"We capture the Lord's Manor!"

Within a week, you've dispatched a strong **** of warriors to take the lord's manor, and the large town it's situated in. Thankfully, with the element of surprise, the few guards at the town as well in the nearby areas are easily dealt with. The Lord's personal guards put up some fight, but they fall after a few blows like any other man. The manor is taken with little issue, its occupants all captured peacefully. The Lord and his family fall as your hostages, to do with as your pleased. You don't even have to personally take it over. In fact, you leave that to your men, while still having more than enough soldiers to defend the Soulravage Spire, have reinforcements for either area and still have enough men to raid and attack as you please.

After the week, you decide to take a trip out to the Lord's Manor, to see what the situation is like. You ride towards the large town ahead of you, noting the various shops, the blacksmith and everything else, but its main feature is quite clearly the impressive stone manor, a large, stone building that sits there with a fair-sized garden filled with pretty bushes and trees. Certainly not a bad place to live. Orcs and bandits have set up various defensive positions around the manor, although they all obviously let you stroll right through. You head up to the massive dual doors of the monastery, pushing your way inside.

The inside of the manor is nice, a large hall where your men stand on guard. A large Orc wearing a mixture of salvaged Dwarven armor and leather plates with studs walks up to you. From his war paint, you can tell he's at least somewhat in charge.

"Abaddon, you're here. Need anything?"

Perhaps the Orcs haven't learned all the "Sir" bullshit and the discipline and that.

"Where's Lord Whitley?" you ask.

"I'll bring him to you. We've locked up the family in their rooms."

You're quickly led up the grand staircase and along the halls of the building, until you come across a large, ornate wooden door. The Orc Captain opens it, revealing its inside. Two bandits sit inside, drinking from two bottles of the cider these backwoods counties are famous for, on a large bed. The room is well decorated, with a large family portrait on the wall behind the bed. You look at it for a second. A blond man with short hair stands there, a long-sword in hand, next to a mid-aged woman with long brown hair. She seems like she would've been quite a looker in her youth. Next to her is a smiling, soft-faced redhead, a young pretty thing in a frilly dress. Finally, there's a pale, sickly creature, a boy, barely in his late teens with long blonde hair. Even with the painter trying to make him look strong and intimidating and with a massive warhammer in his hands, he's still doesn't look the least bit powerful. The man from the painting, a normal looking man, about early-to-mid thirties sits in a chair, his hands bond. He has a large bruise on the side of his face, and dried blood streaks across his clothing. The guards hurry to toss the bottles aside and stand at attention.

"I'll allow this once. Next time you drink on duty I take your balls," you say, before turning to the bruised figure. "Lord Whitley, I presume?"

"That's me," the man says, looking up at you with a mixture of fear and defiance that give him a bizarre look. "You must be the King of the Bandits."

"You see where the issue is arising with that, yes? I might be a king, but I don't really have much of a kingdom. I think I'd start mine with taking your land. Now that I'm here, it'll be your job to organize the official surrender of this land to me."

"I might surrender to you, but I promise you, you sick, twisted fuck, I'm going to take it back one day. If not me, my children, or my ch...!"

"Quiet," you say firmly. "

"Ah, this is an issue. I'm not a big fan of your insubordination. One of you two guards, make up for your previous transgression and fetch me his family."

"They have nothing to do with this," the lord says quickly. "There's rules of honor to this thing!"

"I don't particularly care."

"I'll do what you say! I swear!" the prince says.

"I'm not worried about breaking you. But your children, they need to be broken to, don't they? Your whole family does. So I'm going to give you a chance. I'll be taking one of your close family members here, and you're going to watch me fuck them in this very bed. Then, you're going to know what happens if you cross me, or cause any issue whatso-fucking-ever. Understood?"

The lord stares at the floor meekly, refusing to make eye contact.

"So, who do you have with you, exactly? That raven-haired wife of yours, the little red vixon in the picture or that pale little bitch you call son? Lady Whitley, or... what are the other two called?"

"M-my daughter is named Gwyn, my... my son is na-named Carl."