Review: Game Suggestions

I've been playing (way too many) some adult fantasy games lately, and I've decided to share them here in case you haven't played them.  This list is by no means exhaustive, and I'll be adding to it ver time.

These games are available in english and can be downloaded for free, though I won't be posting any links.  If you have trouble finding them send me an email and I'll help you out.  Also, I tend to prefer female protagonist games...if you (the collective you) would prefer to see more male protagonist games, leave a comment and I'll be sure to include some as I go along.


The Adventures of Tara: In this game, you play as Tara, a young elf beginning her last year at magic school.  The collective hopes and dreams of her parents and village rest on her shoulders, so she absolutely has to graduate so she can take up the life of her sorcerer.

Unfortunately, Tara is a bit of a bitch, and after being mean to too many people one of the evaluators at the school places a curse on her that makes her overwhelmingly horny whenever she is mean to someone.  Along the way, another student finds out about the curse and uses it to blackmail her.

Tara has to walk a fine line between keeping up with her coursework while studying the curse to try and lift its effects.  It's a fun game, and many of the scenes are sexy, though the controls are a little clunky at times and the game can run slowly.  My biggest complaint is that the variables in the game are pretty opaque.  I have no idea what triggers some scenes, and if it weren't for the fact that the version I have has a 100% save I wouldn't have seen most of it.

Still, it's good for a playthrough or two and I highly suggest checking it out!


Sword Princess Cistina:  Originally made in Japanese, it was recently translated into English.  This game features Cistina, a young noble/princess who abandoned her royal duties to become an adventurer.  Unfortunately, she is betrayed and sold into slavery.  After escaping, she takes up the struggle against the evil slavers.

 It's a smallish game, though still with several hours of gameplay to it.  The biggest appeal is actually the gameplay, which proceeds smoothly and keeps you going.  There are many sex scenes to be had though, with a heavy theme of degradation for Cistina.  My biggest complaint is that while there is a lewdness mechanic, it doesn't gate anything, just changes the flavor of the scenes.  So your otherwise prudish princess can jump right into being a whore without too much thought.  However, the most people you have sex with the more lewd she becomes in the scenes.

The scenes can be a little repetitive though, but you can skip over them when you get tired of them and until you get to the next level of depravity.  It's fun, but like I said the story is really the biggest draw for me, but the added sex kink is the icing on the cake.

Reviews: The Battle Inside/The Duchess of Lust

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Triumph Chapter 10

In honor of the blog being reactivated, here is a sneak peek at Chapter 10.  It is fully done, and just missing some editing on the final scene.  It wasn't everything I hoped it would be, but at the end I needed to just finish it and move on.  Plenty of ideas for reworking it though when I come back to rewrite the series :)

****

A thick haze of smoky incense wafted out from the large hut as Markoz and Brigitte approached.  The walls were made of thick timber beams, which was unusual for orc structures in the Angrian March.  Probably stolen from Sandora or Thesta, she thought.  Most of the unusual things found in the March could be explained that way. 

That proper building materials and techniques were used was an indication of the wealth and stature of the hut’s inhabitant.  It had taken a lot of cajoling, but Brigitte had finally convinced Markoz to move forward with her plan.  The first step was to call a conclave of all the remaining tribes, but while Markoz was a powerful and respected warrior, he didn’t have the authority or gravitas to summon the other tribal chiefs.

There was one orc who did have the influence, but it wouldn’t be easy to convince him to do it.  Jogarth was a mighty chieftain in his prime, and it was his defeat of Turogg that had stopped the King’s consolidation of the orc tribes, at least long enough for Turogg to get intertwined with Jeanette and the politics of the Western Kingdoms.

Jogarth’s victory won the acclaim of all the orcs remaining in the Angrian March, and there was no other orc more respected.  But in the years since his victory, the orc champion had grown old and fat.   Brigitte trembled at the sight of his bulbous, corpulent flesh as she waded through the haze of incense and approached the orc’s throne.

As she got close she had to restrain herself from coughing as she took in Jogarth’s stench.  The incense was doubtless meant to suppress his odor, but the closer they got the harder it became.  The former princess wondered how the women arrayed on either side of him could stand it.

But I suppose you get used to it, after a while.

“Markoz, welcome!”  Jogarth exclaimed, his face lighting up with delight.  “It’s been too long since a warrior of your stature graced my hall.”  The obese orc reached down to stroke the dark hair of one of the women seated to his side.  “Can I offer you the service of one of my women?”  He asked as his gaze shifted to Brigitte, leering at the young woman.

“In time perhaps, great Jogarth,but there will be time for women later.  Now is the time to talk of battle and riches!”  Markoz replied amiably.  Brigitte couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not, but was sure Jogarth was used to such flattery regardless.

“Hah!  Battles and riches?  It’s been over a decade since I handed control of my tribe to my son.  My days of chasing battles are over, and I have riches aplenty.  Only women remain to comfort me and keep me warm in my twilight.”  Jogarth’s lips twisted into a nasty grin as he leaned forward.  “Speaking of, is this the pretty morsel I’ve heard so much of?  The human princess?” 

Brigitte shivered beneath the old orc’s lecherous gaze.  Her scant clothing did little to hide her curves, especially since Jogarth made no effort to hide his intentions, but boldly leaned forward to look inside her vest at the curves of her breasts.  She wanted to scold him, but knew that would be a mistake:  for the moment she had to let Markoz do the talking.

“It is: my little Brigitte.”  Markoz slipped his hand beneath her loincloth and groped her rear affectionately.  With his other hand he pulled back her vest to expose the Princess’ breasts to Jogarth.

Taking it as in invitation, the older orc reached forward to grasp one in each hand.  The rough, calloused grey hands squeezed her milky flesh, testing their heft and firmness.  His fingers, still strong despite his advanced years and physical deterioration, sought out her nipples and pressed around the nubs.  He twisted the rings piercing them back and forth, then grinned lecherously as the nubs sprung to life beneath his touch.

“Very nice, very responsive.”

Brigitte suppressed a shudder as the repulsive orc fondled her breasts.  She pressed her ass back against Markoz’s fondling hand for support as she bit her tongue to prevent herself from snapping at the old orc.  Talking about me like I’m not here, She fumed.  Remember why you’re here, remember Megdis and father.  I can put up with this for them.  It took everything she had to keep silent, but she knew that it still wasn’t the right time to speak, not if she wanted to bring Jogarth around to calling for a conclave.

 “She’s proving to be quite the little gem.  In addition to being a spirited, passionate concubine she’s also a font of information on targets to raid.”  Sensing her discomfort, Markoz placed his other hand on her shoulder to steady her.  He gave it a squeeze as his other hand continued to massage her bare bottom beneath the loincloth.

“Yes yes, but is she fertile?” Jogarth asked as he released one tit to stroke Brigitte’s cheek.

“I think so, though it is still a little too early to tell.  We should find out soon enough, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Chief.”  Brigitte replied, looking past Jogarth to the orc’s concubines standing on either side of his chair.  Her eyes fell on an olive skinned girl from the Eastern Kingdoms who was looking at Markoz longingly.  I can’t blame her, compared to Jogarth I’m happy to serve Markoz!

“Oh?  When was the last time you bled, girl?”  Jogarth asked as he gave Brigitte’s tit a final slap and sat back on his chair.

“Three weeks ago, Chief.”  She replied baldly.  While most women might be offended at the invasive question, Brigitte took it in stride.  It was just a natural bodily function, after all. However, thinking about it did send her stomach a flutter.  I was at my most fertile when all this started.  I could be with child right now.

“So, fertile for your initiation, hmm?  How exciting.  I hope things didn’t get out of hand.”  Jogarth snickered as he reached out with both hands to touch the women at his sides.

“Not in my camp, Jogarth.  None would dare.  They know me, and they fear me.  Plus, they know I have a scent for victory and have always led them well.  Like the opportunity little Brigitte here has presented to me; some leaders would pass it by or ignore her, but I sensed the potential for great wealth and triumph.”

“Hah hah hah!”  Jogarth laughed from his belly.  “You’re not going to let it go, are you Markoz?  Very well, very well.  Tell me what you came here to say, and then maybe we can get back to discussing your lost princess.”

“We’ve all seen how raiding isn’t what it used to be.  The Thestan and Sandoran lands within easy reach of the March have been largely depopulated.  All the best treasure was looted long ago, and the young women have all been taken or fled.  There is very little worth fighting for, or risking the wrath of Amelie as Grogosh did.  So instead, we turn on each other.”

“True true, so what do you propose?  A deeper strike into Thesta while the Princess-Knight is distracted by war?”

“We could, but there aren’t any tempting targets in range.  Not like there is in Zentara.  Haverset is just across the border on well known and well traveled routes. The men are all away for the war, so it sits undefended, filled to the brim with centuries of treasure taxed from our ancestors.”

Jogarth steepled his fingers as he thought.  “What will you do with all that treasure if you can’t use it for anything?  Haverset is the only place we can go to sell off our gains, or trade it for livestock and tools.”

“We have other merchants to sell to, orc merchants.  There are plenty of men, great leaders such as yourself, with outposts in the March.  You’ll be happy to take our plunder and sell it on the eastern caravans.  Think of the fortune you could make!  Plus, by looking towards the eastern markets you’ll open up new opportunities to acquire more of their women, like that beauty behind you.”  Markoz leaned forward with a predatory grin.  “You know I’m right.  Trade with Haverset has been declining ever since Turogg’s son took the elfish throne.  They don’t need the scraps we have to offer.  Besides, how much of your gold has disappeared into Haverset over the years?  Wouldn’t you like to get it back?”

Brigitte watched Jogarth carefully, trying to gauge how he was reacting to Markoz’s persuasion.  The words seemed to have an impact, though he didn’t look totally convinced.  A sudden epiphany struck her and she blurted out, “My chief has been regaling me with tales of your victories, especially your legendary triumph over Turogg. I had never heard of them before, for in the Western Kingdoms they only speak of how he conquered the orc tribes and led them to victory for Zentara.  Now you can set the record straight, to show them all who the true warrior is.”

“Your victory over Turogg as a youth made you a hero, Jogarth.”  Markoz continued, “Let this victory over his children make you a legend.  Call the conclave, and let us show the humans what true orcs can do!”

The corpulent orc stared at Markoz for a long moment, before a grin broke out on his face.  “Very well, I’ll do it!  If nothing else, a conclave will liven things up.  I’ll send out riders to the tribes immediately.  But if I am going to call a conclave and sponsor you to speak, then let us share our women, like brothers do.” 

As Jogarth leered at her, Brigitte hid her resignation.  Markoz had told her it might come to this: that it probably would come to this.  She was ready to pleasure him, despite him being the most repulsive orc she had met yet.  At least he isn’t going to enter me vaginally: that much is forbidden to him.

“Of course, Great Jogarth, I would be honored to sample your women.”

“The ‘princess’ has such soft, honeyed words.  I’d like to see if her mouth is equally as sweet.  Which of mine would you like to sample, Markoz?  The eastern delight you noticed earlier?”  Jogarth leaned forward to grope Brigitte’s tits again, playing with the shiny piercings as he pulled her closer, until he could bury his face between her breasts.  His rubbed his tusks against her cleavage as he nibbled on the soft flesh.

“She’ll do nicely, I think.”  Markoz replied as he patted Brigitte’s ass, nudging her forward to Jogarth.

The look of desire on the eastern woman’s face gave Brigitte an absurd pang of jealousy.  Don’t get used to him, she thought, you will be staying here with your master and I shall be returning with him.  “Ah!” She cried out suddenly as Jogarth bit down on her nipple and tugged the pierced nub.

“Very nice, quite delightful, but let’s put your mouth to better use!”  Jogarth pulled Brigitte down by her shoulder with one hand as the other lifted his great belly, pulling it out of the way to make room for Brigitte to crawl beneath him.

The incense couldn’t mask the fat orc’s stench, not this close and not after lifting his fat rolls.  Brigitte’s eyes watered, and she took a deep breath through her mouth for relief:the princess knew that soon wouldn’t be an option though.  Slender, delicate hands slid up his voluminous pants to untie and open them.  Jogarth didn’t seem interested in lifting himself to remove the garment, so Brigitte had no choice but to reach in to find his member. 

A shudder ran down her spine as the backs of her hands collected the orc’s sweat as she pushed them along his body.  Finally she found the thick snake lurking inside his trousers.  She worked it up, and then finally brought it out to dangle before her.  The sight of it disgusted her; not because of how inhuman it was; she didn’t really have a frame of reference and was well used to orc members besides; but based on how disgusting Jogarth was his member was going to be even worse.

All these orc rituals involving sex are silly and distracting.  The sooner I get this over with, the better; there are far more important things to be about!  After steeling herself, Brigitte lifted the still flaccid shaft and held it in both hands.  She squeezed the twisted base and shook it lightly, allowing the slanted tip to slap against her fingers.  Then she took a deep breath through her mouth and lowered herself to the tip.

Beside her, the Markoz stepped forward and grabbed the eastern woman, who gave a delighted squeal as he flipped her around and bent her over.  His thick beefy fingers slid between her legs, and stroked along her mound, rubbing it slowly as he worked up her arousal.  When she began to grow moist, Markoz alternated between rubbing her sex and smearing the growing juices along the crack of her ass and into its puckered hole.

“She’s got a tight ass to be sure, Markoz,” Jogarth remarked as Brigitte worked between her legs, “but I’m surprised you’re not going for her mouth.  Don’t you want to look down at her exotic features as she takes your cock?”

“A delight to be sure, but I prefer my first glimpse of a new woman to be from the most important angle.”  Markoz quipped with a chuckle before scooping up some of the eastern woman’s wetness and spreading it down his cock.

Brigitte bristled as the two orcs spoke as if the women weren’t present in the room.  Markoz wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!  She wrapped her lips around Jogarth’s slanted tip and took the first inch of his ridged cock into her mouth.  The taste made her want to gag, so she distracted herself with her litany. It doesn’t matter though, it’s all for my home.  I accepted this to get their help, and it’s working.  I just have to keep going.  She had been telling herself that for days ever since she was captured, and it was true.  Her ordeal meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, as long as she brought these orcs in on her side.

“I suppose you have a point there.  I imagine I’ll get a chance to see what a royal backside looks like before the conclave is over!”  Jogarth sniggered again, and his cock began to harden as Brigitte’s warm mouth wrapped around it and started to suck.  He grunted in satisfaction and began to move his hips, lightly thrusting up between her lips.

“Once all the tribes start arriving you’ll be too distracted trying to trade for new women!”  Markoz slipped a finger inside the eastern woman’s pussy and twisted it around, then slid it out and pressed it against her anus.  He pushed it in without waiting, and it sunk inside the woman’s ass.  Though her walls closed snugly around his finger, he was able to slide it in and out easily, and began working her bottom to prepare for his cock.

I’m doing it for Sandora, I’m doing it for Sandora.   Brigitte thought again and again as she slid down the length of Jogarth’s shaft.  Her lips circled down the screw shaped pattern of ridges while her tongue pushed against his meat and rubbed up and down.  I don’t think this is what my mother had in mind when she advised I lie back and think of Sandora when going to the marriage bed.  A perverse giggle erupted from her throat, just in time to tickle the tip of Jogarth’s shaft as it reached the back of her mouth.

The cock pulsed against her fingers as she adopted a tighter squeeze.  She began to jerk the base of it, working her fist up and down as her other hand slipped inside his pants again to cup and lift his balls.  She rolled the sac across her palm as she pushed all the way down his shaft until her lips kissed the top of the hand jerking his dick.

A quick glance to her side revealed Markoz already buried in Jogarth’s woman to the hilt.  His hips were thrusting rapidly as he vigorously buggered the smaller human woman.  He looks as eager to get out of this uncomfortable situation as I am.  Though he seems to be rather more enjoying himself than I she thought with a grimace.

Still, hope dawned on the horizon as she felt Jogarth’s testicles begin to tense and tighten.  Brigitte redoubled her efforts, sucking furiously and noisily as she sought to get Jogarth off.  No longer trying to distract herself with her thoughts, she threw everything she had into pleasuring the orc in order to bring him to climax.  She pushed her lips further and further down, until the slanted tip of his cock was lodged intoagainst her throat.

The princess’s gag reflex squeezed and tickled the head as she fought off the urge to vomit, trying to keep him in place long enough to draw out his cum.  She was rewarded moments later as his shaft began to spurt, coating the back of her mouth with his thick seed.

Jogarth grabbed the back of her head and pulled her forward, suddenly burying his cock deep in her throat to shoot the rest of his load.  “Oh yes!  That’s it!”  He cried out in pleasure as his cum erupted.  Her choking gasps milked his cock as he rode out his climax, eventually spilling the rest of his seed into her stomach.

Beside him, Markox unleashed  guttural grunt as his own climax erupted.  Slamming his hips forward, he pushed all the way into the woman’s backside, making the tight anal walls enclose his cock entirely as he shot his load.  His grip on her waist tightened, and he moved her back and forth as a cock sleeve to finish his eruption.  “Ah…it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Jogarth.  We’ve got great things ahead of us, you and I.  Now we just need to get the conclave underway.”

****

Bonfires lit up the horizon long before Drauken heard the din of the encampment.  It hadn’t taken him long at all to learn where the orc tribes were congregating.  The first merchant outpost he reached in the March was bustling with the news that Jogarth had called a conclave on Markoz’s behalf.  There hadn’t been such a conclave since Turrogg tried to unite all the tribes decades ago, and with the war raging in the Western Kingdoms every orc on this side of the Angrian March wanted to know what Markoz intended and how they could profit from it.

As he got closer to the camp he began to hear the raucous noise of an orc gathering.  At first it was just the wild cheering of the crowd.  After traveling another hour he began to hear the clash of steel and cries of pain beneath the cheers, and an hour after that he heard cries of pleasure as orcs broke away from the throng to fuck whatever women they could find.

The Battle for Supremacy isn’t over yet, he thought, that’s good.  I haven’t missed anything yet.  Jogarth called the conclave, but it was Markoz who would set the agenda.  In order to usurp control of the conclave, other tribal leaders would have to challenge and defeat Markoz in combat.  If they were successful, they could dictate what the conclave would discuss.  If they weren’t, then their tribes would be forced to support whatever Markoz had called them there to discuss.

There were numerous other fights going on at the same time, of course.  Whether quarreling over women, ale or a nice sword; or jockeying for a higher position in a tribe; the surplus population of orc males were going to be winnowed that night.  Drauken pushed his way through the largest circle of orcs.  A pit of fire had been constructed in the middle, and Markoz was strutting around it, whooping and shouting as his most recent challenger was dragged away.

He reached out to a nearby human slave girl and grabbed a wineskin and took a deep drink.  Hopefully that’s water, and not wine.  When Markoz passed it back to the human, Drauken did a double take.  The beautiful slave’s skin was still fair, not weather beaten as it got after a few years in the March.  It was also soft, and she carried herself tall and proud.  Instead of meekly casting her eyes down, she boldly scanned the crowd of orcs, looking to see if anyone else would step forward to challenge Markoz.

For a moment, their eyes met and he nodded at the Princess.  Something flashed in her eye: not recognition, for they had never met, but something similar.  A realization of having seen someone or something important.  He smiled at her, but before he could make his way over to her a powerful looking orc stepped between them and broke the line of sight.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw the orc pull open her vest and grope her tits.  When she tried to push his hands away, he grabbed her wrists, and held her arms apart to expose her breasts.  A moment later Markoz returned, and with a grin the new orc released Brigitte and stepped into the circle.

“I am “Hoschk, of the Regok Tribe!  I thank Markoz for calling together my conclave.”  The orc bellowed out, before turning to Markoz.  “Now step aside Markoz, and I will take control from here.  You have neither the courage, vision, or strength to lead out people.  Step aside, or I will crush you here and now!”

Markoz didn’t even deign to answer, but simply hefted his axe again and advanced towards the challenger.  Markoz was only required to engage in five contests a night, and he’d already finished off three others. The boldest orcs always challenged first, but fighting when the champion was fully rested was the most dangerous.  Further, even if you won there might still be bold warriors who would challenge you in turn.

It was better to wait until the champion was tired from earlier bouts.  This strategy was not without risk, however.  The more exhausted one got, the wilder and more unpredictable he became.  While once the champion might have held back and showed mercy, now he would make quick, killing strikes to defeat his foes.  Drauken looked at Markoz and saw that determination in the orc’s eyes.  We just have to see if Hoschk has the skill and patience to stand against him.

The two orcs circled each other warily, their weapons up in a guard position.  Neither feinted at the other, as both sought to preserve their strength for the contest to come.  Drauken’s heart was already pounding, though in trepidation not in excitement.  He had hoped that the contests would be over.  Instead, the man on whom his whole purpose was resting could be killed at any moment.

He didn’t know what Hoschk planned for the conclave, but he doubted it would involve a raid into Zentara.  Drauken eyed Brigitte again, but the princess was watching the fight intently.  He began making his way to her, skirting the edge of the circle to reach her as fast as possible.

“After I take your head, I’m going to take your new slave.  You can watch as I fill her womb with my seed and plant my son inside her!”  Hoschk grinned ferally at Markoz, but the orc didn’t rise to the bait.  His grin sunk into a snarl and he lashed out, swinging a handaxe at Markoz.  As the orc dodged, Hoschk slashed a second axe diagonally from the other direction.

Markoz caught the second attack with the head of his axe, then kicked out, forcing Hoschk to jump back.  He quickly charged forward, thrusting the head of the axe at Hoschk to keep him off balance.  As the other orc continued to step back he swung it in a sweeping arc, trying to knock Hoschk over as he attempted to dodge.

Instead, the orc leaned back so the axe swing above him, then charged forward and slammed into Markoz, tackling him to the ground.  Hoschk grunted in pain as he took a knee to the ribs, but still forced himself up to crouch over Markoz.  Using the axe’s heft to add weight to his fist, he punched Markoz, slamming across the jaw with his left hand and then following up with a blow from his right.

Blood flew out of the orc’s mouth from the impact, and his mind reeled from the blows to the head.  He quickly threw up his hands to block and began to shimmy backwards, shrimping out from between Hoschk’s legs.  Hoschk raised his handaxe, hoping to finish Markoz off as he tried to escape.  Instead, Markoz jabbed the pommel of his axe into Hoschk’s sternum, then whipped it around to smash it across his jaw. 

Hoschk tumbled off him and rolled away, giving both orcs time to leap to their feet.  They circled each other warily, with both chiefs dripping blood from their mouths.  Markoz was breathing heavily, heavier even than Hoschk.

Drauken watched in consternation as he made his way to Brigitte.  “Your Highness” he addressed the princess, causing her to start, “I am Master Drauken, a friend from Zentara.  Queen Amelie asked me to check in on you.”

“She did?” Brigitte asked in wonder, though she continued to watch the fight anxiously.  “That does sound like her.  But I have everything well in hand here, Master Drauken.   Soon enough we will be opening a new front in the war.  So please do not even think of proposing to rescue me.”

Drauken stared for a moment, then laughed.   “That wasn’t my intent at all, Your Highness!  I actually respect what you’ve done here.  It was a bold move, and one that I think will work.  I want to help you however I can!”

“Really? Oh no!”  Brigitte gasped as Hoschk ploughed into Markoz again, sending him flying back.  Remarkably, Markoz managed to stay on his feet and threw himself back into the fight.  He began hammering Hoschk hard and fast, pushing his antagonist across the clearing as he applied pressure.

Brigitte sighed in relief as the momentum in the fight swung in Markoz’s favor again.  “Really?  You want to help?  I assumed that Queen Amelie sent you here to rescue me and you thought this plan was insane.”

“Not at all!  The orcs can be persuaded, and a raid into Zentara would draw off their forces, undermine their defenses, and expose a weakness in Queen Jeanette’s rule.  It is a bold plan, and I want to help.  I have many contacts with the merchants of the March.  I assume one of their concerns will be the ability to sell or trade the booty if Zentara is closed.  I can reassure them about that.  I can also provide some much needed intelligence on where the Zentaran forces are, where Shropfordshire is vulnerable, and describe what wealth awaits them if they strike.”

“That would be very helpful,” Brigitte replied steadily, “the more orcs we can convince the stronger our force will be. Though take care not to make it sound too easy: the warriors will want some glory in the raid, not just plunder.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Oh-!”  Drauken winced as Markoz slammed the butt of the axe into Hoschk’s face, breaking the orc’s tusk and sending it flying into the bonfire.  Hoschk stumbled to one side, but managed to raise his axe and tab the end of it into Markoz’s stomach as the other orc tried to capitalize on the moment of weakness.

Although it spoiled his killing blow, Markoz shrugged off the attack, and lashed out with his foot kicking in at Hoschk’s knee.  The other orc cried out as his leg twisted and fell to the ground.  Markoz brought his knee up under Hoschk’s chin, and the orc’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed into the dirt, unconscious.

A mighty cheer went up from the orcs.  “Markoz!  Markoz!  Markoz!”  The victorious chieftain raised the axe above his head and strutted about, basking in the revelry.

Drauken’s eyes drifted down to the tattoos on Brigitte’s breasts, as well as the piercings decorating her nipples. By the Abyss it’s alluring to see that on a Princess!  I don’t know why, actually, since it’s not all that out of place for Zentara.  Maybe it’s the fact that’s she Sandoran and innocent…well, not so innocent now, I suppose.

“How is the war progressing, Master Drauken?  I haven’t heard any news since coming here.”

“Queen Amelie bled King Grotok’s army in the Pass, but they have finally managed to break through.”  He sighed.  “I fear the battle with the Sandoran army in imminent.  If it goes well, then the orcs here will help hem them into Zentara.  If it goes poorly...well, perhaps they’ll withdraw with the orcs threatening Ruar.  The Hesten front is stable, with King Belkor still trapped south of the Warne.  I think King Henry will be able to hold him there, though we will see about that soon as well.  Belkor is also going to be marching too.”

“Then we don’t have any time to lose.  It’s all coming together, and if we want to be a factor in that then we have to strike quickly.”

“We will.  I don’t think anyone else will be challenging Markoz, and this orc army will move faster than the ones were used to seeing in the Western Kingdoms.  If they strike camp tomorrow you could be at Shropfordshire in a fortnight!”

With a deep, exhilarating laugh Markoz returned and grabbed Brigitte, lifting her up and swinging her about as he gave her a kiss.  Her loincloth flipped up, flashing her ass to the cheering crowd of orcs as he held her close.   “There’s no one left to challenge me, Brigitte, and enough of the large clans are now honor bound to support us.  Soon, we will be launching the largest orc raid into a human Kingdom in history!”

“Excellent, my chief, and not a moment to spare.  This is Master Drauken, and he has some very valuable information for us…”

****

The day was dark, and overcast from the Spring rains, but it was Daniels’ glower that send a violent tremor ran down Jasmara’s spine.  The rusty hinges of the kneel door screeched like a bird of prey intent on capturing its victim, but instead of doom it was signaling her freedom.  At least, it meant freedom for the moment.

The old footman wasn’t happy about removing Jasmara from her bondage, at least, not under circumstances leading to further abuse.  But Queen Sylvia had called for her, and the Queen could not be disobeyed.  Even with the sun hidden behind a thick screen of clouds it was too bright for her, and she had to squint to shield her eyes from the glare.

Soldiers milled about the courtyard of Altengraf castle, and more lined the walls looking for any sign of her brother’s army.  As one looked over to see her being led towards the main keep, she noticed the lusty, leering glint in his eyes.  They bore a hint of familiarity, and she wondered if he had fucked her.  There had been so many during her captivity that she could no longer keep track of the various men who had violated her.

That particularly nasty thought was one that had haunted her much of late.  She was by no means a virgin when she was captured, but she could still have counted her lovers on one hand.  Jasmara was something of a rarity at her mother’s court, more interested in martial training than carnal relations.  Despite her gloomy thoughts, she was glad that Daniels didn’t say anything as they walked.  She much preferred the company of her own thoughts, morose they may be, so the abusive human.  Who knew what further revelations he might have for her?

It’s funny how we always think of it as my mother’s court, not my father’s.  But then, Turogg wasn’t really my father if Daniels is to be believed.  The worst part was, it was easy to believe him.  Everyone knew Jeanette’s proclivities.  Of course, it wasn’t as bad when Turogg was alive.  Maybe I’m just projecting what she is now to what she was then.  She tried to reassure herself, but her thoughts rang hollow.  People didn’t change, not that much.  The wantonness must always have been in her.

I wonder what he was like, she thought.  Most accounts of the war always paired Gorath with Katerei, the mercenary captain who trained Queen Amelie in the art of war.  Both left the Western Kingdoms at the end of the rebellion, disappearing into the March never to be seen again.  Is that part of the story?  Did they get sent away to protect the secret of my conception?

A delightful aroma pulled her from her thoughts.  Her stomach rumbled hungrily as she caught the scent of roasted pork wafting down the narrow stone walls, creating a sensuous corridor of delight.  She picked up her, straining at the guards’ grasp as she made her way down the hall to find the source of the delightful aroma. 

They brought her to a solar, and for a moment she started as Sylvia rose to greet her.  The pretender Queen of Heste did look like a younger version of her mother.

“Princess Jasmara, please, sit and share a meal with me.”  Sylvia smiled and gestured to the chair across from her on the table. 

The orc princess wondered what sort of cruel trick this was, but the food was too tempting to pass by.  When the other shoe dropped she intended to have a full belly.  Her hand snapped forward to grab a fist full of pork from the plate, and without a care for the filth on her hand she shoved it into her mouth and began to devour the meat.

Sylvia watched the display without judgment, her face masked of any reaction.  Instead, she turned her attention to her own plate, and began to eat slowly and deliberately as Jasmara had her fill.  Her soft hands reached out to break a loaf of bread, and she dipped it into the juices pooling on her plate before taking a bite.

After finishing the meat, Jasmara snatched her goblet off the table, groaning as she drank deeply of the red wine, guzzling it down, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of the nectar.  When it drained, she put the goblet back on the table, where one of the serving maids quickly refilled it.  Having taken the edge off her hunger and thirst, she realized what shocking table manners she just displayed.  Jasmara suppressed the embarrassment, and instead gave Sylvia a defiant look.  “Well?  What is it you want?  Why have you brought me here?”

“I thought you might like to be let out of that cage.  If I was mistaken, say so and you can be escorted back.”

“It’s out of the goodness of your heart, then?”  Jasmara countered.  “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.  I’ve yet to see a drop of goodness or decency from anyone in your misbegotten ‘Kingdom’.”

“War is hard for everyone, Princess-”

“Don’t feed me that line, Sylvia!  You know what’s been done to me!  Can you say the same?”

“Your mother gave me to a brothel when I was half your age.”  Sylvia replied with a frosty edge in her voice and a steely glint in your eyes.  “Your brother did things just as humiliating.  Except I couldn’t fight and call it rape, I had to smile, and acts as if I enjoyed is depredations.”

Jasmara’s angry retort caught in her throat.  She couldn’t exactly deny that her brother had abused and humiliated Sylvia.  Jasmara had always assumed that the woman did it willingly because she was a harlot, but did they really have that much choice when their clients made demands?  Particularly ones like Sylvia, who had been forced into the life?

“You also cannot tell me that your own soldiers have never ravished any women they’ve captured, can you?  War IS hard for everyone, Jasmara.  I am sorry that it has gone poorly for you, but you are not the only one who has suffered.”

Sylvia’s words gave her pause, and she looked at the Hesten queen more warily.  After a moment though she relaxed and resumed eating her meal, though this time with the cutlery.  “You’re right, of course.  Thank you for getting me released from that cage.”  I only wish you had done it sooner, she thought darkly.

“Of course.  I hope I can make the remainder of your stay here more pleasant.  The war will be resuming soon, and the army will be marching.  There is no need for you to go with them.  Indeed, it would be much safer to keep you here, out of harms way.”

And too far away to be rescued or to attempt an escape, she noted.  “That would be wonderful.”  Jasmara sighed deeply.  “To be honest, I just want this war to end, one way or the other.”

“It will, soon.  Henry doesn’t think it will last another campaign season.  Too much has happened, the forces are too deeply committed to avoid a decisive battle now.”

Jasmara thought that Sylvia’s expression suggested she wasn’t entirely sure who would come out on top, which was reassuring to her.  From everything she had experienced so far it seemed like the human kingdoms were winning.  But maybe something has happened elsewhere?  I can’t be too obvious about my questioning, though…“Do you know if my family is alright?  Have you heard any news of them?”

“Your brother Belkor is fine, at least for the moment.  Grotok and your nephew are-”  Sylvia stopped herself from saying more, and instead finished with, “-still fine.  I haven’t heard any reports suggesting any member of your family has been harmed.”

“My nephew?  Which one?”  Jasmara wracked her brain, trying to think of which of her nephews would be campaigning with Grotok.  Does she mean one of Agmar’s bastards?

“Trogar’s son, Augras, he-”

“Augras?  Augras is dead!”  He was lost at sea years ago!”  Jasmara spat out angrily.  She had been quite fond of her nephew before he left on his exploration of the seas, never to return.

“You didn’t hear during your brief escape attempt?  Augras has returned, and brought a small army of monsters from the southern continent with him.  He, well, it is difficult to explain, and harder to believe.  Apparently he learned some sort of magic there, and has used it to great effect.  He-”  Sylvia stopped herself again, not wanting to give too much away.

Jasmara reeled in show at the revelation.  Augras is alive? He’s alive!  For the first time since her escape she felt a surge of hope and happiness.  “H-how is that possible?  What do you mean magic?”  All of a sudden the wellspring of hope began to dry up.  Magic?  What is she talking about?  Is it a trick?

“I don’t fully understand it myself, no one does.  But the results are undeniable.”  Sylvia leaned forward.  “I hope that is some comfort to you.” 

The expression on Sylvia’s face confused her for a moment, before Jasmara realized that the Hesten Queen was thinking that Augras was likely to die in the war.  With these strange powers there is no way he could be allowed to live.  For that matter, I’m not even sure they will let me live when this is all over.  For a moment, she thought about reaching across the table and strangling Sylvia right there, though that would be a poor way to repay the woman’s hospitality.

If Augras truly does have some sort of magic, and monsters no less, perhaps we’ll win this war after all.  I just need to stay alive until then.  “Thank you, Your Highness.”  She replied, grudgingly giving Sylvia her title.  “It is kind of you to share that news with me, it does-”

The loud blast of a horn interrupted her, followed shortly thereafter by two more.  “Your brother’s army has been spotted, Princess.  Perhaps this will be settled even sooner than we expected."

Triumph Chapter 9

The crowd roared as the javelin plunged directly into the center of the target.  “Princess-Knight!  Princess-Knight!  Princess-Knight!”  The entire stadium was on its feet cheering for her.  Sir Andrew Torrence, the Master-At-Arms of Orlous, the capital of Thesta, clapped her on the shoulder and congratulated her.

“Well thrown, Your Highness.  52 paces!  That’s the best bullseye since your brother competed in a tourney.”

“Thank you, Sir Andrew.  But you must share some of the credit.  You’re the one who taught me how to throw a javelin, after all.  My brother too.”  Amelie smiled up at the older knight, and then turned to face the crowd.  She brushed a long lock of brown hair behind her ear and then raised her hand to the crowd in triumph.

The people of Thesta loved her.  She was born at the end of a period of tragedy for the Kingdom, and since her birth the realm had enjoyed peace and prosperity.  When she earned her knighthood last year the whole city took up a collection to buy her arms and horse, despite the fact that she could easily afford it on her own; they all wanted to be a part of her triumph.

The title of “Princess-Knight” came about quickly and easily.  All her life she had striven to be the perfect Princess.  She was a master of dance, decorum, and courtly manners.  She knew how to weave and bake, and how to manage a household staff.  Amelie gave alms to the poor, even more than what was normally expected of a Princess.  She knew the names and families of her petitioners the same way she knew the names of the soldiers under her command.

But she also knew how to manage an estate and the realms finances.  She knew how to wage war; both as a general and as a warrior.  As she proved today, she was the finest with a javelin in all Thesta.  She knew how to wield a sword, a mace, and how to ride a warhorse.  Amelie strove to be the best at everything she did. 

It helped that she looked the part of a Princess-Knight.  Her lithe, athletic body fit well into a pretty dress and was strong enough to wield a sword and wear armor.  She was beautiful, with long brown hair and crystal blue eyes.  Her skin was fair, but with good color from hours spent outside in the practice yard.  Though her bust was not nearly as large as say, the Queen of Zentara’s, it was still large enough to give her an hourglass shaped figure.

Amelie exulted in the pleasure of the crowd, but as she turned towards the royal box her heart fell.  Her father wasn’t in attendance and hadn’t seen her triumph.  The smile fell from her face and she quickly departed the stadium before her people noticed.

“Fuck the king if he doesn’t care to see your win.  You don’t need him, Your Highness.”  Katerei said.

Amelie shot the mercenary a cold look.  “Watch your tongue when you speak about the King, Katerei, or you’ll find yourself hunting orcs in the Angrian March.”  The foul-mouthed mercenary had been hired to instruct her in close quarters combat two years past.  Amelie reasoned that there was no one better to teach her how to fight against men than another woman.  She was crass, but she knew how to fight.

“Apologies, Your Highness.  I didn’t mean to offend.”

Yes you did.  “Of course my father wouldn’t be here; I just forgot what day it was.”  It was a shame that the Mayfair tournament fell on this day this year.  “Excuse me, Katerei, but I am going to tell my father the good news.”

She knew exactly where to find the King.  Amelie made her way back to the castle, and then down into the crypts beneath.  King Guillaume was exactly where she knew he’d be; at the tomb of her brother, Francis.  It had been seventeen years to the day since he died in the Great Sweltering Sickness.

Francis had been everything her father could have hoped for in a Prince and heir.  He was smart, strong, and brave, but also kind, wise, and compassionate.  The King had never gotten over the loss of his son. “Good evening father.”  She wrapped an arm around her father and pressed against his side.  “He was a great man.  Everyone was talking today about the great throw he made to win the tournament all those years ago.”

Guillaume didn’t turn to look at her.  “He was a great Prince. Unmatched in skill at arms.  It’s a tragedy that he was taken from us so early.”

“Yes father, it was.”  Francis had been born late in the King’s life.  By the time he passed, the Queen was too old to bear him another child.  Under the advice of his ministers, he divorced her, though he loved her dear, and married Amelie’s mother.  Three years later she was born, somewhat of a disappointment since she wasn’t a boy.  Through simple bad luck, or perhaps a lack of interest, her mother never bore another child and Amelie became his heir.  “I won the javelin toss at the Mayfair Tournament today, father!  I threw a bullseye at 52 paces!”

“Your brother threw one at 56 paces.”  Guillaume turned to look at her.  “But 52 paces is good as well.”  He offered her a weak smile.

“Thank you father.  I threw even better than Sir Andrew!  I told you that my training was complete.  I earned my knighthood, it wasn’t given to me because I’m the Princess.”  She waited a moment.  “Please, I promise you father, I can lead our troops in battle.  Let me take the Falcon Guard to Zentara.  We should support our most important trading partner against Heste.  We cannot let the trade from the Elfish Isles fall into Hesten hands.”

Guillaume sighed with a mixture of resignation and annoyance.  “We’ve been over this, Amelie.  Zentara’s problems are not our own.  Queen Jeanette should not have taken the Duchy of Braden from Heste after the last war.  It destabilized everything.  Of course King Connor was going to take it back!  What else did she expect?”

“Heste has always been the greatest threat to all the realms.  Taking the Duchy of Braden created a buffer between the Zentaran heartland, and our trade routes, while greatly diminishing Heste’s ability to field and maintain an army.   If it weren’t for the rebellion, Connor wouldn’t have a chance to defeat Zentara.”

“But there is a rebellion.  Do you think that it’s a coincidence?  It’s a further example of Queen Jeanette’s reckless policies.  No, no, Amelie, we are not going to get involved in her wars.  I forbid it!”

“It’s not about that at all, is it?  Queen Jeanette, for all what you may think of her policies, has expanded trade with us through her entire reign.  All our people have benefited from our relationship with Zentara.  It’s not about her, is it?  It’s about me!  You don’t trust me to lead our armies.  If Francis were still here you’d let him go without a moment’s hesitation!”  Amelie fought back the tears welling in her eyes.

 “Your brother was the finest knight this Kingdom has ever seen!  Now that’s enough about Zentara.  You’re staying here and that is all there is to it!”

“Yes Father.”  Amelie said stiffly, before departing the tomb.  One day she’d be as good as Francis was. Then her father would trust her, and would no longer have any doubts about her ability to rule Thesta.

“Amelie, wait!”  Her father called out to her. 

Her heart lifted as she turned back, but the twisted, deranged look on her father’s face made her freeze.  She was so surprised that she made no resistance when he grabbed her by the arms and yanked her forward, then spun her around and pushed her against the side of the tomb.

“How many times do you think I am going to put up with this insolence from you?  How many times do you think I’m going to let you fail me?”  Before she could answer he raised his hand, and then slapped it down sharply on her rear.  The loud crack echoed through the crypt, but was quickly followed by another and another.  Each time after he smacked her bottom his hand squeezed her rear, groping the flesh lewdly.

“Ah!  Father!  What are you doing?”  Amelie cried out as her bottom was struck.  Something was wrong though.  It wasn’t hurting like it should: it was feeling good.  Amelie found herself enjoying being spanked and groped by her father!

“You’re not my son!  You’re not Francis!”  Guillaume snarled as he gripped the sides of her pants and yanked them down, then resumed spanking her.  This time his palm collided with her bare ass in a resounding smack that quickly reddened the pale cheeks.

“Nnng!  Ah! Ah!”  Amelie squealed out loud as her father’s hand smacked her naked backside over and over.  “I know father!  I know I’m not him!  I’ll never be him!  I’m not good enough!”

“No, you’re not!  You’re a slut!  A whore!  Aren’t you?”  The king growled and slapped her bottom one last time, then slid his hands between her legs and pushed two fingers right up her wet slit.

“Oooh!  Yesss!”  Why am I agreeing with him?  “Yes I’m a slut!  A whore!  A worthless whore!”  No I’m not!  Amelie moaned louder as she pushed her hips back into her father’s fingers, making them slide deep inside her.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be a virgin!  You deserve this!  Every inch of this!”  Suddenly his cock was deep inside her, and he was thrusting madly inside his daughter.  “This is what you’re good for!  Not fighting, and certainly not ruling.  But fucking!  You’re a whore!”

“Mmm! Ah!  Fuck me father!  Fuck me like a whore!  Fuck me hard and breed a real heir from me!”  Pleasure began to mount inside her, welling up and building to a crescendo before Amelie snapped awake with a cry. 

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and despite the depravity of the dream she groaned in frustration at being left unsatisfied.  It had been happening more and more frequently; despite the lewd dreams she wasn’t getting any satisfaction, just more and more aroused.  The dream was an old one, though it had never ended quite like that before.  She ran her hands down over her chest, moaning softly as her fingers brushed over her hard nipples. 

No, no time for that.  Amelie brushed her brown hair back, tied it into a ponytail and swung off her cot.  There is too much work to be done.  She picked up Drauken’s letter again and reread it what must have been the hundredth time searching for some previously missed detail.  The orc’s letter was vague, but some salient points were clear.  The remnants of Agmar’s army would be reinforcing Grotok and Augras, and together they were going to invade Thesta before the start of the campaign season.

It also told her that they would not be bringing their baggage train with them, but foraging and living off the land.  Beyond that though, there were no details.  The whole plan was being kept secret, so she had no idea what their target was or what their exact timetable was going to be.

“Well, clearly they plan on using Augras’ magic to grow crops and feed themselves.”  She said to herself as her hand drifted between her legs and idly stroked her clit.  “That means they’ll want to leave the mountains and head into the farmlands.”  She looked over the map again as she mused, “Orlous is the obvious target, but they’ll have to get past the Sandoran army first.  They’ll also want to draw us out, but not get caught between us.”  Her breath quickened as she pressed her finger harder against her little button and rubbed faster.

“The Duke of Lisene is going to move to attack them quickly.”  She traced a line with her free hand from the Sanrodan army marker to Hell Pass where the orcs would march through.  Then she traced a line from the Pass in the direction of Orlous.  The only landmark of any significance in the vicinity of both paths was the town of Benodetienne.  “That’s where they’ll meet.  Grotok will want to get their food stores and sack the town, Lisene will want to be the hero who stops them.”  If the General could get there first then the orcs would be trapped between them.  We’ll have to move quickly though, and stay right on their tail.

With a sigh she set the letter aside and picked up the one from her.  Amelie suppressed a shiver of pleasure as she read it again.

Mother,

I hope things are going well with the Falcon Guard and you’re staying safe, well, as safe as you can be during war.  I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, but we both know that I wasn’t born to be a warrior.  Still, you’d be proud of the progress we’ve made in Orlous.  The expansion and reinforcement of the walls has been completed and we’ve laid in enough food stores to last two years of siege if it comes to it.  The guard has also been replenished, and we have more than enough soldiers to man the walls and defend the city.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have them on the front lines with the army?

The mood in the city remains positive.  So far the war has been far away in Heste and Zentara, and the tales of victory which have come back have only strengthened the faith they have in you.  That is why you need to be safe, Mother.  The people believe in you, and your invincibility.  Were you to fall, our people would fall.  I trust you mother, but you’re not a young woman anymore.  Be careful!  We need you, I need you.

With love and devotion,

Anna

Amelie rapidly blinked her eyes to fight away the mist building in them.  Somehow she doubted that Jeanette got many letters like this from her children.  But she couldn’t afford to be careful.  Everything was on the line now, and this war would determine the fate of the entire Western Kingdoms.  True, fatigue had been hitting harder than when she was younger, but she wasn’t in her dotage yet.  It was lucky the war broke now and not ten years from now! 

Amelie rolled up the letter and was about to put it aside when she noticed the damp stain on it.  I didn’t think I was crying… Then she noticed the wetness on her fingers, and the smell of sex in her tent and realized what she’d been doing.  Ugh, what’s wrong with me?  I was touching myself the whole time?  Without even knowing I was doing it?  These dreams need to stop, one way or another I need to get some sexual release, just to keep my head on straight!

But there would be time for that later.  For now she had to get the camp ready to move at a moment’s notice.  Besides, I haven’t been able to climax on my own any other time this past week, and what other options do I have?

****

Dew glistened on the grass as Augras stepped out of his tent with Marishka.  It was the first time in months that the land wasn’t frosted in the morning.  The air was brisk, but not biting as it had been.  “You’re sure it will be here today?”  Augras asked for what might have been the hundredth time.

“Oh yes, the darkness arrives today.  You did well in your choice.”  Marishka turned south and pointed into the distance.  Here it comes now.”

Augras turned, and in spite of himself almost expected to see darkness creeping over the land.  Marishka’s cryptic pronouncements could have that effect on people.  Instead, he was greeted by the sight of dust clouds kicked up by the approaching column.  “Let’s go find my uncle then, he’ll want to be here for this.”

The pair wandered through the camp, and Augras couldn’t help but notice the tense, nervous expressions of the soldiers.  Weeks of raids by Amelie’s forces had worn them down, and the state of near constant alert had left them frayed.  Coupled with the fact that they were stuck in place as they slowly cleared the wreckage of the castles in the Pass, and the soldiers’ morale was severely crippled.

People were starting to wonder if they would ever take the offensive again, and if the Princess-Knight could be defeated.  Of course she can, and I’ll be the one to do it, Augras assured himself.  He had a plan, and now finally the weather had turned enough to implement it.  As soon as his cousin Bogor arrived, they could finally get underway.

They arrived at Grotok’s command tent and went inside.  The King was already waiting for them, standing alone over a map of the Western Kingdoms.  They had agreed to keep the number of attendees to a minimum to reduce the chances of Amelie discovering their plans.  “Good morning, nephew.  You’re looking chipper this morning: did you spend the night ‘rehearsing’ your spells with Marishka?”

“Don’t be jealous, uncle, it’s not everyone who can make magic happen between the sheets.  If you’d like, I could give you some lessons; then maybe you’ll finally be able to find a Queen.  Well, besides Grandmother of course.”  Augras smiled pleasantly back at Grotok as the older orc scowled.

“How droll.  Someone should have taught you to respect your elders; but with a father like yours I understand why you never picked up the habit.”  Grotok shot back.

“For once we agree, uncle.”  Before he could continue the repartee the flap to the command tent opened and Bogor strode in, his armor still dusty from the road.

“Good morning, Your Highness” Bogor said, bowing respectfully to Grotok, before turning to Augras, “Good morning to you as well, Prince Augras.”

“Welcome to Hell Pass, Bogor,” Grotok said, “it is good to have you here.  With your help we can finally take the war into Thesta!”

“But first, I think you have something for me?”  Augras asked eagerly.

Bogor nodded and pulled a small wooden casket from his pack and handed it to the Prince.  “Here you are, Your Highness.  As requested.”

Augras opened the box and pulled out the jet black ring contained within.  “The Eye of the Abyss!  I’ve never actually seen it, until today.”  Augras looked at Bogor with a mischievous glint in his eye.  “Did you look into it?”

“Yes, more than once, to see what the fuss is about.  It’s just a ring.”

“It is more than that,” Marishka said, “it is as black as the souls who cling to it.”

“Then you don’t care to gaze into it?”  Grotok asked haughtily.

“I do not need to, for I have already seen its darkest depths.  But it will serve.”

“Serve what?”  Grotok asked suspiciously.  “What foul magic do you have planned next?”

“It is time to continue the plan against Amelie, and this stone is the key.  I’ve already begun influencing her dreams; probably why she has not been seen personally in the field as often.  But once the next phase is completed, I’ll be able to begin binding her directly.”

Bogor snorted.  “Is this why I was summoned all the way here?  To win the war with magic tricks?”

“Magic isn’t going to win the war,” Grotok declared, before adding, “though it may help us win it.  You’re here because we need your expertise.”

“We’re going to abandon our wagons and push through the Pass on foot.  My magic will grow us the food we need on the other side.  Other than that we’ll have to forage.  You’ll take my Minotaurs and march to the Catabrian Hills from behind, while we check the Sandoran army.”

Bogor strode towards the map in the center of the tent and gazed at it thoughtfully.  “That will draw the Tribesmen serving with Henry off his army, making it easier for King Belkor.  It will also threaten his base with the northern Hesten lords.  It’s a bold move.”

“Amelie won’t pursue you,” Marishka said before Bogor had a chance to continue, “Augras will see to that.  She will chase after us.”

“How can you be so sure?  If you’re wrong, we’ll be run down and annihilated.”

“Because as much as she might care for the Catabrians, she cares for Thesta more.  Besides, I intend to give her all the motivation she needs to chase after us.  Trust me, she’ll do as we expect.”  Augras said confidently.

“It is the best plan we have” Grotok insisted, “we can’t continue to sit here and bleed.  We need to retake momentum, and the offensive.  Augras, you have the rest of the day to do what spells you need.  Bogor, rest your men and start gathering provisions.  Take as much food as you can carry, because tomorrow we march!”

“One other thing, uncle.  I need one of your soldiers, an orc.  Someone brave and reliable for a mission.”  When Grotok nodded his ascent, Augras and Marishka left the tent and walked over to the blacksmiths.  Augras idly twirled the ring around his finger as he mentally centered himself in preparation of the spell.  The blacksmith was ready for them, waiting with a long sword blank wrought in cold, grey iron.

“I have the sword you requested, Prince Augras, but are you sure you want an iron sword?  It won’t be as strong as steel.”

“Yes it will be, when I’m done with it.  Here, “Augras pulled out the Eye of the Abyss and handed it to the blacksmith, “set this into the hilt, and then start working the iron.”

The smith shrugged and held the iron over the fire while Augras began to reach inside himself to summon the magic.  He pictured Amelie in his mind, or at least what he imagined her to look like.  Though he had never seen her himself, he had heard that she was tall for a woman, fair skinned, with light brown hair.  He saw her as being lithe, and toned from years of riding and martial training. 

In his mind’s eye she was sleeping, and the world began to spin as his point of view zoomed into her forehead and into her dreaming mind.  Power gathered within him, pooling in his center.  At first the images he saw in her mind were random, though each one a depraved tableau.  He saw Amelie being gangbanged by her soldiers, or being raped by orcs, Minotaurs, and centaurs.

Drawing his dagger, Augras held his hand out over the iron blade and cut his palm.  He squeezed his hand into a fist and dribbled blood out onto the sword as it was tempered.  He pushed his power out with his blood, and as he did he envisioned sorting the rampant images from chaos into order.  Instead of random people or scenes, it was Augras fucking her, controlling her, directing her.

In rapid succession, images of Amelie serving him flashed through his mind, faster and faster.  Augras’ blood sizzled on the sides of the blade as his magic dripped into the iron of the sword.  As he channeled his power, Marishka knelt by his side and pulled out his cock.

Disregarding all the onlookers, she took him into her mouth and began to suckle his cock.  With the sexual overtones of Augras’ magic, a more direct reagent was needed to augment his blood.  She began to bob up and down as she sloshed her spittle around his member.  Her lips hugged the contours of his ridged cock as she worked her way halfway down the length before pulling back up again.

A stifled grunt was the only evidence that Augras felt Marishka’s ministration.  He had spent long hours over months and months practicing and building up the discipline to maintain focus when channeling his magic.  Though his cock grew and stiffened in her mouth, he kept projecting his power and imagination into the blade.  As Marishka’s mouth formed a moist pocket around his dick he pulled the pleasure from his groin and pushed it out with his magic, letting it flow into the inky, bottomless depths of the Eye of the Abyss.

The Mincenntti woman was skilled, and her mouth and tongue provided an endless source of pleasure to draw from.  Faster than he could draw it out, she grew it inside him.  She moved faster and faster, feeding more of his cock between her lips.  Her tongue swiped about, rubbing his member all over while she stroked it with her lips.  Her enthusiastic pleasuring of his dick quickly brought him to the edge of climax.

The smith did his best to keep his eyes off the strange scene playing out before him.  He continued to hammer and fold the blade, working the dark grey iron into a dangerous weapon of war.  Still, in the back of his mind he trembled as he saw the prince’s blood splatter onto the blade.  It didn’t sizzle and evaporate, but sunk and stained the iron.  The prospect of blood magic frightened him, but even still he couldn’t help but wonder at the idea of forging a magic blade.

Augras felt his orgasm growing and began to prepare the final surge of power into the sword.  In his mind’s eye he saw himself picking up the blade and holding the tip to Amelie’s forehead.  The blade sank inside the princess knight, but as it pushed inside her head it grew out of her sword arm.  Augras continued to push, feeding the sword and his magic into Amelie until the hilt disappeared inside her and she was left wielding the blade in her hand.

As he saw her lifting it up his power exploded out of him as a mixture of blood and semen shot into the forge.  Marishka furiously stroked his shaft, milking out his seed until the pressure inside him eased and the spell came to an end.  The smith lifted the sword and plunged it into a nearby bucket of water to cool the metal.

When he pulled the blade out again the dark iron almost shimmered malevolently.  The sides of the blade were stained indelibly with his blood.  The edges were splattered with it, and looked as if it had been freshly pulled from a corpse instead of a bucket of water.  The cum had stained the blade as well, though they had pooled into white stars that ran up and down the length of the sword.

“It’s perfect!”  Augras beamed in satisfaction at the sight of it as he took it from the smith.  It was the first magic blade he made, that had been made in possibly a millennia.  It was just a shame it wasn’t meant for him.

“Prince Augras, the King ordered me to report for a mission.”  A grizzled veteran orc approached him now that the ritual was complete.

“Good!  It will be a dangerous one.  It will test not just your skill in battle, but your poise and discipline as well.  Are you up to it?”

“Always, Your Highness.  Just tell me what needs doing.”  The orc replied.

“Here,”  Augras slid the sword into a simple leather sheathe and handed it to him, “you are to take this sword and take it to the other side of the Pass.”

The orc looked confused.  “The other side?  Where?”

“There is a cave that belonged to my people,” Marishka explained, “when they first came to this land.  When you get to the other side, turn towards the rising sun and walk until it reaches its zenith.  Then look for the lifeless fallen tree on the side of the mountain.  Behind it is the cave.”

“Are you sure?  How do you know it’s there?”

“I have seen it.”  She replied, simply.

“It will be there, but finding the cave is the easy part.  Here’s what you have to do next…”

****

“Get these tents packed up!  I want everyone ready to move in an hour!  The orcs think they’ve slipped past us and I want to let them know they can’t escape!”  Amelie bellowed at her men as they bustled about the camp, tearing it down and packing it

up to move out.

Her sentries had reported that the orc army was preparing to leave, and she wanted to be right on their tail when they did.  The war would be entering Thestan soil for the first time, and she wanted to make sure they paid a toll in blood for entering her domain.  Amelie was thankful for the work, as it was a distraction from the fire burning between her legs.  She still hadn’t managed to find any respite from the lust blazing within her.

“Your Highness!”  One of her scouts ran up breathless.  “The orc column split shortly after exiting the Pass.  The minotaurs and the green orcs are hugging the mountains to the east while the main body is moving towards Orlous!”

Amelie blinked as she absorbed the report.  Why are they splitting their forces?  Especially the minotaurs?  I wouldn’t think Augras would want to lose any of his personal troop, especially not his heavy infantry.  “Good work!  Get something to eat and drink, then report back to your commander.”

After the soldier left, Amelie pulled her map out of her pack and examined it.  As she traced the projected path of the orcs’ secondary force she couldn’t find any immediate targets.  But as she followed the mountain range she quickly determined their purpose.  They’re going to attack the Catabrian Hills from behind.  That’s why they have the green orcs; they are the ones with the most experience.  I’m not sure why the minotaurs are going.  Either Augras wants his personal stamp on the attack or he thinks they’ll be suited to the mountainous warfare.  They’ve certainly gotten enough experience fighting us in the hills surrounding the Pass.

The splitting of the orcs’ forces presented her with something of a dilemma.  She didn’t have the resources to go after both armies.  True, Lisene could move to intercept the main force, allowing her to pursue the splinter.  Unfortunately, she didn’t trust him to defeat Grotok and Augras.  Besides, the defense of Thesta itself would best be served in the hands of a Thestan, even more so its Queen.

Unfortunately, that left the green orcs and the minotaurs free to ravage the Catabrian Tribes.  They had already suffered enormously during Agmar’s invasion, and now most of their surviving warriors were off in Heste fighting, leaving the Tribes defenseless.  Amelie briefly thought about Rosalind, but then pushed the tribeswoman from her mind.  They all would have given birth by now, and she didn’t want to think about the fate of all those half-orc babies.

They’ll have to manage, she thought.  The Catabrians are going to desert Henry when they find out.  Hopefully he’s inflicted enough losses on Belkor to make up the difference.

“Your Highness!”  Another scout came running up to her.  “We’ve got a prisoner!  Caught a damn orc skulking about near our lines!”  

“Good work!  Let us see what he has to say; have him brought to the quarters we built for the farmers.”  They had built a small longhouse for the farmers they took prisoner before resettling them in Thesta.  It would serve as a perfect place to interrogate the prisoner.

After overseeing the packing of the last of her own stuff, she designated one of her sergeants to take over for the rest of the gear as she made her way to the longhouse.  Two guards were already waiting for her outside.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness.  The prisoner is inside with Wilkens and Jennings.  He didn’t have any papers with him, but he was carrying this.”  The guard lifted up a sword and held it out to her.

The sword itself wasn’t unusual, except for the deep black stone set in the hilt, at least until she pulled it from its hilt. The sword was made of iron rather than steel, and the metal had been marked during its forging, giving it the appearance of being splattered with blood.  The white star patterns were interesting as well; it wasn’t done by a technique she recognized.

“A strange weapon for a foot soldier to be armed with.”

“He wasn’t armed with it, Your Highness.  He was armed with a spear, and just seemed to be carrying the sword.”  The guard responded.

“Strange, but we’ll soon get to the bottom of it.”  She stepped inside the longhouse and approached the orc, who had been tied to a chair in the center of the room.  Her step nearly faltered as she noticed the orc’s bulging chest and prominent square jaw capped with tusks protruding upward.  A shiver of excitement at his raw masculinity shot down her spine which she quickly suppressed.

“He hasn’t said anything yet, Your Highness, but we’ve not started asking properly either.”  Wilkens said, shooting the orc a nasty glare.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, so let’s start with something simple.  I’m sure you know, or can guess, who I am, orc.  But why don’t you tell me your name at least?” 

The orc looked up at her with an impudent, inappropriately confident, gaze.  “Jarrik.”

“Well Jarrik, that is a good start.  Now, what were you doing in the hills?”  When the orc didn’t say anything, she continued, “What were you doing so far from the rest of the army?  Somehow I doubt you were the only grey skinned orc attached to that splinter force.  What was your mission?”

When the orc still didn’t respond, she sighed and turned towards Wilkens, “Start heating up a poker in the fire.  We’ll have to be quick about it, as we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Wait!”  Jarrik interjected, “There’s no need for that, I’ll talk, but only to you.”

“You don’t get to set the terms here, Jarrik.”  Amelie shot back.

“You’ll want to hear this alone, Your Highness.  Trust me!”  He grinned up at her, sending another shiver down her spine.

Amelie considered the orcs words.  What could he have to say that I’d want to hear alone?  She wasn’t worried about him posing a threat to her, especially not being tied up.  And although she wouldn’t admit it, part of her wanted to be alone with the orc.  “Very well.  Wilkens, Jennings, wait outside.”  She raised a hand to forestall their protest, “That’s an order. I think you both know I can handle a single orc.  But do get that poker ready, in case Jarrik is just pulling our chain.”

When the two guards had left, she turned back towards Jarrik.  “Well?”

“I was sent to find that sword you’re holding there.”  Jarrik nodded towards the sword.

“What do you mean, find it?  What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a Mincenntti sword, forged long ago.  Long, long ago.  The Mincenntti witch knew it would be here, and Prince Augras told me to find it and bring it to him.”

A Mincenntti sword?  What trickery is this?  “That seems farfetched. How would she know where it was, and what’s so special about it?”

“She saw where it was in a vision.  Described the cave perfectly, up on the side of the mountain by an old tree.  Even knew what kind of pictures were drawn on the walls.”  Jarrik shrugged as best he could while bound to the chair.  “As for what’s so special about it, well, answering that is going to cost you.”

She didn’t like the look on his face as he said that last part.  “You’re not in a position to dictate terms here, Jarrik, as I already told you.”

“Aye, you could torture me, Your Highness.  But that will take a while, and even then you won’t know if what I’m telling you is the truth or just what I’ve spouted off to make the pain stop.  Don’t you want to at least hear what I’m asking for before dismissing it out of hand?”

Amelie didn’t trust him one bit, mostly because he was making perfect sense.  The smug look on his face told her he still had some trick to pull, even if she couldn’t see it yet.  She found she wanted to though, she was intrigued to find out what it was that gave his orc prisoner such confidence.  “Very well, then, let’s hear it.”

“I want to see your tits.”  He crudely remarked.  Before she could protest, he continued, “Oh don’t get upset, Your Highness.  It’s not that big a deal, is it?  Such a small thing, but the information I have could save lives, maybe even win the war.”  His grin grew wider as he leered at her chest.  “All you have to do is take your tunic off.  “That’s not asking too much, is it?”

Red, hot rage burned through her at the orc’s impertinent request.  Even still, her nipples hardened in response, as the orc’s sexually aggressive manner tapped into the lust she’d been trying to suppress all day.  She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything the orc interrupted her.

“Oh come on, are you going to let a little modesty stand in the way of saving your men’s lives?  Of potentially saving your Kingdom?”  Jarrik laughed gutturally.  “You’re out here, a lone woman surrounded by men, men you’ve fought and bled with and you’re worried about a little modesty?  I’m sure they’ve seen ‘em before, so why not me if it will get you information that might prove decisive?”

Some traitorous part of the back of her mind whispered to her that his argument made sense.  It really wasn’t that big a deal, was it?  Besides, it cooed treacherously, he might be the answer to your problem.  What better way to sat your desires than with a prisoner?  He isn’t one of your men; you’ll never have to look him in the eye.  No one will ever know, and you’ll be able to focus on the war.  Now that things were moving, that is more important than ever!

Her surrender began like a crack in a dam.  First a little stream pushed through, then a flow, and finally a torrent as she gave in to the wicked impulse eating away at her.  Amelie’s heart echoed the staccato beat of a galloping horse as she reached down and wrapped her fingers around the hem of her shirt and lifted.  She peeled the light, airy shirt up her body and over her head and then threw it to the floor.

Her breasts hung freely, and arousal burned through her as she felt the orcs leering gaze devouring the orbs.  Despite her excitement though was also a tinge of trepidation and embarrassment.  Amelie was no longer a young woman, and her breasts had begun to sag.  “Well?”  She asked, stroking the underside and lifting them up so they would look perkier.

“Very nice,” Jarrik replied, “for an older woman.  Quite smooth, good shape, decent size.  Not udders like my Queen.”  The orc laughed.

Amelie scowled at him and released her breasts.  “I meant for you to tell me more about your mission, not my bosom!”

“Hah!  Well, I don’t know too much about it, other than that it’s a magic sword.  The young Prince is smart, brave, and strong sure, but he’s still young.  He doesn’t have his uncle’s experience or skill, at least not yet, so he wants the sword as a cheat.  It’s supposed to make him stronger and faster, at least, that’s what the witch woman said.”

She wanted to strike him for telling such an absurd story, but unfortunately she couldn’t rule it out.  Amelie had seen proof enough of his magic powers.  By the Abyss, that same magic destroyed the fortresses she built, and killed the Crown Prince of Sandora!

The blade slid forth from the hilt as she drew it halfway.  She had to admit, it had a magical look to it, and seemed a deadly enough weapon.  As her thumb idly stroked one of the stars a shiver ran through her, making her remember that she was still topless.  She would have to investigate the sword later.

“A magic sword?  Is that it?”  Amelie found herself walking closer to the orc, drawn towards his masculine presence.  Having her breasts swing so freely made her think of the lurid dreams she’d been experiencing.  It was almost like a flashback as she found herself reveling in the experience of being publically exposed.  Her pussy began to moisten as she drew closer and looked down at the tusk faced orc.

“Isn’t that enough? With that sword you’ll truly be invincible on the battlefield.  Even the damn Minotaurs will be like children before you.”  Jarrik’s mouth hung open as Amelie’s tits hung tantalizingly close to his face.

He’s right, she thought, with a sword like that I would be unstoppable…as long as I can clear my head.  Amelie took a deep breath and then thrust her chest out, pushing her chest against the orc’s face.  The beast’s tusks scraped at her skin as the orc licked and nuzzled her cleavage.  Am I really going to do this with an orc?  Once, the very notion of it would have disgusted her.  But after being bombarded with lurid dreams for weeks her standards had changed.  Jarrik didn’t seem so bad, not compared to a giant squid, or being gangbanged by her army, or worse, ravished by her father.  “Ooooh!”  She sighed softly as her nipple brushed over his tusk, and then got caught between his lips.

It’s been so long, and it feels so good!  She assured herself that it would be for the best, that once she got some relief she could put this behind her and focus on defeating the orcs.  But first, she had to get past her pent up lust!

Her hands dropped to the Orc’s lap and gripped his inner thighs.  Jarrik’s shaft bulged against her palm, its thick girth throbbing as it yearned to escape from its prison.  Amelie gave it a squeeze, and rubbed it firmly as she continued to rub her breasts in the orc’s face.  “Mmm…”

“I bet this is your first time feeling orc meat, isn’t it Your Highness?  There’s nothing quite like it, is there?  Bigger than anything your human men have.  Take it out, touch it for real.  Go ahead, see for yourself!”  Jarrik urged her on as he tried to hump against her hands.  His biceps strained against the ropes as he tried to take a hold of her, but the knots held and he remained tied to the chair.

“Try not to talk” she said, trying to picture someone, anyone besides the orc warrior in front of her.  Still, the gruff words made her pussy tingle.  Her free hand unlaced her pants and slid inside, tracing her wet slit as she continued to stroke him through his pants with the other.

“Don’t be like that, Highness.  There’s no reason we can’t both get something out of this.  It’s just a little harmless fun!”  Jarrik nipped playfully at her breast, giving it a little bite, but hard enough to leave a mark.  He laughed when she squealed, and bucked his hips higher off the chair.

Amelie’s tongue ran over her lips as she looked down at the red mark he left on her creamy breast.  A moan escaped her as she rolled her fingers over her clit and then dipped them inside her wet snatch. After luxuriating in the feeling of her digits pushing through her folds for a just a moment, she slid them out and then slapped Jarrik sharply across the face.  “I’ll take my pleasure from you, Jarrik, and if you get some enjoyment out of it, that’s your affair.”

Her fingers ran up his leg to undo the orc’s pants, and quickly freed his twisted and ridged member.  “Ugh!”  She grunted at the inhuman sight.  Amelie wrapped her fingers around the thick girth and began to stroke up and down as she pushed her own pants down to her ankles.

“Got a little fight in you, eh?  I guess that’s to be expected from the great Princess-Knight.  You handle a dick well enough, but let’s see how you take it in your mouth!”  Jarrik grunted again as he strained against the ropes.  Amelie’s pumping fist was driving him wild and every instinct drove him to want to reach out and grab her and force her on his dick. 

“I told you to be quiet!”  She didn’t like hearing Jarrik call her ‘Princess-Knight’; it was a reminder that she didn’t need right now.  Her mouth watered at the sight of his cock though, and she found herself sinking to the floor and guiding his rod to her mouth.

“Mmm…” She moaned sweetly around his dick as her lips closed around the shaft.  She continued to pump his shaft in her hand, but mostly focused on lapping the cork-screwed ridges and stroking his meat with her lips.  She bobbed up and down along the length, taking it in and out as she fed more and more of it into her mouth.

“Oh that’s good, Highness.  Just like that; I knew you’d be good at this.  Hah!  You’re good at everything you do I bet!”  Jarrik groaned in satisfaction as Amelie formed a tight seal around his cock.  With something he could finally press against, he started to hump in earnest.  He bucked his hips into her mouth, trying to push more of his cock inside her.

The slanted tip of his shaft hit the back of her throat, making her cough and choke.  She slid the cock out and squeezed it firmly as she glared up at him.  She quickly tore her pants off and straddled his lap, facing away from him. She rubbed her firm ass against his cock, then worked it beneath her and to the front to line it up with the entrance to her sex.  “I told you,” she groaned as the head pushed past her folds and entered her body, “to be quiet!  I don’t want to look at you, or hear you.  Just be quiet!”

Amelie moaned loudly again as she tried to picture her husband, or one of her lovers.  She couldn’t do it though: Jarrik’s cock was too inhuman.  There was no way she could escape the size or strangeness of his shaft.  Each time it slid into her his visage entered her mind unbidden.  She imagined him behind her, tied up, his his eyes fixated on her bare ass she rode his prick up and down.

Her breasts bounced, wilder and wilder as she rode him.  Each time she plunged down on the shaft the ridges rubbed her insides and sent shockwaves of pleasure out through her body.  “Ahh! Yesss! Mmm!  Ah!”

“Oh fuck that’s good, Highness!  Ride me!  Ride my cock!  Take it inside that tight royal cunt!”  Jarrik groaned as her pussy squeezed his shaft, gripping it so tight that he was already on the verge of cumming.  He began to thrust wildly, bouncing off the chair in reckless abandon as he strove to stuff her full of his cock.

“AH!”  Amelie arched her back as one hand furiously stroked her clit.  She clenched down on his cock, holding it tightly deep within her body as she brought herself to climax.  Spasms rocked her body as the waves of pleasure coursed through her.  Amelie’s wild undulations milked Jarrik’s cock until moments later he joined her in ecstasy and his cock erupted, splattering her pussy with his hot seed.  “Nnng! Ah ah ah!”  She continued to cry out and moan as his twitching shaft emptied inside her, until finally she came down from her orgasmic high.

As her pent up lust was released and ebbed from her it was replaced with a deep shame.  What have I done?  I just fucked a prisoner.  An orc?  What is wrong with me? She tore herself from his lap and stumbled away.  She saw the sword on the floor and picked it up. For what?  A magic sword? I was so stupid and wanton I let an orc talk me into sex for a magic sword?  Cum dribbled down her thighs, making her want to retch.

“Ah, not bad Highness, not bad.  You looked like you needed that, and I did too truth be told.  Want to go again?  I think I got another round in me!”

Rage built up again within her; at the orc, the war, at herself for being so stupid.  Jarrik’s words echoed in her mind as tears welled in her eyes and the sword slid from its sheathe. It was light in her hand, and as it slipped free she felt an energy flow through her.  Her rage seemed to condense in a ball, and in a flash she spun around.  Without looking the blade swung unerringly into Jarrik’s neck, sinking in like a knife through butter and severing the orc’s head.

Jarrik’s head, its face caught mid-gloat, flew through the air, before striking the floor and rolling away.  Amelie looked at it, and then at the headless body, stunned.  She had trained and fought with swords for years, but never had she swung with such power and speed before.  Maybe it is magical after all, she thought as she stared at the bloody blade in wonder.