The Legend of Kara Khal

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Orcs head into human lands searching for man seed.
3.5k words
4.39
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Part 1 of the 5 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 12/20/2017
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The following is the opening of what I hope will be a longer story, full of weird fantasy sex and women essentially having a ludicrous amount of power.

GRUN

From his vantage point in the upper boughs of the broad, strong oak tree, Grun watched the human plow Greveshka. Not for the first time, he found himself resenting his role as glorified watchdog to the absurdly soft-looking half-orc. He was a warrior of the G'naaarsh, a clan-master, a killer of men and destroyer of their crops and dwellings. He should not be stuck half way up a tree watching one of the hated humans make vuk with his clan-sister.

Impatiently, he waited for the vuk to finish. 'Plow', he realised, was not really the right word to describe what was happening just a few yards away from him. 'Plow' was a human word for the vuk. While the screw of a plough could be said to approximate the rhythm and penetrative motion of the vuk, the word suggested that Greveshka was as passive as a field waiting for seed to be planted. No field bucked and writhed like his clan-sister; no field moaned and growled and panted in urgent, desperate pleasure as the pale-skinned half-orc was doing now.

Finally, the man finished and Grun watched carefully as Greveshka reached up to the human's reddened sweaty cheek and spoke the words the shamans had taught her. The human keeled over to one side as if suddenly drunk. A moment later he was snoring loudly, his leather trousers still loose around his ankles.

Grun dropped from the oak tree and padded over to Greveshka. He glanced at the man as he passed him, sorely tempted to thrust his spear through him, but, for all that he mocked them, he feared the shamans. He would not disobey them.

"Dress. Now."

Lying on her back, legs still spread wide apart, the sleeping man's seed glistening like a slug's trail between the folds of her unnaturally fleshy cunt, Greveshka was a picture of wanton carnality. Even Grun, who, like most of the tribe, viewed her softness as a perverse abnormality, felt a stirring within his loins and a strange tightness in his throat.

"Not yet."

Grun's scowl darkened.

"Now," he growled. He looked around him, aware of the restlessness of the other two warriors a few yards away, aware too that the four of them were deep in lands that the humans thought of as theirs. The trees around them provided some cover, but if a hunting party or, worse, one of the Baron's patrols found them, there would be blood. And death. Grun was not afraid of either, but he knew that foolishly inviting an encounter with a band of well-armed humans would jeopardise their mission.

Greveshka raised her backside off the ground, elevating her hips as if offering her cunt to Grun like a cup containing precious wine. "No," she said, defiantly. "Van Kor say..."

'Van Kor'. Damn the wily shaman and his obscure magicks. Grun glowered and spat on the needle-strewn ground. But he did not attempt to order the half-orc woman again. He did, however, stride over to her, ignoring the sight - and scent - of her seed-filled opening, instead bending down to grasp her by the throat, keeping his voice low so that only the two of them could hear what he said next.

"Van Kor not always live," he whispered hoarsely. "When he dies, his pets die too."

Greveshka kept perfectly still in Grun's grip for a moment, but her dark eyes flashed and she jutted her chin out proudly. "I work for tribe. Make tribe strong. You know this." She brought her hand up to grasp his wrist. "Leave me be. After plowing, let seed settle. You know this."

With a grunt of disgust, Grun released her. He turned to the others standing in the shadows cast by ancient, hoary pines. The half-dressed man's snores were making him seem foolish. "Briz, Dol," he said, sharply, "go to stone now. We follow."

Attempting but not quite managing to disguise their relief behind a mask of efficiency, the two orcish warriors nodded and turned away, casting contemptuous glances at the slumbering form of the human who had, albeit unwittingly, made a monumentally significant contribution to the survival and prosperity of the G'naaarsh tribe of orcs in the mountain region of Ergolis in the province of Sarvole in the great Holy Empire of Elisabet the Mad.

*****

GREVESHKA

They had found the man on his own in the Great Wood, the vast tract of forest that girded the peaks that the humans called Ergoline but the orcs had long named the Skyscratchers. This was not the first raid for man's seed Greveshka had been on, but it was the first with Grun, her clan-brother and a near-perpetual thorn in her side.

Ever since she could remember, Grun had made life difficult for her. Well, even more difficult than the meagre, desperate existence eked out by the tribe in the passes, crevices and caves of the mountainsides. Most of his malice came from Greveshka's appearance and status. In his mind, the two were intrinsically linked and both were a reproach to his traditional - and highly-developed - sense of orcish honour.

Greveshka had been born with unnaturally pale skin and had almost been killed at birth because of it. Only the intervention of Sag Nar, one of the tribe's three shamans at the time, had saved the uncomprehending babe. Rather than an aberration to be rejected, Sag Nar declared that Greveshka's birth had been a sign from the gods, particularly Vanak the one-handed, whose mythical deformity had, it had long been theorised, required him to develop a keen and wily mind. Sag Nar had not deigned to explain precisely what Vanak's plans for the soft-skinned orc might be, but his regular reminders of her importance to the tribe granted Greveshka some small measure of protection and respite in an otherwise brutally competitive and extremely violent upbringing.

Greveshka had known her mother, of course, but not her father. Orcs did not marry, nor did they place much store in the notion of monogamy. The males of the G'naaarsh tribe were impulsive and violent in all their lusts, not least those that originated deep in the gut and manifested themselves in engorged, swollen tokens of their masculinity. While chieftains and elders could occasionally claim slaves and concubines, the rank and file of the tribe's men courted the women of their tribe with acts of strength, cunning and bravado, then mating with them in explosive fashion before invariably forgetting about them altogether. Until the next time their blood stirred and the desire for the meaty thighs, full breasts and hot cunts of their female counterparts rose in them once more.

Greveshka could have suffered a similar fate. Despite her freakishly human appearance - considerably more human, in fact, than the half-orcs occasionally sired by lusty orcs on the other races - there were some in the orc tribe who had made crude advances to her in the past. Her rounded, voluptuous body particularly appealed to those reavers who found sport and pleasure in the tribe's occasional raids on human villages and the inevitable rape and slaughter that followed. But, she was under the shamans' protection. Sag Nar took her to his bed when she reached her maturity and, when he died in a raid on the neighbouring Loka tribe, the old, one-eyed Van Kor, all sinew and bone and sly tenderness, took her into his yurt and made her his own.

Many had been unhappy with the new arrangement, not least Grun, whose muttering and scowling became more pronounced in the months after Sag Nar's death. But the one-handed god had spoken through his servants the shamans and Van Kor's connection to the realm of the gods had grown especially strong when he had taken Greveshka in. Through prophecy and pronouncement, supported by Talar, the tribe's chieftain who would never dream of challenging the wisdom of his shamans, it had been made abundantly clear to the G'naaarsh that, if the tribe was to do more than just survive, the old ways had to be, if not abandoned entirely, then certainly modified.

Greveshka, Van Kor had said, was a gift from the one-handed one, a female whose blood was orc but whose body and features, with a little magic and some cosmetic cleverness, could pass as human. She represented a unique opportunity for renewal, a chance for the G'naaarsh to replenish its strength, mixing it with the seed of men, the thrusting, virile race who had, in just the last two hundred years or so, tamed much of the wilderness around the Skyscratchers and bent it to their will. Greveshka would be the first of the tribe's seductresses, but not the last. Others would come. The shamans had spoken.

This particular foray into human lands had gone as well as could be expected. Greveshka's warrior escort had scouted out the land proficiently, settling eventually on a favourable target - a solitary hunter of the kind frequently found in the hinterland between the farmlands to the south and the mountains north of them.

Luring him to her side had been almost pathetically easy. She had simply slumped against a pine tree and, once Grun and the others had concealed themselves as best they could, started snivelling. The hunter, who they had spotted roughly half an hour beforehand, came eventually, cautiously edging close to her, his bowstring nocked, eyes alert. When he saw the state she was in, that alertness had faded to be replaced by a gleam that Greveshka knew all too well...

*****

"Please," she whimpered. "Lost. So lost..."

Human men liked tears, she had learned. Just like orcs, they liked their women weak and in need of protection. She had ripped open the front of her dress beforehand and now she leaned towards him, knowing full well the effect her ample bosom and deep cleavage would have on him. She looked up at him through misty eyes.

The man put his bow down, then. He crept over to her, crouching low, taking in her torn dress and her unarmed state.

"What happened?"

His voice was deep, strong. She liked it instantly and felt the purposes of the one-handed one at work here. His seed would be good and strong, she knew. It was all she could do to stop herself licking her lips in anticipation.

She fluttered her eyes and breathed deeply once. Twice. "I don't know. I was out picking berries... a bear... there was a bear."

At the mention of a bear, the man reached for his bow again and his blue eyes narrowed. Greveshka grabbed him, forcing him to return his attention to her. Her dark, glossy hair, tousled and unruly now; the bare flesh of her chest and arms, lightly scratched by the twigs and marred by the dirt of the forest floor; the softness of her lips; the vulnerability of her quivering eyes: these held the hunter's attention once again.

"My brother... fought... the bear... struck down... I ran..." Greveshka let out a low, keening wail, sobbing from the very core of her being. What happened next happened naturally and without any further prompting.

Gently, the hunter drew her to him, stroking her cheek, wiping the tears away, tenderly telling her that all would be well, that she was safe. His rough hunter's hands on her skin stirred her blood and she raised her head even as he dipped his down and their lips met.

Greveshka forgot herself for a moment. For a moment, there was just the sensation of his lips on hers, tender but quivering with a barely-restrained passion, and the heat of their breath meeting and mingling.

And then the hunter let his hand fall from her cheek and land on her chest, sliding down the curving slope of her breast, slipping easily between the torn fabric of her dress and the inviting warmth of her flesh, cupping her fulness hungrily in his large hand, squeezing it with a fierceness that almost stole her breath. And she remembered herself again.

She kissed him again. And again. Long, deep, passionate kisses; short, nipping, teasing kisses; kisses in which heat and emotion and desire transmitted themselves back and forth between them, each pass seeming to generate a greater and greater intensity.

His hands pawed at her and she guided them with her own. She wanted to feel him everywhere, to feel his touch on her neck, on her shoulders, on her breasts and wide, dark brown nipples. She wanted to feel him on her sex.

Hitching up her skirts, she guided his hand to her cunt and the sensitive bud of flesh just above it. With her hand on his, he began to stroke and rub the folds surrounding her opening, those fleshy lips that she knew many of her tribe found distasteful protruding baldly through the tangle of coarse hair. There was no such disapproval from this man. He slipped a finger into her and she gasped, arching her back against the tree, with one hand lifting a breast to his mouth, urging him to suck and lick even as his fingers found their way inside her. She smiled, almost delirious with pleasure. No orc made vuk like this.

For a moment, she raised her hands above her head to brace herself against the tree trunk behind her and simply abandoned herself to pleasure. The hunter had two fingers roughly thrusting in and out of her cunt, more and more slickness coating them with each motion. His other hand was on the back of her neck, stroking, feeling, possessing, even as he bent his head to kiss and nibble at neck, shoulder and breast. Soft, radiant pleasure beat in her veins and tingled in her skin. Somewhere deep inside her, a pressure that she recognised and welcomed fiercely began to build.

She pushed herself away from the tree trunk and reached toward his lap. She was unsurprised to feel her fingers find hardness there and she tugged at the hunter's belt. She glanced up at him through her fringe, saw his eyes glazed with lust, heard his breath come heavy. Yes, this one would be strong. Impatiently, he batted her hands away from his waist and unclasped the belt himself, lowering his calfskin trousers hurriedly.

His manhood sprang free, jutting out angrily from his body. Greveshka licked her lips hungrily. In contrast to the paleness of his belly, the hunter's cock was thick and dark, although neither as thick or as dark as the average orc's. It stank of man - of sweat and dirt and flesh and the ancient musk of animal desire. The stench overpowered the sweeter smell of the pines around them. With a feverishly hot hand, Greveshka wiped a string of drool from her lips. She had half a mind to take the man's member into her mouth, to taste the delicious earthy bitterness of it, to work her lips around its head, to lick and blow and suck until the man's whole body shook with release and the hot saltslime spurted into her mouth.

But she had a job to do.

Gripping the hunter in one hand, she lowered herself down to the forest floor with the other, unmindful of the scratching and pricking needles underneath her bare back and shoulders. She spread her legs open and guided him to her cunt. She worked her sex for a moment or two; she wanted to feel everything when he entered her. Looking up at him, she allowed her eyes to well with a passion she mostly genuinely felt.

"Want... you..." she said, hoarsely.

The hunter thrust forward and his cock slid into her body. He grunted - half in surprise and half in appreciation. The man's fingers had done their job well. Greveshka was slick, but not so moist that she could not feel the friction of his hardness inside her. She shifted her body under him, inviting him in further. He had to fill her. If possible, she wanted him to reach that deep place within her, the place where the most powerful magic of all was performed. The very crown of his manhood brushed against that tenderest of spots and Greveshka took in a sharp, pain-tinged breath.

"Yesssss..."

"Gods..." the man breathed. "Gods... you're..."

Greveshka brought her legs up behind him and her hands up to his face and then chest. "Yes..." she repeated. "Yesssssss..."

Looming over her, hands steadying himself on either side of her head, the hunter fucked her. He moved slowly at first, savouring the sensation of her around his flesh, grinding his body against hers, and a warm pleasure coursed through her. Once or twice he ducked his head down to kiss her, lingering, deep kisses, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, tasting her, wanting her, insatiable. Her breasts he played with one by one, squeezing them rhythmically, rubbing her nipples until they were frustratingly tender.

She had not expected him to be like this. She had not expected him to be this... good.

The pace of his thrusting - and of the ragged gasps that accompanied it - soon became quicker and their joining became much more... orc-like in nature. There was a ferocity now, a desire for mastery, in the quick pumping of his cock. She felt the delirious pressure building with each stroke. At times, she clenched her cunt around him, not to stop him, but to make him expend more effort, to feel more keenly his desire for her. In those moments, he growled like an orc might, his silly pink face growing redder by the second. She moaned and thrust against him, the forest whispering her desire back at her. She writhed and clutched at his sweat-slick buttocks ; she loved the sensation of his cock plunging into her. She...

With a heavy grunt and one last deep thrust, the hunter's cock spat out its seed deep into her. Just as Van Kor had instructed her, she ground her cunt against him, ensuring that his flesh was fully sheathed within her, and let the pressure that had been building within her for the last fifteen minutes find sweet and overwhelming release. At the same time as her climax swept through her body, she felt his seed rush towards that most sacred, secret place within her and she knew - more certainly than she knew that her name was Greveshka - that she had conceived.

He half-fell upon her and she instinctively brought her arms up around him, feeling his heart beat against hers, feeling the warmth of his laboured breath against her cheek.

"Gods..." he murmured, barely conscious. "Gods..."

Blinking himself back to awareness, the hunter straightened and pulled out of her. Muttering a half-hearted apology, he wiped his cock on her dress, before beginning to fumble it back into his trousers. She raised herself up on one arm and pulled him to her, caressing his arm, his neck, his cheek. As he returned her smile with a shyness she found both touching and contemptibly weak, she whispered the words that Van Kor had taught her - the words that befuddled and confused, that, when augmented by the unfathomable mysterious power of sex and conception, caused drowsiness and, ultimately, a sweet, satisfied sleep. She watched the magicks take the hunter - her hunter now - and smirked as he fell to the forest floor.

*****

Her time of resting done, Greveshka stood up and adjusted her clothing. Grun had been standing with his back to her, his folded arms the only outward sign of his impatience with her. He turned to face her now, the scowl that seemed to be perpetually etched into his grey-green face finally softening a little.

"It is done," she said. And it was. The sensation of fulness had not departed from her. The hunter's seed had taken; she was sure of it. She glanced at him. Lying in the undergrowth of the forest, eyes closed peacefully and a loose smile plucking at his lips, he looked foolish and weak. But she remembered, too, his strength and his fingers in her cunt and his hands upon her breasts and his tongue within her mouth. "He is good," she added a little wistfully. "He is good."

Grun snorted. "Humans weak."

"But their seed is strong." As if to emphasise her point, Greveshka stroked her abdomen gently. "This is good hunting." She paused, looking at Grun. For all the unpleasantness he had visited upon her in her childhood, for all the taunting and pettiness, she found herself grateful for his presence; the urge to thank him burned strongly within her for an instant, but she suppressed it fiercely. It was not the orc way. "We go now," she said instead.

12