The Emerald King

Rogg stood at the center of the blood pool arena, staring down his adversaries standing above him on tall stone pillars. It was a sad excuse for an arena. A mere ditch with rocks and boulders placed in a large circle for a crowd to sit. The only thing separating those in battle from those spectating being strung together bones from slain orcs and beasts alike. The earth beneath his feet a permanent stain of red from battles past, where not even the bones and teeth of those who had fallen were cleaned up. Yet another showing of how primitive his people were.

His journey over the last month had taken him to many parts of the mesa, conquering the warlords of his people and keeping the spoils; this included females and followers. He had come to challenge the three remaining warlords for their positions of power amongst the savages, and he would have them. The one rule of the arena amongst all mesa dwellers was single combat. No partners, no armies, and no weapons. In this way the combatants were to fight to the death, usually resulting in long drawn out fights that entertained all who came to watch.

Of the three warlords there was one female. In fact, she was the only female ever to reach such a status in their male-dominated society, although Rogg would hardly call it a society. More like a muddled horde of barbarians at best. Today, however, was the day Rogg would let himself loose and show his savage brothers and sisters how much of a brute he could truly be. Around him, the savages jeered, howled and roared, mixed with the chanting of the followers He gained over the last few weeks.

“ROGG, ROGG, ROGG, ROGG,” the mass of orcs chanted in unison.

Amazing, Rogg thought, slightly amused. The brutes are capable of working together after all. Perhaps I never gave them enough credit.

Rogg puffed out his chest and gave a roaring war cry, putting on airs for his loyal followers, and for those who would soon be his new underlings to join them. His first opponent, Boorg, jumped down from the boulder he stood upon, roaring back in kind. His eyes were yellow and bloodshot, his teeth rotting, scars covering his body, and half of his left hand was missing. Both he and Rogg wore no more than loincloths for battle, as did the other two warlords awaiting their turn.

“You come to blood pool, you die!” Boorg roared confidently, as slobber spewed from his mouth.

He began walking a circle around Rogg, taunting him as he did. Rogg didn’t hesitate, leaping forward towards his opponent. Boorg was clearly caught off guard by this, expecting his foe to circle in kind. Rogg grabbed him by the neck with one hand and another on a rotting tusk. He squeezed his neck with all his might as Boorg attempted to shake loose. Rogg would have once tried to do the same, once, when he too was a savage. Instead, all Boorg managed to do was rip his tusk loose from his mouth.

He howled in pain as Rogg didn’t waste a breath, plunging the tusk into his shoulder, and blood spilling from the wound. In desperation Boorg kicked at his knees, forcing Rogg to release his grip and jump back, narrowly avoiding the blow. His foe was shaken, gripping at his wounded shoulder, breath heavy. It was clear to Rogg that he was trying his best not to tremble.

Rogg felt a strange desire come over him. To see his opponent tremble in pain and fear, he wanted nothing more than to see it. The feeling brought back memories of his primitive mind. A time before Jorf had worked his magic and cursed him with knowledge. For the first time since then, Rogg felt alive. He was ready for more, to let loose without a care in the world.

Boorg pulled the tusk from his shoulder as blood gushed from the hole that remained. A big mistake, Rogg knew, for if he had left the tusk in the fool would not bleed out near as quick. It was then that he knew victory was assured. Boorg threw the tusk to the ground and roared as best he could. The crowd again cheered and whooped, demanding the fight to continue. They wanted to see a death, regardless of whose it was; Rogg was more than willing to oblige.

This time it was Boorg who made the first move, lunging forward with all his might. Rogg readied himself and took a quick step to the right, dodging the mindless charge and in doing so grabbing Boorg by his wound and locking his fingers in. He could feel the flesh and bone squish and crack beneath his fingers. He pulled Boorg back and slammed him to the ground, knocking the wind from him and following up with an elbow to his throat, backed by his full weight.

A loud crack echoed around the arena, followed by choked gargling as life left Boorg’s body. For a moment the crowd was silent, surprised by how swiftly the warlord was defeated. Rogg signaled to one of his followers in the crowd as he stood back up, having a spear of bone tossed to him in response. He caught it and stuck it firmly in the dirt.

“What you do?” The female warlord named Briga questioned him, a confused scowl on her face.

Without uttering a single word in response, Rogg grabbed Boorg’s limp body by its head and swiftly twisted and pulled, ripping it from the rest of the body. The crowd stared in awe as he stuck it on the head of the spear and pointed at the remaining warlords, signaling that they were next. As he did so blood seeped down his raised arm and his side. Upon seeing this the crowd roared with excitement. It was clear that Boorg’s followers were now Rogg’s, and soon the rest would follow.

Rogg made his way back to the arena’s center as the crowd continued to cheer, now stamping their feet wildly. Gazing up at his two remaining opponents he smirked, letting them know they stood no chance against him. The next one down was the warlord Roc, aptly named for his hard head. He had chosen that as his name because he felt that rocks were second only to the spirits in strength. This always amused Rogg, even before he was cursed by Jorf. Even a savage could tell that rocks were easily broken things, but Roc had ended up a warlord for a reason; even if it was a warlord over an ignorant mass of savages.

Roc wasted no time with silly games of taunting and circling. He was straight to the point, jumping from atop the boulder he stood on and charging straight for Rogg. The long mane of black hairs covering his body billowed in the wind as he drew nearer. Like with Boorg before him, however, he was easily dodged, but moving too swiftly for Rogg to catch him.

Even a dumb brute like him can learn from watching, Rogg thought in amusement. He knows damn well he’ll suffer the same fate if I catch him.

He turned to face Roc, preparing for his next charge. The orc seemed as if he were going mad, as he charged at Rogg once again, this time going even faster than before. However, It didn’t matter, Rogg was ready for him. He charged at Roc in kind, dirt, dust, and bone flying into the air behind them as they ran. The crowd was forced to cover their eyes as the debris rained down upon them.

At the last second Rogg dropped and slid, causing Roc to trip over him and land with a loud thud in the dirt. Yet again, as with his previous foe, he didn’t waste a moment’s breadth. Rogg flipped around and leaped onto Roc’s back, putting him in a stranglehold and squeezing with all his might. The hairy orc struggled savagely with all his might, stamping the ground and shaking like a young toddler throwing a tantrum.

Rogg began pulling the brute’s head backward, completely cutting off his airflow. Roc’s face changed to a multitude of colors that Rogg hadn’t thought possible. Eventually, Roc had given in, having passed out from the hold. As he had before, Rogg lifted the orc by the head, once he was sure that he was unconscious, snapping Roc’s neck and then swiftly ripping it from his body. He walked back to where the spear, now tilted from the scuffle, was still standing.

He shoved Roc’s head onto it, pushing Boorg’s head farther down, and turned to face his final opponent. The one and only female to ever become a warlord, Briga. Ever since he had come to the arena, Rogg had felt something was off. He couldn’t put it into words, but something about this female seemed off. She looked no different than any other female of his kind, save for fewer scars and not letting her breasts hang loose to flop about as she walked. Yet she somehow seemed unsurprised by Rogg’s victories.

Her eyes were that of any other savage’s, her thick black mane of hair tied back into a ponytail. One of the few scars she did have, Rogg noticed, was above her right eye, where a bushy black eyebrow should have been. Rogg dropped his examination, taking his spot back at the center of the arena as he shrugged off the strange feeling, coming back to his surroundings. The crowd was roaring and cheering and stamping their feet wilder than ever now. All around him the savages chanted his name.

“ROGG, ROGG, ROGG, ROGG,” they roared while drumming their fists against their chests.

Briga jumped down from her boulder and casually walked toward Rogg as if coming to shake his hand and give him a warm greeting. He tensed up, ready for her to make a move at a moments notice. The strange feeling came back to Rogg as she drew closer to him, a sort of sixth sense, trying to tell him something wasn’t right about her. When Briga was standing no more than a few steps away from him it became clear as day. It couldn’t have been more obvious if she had screamed out to the crowd this very moment.

“You received Jorf’s gift too?” she said, eyes locked on his.

Rogg stood there, dumbfounded. Thankfully the crowd was far too rowdy to hear what she had said. Otherwise both their lives would have potentially been made forfeit. Before he knew it, however, she was on him, hands wrapped around his neck. He was so caught off guard by her words, he had forgotten where he was. The pair struggled for a time when Briga began speaking again.

“We could use each other’s help,” she said, through tense breaths and gritted teeth.

Rogg managed to push her off and gather his footing, this time charging at her and managing to hold her in a headlock.

“Why do I need your help?” He said, showing great haughtiness.

“B-because,” she said, gasping for air. “We want the same thing.”

Before he could respond, Rogg felt a great pain in his groin that traveled up to his stomach. He let loose his grip and howled in pain, grabbing his crotch. Briga gasped for air and stumbled forward, trying to gain some distance. The crowd jeered and booed, while others laughed and cackled at what had just happened.

“Damn, bitch,” Rogg spat, still clutching himself.

Briga charged and leaped over him, putting Rogg in a headlock of her own.

“Please listen to me,” she pleaded. “I have an offer you might like.”

Rogg coughed and wheezed, attempting to breathe.

“G-go, ahead,” he said.

He then pushed himself backward with all his strength, landing on top of her and pinning her to the ground with his back. Briga’s grip loosened and he spun himself around, grabbing each of her arms and holding her down.

“Go ahead,” he said again, panting.

“Fuck me,” she said, blankly.

“What?” he said back just as blankly.

“Fuck, me,” she said again, this time exaggerating her words.

“If you were to fuck me right here, then these savages would assume you were raping me. That is the only alternative to death. If you rape me and take me as your slave.”

Rogg looked at her in disbelief, but he understood. For once he was willing to listen to one of his own, and he was curious as to what Jorf’s curse had done to her mind. For the first time, he wanted to know what someone else thought.

“What’s wrong?” Briga asked playfully. “Can’t perform in front of a crowd? Or maybe I kicked you too hard in the cock and broke it.”

Instead of responding with some smart retort, Rogg responded by ripping away what little clothing she had and forcing himself inside her, or so it would seem to the crowd around them. Briga was more than willing to accept the advance. even going as far as pushing herself against him in an attempt to rouse him even more. Rogg did his best to forget that well over a thousand savages were watching them as he became fiercer and more passionate in his movements.

The masses around them cheered, howled and screamed in amusement and joy. It was here that they saw their new warlord rise before them, defeating all those who stood in his way. It was clear that many were relieved to no longer be ruled by a female; save for the other females who were tormented by their male counterparts and had found freedom through Briga. Everything came together better than Rogg could have expected, feeling that perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t killed Briga after all.

There was one thing that bothered him, however. The way Briga teased him as they mated. Giving fake cries of surrender and for him to stop. All while giving him hints of enjoyment and light taunts.

“Is that the best you can do?” she grunted. “Rape me like you mean it, you savage. Ugh I give, I give! You master now!”

This irritated Rogg to no end, but he went along with it as best he could. When they were finished, Rogg grabbed Briga by the hair and stood. He presented her to the crowd, showing them that she was his servant from here on. He loosened his grip and let her fall to the ground, as she acted out being defeated.

Trying to push aside his slight embarrassment Rogg began to call out to his onlookers.

“I AM WARLORD OF ALL,” he shouted. “MICE COME TO OUR LAND FOR DEATH. I SAY WE GIVE WHAT THEY ASK!”

The crowd roared with approval, stomping their feet on the ground and pounding their chests, ready to fight.

“WHEN SUN RISE, WE GO KILL ALL MICE!”

The crowd roared yet again, clearly pleased by this. Rogg picked Briga up with one arm and slung her over his shoulder as he walked away from the crowd.

“Will you speak with me now?” she asked from behind his back.

“Yes,” Rogg replied. “But first I want a real fuck this time. I can’t enjoy it with a fucking band of savages watching.”

“As you wish, Warlord,” she said playfully, as she ran her fingers down his back.