Master's Path: Madame de Lucreaux
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Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,563
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Spurned
The Master's Path: Madame de Lucreaux
Chapter 1: Spurned
A/N: Okay, all, here's the deal. I have writer's block bad on The Master of Her Fate, so I'm going to do a few other stories, chronicling Garshan's life as a mercenary before he became the conquering king of the north. Bear with me, and, hopefully, enjoy! End A/N
"I don't care what you think might be ahead!" rang out a strident female voice in the still afternoon air. "I want this caravan at Daman by tommorow noon or I'll have your hide!" The recipient of this venom, a swarthy, sturdy man of small stature with greying hair and a scar on his cheek, cowered and mumbled, "Yes, Madame, it will be done." Satisfied, the scolder pulled her head back inside her carriage and closed the window with a sigh of relief. Madame Helene de Lucreaux was a woman of the finer things and hated the sight of the countryside. She'd had to deal with far too much of it in her youth. Before she was a purveyor of female flesh and later, female clothing and hygiene items, she had been a simple farm girl, treated with all the callous disdain that rough farmers of the kingdom gave their women. Her lot had been harder than most, for she was a great beauty, and the men of that world were not known for restraint when it came to taking what they wanted from a woman.
Helene pulled out a mirror and examined herself in it. Yes, that beauty was still there, even at the age of thirty eight. The midnight black hair that, when loose, tumbled past her waist had lost none of it's glossy luster, shining with reddish highlights in the sun. Right now it was fixed up into a stylish braid that was looped about her head into a bun. Her face and figure were beginning to show signs of age, but Helene had a different opinion about aging than most, and she liked the way they made her look. To her point of view, a woman aged like a fine wine. As long as she took proper care of herself, she would continue to be beautiful, if in slightly a different way, until her death. Her face was no longer the perfectly smooth, cherubic vision it had been when she had first run away from her farm home and fought, worked, and fucked her way to the big city to begin her path to power. Now, there were just the tiniest lines here and there, a slightly reshaped profile of her chin and nose, but she was still beautiful. She simply had presence, and authority, as well.
Her figure was also aging splendidly. She had gained a pound or two here and there, but they had gone to the best parts of her. Tilting the mirror down, she examined each part of herself inside her tight, jade green gown. Her neck was still smooth and unwrinkled, falling in a graceful curve to finely formed shoulders, which in turn led to breasts that had been both a blessing and a curse in her life, and that she was quite proud of. They were enormous, threatening to burst out even of the specially cut bodice she wore, and they were also quite firm, sagging not at all when bare. These were what had let her become so successful in life, and she had maintained them carefully. Helene smiled for a moment as she surveyed them, then moved down. Her waist was growing ever so slightly thicker, perhaps four inches more now than it had carried at twenty, but the extra weight had settled in a way that was pleasing to the eye. It curved smoothly along the contours of her stomach and back, so that she still had an hourglass shape, merely one without such a small middle. Her hips were still fine, with a bottom that often made men miss a step when they walked behind her, to her delight. The leg that was exposed by the slit in the side of her skirt was firm, smooth, and perfectly formed. Yes, she reflected, she was a beauty, with her fine body, lustrous raven hair, and deep sky-blue eyes. With her formidable intelligence molded to such a body, it was no wonder she was the most powerful woman in Daman that wasn't sitting on a throne.
The Madame's concieted thoughts were interrupted by another timid knock on the door of her carriage. She growled and reached to roll the window down. If that fool Tomson was worrying about troll attacks again, she was going to have him thrashed. This road was dangerous, yes, but the mercenaries she had hired were up to the task, she was sure of it. They had come highly recommended by a man she knew to be utterly reliable in his estimate of such things. Lowering the window, she peered out, her expression irritable indeed.
"NOW what?" she demanded, then stopped abruptly when she saw what was going on outside. Five of her men had surrounded what was surely the largest human being she had ever seen in her life. Why, the man had to be at least seven feet tall, and maybe even more than that! He was swathed in a thick brown cloak, understandable when winter was but a month away in these mountains and the air was chilly, but the power of his huge physique was evident even beneath the covering. Intrigued, she got out of the carriage, stepping down gracefully with the help of one of the mercenaries, who had all proved to be wonderful gentleman. "What is the problem, Tomson?" she asked the caravan master. "Who is this stranger?"
Tomson bowed a bit before responding, "Beg pardon for the interruption, Madame, but he's a loner who just walked up a moment ago. Says he's going to Daman and wants to walk with us." Tomson paused, then said pointedly, "He's worried about trolls too, Madame. Might you. . ." His cautious words were cut off sharply.
"Absolutely not, Tomson, and I have said all I will say on the matter! If you are not willing to obey my orders," she said icily, "Then you may leave my caravan at this very moment."
"Of course not, Madame." The stocky little man blinked and looked down. "I'll say no more of it." Privately, Tomson was beginning to think it would be a relief if they were all killed by trolls, rather than deal with this woman even a moment longer. She paid well, but the stories of her temper were not in any way exagerrated. "Anyway, that's his request. If I could say so, he looks like a fighting man." As Tomson spoke, Helene noticed a huge axe hanging from leather loop on the big man's back. It's size was matched to his, for it was as wide across as the wheel of a large wagon, with a wicked edge on the dark grey blade. The haft had to be six feet long, and on the other end, near his feet, she saw a massive spiked ball, making it deadly on both ends. Interesting. If he knew how to use that huge weapon, he'd be a formidable fighter indeed.
"Let me speak to him," she said, stepping up to the big man and attempting to look under his hood. "Why should I trust you?" All she could see in it's depths were a pair of green eyes and the vague shape of a chiseled jaw. Hmm. She liked them strong. "Strangers on the road could be bandits, deserters, or even worse things." She cocked her leg and placed a hand on her hip, a pose that showed what she had to the fullest, because she liked the breadth of his shoulders and what little she could see of his face, and it had been a while since she'd taken a lover.
"If my word that I will not hurt you or your men is not good enough for you," he said, "Then I will leave." The sound of his voice pleased her greatly. Deep, throaty, with a beastly growl running all through it despite his even tone. Here was a dangerous man. Exactly the kind she loved to tame.
"If you seek my trust, you should show me your face," she said, half in truth and half because she wanted to see if the rest of his face matched that hint of a square, shapely jaw. If so, she was definitely going to seduce him. If nothing else, he was a new sort of man, very different from the short men of Daman.
"You may not like what you see," he said. She tutted and waved a hand.
"That is for me to decide. But I'm sure it will be nothing TOO horrible." She gave him a small smile, a rarity from this firey woman. "Come, show me now, or walk away."
The big man was still for a long moment, and then he reached up to push the hood back. He was wearing some sort of odd green glove. . . no. That was his skin! His skin was green? Helene's eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion, and then they widened as he pushed his hood back, and she gave an involuntary gasp, stepping back. That reaction was echoed in some form or another by all around. A half-orc! She'd heard of such monsters, but never seen one herself. Usually concieved during a brutal rape of a human woman by an orc, they were considered obscenity by many, including herself. Helene had not forgotten the brutality of the orcs that had raided her farm as a young girl.
"Tomson!" she shouted, her voice filled with rage. "Why did you let this. . . creature, near me? Remove him at once!" She barely registered the features beneath the hood, for Helene de Lucreaux was embarrassed. She had been seen to flirt with, and had briefly considered seducing, a beastly half-orc! If anyone found out about this, her reputation would suffer. So preoccupied with this was she that she barely noticed those green eyes narrowing, and that green-skinned face hardening into a very dangerous expression. Meanwhile, Tomson was just as appalled as she was, for he too was a farmer's child, and he too had felt orcish brutality.
"Right away, Mistress," he said, nodding to a few of the men. One stepped forward and placed a hand on the half-orc's arm, and then suddenly was launched away, blood flying from his face, by a fist the size of a melon that moved with a snake's quickness. The men surged forward and were stopped by the sight of that huge axe coming off his back, seemingly of it's own accord, to rest in his two big hands.
"Take another step towards me," he said, in a growl like a massive wolf's, "And scores of you will die with me. I'll go. A woman like that doesn't deserve my help anyway." He spit towards Helene's feet, making her cheeks turn red with rage.
"How DARE-" she began, but he cut her off. "I dare many things, and I don't fear the wrath of a glorified whore who thinks of herself more highly than she should." He turned on his heel and stormed off. A mercenary he passed close to foolshly tried to stop him. The half-orc knocked out four of his teeth and broke his jaw with a single punch, then strode off along the road.
Silence reigned for a moment, and then Helene said, "Let him go, and good riddance to the beast. Tomson! Get those men tended to and get us moving." Her pride still smarting, the Madame settled back into her carriage. When she got back to the city, away from this hazardous countryside, she'd put a bounty on that monster's head. Glorified whore indeed!
Chapter 1: Spurned
A/N: Okay, all, here's the deal. I have writer's block bad on The Master of Her Fate, so I'm going to do a few other stories, chronicling Garshan's life as a mercenary before he became the conquering king of the north. Bear with me, and, hopefully, enjoy! End A/N
"I don't care what you think might be ahead!" rang out a strident female voice in the still afternoon air. "I want this caravan at Daman by tommorow noon or I'll have your hide!" The recipient of this venom, a swarthy, sturdy man of small stature with greying hair and a scar on his cheek, cowered and mumbled, "Yes, Madame, it will be done." Satisfied, the scolder pulled her head back inside her carriage and closed the window with a sigh of relief. Madame Helene de Lucreaux was a woman of the finer things and hated the sight of the countryside. She'd had to deal with far too much of it in her youth. Before she was a purveyor of female flesh and later, female clothing and hygiene items, she had been a simple farm girl, treated with all the callous disdain that rough farmers of the kingdom gave their women. Her lot had been harder than most, for she was a great beauty, and the men of that world were not known for restraint when it came to taking what they wanted from a woman.
Helene pulled out a mirror and examined herself in it. Yes, that beauty was still there, even at the age of thirty eight. The midnight black hair that, when loose, tumbled past her waist had lost none of it's glossy luster, shining with reddish highlights in the sun. Right now it was fixed up into a stylish braid that was looped about her head into a bun. Her face and figure were beginning to show signs of age, but Helene had a different opinion about aging than most, and she liked the way they made her look. To her point of view, a woman aged like a fine wine. As long as she took proper care of herself, she would continue to be beautiful, if in slightly a different way, until her death. Her face was no longer the perfectly smooth, cherubic vision it had been when she had first run away from her farm home and fought, worked, and fucked her way to the big city to begin her path to power. Now, there were just the tiniest lines here and there, a slightly reshaped profile of her chin and nose, but she was still beautiful. She simply had presence, and authority, as well.
Her figure was also aging splendidly. She had gained a pound or two here and there, but they had gone to the best parts of her. Tilting the mirror down, she examined each part of herself inside her tight, jade green gown. Her neck was still smooth and unwrinkled, falling in a graceful curve to finely formed shoulders, which in turn led to breasts that had been both a blessing and a curse in her life, and that she was quite proud of. They were enormous, threatening to burst out even of the specially cut bodice she wore, and they were also quite firm, sagging not at all when bare. These were what had let her become so successful in life, and she had maintained them carefully. Helene smiled for a moment as she surveyed them, then moved down. Her waist was growing ever so slightly thicker, perhaps four inches more now than it had carried at twenty, but the extra weight had settled in a way that was pleasing to the eye. It curved smoothly along the contours of her stomach and back, so that she still had an hourglass shape, merely one without such a small middle. Her hips were still fine, with a bottom that often made men miss a step when they walked behind her, to her delight. The leg that was exposed by the slit in the side of her skirt was firm, smooth, and perfectly formed. Yes, she reflected, she was a beauty, with her fine body, lustrous raven hair, and deep sky-blue eyes. With her formidable intelligence molded to such a body, it was no wonder she was the most powerful woman in Daman that wasn't sitting on a throne.
The Madame's concieted thoughts were interrupted by another timid knock on the door of her carriage. She growled and reached to roll the window down. If that fool Tomson was worrying about troll attacks again, she was going to have him thrashed. This road was dangerous, yes, but the mercenaries she had hired were up to the task, she was sure of it. They had come highly recommended by a man she knew to be utterly reliable in his estimate of such things. Lowering the window, she peered out, her expression irritable indeed.
"NOW what?" she demanded, then stopped abruptly when she saw what was going on outside. Five of her men had surrounded what was surely the largest human being she had ever seen in her life. Why, the man had to be at least seven feet tall, and maybe even more than that! He was swathed in a thick brown cloak, understandable when winter was but a month away in these mountains and the air was chilly, but the power of his huge physique was evident even beneath the covering. Intrigued, she got out of the carriage, stepping down gracefully with the help of one of the mercenaries, who had all proved to be wonderful gentleman. "What is the problem, Tomson?" she asked the caravan master. "Who is this stranger?"
Tomson bowed a bit before responding, "Beg pardon for the interruption, Madame, but he's a loner who just walked up a moment ago. Says he's going to Daman and wants to walk with us." Tomson paused, then said pointedly, "He's worried about trolls too, Madame. Might you. . ." His cautious words were cut off sharply.
"Absolutely not, Tomson, and I have said all I will say on the matter! If you are not willing to obey my orders," she said icily, "Then you may leave my caravan at this very moment."
"Of course not, Madame." The stocky little man blinked and looked down. "I'll say no more of it." Privately, Tomson was beginning to think it would be a relief if they were all killed by trolls, rather than deal with this woman even a moment longer. She paid well, but the stories of her temper were not in any way exagerrated. "Anyway, that's his request. If I could say so, he looks like a fighting man." As Tomson spoke, Helene noticed a huge axe hanging from leather loop on the big man's back. It's size was matched to his, for it was as wide across as the wheel of a large wagon, with a wicked edge on the dark grey blade. The haft had to be six feet long, and on the other end, near his feet, she saw a massive spiked ball, making it deadly on both ends. Interesting. If he knew how to use that huge weapon, he'd be a formidable fighter indeed.
"Let me speak to him," she said, stepping up to the big man and attempting to look under his hood. "Why should I trust you?" All she could see in it's depths were a pair of green eyes and the vague shape of a chiseled jaw. Hmm. She liked them strong. "Strangers on the road could be bandits, deserters, or even worse things." She cocked her leg and placed a hand on her hip, a pose that showed what she had to the fullest, because she liked the breadth of his shoulders and what little she could see of his face, and it had been a while since she'd taken a lover.
"If my word that I will not hurt you or your men is not good enough for you," he said, "Then I will leave." The sound of his voice pleased her greatly. Deep, throaty, with a beastly growl running all through it despite his even tone. Here was a dangerous man. Exactly the kind she loved to tame.
"If you seek my trust, you should show me your face," she said, half in truth and half because she wanted to see if the rest of his face matched that hint of a square, shapely jaw. If so, she was definitely going to seduce him. If nothing else, he was a new sort of man, very different from the short men of Daman.
"You may not like what you see," he said. She tutted and waved a hand.
"That is for me to decide. But I'm sure it will be nothing TOO horrible." She gave him a small smile, a rarity from this firey woman. "Come, show me now, or walk away."
The big man was still for a long moment, and then he reached up to push the hood back. He was wearing some sort of odd green glove. . . no. That was his skin! His skin was green? Helene's eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion, and then they widened as he pushed his hood back, and she gave an involuntary gasp, stepping back. That reaction was echoed in some form or another by all around. A half-orc! She'd heard of such monsters, but never seen one herself. Usually concieved during a brutal rape of a human woman by an orc, they were considered obscenity by many, including herself. Helene had not forgotten the brutality of the orcs that had raided her farm as a young girl.
"Tomson!" she shouted, her voice filled with rage. "Why did you let this. . . creature, near me? Remove him at once!" She barely registered the features beneath the hood, for Helene de Lucreaux was embarrassed. She had been seen to flirt with, and had briefly considered seducing, a beastly half-orc! If anyone found out about this, her reputation would suffer. So preoccupied with this was she that she barely noticed those green eyes narrowing, and that green-skinned face hardening into a very dangerous expression. Meanwhile, Tomson was just as appalled as she was, for he too was a farmer's child, and he too had felt orcish brutality.
"Right away, Mistress," he said, nodding to a few of the men. One stepped forward and placed a hand on the half-orc's arm, and then suddenly was launched away, blood flying from his face, by a fist the size of a melon that moved with a snake's quickness. The men surged forward and were stopped by the sight of that huge axe coming off his back, seemingly of it's own accord, to rest in his two big hands.
"Take another step towards me," he said, in a growl like a massive wolf's, "And scores of you will die with me. I'll go. A woman like that doesn't deserve my help anyway." He spit towards Helene's feet, making her cheeks turn red with rage.
"How DARE-" she began, but he cut her off. "I dare many things, and I don't fear the wrath of a glorified whore who thinks of herself more highly than she should." He turned on his heel and stormed off. A mercenary he passed close to foolshly tried to stop him. The half-orc knocked out four of his teeth and broke his jaw with a single punch, then strode off along the road.
Silence reigned for a moment, and then Helene said, "Let him go, and good riddance to the beast. Tomson! Get those men tended to and get us moving." Her pride still smarting, the Madame settled back into her carriage. When she got back to the city, away from this hazardous countryside, she'd put a bounty on that monster's head. Glorified whore indeed!