To Have and to Hold (closed)

[saedo]

Closed for Vailyn

I glanced around the Tristan village council as I settled into my chair. Tristan was enlightened by human standards, for a few female faces appeared amongst the multitude of gray beards. The women were also the least likely to shield their reaction towards me. I grinned in the direction of one and got a satisfying flash of fear in her face.

The village Tristan occupied a valley near the Northern Reaches. Blessed with mild temperatures and abundant water, it was well-suited to the farmers who made up much of the village. They had peacefully farmed the valley for generations.

However, nearly a dozen years ago, the frost giants of the Northern Reaches began making incursions further southward than they ever had previously. At the same time, the nearest human lords were presently occupied with a war of succession in the south. Consequently, the townsfolk of Tristan found themselves facing the prospect of raids from the north with very little likelihood of military support from the south.

Desperation inspired them to consider unconventional solutions, which led them to me: Gron the Bloodthirsty and his Black Raiders. (Personally I disdained the nickname, but Gron the Pleasant didn't sell many mercenary contracts.) My Black Raiders were a motley collection of humans, orcs, and goblins who had hacked and slashed our way to being among the best mercenary companies on the continent. While my rough and tumble troops were not considered "presentable" by the "upper class" of human society, the pragmatic among them prized results above appearance. With my track record for success, I never lacked for customers.

Tristan was rich in agriculture, but not so much in gold. Since they couldn't afford my fee, I instead took my payment in trade. The nobility that had once ruled there had left to focus their attentions on the south and the heart of the kingdom. I took over the castle left behind, establishing a permanent base of operations. Of course, by occupying the traditional seat of power, I was in effect also Lord of the Valley. Thus did the quiet village of Tristan become ward to an ogre.

My mercs established static defenses blocking the easiest routes into the valley from the north. The frost giants tested us the first few years, but quickly discovered that the fruit of this valley was protected by sharp thorns. They still mounted the occasional half-hearted stab, but largely steered clear of Tristan.

During that time, I kept a low profile in Tristan. I kept mostly to my castle and my private pursuits. I let the village council run things with little need for my input - an arrangement preferable to all concerned. My mercs who ventured into town reported that I was spoken of in hushed tones - a mix of gratitude for my protection but unease that such protection came from an ogre.

I couldn't fault them individually for such concern. Many of the most well-known known of my kind were warlords or wizards that had risen to prominence typically by violence and bloodshed. Consequently, in tales of human heroism told around campfires, ogres regularly featured alongside dragons, giants, demons, and witches as villains. Small wonder that those around this table regarded me with thinly veiled anxiety.

I took the chair at the head of the table since it was one of the few that could accommodate my size. Even seated, I towered above their tallest men.

In a nod towards human propriety, I wore a a finely brocaded shirt and pants of dark silk and black leather boots. I ordinarily did not wear much clothing. Ogres had thick skin and an underlying layer of insulating fat. This made us somewhat indifferent to temperature variations an also provided a fair amount of protect against physical injury. But while I would have been equally comfortable in a loincloth, I knew humans tended to regard such sparse attire as a sign of savagery. This meeting would go more smoothly if they could not dismiss me as a mindless brute.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Tristan Town Council, I bid you welcome," I began. I smiled, taking careful care not to show too much teeth. (In my experience, some more humans find the somewhat sharper and more prominent ogre canines to be intimidating and misinterpret an ogre's smile for a snarl. Of course, given the types of things that my kind tends to take enjoyment from, a certain degree of caution around a smiling ogre is often wise. )

"I am Gron. Many of you know me as the Gron the Bloodthirsty, whose mercenaries wreak devastation on battlefields across the land" I waited a beat, then added. "Of course, your children no doubt know me as the one who will grind their bones to make their bread if they don't finish do their chores or eat all their vegetables." I smirked as several faces blanched. Yes, I was well aware that these ingrates had turned me into the local boogeyman.

"But I would hope you all saw me as your good neighbor, whose efforts shield you from the frosty forces to your north." This sparked a chorus of affirmation. Yes, they all loved the fact none of their skulls had become trophies of the frost giants.

"Thank you," I continued. "I am pleased to know that my generosity towards your community is so appreciated. It is because of your obvious support for my efforts that I know that the town will gladly reciprocate in kind."

"I have need of assistance in a particular matter that I feel certain that the people of Tristan can provide. The task will require long devotion and considerable effort, but it carries with it substantial reward." I had their rapt attention now. The townsfolk had long suspected - quite correctly, in fact - that I had considerable wealth at my disposal and lived quite lavishly in my castle.

My voice boomed, "Three days hence, all unwed maidens of Tristan will present themselves at my castle gates at midday. I will select from among them the most worthy candidates for my needs."

I held up a hand as murmurs of polite protest began. "I seek not the unwilling; only those that wish to serve need apply."

I gave them half a beat for them to console themselves with thoughts that it wouldn't be their daughter/sister/neice/etc. offered up to the ogre. "Of course, if I cannot find suitable candidates amongst those who appear, I will have to turn my attention elsewhere. In that event, I cannot entirely guarantee that I will be able to see to the town's defenses this winter...." That sent an icy rod of fear up their backsides. Autumn was in the air, so winter and the return of the frost giants were scant months away. "Plus, fond as I am of the townsfolk, it seems only fitting that the rewards for the chosen maidens be received by a family of Tristan...."

The initial objections devolved into considerable hemming and hawing. I permitted myself a smile as the council members all began to nod and murmur that while my request was unorthodox, it did not seem entirely unreasonable. The few women at the table seemed reluctant, but the men had clearly accepted my request.

"Excellent," I announced. "I knew the village would not let me down." I stood up, which had them all scrambling to their feet. "I leave you to your other business. I believe Mrs. O'Neal had an issue regarding Mr. Matthews' cows? I should not wish to delay such weighty matters any further." I nodded once at the council, then strode out of the room.

I grinned broadly as I departed.Humans responded so predictably to fear and greed. The carrot of gold and the stick - or rather, spears - of the frost giants would ensure a healthy turnout of candidates in three days. I felt a bit giddy in anticipation.

 

[Vailyn]

This is it. This is my chance.

Three days ago, the news spread like wildfire and a fluctuating mix of fear, excitement and morbid curiosity ran rampantly through the townspeople of Tristan. It's been over ten years since the town hired Gron the Bloodthirsty and the Black Raiders to protect them. Very little has been asked of the people in return for their services. They had all wondered if the ogre's generosity would end at some point and now they have to pay.

All of the willing maidens were asked to gather in front of the ogre's castle. There's talk that the mercenary leader will be choosing several girls to work at the castle for generous pay. Many of the girls were too afraid of the dangerous fighters to take the chance. Only the desperate and headstrong came to take a chance.

Like me.

Master Timmons tried to keep the news from reaching me. The old man took me in after my parents died. He gave me a spot to sleep and the meanest necessities as long as I did the work assigned to me. I became the cook and housekeeper all rolled into one but treated with little respect because of my disfigurement. The people are leery of bad luck, and I have been labeled to be a living symbol of it.

The fire that took my parents and our home also left its mark on me. My nightgown had caught on fire and a third of my body has been scorched by the fiery blaze. Everyone was surprised when I survived the fevers and sickness that wrecked my body. For a year, I did not remember my past and nameless nightmares woke me up each night. A cry locked inside my throat and tears filled my mouth with salt.

Then one day I woke up and a flood of memories filled the emptiness I learned to fear and love. As long as I couldn't remember, I could pretend that my life was exactly the way it was. I would have no reason to miss something I could not recall. Once my memories returned, I felt almost paralyzed with loss. Hard work filled the long days, and I mourned my parents and past each night.

For someone like me, there are no opportunities to better myself. I could accept my lot with Master Timmons or take up a chance for something different with an ogre. At least with the ogre, I'll get paid for the work.

Nervously I chewed on my lip as I looked around. A cold knot of fear running amok in my belly. Master Timmons didn't know that I was here. I don't think he suspected any of my plans. He was complacent in our roles in the house. He ruled with his fist and I followed. I used to fight until I learned there was no point in fighting. Fighting only lead to more beatings. I stopped resisting because there was no point in me getting hurt. I had to do whatever he said whether I was in pain or not.

Hurry! Hurry! I just wish this whole thing would hurry up and be over! I don't want to be found here in the open.

As though my wishes were heard, the castle doors opened and the Gron the Bloodthirsty walked out. We were asked to line up in front of him. There were twenty one of us from all walks of life. It was odd to see that I wasn't the worst dressed. I wasn't the oldest either. At least, if appearances were anything to go by.

I wasn't sure if my blood was pounding from fear or excitement or both. The palms of my hands felt damp and I couldn't figure out if it was rude to stare. I've caught glimpses of him in the past but this was the first time I've been close enough to see him clearly.

I gulped.

He's huge! A wall of bulky muscles topped by a bald head with stark features and broad shoulders. He didn't look that different from a human, but he did have an air of danger that made my skin prickle with awareness.

While my attention was caught up staring like a brainless chit, two young women were picked from the line up, asked to step forward, and then everyone turned to look at me. Flustered, I looked around.

I wasn't imagining it. Everyone was still looking at me.

It took me a little longer to realize that I had been chosen as well. Me! I'm chosen! Chosen!

I stepped forward. That's it. Three of the twenty one women were chosen and followed the ogre into the castle.

This is it. This is my chance.

 

[saedo]

From my position in the keep, I surveyed the exterior courtyard. The hard-packed surface was filled with humans. Most were young women, though I spotted a few of middle age and a handful of men mixed in. Concerned parents, no doubt.

I took a small measure of pride in the effectiveness of my words to the Council. Clearly they had taken my veiled threats about abandoning them to the frost giants seriously. By my rough estimate, well over three quarters of the eligible maidens in Tristan were in attendance. The Council must have browbeat every family in town to ensure such a turnout.

I strode down to the courtyard, my bodyguard in tow and Sergeant Reynolds at my side. My presence was spotted almost immediately and silence radiated out from those nearest me into the crowd. Soon you could hear naught but the fluttering of the flags atop the castle spires.

"Good people of Tristan!" I boomed forth. "Thank you for kind attention to my request. I knew you would not let me down."

"I suspect you're all curious as to what purpose that I've summoned you here today. However, in the interest of time, I will not bore you with the particulars, but will instead focus on completing the selection process as swiftly as possible. I expect only a small number of you will be chosen, so I will endeavor to set the rest of you on your way as swiftly as I can. To that end, you will need to follow all instructions given by me or my staff promptly and without question."

"As for those of you who escorted these gentle maidens here, the selection process is closed save to myself, a few of my staff, and the candidates themselves. If you prefer, you may wait outside the gates in case your candidate is not chosen; I will send out Sergeant Reynolds at the end to let anyone still waiting know who has been chosen."

I turned and gave a nod to Sergeant Reynolds. The grizzled human's gray hair and creased skin bespoke his advanced age, but the voice that roared out of his mouth was anything but frail. His experience was in corralling new mercenary recruits, so getting this rabble of confused adults and nervous maidens in order was right in his bailiwick.

"Awright, you heard Hizzonah! If you ain't a maiden fair, you need to be hippity-hopping out them there doors right now! As you pretty lasses, I want you standing arms length apart in 5 rows facing me!" Reynolds sharp voice rang like a bell in the courtyard. "Come on, I said move it, move it, move it!" He punctuated his last bellow with a crack of his bullwhip, which set the slowly moving congregation into swift strides to their ordered destination.

Within a few minutes, the relatives were gone and the maidens were lined up in military formation. From these, I swiftly eliminated perhaps a dozen based upon age. The Council had apparently emphasized the "unmarried" portion of my request, producing several old maids who were easily old enough to be parents to many of the other women assembled. Those I dismissed were shown the door by Reynolds; most all but ran to escape my fearsome sergeant.

My next pass took more time as I paused at each maiden to inspect her face. I was looking for beauty, but not just on the surface. While some of these females had led pampered lives, others had not had the benefit of unguents and oils to make their skin silken to the touch. Others had wanted for nourishment and their skin ran too taut across their cheeks. Others had enjoyed a bit of a surplus, leading to a less appealing plumpness around the jowls and neck. Still others bore the scars of harsh punishment, disease, or injury. But such surface defects were within my ability to remove, so I looked not for what one could see, but rather what one could be. I kept less than a score of those with the greatest potential and dismissed the rest, sending dozens more maidens rushing towards the gates.

The courtyard looked comparatively empty now that I'd dismissed so many from the original population. I had Reynolds reform the remaining handful into a single line facing us. "Remove your outer clothing." I instructed.

Their immediate reaction was to turn and look at one another. They were outside and their was a chill in the air, so standing in their underwear would likely be less than pleasant. Surely they'd misheard me.

The crack of Reynold's whip caused fully half of them to jump into the air. "Hizzonah gave you an order, you fucking cows!" he bellowed. "What, are you as deaf are you are stupid?! Get them fucking dresses off right now!"

While their universal reluctance was writ large on their faces, none of them was foolish enough to tempt Reynold's word. A wise choice; Reynold's could be deadly with a lash if he'd a mind to. Soon all were down to bra and panties, their arms wrapped futilely against the breeze.

I repeated my inspection, this time from the neck down. Again, I was concerned with more than mere outward appearance, but what lay beneath. In addition to observing their bone structure, I had most stretch their hands high overhead and then bend over at the waist to reach for their toes. Virtually all I pinched and prodded in various areas to test the resilience of their flesh. One squawked in protest when I squeezed her breast in this fashion and slapped my hand away. After I cuffed her hard enough to make her stumble, I got no further resistance.

I paused at one. Her frame was spare, but her bones were strong and well-formed. Her hands and forearms suggested manual labor was part of her daily life. She hardly flinched when I laid my hands on her. Her breasts were small, but rode high and proud on her chest; cupping one, I admired its firmness and the surprising thickness of her nipples.

But I doubt anyone but I had ever noticed those underlying qualities. While many of the women bore minor imperfections, this one's fair skin was dotted with pale pinkish splotches from her clavicles down to her thighs. Additionally, centered around her mid-torso was the distorted scars left from a significant burn.

"The Crimson Spot," I said, more statement than question. The discolorations would have been dark red during the throes of the disease, but she would forever bear the faded splotches as a mark of the illness. "How long ago?"

Her shoulders shrugged. "Many winters, Lord. I was young, barely able to remember." She sighed and continued in a whisper. "My parents had it, as well. They did not survive."

I nodded. The Crimson Spot was rare, but strongly feared. Many likened it to a assassin; the disease would spring up from nowhere, its telltale dark red splotches appearing overnight on multiple victims. But the disease never spread beyond those afflicted in the first day, leaving only those unfortunate few to suffer and due. It was oddly capricious about who it infected - sometimes the old and feeble, sometimes the heartiest of men; sometimes decimating entire families, sometimes striking down down a mere handful in an entire village.

What was more definite was the disease's cruelty. The weak might succumb to death within days. Those that did not faced weeks - even months - of fever and pain. Most would slowly decline, their strength and will to live drained away, till they looked to death as a welcome release. Perhaps one victim in ten survived the ordeal.

Prevailing thought was that such a horrible fate was not just a disease, but a curse from the gods. Or rather, one in particular: Balrog, dark god of shadow. A notoriously capricious and cruel deity, a disease so seemingly random in its selection of victims seemed logically his creation. Thus did even those few who survived Balrog's touch face yet more pain. Such prolonged exposure to the evil god's whim was feared to cause moral infection. Those "fortunate" enough to rise from their sick beds were traditionally purged of this potential taint by prayer and flame. The latter no doubt left the rippling burn scars across her abdomen.

I nodded and moved on. But as I glanced back, she did something rather surprising. As my shadow passed and the mid-morning sun hit her face, she closed her eyes against the glare and smiled for the briefest instant.

I knew then she would be amongst my final selection. Physically she was had good potential, though a bit farther to go than most. But after so much pain in her life, she could take pleasure from the warmth of the sun. Such mental resilience would serve her well on the path I intended.

I found two other acceptable candidates. One was the middle daughter of one of the Council members. While many of the others had only potential beauty in their grimy, wind-worn faces, this one looked as delicate as a rose in moonlight. She wore not the simple, cotton undergarments of most, but expensive lace that highlighted the curves of hip and bosom. But despite her clearly pampered upbringing, fire burned in her eyes. I saw in her gaze the same passion and courage as I did in my best soldiers. A warrior's heart lurked in this flower.

The third was another outlier. While most of the maidens here came from homes in the village, this one had none. The village sheriff, concerned I truly meant "every maiden in Tristan", had brought her in leg irons up from the jail. Orphaned at a young age, she wound up on the street and began making her way by any means she could - oftentimes criminal. Apparently her presence here today was saving her a day of pillory for a loaf of bread she'd been caught pilfering. As with the other two, a powerful will fueled this one. This street rat was as tenacious a survivor as her whiskery namesake. Just what I needed.

I dismissed the rest and had Reynolds escort them out. I bade my chosen three approach. They stepped near, their uncertainty warring with their desire not to show weakness in front of me. The temperature had warmed slightly since the morning chill, but all three had spent nearly two hours outside in naught but bra and panties. Their nipples were are all erect from the chill and their bodies periodically shivered.

"I have much in store for you three," I beamed. "But first, let me make you at home. Lagosh!"

A broad-shouldered orc materialized from seemingly nowhere at my side. That he did so with a left leg ending in a wooden peg below the knee made the feat all the more impressive. A recon scout beyond compare, his age and injury made him ill fit for military service, so my former lieutenant was now my Chief Steward. "Sir?" he growled.

"Hot baths and a change of clothes for our newest members," I directed. "When they're presentable, we shall dine in the solarium."

"Sir!" Lagosh confirmed. His green, calloused hands clapped twice. A bevy of female servants - likewise disciplined in Lagosh's belief that servants should be seen only when summoned - appeared to follow the Steward's instructions. I turned and left the three women in their capable hands. I had my own matters to attend to in the meantime.