands. "But why ever are you?"
Viola swayed closer towards the bed, her hands falling down her form and hiding themselves behind her back, as if she were the purest soul. And perhaps she was that virtuous, the bard reasoned. She sat at the edge of the bed, Emmanuel still hidden under the sheets.
"I got to thinking," she answered softly, "of what you said in the eve. Of not missin' a chance when it's presented to you. Not letting that rose fall free from your grasp... if only for a night."
The bard had placed the rose on the bed's side table earlier, conveniently the only item of his in view, as if he held it sacred. He instantly, wholeheartedly felt pity for the girl, and how he had led her on. Some roses were simply too fair to be deflowered for a story.
He shifted himself to sit beside the maiden, covering his lower body with the bedsheets.
"My sorrow, Viola, it runs too deep. For this night or forever, your love I shant keep," he sang, shaking his head. Viola frowned, bringing a trembling hand to her heart.
"But why, Emmanuel? What of all you sang? Of loving me dearly?"
Emmanuel grimaced. "Ah, my sweet, if only love were that easy... but I'm afraid I must tell you it doesn't generate so simply."
Viola's brows rose in misunderstanding, and she shook her head. "But that can't be true. What I feel of you-"
"Is temporary, my dear Viola," Emmanuel interjected, as kindly as he could. "It's a blind wish, a worry of predestined worry. You think that I came about the farmhouse by some sort of fate, or perhaps by the grace of the gods themselves. But I swear to you, it's as simple as me being here just because. Nothing more."
Viola brought the hand not placed on her chest to her cheek. She pouted, turning her visage from him.
"Is that what you think, Emmanuel?" she asked softly, her words now brittle. "That I'm just some youth, believin' you're some golden knight of my dreams?"
He sighed, bringing a gentle hand to Viola's shoulder. "No, perhaps not. But I do know that I led you on, with my words on the eve. You see..." Emmanuel trailed off, sighing again. How ever could he bring this up without destroying such a shining soul?
"Go on, sir. I'm not a child," she declared, childishly.
Emmanuel cleared his throat, and stroked Viola's hair. An aroma of thyme filled the air, and he realized she had obviously prepared for this night with all she could.
"You see, Viola, I sing of loves and desires as if they're the most straightforward subjects. As if, in the short rhymes of my ballads, I can express all their expansive material, all their limitless emotions."
Viola shifted her gaze back to Emmanuel, the girl's eyes now wettened through her abject failure of understanding.
"But I can't, and fear I will never be able to, for it's not something so easily described. Viola, believe me when I say I've spent my whole life trying to. I've mastered the languages of both Elves and Kings, I've traveled the world from sea to sea, all to perfect that imperfect message. A message that... well, that not many can resist, if I can be frank."
"But Emmanuel..." Viola whispered through a falling tear.
"My most beautiful maid, my dearest Viola. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that love is far too beautiful to express in song. It can only be... shown. It can only be felt."
"But Emmanuel," Viola repeated brittly, "do you not feel it now? Do you not feel it here, between us?"
It was then, at that moment, when a man had his arm wrapped around a maid beside him, and a gentle moonlight shined on that pair, that he actually agreed with her. No, it wasn't the love, of course. But it was love nonetheless.
He didn't answer the girl's ask with words. He leaned into her, wiping away the tear on her cheek, then kissed her deeply on the lips. Viola's arms wrapped around Emmanuel's back, and Emmanuel's back fell to the bed.
"Take me, Emmanuel," she whispered to him in a moment of unlocked lips, "take me, and let us see if it's love."
Emmanuel's hands slid under her dress, sliding it up her smooth, fair form slowly and purposefully. They kissed passionately for several minutes before the bard pushed her away, to banish her clothing permanently.
Viola frowned, perhaps in realization that with the absence of her nightgown that all her modesty would be banished as well. That one article of clothing was perhaps the one barrier between her becoming an adult in full, and her being blissfully unawares. She parted her lips to speak.
"May I keep it on?" she asked him nervously.
"You may, of course, but it will be utterly ruined if it remains," he warned her seriously. Her brows rose in fright, and Emmanuel decided to elucidate as to why. "You know your moon bloods?" he asked, garnering a worried nod from the girl. "Well, your maidenhead is likely a world more absurd than that."
"Truly, Emmanuel?" she asked with modulated voice. He nodded, and Viola arched her back straight and lifted her arms above her head. Her dress was promptly removed from her supple form, forgotten with a gentle flick of her wrist at the end. "And the bed?" she asked with a less-nervous smile.
"Your parents will know, I fear."
"And you?" the girl asked, not giving his warning more than a second of thought.
"I'll wash in the stream, dearest Viola."
"Shouldn't you be above me?"
"It's better for you this way. You can control the... pleasure," he explained through many vicarious experiences of others, almost replacing 'pleasure' with 'pain'. He spat in his own hand and brought it down to his own hardness, holding his manhood aloft for the maid to slide down upon. Viola brought her hands to the bed, lowering herself slowly atop his bell.
"Hmm," she whimpered, clenching her eyes shut and holding herself still, barely enveloping his cockhead within her parted folds. Viola breathed deep, then continued after a needed moment of self-reflection. She pushed through the pain, pushed through her maidenhead, bringing herself another two inches down his shaft in the course of a brutally delightful minute.
"Ahh... it hurts, Emmanuel," she cried ever so softly.
"I know, dearest Viola," he said truthfully, feeling his cock swallowed by the tightest, warmest passage. "Take your time, my beautiful maid."
She groaned as she slid further, stopping herself when another inch of his cock had entered her. "Emmanuel," she sighed, keeping her eyes shut. "Emmanuel, can I get pregnant the first time?"
He thought on the ask for a moment, then ultimately decided he was far too deep in this now for the truth to have a wanted effect.
"Of course not, my most desirable Viola."
-=-=-
As soon as Viola had departed from his bed, Emmanuel realized he must do the same of the farm. He had lost his courage after his crescendo, and conversation on the 'morrow would be most delicate if he stayed. Perhaps Viola would embarass him completely in front of her father. Perhaps he would be intimidated to even wed the maid, and what a frightening ideation that was.
The bard was no stranger to leaving a lover's bed in the middle of the night. He could not be blamed, surely, for not wanting to be around for the morning conversation of a maid deflowered? Emmanuel only had twenty-seven years of age, after all, and no one should expect such a trifle from him.
He wrote a letter to the ones he fled from, just as he had done so many times in the past. He thought on the words only briefly before he put quill to paper, deciding to throw in some innuendo which the women would understand, but would leave the father unawares.
-
To Roger, Nadja, and Viola,
I thank each of you for the kind hospitality you have shown me this day, and wish that you will receive greater blessings in turn. I leave your home knowing that the greatest gifts in life are not those of gold or silver, but in the kind words and deeds of others. Memories of your bountiful generosity will embolden my ballads for many weeks to come.
All the best,
Emmanuel
-
Perfect. Emmanuel blew on the paper, drying the ink to the page. He hoped that at least one member of the family could read, but knew it didn't matter in the end. He set the note on the bed's side table, and gathered his clothes and equipment. He stopped himself at the door, backtracking to pick up Viola's rose from the table. Best not to leave that momento here, he figured. What a terrible message that would send to such a perfect soul.
Emmanuel would pitch his tent elsewhere this night, off in the countryside where he wouldn't be found. From there he would travel to Catriona, in hopes of finding Talos to retrieve his missing coin. Love would just have to be found again, at another time.
-=-=-
Emmanuel's short jaunt from Athel Hall to the capital city of Catriona the following day was as uninspiring as it was uneventful, but fortunately inspiration was yet on his mind from the night before. He worked on his ballads of Alanna and Viola as he traveled through the countryside, nary giving the other travelers any mind as he rode.
He arrived in the city of mages near suppertime, the merchants of the market squares already packing up for the day. Emmanuel sang boisterously as he sauntered down the walkways of the city, following street signs and directions from confused townspeople who he asked in tune.
124 Collegeview Avenue. Perfect! Emmanuel praised himself for the simple stroll to Talos' abode, only getting turned around twice in the bustling city of Catriona, all while sharing his art with the gentlefolk. He spied the illuminated island of the College off his left shoulder, the massive tower at its center projecting a ghostly pillar of blue light into the clouds above.
He skipped up the steps towards the townhouse, knocking on the front door, once, twice, thrice. It opened after a minute, Emmanuel's arms already outstreched in anticipation of seeing Talos or Alanna.
A beautiful maid in a long white dress opened the door instead, and Emmanuel did not recognize her. Her gorgeous green eyes delighted him, and he found her tanned skin positively exotic. He figured she must be the housekeeper.
"Hello?" she greeted questioningly, her thin eyes darting over the bard's obnoxious bright-gold clothes.
"Greetings, hello! Salutations, galore!" the bard exclaimed, bowing lowly and pompously as he tended to do. "Emmanuel, at your service."
The gorgeous woman pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "Uh... okay?"
Emmanuel instantly found her quite challenging to talk to. He decided to get straight to the point, but in a roundabout manner.
"It's more than acceptable, satisfactory, or okay, as your wondrous visage makes this the best of days! May I ask if Talos is around, my fine maid?"
The housekeep's brows furrowed further, by the grace of the gods. "Uhhh... no. He's away at the moment. What is this about?"
"Drats! I met him on the road, you see, and I require his assistance most hastily."
"Oh. You're a friend of Talos?" she asked with a slight smile. Emmanuel found most of the woman's body language and words seemed tired, as if she hadn't had a proper rest in days.
"Naturally! I'm a friend, a confidant, a joyous ally! But that's enough of me, who might you be?" Emmanuel asked with a grin. She opened the door wider, stepping to the side.
"My name's Cass. Talos has been away for quite a while, but he should be returning shortly. You're welcome to drink, of course," Cass offered warmly. The invitation was not all what Emmanuel was expecting, judging from her delirious condition.
"Your offer is... most generous, comely keeper of this house."
"Just mind the babe. He's sleeping," she warned him happily with a tilt of her head.
Emmanuel brought a finger to his lips as he skipped inside, Cass shutting the door behind him. "I'll be quiet as a fawn, to avoid waking the Talos spawn. Tell me, housekeep, when did Talos say he would return?"
"Uh... we didn't exactly set a date. And I'm not the housekeeper, I'm his..." Cass sighed, clearly realizing she'd fallen into his rhythmic trap. "Mate."
Emmanuel raised an eyebrow, but his smile never waivered. "But there I saw him with another, and their love was ever so true."
Cass nodded with a frown. "Yeah, that was Alanna. She and I share him."
"Truly?!" the bard exclaimed.
"Shh!" Cass shushed him instantly, bringing a finger to her own lips.
"Right, right. The Talos spawn," Emmanuel whispered. Cass nodded, then led him towards the kitchen on the side of the house, two rooms away from the babe. There she fetched the bard an ale and a water for herself, then sat at the small table in the room.
"So, how are they?" she asked softly.
"They're fine, my lady. We parted ways after visiting the glorious Horseshoe falls, and defeating the wicked witch of Featherton as well."
"Wicked witch?"
"Some bringer of life to those already dead. It was all so ruinous, and filled me with dread."
"Oh, that's... uh," Cass said, before she sighed exasperatedly once again. "I'm really sorry, Emmanuel. I'm afraid I don't understand your... dialect?"
"My tune?"
"Your everything, really," she shrugged with an anxious smile.
"Oh," Emmanuel frowned, glancing away dejectedly for a moment. "Shall I start from the beginning?" he offered.
The beautiful wench chuckled at his ask. "Spare me, Emmanuel," she said, bringing her glass of water to her lips for a quick swig. Emmanuel brought his own drink to his mouth, finding it an adequate time to do so, and the maid spoke as the bard gulped his ale.
"Tell me why you've come. Of what trouble Talos must help you with."
Emmanuel brought his mug to the table, then outstreched his arms. "With my problems I wouldn't trouble such a delicate lass, as I'm sure they'd be so very tedious to you Cass."
She raised a brow once more. "Uh, Emmanuel?"
"Yes?"
"Your... tune?" she reminded him with a frown.
"Drats. My sincerest apologies. Talos wasn't much fond of it either, you should know."
"I could only imagine," Cass giggled into a balled fist. "He and I are so very much alike." She brushed her hair behind her pointed ears without thinking of it, and Emmanuel's eyes widened with fright.
He shot up from the table instantly. The only elves he'd ever seen in his life had wanted to kill him, either before or soon after he'd introduced himself. He knew he had to retreat from the situation post haste, and had forgotten about not waking Talos' child.
"Well what do you know, I forgot I had a show! Yes, a show! A show... over yonder!" Emmanuel exclaimed wildly, pointing over the elf's head. "I'm afraid I must part!"
"Emmanuel, what are..."
Cass shot up from the table as well, realizing her mistake too late. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter, and gripped the man's shoulder as he fled from the table. Emmanuel felt it's tip at the small of his back.
"Oh no, you will not flee. I'll be killed if the guard finds me here," Cass whispered in his ear, her words now filled with a terrifying gravity. Emmanuel raised his hands skyward, realizing this elf wanted to kill him as well.
"Cass, Cass, I would dare not tell a soul," Emmanuel whimpered.
"Talos loves me wholly, and he'll destroy all you hold dear if you do."
"I know it, I know it!" he cried.
"Silence yourself, Emmanuel, before you wake the babe."
"I'm sorry!" he whispered nervously, choking on his words.
"Sit down at the table," she murmured in his ear.
"Yes! Let's converse, let's chat. I'm sure we can remediate all this, with that," Emmanuel agreed in a wobbily tune. He sighed audibly as the blade left his back, and he slowly turned towards the elf. She still gripped the knife, but at least it was pointed at the ground.
"And by all the gods love, will you stop singing?" she berated him.
Emmanuel whimpered as he took his seat at the table. "I really want to, but you're scaring me."
"Just don't flee, then there is nothing to be scared of," Cass shrugged. She never left his side as they spoke, and still held the blade. Emmanuel chugged down the ale in front of him, then sharply exhaled before he replied.
"Okay okay, whatever you say."
Another sigh from behind him. "Now, tell me why you're so afraid of my ears," the elf said calmly.
Emmanuel pursed his lips, then brought both of his trembling hands to the table. "It would take me so long to explain, Cass," he said truthfully. He heard the elf drop the blade on a counter, and she walked beside him and placed a dainty hand on his shoulder.
"I have time, Emmanuel," she told him softly.
-=-=-
Rain trickled onto the cobblestone streets of Catriona from the heavens above, and many ales had now been served to the quavering bard to relax his nerves. The elf and Emmanuel spoke in hushed tones around the kitchen table for the greater part of an hour, although it was the bard who did most of the talking.
He spoke of memories long repressed, histories of his past that he dared not access. He talked of love, of glory, of boons, but under no circumstances did he speak in tune.
"And then she shot at me," he cried, sobbing as his face met the table before him. Cass could be seen frowning sympathetically, although she, no doubt, understood the antagonists more than he. "She shot at me, for merely asking if her sister was virginal. Who does that?"
"Now, now, it just sounds like a misunderstanding," Cass reassured him softly. The bard's visage shot up from the table, smiling through his tears.
"You mean she overreacted?" he asked wobbily. Cass shook her head.
"No, I mean that you misunderstood," she explained with furrowed brow. "Elves mate for life, and most demand absolute chastity from their lovers in the presence of another. Your actions in all of these stories, Emmanuel, have you gallivanting about as some idiotic womanizer."
"But I am, miss Cass," he replied truthfully.
"But elves don't care for that at all. I'm just trying to get you to see it from their perspective."
"So I shall avoid them at all costs?" he reasoned, his initial reaction to the present situation. Cass rolled her eyes from across the table.
"No, just... don't try to bed one, I suppose. That would be the simplest solution."
Emmanuel chuckled, regaining his composure slightly. He took a drink of ale before responding, from his sixth ale of the night. "Your fix sounds far more difficult than mine, miss Cass."
Muffled, helpless cries began at that moment, but they hadn't come from Emmanuel this time. Cass rose from the table in a hurry, her pointed ears swiveling towards the commotion.
"Well, you're unknowingly applying my fix to the present," Cass replied with a smirk, making her way from the table after gently patting him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I have to help the babe. You're welcome to leave, Emmanuel, but know I'm not forcing you to."
The bard sighed, tilting his head towards the kitchen window. Rain was falling outside lazily, and strands of water flowed down the glass. "Thank you. I think I'll stay for a time."
"Okay. Meet me in the hall, I'll get the fire going."
Emmanuel rose from the table, cracking his back with a glorious stretch. He thought of the elf's words as he sauntered towards the main hall of the townhouse, plopping down on a boring couch beside the room's unlit fireplace. He would have likely attempted to light the fire himself, but could not see any readily available logs or flint nearby.
Cass joined him a quarter-hour later, treading silently down the stairs behind the couch. Emmanuel was shaken from his thoughts when she spoke, twitching his head towards the elf.
"The Talos spawn is asleep once again," she giggled, clearly enjoying the new designation for the babe. Cass turned towards the fireplace, outstreching one hand and opening her palm. A bright flash of light illuminated the hall for one long second, and the bard was forced to cover his eyes. Once the light had disappated, Cass now held a curved firesteel in her hand.
She pointed towards the emptied fireplace next, producing another blinding flash of light within the stone. The fireplace was instantly filled with a neat stack of firewood.
"Where does Talos find such extraordinary maids?" Emmanuel asked amusingly, now wanting one for himself. He was somewhat familiar with all kinds of magic through his travels, although he hadn't seen the elf's particular brand yet. She knelt by the fire, chastely at her knees, and struck the firesteel against the stone of the fireplace. The logs were alight momentarily, the flames illuminating the hall with a warm glow.
"Oh, here and there," Cass replied with a shrug, still facing from him. "It's a big world, Emmanuel."
"Don't I know it," he replied genuinely. The elf stood straight, pointing at a corner of the room and summoning an ornate footstool with a flick of her wrist and another flash of light. She plopped atop it, crossing her legs and pulling the hem of her thin white dress past her knees.
"How much have you seen of it, Cass?" the bard asked as his sight traveled from her knees towards her eyes, trying to strike an innocent conversation with the willowy elf. She shook her head with a frown.
"Not nearly as much as I'd like," Cass answered truthfully. "Talos has already seen most of it from what I know, but I'll likely be here until the little Talos grows older. Who knows, perhaps I'll see it all with him when he matures?"
"Talos spawned a child named Talos? Not very imaginitive, I'd say," Emmanuel chided a man not present with a wagging finger. Cass giggled into her hand.
"It wasn't his choice. Alanna named the babe."
"It's going to be terribly confusing for those listening to my ballads of the man."
"I'm sure she wasn't thinking of your songs when she named him," Cass giggled again.
"Perhaps I'll grant him a surname? Talos Talosspawn?" Emmanuel offered with a sly grin.
"Speak it over with Alanna first," Cass warned him with a sly smile. The bard chuckled.
"Indeed, indeed," Emmanuel replied. "That enchanting girl would likely decline, no doubt. Although, she did not mention the babe for the days I spent with them. Most of her words consisted of loving the elder, or offering castigating assurances of my own ineptitude."
"Tell me of them, Emmanuel," Cass asked with a sigh. "I miss them dearly."
Emmanuel placed a hand on his chin and pursed his lips, then pointed his forefinger at the elf after a nod. "Yes, yes, I could do that. I even wrote a ballad of the sorceress. Shall I sing?"
"You shall," Cass replied with an outstreched palm, granting him the floor. Emmanuel rose to his feet, placing a hand on his chest and stretched his other towards the roof of the hall.
"Excellent. I call this one, 'Her Wondrous Tracts'," he said with more than a hint of whimsy, his sight fixed skyward. Cass raised a brow in confusion, and the bard cleared his throat.
"In the grass I laid, on that summer day,
When the sun shone bright on me;
The hills were emerald, the clouds pearl,
And my diamonds hardened with glee.
For along the road, I saw a lass,
A lass so sumptuous you see;
Her shimmering eyes, her sparkling smile,
And her legs displayed completely.
Those tracts, her busom,
Those glorious pillows;
Like the sea did they heave,
And like a wave did they billow.
Those tracts, her cheeks,
How pleasing they moved;
An applause, they clapped,
With no room to improve.
Yet she danced away, on that summer day,
When the sun shone bright on me;
She giggled and swayed, though I wish she had stayed,
Of that I can certainly agree."
Emmanuel waited a moment for applause, then shifted his gaze to Cass when he had not received one. She sat silently with wide eyes, her hands on her lap.
"And then what happened?" she asked curiously.
Emmanuel cleared his throat nervously. "Well, then, nothing happened. That's the end of the song."
"Oh," Cass replied softly, raising her hands to give him the pitiful praise of a polite applause. Emmanuel lowered his arms meekly.
"Did you not think it finished?"
"No, no! It was a great song, Emmanuel," she hastily reassured the frowning bard.
"Don't deceive me, Cass," he declared with brow lowered. Cass sighed, and her smile waned.
"Uh, er... well, it could have used a better ending, I suppose," she admitted softly with a tilt of her head. Emmanuel brought a hand to his chin, stroking his tuft of hair growing there for a moment.
"Hmm... yes... yes!" he exclaimed with raised finger, "it needs a climax. A crescendo, a peak, an orgasmic flow!"
Cass smiled nervously, but agreed with a gentle nod. "Uhh... yeah. Yeah, like that. But Emmanuel, you still haven't told me how they are."
Emmanuel grinned. "No time for that, my sweet lass, as there's glorious art to improve!" he exclaimed, then skipped towards the front door and leaned against it as he said his goodbyes. "Farewell, so long, and I'll try Talos again soon!"
Cass rose to her feet by the fire, but the front door was already opened. "Uh, okay! Take care, Emmanuel," she replied with absolute perplexion.
"And you, my lass, I appreciate the drink!" he yelled as he hurried, and slammed the door shut.
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.
"But of course, dearest Viola," he assured her softly. "Emotions through song can never lie."
Emmanuel took a seat next to the excitable Viola, and the pair spoke alone for a good twenty minutes before Nadja called the house to supper.
-=-=-
The fireplace blazed lazily this summer's eve, warming the farmhouse unnecessarily as Nadja served the table. It would be vegetable stew and ale this night, likely a common occurrence for the family. Nadja's breasts pushed against Emmanuel's back as he was served, and he wondered if she had done it on purpose. A sultry smile across the table a moment later confirmed his suspicions, and fortunately her husband did not notice the glance.
The four conversed on much of nothing as they ate and drank, until Roger offhandedly asked his wife what had transpired when he and Viola were away in town.
Nadja cleared her throat before speaking, casting a sly glance in the bard's direction.
"Oh, I was just beating the laundry down by the stream while Emmanuel practiced his ballads. They're really quite pleasant. I was truly surprised by their breadth of emotion."
Emmanuel almost choked on the watery stew, and waved his hand to reject the startled glance from Viola to his side.
"Mmm," Roger mumbled in reply to his wife's statement. Nadja, seemingly toying with the man, the men, continued her story undeterred.
"The emotions of those poems tore straight into my core," Nadja said with a smile.
"Interestin'," Roger replied idiotically, taking another spoon-full of his stew.
"Their fervor erupted so very deeply into-"
"Well!" Emmanuel interjected with a worried grin. "I'm certainly glad you appreciate my tunes, Nadja. That gives me hope they'll be taken well in Catriona."
"And I so very much did," Nadja replied slyly. "If only all men were capable of expressing their passions as you do, Emmanuel."
Emmanuel grimaced and glanced towards Roger, who, remarkably, continued eating the stew before him as if the conversation wasn't happening. Or perhaps he didn't understand his own wife's innuendos, the more likely explanation. How simple a man.
The bard quickly drank down his stew, deciding to leave the family's company before Nadja could torment him further. He bowed his farewells, and skipped towards the guest house to rest until the morning.
-=-=-
Emmanuel undressed and laid in bed restless that night, being unable to sleep. Chances missed would always sour his mood, and tonight was no exception to that rule. He could write a song of bedding some... farmer's wife instead, surely? That could work for a ballad...
The bard sighed. It certainly didn't have the same ring as farmer's daughter, although he supposed it was easier to rhyme with. Strife, rife, life. Knife, if he was feeling particularly depressed the day he wrote it. He could always sing that one in the smaller taverns across the land, betwixt his travels from one major city to another. The song would never please the grandiose Imperials in the capital of mankind, but surely it would cater to the simple peasants of Harvath.
Another sigh, and another toss to the side. Perhaps he could continue his work on Alanna's ballad while he waited for slumber to arrive. Now that was a song.
He almost left the warmth of the of bed before he heard the front door to the guesthouse creak open, and knew Nadja had snuck away from her husband to find a second crescendo in Emmanuel's arms. He would most certainly agree to her advances, of course.
"Emmanuel," a soft, young voice said in a whisper, "are you awake?"
Really?! What glorious luck. What a fantastic day!
"I am, I am," he whispered in turn, prompting a farmer's daughter to gently shut the door behind her. Emmanuel turned towards the maiden, who was illuminated only by a gentle beam of moonlight coming from the small window behind her.
She swayed towards the bed nervously in only a thin white nightgown, her long brown hair now laid freely on her back. The white of her dress brought out the gentle fairness of her smooth skin, and her moon-shaped brown eyes were the cutest addition to her dazzling smile. Her nightgown, falling only to her knees, still hid many of her curves from view, but the maid most certainly looked thin, fit, and fertile. Her hips were only the gentlest arcs, her busom just a delicate handful.
Emmanuel noticed her anxiety, and sought to remedy that before all else. He would not miss this gods-given opportunity.
"I'm so very pleased you're here, Viola," he reassured those trembling hands. "But why ever are you?"
Viola swayed closer towards the bed, her hands falling down her form and hiding themselves behind her back, as if she were the purest soul. And perhaps she was that virtuous, the bard reasoned. She sat at the edge of the bed, Emmanuel still hidden under the sheets.
"I got to thinking," she answered softly, "of what you said in the eve. Of not missin' a chance when it's presented to you. Not letting that rose fall free from your grasp... if only for a night."
The bard had placed the rose on the bed's side table earlier, conveniently the only item of his in view, as if he held it sacred. He instantly, wholeheartedly felt pity for the girl, and how he had led her on. Some roses were simply too fair to be deflowered for a story.
He shifted himself to sit beside the maiden, covering his lower body with the bedsheets.
"My sorrow, Viola, it runs too deep. For this night or forever, your love I shant keep," he sang, shaking his head. Viola frowned, bringing a trembling hand to her heart.
"But why, Emmanuel? What of all you sang? Of loving me dearly?"
Emmanuel grimaced. "Ah, my sweet, if only love were that easy... but I'm afraid I must tell you it doesn't generate so simply."
Viola's brows rose in misunderstanding, and she shook her head. "But that can't be true. What I feel of you-"
"Is temporary, my dear Viola," Emmanuel interjected, as kindly as he could. "It's a blind wish, a worry of predestined worry. You think that I came about the farmhouse by some sort of fate, or perhaps by the grace of the gods themselves. But I swear to you, it's as simple as me being here just because. Nothing more."
Viola brought the hand not placed on her chest to her cheek. She pouted, turning her visage from him.
"Is that what you think, Emmanuel?" she asked softly, her words now brittle. "That I'm just some youth, believin' you're some golden knight of my dreams?"
He sighed, bringing a gentle hand to Viola's shoulder. "No, perhaps not. But I do know that I led you on, with my words on the eve. You see..." Emmanuel trailed off, sighing again. How ever could he bring this up without destroying such a shining soul?
"Go on, sir. I'm not a child," she declared, childishly.
Emmanuel cleared his throat, and stroked Viola's hair. An aroma of thyme filled the air, and he realized she had obviously prepared for this night with all she could.
"You see, Viola, I sing of loves and desires as if they're the most straightforward subjects. As if, in the short rhymes of my ballads, I can express all their expansive material, all their limitless emotions."
Viola shifted her gaze back to Emmanuel, the girl's eyes now wettened through her abject failure of understanding.
"But I can't, and fear I will never be able to, for it's not something so easily described. Viola, believe me when I say I've spent my whole life trying to. I've mastered the languages of both Elves and Kings, I've traveled the world from sea to sea, all to perfect that imperfect message. A message that... well, that not many can resist, if I can be frank."
"But Emmanuel..." Viola whispered through a falling tear.
"My most beautiful maid, my dearest Viola. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that love is far too beautiful to express in song. It can only be... shown. It can only be felt."
"But Emmanuel," Viola repeated brittly, "do you not feel it now? Do you not feel it here, between us?"
It was then, at that moment, when a man had his arm wrapped around a maid beside him, and a gentle moonlight shined on that pair, that he actually agreed with her. No, it wasn't the love, of course. But it was love nonetheless.
He didn't answer the girl's ask with words. He leaned into her, wiping away the tear on her cheek, then kissed her deeply on the lips. Viola's arms wrapped around Emmanuel's back, and Emmanuel's back fell to the bed.
"Take me, Emmanuel," she whispered to him in a moment of unlocked lips, "take me, and let us see if it's love."
Emmanuel's hands slid under her dress, sliding it up her smooth, fair form slowly and purposefully. They kissed passionately for several minutes before the bard pushed her away, to banish her clothing permanently.
Viola frowned, perhaps in realization that with the absence of her nightgown that all her modesty would be banished as well. That one article of clothing was perhaps the one barrier between her becoming an adult in full, and her being blissfully unawares. She parted her lips to speak.
"May I keep it on?" she asked him nervously.
"You may, of course, but it will be utterly ruined if it remains," he warned her seriously. Her brows rose in fright, and Emmanuel decided to elucidate as to why. "You know your moon bloods?" he asked, garnering a worried nod from the girl. "Well, your maidenhead is likely a world more absurd than that."
"Truly, Emmanuel?" she asked with modulated voice. He nodded, and Viola arched her back straight and lifted her arms above her head. Her dress was promptly removed from her supple form, forgotten with a gentle flick of her wrist at the end. "And the bed?" she asked with a less-nervous smile.
"Your parents will know, I fear."
"And you?" the girl asked, not giving his warning more than a second of thought.
"I'll wash in the stream, dearest Viola."
"Shouldn't you be above me?"
"It's better for you this way. You can control the... pleasure," he explained through many vicarious experiences of others, almost replacing 'pleasure' with 'pain'. He spat in his own hand and brought it down to his own hardness, holding his manhood aloft for the maid to slide down upon. Viola brought her hands to the bed, lowering herself slowly atop his bell.
"Hmm," she whimpered, clenching her eyes shut and holding herself still, barely enveloping his cockhead within her parted folds. Viola breathed deep, then continued after a needed moment of self-reflection. She pushed through the pain, pushed through her maidenhead, bringing herself another two inches down his shaft in the course of a brutally delightful minute.
"Ahh... it hurts, Emmanuel," she cried ever so softly.
"I know, dearest Viola," he said truthfully, feeling his cock swallowed by the tightest, warmest passage. "Take your time, my beautiful maid."
She groaned as she slid further, stopping herself when another inch of his cock had entered her. "Emmanuel," she sighed, keeping her eyes shut. "Emmanuel, can I get pregnant the first time?"
He thought on the ask for a moment, then ultimately decided he was far too deep in this now for the truth to have a wanted effect.
"Of course not, my most desirable Viola."
-=-=-
As soon as Viola had departed from his bed, Emmanuel realized he must do the same of the farm. He had lost his courage after his crescendo, and conversation on the 'morrow would be most delicate if he stayed. Perhaps Viola would embarass him completely in front of her father. Perhaps he would be intimidated to even wed the maid, and what a frightening ideation that was.
The bard was no stranger to leaving a lover's bed in the middle of the night. He could not be blamed, surely, for not wanting to be around for the morning conversation of a maid deflowered? Emmanuel only had twenty-seven years of age, after all, and no one should expect such a trifle from him.
He wrote a letter to the ones he fled from, just as he had done so many times in the past. He thought on the words only briefly before he put quill to paper, deciding to throw in some innuendo which the women would understand, but would leave the father unawares.
-
To Roger, Nadja, and Viola,
I thank each of you for the kind hospitality you have shown me this day, and wish that you will receive greater blessings in turn. I leave your home knowing that the greatest gifts in life are not those of gold or silver, but in the kind words and deeds of others. Memories of your bountiful generosity will embolden my ballads for many weeks to come.
All the best,
Emmanuel
-
Perfect. Emmanuel blew on the paper, drying the ink to the page. He hoped that at least one member of the family could read, but knew it didn't matter in the end. He set the note on the bed's side table, and gathered his clothes and equipment. He stopped himself at the door, backtracking to pick up Viola's rose from the table. Best not to leave that momento here, he figured. What a terrible message that would send to such a perfect soul.
Emmanuel would pitch his tent elsewhere this night, off in the countryside where he wouldn't be found. From there he would travel to Catriona, in hopes of finding Talos to retrieve his missing coin. Love would just have to be found again, at another time.
-=-=-
Emmanuel's short jaunt from Athel Hall to the capital city of Catriona the following day was as uninspiring as it was uneventful, but fortunately inspiration was yet on his mind from the night before. He worked on his ballads of Alanna and Viola as he traveled through the countryside, nary giving the other travelers any mind as he rode.
He arrived in the city of mages near suppertime, the merchants of the market squares already packing up for the day. Emmanuel sang boisterously as he sauntered down the walkways of the city, following street signs and directions from confused townspeople who he asked in tune.
124 Collegeview Avenue. Perfect! Emmanuel praised himself for the simple stroll to Talos' abode, only getting turned around twice in the bustling city of Catriona, all while sharing his art with the gentlefolk. He spied the illuminated island of the College off his left shoulder, the massive tower at its center projecting a ghostly pillar of blue light into the clouds above.
He skipped up the steps towards the townhouse, knocking on the front door, once, twice, thrice. It opened after a minute, Emmanuel's arms already outstreched in anticipation of seeing Talos or Alanna.
A beautiful maid in a long white dress opened the door instead, and Emmanuel did not recognize her. Her gorgeous green eyes delighted him, and he found her tanned skin positively exotic. He figured she must be the housekeeper.
"Hello?" she greeted questioningly, her thin eyes darting over the bard's obnoxious bright-gold clothes.
"Greetings, hello! Salutations, galore!" the bard exclaimed, bowing lowly and pompously as he tended to do. "Emmanuel, at your service."
The gorgeous woman pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "Uh... okay?"
Emmanuel instantly found her quite challenging to talk to. He decided to get straight to the point, but in a roundabout manner.
"It's more than acceptable, satisfactory, or okay, as your wondrous visage makes this the best of days! May I ask if Talos is around, my fine maid?"
The housekeep's brows furrowed further, by the grace of the gods. "Uhhh... no. He's away at the moment. What is this about?"
"Drats! I met him on the road, you see, and I require his assistance most hastily."
"Oh. You're a friend of Talos?" she asked with a slight smile. Emmanuel found most of the woman's body language and words seemed tired, as if she hadn't had a proper rest in days.
"Naturally! I'm a friend, a confidant, a joyous ally! But that's enough of me, who might you be?" Emmanuel asked with a grin. She opened the door wider, stepping to the side.
"My name's Cass. Talos has been away for quite a while, but he should be returning shortly. You're welcome to drink, of course," Cass offered warmly. The invitation was not all what Emmanuel was expecting, judging from her delirious condition.
"Your offer is... most generous, comely keeper of this house."
"Just mind the babe. He's sleeping," she warned him happily with a tilt of her head.
Emmanuel brought a finger to his lips as he skipped inside, Cass shutting the door behind him. "I'll be quiet as a fawn, to avoid waking the Talos spawn. Tell me, housekeep, when did Talos say he would return?"
"Uh... we didn't exactly set a date. And I'm not the housekeeper, I'm his..." Cass sighed, clearly realizing she'd fallen into his rhythmic trap. "Mate."
Emmanuel raised an eyebrow, but his smile never waivered. "But there I saw him with another, and their love was ever so true."
Cass nodded with a frown. "Yeah, that was Alanna. She and I share him."
"Truly?!" the bard exclaimed.
"Shh!" Cass shushed him instantly, bringing a finger to her own lips.
"Right, right. The Talos spawn," Emmanuel whispered. Cass nodded, then led him towards the kitchen on the side of the house, two rooms away from the babe. There she fetched the bard an ale and a water for herself, then sat at the small table in the room.
"So, how are they?" she asked softly.
"They're fine, my lady. We parted ways after visiting the glorious Horseshoe falls, and defeating the wicked witch of Featherton as well."
"Wicked witch?"
"Some bringer of life to those already dead. It was all so ruinous, and filled me with dread."
"Oh, that's... uh," Cass said, before she sighed exasperatedly once again. "I'm really sorry, Emmanuel. I'm afraid I don't understand your... dialect?"
"My tune?"
"Your everything, really," she shrugged with an anxious smile.
"Oh," Emmanuel frowned, glancing away dejectedly for a moment. "Shall I start from the beginning?" he offered.
The beautiful wench chuckled at his ask. "Spare me, Emmanuel," she said, bringing her glass of water to her lips for a quick swig. Emmanuel brought his own drink to his mouth, finding it an adequate time to do so, and the maid spoke as the bard gulped his ale.
"Tell me why you've come. Of what trouble Talos must help you with."
Emmanuel brought his mug to the table, then outstreched his arms. "With my problems I wouldn't trouble such a delicate lass, as I'm sure they'd be so very tedious to you Cass."
She raised a brow once more. "Uh, Emmanuel?"
"Yes?"
"Your... tune?" she reminded him with a frown.
"Drats. My sincerest apologies. Talos wasn't much fond of it either, you should know."
"I could only imagine," Cass giggled into a balled fist. "He and I are so very much alike." She brushed her hair behind her pointed ears without thinking of it, and Emmanuel's eyes widened with fright.
He shot up from the table instantly. The only elves he'd ever seen in his life had wanted to kill him, either before or soon after he'd introduced himself. He knew he had to retreat from the situation post haste, and had forgotten about not waking Talos' child.
"Well what do you know, I forgot I had a show! Yes, a show! A show... over yonder!" Emmanuel exclaimed wildly, pointing over the elf's head. "I'm afraid I must part!"
"Emmanuel, what are..."
Cass shot up from the table as well, realizing her mistake too late. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter, and gripped the man's shoulder as he fled from the table. Emmanuel felt it's tip at the small of his back.
"Oh no, you will not flee. I'll be killed if the guard finds me here," Cass whispered in his ear, her words now filled with a terrifying gravity. Emmanuel raised his hands skyward, realizing this elf wanted to kill him as well.
"Cass, Cass, I would dare not tell a soul," Emmanuel whimpered.
"Talos loves me wholly, and he'll destroy all you hold dear if you do."
"I know it, I know it!" he cried.
"Silence yourself, Emmanuel, before you wake the babe."
"I'm sorry!" he whispered nervously, choking on his words.
"Sit down at the table," she murmured in his ear.
"Yes! Let's converse, let's chat. I'm sure we can remediate all this, with that," Emmanuel agreed in a wobbily tune. He sighed audibly as the blade left his back, and he slowly turned towards the elf. She still gripped the knife, but at least it was pointed at the ground.
"And by all the gods love, will you stop singing?" she berated him.
Emmanuel whimpered as he took his seat at the table. "I really want to, but you're scaring me."
"Just don't flee, then there is nothing to be scared of," Cass shrugged. She never left his side as they spoke, and still held the blade. Emmanuel chugged down the ale in front of him, then sharply exhaled before he replied.
"Okay okay, whatever you say."
Another sigh from behind him. "Now, tell me why you're so afraid of my ears," the elf said calmly.
Emmanuel pursed his lips, then brought both of his trembling hands to the table. "It would take me so long to explain, Cass," he said truthfully. He heard the elf drop the blade on a counter, and she walked beside him and placed a dainty hand on his shoulder.
"I have time, Emmanuel," she told him softly.
-=-=-
Rain trickled onto the cobblestone streets of Catriona from the heavens above, and many ales had now been served to the quavering bard to relax his nerves. The elf and Emmanuel spoke in hushed tones around the kitchen table for the greater part of an hour, although it was the bard who did most of the talking.
He spoke of memories long repressed, histories of his past that he dared not access. He talked of love, of glory, of boons, but under no circumstances did he speak in tune.
"And then she shot at me," he cried, sobbing as his face met the table before him. Cass could be seen frowning sympathetically, although she, no doubt, understood the antagonists more than he. "She shot at me, for merely asking if her sister was virginal. Who does that?"
"Now, now, it just sounds like a misunderstanding," Cass reassured him softly. The bard's visage shot up from the table, smiling through his tears.
"You mean she overreacted?" he asked wobbily. Cass shook her head.
"No, I mean that you misunderstood," she explained with furrowed brow. "Elves mate for life, and most demand absolute chastity from their lovers in the presence of another. Your actions in all of these stories, Emmanuel, have you gallivanting about as some idiotic womanizer."
"But I am, miss Cass," he replied truthfully.
"But elves don't care for that at all. I'm just trying to get you to see it from their perspective."
"So I shall avoid them at all costs?" he reasoned, his initial reaction to the present situation. Cass rolled her eyes from across the table.
"No, just... don't try to bed one, I suppose. That would be the simplest solution."
Emmanuel chuckled, regaining his composure slightly. He took a drink of ale before responding, from his sixth ale of the night. "Your fix sounds far more difficult than mine, miss Cass."
Muffled, helpless cries began at that moment, but they hadn't come from Emmanuel this time. Cass rose from the table in a hurry, her pointed ears swiveling towards the commotion.
"Well, you're unknowingly applying my fix to the present," Cass replied with a smirk, making her way from the table after gently patting him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I have to help the babe. You're welcome to leave, Emmanuel, but know I'm not forcing you to."
The bard sighed, tilting his head towards the kitchen window. Rain was falling outside lazily, and strands of water flowed down the glass. "Thank you. I think I'll stay for a time."
"Okay. Meet me in the hall, I'll get the fire going."
Emmanuel rose from the table, cracking his back with a glorious stretch. He thought of the elf's words as he sauntered towards the main hall of the townhouse, plopping down on a boring couch beside the room's unlit fireplace. He would have likely attempted to light the fire himself, but could not see any readily available logs or flint nearby.
Cass joined him a quarter-hour later, treading silently down the stairs behind the couch. Emmanuel was shaken from his thoughts when she spoke, twitching his head towards the elf.
"The Talos spawn is asleep once again," she giggled, clearly enjoying the new designation for the babe. Cass turned towards the fireplace, outstreching one hand and opening her palm. A bright flash of light illuminated the hall for one long second, and the bard was forced to cover his eyes. Once the light had disappated, Cass now held a curved firesteel in her hand.
She pointed towards the emptied fireplace next, producing another blinding flash of light within the stone. The fireplace was instantly filled with a neat stack of firewood.
"Where does Talos find such extraordinary maids?" Emmanuel asked amusingly, now wanting one for himself. He was somewhat familiar with all kinds of magic through his travels, although he hadn't seen the elf's particular brand yet. She knelt by the fire, chastely at her knees, and struck the firesteel against the stone of the fireplace. The logs were alight momentarily, the flames illuminating the hall with a warm glow.
"Oh, here and there," Cass replied with a shrug, still facing from him. "It's a big world, Emmanuel."
"Don't I know it," he replied genuinely. The elf stood straight, pointing at a corner of the room and summoning an ornate footstool with a flick of her wrist and another flash of light. She plopped atop it, crossing her legs and pulling the hem of her thin white dress past her knees.
"How much have you seen of it, Cass?" the bard asked as his sight traveled from her knees towards her eyes, trying to strike an innocent conversation with the willowy elf. She shook her head with a frown.
"Not nearly as much as I'd like," Cass answered truthfully. "Talos has already seen most of it from what I know, but I'll likely be here until the little Talos grows older. Who knows, perhaps I'll see it all with him when he matures?"
"Talos spawned a child named Talos? Not very imaginitive, I'd say," Emmanuel chided a man not present with a wagging finger. Cass giggled into her hand.
"It wasn't his choice. Alanna named the babe."
"It's going to be terribly confusing for those listening to my ballads of the man."
"I'm sure she wasn't thinking of your songs when she named him," Cass giggled again.
"Perhaps I'll grant him a surname? Talos Talosspawn?" Emmanuel offered with a sly grin.
"Speak it over with Alanna first," Cass warned him with a sly smile. The bard chuckled.
"Indeed, indeed," Emmanuel replied. "That enchanting girl would likely decline, no doubt. Although, she did not mention the babe for the days I spent with them. Most of her words consisted of loving the elder, or offering castigating assurances of my own ineptitude."
"Tell me of them, Emmanuel," Cass asked with a sigh. "I miss them dearly."
Emmanuel placed a hand on his chin and pursed his lips, then pointed his forefinger at the elf after a nod. "Yes, yes, I could do that. I even wrote a ballad of the sorceress. Shall I sing?"
"You shall," Cass replied with an outstreched palm, granting him the floor. Emmanuel rose to his feet, placing a hand on his chest and stretched his other towards the roof of the hall.
"Excellent. I call this one, 'Her Wondrous Tracts'," he said with more than a hint of whimsy, his sight fixed skyward. Cass raised a brow in confusion, and the bard cleared his throat.
"In the grass I laid, on that summer day,
When the sun shone bright on me;
The hills were emerald, the clouds pearl,
And my diamonds hardened with glee.
For along the road, I saw a lass,
A lass so sumptuous you see;
Her shimmering eyes, her sparkling smile,
And her legs displayed completely.
Those tracts, her busom,
Those glorious pillows;
Like the sea did they heave,
And like a wave did they billow.
Those tracts, her cheeks,
How pleasing they moved;
An applause, they clapped,
With no room to improve.
Yet she danced away, on that summer day,
When the sun shone bright on me;
She giggled and swayed, though I wish she had stayed,
Of that I can certainly agree."
Emmanuel waited a moment for applause, then shifted his gaze to Cass when he had not received one. She sat silently with wide eyes, her hands on her lap.
"And then what happened?" she asked curiously.
Emmanuel cleared his throat nervously. "Well, then, nothing happened. That's the end of the song."
"Oh," Cass replied softly, raising her hands to give him the pitiful praise of a polite applause. Emmanuel lowered his arms meekly.
"Did you not think it finished?"
"No, no! It was a great song, Emmanuel," she hastily reassured the frowning bard.
"Don't deceive me, Cass," he declared with brow lowered. Cass sighed, and her smile waned.
"Uh, er... well, it could have used a better ending, I suppose," she admitted softly with a tilt of her head. Emmanuel brought a hand to his chin, stroking his tuft of hair growing there for a moment.
"Hmm... yes... yes!" he exclaimed with raised finger, "it needs a climax. A crescendo, a peak, an orgasmic flow!"
Cass smiled nervously, but agreed with a gentle nod. "Uhh... yeah. Yeah, like that. But Emmanuel, you still haven't told me how they are."
Emmanuel grinned. "No time for that, my sweet lass, as there's glorious art to improve!" he exclaimed, then skipped towards the front door and leaned against it as he said his goodbyes. "Farewell, so long, and I'll try Talos again soon!"
Cass rose to her feet by the fire, but the front door was already opened. "Uh, okay! Take care, Emmanuel," she replied with absolute perplexion.
"And you, my lass, I appreciate the drink!" he yelled as he hurried, and slammed the door shut.