Abandon
You stand at the window, watching the first golden rays of the sun rising over the wooded hills beyond. Still undressed, having only just awaken and relieved yourself, you feel the chill of the morning wash over you as you push open the iron-framed windows.
You watch a pair of male mocking jays fight on the lawn and reflect on the business of the coming day. You both anticipate and dread what must be done. Once again, you must commit atrocity in the name of glory and power. Once again you will put innocents to death for the crime of refusing to submit to your rule.
You are Belamvohrax, the Scourge of Valantia. It has taken you nearly all of your 30 years to build your reputation and your following.
You have, by the strength of your arms, the edge of your blade, and by sheer willpower and intimidation, carved out a small dominion in the savage world known as Aator.
Beginning as a wandering sell sword, and slowly gathering a loyal band of men, you have brought all of Valantia, the wild, mountainous land of your birth, under your control.
Now, with over 300 mounted warriors, all veterans, and another 500 newer footmen, you are taking up a campaign of expansion, into the fertile coastal realm to the south, called Mrincas. Already, only a week into the campaign, you have come up against harsh resistance to your dominance. Your usual policy of using threat of force to extract fealty and tribute from new conquests has been bluntly and violently rebuffed, and thus your hand has been forced, and thus the business at hand.
Later this day, your army will raze the nearest Mrincasi town, Jurget, to the ground, and put all its peoples to the sword. Such a brutal attack will serve as an example to the enemy, and will also increase the moral of his men, as they enjoy the spoils.
Despite this, you still would prefer not to needlessly slaughter the very peasants that you are endeavoring to reign over. As your long dead mentor once said, “A liberator is beloved. A conqueror is despised.”
Turning away from the idyllic morning window vista, you glance around your bedchamber.
It is a fine place, in a palatial home that you “inherited” from the former Clan Lord of Valantia. A massive oaken framed bed, piled with snow-white silk sheets and pillows, dominates nearly half the room.
On the north side is a large fireplace, still glowing with smoldering coals, and beside it stands an antique writing desk and chair. Across the room, to your south, are a tall wardrobe and a heavy iron banded oak door, that leads out into the corridor beyond.
Stepping back toward the bed, you smile as you gaze at the two beautiful young girls dozing in the folds of your sheets. The last nights’ chosen concubines, they are both exquisite local maidens, hand picked for your harem. Though still very young, and otherwise unlearned, they had both proven to be skilled in the ways of pleasure and are amongst your favorite bed-slaves.
The older girl, Dayna, has short, dark hair and is the curvier of the two. Her round breasts are large for her age and she has a truly magnificent ass.
Her companion, Liesen, is red-haired and freckled, with a slimmer, but no less perfect figure. Her pink nipples are particularly broad and puffy, and she has a uniquely tight snatch.
Recalling the revelry and abandon the three of you had shared but a few hours ago, you humor the idea of waking the sleeping girls for more of the same, but then you remember your imminent business and, with a sigh of resignation, you go to the wardrobe and dress yourself.
After strapping on your sword belt, and placing the ancient iron and topaz crown of Valantia upon your brow, you make your way to the door, ready to be the warlord you were born to be. You have many responsibilities to take care of before the army can march. You must check with your generals, in the War Room, look in on the status of the horses, at the Stables, and inspect the army’s equipment, at the Armory.
You realize that you should also visit the local Temple of Valdyr, to make sacrifice to your patron deity, and finally, it would be good to make some sort of public speech to your subjects, to enliven their sense of imperial pride. This would best be done in the Town Square.
Pushing the door open and stepping out into the broad corridor that runs down the center of the palace. Making your way toward the Great Hall, you catch the sensuous smells of breakfast being prepared.
As you enter the Great Hall, you see many of your personal friends, generals, and other trusted associates, seated all around, enjoying toast ham, eggs, and fresh baked biscuits.
As you take your place at the longest table, and servant girls place silver trays of food and a pitcher of rich ale before you, the young man seated beside you wishes you a good morning.
A heavily muscled warrior from Valantia, bearing a wicked scar across one eye, he smiles broadly as he asks, “Had a good night with your little birds, then, Belam?”
This warrior, Madred, is both your oldest friend, as well as your most trusted general. His loyalty and sly wisdom has been invaluable to your success in the past 15 years, and you return his jest with a haughty laugh, replying, “You would surely fall in love with sweet Liesen. Her cunny could crush an apple to purée.”
All the men close enough to overhear the exchange roar with laughter and you raise your goblet to them, saying, “And such are the rewards of those who take their destiny in their own hands! Today you will all win spoils to fill your purses, and empty your balls!”
This proclamation brings a chorus of approval from the warriors. In the corner, on a stool, you notice your court minstrel, an older man named Inlascur, tuning his lute. With a gesture, you command that he perform. With a broad smile, the elderly bard responds with a lively battle song, effectively foretelling the glorious victory that the day is sure to bring.
Humming along with the upbeat melody, you finish your meal in a fine mood and then lean over to Madred, saying, “Please gather the other generals, as well as that old eccentric, Werrindas, to the War Room. I’ll join you shortly.”
You rise from the table, raising your goblet again to the assembled men.
“Today we begin to build our great empire! Today we expand the kingdom of Valantia! Today we take what we will and show the stubborn peasants of Mrincas that they cannot withstand the winds of fate!”
A loud cheer goes up as you drain the last of your ale and leave them.
Deciding to visit the Temple and Town Square later, just before the army departs for the border. For now, you need to attend to preparations for the campaign itself.
(Where will you go first?)
You watch a pair of male mocking jays fight on the lawn and reflect on the business of the coming day. You both anticipate and dread what must be done. Once again, you must commit atrocity in the name of glory and power. Once again you will put innocents to death for the crime of refusing to submit to your rule.
You are Belamvohrax, the Scourge of Valantia. It has taken you nearly all of your 30 years to build your reputation and your following.
You have, by the strength of your arms, the edge of your blade, and by sheer willpower and intimidation, carved out a small dominion in the savage world known as Aator.
Beginning as a wandering sell sword, and slowly gathering a loyal band of men, you have brought all of Valantia, the wild, mountainous land of your birth, under your control.
Now, with over 300 mounted warriors, all veterans, and another 500 newer footmen, you are taking up a campaign of expansion, into the fertile coastal realm to the south, called Mrincas. Already, only a week into the campaign, you have come up against harsh resistance to your dominance. Your usual policy of using threat of force to extract fealty and tribute from new conquests has been bluntly and violently rebuffed, and thus your hand has been forced, and thus the business at hand.
Later this day, your army will raze the nearest Mrincasi town, Jurget, to the ground, and put all its peoples to the sword. Such a brutal attack will serve as an example to the enemy, and will also increase the moral of his men, as they enjoy the spoils.
Despite this, you still would prefer not to needlessly slaughter the very peasants that you are endeavoring to reign over. As your long dead mentor once said, “A liberator is beloved. A conqueror is despised.”
Turning away from the idyllic morning window vista, you glance around your bedchamber.
It is a fine place, in a palatial home that you “inherited” from the former Clan Lord of Valantia. A massive oaken framed bed, piled with snow-white silk sheets and pillows, dominates nearly half the room.
On the north side is a large fireplace, still glowing with smoldering coals, and beside it stands an antique writing desk and chair. Across the room, to your south, are a tall wardrobe and a heavy iron banded oak door, that leads out into the corridor beyond.
Stepping back toward the bed, you smile as you gaze at the two beautiful young girls dozing in the folds of your sheets. The last nights’ chosen concubines, they are both exquisite local maidens, hand picked for your harem. Though still very young, and otherwise unlearned, they had both proven to be skilled in the ways of pleasure and are amongst your favorite bed-slaves.
The older girl, Dayna, has short, dark hair and is the curvier of the two. Her round breasts are large for her age and she has a truly magnificent ass.
Her companion, Liesen, is red-haired and freckled, with a slimmer, but no less perfect figure. Her pink nipples are particularly broad and puffy, and she has a uniquely tight snatch.
Recalling the revelry and abandon the three of you had shared but a few hours ago, you humor the idea of waking the sleeping girls for more of the same, but then you remember your imminent business and, with a sigh of resignation, you go to the wardrobe and dress yourself.
After strapping on your sword belt, and placing the ancient iron and topaz crown of Valantia upon your brow, you make your way to the door, ready to be the warlord you were born to be. You have many responsibilities to take care of before the army can march. You must check with your generals, in the War Room, look in on the status of the horses, at the Stables, and inspect the army’s equipment, at the Armory.
You realize that you should also visit the local Temple of Valdyr, to make sacrifice to your patron deity, and finally, it would be good to make some sort of public speech to your subjects, to enliven their sense of imperial pride. This would best be done in the Town Square.
Pushing the door open and stepping out into the broad corridor that runs down the center of the palace. Making your way toward the Great Hall, you catch the sensuous smells of breakfast being prepared.
As you enter the Great Hall, you see many of your personal friends, generals, and other trusted associates, seated all around, enjoying toast ham, eggs, and fresh baked biscuits.
As you take your place at the longest table, and servant girls place silver trays of food and a pitcher of rich ale before you, the young man seated beside you wishes you a good morning.
A heavily muscled warrior from Valantia, bearing a wicked scar across one eye, he smiles broadly as he asks, “Had a good night with your little birds, then, Belam?”
This warrior, Madred, is both your oldest friend, as well as your most trusted general. His loyalty and sly wisdom has been invaluable to your success in the past 15 years, and you return his jest with a haughty laugh, replying, “You would surely fall in love with sweet Liesen. Her cunny could crush an apple to purée.”
All the men close enough to overhear the exchange roar with laughter and you raise your goblet to them, saying, “And such are the rewards of those who take their destiny in their own hands! Today you will all win spoils to fill your purses, and empty your balls!”
This proclamation brings a chorus of approval from the warriors. In the corner, on a stool, you notice your court minstrel, an older man named Inlascur, tuning his lute. With a gesture, you command that he perform. With a broad smile, the elderly bard responds with a lively battle song, effectively foretelling the glorious victory that the day is sure to bring.
Humming along with the upbeat melody, you finish your meal in a fine mood and then lean over to Madred, saying, “Please gather the other generals, as well as that old eccentric, Werrindas, to the War Room. I’ll join you shortly.”
You rise from the table, raising your goblet again to the assembled men.
“Today we begin to build our great empire! Today we expand the kingdom of Valantia! Today we take what we will and show the stubborn peasants of Mrincas that they cannot withstand the winds of fate!”
A loud cheer goes up as you drain the last of your ale and leave them.
Deciding to visit the Temple and Town Square later, just before the army departs for the border. For now, you need to attend to preparations for the campaign itself.
(Where will you go first?)