The Orcs Are Coming!!! Ch. 01

The Orcs are Coming!!!

Chapter 1

By Noobwriter96

(***this is a work of fiction. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.***)

The walls rumbled, flecks of dust and mortar broke off and tumbled down, threatening to bring the entire roof on the Laena's priestly vestments as she made haste through the fort's corridors. Time was precious few as she flitted down the bloodied halls in her pristine ivory robes, sidestepping wounded soldiers and resting veterans. There were so many of them no longer able to continue the fight.

Laena suppressed the well of pity rising from her chest at the sorry sight of their troops, if she let it overcome her, far worse things would befell them. She skimmed the corridor to and fro, looking for the lieutenant's familiar outline amidst the wounded and the desperate. There, at the end of the corridor she caught sight of his emblazoned pauldron and not a moment after did his face peeked out of the shadowed end of the hall, beckoning her towards him.

"Do you have it, lieutenant?" she asked the tired soldier. She noticed another freshly stitched scar now added itself to the already impressive collection of the lieutenant's memento in his line of work.

"Yes milady," he replied dutifully, pulling out of his person a burlap sack with what she hoped would be the intact ingredient, "Although I must ask," he inquired after handing the contents of the bag to her, "Are this really the makings to summon our savior?"

A vial of a Demoniac's Ichor, the still-beating heart of an Empyrean Behemoth, Nosferatan grey matter, the list goes on and on. The only thing they have in common is the vile and malevolent source they all root from. Creatures of the vile Dark Lords of Old.

At times, Laena herself doubted the veracity of the ingredients required. Another rumble quaked the courtyard littered with the wounded. Heads lifted above their own pain, taken away from their personal woes to the impending doom that awaited them outside the walls. Whatever doubts were drowned out. There were no other options, she could only have faith that this last gambit of theirs would succeed.

Nay, it had to succeed. It must.

"I cannot explain it myself, only what is written in the ancient scriptures. The machinations of the Old Ones are too much for me to comprehend, but it all says the same. We can summon a hero, one of the Primevans, a being of great power and virtue to wipe out the greenskin hordes at our gates," she said with confidence she didn't truly feel. This was more to ease the old soldier's worries, "Of that, lieutenant, I am certain."

Laena felt a slight twinge of guilt but suppressed it. What was a little white lie when they could be dead on morrow? The lieutenant, a veteran of twenty battles, had yet to reach his fortieth year but already distinguished himself as one of the cities utmost martial adviser.

They have little else to hope as they made haste towards the Temple of the Old Gods, running along the broken streets and burnt down buildings of the city's once renowned promenade. Laena's mind was taken aback, long before this dreadful siege even began, barely a month before.

Thing of it was, they were doomed long before the siege even started. They just didn't know it then.

Rumors had long reached the people of the city of the army of orcs, goblins and trolls. And yet, their noble lords and ladies did nothing. It had been some eight turns of the century since their ilk was last heard or seen, to the point that they were deemed as nothing more than folklore and legend.

Near a millennia's worth of peace had taken its effect on the populace. The lords and ladies of the nobility were content on their parties, soirees and balls, neglecting the city's defenses and thought nothing more of the rumored legion to be a band of rabble in guileless regalia of mythical creatures to scare the simple-minded peasantry.

And then the fateful day came.

The nobles were atop amongst the Inner Wards, those towering buttresses that doubled as enormous courtyard for them to hold their parties. It provided quite a view of the territory they were supposed to govern below, farseeing for leagues out into the horizon. Such was their height.

Among the city's nobility in attendance were some of the renowned beauties of the day and age, recognized throughout the Empire.

Yavla Greatflare wore a strapless gown, a rather daring attire that was gaining great popularity amongst the ladies of the Empire's capital. Her great locks, golden ringlets, flowed freely over her fair shoulders and reflected the golden rays of sunshine as she ascended the steps towards the courtyard. The ladies of rival houses pinched and prodded their husband for so much as staring at her sideways, with what her great bosoms that seemed to almost spilling at the brim of her bodice. Lady Yavla adored the attraction she received and the discord she sows from her mere presence alone. Those unchained by the vows of marriage quickly sought to gain attention of the great beauty from blustering acts of bravado to the showering of gifts.

Aniza Charlton was a slim and slender personality that also graced the attendance. Famed for her ambitious and ruthless conduct, paired with a gothic beauty that ensnared the hearts of the unprepared She was half-a-head shorter than the lady Yavla but possesses a beauty that rivaled the blonde noble. Sharp eyes and strong jawline that was instantly recognizable from afar and complexion so fair it might as well be the first fall of untainted winter snow.

The people of the city had grown lax, their nobles careless and corrupt.

So much so that they failed to notice the rising dust clouds until it was too late.

A collective gasp escaped their lips, soon followed by the panic screaming of the commonfolk as they rushed inside the city walls as the enemy horde befell upon them. The numerosity of the foe, never had they seen such a sight. A tidal wave of Greenskins, from the savage warbred Orcs of the Jagged Wastes to the mischievous cruelty of the Woodland Goblins. What lay outside their walls was a tide of malevolent intent, numbering in the thousands. The vicious host was akin to a mighty beast, ravenous and powerful. Forever hungry and in search of new to food to quench its near ceaseless appetites. Slaves for its warmachines; to mine ore and heat the cauldrons of war. And soft, warm flesh of the womenfolk to slake their rigid manhood after a battle.

All these things did the mighty greenskin host crave.

Many a noble were unable to maintain their bladders and a man whimpered and cried at the sight. The women fared little better, breaking down in tears and sullying their powdered cheeks and mascara. Instead of mounting the city's defenses, they took all their holdings. Instead of rallying the people, they assembled their gold pieces, jewelries, land titles and all that they could carry. The upper echelons of high society were in chaos.

The few good men of the City Guard did not wait for an order from their scrambling aristocrats. They sealed the gates, took up arms and rallied as much volunteers as possible. For nigh on three days and three nights, they clashed against the walls and the gate. Fire reigned down from heavens, hoisted by the enemy's mighty siege engines.

Many a brave, unsung heroes distinguished themselves from the onslaught; While their leaders where nowhere to be found.

The nobility decided they would use the old catacombs that runs beneath the city, it's labyrinthian system intricate and ancient. Few people ever dare venture here. The nobles and their retinue fled the doomed city, their city, and left it at the mercies of the vile horrors that smashed against the gates. They took the many twists and turns, down in the catacombs. Among their number was a famed aristocrat/explorer, Brular Lowcut.

"Not to fear, for Sir Brular is here!" declared Brular in a great huff. "Using a skill I've learned from the hinterlands of Old Asmundya, I will navigate this dusty relic of a tomb to our safety!"

His declaration was met with a row of enthusiasm from the congregated nobility. The men clapped and nodded their approval at having the good fortune of an experienced adventurer among their ranks. The women sighed dreamily at the steadfast assurance of the brawny aristocrat and fought amongst themselves to be the one by his side.

Time was difficult to tell, underneath the shadow and old bones of ages past. They walked for what seemed like days on end but there was no surefire way to tell. The path seemed to remain the same despite the many twists and turns Sir Brular led them through. But one thing was certain, and that was the reverberations of the siege engines and the fighting was becoming less and less and that suited the nobles just fine.

After what seemed like an eternity, light flooded ahead. A natural awning that gave way to the unmistakable light of day. A cheer washed among the throng of harried lords and ladies, cheering most for the brave Sir Brular and his daring.

They went out to greet the sunshine they had craved for so long, never would have thought to be glad at the mere sight of it. They stepped out of the shadows with eager smiles and hopeful eyes, finally escaping the nightmare of the city under siege and the shadows beneath.

Their grins didn't last long.

They stood, frozen in their step, eyes wide and unbelieving and just as surprised as the orcish war patrol that they had the unfortunate timing to have come across. The world froze for them on that instant, as if holding its breath as to what might happen next.

Five full heartbeats passed before anything happened.

Most tried to flee, scrambling back into the shadows of the catacombs. While others fancied themselves warriors, thinking the savage greenskins to be nothing more than bumbling buffoons, inferior to the intellectuality of noble men such as themselves. Whatever the case may be, it all ended the same for them: dead or enslaved.

Those that fought back were immediately killed, apparently no match to the battle-hardened orcs and their warfare borne-lifestyle. The supposed Nobles were dragged in chains, whimpering and in tatters to the very fate that they so eager to escape. Stripped of their fine liveries and humiliated as they are now corralled to the very belly of the beast itself. While most of the lords scampered or rushed to their doom, leaving the ladies largely undiminished in their number and were easily corralled by the hulking orcs.

What could they have done?

They may all act haughty and posh in their towers and carriages, but here and now, face to face with the refined savagery of the greenskins in waging warfare and violence, they were at their complete mercy. The men were immediately put to work in the slave mines, toiling in the shadow and heat of the forges under the harsh whips of their orc masters and goblin overseers. The women pitifully cried, their mascaras and rouge smeared pathetically as tears rolled down their cheeks for the fate that awaited them. Rival houses and enemies once, now they clung to one another like little kittens as they surveyed the very heart of the green horde that assailed the walls of their city.

Ironic, that in their haste to abandon the city they once sworn to govern and protect, they inevitably rushed to their demise. The once green earth was trampled and turned to a muddy muck, a legion of colossal orc warriors made sallying assaults on the walls; equipped with ladders and battering rams, goblin archers fired volley after volley of poisoned arrows fletched with the crooked feathers of their pet vultures at the ramparts. Horrendous looking spikes of the blackest wood made for a perimeter wall of their camp, decorated with the remains of those that they have slain. All these broke the will of the women as their whimpering fell on deaf ears of their captors. Yavla was in tears while Aniza tried to muster whatever pride she had left, walking upright and tall, but deep inside she was just as frightened as Yavla was on the surface.

"Have you no dignity?! You slatterns!" she chastised the weeping noble women, more to seem unfazed and let out the fear out of her systems.

Like sheep, the noble ladies were corralled to the great abode of the warchief of this mighty and fearsome host: The Great Kruggar the Hefty, Conqueror of the Jagged Wastes, Breaker of Shields and renowned defiler of the pink-fleshed humans and their women. The noble women snivelled before the presence of this mighty warrior, riddled he was with a great many of scars that bespoke of a lifetime of violence. The very air around him reverberated with such great presence it wobbled and distorted, heavy and ominous. More than half of the ladies present fainted when they were brought before his throne, fashioned from the skulls of great beast and their hides. The remaining half were akin to a dear frozen in fear, their minds blank as they stared at the eyes of an apex predator. Also strewn about his fearsome throne were many half-naked women, watching nonchalantly at the harried noble women before them. All wore an iron collar chained to varying parts of the throne's dais.

A mane of thick grey hair abound this impressive giant of an orc, but then again almost all orcs were giants in comparison to humans. Most stood head and shoulders higher than an average gods-fearing man, borne alongside with an innate musculature fit for their harsh environment and upbringing.

The creatures were truly most foul, for during their conception millennia ago, their very soul was made with the very essence of corruption, for they released an aura that disturbs the very air around them, affecting the minds of men with fear quite unlike any other, an extraordinary sixth sense gifted to them by their Dark Masters. The weakest of men would shake, unable to think, unable to act. Those with feeble mettle easily prostrated themselves on the terrifying presence of the orc warriors.

Not only that, but their very physical embodiments as well, the very liquids and juices that their bodies produce contains a potent substance that makes men go mad, corrupts the bodies of any humans that dare ingest or be infected by it. To men, ingesting a portion of orc-blood would result in a fit of violent madness accompanied with a sudden burst in strength.

As for its effect on women....... the ladies of the aristocracy would soon find out.

The great chief Kruggar stood up from his throne of bones, towering over the sniveling women who abandoned their city, "Warriors!" he roared above the din as more and more of his best soldiers entered his abode, his voice as deep as a mountain avalanche that shook the women to their very bones.

"Behold our supposed mighty foe! Ha! I have seen sheep that have more mettle!" he jeered, followed by the deep rumbling laughter of the gathered congregation of giant greenskins. Yavla cried and prostrated herself, hoping to be spared and left alive by whatever it is that these vile savages have in store. Aniza, brave foolish Aniza, still stood resolutely but her fair complexion went even paler and her rouge lips quivered uncontrollably despite showing her presumed bravery and dignity. A deer frozen amidst the encircling wolves.

"They hide behind their walls, soft and frightened!" Kruggar roared to his hungry warriors.

The congregation roared back to him, beating their chests, howling and hooting. A show of complete savagery to the highborn women as the dozens of warriors were like actual beasts that learned to walk on two legs.

"This is but a first of many feasts! Flesh Feasts! Pink-Flesh Feasts! HAHAHA!" laughed the orc warchief at his own jest and continued on, "Come then, let us engorge our rigid meatspears upon the succulent softness of their females!"

"Do you not know who I am!?" protested one human voice. It was none other than the lady Aniza herself, having mustered the courage to speak out. The horde of orcs merely watched in subdued amusement at the pomp of the disgraced human noble. The warchief himself only grinned, tickled at the pomp of this tiny human woman, "The might of the Empire would fall down on your wretched, savage hides! Your heads will decorate the Empire's palace gates!" the lady Aniza threatened.

"What power you could possibly have here, little pinkie?" the warchief descended from his throne and reached out to grasp Aniza with only one hand around her waist, easily lifting her off of her feet as if she weighed nothing but air.

It was an indignation she could not suffer "No, No! I am Aniza Charlton! I will not be- -," the warchief always had first pickings when it came to captured females. The raven-haired beauty would make a fine addition to his harem as she accompanied him back to his throne. He would enjoy taming her fiery will. "UNHAND ME FIEND! I SAY UNHAND ME!", yelled in protest by the highborn lady. The warchief unbuckled his loincloth, unleashing his mighty pillar of flesh and with one hand behind the lady Aniza's dark-haired crown, forced her toward his groin.

The lady had barely enough to time to react as the sudden force of his hand smacked her against the reverberating heat of his engorged manhood. "- - Aagh!--Ugh! " cried Aniza, as the warhcief tried to force his flesh inside her crimson-colored lips. Such was the heat of his flesh that she couldn't help but close one of her eye, her cheeks squished against the veinous outline of his girthy beast.

"I'll bite! I'll bite it, I swear to the gods!" she threatened as he kept pressing it against her cheeks, trying to time it. Aniza resisted with as much strength as she could muster but his strength far exceeded that of her own. The warchief grinned, for to him, this was but a game. To Aniza, this was a battle for her dignity. She tried everything, batting away at his giant hand wrapped around her head. But to no avail.

"You could either resist or adapt to your new fate, woman."

She was afraid for she was getting tired, squirming her neck, trying not to let his gross manhood into her lips. Her stomach revolted each time her lips merely glanced the throbbing helm of his swollen gland. It was as hard as stone, unbelievably so.

Her squirming depleted her stamina until her only resistance was sealing her lips tightly as she could; And even that was tiring in and of itself. The purplish helm of his glans was poised just on the skin of her upper lips until her harried dignity clouded her judgement: She opened her lips to beg for mercy.

"No! Please!" she wanted to say, instead, only a squelching sound came out of her lips: as finally, the warchief's manhood penetrated her parted maw. The sound of her saliva, succulent and hoarse, enveloped the entirety of his girth, eliciting from the warchief a rumbling groan as her tongue massaged the base of his shaft. Aniza ingested his odor and aroma, heady and intense. Her head swam and her eyes were halfway rolled to the back of her head for such was his taste in her mouth.

It reminded her of the first time she ever tasted wine, somewhat bitter and strong but not unpleasant. The more she tasted of him, the more her thoughts became flighty.

"LET THEM WATCH! LET THEM HEAR!" the orc warchief encouraged to his men. For far away from the range of fire of the enemy, his abode had a partition above to enable natural light to seep through. It was inevitable, even despite the distance, for the beleaguered defenders of the city not to witness their atrocities in the open.

"WE WILL COME FOR YOUR MOTHERS, YOUR WIVES! YOUR WOMEN!" the warchief's voice boomed so loud the defenders could have sworn he was standing just in front of them. "AND THIS IS WHAT AWAITS THEM! HAHAHA!" The human defenders of the city all but watched in despair as they beheld their nobles being submitted to acts of ignobility by the besieging greenskin horde.