Interregnum Ch. 02

Odo navigated his way through the brush, aided by the sun. It was deep morning now, but a few hours ago the sky was red, when the clouds were grey wefts that looked near brown in the red warp of the bloody sky. Now the sun was near its apex, the sky a clear blue and scant a cloud was in the heavens. The environment was peaceful, calm. Birds began to sing in that fashion of theirs, a language that told of love and loss, of hopes and dreams, of finding love, of hoping of finding love in strange new places. Such is the birds call, and so it was that birds inspire lovers poems in that of man, and yet Odo couldn't help but feel... overwhelmed by his recent occurrence.

It was not love that he felt towards Aelith... but he did feel something. He felt betrayal; he felt anger, he felt many confusing things... but did he feel love? He felt something perhaps more primal, but nothing like what he assumed it was to feel like... the feeling of offering utter devotion to somebody, was that how love felt? He did not feel that way towards Aelith if it was, though he knew that was how Aelith felt towards him. It showed in her manner, her tone... the way she would look at Odo whenever his back was turned.

Taking a deep breath, Odo thought back on his previous hours. He had hastily tended to the farm animals. Two pigs needed attendance; they were the money-makers that Narla owned. There was Bertha 'the sullen' who oinked all the time in that fed-up fashion of hers, and what a ferocious temper. Odo swore to himself that if she was not pregnant by months end, she would be culled! At the very least Maximilian was a sociable creature who liked to have his head rubbed from time to time. Selling him off to impregnate other sows, well that earned a fair amount of coin for Narla, and soon both would go through pannage and be fattened with the falling of the acorn, which ought to be soon... and with fattened pigs ready to put to the market came wealth that was sorely needed at home. Bertha was definitely getting sold.

Then he fed the seven hens, Adela, Corbania, Marietta, Ruth, Regina, Greta and Agertha 'the bent'. Such simple, matronly creatures they are, like a wizened group of middle-aged women. Living with scant a care but to cluck, eat and lay eggs, but he was sure they wished diligently for a rooster to sneak in amongst them and lay them well, seeking the glories that matronly women surely seek.

And the reflection of his day brought a new line of thought to his mind.

'I cannot wait for the vegetables to come up and with them the leafy herbs of spring, roasting geese and maybe Bertha in the stew as she well-deserves.'

Hunger stirred as his stomach rumbled at the thought of spring. Odo enjoyed food after his labour, pottage that tasted different with every few weeks as new plants grew with the seasons, changing the flavour every time so that it never got old. The taste as bread was dipped into the bowl and mightily consumed, the scent of the steam wafting through the air, this was the smell of home.

And here he was, now, perhaps four minutes later through brush and grass and other plants, Odo had found his way to the stream. His loins felt sticky, disgusting... and he knew the reason why. Still covered in Aelith's virginal blood, he had tried to return home as quickly as possible so that he could hasten his way to that very stream.

But Narla had stopped him and bid that he work. And so he had, he feared his mother more than anything else. To disappoint her was near-enough to meeting the axe of an executioner in his eyes.

Odo lowered his small rush basket down by the side of the stream, unbuckled his belt and took off his tunic with haste, not caring if it fell on dirt or mud, and alongside it came his shirt, coif, hose and braies. And now he stood naked to the earth, to nature and its inherent beauty, yellow flowers were in abundance, and soon would come reds and violets, blues and whites as such flowers come with the herald of spring. The stream of water made that noise that only streams could make, calming and peaceful as the water trickled through the land. Just him, the stream and tiny little fishes roaming about.

And so Odo jumped into the stream, swallowed whole in water that left him breathless. The water was terribly cold and so his hairs stuck end on end and his skin had bubbled with goosebumps. He emerged from the water with his dark brown hair sticking to his front, covering his eyes and most of his face.

He spun his head and the hair followed, now resting just over his shoulder.

Odo walked over to his basket and took out his ball of tallow soap scented with the scent of sage and lavender, the dried bits sticking in the soap waiting to be rubbed off.

He lightly licked the soap, and feeling no fuzzy sensation of lye upon his tongue, he immersed the soap into the water for a moment and scrubbed his body with the soap. The feeling of cleanliness was great, knowing that the miasma was kept at bay and that his skin felt pure and good. He knew that he was due for a bath soon, it had been roughly seven or eight days since his last bath, but he had kept clean with a rag and a bowl of water, clearing off the essential areas of his hands, feet and face before going off to bed each night. He combed nightly and rubbed sage, hyssop and salt onto a hazel brush which he used to brush onto his teeth to fight the devils of the tooth.

Finally Odo reached down to his dick, his eyes shut tight as he quickly rubbed his penis with the soap, not wishing to see the dried blood come off of his cock.

He then swung it around for good measure before opening his eyes to inspect his tool. It was clean and he let out a sigh in relief. He had felt as though the feeling would never come out, that foreign stickiness of dried blood, but now that it was gone he felt like a weight had been lifted off of him... but the guilt remained. He knew it wasn't his fault, Aelith had used him in his sleep, but it still lingered and nagged him.

And so he ignored it. He immersed himself back into the cold water, feeling as pure as the martyr of Trebon upon ascending from the cold depths. The martyr Abo who was forcefully drowned head-first in old days past, his robe pure white and his ways forever peaceful. He was one the wisest of men in that era, placid and meek, gentle and caring. And so it was said that upon his death the lake of Lirelas froze immediately thereafter from the tears of weeping angels and from then on the men of that region followed the true faith and gave up all others. Each winter, it is said that children donned special shoes and slid about on the frozen lake... it brought back his childhood memories of slinging snowballs each and every way, he wished he could go back to an Aelith who didn't look at him with ravenous eyes, to throw snowballs at her again and to tease her in a myriad of ways.

But slender words behind his back betrayed the danger that Odo suddenly found himself in.

"Al Aikair tes fisces pace!"

Odo froze up, turning his head to find a man, short but stocky. He wore a strange quilted tunic the likes that Odo had not seen before and donned a helmet much in the shape of a kettle, with a ridge along the middle made of riveted iron plate. This armoured man held in his hands a crossbow, the tiller held back under his armpit, the iron saddle held out facing towards Odo with the string held taut where a quarrel had been placed in the furrow of the bridge. One tiny movement to the tickler and Odo would surely suffer a grievous injury.

"Neeekii!" Another man shouted out. He appeared a moment later with a spear and a shield held within his hands. He seemingly was armoured in a similar fashion as the other man, though his quilted tunic was blue instead of beige-white "Well..." The man spoke, gazing at Odo's penis in shock, though the man quickly averted his eyes and turned his back to Odo. "You must be the one that lord Osprey wants then?"

The spear-armed man quickly ground the butt of his spear down into the dirt "Get dressed, Orc-man."

Odo quietly walked up to the edge of the stream, his hands covering up his member. "What have I done? What is this for?"

The armed man with the spear sighed to himself. "Just dress... make a move and the Lanarian bastard will shoot you dead with his crossbow."

And so Odo quickly dressed himself back into his clothing, soaked though he was since he had not toweled himself dry.

****

It had been a few hours since she had spoken to her son... now she wished that he had gone off and run far away from home. Not because she was mean, not because she was neglectful, but because of the change in the environment. Not more than an hour ago, outriders had rushed in through the village, demanding payment by the end of tomorrow. Trinkets, coins and things of value where being gathered up as quickly as the villagers could compile them, the value being measured and calculated by some of the horsemen who had astute eyes. It was highway robbery, no words more apt for what it was, extortion. If they wished to remain tied to the land, they had to pay, or they would be forced to find a new opportunity in foreign villages, but the likelihood was very low.

But Narla would not fold, she would not bend, and here she was near the doorway. She held fast with a threshing flail held out head-first towards the surrounding horsemen, whipping the end about to deter them, or hopefully so. "Be off with you, damn footpads, or I shall make you pay, of my wealth you will be for naught!"

One of the horsemen came forwards, slightly lifting their helmet upwards, and though their brow was still covered by a quilted coif, Narla noticed the face of the rider and her face turned to shock.

"Well... this is a surprise," The person spoke with a hint of ill-humour. "Did you miss me, do you know who I am?"

And so recalling the man who spoke, Narla lowered her flail just slightly. "Reginald?"

Reginald dismounted from his horse and removed his quilted coif and set it under an armpit, whilst he rested his helmet to his chest with his left hand. "It is I, Reginald, to whom you speak. I pray you've fared well, all these years?" Narla noticed that his words were not sincere... she could feel the malice in his voice. "Not even a letter telling me where you've been, not that you can read or write, not even a visit to tell me where you have been?... Narla, you do incite me."

To this, Narla thrust the shaft of the flail towards his head to get him to back off. Reginald shifted his body to a side, throwing his helmet towards Narla, hitting her on the chest, making her take in a breath of air from the impact.

Reginald rushed in, holding the haft and maneuvering his leg in behind her own legs, exerting leverage to Narla's body, planting her to the ground with that one swift movement.

"And to think that I loved you..." Reginald quickly sat down on top of Narla, the back of his armoured thighs resting over her breasts, letting one of his feet force itself down over her face, pushing her cheek into the dirt below. Reginald quickly gestured for a few men surrounding him to dismount and come near him. After a few moments two men approached.

"You're going to tell me how much valuables you own, however much coinage you have... and if you don't tell me, I will hurt you," Reginald then lowered his face down to reach near Narla's ears. "And if you're lucky... I might just let you live after running away from me all those years ago."

Reginald lowered his hands to rest over Narla's stomach, feeling over that particular portion of tunic, feeling that body which he had not touched in almost twenty years, this being done in a slow fashion with his firm hands. And then, after a moment, he swung his fist down over that area, earning a groan of pain from the Orc woman.

"This..." Reginald said in anger.

Reginald raised his fist high, displaying it to Narla before he lowered it again over the same area that he had struck before. "This is for leaving!"

Narla groaned in pain while the horseman nearby all snickered and shouted out vile obscenities.

Reginald himself laughed for several moments, but then his expression changed. "It's not worth my time, obtaining whatever shit-stained pennies you can cobble together," And, turning his head, Reginald smiled. "Ancelm, Burtred... hold her hands down."

The two soldiers quickly restrained her arms whilst Reginald quickly unbuckled his belt and shifted his gambeson, maille and aketon upwards so that they were out of the way. He then untied his hose and then his braies, lowering them down to reveal his member.

"I thought it was time we got reacquainted with one another..." And, having said those words, Reginald slapped Narla across the face with the back of his hand. "It's been a good while, you pig-snouted bitch."

Reginald quickly held a grip into Narla's hair, forcing her head upwards. "When I am done..." Reginald paused for a moment as he leveled his right hand around Narla's neck. "I am going to torch this hovel... Then I am tying you down, locking you away within a dungeon." And, for final measure, Reginald spat on Narla's forehead.

Narla couldn't help but to cry as he punched her again. "I'm going to use you at my leisure!"

Ancelm laughed at that. "I bet this sow would love that, wouldn't you?"

Reginald quickly slapped Ancelm across the face with his free hand, quieting him. "Shut up."

Narla hastily offered a plaintive plea for mercy. "Please... don't burn down my house... do everything to me but that!"

Reginald slapped Narla across the face again. "And why would I do that?" Reginald said in a mocking voice.

"I gave birth to your son... he lives here, with me..."

Reginald paused for a moment, a smile quickly showing itself on his face, that err of male pride sparking inside of him.

Reginald turned his head to face at some of the horseman. "You and you, you and you,... search the fucking place... bring a half-orc to me!"

Reginald then craned his neck downwards to speak close to Narla's ears. "Consider your indenture paid, but your son on the other hand... well."

Narla closed her eyes, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"But don't worry about that, bitch, you should worry about yourself right now."

Reginald then moved the hem of both Narla's dress and chemise upwards, slowly pulling it up enough to get a good view of what laid below, her hairy, bushy privates.

Reginald smiled at the sight of Narla's mound, showing it off to the other horsemen. "This... is what a real orc's cunt looks like, I could just lay my head down on this bushy pillow!"

Reginald quickly lined himself up, resting his cock against the fur of her mound, savouring the feeling, the warmth... the sense of conquest. Then, after a moment, he lowered down and pushed forward... and how great the sensation was. It wasn't necessarily moist inside of Narla's cunt, but he was sure some rough fucking ought to do the trick and make her wet. Besides... a dry fuck ought to be more painful for Narla.

"It's about time we were reunited... don't you think?" Reginald asked, a smug smile showing on his face. And, after shoving his cock in and out a few times to establish a rhythm, spoke again. "Why don't you tell me how much you love my cock?... Tell me how much you love your master's cock."

Narla kept her mouth shut, she would never submit to that form of humiliation through almost all means.

Reginald sighed as he quickly grabbed Narla by the legs, lifting her up slowly and carrying part of her weight. "You're a tough bitch... you know that, as though you are made of Iron." Narla was somewhat shocked by the honest sincerity that he heard in Reginald's voice, but it was quickly overturned by what he had said next. "You would do anything for your... my son, yes?"

Narla knew exactly where Reginald's line of speech was heading, and without prompting... she surrendered.

"I... I love it, Reginald... make me," Narla paused as tears streamed down her face in a downpour... "Make me yours. I'll be your slut, your pig-snouted fuck-muffin, your filthy sow, but leave my son out of this!"

Reginald smiled, and after motioning his hands around Narla's bum a few times, slapped her ass violently as he pumped his cock forward with rapid pace. "If this 'boy' of yours really exists... I think he would be a great asset," Reginald paused from speaking for a moment as he began to change his pace. "Ahhh fuck... a caged pet lion at my court, forced to fight for me in my service... Never look a gift... a gift 'Baragdush' in the mouth!"

Narla resisted snorting at the mention of Baragdush, the saint of warriors. It was he who several hundred years ago offered sanctuary to seven thousand human refugees escaping the terrible conflict that scourged the eastern world, and so it was that despite being 'barbarous' orcs, the refugees immortalised Baragdush and made him a patron saint of warriors and refugees and of those who offer provisions to the poor in times of war or peace.

Reginald pulled Narla up in such a way that he could gaze at Narla's face. He slowly moved his nose to feel over Narla's chin, rubbing her chin against his nose again and again, slowly trailing his nose up and up to finally rest against Narla's snout, rubbing against it. Finally Reginald pushed forwards and spread his lips over Narla's own, putting his tongue inside, spreading it side to side before entangling with Narla's tongue, swirling their spit around and around.

Narla's eyes lidded with pleasure, full-well knowing how wrong it was to feel that way. It felt like it must have had been years since she last had sex. In fact, she had some small amount of enjoyment from her situation. How could she not, It was Reginald, her old lover, despite the situation.

"That inviting cunny of yours, I've missed that, missed filling it full of my noble seed, missed filling your 'little star'... Ahh, I am going to 'fuck you'. Then I am going to take my bastard son... and raise him as he should have been raised. Just think... Just think about that while I leave you here, alone."

Narla threw her weight forwards, surprising one of the guards holding her arms, and taking advantage, elbowed him in the cheek. Reginald reacted by lowering his left hand down to her breast and pulling hard on it, squeezing the flesh.

"You are a monster!" Narla finally shouted out in pain.

Reginald sighed. "Yes, I am. I am a monster," Reginald looked up at the sky. "But compared to others... I'm nothing. You should be thankful for that, at least. Do I really compare to the Barrabarans?" Reginald slid his right hand down to grope at Narla's other breast, feeling the weight of it within the palm of his hand, massaging it to his leisure. "Do I?"

Narla shuddered at his mention, even though he mispronounced the word. "Barrabians... Barrabians!"

Reginald smiled. "Ahhh, just remember them, killing your horrible father, your village. Compare that to me, extending my mercy to you, you were my servant... I enjoyed our fucking, our kissing... our..." Reginald paused for a moment. "Our love... Now I am 'fucking' you as you deserve to be fucked, after all I did for you, you ungrateful runaway whore, this is justice!"

Narla could feel the meaning within his words, could feel the meaning behind them. Worst of all was that mention of the Barrabians, how they killed her village, killed her father... but she didn't care about that so much as to what happened to Jubagash.

'Tear him from your mind, don't think about him, forget about him... Live on.' These were Narla's inner thoughts, protecting her from the harm that the image of Jubagash conjured within her. Getting raped was better than what that image conjured up for her, a true hell.