The afternoon suns beat down strongly on the mansion, dyeing the walls a lavender-blue hue. Joavan, the trough, as many knew him, watched the head butler, a tall, burly man with a short, bushy beard and dark eyes, walk through the garden with an air of satisfaction.
"How beautiful, Joavan!" exclaimed the head butler, with a heavy accent that reminded him of the sea. "This mansion is a true paradise!"
Joavan smiled, a discreet smile that barely touched his lips. He knew that the head butler was not really interested in the beauty of the mansion. It was the comfort, the abundance and the freedom that attracted him. The head butler, a man from distant lands, had recently lost his job when his lord died in a duel, leaving no heirs. It was like a gift from the gods that he met a friend in a tavern and found out about this job opening.
"Yes, sir," Joavan replied, his voice low and husky, "a mansion fit for a noble."
"And you, Joavan, have been an excellent steward," the chief steward said, reaching for a fruitcake that one of the servants was offering him. "Your work has been impeccable."
"It is a pleasure to serve, our lord," Joavan replied, winking at the head butler.
The head butler took a bite of the cake, his eyes shining with satisfaction. "The mansion is fascinating, Joavan. How did you manage to find this opportunity?"
"The capital is rich in opportunities and with money you can do many things, head butler," Joavan said, watching the head butler carefully. "As for the servants, are they as expected?"
"The servants?" the chief steward laughed, a hoarse laugh that echoed through the garden. "Don't worry, Joavan, I have everything under control, I keep them on a tight leash. And with the salary you're paying, plus the advantage of working for a gentleman who doesn't show up, it wasn't hard to find candidates."
Joavan just nodded, without commenting. He knew the head butler wasn't wrong. Money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn't buy security.
"But tell me, Joavan," said the chief steward, turning to him with a piercing gaze, "what do you think of our lord?"
Joavan hesitated for a moment. "Our lord speaks little, I have dealt more with his wives," he replied cautiously.
The head butler frowned, seeming not to have understood. "Wives? How many, Joavan? I need to know these things, man, what clothes they like, food, perfumes, cosmetics, do they sleep together? Will each wife have a separate wing? Because each wife has to have her own servants. This increases the cost of food and clothing."
"That's true, Head Hutler," Joavan said, watching the head butler take several small sips of tea as he spoke nervously. "But, as I said, I've only had contact with him a few times, but from what I've researched, he slept with them in the same bed." He picks up his teacup and gives the head butler a suggestive look.
"Mmmmm. That solves a lot of problems. But please keep me informed. I want our lord to have a dignified reception when he comes."
"Of course, of course!" Then one of the maids he had his eye on came in, Goulwena, a fair-skinned woman, dressed in colorful clothes like a kitchen helper. She wore her golden hair tied up under a linen cap. She was a beautiful young woman, but her beauty was already fading from hard work. At 20, she was past the marriageable age, which in itself was an attraction to Joavan, who was not handsome and was also a poor man. At 40 and with his new master, it was high time he had children and a real home. One thing he liked about her was that she always tried hard to put a smile on everyone's face. There was no one in the house who didn't like her, and that was also a very strong point in her favor. Despite her poor-girl ways, she was extremely passionate and proud of her work. She prided herself on being meticulous and never missing a detail, great qualities for a housewife. He had been researching her and her story. She was born into a poor family in the city. Ever since her father passed away years ago, her mother adored her and her neighbors had nothing but praise for her and her mother. She had 2 young children and was a widow.
Apart from her 2 children, she was a great catch.
The other maid he had his eye on was Mikaela. She had passionate and lively violet eyes, wavy black hair, was strong as a bull and large, wide hips promised a large and healthy offspring. She was someone who was used to having a great deal of sex appeal. She was vulgar and talkative. She had no children and was younger than Goulwena. She was a filly that would take work to tame and would attract many envious glances. He looked at Goulwena. “Thank you. Tell the cook that the cake and tea were delicious, as always.” He reached into his money bag for 3 silver pieces and placed them on the table. “One for the cook and one for each of you.” He smiled at Goulwena, who turned as red as a cherry. So beautiful. “Thank you, my lord, I will pass your thanks to the head cook.” She takes the 2 coins and leaves, somewhat dazed. Joavan hears a snort and a low, short laugh in front of him. “Subtle as a mule’s kick. Where did you learn to court a lady, man? In a brothel?”
“I never learned, and I’m tired of brothels.” He laughs right after.
“Have you decided which of the two you’re going to choose? Goulwena or Mikaela.”
“It depends…” He looks at Goulwena’s ass as she enters the house. A beautiful ass.
“It depends on which man?” The head butler asks as he eats the last piece of cake on the plate.
“It depends on my next meeting with our lord. I have some ideas to propose to him and if everything goes as planned, I can follow the same path as our lord.” He looks and winks.
“Two wives? Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. But let me know first, so I can put someone to fill the vacancies.”
“Sure, sure.” Two wives, hmm, I think I have to go to that alchemist and buy wild ork balls.
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Joavan, the man, was traveling in a cabriolet, along with one of his bodyguards; the other always stayed in his office. What a change. Before, he had to walk through the streets covered in mud, shit and piss. Now he could rest and be a civilized person while going from one place to another. The two hired bodyguards were also a great change. No more drunks and bullies wanting to take out their misfortunes on some cripple. Every two days, he went to the White Brick Orphanage. He was still trying to understand why this orphanage had interested his employer. Not that he would complain. After all, it was because of the two orphans that he had received this divine gift. They knew a tavern owner, the tavern owner knew him, and there he was milking a fat cow.
That's why he went to the orphanage and mansion, he wanted to present a detailed report to his employer and show, along with some new investment ideas, how he could offer his services on a long-term basis.
The White Brick Orphanage is a tenement-style building, a portrait of the poverty that plagues the outskirts of the capital, standing in a decaying manner, in the middle of other smaller one-story shacks. It was a two-story building, built in white bricks faded by time, with cracked and peeling walls, revealing the structure underneath made of logs. The windows, often broken, were protected by rusty bars, which looked more like cages than protection. The roof made of clay tiles in the pre-imperial Talay style, with plank patches in several places, leaked water on rainy days, creating a frenetic rhythm of drips that echoed through the corridors. The central corridor, narrow and poorly lit, was a maze of doors, each opening to a tiny room, without adequate ventilation.
The smell of damp and mold permeated the air, mixed with the odor of food and sweat. The walls, painted in faded shades of green and blue, were covered in graffiti and scribbles, marks of the hard and hopeless life that was lived there. It was a crowded place, where entire families once shared a single room, with no privacy. The lack of basic sanitation was a constant problem, with shared bathrooms that were dirty and poorly maintained. Now, the noise was incessant, a symphony of voices, laughter, children's cries and fights, which echoed through the narrow corridors. In the middle of the building, an internal courtyard open to the sky, was the heart of the orphanage, a mix of playground, kitchen and laundry. The White Brick Orphanage was a place of solitude and despair, where life was limited to the daily struggle for survival. But It was also a place of hope and resistance, where bonds of friendship and brotherhood were created.
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But now it was a hive of stone and wood workers, renovating and repairing the decaying building. The mother, who used to do everything by herself, now had a team that took care of the cleaning, nannies for the little ones who couldn't walk yet, a cook with 2 assistants and 3 security guards. He passed through the entrance of the building and went to the Mother's room/office, saying good afternoon to everyone he passed. It's always good to have a good relationship with the servants.
Everyone in the neighborhood noticed the sudden change and many of the hired workers were from the neighborhood. Most were happy with the good graces of the Mother, who was very well-liked in the region, but there were always those with corrupt souls.
The Mother's room/office had no door, like most of the rooms, it only had a curtain. So there was no point in knocking on the door.
"Good afternoon Mother."
"Good afternoon Mr. Joavan." Mother Marianna stood in her small room, a cubicle 4 meters square, and breathed a sigh of relief. The day had been long and the stillness of the space, despite its simplicity, was comforting. The dark wooden cot covered with a thick woolen blanket took up most of the space. Beside it, a small oak wardrobe with heavy, carved doors held her few possessions: an extra woolen habit, a prayer book, toiletries, and a few parchments. A single window, with long-broken glass and rusty iron bars, allowed the dim light of the afternoon sun to enter, illuminating dust that danced in the rays. The door, made of a thick curtain of rustic fabric, was held closed by a metal hook. In the corner, a simple wooden bedside table held a basin of water and an earthenware jug. It was there that Mother Marianna washed herself and prepared for the night, amidst the austerity that the religious order required. The room was small, but for Mother Marianna, it was a haven of peace and prayer, a space where she found the solitude necessary to connect with Gyldin, the God of Virtues, and reflect on her life dedicated to service. “I came to make the payments and to see if everything is going properly.” He looks at the Mother and is always amazed that someone so young could take on such a responsibility. Mother Marianna is a young woman with an exceptionally muscular appearance, typical of peasants, the eaters of oats and barley. She always wears a long, wide tunic in pastel brown. Her hair is silver and very short. Her face is always drawn, looking nervous, but this is because she has poor vision for distance. She is an agitated person, almost nervous, difficult to keep still, which only happens when she is very tired, like now. She is a former slave who was adopted by an old cleric. She took care of him in his last years of life and when he died, he left her a year of apprenticeship in the temple and this orphanage.
“Take it, water, I think a warm bread is coming out now.”
“Thank you very much Mother, but I am coming to Our Lord Crixus’ mansion and I have already eaten there.” The smell of the bread is delicious, but he wants to get home before nightfall.
“Have you decided, when are you going to get married, Mr. Joavan?” She asks with a smile on her face.
If she were another woman, he would think she was flirting with him. But Mother Marianna only had room in her life for her orphans. Crazy is the man who marries a woman with more than 40 children. He laughed to himself.
Mother Marianna looks at him curiously.
“It depends, Mother, it depends on whether they will accept.”
“They?” She looks at him appraisingly. “I didn’t think you were devoted to Grana, Goddess of Marriage, and Heenar, Goddess of Fertility, and her consort Dhuenar.”
“I’m not, but I may be.” He looks at the mother with a smirk.
“Men, all the same, can’t see a skirt without wanting to get in the middle. At least you want to marry them. May the Gods guide your path, Mr. Joavan.” She says, getting up from the bed where she was sitting. “I’ll call the staff to make the payment.”
“No need, rest, Mother Marianna. Just looking at these children makes me tired. Ahh, I brought you some cookies.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a handkerchief with several buttery cookies inside.
“You know how to please a woman, Mr. Joavan. That way you’ll get married soon.” He accepts the cookies with contagious joy.
“I hope so, I hope so.” He thinks again about the wild ork balls. Better buy a batch.
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Crixus leaves the royal bedroom at first light, making as little noise as possible. Before leaving, he looks at the huge royal bed, his sleeping women, the last to fall after the intense nighttime “battle” was Bhenkumbyrznaax, she only gave up when he started to bite her in a dominant way in her most vulnerable spots, neck and tail. The bed was destroyed, torn sheets and feathers all over the room showed the intensity of the fight, then he goes to check if the royal bedroom has any kind of soundproofing. He imagines for a few seconds, the room with some more women of other species that he saw in the capital Lundine.
FOCUS! FOCUS!
Before taking the artifact and copying the royal couple Velbog IV and Ingath the Thunder.
One moment he was in the royal palace of Rashakn, the next he was in the access portal to the first plane created by him, inside the castle of the Star Fortress. He passes through the first 3 planes, 3rd-earth, 2nd-fire, 1st-water. As soon as he entered the plane of 4th-“Paradise”, he immediately placed half of his immense body in the central lake. and began to think about the pros and cons of who he should copy: 1st The King or the Queen. The king had no attractiveness whatsoever, he is a male of the species. From what he saw in Akaos' mind, fire giants are known for being authoritarian, stubborn, explosive, brute, with a terrible reputation as soldiers and conquerors, capable of burning, pillaging, enslaving and destroying all those they consider to be small races. Even other races of giants are treated this way, with the exception of the storm giants, who they have respect for, but mixed with hatred and envy.
Hmm...hmm, not very attractive.
He could change the king's gender. But that would defeat the purpose of copying him, which was to use the king to lead the disunited tribes of fire giants who lived in the mountains and volcanoes surrounding the Valley of Shadows. Giants are a patriarchal and warlike race, and the King would probably fight many battles to confirm his leadership in the region.
As for the queen, he had idea what she was like, her personality, her appearance, but she would probably be a female version of the king. Bossy, stubborn, explosive, brutal, in short, a woman with eternal premenstrual tension.
Let's decide by chance.
He picks up a flat stone from the edge of the lake and makes a mark on one of the sides. If it falls with the marked side facing up, it will be the queen. He throws the stone upwards and it spins several times. The stone falls to the ground and bounces twice before falling with the marked side facing up. Crixus's 3 serpentine mouths smile.
Whatever, it's destiny.
He accesses his repertoire of copies and chooses Ingath the Thunder. Soon the contractions come and he vomits the queen a few seconds later on the lake shore.
She is about 3m tall, muscular, dark gray skin, oriental features, thick legs, large breasts, a normal face, but overall, she pleases me a lot. She begins to wake up and the mere fact of sitting up makes her look like a perfect lady. Her golden hair shines like a sun. Her eyes are pure fire, thin strands of smoke come out of the corners of her eyes and now focus on me. I help her up, not that she needs it, but she is happy for me to do it for her.
“Welcome back Queen Ingath the Thunder. Come to the lake, wash yourself.” I guide her with a tentacle.
“Crixus?!” She asks uncertainly. Her memory rewrites itself to put me at the center of her life. As it does with all my copies.
“Yes, wife. I missed you and we have much to talk about.” One more step towards the final imprint.
“What happened, I remember, a battle….I was betrayed…nobles…poison…my firstborn.” Her face contorts with the fragments of memory.
“SSShhhh…” With one tentacle I touch her lips and with another I touch her face. “That was in the past, thousands of years in the past, all of them turned to dust. I brought you back, through the ages, from the veil of death, to be by my side…again.”
“Yes, husband. My lord is right, only now matters and only you matter.” She begins to wash herself sensually in front of me.
Yes…these 4 days are going to be intense. My first fire giant….TTTSSSSHHH.