Beneath a snowy roof in the village of Karkan, an act of incest most foul reached its climax. Braya Redhand, voluptuous barbarian of the Ironfang mountain clan, rode her son. She forced his rough hands up her sculpted mid-section, sinuous and glistening as it twisted with each thrust upon his turgid cock.
It wasn't long before his fingers reached around the sleek slopes of her enormous tits, firm orbs possessed of a deep and dark tan. He squeezed deep into her thick breast flesh, relishing the suppleness, the hardness of her nipples.
Braya for her part, was wracked in pleasure, each slam of her healthy and round buttocks upon her son's thighs ripping a cry of anguished joy from her throat. Her desire to couple with her son was not her own. Deep within her heart dwelled another, a soul of boundless cruelty and wanton appetites.
Her actions were those of the vengeful and ancient sorceress, Morgana. "I'm so sorry Haldur!" moaned Braya, her body on the cusp of another orgasm as she leaned over her son, her heavy globes smothering his face.
You're not sorry, my pet. You're in bliss! Just as you were when we murdered your husband!
Morgana's sweet voice rushed through the barbarian's thoughts, making her twitch.
Behind the rutting duo was Braya's husband, Agnar, white eyed and withered, his life force having been long since devoured.
"I had no choice..." she breathed, her lust filled whisper setting her son on edge.
And neither does he!
Braya bit her lips as her strapping son pawed deeper into softness of her tits, molesting her luscious globes as if she were some mere tavern wench.
His eyes were as wild as his hips, all inhibitions destroyed. "I don't... care... fuck me!" he gurgled, his muscles straining to hold her closer, to feel her supple thighs glide and squeeze against his legs, her lithe back twist with each thrust, her giant breasts squeezing on and off his chest.
Braya's complexion glowed with sorcerous devilry. She gasped and slammed her round, jiggling ass cheeks down, falling upon her son's engorged shaft with a lust she could not control. Fresh terror rose in her bosom, seeing her hands move on their own accord, forcing her son's drooling face ever closer to her pillowy breasts.
"Impossible!" whimpered Braya.
You are lost in lust... a ripe time to try some things, no?
"You monster-" Braya shivered as the heat of another orgasm rushed up from her loins. Her hips jerked and her hefty breasts careened together, while moans tinged with the shadows of the sorceress flowed from her lips like some haunted melody.
Come come, I know what I'm doing. I have taken more souls than you.
Braya's rebel hands smothered her son's face into the caramel valley of her heaving tits.
It's easier this way.
The silken walls of Braya's love canal throbbed with exquisite slowness around her son's cock, minute ripples to coax out the man's most precious possession.
They always scream.
Haldur stiffened and then screamed muffled ecstasy into his mother's generous mounds, her feminine swells overflowing and molding around his face.
Braya's eyes brightened while an avalanche of gasps tumbled from her mouths, the very sound of satisfaction. Hot spurts of seed and life alike shot up into the she-barbarian's womb. She moaned madly and held him with such a grip as to rival that of a jungle snake. Haldur's hips jerked, thrusting between his mother's supple thighs as he climaxed without end.
Even when it became painful, still he wallowed in her grip, relishing the feel of satin flesh through his fingers, the firmness of her bountiful bottom, the great mounds of her chest pressed around his face.
And even when he became withered, still Braya held on. Pump after pump, her belly writhed, her lower lips greedily devouring every drop from her prey. Haldur's stocky frame shrunk, his groans weaker and weaker, his head sinking further into his mother's heavy breasts, his slumped form held up only by the grace of her hands.
Tears of bliss and sorrow ran from Braya's eyes as she felt her son's final shudder, the last shot of liquid fire inside, consumed like every offering before it. Haldur's exhausted, satiated gasp echoed the faintest sounds of his soul's screams, taken not from this world by another warrior's axe or by the implacable march of time... but by a mother's desire.
Braya let the wasted and browned husk that used to be her son fall from her gorgeous breasts, still heaving from the exhilaration of a soul steal. "I'm sorry... so sorry..." she whispered, Haldur's whited out eyes and frozen rictus grin staring back at her.
Did I not say this would come to pass? I found your clan. I've taken your family.
Braya pulled her kilt up quickly, and snapped her massive breasts behind her chain mail bra just in time before the approaching shadow entered the tent. Immediately her feelings of sorrow amplified, forcing her to her knees in anguished sobs.
The shadow quickened its pace.
"My lord? Agnar!?" called the voice outside.
"Help!" Braya called, feeling the sorceress's compulsion. And then something else. Shadows twisted off her fingers and coiled on the ground, piling and piling until they faded away, leaving the bloodied form of a sorceress garbed in Black Moon regalia.
The warrior came into the tent, gasping at the dried out corpses of the jarl and his son. "What is... by the gods..." he muttered.
"She did it..." growled Braya through her sobs. "One of the whoresons of the Black Moon Bitch sent an assassin... I'd recognize sex magic anywhere."
"The jarl is dead!" He fell upon Agnar's white eyed corpse. "Oh they will pay... in blood and fire!" He looked to Braya. "We will hold a moot and decide..." He drifted off as Braya's eyes flashed violet, her voice ethereal and soft.
She folded her arms, pushing her luscious mounds into massive swells."Nonsense. I am jarl enough for this clan. We must strike now, while the blood is hot, before passions have cooled and the enemy realizes we have not been cowed."
The guard's expression slackened and his voice deadened. "What is your command?"
"My command?"
Is my command.
"Rally the men, the hill tribes, the mountain lords, all of them... we're going into Camelot... and we will put the bitch's pups down."
The guard stood up. "It will be done!"
Very good! I could almost believe you hate me.
Strange purple light flickered through Braya's irises but for a moment, while the dark circles under her eyes grew. Behind, her illusion of shadow had melted away into nothing.
In the conflict for Camelot, a third Black Moon army had entered the fray.
***
Black Moon War Camp Outside Avalon
Melehan sipped from his wine goblet, watching Lady Sybilla's tremendous breasts rise and fall behind her corroded armor as his lieutenants gave their battlefield reports. "A storm of sorcery over Radgar's Hill was reported, m'lord..."
"Sorcery you say? Correct me if I'm wrong, Carnarent, but that's not a very Orcish thing to do."
"It is not, my lord." Carnarent's voice was deep, his grayish skin and horned features marking him as one of the Black Moon's oldest warriors, from the days of the Black Knight. A shapeshifter, he had served as the prince's horse and personal guard since the very beginning of the conflict.
The great clash between brother and brother was neither quick or clean. Many of the Black Moon forces deserted without Morgana's will to hold them in check. Those that stayed allied with Melehan, but victory was not in hand for the martial and merciless brother.
The night the Witch Queen fell, Morvith fled the capital with the Stone of the Incorruptible. The artifact that had proved to be the bane of the Elves was the salvation of the traitor, granting him the power to turn peasant and lord alike into brutal Orcs. Soon the countryside crawled with a new shade of green.
Melehan had made it red. But still the green came. Wave after wave, the emerald tide was inexhaustible, its lust for blood as tireless as it's lust for lust, rutting with the peasantry, where buxom, jade skinned she-Orcs coupled with farmers, the Orcs with the farmer's daughters, passing on the curse and making a new warrior for Morvith's war with each bout of carnal conquest.
The prince gestured for a nubile slave girl, holding his empty goblet aloft for a refill."Hmmm... I am vexed... after my mother, who could wield such power?" The pitter patter of gentle and soft feet came across the carpet, belonging to a bosomy beauty of immaculate complexion and ice blonde locks. "Certainly not Morvith. The snaky eunuch couldn't even spirit away my mother's killers right!"
The slave girl, Ada, smiled at the prince's words. Melehan had carved his way through an Orcish warband for so fair a prize. He kept his goblet low, forcing her to lean down, keeping her round breasts on the verge of spilling out of their scant restraints.
Carnarent coughed, trying to pull his leige's attention away from the woman's chest but was no more successful than he would have been trying to pull him away from his sword. "It is possible that some of your mother's warlocks... witches... have lent their talents for your brother's coin."
Melehan smiled, watching the slave girl's creamy breasts wobble to her struggle not to spill. "For coin you say? Unlikely. Such needs are common among the small folk, but not the Black Moon. No, my mother's spellweavers are scattered to the wind... this is something else."
A great call resounded from outside, containing neither the smooth notes of Melehan's royal trumpets nor the driving beats of Morvith's Orcish drums. The dark prince leapt from his make-shift throne to the bottom of his command tent, drenching his busty serving girl in a patina of savory reds.
"What in the blazes..." muttered Melehan as he threw open the tent flap. The valley leading into misty Avalon stormed with golden fire. Orc drums beat to a panicked rhythm as wild flames spread through their camp. War horns called and war horses lanced into the unready green masses below while a line of torch bearing barbarians marched up to Melehan's high ground.
At the front of the line strode a woman, tall and buxom, yet a certain paleness ran through her countenance, her shady blonde hair possessing a luster that seemed unnervingly familiar to the warrior prince.
