Ranger Chronicles Ep. 02

Chapter 1:

Jhannel moved about the room in a half-mad pace. She clasped her hands together, nervous.

"Are you insane, slave! Balthazar himself couldn't understand your madness." She said, shrieking. Kalan was in the process of stripping the Ghosts naked and donning their dark leathers. He tried to pay her no mind (the woman was insane from what he'd already seen and arguing wouldn't help that) but her mention of slave was too much. He hated the mere idea of someone owning him. However, he knew her protests were meaningless. She was merely coming to the realization that she'd lost control over him -- something she craved.

"I'm no slave, Drow," replied Kalan, "so don't address me as such." He hefted the Ghost's blade, looking it up and down and getting a feel for its weight and balance. It was thin and one sided with womanly curves from its peak to its hilt. It seemed less a blade and more a piece of glass. It was shorter and lighter than he was accustomed too as well. This blade wasn't built for the stress and strength of a field battle but for the quick kills -- most likely, a decapitation -- and rapid strikes of an Assassin. A Ranger from his squadron would be caught dead using such a weapon. Alatar would shame him for even lifting such a dishonorable thing. It'd have to do for now.

"You'll all be executed for this," continued Jhannel. "I'll be executed for this. The Nimiri clan will live in shame for millennia to come."

We can only pray, thought Kalan. The thought of Jhannel's slaver family living in shame (whatever she meant by that) brought him happiness.

"Now what?!" Screamed Jhannel. "What's that stupid look you have on your face, slave?" Kalan straightened out his features and looked away. "Did you hear me, slave? Slave, slave, slave, slave!"

Damnation that was becoming annoying.

He went to the other side of the room to help Cleitus, who laid naked with eyes partially closed. Kalan avoided looking at his groin but could tell his dick had been mashed to Oblivion. It appeared in the corner of his eye like a disfigured, soft finger. Poor man. The Orc Warmaiden had rode him half to death. Nothing but an Orc or Troll could have survived that pounding with an intact penis or pelvis. He needed a Master Healer immediately, or he risked permanent damage to his groin and everything below it. Of course, the only thing Cleitus would care about would be his ability to get erect and fuck camp whores.

"Cleitus," said Kalan, shaking his shoulder. "Get up."

"Looks like he's gone Captain," said Ralph. "Seems that Orc fucked him to the Gardener's Realms." Luck had smiled on Ralph that day. Jhannel's husband, the same one who now lay incapacitated in the corner, had made him fuck an Elf woman instead of the Warmaidens, leaving him with an intact pelvis. A drip of cum trickled from his groin.

"He's not dead yet, Ralph. He just needs a healer immediately."

"Can't you help him? You healed us before."

"That was a simple spell taught to everyone. I can delay the damage and help him walk, but he'll need a Master Healer soon if he wants to use his dick and legs in a few days."

"The Ghosts will have your head, Kalan!" Inserted Jhannel, shrieking. She continued to holler in the Drow tongue. "Dos mel ruv'volinde! Lu'che mel vith akn'nen! Mel'ro, mel'ro, mel'ro, mel'ro!"

Due to the Drow tongue being close to Elvish, Kalan could pick out some words. Namely, mel -- human, vith akn'nen -- brain dead, and mel'ro -- human-slave.

"What's she saying?" Asked Ralph.

"Just ignore her. She might start frothing at the mouth if you give her any more attention. Your madness isn't accomplishing anything."

"Balthazar manha mer'fa!" Continued Jhannel. Tyr only knew what meant. Likely some wish to her sick god.

He turned back to Cleitus and gave the limp body and shake. "Cleitus!" No response. Kalan shook him harder. He began to stir. A soft brown eye peeked open.

"What in Oblivion?" Kalan grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Thank Tyr! Here I thought we were going to have to haul you through the mountain. See if you can walk."

"I don't think I can, Sir."

"Its fine. Ralph and I will carry you down."

"You still alive Cleitus?" Remarked Ralph.

"Just barely. What in Oblivion is going on?"

"We're leaving," said Kalan. "Grab the other blade from the Ghost. Ralph, grab the staff the Drow dropped. If the gem is charged you should be able to use it. And you." He turned to Jhannel. "Will lead the way to my men."

Jhannel gave him a sultry, sardonic smirk. He resisted looked down at her grey-purple colored body. Her smooth curves were tempting. He found himself wanting her again. How could any man stay sane in front of her? She carried herself like some sultry, evil, grey-skinned sex goddess and had the looks to match.

"You do understand, dearest Kalan-slave, that even if, by Balthazar's Blessing, you find your platoon and weapons, that you face the entire military might of Garthrand." She had a point. Kalan had spent most of his youth in these mountains fighting the military of this very city -- what they in the Rangers called the Syndicate. He'd seen Ranger after Ranger slain by a Drow Ghost's dagger or an Orc's warhammer. The Syndicate were a determined foe and now his goal was to take on their combined forces in their home. To Jhannel, Ralph, and Cleitus, it must have seemed a suicide mission. Yet he saw a chance. As he'd found out during the Imperial War, the weakest part of an army like Garthrand's was Garthrand itself. Much like the Empire, the Drow had built a society on hay. In the Empire's case, the omnipotent Emperor was the weak spot. After the Rangers had crushed the Imperial Guard (which by the end of his time was the real decision maker in the Empire) and captured the Emperor the Empire had collapsed in on itself. In just a few months the once proud Imperial Army had been shattered into a band of warlords and brigands vying for power. The Knights and Battle-Mages of Mithrandir had no problem sweeping them up and heading straight for the Imperial City.

Garthrand had a similar weakness, which, when removed, would result in a similar collapse: its slaves. From what he'd observed in the halls, slaves outnumbered Drow at least three to one. If even a quarter of the slaves stopped working the city would cease to function. That alone would greatly add to their chances. If some decided to join them -- as might happen after just one victory -- their chances would rise even more.

All we need is one victory, he thought. One resounding defeat of the Ghosts that is visible to the slaves and, with the Gardener's luck, we might have a chance.

"This isn't going to be a suicide mission. We're going to start a slave revolt."

"A what?" Exclaimed Jhannel.

"Ralph, Cleitus. Do you remember what happened in the Imperial War when the Emperor fell?" Ralph shook his head. "The Empire collapsed. Without the Emperor the Army completely lost morale. Each General became his own Warlord and the Knights went straight for the Imperial City with nothing in their way. In our case, we target the slaves. You saw in the halls, didn't you? Slaves are more common than Drow here. If even a quarter of the slaves revolt the city will cease to function."

"And we're free to walk out." Said Cleitus.

"Exactly."

"Wait so... were going to kill all the slaves?" Asked Ralph.

"No Ralph, we're going to free them and arm them."

"Three men and a murderous Drow are going to free and arm every slave here?" Asked Cleitus.

"We're going to get our unit back first of course" He pointed at Jhannel. "That's where you come in. You're going to lead us to where our unit and their weapons are being held." Her grey eyes glared back, silent.

He wasn't certain, but Kalan got the feeling she would cooperate. She'd seemed... close ever since they'd fucked. It was as if she'd reached a permanence in his mind. It was some sort of... bond through which he could know her emotions. He felt that she wanted him escape, as he surely faced death if they stayed. He also felt that she craved the control he'd deprived her of. Regardless, if they were caught she could always say she was a hostage (which was partly true).

Kalan yearned to be free of this damned Mountain. He yearned to return to the streets of Stormcrown and to see the blue sky for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He muttered a prayer to Tyr and the Gardener. Jhannel smirked.

"Do you think your 'honorable' false god will help you here?" He didn't think Tyr helped with anything. The prayer was just a habit before missions. Alatar, his mage-mentor, had instilled it in him at a young age.

"Watch your tongue, Drow-whore," said Ralph. "Tyr is no false god."

"Eh, Kalan," said Cleitus. "What about those two?" He nodded to the doorway, where the two Warmaidens hulked about. Damnation, he'd forgotten about the Warmaidens.

He turned to exit the room, hoping they'd just let them pass. The Warmaiden -- Jhannel had called her Gami -- blocked his way. She raised a muscular arm as if to stop him.

"We're leaving. You can leave. Go. Escape these people. Return to your plains and never come to the Dragon's Nest again. Take as many of your kin as you can with you. Kill as many Drow as you can on the way." She placed a green hand on his shoulder and let out a soft grunt. What did the beast want? Was he going to have to kill it? Gami turned around and gestured to her pussy lips, which had turned a slight red. It was now obvious what she wanted.

"You need to complete the mating, Kalan," said Jhannel. "They've been dominated and were brought here with the expectation that they would mate. They're in heat as well -- if they don't find a mate soon they could become aggressive."

"To Oblivion with that," he replied. "I'd sooner kill the beasts." She smiled as if she enjoyed watching his quandary.

"That's fine. But remember, to the Orcs, sex is violence and --" Kalan saw a flash of green to his left. He brought his hands up to guard his head and in an instant Gami's fist struck his forearm. A sharp, unyielding pain formed just like it had in the Arena. He cursed. Damnation, he'd broken something again. He stumbled backwards, dazed, and off-balance. He gripped the table he'd been shackled to for support. Damnation the beast was strong. An instant slower and his skull would have caved in. "Well, something like that could happen," continued Jhannel. Gami looked at him and let out a fierce roar. It echoed across their small chamber, making it even more menacing. Mazi stood up as well, her gaze never leaving Kalan. The Elf woman shrieked and hid in a corner. Ralph gripped his staff and Cleitus his blade. Jhannel seemed unfazed.

Kalan debated what to do. Killing the beasts would be simple -- he wouldn't even have to use mana. He began to lift his blade from its scabbard. A thought struck him: he'd battled with these two in the arena but had failed to complete the ritual. In other words: he hadn't yet won this battle. How could he move on to seek his men and defeat the Drow without beating these the Drow at their own game? No, he wouldn't kill these beasts. He'd dominate them.

Kalan stripped himself of his leathers and threw his blade to the side. It crashed against the wall with a clang. Jhannel whistled.

"What are you going to do?" Asked Cleitus, nervous.

"You obviously aren't going to mate with that thing, are you?" Asked Ralph.

"I'm going to beat it -- and the Drow -- at their own game."

He couldn't help but grow erect at the sight of those thick thighs and ass. He looked to Gami, whose eyes had turned a slight red. He'd need to take care of her now before she went any further in Berserker state. He stared at her strong abdomen, her thick, green thighs and ass. Her thighs themselves could pop his head off like a screw. Her ass was the biggest, tightest thing he'd ever seen. Her pussy was red and green and puffy. She was in heat and aggressive and wouldn't leave until she got what she wanted: sex.

His member slowly grew to its, full, thick form. The room was silent. They seemed to stare each other down, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Through expeditions on the Plains and his time fighting the Syndicate (the military arm of the Drow), Kalan knew that Orcs channeled violence, dominance, and aggression into every aspect of their lives. If they didn't have an external enemy to fight, he was certain the Orcs would find some way to massacre themselves. Of course, this aggression was channeled into sex as well. To the Orcs sex was violence and violence was sex. Alatar, his Elven adopted father, had explained to him once that the Berserker State the Orcs entered was almost indistinguishable from a state of arousal. If he was to succeed he'd have to dominate them in the act of sex. He prepared himself for a battle of dominance.

He began to move in a flash, taking the Orcs by surprise. The distance between them closed in a blink. They began to move their large, green arms to strike him but were too slow. He grabbed the neck of the one closest to him -- Gami -- as her arm was raised to strike him. He threw her down to the floor with all the strength he could muster. A Human or Elf would have crashed down, yet Gami only seemed to stumble until she fell onto her back. She was heavy, that was certain. He reached for a large, green breast to lash her onto the stone floor. She grabbed his hand and squished until the cracking was audible. He resisted a cry of pain.

"Damnation!" Exclaimed Ralph. She was certainly the stronger of two Orcs he'd faced. He gripped back and let an Arc-Bolt travel through his hand. Her grip loosened as her green skin crackled with Arc-Energy as the bolt traveled through her, stunning her movement. He gripped a dark green nipple and Lashed her to the ground. She found herself in constant Levitation towards the floor. Through sheer force Gami resisted the lashing, flailing her arms around in a desperate search for his neck. Their strength never ceased to amaze him. Now was his chance.

He beat the head of his cock against her clit, a pale dot in a sea of green. He pushed and went balls deep into her hot pussy, just reaching her cervix. He lashed her arms to the ground -- they were too much of a risk as she flailed them around -- grabbed her shoulders and began pounding relentlessly.

He felt primal, like a beast unchained, wanting only to fuck this Orc until she got every drop of his seed. Gami roared in pleasure. She fought the lashing with all the strength she could muster, desperately reaching for his neck to squish it into string. He knew if she had the chance she'd do that and more. She'd bury her fangs into his neck and dismember him (he was told the Warmaidens had done worse to unworthy mates). He felt bonded with her like with Jhannel, but this was different. Jhannel had been permanent and intimate and passionate. He knew this bond was temporary and would disappear once he withdrew. This bond was anger and violence and pure rage. Now he really understood that to the Orcs, sex was violence. He grew hot, not only with passion but with rage, wanting only to dominate his partner. Was this what being in a Berserker state was like? A plop, plop, plop, sounded and he pounded her, unrelenting -- the sultry sounds of sex. Gami's hands fell to her sides in surrender. Her eyelids closed. Her hot walls tightened around him. An unstoppable pressure rose at his base and ejected from his cock. Squirt after squirt of seed coated her walls until she was full. Then his seed squirted from between his cock and her walls, leaking like a punctured tank. She fell back, her eyelids closed in satisfaction. He withdrew, still hard. A gush of his seed leaked onto the floor.

He turned to see green-red pussy lips staring at him, moist with exictement. Mazi, the second Warmaiden, was on all fours and expecting him. She didn't feel the need to make him prove himself again like Gami had. To her, he'd proven himself in the Arena and with Gami just now. Kalan understood her need for submission. He entered her and began pounding. He grabbed a black braid for leverage -- he was sure she could take it -- and more -- and put another hand on her thick green ass, giving it a tight squeeze. She grunted in heat and in pleasure. Again, he felt a pressure building at his base. He tightened, delaying it for as much as he could. They continued until she let out a final roar of pleasure. That was enough for him as well. He let out stream after stream of seed deep into her. She fell to the ground in the same way as Gami. He gave her ass one last smack and withdrew with a plop, a gush of seed spilling onto the ground beneath her.

***

Drugi Anger-Beast stood at the Priest's meeting behind his master, Jhulstra Nimiri. They were talking about... some dumb nonsense about the recently captured slaves. Around him, Twelve Orcs stood behind a circular table as the leaders of the most noble clans of Garthrand conversed. Across the entrance stood a statue of Balthazar wearing dark armor and wielding a wicked mace. Torches and gemstones provided some light.

Drugi stood behind Jhulstra Nimiri, who war currently speaking, with his hammer strapped to his back. His hands tightened. They might have been stones as the Drow conversed. It was the little things like this that reminded Drugi of the real relationship between Drow and Orc. No matter how much the Drow said their relationship was one of allies in the name of Balthazar, Drugi knew the reality of the situation. His people were slaves. They were tools to work the mines and be thrown to their death on the battlefield; they were sacks of meat to provide a symbol of 'authority' at meetings like this. That infuriated Drugi.

The Drow thought Orcs were dumb, impulsive beasts. Drugi had to admit that some of their accusations were valid. To an extent they were right in that the average Orc lacked the patience and intelligence of the average Drow. Most Orcs would never understand the basics behind abstract concepts like magic or mathematics. Indeed, Drugi understood that Balthazar and the Darkness hadn't gifted his people with sharp minds. They'd been built for the honorable things in life: war, hunting, and survival against all odds.

Drugi's thoughts hearkened back to that eventful day in his youth. He was but a Youngling, not three years out of his mother's womb. He'd been eagerly preparing for his first hunt when a Ghost from the Nimiri family had challenged his father, Throk, Warchief of the Anger-Beasts, to single combat. Throk was strong -- one of the strongest, angriest Orcs to ever walk the Plains. Drugi had seen him fell mammoths with an axe; he'd strangled Ogres with his bare hands and challenged Giants to single combat. Not long ago the Rock-Beasts and Wolf-Teeth had cowered at his battle cry. Entire units had fled at the sight of his blood red eyes. His Warrior-State was legendary for its strength and rage. Through his leadership the Anger-Beasts had prospered, dominating the other tribes of the Plains. The men of the west had lived in fear of Throk and his Anger-Beast hordes. To the Orcs, he was the icon of Balthazar himself.

Yet none of that had mattered to the Ghost, who'd lacked honor. The Ghost failed had failed to accept his blows, instead darting about, and turning invisible. Throk's limbs were removed one after another in front of the Anger-Beasts. His misery had ended when the Ghost stuck his blade into Throk's neck. Drugi didn't even get the chance to burn his body, ad the Ghost had disintegrated his father's remains with the purple Ball-Of-Death. Despite the Ghost's lack of honor, his people, the Anger-Beasts, were still bound by it. The Anger-Beasts put themselves in the hands of the Nimiri Clan and not a day later they were in chains and being whipped all the way to Garthrand. His mother, along with most of the Younglings and Elders, had died during the journey. It didn't take long for Drugi to realize this wasn't a relationship between leader and follower, but master and slave.