The Master of Her Fate

The Master of Her Fate.


1. The Bargain.

Lord Rasban, ruler of the northern city Wayguard, trembled as he waited for an audience with the man who had just overthrown
him. They were (he believed) going to discuss terms of surrender, which he was sure meant deciding whether this city's remaining people would be slaughtered, or merely enslaved. Rasban still couldn't believe this was happening. The barbarians had swept down from the northern wastes like a deadly, unstoppable plague. Normally this wouldn't have been an issue, for Wayguard had stood off attacks before, but someone had managed to unite the warring tribes together under the banner of one, and they crushed all resistance. That someone was the man Rasban was about to beg for mercy. He must be a remarkable man indeed, to unite such warlike and short-sighted peoples. Hopefully he could be reasoned with.

The door opened and the lord looked up from where he had been sitting, his hands folded and his eyes darting about fearfully. He tried to smile, to appear intelligent, a worthy opponent at the negotiating table, but his expression faltered as he beheld his conqueror. It was a half-orc! Rasban stared in utter disbelief. Half-orcs were universally hated, considered an abomination by both the races that they represented. Common wisdom held that they were strong but stupid, incapable of tactics or discipline. Certainly one should never have been able to lead an army of anything other than dull-witted goblins! And yet there he stood, huge, powerfully built, with green skin, black hair, and small tusks poking out at the edge of his wide, brutish mouth. The half-orc was massive, at least seven feet, with a body that was muscled to a degree that was beyond human capability. Obviously, he had inherited the best of both sides of his family. His face was harsh and fierce, almost purely orc, but a pair of eyes looked out that were undeniably human. Those eyes were a deep, liquid green, the color of a finely cut emerald held up to catch the last rays of the dying sun. They were also sharp, intelligent eyes, speaking of a . . .man that would brook no disagreement and fall for no tricks. He was dressed in fine chainmail of barbarian make, with runes and animals painted all over it, and a cloak of bearskin that had been cured with the greatest of skill. A massive two-handed battle axe rested on one huge shoulder, the blood of battle still fresh on it, and a pair of wicked blades hung at his belt. One was a thick, heavy short sword, an orcish version of a falchion, and the other was a huge dagger with spikes along the back, a northern sword-breaker. Rasban swallowed, suddenly in fear of his life. What reasoning could there be with this brute?

"Rasban," said the warlord in a deep, growling voice. He did not give his captive the dignity of a title, for he was a lord no longer. Now Rasban was nothing but a captive. "You are a weak man, unfit to rule over a pig yard, let alone a city. Were it not for your father's title you would be no one, unable to make a name for yourself in any way. Why should I let you live?"

"Well. . . I. . . you see. . ." stuttered the conquered lord, his brain churning frantically. His terror was for his own life now and not merely his lands or his people. Never had he dreamed they might kill HIM, and yet what else could this brute be planning? "I...I..." The warlord growled and stepped forward, swinging his axe down into his hands. His intent was clear, and Rasban panicked, falling backwards out of his chair and skittering away. "I have a daughter!" he burst out, raising his hands to shield his face from the horrible sight of the half-orc coming to kill him. "Please, take her as an offering and let me live! I beg you!"

The warlord stopped and stared at the sniveling little man on the floor for a long time. What a coward. It sickened him that a man like this should be a leader here in the south for no reason other than blood. The barbarian way was much better. Leadership was earned there. Still. . . a woman. Hmm. That could be interesting. He'd been meaning to take another wife.

"Let me see her," he growled, putting the axe back on his shoulder. Rasban nodded, almost sobbing with relief, and he was allowed to summon a guard to fetch his daughter, Annalyssa. Eighteen years old, he claimed that she was his pride and joy, but in truth, she was often a bother to him with her strong will. Perhaps this was a good thing. She came in struggling, fighting the guard who was dragging her around in a manner she was definitely not accustomed to. The guard pulled her into the room and then held her there for the warlord to see.

"Let me go, you savage!" she said, thrashing in the guard's grip. "I demand that you unhand me! Father! Help!" Rasban merely stood in the corner, stone faced. Gradually, she quieted as she began to realize that something was very wrong here. Her golden-brown eyes moved over her father's expressionless face, and then they widened as she beheld the warlord. He stepped forward and bent to examine her, his deep green eyes running over every part of her. Fear began to blossom in her chest,and she looked back at her father. "Father?" she asked in a very small voice. "What's going on?"

"Annalyssa, my darling," said Rasban, though his voice lacked conviction. "I'm so sorry." He turned away, lacking the courage to watch the consequences of his own cowardice, and the warlord dismissed him from his mind. The girl was amazingly beautiful. Dark hair fell in soft curls to the small of her back, framing a heart-shaped face that had full red lips, high cheekbones, a small, finely shaped nose, and a wonderful pair of deep, honey-brown eyes. Her body was flawless as well. Fine hips tapered to a slim waist, and then expanded back into lush breasts. Her beauty was different from either of his other women, and he wanted her. It would be worth letting that worm live to have this.

"I accept your gift," he said, and Annalyssa's eyes widened as she realized what had just happened.

"No! NO! FATHER! NO!" she cried as the warlord instructed the guard to take her to his bedchamber. As her cries faded, he turned to her father, who looked back at him hopefully.

"Might we now discuss terms of surrender?" asked Rasban, acting as if he had not just committed a thoroughly wretched act of cowardice. "Say, a ransom paid and my safe release?"

The warlord snorted. "Safe release?" he growled. "I have spared your life. That's all the mercy you get. Enjoy your life as a slave. Maybe you'll prove me wrong about being lord of the pig yard." He nodded to the huge barbarian guard, and the man dragged the stunned Rasban away. Garshan had already forgotten him. His thoughts were on the girl. The battle was won, and it was time to enjoy the spoils.

End Chapter 1.

A/N: Well hello again all! Yes, I am back from the dead with another story, hopefully one that won't die out this time. This set in a largely D&D inspired world, mixed in with things I've come up with in online Role Play storylines. Reviews are always appreciated, as is constructive criticism.

A/N 2: There we go. Made some changes to keep this more in line with Garshan's character as it began to emerge in later chapters. This story is a work in progress, so these sorts of revisions might happen every so often. Let me know what you think!