The Legend of Kara Khal Ch. 02

Here's a second chapter. A bit more world-building, a bit more characterization, and some orc-on-orc sex.

The general trajectory of this story is more or less mapped out, but, as always with long(ish) works, the details are fluid and subject to change. I will say this, though. The focus will shift away from orcs and their sexual activities for a while soon. This world is bigger than the Skyscratcher mountains and the surrounding lands, after all.

Finally, thanks to those of you who commented on the first installment. Your thoughts are very much appreciated.

*****

"The various ruins, standing stones and ancient catacombs that have long been a feature of the Imperial landscape have been the source of much speculation over the years. While some structures are intact enough to be identifiable as the last vestiges of pre-Imperial societies such as the Venerar Confederacy or the Elven Autarchy of Lithlelien, others have proven to be impossible to place with any certainty. Chief of these are the dolmens of the north, huge stones whose original purpose has been obscured by the scouring of the bitter winter winds and the relentless passage of time. For the Imperial traveller, their chief meaning is a simple and yet profound one. "You are not the first to pass this way. Others have trod this way before you. And others will tread this way after you." There is a sobering comfort in their permanence." - Larken van Schwerss, The Lands of the Empire, volume III, published in the Fourth Year of the Blinded Stoat

"The standing stone located in the northernmost county of Ergolis, in the thin strip of hinterland that separates the Great Wood from the Ergoline Mountains, bears no name and no distinguishing marks whatsoever. There is some anecdotal evidence to suggest that it is intermittently used as a way marker for members of the G'naaarsh, Loka and V'kruk tribes of orcs who make their home in the mountain passes. It is beyond the scope of this survey to verify this claim. The stone itself is twenty-six hands high and approximately ten hands wide at its base, tapering to a width of six hands at its tip. It is impossible to determine its age or purpose, although the granite of which it is composed is not local and has evidently been worked at some time in the probably distant past. It is one of the least interesting of the northern dolmens, remarkable only for the fact that it is located exactly one hundred Imperial miles from its nearest cousin..." - Dieter Blenk, Chief Imperial Surveyor, Survey of the Northern Provinces, published in the Seventh Year of the Starving Rat

GRUN

Grun sat in the shadow of the great stone and watched Greveshka bathe in the nearby stream. Behind him, the sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon, setting the tops of the trees of the Great Wood ablaze with sullen fire. Its warmth was fading and the chill wind that stirred the coarse hairs of his forearms brought with it the hard mineral scent of the mountains. It did not, however, cool the unwelcome heat in his veins as he watched his clan-sister scoop handfuls of water to wash the sweat of the afternoon's exertions from her body.

The great stone was the only structure of any note in the bleak land that marked the ending of the ancient forest and the beginning of the craggy foothills that would eventually become the Skyscratcher mountains and the orcs' home. One or two stunted trees dotted the wilderness, but the roots of the mountains stretched far under this ground, and it was simply not fertile enough to support more growth.

He had decided to camp by the stone for the night. The flat earth platform on which it stood offered as comfortable a resting spot as they were likely to find out here; the stream that meandered past it was the only source of fresh water for miles. And Greveshka had insisted in cleaning herself. Of course, she had. Grun had protested but ever since witnessing her vuk with the human, he had found it difficult to hold out against her calm, determined and almost obscenely confident manner.

Not that he had had much cause to challenge her. Despite the orc woman's slower pace, they had actually made good time. She stopped rarely, complained little and had proven to be hardier and more determined on the way back through the woods than she had been on the way out. She had also been unusually quiet, lost in some private imaginings that she clearly felt no compulsion to share with him.

And that suited him perfectly.

Roughly, he bit into the dried meat he had brought with him and stared at the orcess. Even as a child he had hated her. No, that wasn't right. Not hated. Not really. But he had understood that the wrongness of her skin, of her softness, reflected badly on the clan into which both he and she had been born, and he had resented the smirks, the whispers and, eventually, the open derision her presence in the clan house had brought. He had fought many a pointless fight in defense of clan honor because of her, had made many an enemy.

She hadn't been worth it, no matter what the shamans had said.

He watched her pour the cold stream water over her shoulders and back, saw it run in rivulets across her skin. The temporary runes that Van Kor had inscribed at the base of her spine had been washed away, leaving only a few small tattooed marks inscribed on her buttocks and upper back. As a result, Greveshka looked a little more acceptable. The paleness of her skin had now been offset by subtle gradations of more orcish hues - gray, brown and, underneath her arms and between her legs an earthy green. Her flesh was still clearly softer than an average orc's, though, and her tuskless face lacked the half-crafted lumpen quality that distinguished the orc from the lesser, more effete, races. As for her breasts...

Grun caught himself sharply. If he was honest with himself, her breasts did look invitingly soft. That human had certainly enjoyed himself with them. And that was another thing. While he could not really accuse Greveshka of making vuk in anything other than true orc fashion, he couldn't for the life of him see the attraction of the mutual touching and mouth-meeting she had indulged in with the hunter. It was, he thought, an unnecessary distraction from the main business of the vuk.

With a series of playful splashes, Greveshka finished bathing and left the stream, picking up her torn dress in one hand, although making no effort whatsoever to cover herself with it. The wiry tangle of hair between her legs dripped intermittently and reflected the light of the dying sun like flecks of blood. She came to stand before him, arching her back and grinning at him.

Grun scowled and looked away. The way her breasts stood out proudly stirred things in him that he knew he could not act on even if he were so inclined.

"Magic gone," said Greveshka. "I am me again."

Grun nodded, still not looking at her. "Good," he said.

"Food?"

The request was made gently enough, but Grun took the opportunity to scowl and rummage in his satchel peevishly for a moment or two before bringing out the last of the dried fish wrapped in cured rabbit skin. He had been saving it for her, although he couldn't really say why.

She took the small package, unwrapped it with her stupid delicate hands and ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Grun watched her mouth move as she ate, saw flecks of fish on her lips, and wondered if the fish would taste any different if he bent over and licked them off. He swallowed, then. He looked down at the tough dried meat in his hand and took another bite.

Stupid. He was being stupid.

Greveshka sat next to him, her flesh almost touching him. He was about to say something then - although what exactly he couldn't be sure - but was prevented by the arrival of Briz and Dol who had somehow managed to catch a scrawny mountain cat and brought it hissing and spitting into the tiny camp.

Barking laughter, Briz, the younger of the two warriors, tossed the cat to Dol who caught it awkwardly, suffering a shallow gash along his forearm from the cat's raking claws. The surprised and embarrassed look on the other orc's brutish face brought a wry smile to Grun's face and peals of rich laughter from Greveshka. Dol shook the cat and threw it back to Briz who, despite its arching back and slashing claws, caught it expertly and proceeded to run off with it, bounding through the stream, throwing the unfortunate creature up into the air from time to time but somehow managing always to catch it by the nape of its neck.

More laughter spilled out of Greveshka and she leaned in to rest her head on Grun's shoulder, her body shaking with mirth at the quite frankly bizarre sight of Briz playing catch with a cat that must have weighed at least ten pounds. Grun was grinning, too. There was something infectiously open and honest about Greveshka's laughter. He placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed it.

Greveshka's laughter trailed away and she nestled her head against his shoulder more closely. Suddenly aware of their closeness, Grun shrugged her away and stood up quickly.

He yelled at Briz to set the cat free and return to camp. The light was almost gone and they had yet to decide the order of watch. As Briz, with some reluctance, did as he was told and watched the cat scurry away into the lengthening shadows, Grun stalked away towards the small cluster of branches and twigs that was going to be their evening fire. Behind him, Greveshka watched him go, her face expressionless but her eyes alert and shining.

*****

GREVESHKA

They had prayed before retiring to their unrolled blankets, stretched out on the hard-packed earth, leaving Grun to take first watch, his face set with a grim alertness. Under her furs and lizardskin, Greveshka stared up at the canopy of night and the scattering of tiny stars that glittered coldly in the darkness. She pondered what to do about her clan-brother.

They had prayed for success. In battle, in their journey, in their following of the plan the one-handed one had given them. Their words had been halting, uncertain, half-mumbled. But they had been sincere and Greveshka knew - somehow - that they had been heard.

Grun stood, back to the stone, staring out at the forest from which men might come, bearing torches and steel. Occasionally, he turned to face the mountains from which violence might come, borne on wing, tooth or claw. She shifted under her furs so as to see him better; she studied him, relishing the strength in his broad shoulders, the power of his arms.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her blood.

The night's stillness settled on her body, the silence that was vast and empty and hard and unyielding. But it did not settle on her blood. Or her hungry mouth. Or her restless cunt.

After several minutes, she inched the furs away from her body and sat up. Grun instantly turned towards her, face drawn in a familiar scowl. But she ignored it and he said nothing as she stood up and walked towards him.

The air was cold now - even for her. What wind there was caressed her body with chilly fingers. She was almost naked, only the rags of her human dress tied around her waist covering her modesty. She straightened up, stretched her arms above her head. She knew what the movement would do, accentuating her breasts' firmness. The dark discs of her nipples stood out against her pale, goosepimpled skin.

Grun's eyes never left her body as she made herself walk slowly - leisurely - towards him.

"You sleep," Grun said roughly. Was that a hint of hoarseness in his voice?

Greveshka glanced over her shoulder at the unmoving humped shapes of Briz and Dol. "They sleep," she murmured. "I cannot."

Grun's eyes narrowed. "Drink wine?" he suggested. He made a vague, ill-defined gesture towards his pack behind him.

She smiled. Under other circumstances, she might have laughed at him for making the suggestion, but she was in no mood to mock him now. She studied him for a second, remembering briefly some of the moments when he had laughed at her, made fun of her skin. Or her hair. Or the softness of her flesh. It didn't matter now, she realised. It didn't matter at all.

She took a step towards him, looked up into his eyes. Above them, the moon was a curled silver shaving and its meagre light glinted from his tusks. She brought a hand up to his cheek, felt its rough warmth. He flinched slightly beneath her touch. She understood something then. Something both wonderful and terrible.

He feared her. For reasons that she could not understand, he was terrified of her.

"I... not need... wine," she whispered. "I need... something else."

A strong sense of... rightness compelled what she did then. Standing on tiptoes and stretching up her neck, she kissed him on the mouth, pressing her full warm lips against his, moistening their chapped surfaces with her tongue. As she did so, she reached in underneath his kilt and took hold of him, squeezing the thick leathery manhood she found there.

She half-expected him to push her away, to strike her, to swear at her. She was doing something that transgressed the long-established codes of orc tradition. He stood still, neither encouraging her nor denying her, but letting her work his cock. The night was cold, but there was warmth enough in her hand for the two of them.

Moaning softly, she ran the length of her tongue up his left hand tusk, feeling a shiver of gratification run through her when she felt him purse his lips to kiss her cheek. In her hand, his manhood stirred, stretched, began to grow. She shifted her grip on it, only just managing to encircle its base with her finger and thumb. Oh, but he was big was her clan-brother! She had heard stories from the women of the tribe, but to feel it for herself was something entirely different.

Between her legs, a familiar heat began to grow.

Still holding his cock with one hand, she ran her fingers down his chest with the other. He wore his leather jerkin loosely and, even one-handed, it was easy enough for her to tug at the ties and loosen it further. His muscular chest, dotted with hair and criss-crossed with scars, tingled beneath her fingers. He was kissing her now, nuzzling his mouth against her cheek and then her neck, careful to keep her skin out of the way of his tusks.

Her heart beat faster and the squeezing of his cock became more urgent.

It was when he brought his arms up to encircle her that she smiled and knew that she had him. She moaned again as his callused hands squeezed her buttocks and roughly ran up her back. She nipped at his neck and it was his turn to moan.

The cock in her hand was hardening now, swelling and growing, its leathery skin tightening. Underneath it, balls the size of a hen's eggs shifted in their quickly thickening sac. She bent her head, kissing his exposed chest, catching the scent of him in her nostrils. As she had with the human hunter just a few short hours before, she loosened his belt with quick, urgent motions. She had to taste him. She had to...

With a soft soughing, Grun's kilt slid to the ground and, unencumbered by the heavy leather, his cock sprang up, rigid and obscenely thick despite the chill air. The weak moonlight turned its skin a dull silver; it picked out the thick veins that twisted around it like the tendrils of the dakka vine wrapping around a stone column. Grun's cock was not made of stone, though. To Greveshka it seemed to quiver, like a taut bowstring waiting to be released. It stank, too. The intoxicating scent of orcskin and sweat and the sour-sweet musk of his sex almost overwhelmed her.

Carefully - almost reverently - Greveshka knelt down on the hard earth and took the crown of Grun's manhood into her mouth. It tasted of salt and earth; the skin was thick surrounding the head of his cock was thick but surprisingly soft. Gently, she probed around it with her tongue, exposing the flesh beneath with a tantalisingly deliberate pace.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Grun placed his hand on her head as if in blessing. Using one hand to steady herself against his leg, she used the other to grasp his cock and retract his foreskin more quickly. She took the whole crown of it into her mouth, sucking on it hungrily, her full lips encircling it, her tongue running against its underside and the sensitive flesh she found there.

Another shuddering breath as she worked her tongue around and against it - first roughly, then more gently. Her hand gripped him tightly and began to stroke him slowly. His fingers clutched at her hair, involuntarily, and she felt a thrill of anticipation course throw her as something salty oozed onto her tongue.

Breathing through her nose, she steeled herself for a second and then dipped her head forward. She did not attempt to take his full length into her mouth, but she managed perhaps half of it, its tip sliding to the back of her mouth. Grun's cock twitched and, if anything, became slightly harder. The veins entwining it seemed to throb and pulse. So much life there! So much... power! Allowing her lower teeth to gently scrape its underside, she pulled back, letting her clan-brother's member exit her mouth with an audible plop.

She glanced up at Grun and grinned. He stared back at her, unsmiling, but the desire in his gaze was obvious. He bent down to cup her breasts in his large hands, squeezing them roughly. She squirmed and thrust her hand between her legs, easily finding the hard bud that nestled just above the folds of her flesh. She wanted him so badly now. The desire was almost unbearable. A pleasurable pressure was building deep within her. With her free hand, she gripped his cock once more, kissing it, salivating over it like the choicest of roast meats, all the while rubbing herself with feverish fingers.

"Make vuk," growled Grun. It was neither a suggestion nor a request.

Greveshka felt another thrill of pleasure course through her. As much as she had enjoyed the attentions of the human hunter, he had not been a battle orc at his lusty prime. She quickly turned away from her clan-brother, dropping to the cold earth on all fours, presenting herself to him like an animal. For a split second, she felt the cold of the night breeze brush her fleshy lips, cooling the dampness it found there. Then, without warning, her clan-brother's manhood found and then widened her opening, splitting the folds of her cunt with an assertiveness she found exhilarating. Grunting with effort and not a little pleasure, he slammed into her, filling her with a glorious hardness.

He ground himself against her buttocks, sliding into her further, the crown of his cock butting against the opening of her womb. She mewled and her thighs trembled.

"Vuk," she whispered, hoarsely. "Vuk."

His cock thrust in and out of her with the regularity of a blacksmith hammering steel. His breathing became more ragged and she grasped at him with her cunt, but he neither slowed nor paused. Her pleasure meant nothing to him and she accepted that. It was the orc way.

She did, however, grind herself against him. That most tender and secret of places would be sore in the morning, but she accepted that too, revelled in it. She wanted him to split her open with his thickness, to unseal her so that her innermost yearnings were made bare to him. So he could see that she...

With a stifled gasp, Grun bore down on her, and his cock began spitting its seed deep within her. The sensation of it - of the almost unbearable warmth - sent her tumbling over a precipice which she had not realised she had been near. A great wave of pleasure rushed up to swallow her and left her trembling and exhausted in its wake.

Grun began to withdraw and she feebly clutched at him with her cunt. Just one more moment... But he did not pause or acknowledge her desire. His cock left her with an obscene sucking sound and he stood up, picking up the leather kilt from the ground as he did so.