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| Location: // |
| Subject: | Title story: "Angel" Author: Darren Bloomquist & Michael Raleigh 73312674 |
| From: | TheXfan |
| Posting date: | 23-04-2006 |
| Content: | |
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Angel
The Dark Lord made certain he was early for dinner, taking his place at the head
of the table half an hour before his guests. He ignored the youngsters setting
the table as they paused in their work to bow when he entered. There was much to
discuss, and the Dark Lord was eager to be gone from the luxury and dull
security of Dark Hold. He needed the excitement of another campaign, he could
only tolerate leisurely decadence for so long. He was unsure why he begrudged
himself the pampered life that so many of his nobility enjoyed. He did not know
whether he was afraid it would wear away at him like salt water on the metal of
a good sword, or that he would become addicted to such a life if he dallied with
it too long. He knew such an addiction would sap his vitality, and reduce him to
the type of lapdog courtier whose fawning and petty schemes he only permitted to
exist because he needed their money to finance his ambition of seeing the entire
continent of Quapu come under his banner of blood-stained midnight.
Addiction was what he dreaded, he realized the relinquishing of his will to
something else. He had worked hard for all the power he had achieved, and he
would not sacrifice any of it. But was it the lifestyle he worried about, or
something else? The image of Rhea intruded on his thoughts, as if on cue, as it
had been doing so often lately. For a change, he dwelled on it instead of
dismissing it with the usual contempt. The girl had been coming to his mind far
too often and he knew it was time to address the possibilities of why that was
the only way he could be rid of it.
Having his permission, his memory lingered on the beauty he had just left in his
bed chamber, his collar on her pretty throat, and a chain around her ankle. The
fingers of his left hand idly stroked the arm of the chair, recalling her curves
and how she had felt when she pressed herself to him in her wanton eagerness to
please. Rhea had been with him longer than any other pet, and during that time
she had been subjected to more than her fair share of pain and pleasure at his
whim, but she had well-earned everything she had received, from her beatings to
the limited power she held over the rest of his harem. A more complete slave he
had never had before, nor since, and he had owned many. Could it be possible
that she did indeed love him as she protested so often? More disturbing was the
thought that he might actually be growing fond of her.
The Dark Lord's hand clamped down hard on the arm of his chair that it had been
stroking. Love--such an empty word. The bards had exhausted it in their songs,
using it to explain an emotion that enthralled whole populations. True, he did
care for Rhea, just as he cared for his hounds or other animals, but love was
unthinkable, even intolerable.
Love was an emotion, and emotions promoted feelings. Feelings could complicate
or poison his thoughts. His precision, perception and intuition were all that
kept him one step ahead of his enemies: alive and seated on his throne. He knew
that those who let their hearts rule their heads lost the head in question, just
as he knew that if he lost his head it would end on a pike somewhere,
overlooking the usurper's victory feast.
Rhea was a slave, a mere toy to satisfy his every whim, and nothing more. The
feelings that were causing her image to intrude upon him so often were most
likely only generated by the fact that she had pleased and satisfied him the
most of all of his slaves. She had always served well, except for the incident
Ferone One-hand had set up for her with the poisoned needle, but even this was
changing of late. She had recently become careless. She had permitted Gold-lily
to become bruised, even though the elf had caused the bruises herself and
inflicted worse on Rhea. This could almost be excused, perhaps with only light
discipline since it was the result of Gold-lily refusing to accept her place as
a slave. Then, she had not educated the elf in her new duties to her master. Gold-
lily was resistant and obstinate and had nearly thrown him out of bed the last
time he had summoned her. This too was almost excusable, since she had not spent
more than a day and a half with the elf. Finally, there was the matter of that
miserable priest. Rhea had never failed in a seduction before, and the Dark Lord
did not like the look of the pattern that might be developing. But she had not
lost her talent for pleasing him, as the languid feeling in his limbs reminded
him. Her most recent performance, less than an hour ago, had more than
adequately reassured him that she was still serviceable.
The servants completed their tasks and bowed out of the door when he dismissed
them. Left alone, with not even a guard or one of his hounds for company and
protection, he stared blankly across the delicate crystal goblets, molded off of
the delightful ...
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