Here's a second chapter. A bit more world-building, a bit more characterization, and some orc-on-orc sex.
The general trajectory of this story is more or less mapped out, but, as always with long(ish) works, the details are fluid and subject to change. I will say this, though. The focus will shift away from orcs and their sexual activities for a while soon. This world is bigger than the Skyscratcher mountains and the surrounding lands, after all.
Finally, thanks to those of you who commented on the first installment. Your thoughts are very much appreciated.
*****
"The various ruins, standing stones and ancient catacombs that have long been a feature of the Imperial landscape have been the source of much speculation over the years. While some structures are intact enough to be identifiable as the last vestiges of pre-Imperial societies such as the Venerar Confederacy or the Elven Autarchy of Lithlelien, others have proven to be impossible to place with any certainty. Chief of these are the dolmens of the north, huge stones whose original purpose has been obscured by the scouring of the bitter winter winds and the relentless passage of time. For the Imperial traveller, their chief meaning is a simple and yet profound one. "You are not the first to pass this way. Others have trod this way before you. And others will tread this way after you." There is a sobering comfort in their permanence." - Larken van Schwerss,
The Lands of the Empire, volume III, published in the Fourth Year of the Blinded Stoat
"The standing stone located in the northernmost county of Ergolis, in the thin strip of hinterland that separates the Great Wood from the Ergoline Mountains, bears no name and no distinguishing marks whatsoever. There is some anecdotal evidence to suggest that it is intermittently used as a way marker for members of the G'naaarsh, Loka and V'kruk tribes of orcs who make their home in the mountain passes. It is beyond the scope of this survey to verify this claim. The stone itself is twenty-six hands high and approximately ten hands wide at its base, tapering to a width of six hands at its tip. It is impossible to determine its age or purpose, although the granite of which it is composed is not local and has evidently been worked at some time in the probably distant past. It is one of the least interesting of the northern dolmens, remarkable only for the fact that it is located exactly one hundred Imperial miles from its nearest cousin..." - Dieter Blenk, Chief Imperial Surveyor,
Survey of the Northern Provinces, published in the Seventh Year of the Starving Rat
GRUN
Grun sat in the shadow of the great stone and watched Greveshka bathe in the nearby stream. Behind him, the sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon, setting the tops of the trees of the Great Wood ablaze with sullen fire. Its warmth was fading and the chill wind that stirred the coarse hairs of his forearms brought with it the hard mineral scent of the mountains. It did not, however, cool the unwelcome heat in his veins as he watched his clan-sister scoop handfuls of water to wash the sweat of the afternoon's exertions from her body.
The great stone was the only structure of any note in the bleak land that marked the ending of the ancient forest and the beginning of the craggy foothills that would eventually become the Skyscratcher mountains and the orcs' home. One or two stunted trees dotted the wilderness, but the roots of the mountains stretched far under this ground, and it was simply not fertile enough to support more growth.
He had decided to camp by the stone for the night. The flat earth platform on which it stood offered as comfortable a resting spot as they were likely to find out here; the stream that meandered past it was the only source of fresh water for miles. And Greveshka had insisted in cleaning herself. Of course, she had. Grun had protested but ever since witnessing her
vuk
with the human, he had found it difficult to hold out against her calm, determined and almost obscenely confident manner.
Not that he had had much cause to challenge her. Despite the orc woman's slower pace, they had actually made good time. She stopped rarely, complained little and had proven to be hardier and more determined on the way back through the woods than she had been on the way out. She had also been unusually quiet, lost in some private imaginings that she clearly felt no compulsion to share with him.
And that suited him perfectly.
Roughly, he bit into the dried meat he had brought with him and stared at the orcess. Even as a child he had hated her. No, that wasn't right. Not
hated
. Not really. But he had understood that the wrongness of her skin, of her softness, reflected badly on the clan into which both he and she had been born, and he had resented the smirks, the whispers and, eventually, the open derision her presence in the clan house had brought. He had fought many a pointless fight in defense of clan honor because of her, had made many an enemy.
She hadn't been worth it, no matter what the shamans had said.
He watched her pour the cold stream water over her shoulders and back, saw it run in rivulets across her skin. The temporary runes that Van Kor had inscribed at the base of her spine had been washed away, leaving only a few small tattooed marks inscribed on her buttocks and upper back. As a result, Greveshka looked a little more acceptable. The paleness of her skin had now been offset by subtle gradations of more orcish hues - gray, brown and, underneath her arms and between her legs an earthy green. Her flesh was still clearly softer than an average orc's, though, and her tuskless face lacked the half-crafted lumpen quality that distinguished the orc from the lesser, more effete, races. As for her breasts...
Grun caught himself sharply. If he was honest with himself, her breasts
did
look invitingly soft. That human had certainly enjoyed himself with them. And that was another thing. While he could not really accuse Greveshka of making
vuk
in anything other than true orc fashion, he couldn't for the life of him see the attraction of the mutual touching and mouth-meeting she had indulged in with the hunter. It was, he thought, an unnecessary distraction from the main business of the
vuk
.
With a series of playful splashes, Greveshka finished bathing and left the stream, picking up her torn dress in one hand, although making no effort whatsoever to cover herself with it. The wiry tangle of hair between her legs dripped intermittently and reflected the light of the dying sun like flecks of blood. She came to stand before him, arching her back and grinning at him.
Grun scowled and looked away. The way her breasts stood out proudly stirred things in him that he knew he could not act on even if he were so inclined.
"Magic gone," said Greveshka. "I am me again."
